The Fall of Tartarus (24 page)

‘What
will you do when you leave Tartarus?’ she asked after an interval. ‘Have you
decided where you’ll go?’

‘I’m
not leaving,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve decided to stay on Tartarus.’

She
wanted to protest that he was still young, that there were other planets
similar to Tartarus among the Thousand Worlds. ‘That’s a brave decision.’ She
shrugged. ‘Can’t say I understand it.’

He
turned to her. ‘I’ve lived all my life in the jungle. I can read the place, the
flora and the fauna. I can track every animal bigger than a rat through the
undergrowth for kilometres, if needs be. I can tell by scent alone every
creature within a fifty-metre radius . . . Tartarus is unique. If I resettled
on some other jungle world I’d have to relearn everything. I can’t begin all
over again.’

‘But
surely any life is preferable to death? As for work, you could do something
completely different.’

‘This
is all I know. All I want to know. I’ve had plenty of time to come to terms
with the end. I want to die with the planet.’

‘Like
some of the tribes . . . Are the Bourg people staying here?’

‘They
worship the supernova. They couldn’t leave the land where their ancestors are
buried. According to their beliefs, they’ll be reunited with their dead when
the sun blows.’

They
flew on in silence for the remainder of the journey. As the day advanced, the
heat and humidity within the jungle increased correspondingly. Even the
headwind was hot, like the backblast from a jet engine. A cocktail of uv-block,
insect repellent, and sweat filmed Katerina’s skin in an uncomfortable,
sebaceous membrane.

She
dozed fitfully, bullied awake each time by the discomfort of her posture. Each
period of sleep she dreamed of Bobby, as he was as a boy, and how he might be
now - a succession of hopeful images that contrasted cruelly with her waking
pessimism.

When
she resurfaced from her last period of sleep, the roar of the engine was
noticeable by its absence, a loud silence that seemed to fill her head. She
stretched and yawned, then stared about her. Henrique had brought the flier to
rest amid a tangle of undergrowth. He stood nearby, holding a large leaf
between thumb and forefinger. He was staring through a thicket of foliage, the
dome of his bald head cocked to one side.

‘They’re
not far away,’ he called to her. ‘A group of Hunters passed this way two days
ago - a band of about six. That means the tribe will be camped in a nearby
clear
ing.’

He
climbed back into the flier and fired the engine, rutting a path through the
undergrowth at an altitude of a couple of metres, occasionally stopping to
inspect the foliage.

He
nodded with evident satisfaction. ‘The same group came by here six to eight
hours ago. We’re almost there.’

Katerina
filmed for the next hour, not wanting to miss their arrival at the tribal
clearing. When they came upon the encampment, they did so suddenly and without
warning. One second they were moving through the whipping foliage, and the next
they had burst through into an open space rilled with the harsh white glare of
the risen sun.

Perhaps
two dozen pyramidal tents woven from large, waxy leaves stood around the
clearing. The tribes-people had been slumbering in their shade - as evidenced
by a few who still did so - but the majority had been alerted by the sound of
the engine and were on their feet and cautiously approaching the flier.

They
were tall, blond and blue-eyed. Some wore loincloths, others went naked; all
wore body-paint, mud-coloured chevrons on chest and stomach. Katerina could not
help but consider how incongruous it was to behold an essentially European
people in such a state of nature.

They
surrounded the flier, fifty men, women and children, some clutching spears and
bows, and stared with unreadable expressions. Katerina felt that she was the
focus of their attention. She wondered if that was because they had never seen
black skin like hers before - or because they had.

Henrique
spoke in a halting, guttural tongue to a tall, patriarchal tribesman who had
stepped forward from the crowd. The tribal elder responded, gesturing back
towards a large communal tent.

Henrique
turned to her. ‘I said I’ve brought a guest who wishes to pay compliments.
We’re invited to join the oldster and his council in the meeting place.’

They
crossed the clearing, followed by the tribe, and ducked into the designated
construct. Katerina sat cross-legged next to Henrique, while four other men and
women, beside the old man, entered the leaf-tent and sat across from them.

The
oldster spoke. Henrique replied, and then translated. ‘He welcomes you on
behalf of his people, and I replied on your behalf that you are honoured to be
here.’

‘Can
you ask him if he knows anything about my brother?’

‘Eventually,
but not yet. There’s a certain protocol to follow before we get down to
business. They’ll ask you questions and judge you by your replies. Don’t
worry,’ Henrique smiled, ‘I’ll say the right things.’

There
was a question from each of the tribal council. A woman asked her age, and
Katerina told Henrique twenty-three. A man asked the next question. Henrique
said, ‘He wishes to know if you are married.’

‘I’m
not.’

‘As
of now, you are. They’re suspicious of mature women who remain unmarried.’ He
relayed this, and listened to the next question, smiling to himself. ‘And how
many children do you have?’

‘Children?
I . . .’

‘Four
seems like a nice round number. That’ll earn you respect.’

Katerina
bit back her protest as Henrique spoke the tribal language.

‘Do
you believe? They know of only one deity, and expect everyone to believe in it.
So just nod and say yes.’

She
did as she was told and Henrique relayed the lie.

An
old woman asked another question. Henrique stared at her in silence for a time.

‘Henrique?’
Katerina asked, touching his sleeve. ‘What did she say?’

He
shook his head. ‘The woman asked if you will join your cousin in the sky.’ He
spoke again to the council as Katerina tried to control her thoughts.

The
glottal dialogue went back and forth, with much gesturing from all parties.
Henrique chopped the ground from time to time, the gesture taken up and
repeated by the elder.

At
last a silence fell. Henrique shook his head and turned to Katerina. ‘Three
years ago, a man with skin like yours fell from the sky in a flier. His
companion was dead, and he was badly injured. They did what they could for him,
healed his wounds and set his broken bones. He remained with the Bourg people
as they moved through the jungle on their migration. He learned their language
and, according to the council, accepted their belief.’ Here, Henrique broke off
his resume and spoke again to the old woman, shaking his head in seeming
frustration.

Katerina
sat and stared, words beyond her. That Bobby had indeed survived the crash and
joined the Bourg people filled her with hope - but where was Bobby now? If he
had survived his injuries, then what had become of him? What did the old woman
mean when she asked if Katerina would join her cousin in the sky?

Henrique
listened to what the old woman had to say. ‘He stayed with them for six
months,’ he told Katerina, ‘and then he joined his brothers in the sky.’

‘What
does she mean?’ She felt a mounting dread. ‘Did he die? Is Bobby dead?’

‘I’ve
asked them that. A literal translation of the reply is, “All who join the
brothers are considered dead”. I’m trying to work out what that means. Have
patience.’

He
spoke to the council again. They replied, and Henrique nodded. Enlightenment
showed on his face.

‘Good
God, of course . . .’

‘What?
He’s dead, isn’t he?’

‘No
. . . No, he isn’t. I asked them where they were when he left them. They said
somewhere south of here, west of Kruger territory, in the lee of the central
mountains. That can mean only one thing. It’d explain “his brothers in the sky”
. . .’

Katerina
gripped his arm. ‘What? For God’s sake tell me!’

‘Your
brother’s still alive. He survived the crash and was nursed back to health by
the Bourg people. He even took their faith . . . and then he left them for his
brothers in the sky.’ Henrique stared at her. ‘Bobby joined the monks of the
Order of the Nova, Katerina, at the monastery of St Chrysostum.’

They
flew south in silence for a long time, Katerina trying to order her thoughts.
There were so many questions she wanted to ask Henrique that she did not know
where to begin. Hard upon the joy she had experienced at learning that Bobby
was alive, she felt apprehension at the idea that he had joined a religious
sect. What had the Bourg council said?
All who join the brothers are
considered dead.

‘The
monastery’s a few hours away.’ Henrique said at last. ‘Part of a mountain range
that spans the continent.’

‘Why
this remote?’

He
glanced across at her. ‘They’re an hermitic order. They’ve turned their backs
on the world. They need privacy to practise their beliefs.’

‘The
oldster said that all who join them are considered dead.’ Katerina watched his
face for reaction. ‘What did he mean?’

She
felt sure that Henrique knew more than he was willing to tell her. He shook his
head. ‘I wish I knew.’

She
persisted. ‘Do you know what they believe?’

‘They’re
a sect of the Church of the Ultimate Sacrifice. They believe that through
mortification they’ll stop the supernova.’

She
felt the weight of a subtle depression settle over her. ‘I suppose I should be
thankful he survived the crash.’

Henrique
stared straight ahead and said nothing.

Two
hours later he eased the flier up through the jungle canopy. Ahead, rearing
majestically from the jungle like a dozen overlapping scimitar blades, were the
silver peaks of the central mountains.

It
was all Katerina could do to concentrate and film the establishing shot as the
flier climbed towards the nearest peak. As they approached, a man-made edifice
resolved itself in the vertical rock face. She made out a hundred slit windows,
their multiplicity giving some indication of the vast extent of the monastery
in the mountainside. Beneath the monastery was a great outcropping of rock
bearing an incongruous garden. Evidently, their approach had been observed.

A
welcoming committee of a dozen monks in long black habits stood together on the
wide, flat lawn.

Henrique
lowered the flier and cut the engine.

The
monks of the Order of the Nova comprised a cross-section of the racial types on
Tartarus: Latinos, Asiatics, even a couple of tall, blond Scandinavians. They
regarded Katerina and Henrique with evident interest. She wondered how many
casual visitors passed this way each year.

Henrique
spoke to them in French.

The
Nordic monk raised a hand. ‘You are welcome, of course. We never turn away
weary travellers.’

‘We
are more than . . . travellers,’ Henrique said. ‘We’re here to contact a
relative, Katerina’s brother.’

At
this, the monk turned his cowled head to Katerina. ‘That would be Brother
Robert?’

‘He’s
alive?’ she said.

‘He
is alive,’ said the monk. ‘I trust you are not here in an attempt to take him
from us? Brother Robert has taken his vows. He is one of us, now, and committed
to the cause.’

Katerina
shook his head. ‘I only want to meet him, to talk.’

‘In
that case I see no reason to delay the reunion.’

At
his words, Katerina almost wept.

They
crossed the lawn behind the dozen silent monks and approached a tall arched
doorway in the face of the cliff. After the searing heat of midday, the
interior of the monastery was blessedly cool. The other monks ushered Henrique
into a side room, leaving Katerina with the tall Scandinavian.

Still
filming, Katerina followed him down long, chiselled corridors lighted by
guttering candles. They climbed numerous narrow staircases, each step worn to a
curve with the passage of centuries. At last they came to a wide corridor at
the end of which was a timber door. Her guide knocked lightly, opened the door
and gestured Katerina inside.

The
room overlooked the jungle. A dozen slit windows admitted piercing shafts of
light. Unlike the bare corridors, the room appeared comfortable, furnished with
a carpet, chairs and a writing desk.

The
monk told her to remain by the door, then crossed the room. He paused before a
brown Hessian curtain that hung in an archway, and addressed quiet words to
someone beyond. Katerina heard a sharp exclamation, then hurried words.

The
monk turned and gestured to Katerina. He positioned a stool before the curtain
and invited her to sit. ‘Brother Robert,’ he said.