The Great White Space (8 page)

But there had been no major difficulties; the tractors were standing up well to the wear and tear of this difficult going and, most important of all, there had so far been no impossible places; no doubt due to Scarsdale's detailed surveying of the route on his previous journeyings. If there had been one impassable section then that would have made the Expedition untenable; apart from our using the tractors as mobile bases, there was the sheer impossibility of transporting the masses of stores and equipment along these miles of pitiless moraine.

The territory through which we were advancing was quite featureless; black rock; boulders; stunted trees; above, a perpetually blue sky; ahead, the eternal probe of the restless wind in one's teeth and the jumble of rocks which indicated the next bend.

We were too close in now to see what peaks lay ahead and so far as one was aware we were not high enough for snow. Scarsdale still continued in his mysterious and inscrutable way. Though his charts, log books and tables of weird hieroglyphs multiplied on the chart-table in the command vehicle at night, he gave no detailed hints of what we might soon expect.

We had been several days on our journey to the plateau when I myself broached the matter one evening; he shook his head, with an enigmatic smile.

'We are not close enough yet,' was all he would say. 'Time enough when we are within the Galleries.'

He had with him a translation of the blasphemous book. The Ethics of Ygor, which had been typed on ordinary foolscap sheets and he would be lost for hours in its study most evenings, the smoke from his pipe curling upwards vertically in the still air of the tractor. While in the desert we had kept within the machines whenever we stopped. There was good reason for this, of course; the tractors were air- conditioned and the sand and grit constantly blown about made eating and conversation in the open air a misery.

But here just the opposite rule obtained. Though the air was cold and the wind blew chill, whenever Scarsdale called a halt over his radio link and all three vehicles drew into a rough laager, we all of us, without anyone ever putting it into words, foregathered in the open air, lit fires and cooked our food. Huddled in our sheepskin jackets and hoarding our precious gatherings of wood we drank our nightly tea-ration and made the mountains echo with our animated talk.

Van Damm in particular made his own attitude plain; I could read it well enough on his face, though he never put the feeling into words. We were whistling in the dark, his taut features said to me every night, as he gazed apprehensively around him at the dark rock whose jumbled surface was lit by the flickering flames of our necessarily feeble fires. We all felt it now; the mountains were closing in on us and inside the tractors the feeling was only emphasised. When we were asleep this did not matter; but until then we preferred to chat among ourselves; lounge outside; braving the wind, downing the hot sweet tea in thirsty gulps and constantly scanning what little we could see of our surroundings. But I noticed that none of us strayed outside the triangle of tractors, in which the fires formed the cheerful focal points. So far as we knew there was no wild-life in the mountains and no dangerous crevasses into which we might fall; but still we did not wander.

Day was a different matter but even there I noticed my companions rarely ventured more than a hundred yards or so from our established camp. The only exception was Scarsdale; he was, of course, as I knew, absolutely fearless and sometimes at night he would disappear for as long as half an hour at a time, on some mysterious expedition of his own. On the first occasion this happened I was consumed with alarm and was about to call my companions when he emerged from the darkness, the small round glow of his pipe illuminating his bearded features. His notebook was in his hand and there was an excited look in his eyes, but I had learned my lesson by now and I did not venture to question him.

But I remembered that he had traversed this way alone and with none of the advantages that we five currently enjoyed and once more I marvelled at the tenacity and endurance of the man; he had moral integrity as well as physical endurance and there were times as the weeks lengthened, that I came near to adulation of our leader. The Great Northern Expedition was certainly the highest point in my wanderings in a life not entirely devoted to mundane things, and even though the Professor's purpose remained shrouded in obscurity I felt I would have followed him almost anywhere he chose to lead us.

We were four days traversing the gulley; towards the end the scree and the shattered boulders which lay like great shards of rock fallen from a region as remote as the moon, made progress maddeningly slow. But the tractors behaved extraordinarily well; I think each of us, underneath, harboured a fear that the motors of the machines might overheat or that breakage of vital components would strand us here. For that reason those of us who were driving nursed the vehicles along.

It was unlikely, I reasoned, that all three of the machines would break down, but stranger things had happened; I cast my mind back to my own adventures in the Arizona Desert and Crosby Patterson's terrible and unique fate and pictured what might happen to us were we thrown on our own resources and have to return on foot. That outcome was unthinkable and I preferred instead to concentrate on my immediate duties.

I was pleased, during the second day, when Scarsdale announced to me that he would himself take over the controls of the command tractor. This left me for other duties, not least those-of my photographic recording activities and I secured one of the best sequences of the entire movie record the following afternoon, with my series of swooping pans and tracking shots from the windows of our vehicle, as we crawled inexorably into the higher plateau of the Black Mountains.

It was a fearsome landscape into which we were slowly edging our way and Scarsdale had still not revealed to us our exact destination or what our role would be; he sat now, bracing himself in the padded seat, his great hands firm and steady on the levers, gently coaxing the power under his hands. The command vehicle would shudder, hang sicken- ingly on the edge of some unseen rock shelf and then with a lurching motion, step quietly into a higher plane and then proceed again smoothly enough until the next obstacle was met.

The mountain walls ahead now completely blotted out the sky and for the last day or so the sun had disappeared; everything around us was in purple shadow and then we came out again round a shoulder of hill and a high sun, spilling in from behind us somewhere cast a pallid glimmer on the blackness of the shoulder of mountain beyond. Nowhere was there any sparkle of light or any relief in the sombre shade of these oppressive peaks; the wind still blew steadily but seemed to have lost some of its sting and the noise of our motors thrown back from the rocky walls each side of us seemed less sacrilegious.

On the afternoon of the final day the grating noise beneath the tractors' treads finally ceased and we lurched along in an odd silence; it was near lunch-time when this happened and Scarsdale gave the order over the radio for the party to halt for the break. I was down and out of the cabin door almost before we had stopped and I gave an exclamation. Scarsdale joined me at the door, with an amused expression in his eyes.

I then saw the reason for the unexpected silence. Stretching behind us, like the slime-track left by a gigantic slug was our own trail, every scratch and indentation on the tractor treads reproduced exactly on the surface of the gulley. I printed my own foot-mark behind me as I ran back towards Van Damm's tractor, which was just turning the bend. The entire floor of the valley was lined with black sand, a unique and extraordinary sight; if it had not been for the perennial blue of the sky above us the effect would have been overwhelming in its morbid darkness.

Like an engraving to illustrate the stories of Poe or a work by Dore or Samuel Palmer, the Black Mountains literally ingested us; they were above, behind and before us and now their own ebony opaqueness stretched beneath our feet. Van Damm had joined me and then the others; the tractors were formed into the familiar triangle and we ail stood about, talking little, overcome by this bitter darkness which blackened our very spirits. Only Scarsdale seemed unmoved; in fact his demeanour was positively jaunty under the circumstances and he gave out at great length over our al fresco lunch on the nearness of our destination and the positive tasks on which we would shortly be engaged.

We were under way again within the hour and the soft crunching of our progress along this dark sea of sand combined with the whine of the motors to lull my mind into a semblance of rest. The far-off rays of the sun had disappeared behind the far hills long ago but the light in the sky was still brilliant when I looked through the windscreen and saw that the way before us was at last blocked.

Darkness stretched supreme from the black floor of sand to the dizzy heights of the mountain peak far above us; Scarsdale drove the tractor onwards, over a hummocked ridge, where the sand lay in strange whorls like the casts of crabs, presumably sculptured by the wind. I got out the tractor. The sand terrace sloped away from me gently towards the face of the cliff; darkness married with darkness in the gigantic face of rock before me.

The echo of something like great wings broke the silence as the other two tractors whined to a halt, our companions leaping to the ground. I found a crack in the rock formation with my eye, followed it up to misty heights like a Gothic cathedral. A huge shard of rock breaking out of the sea of sombre sand shocked with its pallidity. I walked over to it. The rock, white and crystalline like quartz, shone like a blasphemy in that place of shadows. My suddenly shaking hand traced out the outlines of strange and obscenely-shaped hieroglyphs upon it. It seemed to point like a finger towards the entrance which beckoned before us. I turned to look again as Scarsdale walked towards me.

A warm wind blew out of the cliff and with it the memories and associations of something far off and long ago. My eyes raked the cliff again, refusing to believe what they saw. A hewn doorway in the black basaltic surface of the natural rock. A doorway that seemed to lead to the utmost depths of the earth. A doorway, moreover, that must have been all of five hundred feet high.

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Aeons seemed to pass as we gazed silently at that stupendous entrance. My soul was completely overwhelmed at the sight and I could not, did not in fact, dare contemplate what manner of being could have used such a doorway in the dawn of time. Unless the construction had a purely symbolic significance. To cover my confusion I returned to the Command tractor and sought my photographic equipment; the photographs I busied myself taking were excuse enough not to engage in speculation with my companions. Scarsdale was the only person who did not seem overwhelmed by the sight before us.

He stood with his legs and his arms folded across his massive chest and gazed before him as though he were in the tranquil atmosphere of one of the London or American museums; in his eyes was an infinite satisfaction and I realised that this moment represented a culmination of his life's work. In one way his entire career had been an advancement towards this point. The others recognised it too, and kept apart from the Professor, the small knot they made clustered in front of the gigantic entrance symbolising their puny stature by comparison with this freak of architecture.

I finished my moving picture work and picked up my still camera again; I was setting up my tripod to take close-ups of the hieroglyph inscriptions on the stone when a shadow fell across the pale surface of the obelisk. I turned, expecting Van Damm, but it was the Professor. He gazed without saying anything, while I completed my exposures. I turned back to him when I had dismantled my equipment. His lips were moving noiselessly as he traced the carvings on the stone with his fingers. He seemed almost oblivious of my presence.

'Let he who will, enter,' he said, like a man who was choosing his words with care. He knotted his brows together and tried again, stumbling over the phrases.

'Let he who enters, remain,' he continued. Van Damm had joined him by this time and watched the performance with grim concentration.

'He who remains will not return,' the Professor concluded. He made some notes in his books.

'I didn't know you were able to decipher the inscriptions. Professor,' I ventured.

Scarsdale looked at me with thinly disguised triumph. 'I have been working long years at this, my dear Plowright,' he said. 'These carvings are hardly unfamiliar to me. And I had The Ethics of Ygor to guide me.'

'Hardly an inviting message for such an entrance,' said Van Damm with a return to his old waspish manner. He looked an oddly enigmatic figure as he stood in his old cord riding breeches, legs in brown leather boots straddling the sand.

'I do not think we need worry overmuch,' said Scarsdale comfortably. 'The Old Ones were inclined perhaps to exaggerate. You forget that I have been here before.'

'And you returned safely,' I put in. The tension seemed to lift as I said this. We had been joined by the other two now and we all stood in a small group round the Professor, like students at a site lecture. Which is exactly how I felt. All these men had greater knowledge than I as to why we were here and Van Damm and Scarsdale were two of the foremost authorities in their own fields.

'Perhaps the Old Ones wanted the Professor to return,' said Van Damm softly. 'He is, in effect, drawing others in.'

Scarsdale smiled. 'You have too much imagination for a man of science, doctor,' he told his tall colleague. 'I have, as Plowright so aptly observed, returned to tell the story. Not without difficulties, as you all know. But my struggles were against physical obstacles only. There is nothing within the caverns that would lead me to believe they support any form of life inimical to man.'

'That may be because you did not penetrate far enough, Scarsdale,' said Van Damm calmly. 'The Trone-Tables speak of the guardians and there are other, certain indications, possibly more forbidding…