Slowly, aware he had all the time in the world, Matlin brought his own mace up. I'm going to kill this man, he thought. I can kill this man now. I merely have to drive the head of the mace against his abdomen, ripping through the wall of muscle to the quivering viscera beneath. He will scream, the blood will flow, the mace will fall from his nerveless fingers, and they will hail me here as hero. But I have saved the man Ranmut's life, so why should I kill this one? The thought astonished him: it was no Kedaki thought....
Symbolic of his triumph, he placed the head of his mace against Felg's belly and pushed. The big Kedaki stumbled back, the wind driven from him. He collapsed on the floor and his mace, still spikefast in the hardwood, quivered there. Matlin walked to it, braced both feet, strained his back, and drew it clear. Then he took both maces and returned them to themelgast.
"No! No!" screamed Felg, his breath returning. "Kill me! Kill me, you fool!"
Ranmut said, but quietly, "Kill him, lord. He would have killed me. He expects to be killed. Otherwise, his honor dies. Kill him, lord."
Matlin looked at the barkeep, who shrugged and held his silence. The faces of the crowd told him nothing. And Felg's woman? She had no love for Felg: she was Felg's companion for the night, no more. She wore the look of a Sphinx on her beautiful face and when she saw Matlin watching her the smile she turned on him was a smiling of the mouth only. Her eyes were cold and distant, but beautiful.
Matlin took one of the maces from themelgast. The spikes held blood, and bits of scraped skin and flesh adhered to them. So this was the mace Felg had used, for blood had been drawn from Matlin's ribs. With this mace, Matlin walked to the man he had conquered. Felg had not risen from the floor. He sat there and he looked up at Matlin, who made no move to use the mace, and he said, his voice a tight whisper now, barely audible, "Will you kill me? I can't stand the waiting."
"I read somewhere," Matlin heard himself saying, "that at the moment before death life is so precious that a man will crave it even if it is a life of torment on torment, a life of torture, a life of terrible pain. But life, any life, rather than the black sleep of death. Life as a slave, and toil without end, and streaming sweat mixed with blood, but life! This I read, but of course it was not on Kedak, for here on Kedak death means nothing. Well, does it?"
"Kill me now," said Felg, uncertainly.
Matlin lifted the mace slowly. "Here on Kedak, how can death hold such terrors? Death is not the unknown. Death is not a sleep of forever, a sleep without waking, or the unproven expectation of sharing a dream of immortality with the god. Death here on Kedak is merely a way station in the passage of life, many lives. So why should we fear death? You believe this, do you not? Believe the transcripts from theBook of the Deadas our religious teachers read them?"
"I believe," said Felg quickly, without passion, without conviction.
The mace was high over Matlin's head now. The crowd came close, watching. Someone touched the single mace remaining on its hook, and the mace swung slowly. The swinging motion caught Felg's eye and he watched, fascinated. But the mace was out of reach and he must have known it. Everything but death was now out of reach, forever out of reach.
"That death is not a cold sleep from which there is no awakening?"
"Yes, yes!"
"That reincarnation will come to you?" Why am I doing this, Matlin wondered. It was to prove a point: but he knew not what point he wished to prove.
"Yes, yes...."
"That the loss of life is to be suffered before the loss of honor?"
"Yes. By the holy pages ofThe Book of the Dead, kill me!"
"All this you believe?"
Light caught the spikes of the mace. They flashed. Someone had to carry the Polarian tourist to a chair and settle her there. Sweat made her clothing cling to her body, revealing a figure like a sow's. Sweat beaded her face, but her ugly little eyes gazed on Matlin as if he'd made love to her.
"State your belief," said Matlin.
"Kill me." A barely audible whisper.
"State your belief, Felg."
Felg's eyes riveted on the mace. His face was gray. His eyes pleaded with the mace, as if cold metal, death-dealing metal, might heed the message Matlin would not. Silence was a wall between this room and the rest of the world.
And Felg screamed, "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"
His eyes blinked. Tears streamed down his cheeks and he rolled over to fall on his knees before Matlin. "If you had killed me at once," he sobbed bitterly. "If you would have killed me. Damn you, I don't believe, I don't believe...."
"Then live," said Matlin indifferently, all at once not caring if Felg lived or died.
A roar went up from the crowd of extra-Kedaki, but the Kedaki themselves were sullen. Highborn like Felg, they also did not believe in reincarnation. They saw themselves on the floor, craven before what seemed to be a lowborn member of their race, lives spared and honor destroyed.
The beautiful woman who had been with Felg took Matlin's elbow. "They're ugly now," she said. "You'd better get out of here."
"What difference does it make to you?"
"Difference? No difference. Felg is a fool and you gave me pleasure."
"Come with me," Matlin said on impulse.
It was very hot outside and for the first time when they reached the street Matlin knew that he had been close to death.
CHAPTER VI
"Listen," said Matlin. "You don't have to come with me."
"You told me to."
"That was before."
They had walked a long time through the hot damp stillness of the Kedaki night. They had not spoken. Matlin's thoughts drifted aimlessly; the woman was content to share his silence.
"Listen," he said again as they passed the bright glowing lights of the Junction City bus depot, where the big gas-turbine-driven busses snarled as they turned out of the streams of traffic. "I'm going somewhere."
"You're walking, yes."
"I don't mean that. Somewhere. And I don't even know your name."
"It's Haazahri. Where are you going?"
Matlin said, "Balata 'kai."
"The ruins of the First City? Why in the world...."
"I don't know why. It doesn't matter why. Something in me says go there to open the tombs of memory."
"You don't have memory?"
"The Earthquake," said Matlin. "I remember nothing before it."
"Well, you can't go to Balata 'kai."
"You don't have to come with me."
"I didn't mean that. It's against the law."
"Since when?" demanded Matlin.
"Since the quake. Until they are rebuilt, the ruins are no place for tourists. Until they are rebuilt, the ruins are a fine place for thieves. Since the records of the birth of our civilization are among those ruins, the police have orders to kill any trespassers. That's why you can't go. Is it terribly important to you?"
"I feel that it is. I don't know why. As if—as if something's waiting there for me."
"You shouldn't tell me. I'm supposed to report you. I—"
"Will you?" Matlin asked indifferently.
"I will not," said Haazahri promptly. "I'll go with you."
Matlin shook his head, bemused. He couldn't believe his ears. His troubles were his troubles. Why should the beautiful Haazahri accompany him? Why should she want to?
He asked, "Why?"
"Because you gave me pleasure."
Matlin felt disappointed. "You enjoyed the beating Felg got? You enjoyed his shaming?"
"No, I don't mean that. It's your name and how ... how you live up to its suggestion of heresy. Religion is a good thing on other worlds, Matlin. I have spoken with people. On the planets of Antares, where the folk accept with choice a pantheism of total godhood, that is good; on Earth, where several religions freely proclaim the worship of a single great deity under different names, that is good. But don't you see, here on Kedak—but of course, you see. The point I make is, you say what you believe. If another...."
"But I don't believe. I'm an iconoclast."
"If another feels as you do, but says nothing...."
"You, Haazahri?"
"I. And so you give me pleasure. You're a strange man, Matlin, but a brave one. If you lost your memory, is Matlin a new name you have given yourself?"
"Yes."
"I wonder," Haazahri mused, looking at him and smiling. She was a tall woman, her face almost on a level with his own. She stared frankly into his eyes, boldly, still smiling. "I wonder if you have any family, if you are married...."
"I'm a long way from home," Matlin said abruptly.
"Now, what does that mean? What is your mind trying to tell you?"
Matlin shook his head in wonder. "The words—just came!"
Haazahri was still smiling. "No, you wouldn't be married."
"Why not?"
"Because," said Haazahri, "until this day you hadn't met me."
"Haazahri, listen...." he began.
"Don't start that again. I'm coming with you to Balata 'kai."
"Haazahri...."
But she swung to him abruptly, clutching his tunic and drawing herself close to him. "Matlin," she breathed tremulously. "Matlin, love...." They were in the pleasure district of Junction City, the lights a mad whirl-and-flash, the crowds noisy, drunken, unconcerned.
They stood together, as stone. But the blood boiled in their veins, and their hearts were not stone.
"Haazahri," he said. Then he kissed her.
CHAPTER VII
Gawroi's office at Kedaki College was furnished home-style with low benches and a central mat rather than chairs and a desk. The home-style furnishings, in their simple beauty, were not popular here on Kedak. Typical, thought Gawroi angrily. For five thousand years home-style is good enough for the Kedaki. For five thousand years no muddle-brained agitators question the value of home-style, its beauty or its function. Then a wave of false galactic brotherhood sweeps Kedak and the big, ungainly desks and chairs clutter more offices every day, so a man finds it difficult to move about without striking his body against some sharp edge or other.
And emotionally? Emotionally it is the same. The Kedaki religion is—the Kedaki religion. The cornerstone on which the world-spanning structure that is the edifice of Kedaki culture rests. The womb of knowledge and the sum of knowledge. But—questioned now. Doubted secretly by some among the highborn, as if they get a masochistic satisfaction from believing their gods are false and their fifty-generation belief in metempsychosis an attempt of their own class to keep the lowborn in servitude. Why, it was ridiculous!
"Come in, come in, my dear fellow!" Gawroi boomed, motioning his visitor to one of the low benches. "So you are Felg."
"I came as soon as I saw your announcement," Felg said, seating himself uncomfortably on the low bench.
"Tell me about it, Felg. What you said by phone, it could be very important."
Felg licked his lips nervously. "You realize I'm not usually an informer, but when I saw that the Chairman of the Department of Archaeology at the College and the police were both seeking this Matlin...."
"The police were not my idea," Gawroi growled. And they weren't, but not for the reason he would have this Felg think. If the Five Bureau decided to ring in the police, he supposed that was the Five Bureau's business. But the police might make Matlin—the Earthman Rhodes, he was sure—wary. "Now, then. You say you know the whereabouts of Matlin?"
"I think so."
"May I ask, Felg, why you...." Gawroi let his voice trail off, hoping Felg would interrupt him. And Felg did.
"Why I inform on this man? Because it is my duty as a loyal Kedaki, as a servant of my world and the world-idea which governs us, through five thousand years, from Balata 'kai."
"Good," said Gawroi. "Now tell me."
"Last night the man Matlin took a bus to Haatok."
"The northern outskirt of the city?"
"Yes, Haatok. This was as close to Balata 'kai as public conveyance could take him."
"He's going to Balata 'kai?"
"The bus was night darkened. I was on the bus. I got off the bus at Haatok, as he did. He was in the company of a woman named Haazahri."
"Haazahri," said Gawroi, writing the name down. "Go ahead."
"On the bus, he and the woman Haazahri spoke softly, but I heard some of their words. In the morning, that is, today, they were going to Balata 'kai."
"Why? Did they say why?"
"I failed to hear them. Why do you want this Matlin?"
"Isn't his illegal entry into Balata 'kai enough?"
"You didn't know that," said Felg, "until I told you."
"I'll ask you a question, Felg. Why did you want to inform on Matlin?"
"I already told you...."
"And I'm asking again. What were your personal reasons?"
"I have no personal reasons."
"Well, not that it matters."
Felg said suddenly, "You want to kill Matlin, don't you?"
"Eh? What's that?" Gawroi, startled, looked down at the reclining man. He had an impulse to kick the smirking face. Then he calmed himself with an effort and said, "But that's ridiculous! I have reason to believe that the man who calls himself Matlin is actually an Earthman named Rhodes, a victim of amnesia, suffered in the quake. Rhodes was a colleague of mine, you see, and...."
"I hate Matlin!" Felg said in a soft but hate-filled voice. "There's a brother to my hate in this room, I know there is, and nothing you can say will hide it. But don't you see, Gawroi? You don't have to tell me about your hatred. You can keep it secret. The important fact is, you hate. You want to kill this man. I hate him. I want to destroy him. I hate that man."
"Rhodes...." began Gawroi mildly.
"Rhodes? All right, all right, Rhodes. Maybe Matlinisan Earthman somehow wearing purple skin. I don't care. It means nothing, nothing. Together, if we can find Matlin out there, in Balata 'kai...."
Gawroi was thinking: perhaps I can use this man's hatred. Because now that the Five Bureau had seen fit to call in the police, it was very dangerous. The police could be a problem. The police did not work secretly. Whatever the police did would be open to public scrutiny. So, if the police caught Matlin-Rhodes, he might escape with his life—and even his secret. The secret! The knowledge Matlin-Rhodes carried around in his head, lost to the world, lost even to himself—that was important!
Rhodes had said it wasThe Book of the Dead. The realBook of the Dead. Now, Gawroi and any loyal Kedaki knew better; it was notThe Book of the Dead; it was a fantastically clever forgery; and it could bring the multiple hells of uncertainty to Kedak if Rhodes were given the chance to find where he had hidden it and the chance to make its contents public. Rhodes had told him about it. "The Book of the Dead, Gawroi," he had said, before the quake. "I'll tell you about this holy of holies of yours, Gawroi, and if I'm irreverent, I can't help being irreverent. Man, look around you! Must the lowborn remain lowborn, with no chance to better themselves, generation after generation? Do you really need human footstools to support the soles and heels of your vanity? They thought so for five thousand years, and they gave you a legacy. They gave youThe Book of the Dead, with its lies and exaggerations and fabrications and deceit. Reincarnation! The writers of that book didn't know anything more about reincarnation than I do! But the lowborn swallowed their story for five thousand years. Well, it's time this stopped...."
And Gawroi had said, "What's it your business? You, an Earthman?"
"Sure, I'm an Earthman," Rhodes had answered. "But I'm a scientist first. I seek the truth, Gawroi, and I've found the truth. It won't be hidden much longer."
"Hidden?" Gawroi had asked incredulously. "It's hidden?"
"Hell, yes, it's hidden. Don't you think I know the score? I'd be beaten if necessary, for possession of that book."
Beaten was an understatement. The next day, Rhodes had been imprisoned. His mistake, Gawroi thought coldly, was confiding in me. I was a fellow scientist, though, and men like Rhodes make much of the scientific fraternity. Well, I'm a scientist second, a Kedaki first.
And now, this. Now Felg. Through Felg and with Felg, he could perhaps get to Matlin-Rhodes before the police. And make sure that the falseBook of the Dead, and its forger, were not allowed to poison the minds of a whole people.
He asked Felg, "Why didn't you go to the police?"
"At first," Felg said, "I thought I would go to the police. There in Haatok, though, I changed my mind. Listen, Gawroi: I reasoned that if the police wanted him and you wanted him too, then your reason must be more than merely academic. And, while this Matlin spent the night in an Haatokian inn with the woman Haazahri, I told myself: Gawroi's the man for you. Go to Gawroi because neither your personal reason for hating Matlin, nor his, need bow before the will of the police. The police, capable but indifferent, might bungle. But Gawroi and yourself—"
"That's enough," said Gawroi. "I see what you mean. Felg listen to me. If we do this thing together, if we join forces, my motives must never be questioned."
"Nor mine."
"Good. Very well, Felg. I hate this Matlin. And you—you want Matlin killed?"
"Killed," echoed Felg.
"One promise. He is not to be killed until he leads me to something."
"Where? We can't be chasing all over Kedak."
"In Balata 'kai, probably. That's why he went there."
"Is he really an Earthman named Rhodes?"
"I believe so. Does it matter?"
"It doesn't matter to me. But it might matter to the police."
"Exactly. You haven't told anyone else?"
"No."
"And the woman with Rhodes? Haazahri? What of her?"
"You leave Haazahri to me," Felg said.
Gawroi shook his hand, regretting the need for the Earth-style gesture which had swept the galaxy. He had an instinctive dislike for Felg, but thought Felg just the man to help him, just the man to join him at Balata 'kai, just the man to see to it that Matlin-Rhodes never returned to Junction City alive....
CHAPTER VIII
Balata 'kai!
Even the word was like heady wine.
Balata 'kai!
Where, five thousand years ago, civilization—and a lie—had been born on Kedak. Where now the ruins were ghostly in the early dawnlight, standing like grim sentinels against the still dark sky, silhouetted there on the limestone crag above the floor of the desert.
"Would you believe it, Matlin," Haazahri said, "I'm a native of Junction City, but I've never seen the ruins of Balata 'kai?"
"Sure. It's like that all over. Only the tourists are interested in what makes where you live famous," Matlin said, and smiled. He was happy. He felt happy for the first time since his accident. The woman? She was part of the reason, but not most of it. Did he love her? He hardly knew, and wouldn't press it yet, not until he remembered. Because it wasn't fair either to Haazahri or whatever he was, whoever he was, in lost memory.
It was Balata 'kai. He belonged here. Somehow, he could sense that. The navel of his people, was that the reason? Because any Kedaki would feel at home where the world-idea that governed his planet had been born, fifty centuries ago?
But not Matlin. Matlin was an iconoclast. Matlin did not believe, Matlin wished to smash idols, Matlin wished....
Did he? He didn't know what he wished. He'd come here on an impulse. Idol-breaker? But why? And what idols?
"Look," he said, pointing at the limestone crag. There was something at once ineffably serene and tumultuously exciting about the five thousand year old slabs and columns perched there. There were stories they could tell, stories of generations long turned to dust, stories of the past and how, from the past, the present came, child of history, buffetted by forces it only half-understood, the helpless, passionate, living present, the moment for which, whether we admit it or not, we all live, ephemeral, hardly palpable, thrilling and then gone, dead, history, the navel for tomorrow which is today....
"It is beautiful," Haazahri said slowly.
A wind stirred, swirling little puffs of sand at their feet, their clothing, even their faces. The sun was very hot already and would be much hotter soon. Dazzling white Deneb, far brighter than Sol....
Sol!
But Sol was the day star of the planet Earth, remote on the other edge of this small filamental arm of the galaxy. So, why Sol? Look at your skin, Matlin. Matlin, the Reborn! Proud, insolent name! But look at your skin. Gaze on it. You're Kedaki. Of course you're Kedaki. What else could you be?
"Have you ever been here before?" Haazahri asked.
"Yes, I think so."
"Probably it's why you wanted to come."
"I've been here. I know I have, Haazahri. Many times. Straight ahead, there, see where I'm pointing? There used to be a staircase there, carved in the living rock. For tourists to climb to the top, to see the ruins. See the jumble of rocks now? We'll have to climb, but it won't be like climbing stairs. We'll—"
"Get down!" Haazahri cried suddenly, and threw herself at him, and bore them both to the sand, where they lay still. "Where you were pointing," she whispered. "Look, but don't turn your head. Don't move. Someone's up there."
They were a hundred paces from the base of the limestone crag, obscure in the dimness of its early morning shadow. The crag was perhaps another hundred paces high and at the top, where the three tallest columns of Balata 'kai stood, piercing the sky for half the height of the crag or more, a figure was marching.
"Police," whispered Haazahri. "Has he seen us?"
"No," said Matlin. "It's dark down here. We're all right, I think."
"There is treasure in the ruins," Haazahri told him. "It's what the tourists come to see mostly. But since the quake, the ruins are off-limits. Thieves have been out here in the dark of night, defiling the temples and...."
"Defiling?"
"Defiling, if one believes."
"Do you believe, Haazahri?"
"You're a strange man, Matlin. We're down on our bellies in the sand, hiding from the police, and yet you ask a question like that. I—I don't know if I believe or not. I believe a people need something, some faith...."
"Do you believe in reincarnation? Do you believe that every poor craven lowborn, if he leads a meek, servile life, will be rewarded in a fresh incarnation by moving up a rung in the social ladder? Do you believe?"
Slowly, Haazahri shook her head. "No," she said, confusion in her eyes. "I never could admit it to myself before, Matlin. But you have a way ... you put it so simply. No, Matlin. I don't believe that."
"Good, because otherwise we would have been defilers."
"I don't understand."
"I'm not sure I do, either. But we're going up there. We can work our way up among the rocks, when the guard is out of sight. We can—"
"It will be dangerous."
"I have to chance it. You don't."
"I'll go with you. I already said so, Matlin. But why will we be defilers?"
"Because there's something up there. Oh, I don't know what. Something, though. Waiting for me. My head, Haazahri! My memory! As if I've been sundered, disembodied, and part of me is up there. I—I had it once, this thing. I had it, and lost it. No ... wait.I had it, then hid it.It was something—dynamite, Haazahri. Something so explosive that I didn't know what to do with it but knew I must do something. Like playing with fire, the memory says."
"What kind of fire?"
"Fire for the Kedaki. Cultural fire. Idol-breaking, iconoclastic...."
"But you don't remember what?"
"No."
"And the way you speak of us, The Kedaki. As if you, as if you're—alien."
Matlin said nothing. His head ached with the half-thoughts, the dream-thoughts. The wind had died down and he breathed deeply of the clear hot morning air. When he looked up and saw the ruins of Balata 'kai silhouetted against the brightening sky, he could see nothing of the guard.
"Come," he said, and stood up, helping Haazahri to her feet. She leaned against him for a moment, the maiden suppleness of her ripe against his thews and chest. He held her and she breathed against his ear, touching the lobe of it with her lips. "I love you, Matlin," she said. "Whoever you are, whatever you are. You know that, don't you?"
"Haazahri," he said, pushing her away gently. "You may only hurt yourself. I don't know. I don't know! I can't say anything, can't think anything of that, until I know. My name is not Matlin. I don't even know my name."
A faint, wistful smile played about her lips as she said, "All right, lead on to what's left of that staircase of yours."
They took half a dozen strides toward the base of the limestone crag. Limestone. On the desert, with little water to erode it, how long would limestone endure? A dozen eternities, thought Matlin, and more. Balata 'kai—forever....
Suddenly, he was running. Something had moved in the shadow at the foot of the cliff. Since it hadn't called out, whatever it was, he hoped that it would not. He ran silently, swiftly.
He reached the spot. There was nothing. He gazed around. The shadows were dark.
Something just above his head made a sound. A pebble was dislodged, dropped on his shoulder and to the sand. He did not look up. On his way he'd seen a ledge there, its flat surface at about the height his hand could reach. The ledge, narrow, barely wide enough for a man to stand on, would not be empty now.
His hand blurred up at it, grasped something which yielded, then struggled. He tugged and a voice pleaded: "Lord, I'll fall!"
With a yank, he pulled the man off the ledge. He had hold of the man's ankle, then let go of it, and leaped on the man when he had fallen to the sand. There was a brief scuffle, and he had the man by the throat. He let his hands go loose for a moment and hissed:
"Who are you?"
"Please, lord. I mean no harm."
"Who are you?"
Just then Haazahri came up. "Why, I know this fellow," she said. "And so do you, Matlin."
He looked again. It was a woe-begotten face, meek, homely, the eyes terror-filled. Its owner said, "I am Ranmut the lowborn, lord."
"Ranmut!" Matlin cried.
"Yesterday you took my place and won, though why you did not kill Felg, I do not know." He grinned hopefully when Matlin's fingers did not return to his throat. "Lord, I came seeking you."
"You followed us all the way out here from Junction City last night?" Matlin asked, amazed.
"It was the least I could do. You saved my life, lord, and while the life means nothing, is but one pathway among many, nevertheless this lowborn like many has a family and even if I go on to a higher pathway that wouldn't help my wife and children, who probably would have starved. Therefore, lord, am I thankful."
"You followed just to tell me this?"
"No, lord. Last night Felg was very angry. When you left the bar with this lovely lady, Felg came after you."
Matlin looked at Haazahri. She nodded, said, "He would."
"All the way to Balata 'kai?" Matlin asked.
"Not this far, lord. The man Felg came as far as Haatok."
"Don't tell me you were on the same bus with us?"
"Yes. And Felg also. Then, last night, after reading the newspaper, Felg rushed back to Junction City. I have saved the newspaper, lord," Ranmut said proudly.
"Saved it?"
"I took the liberty of following Felg back to the bus station. He deposited the newspaper in a trash receptacle. He had marked something."
"Let me see that," Matlin urged as he heard the rustle of paper. Ranmut spread a crumpled sheet before him on the sand and he saw that a small part of the first column was circled in red.
He read, his heart thumping against his ribs: "... professor of archaeology at Kedak College. Ser Gawroi believes this Matlin to be the missing Earth scientist, Philip Rhodes. While the police maintain that Rhodes is harboring some unspecified material deemed not in the best interests of Kedak, Ser Gawroi would not comment on this. 'Rhodes,' the archaeologist said, 'was a colleague. If Rhodes is sick and needs help, we'll have to find him.'
"No reason was given as to why the alleged Earthman was seen in the streets of Junction City last night, to all appearances a native of Kedak. His name, according to Gawroi, is Matlin. If anyone has any knowledge of...."
Then Haazahri took the paper and read it. She returned it to Ranmut, her hand trembling. "Do you know Gawroi?" she asked Matlin.
"No."
"An Earthman? Do you think that's what you are—purple skin or not?"
"Don't look at me like that," Matlin said, smiling. "Earthmen are human too. Just as human as Kedaki."
"I know, but—"
"Yes, I think I'm an Earthman. I think I'm this Philip Rhodes. I—"
"Oh, Matlin! Then you remember?"
"No, but there have been other things—no time to go into them now...." Quotis, he thought. The Arcturan doctor. There had been no mention of Quotis, but there should have been. It was as if the Kedaki authorities and this Gawroi wanted to ease Quotis out of the picture, and Matlin did not like that. Why? Why shouldn't Quotis have been contacted? Quotis knew more about Matlin than anyone did. Gawroi disturbed him more than the police. He sensed that he knew the Kedaki archaeologist. Besides, if Gawroi's purpose for finding Rhodes had not been sinister, wouldn't he seek Quotis for whatever help the Arcturan could offer?
"It means something to you, lord?" Ranmut asked, indicating the newspaper.
When Matlin answered, his words were addressed to Haazahri. "Tell me, would your friend Felg go to the police or to this Gawroi?"
"Felg would avoid the police if he could. Do you trust this Gawroi?"
"No," said Matlin promptly, not bothering to give his reason.
"Then you think Felg and the archaeologist are now in league against you?"
Matlin nodded, grasped Ranmut's shoulders. "Ranmut," he said, "I don't have to tell you you've done enough for us already. You came all the way out here to help, and—"
"I have done nothing, lord. Last night you saved my life, for my family."
"Do you wish to stay at Balata 'kai?"
"We lowborn are told Balata 'kai is a frightful place," said Ranmut, shaking his head dolefully. "We lowborn are told it is most dangerous for us to approach this shrine."
"And still you came," Matlin marveled. "Will you leave now?"
Ranmut shuffled his feet in the sand. "I'll stay if the Lord Matlin wishes."
But Matlin shook his head. "By all means go back."
"If the Lord needs me—"
"No, you can deliver a message for me in Junction City. In the Arcturan hospital, to a Dr. Quotis. Tell him that his patient Matlin is seeking his lost memory at Balata 'kai. Show him the newspaper article and say for certain reasons Matlin does not trust the archaeologist Gawroi. And tell him Matlin has not gone to the police because first he must find something which the police don't want him to find. Ask Quotis to contact the Earth authorities in Junction City, if he thinks that best. You'll do this?"
"Of course, lord," Ranmut said simply, and bowed.
"And don't do that. Don't bow. You're a man, Ranmut. You're as good a man as I am, or Felg, or anyone."
"Yes, lord," said Ranmut doubtfully. He smiled shyly at Haazahri, then Matlin offered his hand and Ranmut shook it solemnly and trudged back across the sands on his long walk to Haatok.
Ranmut was in luck, for a bus was just arriving that would soon take him back to Junction City. He jingled the few remaining denebs in his pocket thinking, proudly, that he had not asked Matlin for money. He owed the strange-talking highborn Kedaki this much: he would defend the message to the alien Quotis with his life if necessary, and it seemed ridiculous to ask money for it, even for the bus fare to Junction City.
He stood in the dusty throngs on the raised sidewalk alongside the bus while its passengers stepped onto the ramp, stretched themselves and claimed their baggage. Suddenly, he froze. Two men came through the wide bus doors together. The very large man he did not know, but the reasonably large one he did. The reasonably large one was Felg and Ranmut turned away quickly, trying to push his way through the crowd. But Ranmut was a small, slender man, and arms, legs and bodies could easily detain him. It was very hot there, and he began to sweat. He felt the sweat streaming from his face, dampening his armpits, coursing down his sides and flanks. He pushed and struggled in the pressing crowd, and the ranks of the indifferent, as if in league with his enemies, closed in.
"Careful, lowborn!" an indignant Kedaki woman chirped, and Ranmut offered her an obsequious smile, then helplessly felt the surging crowd, pushing forward now to find seats on the bus, turning him so that he faced Felg and the man who must be Gawroi.
The two highborn Kedaki were just alighting from the bus, their feet touching down on the section of the ramp which had been roped off for disembarking passengers. Gawroi said something, and Felg answered. They were very close. They were far closer than Ranmut had realized. Then Felg pointed and his finger, unwavering, speared air in Ranmut's direction. Ranmut tried to make himself very small. Sweat beaded his brow, stung his eyes. He wanted to disappear into his mean clothing. Felg pointed again and walked quickly with Gawroi to the rear of the crowd, where Ranmut lost them.
Several minutes later, the crowd had swept him to the doors of the bus. He held his three denebs overhead in one wet hand, waiting for the conductor to exchange them for a ticket to Junction City. Heads taller than his were everywhere. He could not see the conductor. Then something plucked the three denebs from his hand and a smile of relief lit his woe-begotten features momentarily. He expected to feel the bus ticket thrust between his fingers, where he would clutch it almost lovingly. It did not matter that the bus was already crowded and he would have standing room all the way back to Junction City. It mattered only that Felg had not pointed in his direction, that by now Felg and the archaeologist Gawroi were gone from the depot, and....
A hand closed on his elbow. A voice hissed in his ear: "This way, Ranmut." He knew the voice, and despaired. It was Felg.
They took him quickly from the bus station and thence across the hot dusty streets of Haatok to a small hotel where a sleepy-eyed desk clerk admitted them, gave them a big brass key and went back to doing absolutely nothing and wishing he could do less without even seeing their faces. Ranmut wanted to scream out for help, but the hotel clerk would be no help at all. Ranmut allowed them, Felg and the man Gawroi, to lead him upstairs to a small, dingy room with scabbing walls and a dirty floor and a faintly foul smell. Gawroi, who had held his elbow all the way from the bus station, flung him across the room as Felg shut the door. He fell on the bed and he did not weigh much, but the bed collapsed under him. At another time, it would have been very funny.
"What are you doing in Haatok?" Felg snapped.
He got up. Felg pushed him and he fell on the mattress and remained there.
"What are you doing in Haatok?"
He was not glib. He had never been glib. He could think of absolutely no answer, no fiction to substitute for the truth. He remained silent. Something rustled as he leaned uncomfortably on his left side. It was the newspaper with the circled article. If Felg found that, Felg would know. So, Felg must not find it. He shifted his weight to that side, trying to cover the telltale edge of paper protruding from his pocket.
"What are you doing?" Felg said.
He rolled over. The paper rustled. He wanted to scream.
Felg took hold of his arm and dragged him to his feet. The other man, Gawroi, merely stood and watched. Felg was going to get the newspaper, Ranmut knew. He broke away and ran toward the door. Felg stuck his foot out and Ranmut fell over it headlong, skidding across the dirty floor to the door, where he lay in a heap. Directly in front of his face was Gawroi's large shoe, the toe under his chin. But Gawroi's shoe did not move.
Felg reached down and got the newspaper. His face became dark with blood when he saw it. He pulled Ranmut to his feet and shook the paper before his face and bellowed, "Where did you get this?"
"In the bus depot, lord."
Felg thrust Ranmut back toward the broken bed and showed the newspaper to Gawroi. "I marked it. It's my paper," he admitted.
"That was clumsy of you, wasn't it?" Gawroi said. He had a powerful voice, but there seemed to be very little concern in it, as if whatever happened hardly mattered to him at all. "So now Rhodes knows you're after him."
"You think this slave told Rhodes?"
"Look at him. Dust-covered. Can't you see he's been on the desert, Felg? Can't you see anything?"
"Yes," Felg grumbled. "Then what can we do?"
Instead of answering, Gawroi said to Ranmut: "You realize we can do with you as we wish. No one knows we brought you here. The hotel clerk saw nothing. What sort of errand are you running for Rhodes?"
"Who," said Ranmut, "is Rhodes?"
"For Matlin."
Ranmut said nothing.
Felg growled, "We can break the bones in your body one at a time, you fool!"
"Yes, lord," said Ranmut meekly, speaking to gain courage from the sound of his own voice.
"But we won't do anything of the sort," Gawroi said. "Why should we? Listen."
A rumbling sound could be heard in the street. It became a growl and then a loud smooth purr of power. "The bus to Junction City," Gawroi said. "The only bus. What can this fellow do here in Haatok."
"He can go to the police."
"Who are seeking Matlin? Don't be ridiculous."
"Well, I don't trust him."
"Did I say I trusted him? But it doesn't matter, if he's quite helpless."
"Alive, he isn't helpless."
Gawroi said, "Violence satisfies a certain need in you, doesn't it? Do you want to hurt this little fellow? Is that what you wish? I have no interest in the matter, but I am ready to go to Balata 'kai."
"Alive, he isn't helpless," Felg repeated.
Ranmut did not let the relief show on his face. Words now, just words. They were going to let him go. And somehow, for the first time in his life, he wanted to live. It was very important that he lived. He had no wish to die. Because he did not believe? In truth, he could not tell himself that. Because he had always been a good man, if a lowborn, and had no desire for reincarnation if the highborn were men such as Felg and Gawroi? Something of that passed through his mind, but it was not altogether clear. I'm going to live, he thought. After all, I'm going to live. And he allowed himself the luxury of a slow smile. The smile dropped from his face when Gawroi said:
"All right, Felg. Do as you wish. I won't interfere with your pleasure. But I'm going downstairs. I'm renting a sand-car to take us to Balata 'kai. I'll meet you outside."
"Alive, he—"
"Don't try to rationalize it for my benefit. Do as you wish. I have utterly no interest in the matter." Gawroi gave Ranmut one final, utterly indifferent look, and left the room. That look told Ranmut his doom was sealed.
He was small and weak and Felg was a strapping, strong highborn. Felg said, when the door shut, "You had an extra day of life, for you should have died by my mace."
Ranmut said nothing.
Felg said, "Are you happy? You probably led a life exemplary for its lack of significance, as a lowborn should. You ought to be happy—your next incarnation will be a higher one."
"Please kill me if you are going to, lord," said Ranmut.
"Don't you believe? Aren't you glad for the chance to die? What have you to live for?" Beads of sweat stood out on Felg's forehead, and Ranmut did not understand.
"Kill me, lord. I won't resist, I won't prolong it."
"Then you do believe?" demanded Felg softly, passionately, his fingers closing on Ranmut's frail throat without applying pressure.
"No, lord," said Ranmut. "I do not believe."
"You've got to believe in reincarnation!" Felg screamed.
"I no longer believe."
"You must! Don't you see, you must?"
"I only know that my belief fades like the leaves in autumn in deep southern climes."
"Believe!" screamed Felg.
This was all madness to Ranmut. He waited for the fingers to tighten on his throat, to constrict there. But they did not.
"Believe!" The hands uncoiled, made weak fists and beat without strength against Ranmut's chest, beat beseechingly. "I need your belief!" Felg screamed, and, when next he spoke, he was sobbing with bitterness and fear. "I need your belief, please oh please, I need it to make my own belief strong. I need it, I need you, Ranmut, please, you've got to believe, because you're a lowborn and you have nothing to live for and if you don't believe then surely I, I can't believe either and that leaves nothing.... Ranmut, Ranmut, I don't want to die, Ranmut...."
Despite everything, Ranmut felt himself engulfed by waves of pity. He said, softly, "But you're not going to die, lord."
Felg hit him and his eyes and nose stung, the hot blood trickling from his nostrils. Then Felg sobbed and did not look at Ranmut again. Sitting on the broken bed, Ranmut watched the big man lumber, sobbing, from the room.
Outside, a horn blew. Gawroi was waiting and Ranmut sensed that if Felg were weak, Gawroi was strong. Together they were going to Balata 'kai after Matlin and there was nothing that he, Ranmut, could do to warn his friend that danger and possibly death was approaching across the sun-scorched sands.
CHAPTER IX
The walls glowed.
They had come a long way, Matlin and Haazahri, through tunnels carved in the soft, limey rock under the Balata 'kai ruins. The last signs for tourists had long-since vanished behind them and the way would have been totally dark but for the strangely glowing walls. Matlin went confidently at a dog-trot. Occasionally he stopped while Haazahri rested, and she saw the look on his face and never questioned him.
He knew where he was going, without knowing how he knew. But he had been this way before—seeking ... no, hiding. He had found something in the ruins, in an airtight box which had preserved it as if it had been left there yesterday and not five thousand years ago, and he had come this way to hide it, because it needed safe-keeping until he was ready for it....
If he could only find it!
For he knew that it held the key to his memory. A blow on the head, the Arcturan physician Quotis had told him once, was not enough to destroy memory. The blow was merely a trigger. Unconsciously, the victim of amnesia wanted his memory destroyed, to forget something intolerable, to hide something....
To hide something. Prison. Dark, wet walls. Torture. Subtle psychological torture. He held out, but couldn't hold out much longer. The fire, the beams falling, the horrible burning. And gladly surrendering memory because, miraculously, he had not died. Surrendering memory to hide—what lay before him in these caverns! One look, he thought as he ran, leaving Haazahri momentarily behind, and it will all come surging back like the sea at ebb tide. One look and I'll know not merely what it was I hid here, but the secrets of myself as well.
"Haazahri," he said.
Abruptly he stopped. He was here and the walls glowed and he could see but needed no vision for this.
"Haazahri," he said again, and she came up to him. "We're here, Haazahri," he said.
The passage looked like all the others. He'd led the way to it instinctively and knew that if he lost whatever instinct had guided his feet, they would be lost in this labyrinth forever. But it did not seem very important now. What was important had been hidden here, in this cavern.
"Where?" Haazahri asked. "Where is it, whatever you seek?"
He touched the wall near her head and she heard a shifting, a grinding of heavy stones. Part of the wall swung slowly to one side, revealing a dark recess, a niche with walls that did not glow. Matlin thrust his hands within the niche and took out a large, heavy book with a black, unmarked cover. When he got it clear of the niche, he looked at it a moment in the glowing cavern light and his eyes grew big and round and the book dropped from his hands to the floor of the cavern. He stood there, clutching his head with his hands and Haazahri cried:
"What is it? What happened, Matlin?"
The pain of returning memory thrust at him like a sharp knife, but was not intolerable. He remembered! He remembered!
"Rhodes," he said in a dream. "My name is Rhodes. Phil Rhodes, and I'm an Earthman. They took me and they tortured me and I was going to break. I must have known it, subconsciously. So I welcomed amnesia, as the one way I could not reveal where I had hidden this. I had revealed once the fact that I'd found it, to Gawroi, before I told the Earth authorities. The Earth authorities still don't know, but when they do know, when they see what has been found...."
"But what is it?" Haazahri asked him.
He stooped, picking up the book. "Earth doesn't want to dictate to your people, understand that. You are a sovereign people. But if in your sovereignty a small percentage of you have used lies and fabrications to enslave fifty generations of your people, and if Earth decides to do something about that...."
"But what is it?"
With both hands, Rhodes held the big book over his head. His face shone with triumph and he said softly, his voice almost a whisper, "The Book of the Dead, Haazahri."
She looked at it, and at him. Then abruptly she fell to her knees and touched the floor with her face. "The Book," she said. "The Book?You mean that?"
"Haazahri, listen. You're important. You're very important. I knew it would be dangerous coming here. Maybe, instinctively, that's why I let you come with me. Because you're so important. You're a Kedaki, don't you see? With a Kedaki's reactions. I know about thisBook. It's sacred. It's had five thousand years in hiding to become sacred. Even your rulers today probably didn't know where it was. Excerpts only, key passages out of context, remained from the days the book had been hidden, remained to keep most of the Kedaki enslaved, chained to the lies of metempsychosis.
"I know, Haazahri. I know what it must be like. This book is the center of everything you believe. Your loves and dreams and hopes. Right now you must be telling yourself you ought to remain there, forever, your face in the dust before it.The Book of the Dead, Haazahri! Well, theBookis lies, do you understand? Lies! And I can prove it, the Earth scientists here on Kedak can prove it to all your people. Listen to me, Haazahri. This book doesn't explain the wonders of reincarnation, as you thought it might. No, Haazahri! Although, out of context, what material your leaders had might indicate that it did.
"This book is a book of instructions for the ruling classes of Kedak, through the unborn generations. The lies are explained, codified, systematized. There is no doubt, nothing left to interpretation. Keep them base, the book says. Keep them base and promise them a better life in their next incarnation, and they'll obey you. That's the cynical message ofThe Book of the Dead, Haazahri! Don't you see the difference between this and the true religions, in their many forms, of the other worlds? Yes, good behavior is rewarded, and should be rewarded. But what is good behavior for the Kedaki lowborn? Good behavior is merely servitude, slavery. And the reward which the slave-masters hold out is one which, in the beginning, in this book, they did not even believe themselves. It's a fiction, Haazahri! And they say so. They say so here. Do you believe me?"
For a long time Haazahri did not answer. When she did, her voice was choked with sobs. "You ... you're an Earthman. You brought me out here to ... test me withThe Bookand see ... not because you wanted me ... not because you love me. Matlin, Matlin...."
Rhodes said, "Stand up, Haazahri, and show me your face. Stand up, Haazahri, and let me kiss your tears. And don't cry, Haazahri. There isn't any reason to cry. Yes, I'm an Earthman. But I love you, Haazahri; I love you—"
She stood quickly and somehow he could sense that five thousand years of dogma and superstition were slipping away as, in time, with the passing of a generation perhaps, and with the understanding and patience of the rest of the galaxy, they would slip away for all of Kedak's peoples. She stood up boldly in the face ofThe Book, but seemed shy. She said, "Then Matlin is no more?"
"I am Matlin and more than Matlin. Matlin was only a part of me. But you can call me Matlin, if you wish. All our lives."
"Doyouwish?"
"It is not my name."
"Philrhodes?"
"It is customary," he said, smiling, "to use one half or the other."
"Phil? Phil?" she breathed tremulously, and came into his arms. Then, after a while, he tuckedThe Book of the Deadunder one arm and her hand under the other and started on the long trek back toward the sunshine.
Daylight was very bright, dazzling them.
"There they are!" a voice shouted, and Haazahri screamed:
"It's Felg!"
Rhodes said, "Watch theBook," and flung it to one side. They had come out into the daylight on the high limestone crag which jutted above the desert floor and Rhodes as yet could see no more than shadows against the fierce sun. The shadows came apart and one went toward Haazahri and the Book, and the other toward Rhodes. Tears sprang from Rhodes' eyes in the effort to see. Neither man was armed. It seemed right, somehow, that they battle for theBookwhich had been born with the birth of a civilization, with their bare hands.
Then he was closing with Felg and heard Haazahri scream and knew the noise of their fighting would summon the guards, who would take theBookfrom him.
"My life!" screamed Felg hysterically. "You destroyed my life!"
The words meant much to Felg, but meant nothing to Rhodes. Felg was mad—and strong with the strength of madness.
He forced Rhodes slowly back, and back meant toward the edge of the precipice and Rhodes got a quick vision of it as he was spun around, the world down there, far down, the tiny sand-car gleaming in the sun and the long stretches of sand and far away the huddle of stone structures that was Haatok gleaming in the sun. And then, still being forced back, he saw Haazahri, sprawled on the sand before one of the three great columns of the ruins of Balata 'kai. Blood trickled from her mouth and she was not moving. OfThe Book of the Deadand Gawroi he saw nothing.
Then his own madness matched and surpassed Felg's own. Haazahri, he thought, Haazahri. His hands found Felg's throat and held there a moment, but not long. He shifted them and got Felg's weight up and Felg screamed a thin sound in the high air and then he sent Felg's body hurtling down, the scream fading, over the precipice.
He did not wait to see it land, but ran to Haazahri. He touched her breast and she was warm, warm! her heart beating....
"Haazahri," he murmured.
Her eyelids fluttered. "Go after him! Quickly, for he hasThe Book. I'll follow."
He whirled and sprinted for the broken, ruined staircase on the side of the cliff. Down it he went, tumbling, falling, sliding from rock-ledge to rock-ledge. The staircase, what was left of it, turned and twisted, and he could not see Gawroi below him.
When finally he hit the hot sands of the desert he saw Gawroi's figure ahead of him. Gawroi, running swiftly, andThe Book! Heading for the sand-car, swift, swift—
And if Gawroi won the race, a people would remain in bondage. How long? Another five thousand years?
Gawroi looked over his shoulder once, redoubled his efforts. The sand was hot and the wind whipped it at Rhodes' face, but he was closing the gap rapidly on the ponderous Gawroi. Still, there was no time. The distance was too great.... Gawroi stumbled, rolled over, lostThe Book, clutched it and began running again. Rhodes was closer, closer—
And Gawroi flung himself into the sand-car.
The engine growled, caught. The wheels spun in the sand, tractionless at first. But soon their big treads gained traction, and the car leaped forward with a surge of power.
Defeat....
But the car spun around, bore down on Rhodes. At the last moment he realized what Gawroi was attempting. He knew too much and Gawroi wanted to kill him.
Gawroi was going to run him down.
The car came screaming across the sand at him, whine of tires and whine of over-heated motor and Gawroi's grim face, growing, growing....
Rhodes flung himself aside, then leaped. His hands caught the side of the open car, clung there even though it felt as if his arms would be wrenched from their sockets. He had a quick glimpse of a dot which was Haazahri working her way down the staircase on the side of the cliff and another—a guard—pursuing her. Then he pulled himself up into the sand-car and was grappling with Gawroi.
They fought, and the wheel was forgotten, the car lurching from side to side across the sand. The cliff blurred ahead of them. How fast were they going? Seventy miles an hour? Eighty? If they struck at that speed....
Gawroi was a man possessed. He didn't care. If the crash would destroyThe Book of the Dead, destroy Rhodes, who knew ofThe Book, it was enough.
Rhodes pushed flank against flank in the narrow front seat of the open sand car. Gawroi's hands tore at his face, ripping skin and flesh. All Gawroi needed was a few seconds, and it would all be over. Gawroi, who was fighting for an idea, fighting to preserve a five thousand year lie. And Rhodes, who was fighting that a people might live, after five thousand years....
Abruptly Gawroi tumbled from the car, clawing at air and screaming before he hit the sand at terrible speed, rolling and tumbling and coming to rest with his head at an impossible angle.
Then Rhodes was battling the car, and for a time which seemed extended over a yawning gap of infinity, he did not know if he would be able to bring it under control in time. The base of the cliff loomed. He could not see above it. He stamped on the brake and still the cliff blurred at him. He felt himself flung forward....
And gazed at the wall of rock, two feet in front of the now motionless car.
In a daze, he watched Haazahri climb in beside him. Close by a guard was shouting something; in the car, Haazahri was saying something about his cut and bleeding face.
The guard would find Felg, his body broken from the fall; would find Gawroi, his neck broken. The guard would summon help.
But by that time, Rhodes knew,The Book of the Deadwould be in safe hands. Ever since the earthquake, thieves had been looting Balata 'kai. They were thieves in the eyes of the guard, only that. There was no reason for special pursuit and, in Gawroi's sand-car, they would reach Junction City.
And the pages ofThe Book of the Deadwould be flung open for all the worlds to see. A generation might pass before the Kedaki could assume their rightful place in the civilized community of worlds, a generation in which the kind of thinking that had put Rhodes in a prison cell must be stamped out.
But in the end, the Kedaki would know freedom, and a mingling with the peoples of the other worlds.
He started the sand-car. Haazahri smiled at him, and kissed his bleeding face. And the love between him and this girl of the Kedaki was a symbol....