Garan the Eternal Page 2

  They came to a large room where a heavy table of white stone stretched along three walls, benches before it. Urg seated himself and pressed a knob on the table, motioning Garin to do likewise. The wall facing them opened and two trays slid out. There was a platter of hot meat covered with rich sauce, a stone bowl of grain porridge and a cluster of fruit, still fastened to a leafy branch. This the Ana eyed so wistfully that Garin gave it to the creature.

  The Folk ate silently and arose quietly when they had finished, their trays vanishing back through the wall. Garin noticed only males in the room and recalled that he had, as yet, seen no females among the Folk. He ventured a question.

  Urg chuckled. “So you think there are no women in the Caverns? Well, we shall go to the Hall of Women that you may see.”

  To the Hall of Women they went. It was breathtaking in its richness, stones worth a nation’s ransom sparkling from its domed roof and painted walls. Here were the matrons and maidens of the Folk, their black forms veiled in robes of silver net, each cross strand of which was set with a tiny gem, so that they appeared to be wrapped in glittering scales.

  There were not many of them—a hundred perhaps. And a few led by the hand smaller editions of themselves who stared at Garin with round yellow eyes and chewed black fingertips shyly.

  The women were entrusted with the finest jewel work, and with pride they showed the stranger their handiwork. At the far end of the hall was a wondrous thing in the making. One of the silver nets which were the foundations of their robes was fastened there and three of the women were putting small rose jewels into each microscopic setting. Here and there they had varied the pattern with tiny emeralds or flaming opals so that the finished portion was a rainbow.

  One of the workers smoothed the robe and glanced up at Garin, a gentle teasing in her voice as she explained:

  “This is for the Daughter when she comes to her throne.”

  The Daughter! What had the Lord of the Folk said? “This youth is fit to mate with the Daughter.” But Urg had said that the Ancient Ones had gone from Tav.

  “Who is the Daughter?” he demanded.

  “Thrala of the Light”

  “Where is she?”

  The woman shivered and there was fear in her eyes. “Thrala lies in the Caves of Darkness.”

  “The Caves of Darkness!” Did she mean Thrala was dead? Was he, Garin Featherstone, to be the victim of some rite of sacrifice which was designed to unite him with the dead?

  Urg touched his arm. “Not so. Thrala has not yet entered the Place of Ancestors.”

  “You know my thoughts?”

  Urg laughed. “Thoughts are easy to read. Thrala lives. Sera served the Daughter as handmaiden while she was yet among us. Sera, please show us Thrala as she was.”

  The woman crossed to a wall where there was a mirror such as Urg had used for Garin’s language lesson. She gazed into it and men beckoned the flier to stand beside her.

  The mirror misted and then he was looking, as if through a window, into a room with walls and ceiling of rose quartz. On the floor were thick rugs of silver rose. And a great heap of cushions made a low couch in the center.

  “The inner chamber of the Daughter,” Sera announced.

  A circular panel in the wall opened and a woman slipped through. She was very young, little more than a girl. There were happy curves in her full crimson lips, joyous lights in her violet eyes. Her shape was human, but her beauty was unearthly. Delicate colors seemed to play faintly upon her pearl white skin, reminding Garin of mother-of-pearl with its lights and shadows. Blue-black hair seemed to veil her as a cloud, reaching below her knees. Her robe of silver net was girdled about her waist by rose-shaded jewels.

  “That was Thrala before the Black Ones took her,” said Sera.

  Urg laughed at Garin’s cry of disappointment as the picture vanished.

  “What care you for shadows when the Daughter herself waits for you. You have but to bring her from the Caves of Darkness....”

  “Where are these Caves—” Garin’s question was interrupted by the pealing of the Cavern gong.

  Sera cried out: “The Black Ones!”

  Urg shrugged. “When they spared not the Ancient Ones how could we hope to escape? Come, we must go to the Hall of Thrones.”

  Before the jade throne of the Lord of the Folk stood a small group of the lizard-men beside two litters. As Garin entered the Lord spoke.

  “Let the outlander come hither that he may see the work of the Black Ones.”

  Garin advanced unwillingly, coming to stand by those struggling things which gasped their message between moans and screams of agony. They were men of the Folk but their black skins were green with rot.

  The Lord leaned forward on his throne. “It is well,” he said. “You may depart.”

  As if obeying his command, the tortured things let go of the life to which they had clung and were still.

  “Look upon the work of the Black Ones,” the ruler said to Garin. “Jiv and Betv were captured while on a mission to the Gibi of the Cliff. It seems that the Black Ones needed material for their laboratories. They seek even to give the Daughter to their workers of horror!”

  A terrible cry of hatred arose from the hall, and Garin’s jaw set. To give that fair vision he had just seen to such a death as this—!

  “Jiv and Betv were imprisoned close to the Daughter and they heard the threats of Kepta. Our brothers, stricken with foul disease, were sent forth to carry the plague to us, but they swam through the pool of boiling mud. They have died but the evil died with them. And I think that while we breed such as they, the Black Ones shall not rest easy. Listen, now, outlander, to the story of the Black Ones and the Caves of Darkness, of how the Ancient Ones brought the Folk up from the slime of a long dried sea and made them great, and of how the Ancient Ones at last went down to their destruction.

  “In the days before the lands of the outer world were born of the sea, before even the Land of the Sun (Mu) and the Land of the Sea (Atlantis) arose from molten rock and sand, there was land here in the far south. A sere land of rock and plains and swamps where slimy life mated, lived, and died.

  “Then came the Ancient Ones from beyond the stars. Their race was already older than this earth. Their wise men had watched its birth-rending from the sun. And when their world perished, taking most of their blood into nothingness, a handful fled to the new world.

  “But when they climbed from their spaceship it was into hell. For they had gained, in place of their loved home, bare rock and stinking slime.

  “They blasted out this Tav and entered into it with the treasures of their starships and also certain living creatures captured in the swamps. From these, they produced the Folk, the Gibi, the Tand, and the land-tending Eron.

  “Among these, the Folk were eager for wisdom and climbed high. But still the learning of the Ancient Ones remained beyond their grasp.

  “During the eons when the Ancient Ones dwelt within their protecting wall of haze the outer world changed. Cold came to the north and south; the Land of the Sun and the Land of the Sea arose to bear the foot of true man. On their mirrors of seeing the Ancient Ones watched man-life spread across the world. They had the power of prolonging life, but still the race was dying. From without must come new blood. So certain men were summoned from the Land of the Sun. Then the race flourished for a space.

  “The Ancient Ones decided to leave Tav for the outer world. But the sea swallowed the Land of the Sun. Again in the time of the Land of the Sea the stock within Tav was replenished and the Ancient Ones prepared for exodus; again the sea cheated them.

  “Those men left in the outer world reverted to savagery. Since the Ancient Ones would not mingle their blood with that of almost beasts, they built the haze wall stronger and remained. But a handful of them were attracted by the forbidden, and secretly summoned the beast men. Of that monstrous mating came the Black Ones. They live but for the evil they may do, and the power which they acquired is debased and used to forward cruelty.

  “At first their sin was not discovered. When it was, the others would have slain the offspring but for the law which forbids them to kill. They must use their power for good or it departs from them. So they drove the Black Ones to the southern end of Tav and gave them the Caves of Darkness. Never were the Black Ones to come north of the River of Gold—nor were the Ancient Ones to go south of it.

  “For perhaps two thousand years the Black Ones kept the law. But they worked, building powers of destruction. While matters rested thus, the Ancient Ones searched the world, seeking men by whom they could renew the race. Once there came men from an island far to the north. Six lived to penetrate the mists and take wives among the Daughters. Again, they called the yellow-haired men of another breed, great sea rovers.

  “But the Black Ones called too. As the Ancient Ones searched for the best, the Black Ones brought in great workers of evil. And, at last, they succeeded in shutting off the channels of sending thought so that the Ancient Ones could call no more.

  “Then did the Black Ones cross the River of Gold and enter the land of the Ancient Ones. Thran, Dweller in the Light and Lord of the Caverns, summoned the Folk to him.

  “ ‘There will come one to aid you,’ he told us. ‘Try the summoning again after the Black Ones have seemed to win. Thrala, daughter of the Light, will not enter into the Room of Pleasant Death with the rest of the women, but will give herself into the hands of the Black Ones that they may think themselves truly victorious. You of the Folk withdraw into the Place of Reptiles until the Black Ones are gone. Nor will all of the Ancient Ones perish—more will be saved, but the manner of their preservation I dare not tell. When the sun-haired youth comes from the outer world, send him into the Caves of Darkness to rescue Thrala
and put an end to evil.’

  “And then the Lady Thrala arose and said softly, ‘As the Lord Thran has said, so let it be. I shall deliver myself into the hands of the Black Ones that their doom may come upon them.’

  “Lord Thran smiled upon her as he said: ‘So will happiness be your portion. After the Great Mists, does not light come again?’

  “The women of the Ancient Ones then took their leave and passed into the Room of Pleasant Death while the men made ready for battle with the Black Ones. For three days they fought, but a new weapon of the Black Ones won the day, and the chief of the Black Ones set up this throne of jet as proof of his power. Since, however, the Black Ones were not happy in the Caverns, longing for the darkness of their caves, they soon withdrew and we, the Folk, came forth again.

  “But now the time has come when the dark ones will sacrifice the Daughter to their evil. If you can win her free, outlander, they shall perish as if they had not been.”

  “What of the Ancient Ones?” asked Garin. “Those others Thran said would be saved?”

  “Of those we know nothing save that when we bore the bodies of the fallen to the Place of Ancestors there were some missing. That you may see the truth of this story, Urg will take you to the gallery above the Room of Pleasant Death and you may look upon those who sleep there.”

  Urg guiding, Garin climbed a steep ramp leading from the Hall of Thrones. This led to a narrow balcony, one side of which was clear crystal. Urg pointed down.

  They were above a long room whose walls were tinted jade green. On the polished floor were scattered piles of cushions. Each was occupied by a sleeping woman and several of these clasped a child in their arms. Their long hair rippled to the floor, their curved lashes made dark shadows on pale faces.

  “But they are sleeping!” protested Garin.

  Urg shook his head. “It is the sleep of death. Twice each ten hours vapors rise from the floor. Those breathing them do not wake again, and if they are undisturbed they will lie thus for a thousand years. Look there—”

  He pointed to the closed double doors of the room. There lay the first men of the Ancient Ones that Garin had seen. They, too, seemed but asleep, their handsome heads pillowed on their arms.

  “Thran ordered those who remained after the last battle in the Hall of Thrones to enter the Room of Pleasant Death that the Black Ones might not torture them for their beastly pleasures. Thran himself remained behind to close the door, and so died.”

  There were no aged among the sleepers. None of the men seemed to count more than thirty years and many of them appeared younger. Garin remarked upon this.

  “The Ancient Ones appeared thus until the day of their death, though many lived twice a hundred years. The ray kept them so. Even we of the Folk can hold back age. But come now, our Lord Trar would speak with you again.”

  Again Garin stood before the jade throne of Trar and heard the stirring of the multitude of the Folk in the shadows. Trar was turning a small rod of glittering, greenish metal around in his soft hands.

  “Listen well, outlander,” he began, “for little time remains to us. Within seven days the Great Mists will be upon us. Then no living thing may venture forth from shelter and escape death. And before that time Thrala must be out of the Caves. This rod will be your weapon; the Black Ones have not its secret. Watch.”

  Two of the Folk dragged an ingot of metal before him. He touched it with the rod. Great flakes of rust appeared, to spread across the entire surface. It crumpled away and one of the Folk trod upon the pile of dust where it had been.

  “Thrala lies in the heart of the Caves but Kepta’s men have grown careless with the years. Enter boldly and trust to fortune. They know nothing of your coming or of Thran’s words concerning you.”

  Urg stood forward and held out his hands in appeal.

  “What is it, Urg?”

  “Lord, I would like to go with the outlander. He knows nothing of the Forest of the Morgels or of the Pool of Mud. It is easy to go astray in the woodland—”

  Trar shook his head. “That may not be. He must go alone, even as Thran said.”

  The Ana, which had followed in Garin’s shadow all day, whistled shrilly and stood on tiptoe to tug at his hand.

  Trar smiled. “That one may go; its eyes may serve you well. Urg will guide you to the outer portal of the Place of Ancestors and set you upon the road to the Caves. Farewell, outlander, and may the spirits of the Ancient Ones be with you.”

  Garin bowed to the ruler of the Folk and turned to follow Urg. Near the door stood a small group of women. Sera pressed forward from them, holding out a small bag.

  “Outlander,” she said hurriedly, “when you look upon the Daughter speak to her of Sera, for I have awaited her many years.”

  He smiled. “That I will.”

  “If you remember, outlander. I am a great lady among the Folk and have my share of suitors, yet I think I could envy the Daughter. Nay, I shall not explain that.” She laughed mockingly. “You will understand in due time. Here is a packet of food. Now go swiftly that we may have you among us again before the Mists.”

  . So a woman’s farewell sped them on their way. Urg chose a ramp that led downward. At its foot was a niche in the rock, above which a rose light burned dimly. Urg reached within the hollow and drew out a pair of high buskins which he aided Garin to lace on. They were a good fit, having been fashioned for a man of the Ancient Ones.

  The passage before them was narrow and crooked. There was a thick carpet of dust underfoot, patterned by the prints of the Folk. They rounded a corner and a tall door loomed out of the gloom. Urg pressed the surface; there was a click and the stone rolled back.

  “This is the place of the Ancestors,” he announced as he stepped within.

  They were at the entrance of a colossal hall whose domed roof disappeared into shadows. Thick pillars of gleaming crystal divided it into aisles all leading inward to a raised dais of oval shape. Filling the aisles were couches and each soft nest held its sleeper. Near to the door lay the men and women of the Folk, but closer to the dais were the Ancient Ones. Here and there a couch bore an inscription. A son of pre-nonnan Ireland. Urg traced with a crooked finger the archaic lettering carved upon the stone base of the couch.

  “Lovers in the Light sleep sweetly. The Light returns on the appointed day.”

  “Who lies there?” Garin motioned to the dais.

  “The first Ancient Ones. Come, look upon those who made this Tav.”

  On the dais the couches were arranged in two rows and between them, in their center, was a single couch raised above the others. Fifty men and women lay as if but resting for the hour, smiles on their peaceful faces but weary shadows beneath their eyes. There was an inhuman quality about them which was lacking in their descendants.

  Urg advanced to the high couch and beckoned Garin to join him. A man and a woman lay there; upon the man’s shoulder was pillowed the woman’s drooping head. Urg stopped beside them.

  “See, outlander, here was one who was called from your world. Marena of the House of Light looked with favor upon him and their days of happiness were many.”

  The man on the couch had red-gold hair and on his upper arm was a heavy band of gold whose mate Garin had once seen in a man’s breast. There was that in their faces which made Garin turn away. He felt as if he had intruded roughly where no man should go.

  “Here lies Thran, Son of Light, first Lord of the Caverns, and his lady Thrala, Dweller in the Light. So have they lain a thousand years, and so will they lie until this planet rots to dust beneath them. They led the Folk out of the slime and made Tav. Such as they we shall never see again.”

  They passed silently down the aisles of the dead. Once Garin caught sight of another fair-haired man, perhaps another outlander, since the Ancient Ones were all dark-haired. Urg paused once more before they left the hall. He stood by the couch of a man, wrapped in a long robe, whose face was ravaged with marks of agony.

  Urg spoke a single name: “Thran.”

  So this was the last Lord of the Caverns. Garin leaned closer to study the dead face but Urg seemed to have lost his patience. He hurried his charge on to a paneled door.

  “This is the southern portal of the Caverns,” he explained. “Trust to the Ana to guide you and beware of the boiling mud. Should the morgels scent you, kill quickly; they are the servants of the Black Ones. May fortune favor you, outlander.”