Beyond the Tomorrow Mountains Page 20

  “The truth.”

  “Are you sure—” He broke off. “That’s a stupid question; I know you too well to ask it. But Noren, we’ve got to offer some kind of plan.”

  “A plan for what? For walking out of the mountains? It would take weeks even if we had provisions.”

  “For signaling, then.”

  “Brek,” Noren protested, “you know as well as I do that they haven’t enough aircars for a search. If we could contact them, they’d come, but otherwise they’ll simply fly the regular route.”

  “We’re not far off it. Maybe we can attract their attention. We could start a fire, for instance.”

  “In the first place, it wouldn’t show except at night, and they won’t fly at night; in the second place, there isn’t anything here that will burn.” That was all too true; there was no moss in the area, and certainly not straw or tallow. The components of the aircar were incombustible, though its batteries could perhaps be used to provide a spark.

  Wretchedly, Noren confronted cold fact. For himself he did not care, but by his actions Brek and Talyra had been doomed. He looked back over the long chain of events that had led to this moment, thinking that there could be no more fitting retribution for his earlier weaknesses. The aircar destroyed; his own death wasted; Talyra’s meaningless and unnecessary. . . .

  And painful. It was not quite as hot in the mountains as in the low country, but there was heat enough to make thirst a torment past hearing, Starvation, if they should find water enough to last until they starved, would be still slower. Then too, Brek’s injuries might be less trivial than he was making them out to be. Watching him, Noren said quietly, “I think I could induce anesthesia if you want me to try. You’ve had practice in going under.”

  “No” said Brek. “Hypnosis wouldn’t be a very good idea; I’ll need my wits, and you couldn’t make it selective enough.”

  What good would wits do? Noren thought. In some cases, one’s wits merely confirmed the futility of further effort. Brek went on, “I’ll be all right once Talyra bandages my ribs. Look, Noren—if you’re going to tell her how things stand, you’d better do it privately. Go back to her now, while I find something that will cut cloth.”

  Reluctantly, Noren headed back to the place where Talyra waited, sitting down beside her on the sun-warmed pebbles. “The radiophone’s smashed,” he said frankly, “and we can’t fix it.”

  “Then we can’t call for help?”

  “There isn’t any way to.”

  Talyra met his eyes. “I’m not scared, Noren,” she said in a not-quite-steady voice.

  Not scared? Then she was closing her mind to the obvious, Noren thought; he himself was terrified. He had, to be sure, started out that morning in the belief that he would not live till sundown . . . but death had somehow seemed a less real and immediate prospect than it did now, when it was to be slow, certain, and shared by the only person he had ever loved deeply. Of course, he was not going to let Talyra see how afraid he was, and perhaps she felt the same way. She too had pride.

  “We mustn’t panic,” he agreed, putting his arm around her.

  “What are we going to do first—after I fix the bandages, I mean?”

  “There’s not anything we can do, Talyra.”

  She stared at him, shocked, “You mean we’re just going to sit here and wait to be rescued? I don’t think that will work! Without the radiophone they can’t possibly find us in all this wilderness.”

  His first impression had been correct, then; she did not realize that it was hopeless. With sorrow, a more stirring sorrow than he had felt during the past weeks of lethargy and bitterness, he admitted, “No, darling, they can’t.”

  “You’re talking as if you’re ready to give up.”

  Noren faced her, knowing that decency demanded it, whatever the cost in personal anguish. “Talyra,” he began, “it’s my fault this is happening; you’re here because of me, and I was even flying the aircar—”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Talyra said gently. “It was an accident, and after all, you didn’t ask me to come. I was the one who insisted.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that I’ll be responsible when we die.”

  “You mustn’t say that!” she burst out. “We may be in danger, but that doesn’t mean we can’t live through it. The spirit of the Mother Star will protect us.”

  Horrified, Noren realized that this reaction was what he should have expected; it was entirely consistent with Talyra’s whole outlook. Yet it was based on a delusion. She must not cling to any such false hope. “You’ve said yourself no one can find us,” he pointed out, “and there’s no food, Talyra. We can’t escape from the mountains without food; it’s much too far to the nearest village.”

  “I—I know. I don’t see a way out either . . . but it’s wrong not to search for one! It’s wrong to assume we’re going to die when we’re not sure.”

  “If I weren’t sure—if there could be any means at all of saving you—do you think I wouldn’t try it?” Noren demanded.

  “No one can be sure of such things,” insisted Talyra. “There are mysteries beyond our imagining; the Star’s spirit is more powerful than we guess. Doesn’t the Prophecy say, ‘We affirm life in the face of annihilation, we shall reaffirm it though death be in view; and the affirmation will be our strength’? It’s heresy to deny that, and to give up is a denial.”

  Yes, thought Noren, and he was again a heretic; had it not been for the crash, within hours he would have proclaimed himself a relapsed heretic before the people. He was unwilling to hurt Talyra by telling her that, but he should at least enlighten her about the Mother Star. To believe literally in symbols of an underlying truth might be all right, but he could not bear that she, like his mother, should die trusting in something that did not exist.

  “I’ve been told more of the mysteries than you have,” he said slowly, “and they are not as you think. The Mother Star can’t change the laws of nature.”

  “Of course it can’t,” she agreed. “But we don’t know all the laws of nature, do we? Sometimes . . . sometimes, lately, I’ve wondered whether even the Scholars do.”

  “They do not,” declared Noren grimly.

  In a confident tone Talyra proclaimed, “Then the Scholars themselves could not say that nothing can save us.”

  “The Scholars,” Noren continued with pain, “know much about the Mother Star that is not in the Prophecy. They know, for instance, that it has killed more people than it will ever save.”

  She reached for his hand, saying soberly, “Noren, don’t speak of this now. It’s not that I can’t bear it, it’s just that you’ve suffered over it too long, and here we’ve got enough else to worry about.” At his astonished stare she went on, “Do you suppose I can’t guess what sorts of things have been torturing you all this time? You needn’t answer; I know you’re not free to tell—but I’m not stupid, darling. In the beginning I thought they were punishing you, but when you swore they weren’t, I began to figure it out.”

  “Figure what out?” he asked, wondering how much he had given away.

  “Not any deep secrets,” she assured him. “But you said at your trial that you preferred truth to comfort, and I don’t doubt that the Scholars took you at your word. There really isn’t any other way they could have persuaded you to recant, is there? They showed you mysteries, and naturally not all the mysteries are pleasant ones. People do die. Everybody dies sooner or later, and the Mother Star doesn’t prevent it; we all know that. Only we don’t think about it very much. The Scholars must have to, and someone like you, who starts out by thinking, has to, too.”

  At a loss for words, Noren turned aside. It was uncanny how close Talyra could come to facts she lacked the background to interpret. Yet in spite of that she still believed what she wanted to believe! She was still convinced that some miraculous force could deliver her from danger! Would it really hurt anything for her to go on believing a while longer? he thought suddenly. It would be
days before they died, and hope, even groundless hope, would make the waiting less dreadful. With weariness, he confessed to himself that he had not the heart to destroy her illusions.

  “We won’t talk about it,” he said; then, because he saw that she expected it, he took her into his arms. And when they kissed, he realized that although he should be strong, he should give comfort, it was she who was comforting him.

  * * *

  Later, when a portion of Brek’s tunic had been cut into bandages with a fragment of metal he’d found in the wreck and Talyra had bound his ribs securely, they decided to climb out of the canyon. “We’ve a much better chance of being seen from higher ground,” Brek insisted; and Noren, knowing that only action could maintain Talyra’s optimism, concurred without argument. If they were to go, they must do so at once, for they’d neither eaten nor drunk that day and their stamina would not last.

  They were hardened to some degree, of course, by the weeks of camp life; the self-discipline of voluntary rationing had inured them to hunger and thirst. But by the same token, that discipline had taught them to recognize and meet their bodies’ needs. Fasting to the point of malnutrition was not permitted in camp, and dehydration was even more closely watched. They’d learned to know the warnings; to pay no heed would be harder than to ignore what might be dismissed as mere discomfort. Moreover, having no excess reserves, they would face starvation sooner than well-fed villagers would have—that is, if they did not succumb to thirst before finding a stream.

  The question of drinking stream water was discussed before they set out. Talyra raised it herself by observing matter-of-factly that rescue would be of little benefit unless it came soon, and Noren seized the opportunity to introduce what was bound to be a difficult topic. “Talyra,” he said bluntly, “do you remember how at my trial I admitted having drunk impure water?”

  Nodding, she protested, “But it’s a sin against the High Law to do that!”

  “Yes. Still, there is no other water in the mountains, and the High Law does not demand that we die for lack of it.”

  “We’d be transformed into idiots—” She stopped, realizing that the villagers’ tale that had come automatically to her lips must be untrue. Though originally she’d told herself that others were right in thinking Noren’s admission an idle boast, she knew him better now. In horror she whispered, “The other story . . . the one mentioned in the courtroom—”

  “About a man who drinks impure water fathering idiot children?”

  His face confirmed its truth; for the first time since the crash she was moved to tears. “That’s the reason you can’t marry,” she faltered miserably, “and you—you couldn’t bear to tell me. Oh, Noren—”

  “It’s not the reason. One can drink a limited amount, and I didn’t exceed my limit; the Scholar Stefred has assured me of that.” There had also been confirming medical tests. He had been warned, however, that he could drink very little more.

  Taking him aside, Brek protested, “Are you really going to run the risk, Noren?”

  “What risk? There won’t be any child, that’s certain.”

  Reddening, Brek glanced at Talyra and muttered, “I thought—well, anyway, someday—”

  “There won’t be any ‘someday,’ not for any of us.”

  “Oh. But what if something unforeseen happens; what if we get out?”

  “You, too, Brek?” Noren snapped. “I’m keeping up the pretense for her sake, not yours. You’re scientist enough to be realistic.”

  “I suppose so.”

  There’d be no idiot child anyway, Noren thought. The doctors would see to that if further medical tests showed any chromosome damage, for in such cases the High Law permitted sterilization. He would, of course, break off the betrothal at once if he alone was affected, since Talyra would feel disgraced if she bore no babies, and she should marry someone who could give them to her. But what point was there in considering that? Reason told him that under no circumstances could either of them stay alive.

  Before leaving the wreckage they combed it thoroughly for materials that might somehow be of use. Though none were found, not even anything shiny enough to reflect sunlight upward as a signal, both Talyra and Brek were adamant about taking along all the metal they possibly could. “It would be sacrilege to leave it!” exclaimed Talyra when Noren objected to the idea of loading themselves down unnecessarily. In this Brek supported her, despite the fact that whatever he carried would add to his pain. Metal was sacred, and to sacrifice any was unthinkable; Noren could produce no argument other than the one he had decided not to use. It would make no difference in the end whether that irreplaceable metal was lost at the site of the crash or elsewhere, but to say so would be defeatism in Talyra’s eyes. Moreover, she seemed to look upon it as a sort of talisman. Once, as a village girl, she had possessed a silver wristband—a holy thing passed down to her by an aunt to whom she had been kind. She had sold it for money to aid in his escape and had never expected to touch a metal object again; although as a Technician she’d often done so, she still treated such objects with reverence. Perhaps, Noren thought ruefully, she felt that the spirit of the Mother Star was more likely to protect people who were guarding metal than those who were not.

  By the time they were ready, with all detachable wire and other metal parts tied in makeshift packs devised from the material of the seat cushions, it was almost noon and the heat was increasing rapidly. Their thirst was already intense, and as Noren looked up at the whitish cliff to the east that seemed to offer their only chance of ascent, he decided that perhaps the effort, arduous though it would be, would prove wise in that it would hasten the inevitable finish. They would be more likely to find water if they circled the canyon, searching for passages between the cliffs, but they could not be seen from the air there; even Talyra realized that such a course would serve merely to prolong their suffering. He was glad that a more rapid end was in view.

  The cliff’s surface was rough and steep, and it was hard to find footholds. Their shoes were not designed for traversing country like this, although they were the kind worn by villagers, made from the thicker parts of work-beast hides and bound together with heavy thongs. Again and again Talyra almost slipped and fell, and Noren too had trouble keeping his balance, so that the hand he held out to her was not always firm.

  They spoke little, for their dry mouths burned with a fire greater than the scorching sun that struck their shoulders. Brek, forced by the exertion to breathe deeply, swayed and clutched his ribs, his face contorted with agony. It would not be possible to reach the top, Noren felt, not if there were many places where progress required one to cling to protruding rocks. Their strength would give out. He found himself moving not by will, but automatically, simply because to stop would demand a decision he lacked the energy to make.

  At last, after five or six hours, they stumbled up the final stretch of sun-baked slope onto a wide plateau, blocked on one side by still higher cliffs but otherwise surrounded by a gaping abyss. Talyra, daunted by its barrenness despite her courage, began to tremble both with physical fatigue and with the fear she had earlier suppressed. “I—I don’t know what I expected to see,” she murmured.

  There was nothing to be seen—nothing but more rocks, more dead ground, and stretching everywhere into the visible distance, more jagged mountains. The plateau was infinitesimal compared to all that wasteland. If a low-flying aircar were to pass directly over it, they might be spotted, but aircars did not fly low over such terrain, not if their pilots’ minds were on the job. Already the City had lost one; to risk another would be to risk the sustenance of villagers yet unborn. No car would come without an unmistakable signal, a signal that could not be sent.

  Noren dropped his pack and sprawled on the stony ground, heedless of the heat that scorched his skin, not noticing that his feet were raw and blistered and that what remained of his left shoe was stained with blood. After a moment or two the others did likewise. For a long time they lay there, and tho
ugh in the back of his mind he knew that if he did not rouse himself soon, he might never do so, it did not seem to matter.

  The air was very still. It was thinner at this altitude than in the settled lands; that was why the sky was so blue, he thought idly. Blue . . . and still farther up, it was black. At night it would be black here. He feared the blackness still, and the bright stars, and the other darkness that was death; he feared them because they were past all understanding. Yet he could no longer hope to understand. He was too weary even to try. No, something inside him kept protesting, no, that’s a betrayal of truth . . . truth’s the one thing I’ll never abandon . . . And suddenly it did matter. He was going to die; he could not expect to understand it beforehand—but whatever it was, was true. It was wrong to fear the truth, whether one understood it or not. And it was wrong not to care whether one lived. . . .

  “Noren!” Talyra was shaking him urgently. “Noren, listen! Don’t you hear something?”

  He sat up, dazed, analyzing the stillness; and then, as from a long distance, he heard his own voice ask. “Water?”

  “Yes! Yes, I’m sure it is—somewhere behind us.”

  She clutched his hand and he went with her, not stopping to reason, not questioning the instinctive impulses of his body. Brek followed. Instinct led them to the tall cliff behind, where from a small cleft a thin, swift stream cascaded; instinct made them thrust their faces into the cool foam and gulp enough to damp the fire that was consuming them. But something more than instinct made Talyra stop.

  “You said there’s a limit,” she declared, backing away. “We can’t drink more than we need; it’s sinful—and besides, we don’t know how many days we’ll be here.”

  Noren, his thirst far from quenched, drew back also, revived by the moisture and by its extraordinary coldness. He saw no real value in stopping, but he could hardly indulge himself while she remained thirsty, and Talyra still had her irrepressible hope.