Beyond the Tomorrow Mountains Read online

  “The spirit of the Mother Star is with us,” she reflected, tilting her head to gaze up into the deep sky that for her held no terrors. “We have been led to this place; shall we not receive further blessings? It would be a sin to drink impure water without believing that we’re doing it to preserve our lives.”

  He watched her, the love he’d restrained so long suddenly overwhelming him. Deluded, foolish, unreasonable . . . she might be all those things; but she was untouched by the grim fate awaiting her. The life in her was strong, and he was stirred by it in a way he had not been during the past weeks when so many problems and questions had weighed him down. Those worries were far away now, the burden of them dissolved. Life was what mattered . . . life, and truth, which were one and the same . . . and they need not be understood to remain valid. Could love be understood, and was not love a form of truth? He had loved Talyra through all the time when he’d considered truth the only thing of importance to him. Yet he’d been blind.

  We are soon to die, he thought, but now we are alive. As long as we’re alive, life will go on. “Darling,” he began, holding out his arms to her. “Talyra, darling—”

  They embraced, and he kissed her with more ardor than he’d previously dared to release; but the sun, hovering over the western crags, was glaring down, and though Brek had walked away, the plateau was bare of outcroppings or shrubs. It did not seem decent. Noren and Talyra followed the rivulet that trickled along the base of the cliff from the place where the cascade splashed, seeking shelter.

  There was an archway, an opening in the rock wider than the stream, leading through into a shallow canyon. They stooped under, well shaded from sunlight although the sky was bright beyond. Noren’s arms tightened around Talyra—and to his dismay the joy in her face gave way to stark terror.

  She was looking through the arch, where, some distance down the slope, the stream joined a larger one bordered by clumps of reeds. “Noren,” she gasped, “There are people there!”

  He glanced over his shoulder, disbelieving; then cold terror struck him also. What he saw was no less horrifying because he had greater knowledge of it than she. It was in fact a good deal worse than anyone but a Scholar could realize. “No, darling,” he whispered, motioning her to be still. “Those aren’t people. Those are savages.”

  * * *

  Eight or nine of the creatures squatted by the stream, though they did not appear to have ever washed themselves in it. They were, of course, completely naked. That in itself did not seem shocking, for although they had human form, their brains were not human; Noren knew that they were incapable of speech, much less rational thought. Their ancestry was of the Six Worlds, but they were as drastically changed as the work-beasts, and they were not much brighter.

  Talyra knew their origin, for the basic facts were taught in every village school: how at the time of the Founding a few people had defied the High Law, drunk too much impure water, and then fled in fear to the mountains, thereby losing all trace of their heritage. They (in reality their offspring) had become idiots that lived like beasts. These and other gruesome details, such as a story about savages eating slithery things that swam in streams, were commonly used to frighten disobedient children, as was quite necessary if a repetition of the incident was to be avoided. “Were it not for our obedience to the High Law we would be as they are, Talyra,” Noren murmured.

  “Yes,” she agreed soberly. “Once you wouldn’t have thought so, though—” She stopped, remembering that it was not proper to speak of his past heresies; and Noren flushed with the recollection of the night he’d tried to convince her that their own remote ancestors had been like the savages. He’d had it backwards. On the mother world human beings had indeed evolved from savagery, but these were not “savages” of that sort. These were mutants, the product of damaged genes rather than evolution, and had no future potential. In them no vestige of human spirit remained.

  He cringed as the largest mutant, a male, stood half-erect, revealing the filthiness of its body and the absence of mind behind its vacant stare. If the Founders had not controlled the City—if the Scholars did not continue to do so—all humankind would be like that . . . and it would be “humankind” no longer. It was as justifiable to prevent such degradation as for a starship captain to take full command of his ship to safeguard its passengers’ lives.

  Yet if there could be no prevention? If control of people’s inheritance was useless because in spite of it, their descendants would inevitably become mutants like these that crouched and gibbered beside the stream?

  Talyra pressed close to him. The big male and two smaller ones had snatched up something and moved toward them, upstream. Noren’s stomach lurched; they were now close enough for him to see what they carried. “Talyra,” he said firmly, “go back to the plateau—”

  “Without you?”

  “Go back and tell Brek to come here—he won’t hunt for us, and I don’t dare shout. Tell him to come, but don’t come with him.”

  “I won’t leave you, Noren!”

  “You must,” he insisted. If he retreated from the archway, the mutants might follow, whether or not he and Talyra had been seen; only from that vantage point could he hope to defend the plateau. But he could not do it alone, and Brek, unaware, would not approach until morning.

  Talyra sensed his desperation, knowing nothing of its cause, and slipped away. Noren gripped the largest rock he could find and held it in readiness, knowing the gesture a feeble one. If the mutants came before Brek did, he had no chance. Still, there were only the three males—the females probably were not dangerous—and at the moment all were well occupied. It would be twilight soon; perhaps they’d sleep.

  He could not take his eyes from the loathsome scene before him. Not this, he pleaded inwardly. Death he could face, but not this death, certainly not for Talyra. A lingering one, however painful, would be better. It might even be better if they jumped from the cliff.

  At a sound behind him, he froze, but it was Brek. Talyra had returned too, as Noren had known she would. “What are they doing?” she asked in a low voice.

  There was no point in evading a fact that was clearly evident. “Eating,” Noren replied tersely.

  Talyra peered ahead into the dusk. “Noren,” she exclaimed, “they’re eating flesh! It’s not fowl’s flesh, the bones are too big. It must be a work-beast’s—”

  He had wondered, briefly, that she could be so composed; now he realized that she hadn’t noticed the shape of the bones, nor was she aware that there were no work-beasts in the mountains. She had no way of guessing what all Scholars knew about the ghastlier habits of these creatures. “They are animals,” he reminded her, “without intelligence or speech. The High Law does not apply to them.”

  “Impure flesh will make them sick, though.”

  “No sicker than they already are,” said Brek grimly. He was pale, on the verge of getting sick himself.

  One of the smaller mutants looked up from the meager portion of raw meat it held and its eyes focused abruptly, not with hostility, but in the manner of a carnivore sighting prey. Giving a loud grunt, it lurched forward.

  “It’s seen us!” Talyra whispered. “It’s coming toward us; it—it looks as if it might want to hurt us. Why, Noren?”

  “I don’t know,” Noren lied, struggling to remain steady.

  In strength, he and Brek were no match for the attackers; they wouldn’t have been even if Brek had not been crippled by his broken rib. Besides lacking comparable weight, they were weakened by thirst and exhaustion, and the mature male—which was now advancing behind the younger ones—was a huge brute with years of experience in making kills. The mere fact that it had lived past maturity proved that, since among its kind only the victors survived. The mutants had turned to cannibalism because they had no other source of meat, and the eating of meat was deeply ingrained in their biological inheritance. But grown males would have fought to the death in any case. They’d have fought for band dominance and, N
oren recalled in dismay, for possession of females, as most animals had done on the Six Worlds—for Talyra, slaughter was not the chief peril. He and Brek had been told these things. They had not, however, been told how to defend themselves, since the possibility that they might have to had never occurred to anyone. Intelligence was their sole armor.

  “We can’t let them approach,” Brek said quietly. “Once they grapple with us we’re finished.” He seized a rock, preparing to aim it at the oncoming “savage.”

  “Wait,” Noren told him. “They’ll not be frightened off, and if you miss his head you’ll merely enrage them. We’ve got to know more about their ways.” Though the mutants did not use tools, they might throw rocks themselves, and as to whether they could do it purposefully he was not sure. “Wait, Brek,” he said again, “and be ready to aim when they’re nearer; with your injury, you may not get many chances. I’m going to try something.”

  Behind him, Talyra stood shaking, recognizing the immediate danger if not its potential aftermath. “Keep back,” Noren ordered, “but gather all the stones you can. Pile them at my feet.” Picking up a small rock, he hurled it as far as he could, aiming not for the mutants but well beyond them.

  All three of the creatures turned instantly; what they lacked in wit was partially made up for by keen hearing and fast reactions. Quickly Noren grabbed more stones and threw out a barrage. The mutants remained facing the direction in which it landed, and shortly, they too began flinging one rock after another—but theirs were tossed aimlessly and fell wide of the mark, some even landing in the stream.

  “It’s a good diversion,” Brek observed, “but you can’t keep it up forever. If we don’t kill them now, they’ll simply attack again later.”

  “I know. This was just a test.” Stopping, Noren outlined the only strategy that seemed feasible. “We draw their attention back to us. Then we stand fast and let them get close, very close. When we’re sure we can’t miss, we make them turn again, and while they’re facing the other way we aim to hit.”

  “What’s to say they’ll keep on facing the other way?” protested Brek. “Two of us can’t hit three of them simultaneously.”

  “No, but we can each disable a small one, then deal with that big one together.”

  “I can throw rocks too, at least I—I think I can,” Talyra ventured, her voice quavering only a little.

  Noren frowned. That would add to their chances of success, certainly. She could not throw with sufficient force and accuracy to kill, but she could toss the stones to make the attackers turn, thus allowing him to act faster. “All right,” he agreed reluctantly, “but don’t do it till I give the word—and aim a long way past them.” He drew a deep breath and flung another stone, deliberately directing it to a point only a short distance away. Then he grasped a larger, heavier rock like the one Brek held, and with pounding heart, he waited.

  The mutants, confused, advanced slowly. There was ample time to absorb an unforgettable picture of their slouching gait, the filth of their long matted hair, and worst of all, the mindlessness of their faces. This travesty of human life—this housing of animal mentality in men’s bodies—was more hideous than anything Noren had ever encountered. He had seen men behave like brutes; some of the ones who’d abused him at his arrest and recantation had been of a low sort. Some would have killed without hesitation when sufficiently inflamed. But they had not revolted him as these mutants did, for despite their faults they’d been human beings still.

  He and Brek stood in full view, calculating how long it would be before one lunged at them, knowing that to move too soon—or too late—would mean sure defeat. Finally, when their taut nerves could endure no more, Noren breathed, “Now, Talyra!” and as the mutants whirled toward the sound of a new hail of stones, he heaved his rock with all the force that was in him. It struck the foremost one’s skull, felling the creature, but Brek’s first throw only grazed its target. Though his second hit true, the largest savage turned and charged before he and Noren could act in unison. Not till it was within instants of seizing Brek were they able to bring it down.

  The two of them walked forward, shaking with released tension. The stench of the bodies was overpowering. Noren stared for a moment, realizing that the horror was not quite over, then returned to Talyra. They clung together, her body quivering with sobs. “Darling,” he said gently, “go now. Go to the plateau and wait for me.”

  “No—”

  “You mustn’t watch the finish, Talyra.”

  Grasping his meaning, she obeyed. Noren and Brek, suppressing their sickness, went to the felled mutants, two of which were merely unconscious, and did what had to be done. Afterward they dragged the carcasses some distance downstream and dumped them beside the foul and bloody half-consumed one, covering them with reeds. The females had fled. It was unlikely that there would be another band nearby, for the vegetation that was the mainstay of their diet was more plentiful at lower elevations; and in any case revenge was beyond their conception.

  “I’ll sleep here,” Brek said as they returned to the archway, “and guard it, though I doubt that any more will come. There’s no need for you to worry, Noren.”

  It was nearly dark by this time. Noren washed in the clear shallow water, letting none touch his lips, and went back through the arch onto the barren plateau. The dead stony landscape was softened by the glow of three crescent moons; it looked unearthly and yet less unreal than most things had been since the space flight. The inertia he’d fought against was gone.

  Talyra was waiting near the cascade. At night, the emptiness of the plateau gave a sense of privacy, not desolation, and indeed it did not seem that any place could be desolate when she was there. He knelt on the still-warm pebbles, smoothing a hollow with his hands. “There should be moss, at least,” he mumbled. “This is not fit for you, Talyra. I’ve never brought you anything but hardship—”

  She flung herself down beside him, chiding softly, “Oh, Noren as if I cared about that! We were almost killed, and now we’re alive; haven’t we cause for joy?”

  We cannot stay alive, his mind told him, but the thought was remote; it was a time for feeling, not thinking. Curiously, the imminence of death freed him to feel. There was a point past which one could not reason, could not analyze . . . maybe Talyra’s refusal to despair was not so foolish after all. Her joy enveloped him; he knew fierce joy of his own, and surrendered to it as they joined in the ultimate affirmation of survival.

  In the morning, when they woke to brilliant sunlight and bathed briefly in the perilous water of the cascade, Talyra drank a very little; but Noren, being far closer to the safe limit than she, carefully rinsed his parched mouth and did not swallow.

  * * *

  The days that followed were the strangest Noren had ever known. Suspended between life and death, he felt a peculiar lightness, not only from fasting but because burdens were lifted that had been too heavy for him to handle. The whole universe no longer seemed his concern.

  Most of the daylight hours they spent at the cliff’s archway, for it provided the only nearby shade and their thirst was too great to permit much movement. At night Brek continued to sleep there while Noren and Talyra returned to the plateau. Their joy in each other overrode all fears, all discomforts; it seemed ample compensation for the painful things. Noren stopped worrying about what was past and what was to come, and lived one moment at a time. Though the moments brought suffering, they brought elation, too. He was free for elation, since there were no grave decisions left to be made.

  They felt no hunger after the first; although they were weak from it, their stomachs did not torment them. The plants the mutants ate were no temptation. To taste that vegetation was out of the question, for while they might escape poisoning and eventually adapt, as the mutants’ ancestors had done, the chance of rescue was too small to warrant such a course. None of them even considered living on indefinitely in the mountains. There was an unspoken agreement between them that death would be preferabl
e, not only because of the subhuman offspring that might come with the years, but because if Noren and Brek should be poisoned or killed, Talyra might be left at the mercy of the bestial creatures that would sooner or later reappear. At her insistence Noren had explained their ways, and she was aware that for a woman there was more to be feared than cannibalism.

  So hunger was accepted, then ignored. It was thirst that brought anguish, all the more so because they were within sight and sound of the tantalizing stream. With calm realism, they estimated the maximum length of time it would be possible to survive without food and calculated the amount of water that could be safely consumed each day if the entire limit were spread over that time. Brek and Talyra had to endure nothing worse than a continuous craving that they were obliged to deny. Noren’s quota was considerably less, and he suffered intensely, drinking only as much as was essential to prevent high fever. Although moistening his skin provided some relief, it could not be done too often. During the worst hours, the long hot afternoons when he waited with burning forehead and throat afire for the shadow of the crag beyond the arch to tell him that it was time to permit himself a few more drops, be wondered why he had changed his mind about the pointlessness of restraint. To his amazement, he could find no answer. He knew only that something inside him would not let him go to Talyra if the limit were to be passed. The fact that their present situation made this irrational did not seem to alter it.

  Brek’s injury was increasingly painful; the attack on the mutants had been a strain. Talyra redid the bandages and also bandaged their raw, blistered feet, using the carefully saved metal scrap to cut strips from her own tunic and Noren’s. All the metal they’d salvaged was piled neatly near the cliff where, Noren felt privately, it would remain until the light of the Mother Star touched it—by which time, one way or another, its loss would have ceased to count.

  He no longer dwelt on such speculations; but while he was turning away from abstract thought, Brek was thinking more deeply than in the past. “Noren,” he said the fifth evening, when Talyra had gone on ahead, “we—we were wrong . . . what we planned, I mean. This may sound crazy to you, but if it weren’t for Talyra, and for the aircar being destroyed . . . I’d almost be glad we crashed. We were going to die anyway, and it’s better like this. We aren’t harming people by it.”