"We don't think alike," Rynason said to him. "To me there is a purpose.
Will you help me once more?"
There was no answer from the alien, only a slow nodding of his head to
one side, which Rynason took for assent. He motioned Mara to set up the
telepather.
After their last experience Rynason could understand the creature's
reluctance to continue. Perhaps even his statement that there was no
purpose to the Earthmen's researches made sense--for could the
codification of the history of a dying race mean much to its last
members? Probably they didn't care; they walked slowly through the ruins
of their world and felt all around them fading, and the jumbled past in
their minds must be only one more thing that was to disappear.
And Rynason had not forgotten the terrified waves of hatred which had
blasted at him in Horng's mind--nor had Horng, he was sure.
Mara connected the leads of the telepather while the alien sat
motionlessly, his dark eyes only occasionally watching either of them.
When she was finished Rynason nodded for her to activate the linkage.
Then there was the rush of Horng's mind upon his, the dim
thought-streams growing closer, the greyed images becoming sharper and
washing over him, and in a moment he felt his own thoughts merge with
them, felt the totality of his own consciousness blend with that of
Horng. They were together; they were almost one mind.
And in Horng he heard the whisper of distrust, of fear, and the echoes
of that hatred which had struck at him once before. But they were in the
background; all around him here on the surface was a pervading feeling
of ... uselessness, resignation, almost of unreality. The calm which he
had noted before in Horng had been shaken and turned, and in its place
was this fog of hopelessness.
Tentatively, Rynason reached for the racial memories in that grey mind,
feeling Horng's own consciousness heavy beside him. He found them,
layers of thoughts of unknown aliens still alive here, the pictures and
sounds of thousands of years past. He probed among them, looking again
for the memories of Tebron ... and found what he was searching for.
He was Tebron, marching across that vast Flat which he had seen before,
the winds alive around him among the shuffling feet of his army. He felt
the muscles of his massive legs tight with weariness, and tasted the
dryness of the air as he drew in long gasps. He was still hours from the
City, but they would rest before dawn....
Rynason turned among those memories, moving forward in them, and was
aware of Horng watching him. There was still the wariness in his mind,
and a stir of anxiety, but it was blanketed by the tired hopelessness he
had seen. He reached further in the memories, and....
The temple-guard fell in the shadows, and one of his own warriors
stepped forward to retrieve his weapon. The remains of the guard's body
rolled down three, four, five of the steps of the Temple, and stopped.
His eyes lingered on that body for only a moment, and then he turned and
went up to the entrance.
There was a moaning of pain, or of fright, rising somewhere in his head;
he was only partly aware of it. He walked into the shadows of the
doorway and paused. But only for a moment: there was no movement inside,
and he stepped forward, down one step into the interior.
Screams echoed through the halls and corridors of the Temple--high and
piercing, growing in volume as they echoed, buffeting him almost into
unconsciousness. He knew they were from Horng, but he fought them,
watching his own steps across the dark inner room. He was Tebron Marl,
king priest ruler of all Hirlaj, in the Temple of Kor, and he could feel
the stone solid beneath his feet. Sweat broke out on his back--his own,
or Tebron's? But he _was_ Tebron, and he fought the blast of fear in his
mind as though it were a battle for his very identity. He _was_ Tebron.
The screaming faded, and he stood in silence before the Altar of Kor.
So this is the source, he thought. For how many days had he fought
toward this? It was useless to remember; the muscles of his body were
remembrance enough, and the scar-tissue that hindered the movement of
one shoulder. If he remembered those battles he would again hear the
fading echoes of enemy minds dying within his, and he had had enough of
that. This was the goal, and it was his; perhaps there need be no more
such killing.
He opened his mouth and spoke the words which he had learned so many
years before, during his apprenticeship in the Region of Mines. The
rituals of the Temple were always conducted in the ancient spoken
language; Kor demanded it, and only the priest-caste knew these words,
for they were so old that their form had changed almost completely even
by the time his people had developed telepathy and discarded speech;
they were not communicated to the rest of the people.
"I am Tebron Marl, king priest leader of all Hirlaj. I await your orders
guidance."
He knelt, according to ritual, and gazed up at the altar. The Eye of Kor
blinked there, a small circle of light in the dark room. The altar was
simple but massive; its heavy columns, built upon the traditional lines,
supported the weight of the Eye. He watched its slow waxing and waning,
and waited; within him, Rynason's mind stirred.
And Kor spoke.
_Remain motionless. Do not go forward._
He felt a child as a wave of sensitivity spread through all of his skin
and his organs sped for a moment. Then it was true: in the Temple of
Kor, the god leader really did speak.
"I await further words."
The Eye held his gaze almost hypnotically in the dimness. The voice
sounded in the huge arched room. _The sciences quests of your race lead
you to extinction. The knowledge words offered to me by your priests
make it clear that within a hundred years your race will leave its
planet. You must not go forward, for that way lies the extermination of
all your race._
His mind swam; this was not what he had expected. The god leader Kor had
always aided his people in their sciences; in the knowledge word
offerings they reported to the Eye the results of their studies, and
often, if asked properly, the god leader would clarify uncertainties
which they faced. But now he ordered an ending to research quests. This
was unthinkable! Knowledge was godhood; godhood was knowledge, of the
essence; the essence was knowing understanding. To him, to his people,
it was a unity--and now that unity repudiated itself. Faintly in the
darkness somewhere he again heard screaming.
"Are we to abandon all progress? Are the stars so dangerous?"
_The concept wish of progress must die within your people. There must be
no purpose in any field of knowledge. You must remain motionless,
consolidate what you have, and live in peace._ The Eye in the dimness
seemed larger and brighter the longer he looked at it; all else in the
echoing room was darkness. _The stars are not dangerous, but there is a
race which rises with you, and it rises more rapidly. Should you expand
into the stars you will only meet that race sooner, and they will be
stronger. They are more warlike than your people; already you are
capable of peace, and that must be your aim. Remain on your world;
consolidate; cultivate the fruits of your civilization as it is, but do
not go forward. In that way, you will have five thousand years before
that race finds you, and if you are no threat to them they will not
destroy you._
He felt a rising anger in him as the god leader's words came to him in
the dark room, and a fear that lay deeper. He was a warrior, and a
quester ... how could he give up all such pursuits, and how could he be
expected to force all his people to do the same? There would be no hope
wish of advance, no curiosity ... no purpose.
"Is this other race so much more advanced than we are?" he asked.
He heard a low humming from the altar and the Eye grew brighter again.
_They are not so much ahead of you now ... but they are more warlike,
and will therefore develop more quickly. In both your races, war is a
quest which you use as a release for what is in you. Your sciences
questings and your wars are the same thing ... you must suppress both.
They are discontentment, and you will find that only in peace, if at
all._
He dipped his head to one side, a gesture of acquiescence or agreement.
He couldn't argue with the god leader Kor, and he had been wrong even to
think of it.
"How am I to suppress the race? Is it possible to convince each of them
of the necessity for abandoning forgetting all questing?"
The Eye hummed, and grew brighter against the darkness of the carved
wall behind it, but it was some time before Kor spoke again. _It would
be impossible to convince every one. The reasons must be kept from them,
and kept from the shared memories; you must not communicate my knowledge
words in any way. Consolidate your power, force peace upon them and lead
them into acceptance. The knowledge questing can be made to die within
them. Remember that there will be no purpose ... in that they must find
contentment._
The king priest leader of all Hirlaj waited a moment, and was ready to
rise and leave when the Eye spoke again.
_You must abolish the priesthood. The knowledge which I have given to
you must die when you die._
He waited for a long time in the dim, suddenly cold hall for the god
leader to speak again, then slowly rose and walked to the door, the
image of the Eye of Kor still bright in his vision. He stopped outside
the doorway, hearing the soft wind of the city flowing slowly past the
stone archway above him. One of his guards reached out and touched his
mind tentatively, but he blocked his thoughts and strode heavily down
the steps past them.
The sound of the wind above him rose to a screaming, and suddenly it was
as though he were tumbling down the entire length of the stairway,
fragments of sky and stone and faces flashing past in a kaleidoscope,
and the screaming all around him. He almost reached for his bludgeon,
but then he realized that he was not Tebron Marl ... he was Lee Rynason,
and the screaming was Horng and he was being driven out of those
thoughts, tumbling through a thousand memories so fast he could not
grasp any one of them.
He withdrew from Horng's mind as though from a nightmare; he became
aware of his own body, lying in the dust of Hirlaj, and he opened his
eyes and motioned weakly to Mara to break the connection.
When she had done so he slowly sat up and shook his head, waiting for it
to clear. For awhile he had been an ancient king of Hirlaj, and it took
some time to return to the present, to his own consciousness. He was
dimly aware of Mara kneeling beside him, but he couldn't make out her
words at first.
"Are you all right? Are you sure? Look up at me, Lee, please."
He found himself nodding to reassure her, and then he saw the expression
on her face and felt the last wisps of alien fog clearing from his mind.
There were tears in her eyes, and he touched the side of her face with
his hand and said, "I'm all right. But why don't you kiss me or
something?"
She did, but before Rynason could really immerse himself in it she broke
away and said, "You must have had a bad time with him! It was as though
you were dead."
He grinned a trifle sheepishly and said, "Well, it was engrossing. You'd
better unhook the beast; he had a bad time of it too."
Mara rose and removed the wires from Horng gingerly. Rynason remained
sitting; some of the meaning of what he had just experienced was coming
to him now. It certainly explained why the Hirlaji had suddenly passed
from their war era into lasting peace, and why the memories had been
blocked. But could he credit those memories of a voice of an alien god?
And sitting in the dust at the edge of the vast Hirlaj plain the full
realization came to him, as it could not when he had been Tebron. Not
only the Temple, but the Altar of Kor itself had been unmistakably the
workmanship of the Outsiders.