Chapter 31

It was evening before Kalus said anything to Sylviana of the

morning's adventures. First there had been work to do, then he felt

reluctant to worry her. Finally, as they sat side by side on a flat

stone before the diminishing fire, she asked him.

'Where did Avatar take you?' For an answer he reached into his

pouch and took out the cactus buds, and laid them on the stone between.

'Did you ever see these, or hear of them? They come from a desert

plant that is like but unlike others I have seen. He was very intent on

my eating them---he risked much---but I wanted to talk to you first.'

She took one in her fingers, and held it up against the light. 'If I

didn't know better..... They look like peyote buttons.'

'What are they?'

'A hallucinogenic cactus, used by the Native Americans in dances and

religious ceremonies. It's a kind of drug, if that's the right

word for something found in Nature. It's supposed to open the mind,

and let you see things beyond the physical reality.'

'Is it a kind of magic, then?' He was fascinated and intrigued

that the tiger had experienced this elevated state, and wanted him to

feel it, too.

'I guess you could call it that. But one very dangerous to the

young, or to anyone who doesn't know what they're doing.'

'Have you ever eaten them?'

'No. I've smoked marijuana, which is safer..... But Kalus, these

can't possibly be peyote.'

'Why not?'

'Because if the tiger had eaten them he'd have gone crazy: he

wouldn't have understood. He wouldn't have been able to think it

through.'

'And maybe for that same reason he wasn't afraid. You still

don't see it, do you? An animal's mind isn't less than ours,

only different. He lives in his world as clearly, and understands it as

well, as you and I. He is not a half-wakened child.'

'Well, assuming all that's true, and that this is peyote. Do you

think you're ready for it? Because I promise you, it would take your

mind to places it's never been. It could be very frightening.....

Now you're scaring me.'

Indeed, he had all but stopped listening, gazing instead with fixed

intensity upon the mystical substance before him.

'I want to try, Sylviana, if only for the pains it cost me to bring

it here.' He looked at her intently. 'Where Avatar leads, I want

to follow if I can.'

'I can't stop you, but..... Oh, Kalus. I'm so afraid

you'll hurt yourself. And after all we've been through.'

He saw the wisdom of this, and her deep concern. 'What if eat just

one, and you are here with me?'

The endless conflict between safety and wild freedom once more presented

itself. Both felt it clearly. She hesitated, then said.

'If we do it, we do it together.'

'All right.'

Kalus put a bud in his mouth. Sylviana did the same.

***

'This is amazing.'

Roughly an hour had passed, and these words so broke the stillness that

it seemed as if Kalus had then and there invented speech. And indeed,

so far as concerned the virgin sea on which they now sailed, eternal and

boundless, these were the first words, and he and the woman-child, the

true Adam and Eve.

For some time now he had remained as a near statue, only his eyes and

forehead working, studying in alternate wonder his hand, the circle of

stones, then the altar and mirror behind it. Sylviana watched him,

feeling the same awe of the experience, and perhaps to a greater degree,

the accompanying danger. She answered simply.

'Yes.'

Her voice, like a pebble in a pool, touched the glassy waters of his

spirit, sending out ripples of thought and feeling which seemed as

endless as the pool itself. Regaining his center, he became placid with

the wisdom of silence, until the shoots that stirred within him were

ready to blossom once more in true speech. Sylviana was becoming

concerned, but he had not forgotten her.

'All my days,' he said finally, 'I've judged life by the

pale shadow of it in which I've often been forced to live, never

guessing that the heart. . .the very bones of it. . .are ALIVE.' He

paused.

'It seems to me now, as it did when I was a child, that no hope, no

dream is ever fully lost, so long as the least fragment remains alive

inside you. It becomes like a seed---sleeping, dormant. But not dead.

Until, if we can endure, and fight our way to a better place where sun

and water yet flow, it is called gently back to life.'

He looked at her, tears streaming down his face. 'I am alive! And

you, my endless miracle. Are alive, and here with me.'

She took his hand, so close, and pressed it to her lips.

'Be gentle, my loving Kalus. Be gentle. There are still so many

wounds.'

Never, it seemed to him, had she spoken more truly. For he now felt in

the wrenching of his heart, as surely as if the flesh itself ached and

bled, the many scars that lay across him. He became quiet, and put his

head against her, knowing that for all his yearning, patience alone

would heal him, and make those forgotten dreams possible.

Time passed.

At length Kalus raised himself, understanding, and better able to handle

the heightened state of his senses, feeling once more like a peaceful

sea from which the gale has passed, softened and grateful.

'Thank you,' he said to her. He took a deep breath.

'Are you all right?'

There was something more than womanly concern in her voice. An intense

curiosity had taken hold of her, as if she too pondered some great

riddle of her past. The questions twirled like serpents about the

object she now surveyed.

'Yes. What are you thinking?'

'I've been looking at the mirror,' she said, gazing at it

still. 'All this time we've taken the altar, and the visions of

that night, for granted, perhaps because the questions were too deep,

and they frightened us..... But what does it all mean, Kalus? What's

BEHIND it?'

Turning toward the singular apparatus, which like her he had left aside

until this night as simply too much to contemplate, he was again drawn

by its silent mystery. But in his more earthy, less ethereal way, he

took the question literally. What lay BEHIND it? And stirred at last to

physical action, he took from his pouch the round hammer-stone and

approached the blue-black mirror, which seemed to waver in strange

patterns before him.

As the woman watched, he tapped first along the rock immediately

surrounding the glass, then above, and around the altar. There could be

no doubt: the sounds were hollow. Some hidden chamber lay beyond. He

turned to his companion.

'Shall I break the glass?'

Again she felt an inner turmoil. But her need to know was so great.....

'Yes.'

He shielded his eyes with his arm, much as he had on the night when

together they heard the Voice. . .and hurled his stone into the heart of

it.

With a crash the mirror burst. And when she dared to open her eyes

again, her first reaction was disappointment. Only a hole remained,

lined about the edges with jagged bits of glass. But forbidding and

tooth-like as these appeared, they could with care be removed, and the

passage rendered safe. This Kalus set out to do, protecting his hand

with a small skin and pulling out the pieces one by one, unable yet to

penetrate the gloom of what lay beyond.

'Bring me the torch,' he said to her.

But now the girl became suddenly timid. Seeing the result of her

handiwork, she wondered if in her restless curiosity she had not tempted

the undoing of all Faith.

'It's all right,' he said, somehow knowing her thoughts.

'If a belief can be so easily destroyed, by the least physical

reality, it is not worthy of the hope we place in it. I would rather

put my faith in something that can be trusted.'

Her eyes pleaded.

'I know,' he said more quietly. 'Nothing is that simple. But

the miracle of the Voice is not banished yet. Bring me the torch, and

we'll see what lies beyond.'

Slowly she calmed the surge of religious fear, and took from its mount

on the wall the torch that they had made. She handed it to him as he

continued to reach across the polished granite, removing or brushing

aside the broken glass that remained. He then moved the torch from side

to side, trying to see.....

'There is a room, about the same size of the upper cave. But it is

higher, and filled with objects I don't know.' Taking the fur

canopy from his bed, he folded it and used it to line the edges, still

rough, of the opening. Then tossing the light in gently ahead of him,

he mounted the altar. And passed within.

'I'm coming, too,' came the woman's voice after him.

Perceiving no immediate danger, he wedged the torch into an opening, and

helped her through the empty, oval space. Upon regaining her feet, the

girl looked around her. . .and gave voice to her dismay.

'Computers.' And so it was. One entire wall of the square-cut

chamber consisted of nothing but the sterile MACHINES: voice and thought

analyzers, communications and memory, species, mythology, and logic

sequencers. The woman felt used, betrayed.

'All that time in the cave, alone and afraid. My only hope was the

voice that spoke to me through the glass. To know that it was reading

my thoughts and secret hopes, and telling me to remain there..... Just

MACHINES. All a terrible hoax.'

'Not all, my sweet Sylvie, and not terrible. The warnings they spoke

were true, and may have saved your life. And in the end, I did come to

you.' He put his arm around her.

'And is it not a miracle after all? Think of it. I was born fully

human, on a night when stars fell from the sky. Then Akar comes to me

in Barabbas' cave: I see a terrible vision, and am made an outcast.

The Mantis finds you in the mountains of the North and brings you here.

We are brought together.' He turned towards her. 'Even if

machines could accomplish all or part of that, so many miracles had to

come first. Life on Earth. The Universe itself, rather than a great,

formless void.

'What are the odds of it?' he continued. 'That you and I

should be standing here now, alive and still young, with love and hope,

and the chance to make a better life. Is that not miracle enough?'

'I know what you're saying. And of course you're right. It

just felt better. . .I don't know. . .to think that God was watching

me. That He loved and cared about ME..... I'm going to miss

that.'

'When I was a child, I thought as a child,' he quoted. 'When

we are young we need such illusions, such security. And who is to say

what does and does not exist in the world beyond our sight? Not I.

Here I stand, surrounded by wonders I could not dream of. To think that

a light from a machine could reach inside my mind, and give me the power

to speak.'

At this the woman suddenly stirred, and drew away from him. She

examined the machinery more closely, confounded, overwhelmed. It

wasn't possible.

'What is it, Sylviana?' Still for a time she could not speak,

trying to follow the rapid, and incredible chain of thought.

'My father was a scientist,' she said finally. 'And I knew

something of on-going research. This technology: the fire that burned

from nothing, the ability to read my thoughts..... And the violet beam,

GIVING YOU THE POWER OF SPEECH. Kalus, unless I'm dead wrong. This

equipment, and the altar. . .weren't left here by men! We haven't

advanced nearly this far.'

With this her weary despondency left her. She was consumed instead by

the eager, questioning thought that her father had passed on to her

almost without her knowing it: Science, the study of the visible God.

Examining the back of the chamber, she found a steep passage carved into

the rock, after a single bend to the left, leading in a straight line

upward and eastward. But surely ‘carved' was not the right word.

The walls were smooth as glass, the floor rippled, as if to accommodate

some creature which had used the uneven surface to enter and return.....

The slanting tube rose far out of sight---to the top, she imagined, of

Skither's fifteen-hundred foot mountain. A score of masons

couldn't have done the fine work in twenty years.

'What does it mean?' asked Kalus, lost in the wake of her

discovery and unable to follow.

'The oldest question of all, Kalus. Is there life among the stars?

But here, let's follow the passage and see where it leads. I'll

tell you more when I know more.'

Now it was he who became trepid, not understanding. She couldn't

help herself. She laughed.

'Oh, did I look as foolish when you broke the mirror? There's no

reason to be afraid. I'm sure there's no one here now. Machinery

this advanced could have been working completely on its own for

centuries.'

She took his hand, and together they made their way up the long,

arrow-straight passageway, pacing their steps and resting often, so as

not to exhaust themselves in the climb and have nothing left. And yet

at each pause their sense of wonder, as well as the now tenable magic of

the peyote, only seemed to increase.

For so, too, do Science and the indescribable beauty Nature walk---the

study and living manifestation, respectively, of the enigmatic Spirit of

the Universe.

And as they stepped out at last onto a high platform open to the stars,

both felt it so clearly. The sabled dome of sky, scattered with living

diamonds, throbbed and pulsed, undeniable: Eternity's Breath.

And though they found nothing more alien or fantastic than a smooth,

half-crater floor, opening unbarriered on the East, still, this was more

than enough. The vastness of the sky reached like a limitless ocean,

islanded by countless suns and unseen planets.

And on the nearer, more tangible horizon, its pounding surf just audible

in the distance..... Kalus' heart caught in his throat. How it

called to him! Earth-mystical, everlasting, unvanquished by the follies

of men. . .he saw it as for the first time. Endlessly living.

The Sea.

*

They remained there until morning, speaking or in silence, taking in the

enormity of life, and thinking things they'd never thought before.

While the silent stars watched.

PART III

The Island of Ruins

Though nothing can bring back that hour Of splendour in the grass, of

glory in the flowers; We will not grieve, rather find Strength in what

remains behind....

---William Wordsworth

Chapter 32

Sylviana strolled easily along the beach, the cub running playfully up

ahead of her. As she walked the cool ocean breeze wrapped her face and

body in its blanket of moist freshness. The water-pocked sand beneath

her felt cold and invigorating. Tiny trills of foam nipped at her feet

as if demanding her attention, before returning in hissing protest to

the sea.

At long last, she thought, they had come to a place where this simple

pleasure, a walk in the open air, did not mean exposure to imminent

peril. High walls of stark, weather-beaten stone protected the cove

from behind and to either side, reaching long tendrils out into the

water. And between its arms and hollow chest a strip of sand, perhaps a

mile long and a third as deep, lay open to the sea and sun. Lack of

game, as much as the forbidding walls, kept the predatory threat of the

land animals away from them. So Kalus had told her.

For this same reason he had never considered the margins of the sea as a

home of any duration. But on that night when he felt its call so

strongly, remaining upon the high watch until the fiery sun had risen

from its depths to light the land, Sylviana had spoken of the many ways

that food could be obtained there. His restless thought needed no other

prompting. In the following weeks they had taken what they needed and

could carry, and come the gray stone distance to the north and east, to

live. That Kalus had another reason for doing so he kept to himself, a

seeming contradiction to the intimate closeness of those days. But he

knew the symptoms of his heart and would not cross them. Not yet. He

was afraid, and at the same time drawn, to the thing he did not

understand.

The girl watched happily as Alaska made a reckless charge back through

the surf, crashing the shallow water against her chest with the

inexhaustible energy of youth. Having lived more than half her life

among humans, it seemed a perfectly natural thing to do: running in

joyful frolic toward the outstretched, clapping hands of her soft,

female friend. And as she came to a sudden, impulsive halt, shaking the

cold water from her fur, she took little notice as Sylviana turned a

puzzled gaze far out across the waters. It only meant that her friend no

longer wished to play.

Sylviana couldn't believe her eyes. IT HAS TO BE AN ILLUSION, she

thought. SOME KIND OF MIRAGE. But still the image lingered. Perhaps a

half mile out, a lone human figure had just emerged from the water and

propped itself gracefully atop a tiny islet, a mere rock at the edge of

the continental shelf, which had somehow survived the weathering of the

years.

At least it looked human. Just at the distance where eyesight begins to

fail and imagination to fill the void, the creature looked strangely

surreal: something from an ancient legend of the sea. Half blocked from

her vision by the stone, only its naked back and blondish mane were

visible. These seemed human enough. But she was sure she remembered

something odd about the way it emerged. . .the way it

moved. . something.

But suddenly her eyes descried a far more substantial form, undeniable.

A huge, black dorsal fin split the surface of the water like a knife,

then began to move in slow patient circles around the speck of land and

shelter. Incredibly, the lone figure seemed not to notice.

Like wildfire, the thoughts and fears chased each other through her

mind. MY GOD, ANOTHER HUMAN! PERHAPS THE LAST. AND A SHARK! I'VE GOT

TO DO SOMETHING! Cupping her hands in front of her mouth, she inhaled

as deeply as her anxiety and thumping heart would allow, and shouted in

desperation:

'Look out! Stay out of the water, there's a shark!' It was no

use, the north wind and crashing surf devoured her feeble warning.

Trying to master her panic, she took several deep breaths, and cried out

at the top of her lungs.

'Shark! Shark! Stay out of the water. A SHARK!'

This time the creature reacted. Turning towards the sound, it returned

her startled gaze with one of its own, revealing for an instant a young,

almost childish face. Then to her horror, it leapt into the water

immediately beside the giant killer. Frozen in terror she could only

watch, unable to move or think. She didn't breathe.

Reaching the orca's back, the young male mounted quickly and was

gone.

Still on the shore, Sylviana stood incredulous. The boy must have seen

it. Had he really grabbed hold of the fin, or had she just imagined it?

Her eyes detecting motion farther out, once more she beheld the

impossible pairing. This time there could be no doubt. A young boy,

perhaps twelve or thirteen, had resurfaced with his mount, a massive

killer whale. Clutching with hand and foot both the dorsal and pectoral

fins, his limbs spread spider-like against the surging torso, he rode as

if he had been born to it.

In fact, he had.

*

'Kalus!' The girl came running to the place where he stood tacitly

shaping a net, surprised he hadn't heard her shouts. He saw her but

did not immediately react, half knowing what she was going to say. She

was going to tell him she'd seen a water-child. He waited patiently,

hoping she would understand.

'Kalus,' she repeated, closer and out of breath. 'I saw

another human. . .or something that looked like one. It saw me and

dashed off to sea, on the back of a killer whale!'

'Yes. I know.'

'You saw it, too?'

'No, but I have seen them before.'

She looked him full in the face, perplexed. 'You knew there were

other humans, and you never told me? My God, Kalus, why?'

'Because I was afraid.'

'Afraid of what?' she demanded.

'Afraid that if you knew there were others, you would have less need

of me. That you would not love me as much, always wondering.....'

'Oh, Kalus, that's so unfair! How could you think so little of

me?' But even as she denied his words, she knew they held a grain of

truth.

'I'm sorry,' he said. Finding no other expression, he repeated.

'I'm sorry.'

For a moment she had forgotten him, and the effect her resentment would

have. Now she looked at him, at the weary, washed-out face of long ago,

and remembered.

'OH.' She came behind and wrapped her arms around his chest and

held him tightly. 'It's all right. I understand.'

With little further speech the two worked on the nets until night forced

them back into the cave, a small hollow bored into smooth stone twenty

feet above the sand. It was neither spacious nor comfortable, but Kalus

did not intend to remain there long.

Both knew, as later in the dead of night he opened his heart to her,

that they must leave the roots of their past and strike out to a new

destination. To the Island, where Kalus had often marked the smoke of

fires, and where he hoped to find some answer to the questions that

unsettled him, not the least of which was the riddle of the Children of

the Sea.

Chapter 33

The beauty of the Sea was not lost on him, for all his preoccupation

with the Island. Every day it revealed new wonders, and more and more

he came to realize that it was not only a home and harbinger of infinite

life, but a living, tangible thing unto itself. When Sylviana told him

it had been the birthplace of life on Earth he was not surprised. When

she remarked that little seemed to have changed, despite the nuclear

holocaust, he believed, and felt quietly reassured.

But he also saw clearly the darker, more savage aspect of the waters,

which the poetic (usually from the detached safety of an untroubled ship

or peaceful shoreline) often seemed to overlook. For if the Valley had

been ruthless and produced, with few exceptions, a grim array of

thoughtless, thankless creatures, their only creed survival of the

fittest, then the Sea was the very creator, and composer of the theme.

Fierce, desperate mating followed by birth in huge numbers, of which not

one in a hundred reached adulthood to fight and breed again, seemed the

unbroken rule of this world without shelter, where life and death chased

each other like madness, and none were immune.

One morning he watched as a pair of tiny animals, some forgotten

offshoot of the hermit crab, dueled at the bottom of a small, clear

tidal pool for the affections of a waiting female. Not only was their

battle as cruel and fierce as any he had ever seen on land, but the

speed and nature of their movements was so reminiscent of the small,

poisonous spiders of the Carak that he, an immense land animal

infinitely safe upon the inaccessible rock, had unconsciously recoiled

in fear and disgust.

On another occasion a smallish gray shark, deceived this far north by an

alluring current of warm water, became entangled in one of the nets they

had strung at the end of a natural jetty. When dragged ashore with the

meager catch that had lured it, its death struggle had been so ferocious

that it haunted Kalus' sleep for weeks afterward. Hopelessly

entangled, drowning in a sea of air, it had nonetheless thrashed and

snapped for what seemed a eternity, destroying the net and reeking such

havoc that the startled fisherman, had he been able, would gladly have

thrown it back into the sea. And even when it finally expired, the

razor-sharp teeth and leering jaws had presented such a frightening

specter that he refused, instinctively, to touch it.

Reluctantly Sylviana had admitted that this behavior, either in killing

or being killed, was in no way exceptional among sharks. And far from

being the archetype of its race, this relatively small and undeveloped

creature could not begin to match the rakish refinements of the Blue,

the Tiger, and the ineffable Great White. That they preferred to feed

upon the dead and dying, that they usually left substantial, uninjured

creatures alone, was robbed of all comforting assurance by the fact that

their perceptions were so dim, their mental development so limited, that

the actions of a given individual in a given situation could in no way

be safely predicted. Like life itself, there was just no telling. From

this experience these thriving, thoughtless killers became for him the

very symbol of the dark, violent side of nature that had always so

terrified and appalled him.

'There must be something more to life,' he said, on the thirteenth

night since their arrival. They sat before a driftwood fire in the

sand, protected from the wind by the high north wall, a short distance

from their cave. With the stars above and the soft murmur of the waves

before them, there was peace and sadness enough in his heart to speak of

it, and to admit the vague emptiness he found so hard and painful to

express. For he knew that she felt an emptiness, too.

'All the birth and dying,' he continued, 'The endless struggle

just to survive, and to create new beings to struggle and die when you

are gone. It is very hard for me to say this, Sylviana, but there are

times when I think Nature is very cruel, and I can see no wisdom in

living only by her laws.'

'But aren't you the one who's always saying that the societies

of men must have failed because they had forgotten the simple goodness

of Nature, ‘primal virtue' and all of that? That society had

overridden the subtle ways of the Tao, creating its own, alternative

order in which Man's will alone was powerful? That there were no

natural, softening influences to prevent man's ignorance and

violence?' Her words seemed mockery, but there was a reason for them.

She was trying to draw him to the heart of the matter, which could be

difficult when he became thoughtful and began to withdraw.

'You know I've said these things, and you know I still believe

them. But why couldn't men do both: raise themselves above the

endless struggle, and still have the thought and compassion to put away

war and racial hatred, to feed and clothe and give medicine to those who

need it? Why does it have to be one or the other?' There was no

answer to such a question. Impatiently, she stirred the fire with a

stick.

'Aren't you really trying to tell me that you've decided to

visit the island at all costs, and that you're afraid of what you

might find there?'

'Yes,' he replied dourly, confused.

'Why are you so threatened by the Children? From everything

you've told me, they sound even more primitive than the

hill-people.' For a moment his eyes flashed, but he knew she meant no

insult.

'Because I think there could be some other colony on the Island as

well.' Her eyes became suddenly large, and she turned toward him

intently. He continued reluctantly.

'I told you I've seen the smoke of campfires, and as many as

twelve riders at once making toward the island at sunset. But I've

also seen other lights, bright and unnatural, and broad beams that split

the night..... I don't know what they mean.'

As she heard this her heart beat suddenly faster. It was all too

fantastic. Old voices and dreams that she had thought dead and in the

past, surged recklessly to life inside her.

'We've got to go there! We've got to find out.'

'Yes.' He paused, watching her intently in his turn. 'I'm

sorry I couldn't tell you all at once. It was a lot to think

about.'

'I understand.' She got up and began to pace restlessly, breathing

too deep, unable to control it. 'Oh, Kalus, I feel as if I'm

going to burst.'

'I'll be there with you.'

'Yes. YES.' Like a child she ran and wrapped her arms about him.

But later that night, unable to sleep and watching his familiar form

beside her in the darkness, she was dismayed by a strange voice that

told her she wished she was going alone. Even as he had said, she began

to wonder how deep, how true, how honest was their love? And for the

first time in many months she felt the terrible uncertainty of the

dreamer who has wrapped all hope and affection about the shoulders of a

single lover.

IS THIS THE MAN I WANT TO SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE WITH? And as much

as she wanted to say yes, she couldn't. Because she didn't know.

*

In the chill hour of dawn Kalus woke, and in turn looked upon the

sleeping figure into whom he had poured his life's blood. To see her

lying there beside him, breathing evenly, her face warm and softened

like a child's, was all that he had ever asked, or ever could ask, of

the Nameless. His love for her in that moment, when he knew, or feared,

that her loyalty to him would soon be put to its severest test, was

almost unbearable. Thoughts of a life without her he could not begin to

face, and he, too, felt a moment of doubt.

'Sometimes if you love someone, you have to let them go.' She

hadn't meant the words then, but what if now..... If their love

could not stand, in the bright and hard light of day, then the efforts

of a lifetime were in vain. For if she, who knew him to the depths of

his being---his trials and broken dreams, his personal weakness and

indomitable strength---if she found in him nothing to love and cherish

and hold on to, then who in all the cold, lonely world ever would?

If he had known the full quotation, or she the effect its partial

phrasing would have on him, perhaps they could have talked it out, and

both found in these simple but profound words some solace:

'If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it is

yours. If it does not, it never was.'

And if, in that moment he had woken her, perhaps she would have seen in

his eyes a depth of love that put aside all questions, and in the

returning echo of her heart, sealed their bond forever. But he did not

wake her, because he was afraid. And she never told him the full quote,

because like so many of life's precious and irretrievable moments, it

was gone forever.

He couldn't cage her, and he knew it. She couldn't love him fully

without knowing. So be it.

So it was.

Chapter 34

It had been decided that they should build a boat. The only questions

left to them were what kind of vessel it should be, and whether to cast

off directly from the cove, or to build the craft some distance upstream

along the banks of the Broad River, and follow its currents through the

delta which then spilled to either side of the Island.

Two considerations made Kalus choose the latter course. First there was

the problem of acquiring the wood. There were no trees of substance

within a mile of their rock-bound haven, and no way of transporting the

farther wood here. Second, neither he nor the girl had sufficient

experience in ship-building to put an adequate vessel to sea, and

perform the long, slow tack against both wind and current, northward.

And though building the craft upstream meant exposure to the returning

land animals, this danger, at least, he understood and could in some

measure anticipate. For he knew without being told that only a fool

takes to the sea unprepared.

So for the first long days, until Kalus understood well enough to

continue on his own, they made the journey together to the riverside

clearing where he had cut a single trunk of elm. Eighteen feet long, it

would be halved and hollowed out, later to be lashed together into a

sturdy, double canoe. James Michener had described such a boat in his

tales of Hawaii, and Sylviana had never forgotten. Nor had she dreamed

in those easy, carefree days at Ithaca College that she would one day be

drawing her very existence from the precious knowledge such men passed

on.

'Great fullness seems empty, yet it can never be exhausted.' So

Lao Tsu had said, and more and more in these uncertain days he was

proving the most trustworthy guide. Her life had become like a precious

ring dropped into a shallow stream: the thrashing of her hands only

muddied the waters, and made it impossible to find. Let the stream flow

and cleanse, let the sediments sink back. Then, and only then, could

she see what lay at the bottom.

But if Sylviana felt the need and desire to surrender, Kalus experienced

a vastly different emotion: raw and intolerable frustration. He could

not understand why Nature seemed to resist him at every turn, in an

endeavor which he knew must be put forward and carried out. And the

conditions in which he was expected to pull off this miracle were

appalling. He had neither saw nor plane nor adze, every day the threat

from the returning animals grew, and yet somehow he must construct a

boat in which to trust the very lives of those he loved.

Each morning he would rise, his back aching from the previous day's

labor, and make the five mile journey across rock and open land to the

small clearing, there to struggle and shape until the sun began to set.

Then the journey back, to a place he could hardly think of as home, and

a life which began to seem more and more alien, without the roots of his

past. The girl massaged him, encouraged him. But since the night of

his full disclosure a subtle wedge had been driven between them,

intensified by Kalus' need to concentrate all his energies on

personal safety and construction of the craft.

It reminded her at times of the way he had spent himself in constructing

the barrier to the Mantis' cave, and its later effect on him. But

she kept this to herself, knowing that previous labor had been essential

as well, and completed not a day too soon. Hidden fires drove him, and

if they tended to turn him in upon himself there was little she could,

or possibly should do to change it. He became once more an enigma to

her, and at times it seemed they met at nightfall like loyal strangers,

cast upon a desert island and enjoined, of necessity, to live and work,

and carry out disparate dreams of love, together. It was a cold

metaphor, perhaps, but there was no denying it. He had been to her,

literally, the last man on Earth. And she to him? The fact that he

truly loved her, and would have if given the choice of thousands, he

could not tell her, and she didn't ask. His love was primal,

unquestioned. And though she too had felt these pure, gut-level

urgings, she was reluctant to be bound by them, when there were so many

other things to consider. And to look at it from every possible angle

didn't help. The questions only brought more questions. Only time,

and trial, would tell.

In the end Kalus' will proved stronger than the knotted wood and lack

of tools. The boat was finished and rigged, and the moment was at hand.

They waited for a day when the winds were not contrary, then set out

together for the clearing, the vessel, and the mystery that lay beyond.

Chapter 35

The double prow of the canoe floated gently in the swirling backwater of

the launch, its stern still bound by gravity to the sloping earth of the

bank behind. The supplies (what there were of them) had been loaded,

and the make-shift sail unfurled from the high, horizontal yard. There

in the shelter of trees, and running parallel to the wind, it rocked

gently against the mast as the newly tied ends waved fitfully, showing

every sign of readiness.

But Kalus, looking out upon the wide, sweeping waters and thinking of

the still greater pool beyond, could not bring himself to force the

vessel farther. His emotions were running much too high, and the fear

of the unknown wrapped about him so thickly that he could not shake off

its clinging dread and despair. And despite the presence of the girl

and the cub, he felt as small and helpless and alone as he ever had.

Courage alone would not forge this crossing. He needed guidance as

well.

And in this he showed not cowardice, but wisdom. For we are all at the

mercy of winds and currents we cannot always see or understand, and

those who strut about pretending to be in firm control, are usually in

such control all the way past the maw of death, and into the belly of

unmaking.

'Sylviana,' he said finally. 'It may be foolish..... I would

like to say a prayer first.'

She was surprised by the request, but in no way opposed. She felt much

the same uncertainty. So without kneeling or folding hands, whose

gestures he had never learned, he bowed his head and spoke in deepest

earnest.

'Nameless God. Perhaps you cannot hear me, or perhaps you laugh at my

weakness. I do not wish to ask you this. But I am just a small and

simple man; I cannot control all things. The waters into which I lower

this boat seem cold to me, and I am afraid. Please, if you care and can

hear me, bring us safely to the Island.'

He paused, and for the first time in many days the woman was intently

aware of his existence. His eyes closed hard and his hands folded

together unknowingly. This was coming from the heart.

'I do not wish to die,' he continued. 'But if one of us must

die. . then let it be me. For I could not live without my Sylviana.

She is my life.' He choked back wretched tears until he felt a soft

pressure against him, and sweet arms enfolding his gnarled head and

scarred shoulders.

'Don't,' she said gently, reproaching herself for her coldness.

'I'm here with you. I'm with you.'

But to her surprise he did not return this overture. Instead he stepped

back, shook his head severely, and said to her. 'I thank you,

Sylviana. And I am sorry for this moment of weakness when I must be

strong. But whatever you feel for me, it must not be pity.'

'I only thought---'

'No. Not now. The passage we are about to make is perilous, and we

must put all our thought and effort into it. There will be time for

emotions later. There is no other way. Are you prepared?'

.. 'Yes.' He moved away from her and lifted the balking cub,

placing her in the left-hand shell, where the woman would ride. 'We

must be off.'

Without further speech they pushed the craft the remaining distance,

then clambered in to take up their positions near the back of the

parallel hulls, there both to paddle and steer, using only the awkward,

bladed shafts that he had made.

*

Almost at once Kalus perceived the most serious flaw of his

construction. The vessel was too heavy. As soon as they left the

dreamy backwater he knew it. The catamaran-like craft responded to the

current, and as the sail slowly filled, to the wind as well. But it

often moved (or failed to move) with a will of its own. The strokes of

their paddles, and even with the girl joining him for a time in the

right-hand shell, were barely enough to move them a safe distance from

the shore. A less auspicious beginning was hard to imagine.

And the boat was horribly slow to tack, or even move to counter the

wind. This concerned Kalus more than anything. For at the meeting of

the Broad River and the River of the North---in the wide water-tract of

the delta---the southward flow of the latter would try to carry them

away from their destination, and out into the open sea. He had cut the

hulls as sharply as possible in lieu of a keel, and even leaned them

slightly outward at the girl's suggestion. But rudderless, keelless,

this was not enough. The best he could manage with the now deployed

steering oar was a straight line eastward, by precious yards slowly

gaining the center of the stream. How he would hold it at the meeting

of the two rivers and the open sea he could not imagine, though he

exhausted his mind in trying. His fear and sense of helplessness grew

with each passing moment.

Strange to say, Sylviana's impressions at this early stage of their

journey were nearly the opposite. To her the waters had a soothing,

almost hypnotic effect. Kalus had not told her the possible

complications of the voyage, being uncertain himself; and for reasons

all her own she felt a naive (and perhaps misguided) assurance that all

would be well. The river was broad and quiet and tranquil. The sun

shone bright in an open sky lightly touched with cirrus, and a great

adventure was at hand. Everything was so wide open and free: alive,

still young, and in the future. The world of her past seemed to slip

behind with the running coast, so easily, leaving hardly a trace of

memory. But for the presence of Kalus and the pup, she would almost

have believed all the tribulations of the War and the Valley to have

been nothing more than a bad dream, from which she was finally waking.

But the sight of Kalus brought her back: the look of worried

consternation, his desperate struggle as he wrestled with the steering

oar. She watched him for a time, unwilling, and it all came back.

Only once, on the first day she hunted with him, had she witnessed this

kind of ruthless determination, and through it, felt the harshness of

the world that had shaped such creatures: what he had called the hungry,

haunted look of a predator. So severe were his efforts, so wholly

single-minded, that despite her resolve to face the crossing bravely,

his unspoken fears began to rub off on her. And the rising walls to

either side of them, the quickening current they now entered, turned the

world ominous and forbidding once more. Almost she resented him for it,

as if his actions had somehow changed the very nature of the stream.

As for Kalus, he had said his prayer, and now set out with every weapon

at his disposal to make it unnecessary. Self-reliance remained the

golden rule of his existence, and he knew that all their lives were in

his hands. The hands of the Nameless, if they existed at all, were a

thing beyond his (or any man's) control.

But there was no more time for such thoughts. The Broad River was broad

no longer, its shore no longer peaceful and forested. Great cliffs rose

up on their right, the last reaches of the granite ridge. To the north

the gray rock was not as steep, but its effect on the river was the

same. All its wide and lazy waters now issued with great force through

a deep, narrow channel scarcely sixty yards wide, falling nearly twice

that distance in less than a mile. The result was a horrific,

white-water chute, now drawing them swiftly to itself. Kalus' harsh

voice cut through the growing roar.

'Tie down the cub,' he commanded, 'And then yourself. Take

solid hold of the paddle; we've got to keep the boat running

straight. And for anything short of death, DON'T LET GO OF THE PADDLE.

Now!'

Half stunned, hardly knowing where she was, Sylviana obeyed him. She

made the whimpering pup lie down, and bound her securely. Then with

shaking hands she tied the waist-rope about herself. She straightened

and took hold of the shaft, both knuckles and face turning coldly white.

She glimpsed at Kalus, who nodded gravely. This danger they both

understood.

Several times through the roar and spray of their passage, the boat

tried to whip about and dash itself against the rocks, or turn sideways

to be rolled and lost. But each time, one of the rowers would pull

forward with desperate strength while the other steered or slapped back

at the water till the blade finally dug in against the fume: straight

ahead, blocking out the screaming fear, determined.

And when the smoking mists cleared and the chaos died away, as the tract

broadened and the waters smoothed again just as swiftly, their craft

remained, unbroken and undaunted. Kalus gave a cry and shook his fist

at the sky, while the girl wept. Another obstacle had failed to defeat

them.

But Kalus was given no time for celebration, and he knew it. Soon they

would enter the delta, and the meeting with the more voluminous North

River. Immediately he threw down the paddle and took up the longer,

stouter steering oar. The sail was heavy and wet, bunched unevenly

along the yard; but with supreme, unyielding effort he tried to angle

the craft into the wind, which to his dismay now turned nearly straight

from the North.

The mast gave a troubled groan; the right hull and stern sank

dangerously low in the water. But that was all. He could

change the direction of the prow but not their course. The

hulls' edges simply would not bite and drive them forward.

For all his cursing the craft barely held center. And soon the

North River would be upon them. Sylviana raised her dripping

face, her chest heaving both with oxygen and emotion. And for

all her trauma, she felt a swift and stark moment of

recognition. Creeping feelers of memory had been pushing at her

consciousness for weeks, since they came to the cove and she

caught her first glimpse of the Island in the distance. Now

their message hammered through.

The island that lay before them, broad and flat across the muddy waters

of the delta. . .was the ruin of once proud New York City. The river to

the north was the Hudson.

She gazed at it in a stupor of disbelief. Not a single scraper touched

the skies of Manhattan, only mangled upheavals of stone and steel. The

City had been stripped to a foundation of jagged, broken teeth, then

left to endure ten thousand years of weathering.

NEW YORK! All this time, feeling at the ends of the earth, she had been

less than twenty miles from the place of her birth. It was too

incredible to accept, too unlikely to be anything but the truth. Her

spirit swooned at the sight of it.

But whatever the Christian name of the river they now encountered, to

Kalus it might as well have been the Finger of Satan. The two currents

merged into an uneasy bay, lapping slowly but steadily south-eastward.

He redoubled his efforts with both sail and paddle, striking furiously

at the water till the veins of his forehead seemed ready to burst. But

he could not fight the devilish pull.

Away! It carried them away! With all Sylviana's help, he could draw

no closer to the Island. The SEA lay beyond, nothing but the sea! Dear

God, it was slow, certain death that awaited them! In the final measure

he had failed, miserably and utterly. He tore down the Judas sail and

fell forward and surrendered to despair.

They were lost.

Chapter 36

But in his despair and hopeless fear of it, Kalus had forgotten (or

never knew) that the Sea could also be benevolent. The Sea, which has

ways and currents of its own, and to whom the incoming waters were

hardly a ripple of sand in the Sahara. The fresh water currents

subsided, and the waves of the Atlantic took over. Subtler, more

profound, at worst they would have cast them back upon the mainland.

But by a distance no greater than the trunk of a fallen tree, he had set

their craft far enough east to be held by the confines of a far greater

stream. Sweeping northward along the whole coast of America, washing

even the pebbles of Nova Scotia before turning eastward toward Britain

and the European main: the subtly altered, and miraculous Gulf Stream.

For a long time it seemed the boat moved not at all. And lost in sorrow

and dark reverie, none of its passengers stirred. Only the cub seemed

alive, whimpering in the wet bottom of the shell until the woman untied

her. At length Kalus rose, to apologize with broken heart for killing

them all.

But the words were never spoken. Somehow the boat had turned about, and

no longer faced southward. For a time he wasn't sure, afraid of some

trick..... Yes! If the vessel moved at all it was north and a little

east. They had missed the southwest facet of the Island, but if they

paddled with strength and good hope, perhaps they might still affect a

landing on its more easterly shores. He was no sailor: he had neither

the skill nor the vessel for sailing. But strength still lived in his

arms, and fires still burned in his heart. He turned to Sylviana.

'Have you any strength left?' he asked her. 'The current no

longer bears us ill, but I think we must still approach the Island on

our own.'

'I'm exhausted, Kalus. I feel half drowned..... Can I rest a

while first?'

'Yes. If you can steer just a little, I will try to row for both of

us.' The woman-child set her paddle listlessly in the water, steering

with it as best she could, until pride and returning stamina enjoined

her to paddle on her own.

They continued on in this way for several hours, resting at intervals,

gradually, so gradually drawing nearer the rocky shoals of the great

island. Kalus now began to search for a less dangerous strip of beach,

confident that if such could be found, by hook or by crook they would

reach it, and effect some kind of landing.

So engrossed was he in searching the coast. . .that for a long while he

did not notice the great fin that had risen to starboard, and began to

parallel their course at a distance neither great nor small, cunning

with the patience of a predator. It was not until it turned and began

to bore in on them, as the girl caught her breath and froze in terror,

that he saw it.

But once seen there was no forgetting. Black and straight as an ebon

keel, it cut through the swells with effortless grace, a torpedoing,

half-defined shadow beneath it. No small, Child-bearing female this,

but a magnificent bull fully thirty feet long, its knifing dorsal as

tall as a man.

And then the blackened knife, like a periscope, sank beneath the level

of the waves, and did not reappear. Kalus unfastened his spear, moved

forward and stood up in the bow---awed, but fiercely determined to

defend his own. All was quiet and still.

Then suddenly (or so it seemed, for the motion was not performed in

haste) a great head appeared in front of them, rising perpendicular out

of the water, lightly touched by the lapping swells. Above patches of

white, dark eyes studied them darkly. The orca seemed to be asking

himself, almost casually, were they worth the trouble? Aboard the

suddenly diminished craft, the cub set loose a peal of frightened

barking, while Kalus showed the whale clearly the point of his spear.

Without haste the creature returned to a swimming posture, and with a

rough spout somewhere between laughter and a sneer, began a last,

intimidating circle---though whether it intended to attack was not

clear, since it drew no closer.

Then to the bewilderment of the company another, smaller fin appeared,

as if to join in the kill. But it was not so. Coming between the bull

and the tiny ship, the female nudged him almost angrily, then butted him

outright in the side. The male at last relented. The two swam off,

leaving behind them a riddle that only seemed complicated, because of

its simplicity.

Perhaps nowhere else in Nature was the difference between male and

female more pronounced, or more in harmony with their world. They were

a mated pair: the bull nearly twice her size, aggressive and

indomitable. And the female: more subtle, more compassionate (if that

is the right word), strong and sure enough to act on both convictions.

Either one alone could be powerful and self-sufficient. Together,

nothing could withstand them, true champions of the Sea.

It was Sylviana who spoke first, feeling more acutely the need to talk

that comes after tension and danger. Kalus, conversely, remained with

his jaw set, trembling and pale, but with the spear clasped firmly in

his hand. He did not at first seem to hear her.

'I was never so scared in my life,' she said. No reply.

'Kalus?'

He turned to her, not seeming to know who she was, then answered with

half his attention, perhaps a bit coldly. 'Not even before the giant

spider?'

.. 'No. Not really. Then I didn't believe what was

happening..... Are you all right?' At last his eyes and mind

focused, and he too felt the need.

'I have been better. How many shocks am I supposed to be able to

face in one day? I feel I've lived a year in just these few

hours.' He released a sigh, almost a groan, laying aside for a time

his resolve to keep an emotional distance from her. . .until she

decided. 'I'm sorry for what I said about the spider. It was

thoughtless.'

'It's all right. You're allowed to be human, you know.'

>From the tone more than her words, Kalus knew that he had stung her,

and that she did not quite forgive him. Again he felt that she was

holding him responsible for the harshness of his world, as if it were

somehow his fault. Again the chasm opened between them, and now he was

too tired to fight it. Imperceptibly he shook his head, breathed out,

and returned his attention to the shoreline.

*

They were now less than a mile out, and the half-forgotten, ruinous

landscape once more absorbed them.

All was flat on a large scale, and crumpled on a small: hard, bitter

rock like cubes set on edge, careening madly this way and that. Within

its valleys were patches of earth, green with grass and weeds, punctured

ever and again by corroded girders and iron masonry-bars, to which clung

bits of ornamental stone and naked, crumbling concrete. Trees were

scarce and never large, their greatest numbers clustered in isolated

patches a short distance from the coast, which seemed to have received

the largest deposits of earth.

Sylviana easily saw what she had always known, that the skyline of

Manhattan had been built upon solid bedrock. For this reason alone had

the Island survived at all, blasted as it must have been by successive

nuclear explosions. And with this she realized suddenly where the

deposits of earth had come from. Besides the fact that the continental

coast had been ravaged..... Long Island was gone! Just GONE. Nothing

but ocean stretched eastward as far as the eye could see.

And this made her see, vividly, what she had hitherto thought of and

imagined as little as possible. While her father had whisked her away

and put her to sleep, like an enchanted princess, in the Canadian

Rockies, an entire world had been pounded and burned to death. And the

remote, less habited places of the globe had been no better off, their

children, both man and animal alike, left to die and distort in the

slower ravages of radiation poisoning. She did not even know how her

father had protected her from the fallout, or indeed, if he had been

able. Horrible thought! Would she one day die of cancer, too?

The only comfort, and it wasn't much, was that it had all happened so

long ago: that the hurts had long since been healed. But what was Time,

really? Had the Island forgotten? The grim hunks of marble, were they

not tombstones, the remains of a pillaged graveyard? Were the gnarled

trees not alive with the ghosts of the past? She could not elude the

pain, or the bludgeoning sense of complicit guilt.

Had he wanted to, Kalus could have torn her apart in those moments

merely by pointing, as if to say. 'Is this the humanity you mock me

with? Is this the world and way of life I should mourn?' But he said

nothing because he, too, seeing her spirit crushed so completely, felt

through her the reality and pain of the score of books she had read to

him, and realized that every book ever written was but a grain of sand

in the vast desert of human struggles and emotions. Six billion

intelligent beings at once sharing the globe. . .and then this. He

wanted to wrap her in his arms, and shield her forever from the horror.

But he could not. 'I wish this day would end,' was the best he

could manage.

But the day would not end. For good or ill, there remained yet one more

scene for them to witness. And this, a vision of the inextinguishable

nature of life, was in that hour both a joy and an indescribable sadness

to behold. As the boat rounded a high promontory, a hidden inlet was

revealed to them. Sylviana gasped, and Kalus lifted his spear in alarm.

But there was no danger. No physical danger at least.

Thirty-three naked human forms sat, or stood, or lay placidly like seals

among the rocks and mossy earth of a steep embankment, with the ruins of

the United Nations building standing in broken silhouette behind them.

And before them, in the deep and still waters of the inlet, a dozen fins

and sleek backs rested peacefully while others moved, as if on guard,

among the waters farther out. It was impossible that the whales, at

least, should be unaware of their slowly logging craft; but apparently

some understanding had been reached. The guards came no closer, and the

Children showed no fear.

And children they truly were: none exceeded the age of sixteen. Their

bodies had no hair, only the scruffy heads and thick eyebrows, the

straggle of mane down neck and spine---all curly blond and brown. Their

cream-colored skin was smooth and tough, and the eyes of all resembled

more closely the eyes of a statue than any human's. Indeed, their

very placidness was almost cold, animal in its indifference. Upon

closer inspection an abnormality of the hands and feet could be seen.

The fingers were long, bony and webbed, like the sea-creatures they

were, the feet slightly longer and similarly arrayed.

But in the face of all contradictory evidence, Sylviana clung with

sudden conviction to the belief (perhaps unfounded) that inside them

remained some spark of humanity, and a soul that might somehow be

wakened.

But who would wake it? They had tarried here in their winter home long

enough, and must soon return to the seal rich waters of the North.

Perhaps they would return again in autumn; perhaps they would move

on. Though she could not have known this, Sylviana hung her head in

unknown harmony.

*

At last as the day wore thin, they reached a tenable stretch of beach,

and in the failing light safely landed the water-soaked craft. The

smallish waves could not overturn its heavy bulk, which now served them.

They dragged it as far ashore as they could, which wasn't far, and

lit a fire to replace the sunken sun. There in the lee of a group of

rocks they huddled together and slept in the sand, unable yet to think

of tomorrow.

They slept, and dreamed, in sorrow.

Chapter 37

The next day brought unexpected hope. As the sun rose, dazzling, across

the vast Atlantic, one of its urchins stood up among the wave-ends and

stepped cautiously ashore.

Alerted by the sixth sense that every hill-man must possess, Kalus

opened his eyes and remained perfectly still. There in the clear light

of morning, he witnessed a scene that recalled to him the simple act of

kindness that had changed his life forever. Quietly he woke the girl,

knowing that she needed this sight as much as he. Silently, together

they watched, touched by the eternal resilience of life, where nothing

is new under the sun, and every sunrise is the first for some newborn

creature.

A small boy, perhaps four, stood close to the water's edge, holding

something in his hand. The cub, having woken before them, remained in

her alert, quizzical posture, a short distance from him up the sandy

incline. As the boy took a few steps nearer she stood up, but did not

bark or growl. Perhaps it was because they were of a kind, and

understood each other without the dimness of fear. Or perhaps because

they felt the simple affinity which all young creatures share, not yet

hardened and made cruel by their elders and their world.

The Child continued to advance, glancing sidelong at the others: aware

of their presence, but intent upon his mission. At last only a few feet

separated boy and wolf. Squatting, he put the partly eaten fish in the

sand in front of her, and took a step back. The pup came closer,

sniffed at it briefly, then began to eat. Her tail wagged in childish

contentment.

And then the miracle occurred. The Child laughed, throwing his arms up

to the sky. If he had known the word ‘hooray', he would certainly

have used it.

Such sweet music! Sylviana thought her heart would break for it, and

Kalus remembered for the first time without bitterness, the smile and

trust of young Shama.

The girl sat up; she couldn't help herself. At once the child

sprinted back to the sea, diving into the waters as naturally as a newly

hatched sea turtle, thinking no more of the ensuing swim than a bird

thinks of flight. A short distance out an impatient, affectionate orca

rose between his waiting legs, and carried him home on her back.

Sylviana watched in weary peace, with dreamy eyes thinking how sweet it

might be to one day have a child of her own. Until something in the

emptiness of the beach arrested her.

'Kalus, the boat. It's gone!'

And so it was. He rose beside her, and pointed to a spot on the

northeast horizon. There, riding ever lower in the waves, floated the

craft he had so agonizingly constructed. She was appalled by his

apparent calmness.

'You've got to DO something. You've got to swim out and get

it.' But he only shook his head, clearing his eyes with the back of

his wrist.

'Would you have me drowned for a piece of wood?'

'But how can you be so indifferent?'

'I am not indifferent, if only for the pains it cost me. But I have

not yet given up hope that the boat will return to us. The tide took it

out, perhaps the waves will bring it back farther north. And if it is

lost, I think I can now construct a better one, more worthy of our

trust.'

'But you worked so hard to bring us here.'

'Yes,' he said. 'I raged at both the sea and wind, cursing

them and calling them demons. Then, when I surrendered in despair,

something pulled us through, and gave us another chance. We are far out

on this limb, Sylviana. We must believe in something. I will trust in

the Tao that I have found, and which in all my life, has never fully

betrayed me.'

But now he drew back. His eyes grew hazy, and far less confident. He

paused as if in fear, for all his resolve, at the words he must now say

to her.

'I give you your freedom, also..... I LOVE you. But whatever is to

come, I cannot chain you to me. You must return to me, if you would, of

your own free will.'

BUT THIS IS AWFUL, she thought. HIS TIMING IS TERRIBLE. She fought

back the urge to say, 'And what if I don't want my freedom? Did

it ever occur to you that I might feel the same way about you?'

Instead she said nothing. So be it.

And here Kalus made a fundamental error of human psychology. For while

on an intellectual level a woman may be pleased at the prospect of her

‘freedom', on an instinctive or emotional level, and with a man

she loves, such words are a source of deep doubt and insecurity. If

Kalus truly wanted and needed her, why wasn't he willing to guard her

love, even fight for it? Didn't he care anymore?

But all such thoughts passed through her below the surface only. Her

one concern now (so she told herself) was for their welfare, which he

seemed to be taking far too lightly.

'And what if we're stranded here for a month? Our supplies

won't last half that long.'

'I don't think we're stranded, or alone..... I saw the lights

again last night.'

These words worked on her system like an electric shock.

'What! Why didn't you wake me?'

'You needed sleep more than water, or even air. Please don't fight

with me, Sylviana. Much could happen this day. I don't want it to

begin with a rift between us.'

She paced back and forth in the deep sand, her strides sinking, failing

to carry her any meaningful distance before doubling back. It was not

anger she felt now, but fear.

Because she could not yet face the prospect of finding other men and

women like herself. Through all their preparations she had only half

believed it, deep down. Yet now the most terrible question of her life

rose in unshrouded hugeness before her:

HAD OTHERS OF HER KIND SURVIVED THE DESTRUCTION? Or was she truly alone

with Kalus, who she seemed to know less and less each day? And why did

a part of her WANT to be alone with him? She could not face it. If

after all her hopes and fears it came to nothing.....

'All right,' she said, trying to calm herself. 'All right.

What do we do now?'

'Build a fire, eat and drink, then move inland carefully. We

don't know yet what we'll find. I think I can trace the source of

the beams well enough. The Island is large, but not infinite. Only its

uneven surface makes it appear so. If we miss on the first try, or even

the second, we will be closer to the source; and we can trace the beams

by night, if need be.'

But for all her need of nourishment, Sylviana's knotting stomach

would not think of food. 'We've got to go now! I'm sorry,

Kalus, but I can't possibly wait another minute.'

He started to overrule her, then checked himself, secretly bitter at her

eagerness. 'Very well,' he said. 'But we go slowly, and with

our weapons in our hands. I'll take no chances in this wretched

place.'

His mood had changed abruptly. He too felt the specter of the waiting

unknown, though his hopes and fears were nearly opposite; and he became

once more the untrusting hill-man. He lifted his spear, jaw set against

the dark uncertainty that awaited them.

Sylviana strode ahead anxiously. Together they cleared the sand, and

climbed the first slanting rise. It dipped, and another rose before

them, frail earth punctured by an agony of stone and steel. They

advanced.

Chapter 38

Inland the earth grew somewhat less troubled. The undulating cross of

ridges became smoother and more widely spaced, with patchwork valleys

sinking in their midst. The scarred remains of buildings were also less

frequent, though here and there an inexplicable mound of slag, half

overgrown like an ancient, impoverished barrow, rose to recall the

unsleeping dead that still walked there.

Sylviana was soon pale and exhausted, and Kalus could no longer indulge

her almost distracted urge to keep moving. Almost angry, he made her

sit down in the grim shade of a leering monolith. For the day had grown

hot and humid, with hardly a breeze to calm the reeling senses, or break

the spell of sunny, smiling death that seemed to hang in the air around

them like a witch's curse. A delirium of fever had come over her

from the tumultuous passage of the rapids and the sea, but in her

excited state she was not calm or rational enough to realize it.

Kalus gave her water and tried to cool her burning forehead, telling her

in no uncertain terms that they would not go one step further until she

had caught her breath, and let him do something about the gash on her

knee---the result of a fall---which she kept insisting was nothing.

NOTHING?

But she hardly heard him, unable to master her emotions. She knew where

she was, mentally, but this drab physical assurance helped not at all.

Why in the name of all that was dark, mysterious and unfathomable was

she here, ten thousand years removed from the time and world she had

known? And who was this half wild man who tended her, and the

bewildered animal that licked her hand in half-formed worry and

confusion? KALUS. ALASKA. NEW YORK. What were they but names? What

was this place, truly, but the untouchable Land of the Dead, which the

sun had somehow invaded.

As her breath came easier the thoughts slowed and became less feverish,

but did not change in character. Her body ached. She felt lonely and

numb and afraid. Yet somehow she grew calmer, feeling that if once she

looked into Kalus' eyes the world would again become comprehensible,

if still cruel and unfair.

But by dint of some perverse pride she refused to do so. She would not

be a slave to any man, or concede her spirit to a Nature so base and

single-minded. Whatever that might mean. She did not know.

And as soon as the slightest strength returned to her limbs she was up

again, fighting the stubborn rush of dizziness, assuring the nagging

voice of caution that she was ready to go on.

Kalus was truly worried, himself not immune to the alien strangeness of

the place. He did not know what waited over the next hill, the next

series of hills, or how with his primitive weapons alone he would

protect them. For he had seen the wisp of smoke, the kind that only man

can make: the white smoke of intentional fire, though he dared not speak

of it to the girl.

All seemed lost and out of control. He wanted to yield and to trust,

and if it had been his life alone he might have done so. But the more

the woman-child railed and pulled away from him, the more he knew that

she was family in the deepest sense. Nothing she could do or say made

him feel any less bound to her, one with her, or responsible for her

safety and well-being.

There was nothing else for it. She had begun of her own to climb the

uneven slant. He could either follow behind or forcibly stop her; there

was no third alternative. He ran to stand beside her, taking her arm as

gently as he could.

'Sylviana, please. Let me lead the way. I do not think it is far,

but we must be careful. Please.'

She finally looked at him, and remembered. She wanted to collapse in

his arms and weep. She wanted to say that nothing else mattered. She

wanted to go back to their life by the sea and never again think of

islands and men. But she could not. She took his hand firmly in hers,

kissed it, and yielded to what had to be. She must go on, and he must

lead her. As he must somehow understand.

Together, more slowly, they dipped two more valleys and climbed a final

ridge. They reached the top of it, Kalus for some reason hugging close

to the shadows of a stunted oak.....

There, in that small recession, their lives changed forever. An outdoor

cooking fire, a row of low stone buildings. Two women and a man moving

about a table with plates and cups. And not dressed like animals, but

men. Overalls, a blue NASA worksuit, an Oriental dress. Sylviana

looked on, not surprised she told herself, then felt the ground rush up

to meet her.

*

Kalus caught her beneath the arms and pulled her under the partial cover

of the tree. But it was too late. They had been seen. Without audible

word or gesture, the three stopped what they were doing and began to

move toward them. One, at least, had seen her fall, and they began to

run, thinking she was wounded or sick.

But they were brought up short by an imposing figure with a sword, and a

half grown wolf which seemed unsure whether to welcome their aid, or

protect its fallen mistress from them. It growled and lunged

uncertainly, looking over at the man, who remained silent. There was a

moment of mutual indecision and fear.

But then the woman in the dark silk dress, lit with patterns of gold and

lilac, stepped forward. Her appearance was strange to him, the

shimmering black hair and olive skin seeming more exotic even than his

first memories of Sylviana. Her eyes were calm and reassuring, but not

naive. She put a hand to her chest, then opened it toward him in what

he clearly recognized as a gesture of truce.

Her stillness, and the way she looked at him without wavering, told

Kalus more than any other sign that she meant them no harm. He lowered

his sword and said simply.

'Do we speak the same language?'

She smiled sadly. 'Yes, I believe we do.' At this the others came

forward.

'Is the girl all right?' asked the man. He started to move

towards her, but Kalus' rugged frame interposed.

'She is exhausted and feverish, and startled by the sight of you.

She is of your kind, I think. I am not.'

Taking this in officiously, the man once more addressed him, offering

his hand, which Kalus did not take. But he persisted. 'I'm Paul

McIntyre, flight surgeon..... I'm a doctor, son. Won't you let

me help your friend?'

But for all his relief and desire to yield, Kalus found it hard to let

another man touch her, even in this simple way. Again the young woman

interceded. She laid a soft and delicate hand on his, and looked him

full in the face with brilliant, almond eyes, drawn to a gentle point at

each corner.

'It's all right,' she said. 'You're among friends.

Won't you let us help you?' Her voice and manner were so alluring

that for a moment he forgot all else. He looked down at Sylviana, half

ashamed of what the Oriental had aroused in him, and said quietly.

'So long as you are gentle. I think she just needs rest.'

The doctor was already at work, lifting her off the hard roots to lean

back against his thighs. Then reaching inside a black bag that he had

brought, he broke open a pouch of smelling salts and moved it back and

forth under her nose. Her head stirred, then turned away in distaste.

She regained full consciousness to find herself lying, literally, in the

strange older man's lap. Forgetting that this was what her mind had

sought, she cried out instinctively.

'Kalus!' And in a moment he was beside her. 'Kalus,' she

pleaded. 'Is it all right? Are we safe here?' He looked hard at

the doctor.

'Yes, my Sylviana. I think that we are.'

She studied the man once more. 'Is it true? Are you really with

NASA? This isn't a dream?'

'Yes, I'm with NASA. Second manned expedition to Mars---we never

made it. But there's time for all that later. Right now we're

going to get some fluids into you, and give you something for the fever.

Then I'd prescribe bed rest, and a further examination. Young man,

will you help me---'

But before he could finish the girl had turned her face into his

stomach, and was crying like a child. He stroked her hair easily and

naturally, speaking words of comfort and assurance. As the man-child

looked on and felt lost.

At length she grew quieter. Kalus lifted her in his willing arms, and

despite all objections, carried her himself to a bed in the cool

darkness of one of the huts.

Chapter 39

All that afternoon Sylviana remained in the hut, sleeping, drinking

fruit juice, and luxuriating in the incredible comfort of a real bed.

Twice the doctor came in to check on her, and each time she made him sit

down on the edge of the bed and talk to her, about what it didn't

matter, just to hear his soothing voice that spoke of a world she knew

and trusted, and to feel she was no longer alone: that it was all right

to be a needing child. And after a time his words became like music, a

lullaby, and she would slip back into untroubled sleep, her hand

unconsciously resting on his. Then he would gently lift it and set it

beside her, and smiling, rise to tell the others that she would be fine.

*

Kalus would have remained beside her door all day in silent watch, but

they would not let him. Though all at the noon meal of the partly

gathered colony were asked to let the newcomers be, by evening their

curiosity could no longer be disciplined. He was asked to join them for

supper, the first of the year to be eaten outdoors, and it was all but

impossible to refuse.

So as the remaining men and women returned from their various

labors---there were fourteen in all---Kalus took his place at the far

end of the long table, not to distinguish himself, but because he did

not wish to sit closely huddled among creatures he did not know. And

though by all appearances they seemed the best that modern man had to

offer (in fact they were), he could not help remembering the tales of

human treachery that Sylviana had read to him; and half fearfully, half

angrily, he kept waiting for some sign of it to surface.

But it never did. These people seemed to genuinely care about and

support each other, and to respect his wish to be silent. And all would

have gone well but for an incident which none could have foreseen, and

for which Kalus himself could not be blamed.

Sylviana, hearing the sounds of conversation and real companionship,

dressed herself quickly, and against doctor's orders, came out to

join them. She was welcomed heartily, and given a place near the head

of the table. And all seemed well enough.

But as the dishes were being cleared and those still seated began to

push back their chairs and settle themselves more comfortably, Sylviana

began to tell her story in abbreviated form. Then Kalus saw that the

tall, straight man at the head of the table---their leader, he

perceived---kept staring at her in growing agitation. In truth the look

was not one of hunger, but of intense curiosity, and of a man racking

his brains for some distant memory. But Kalus could not know this.

Finally the man interrupted her, saying plainly.

'Sylviana. What is your last name?'

To her amazement, she had to think for a moment. She hadn't used it

for what seemed, and was, an eternity.

'Matheson.'

'And was your father Guy Matheson, the physiologist?'

'Yes! Did you know him?'

'Know him? Why girl, I even know YOU, though I'm sure you

wouldn't remember. I worked with your father for the better part of

a year, trying to smooth out some wrinkles in the cryogenics and

life-support systems needed for longer, deep Space voyages. You were

only eight or nine at the time, but I've thought of you at least a

hundred times since, and wondered what became of you. There was such

simple joy in everything you did.....'

And as a look of slow recognition and wonder came over the young

woman's face, the normally reserved Mission Commander was overcome by

emotion. He stood up, telling her to do the same. He moved closer, and

embraced her heartily.

'Dear God, it's good to see you. To know that you're still

alive.'

This was too much for Kalus. The chair on which he sat flew backward

and the sword leapt from its sheath, in the upward swing knocking hard

against the bottom of the table. Jolted, the company turned to face

him, as to contain his animal passion he took a step backward and

breathed heavily. But the tip of his sword he pointed at the leader in

a rage, saying with disciplined fire.

'LET HER GO.'

But none were more startled, or dismayed, than Sylviana. 'Kalus!'

she demanded, as if he were an errant child. 'Put the sword away.

Can't you see these people mean us no harm? This man was a friend of

my father's. And of mine.'

He stood pale in the artificial light, his limbs trembling and his mind

confused. He lowered the sword, and slowly realized that he had been a

fool, and disgraced them both. He hung his head, and colored with

shame.

'I'm sorry. I don't understand these things..... I am a wild,

foolish man. But when you touched my woman---'

He looked up quickly, to find his worst fears confirmed. Sylviana had

winced at being called his woman. He felt a part of himself dying.

Perhaps he overreacted, but it was what he truly felt.

'I am a fool. I will leave you.' But a firm voice broke him off,

that of Kataya, the Oriental.

'NO,' she said. 'Don't ever apologize for who and what you

are. Ever.' He looked up to see her standing. 'Commander

Stenmark, and Sylviana, too, must share the blame for this.' There

was a note of reproach in her voice, though she had not intended it.

'You reacted in the way your world has taught you, a world that none

of us can know, and in which there is no shame. You are welcome among

us, and you will stay.'

There was an awkward silence. Then the Commander, who was in fact their

leader, remembered himself and spoke reassuringly, voicing perhaps the

sentiments of all.

'She's right, young man. God help us, she's always right.'

With this the tension faded. The doctor, who to this point had been

lenient with his patient, now called her visit to an end.

'You, young lady,' he said in paternal tones, 'Are supposed to

be in bed. As for the rest of you gawkers,' he added with mock

severity, 'We can put Kalus under the microscope tomorrow, and then

heaven help him! You're in a colony of scientists, my boy, and

you'll get no rest until we're as bored with you as we are with

each other. Enough now! Break up this little party or I'll come up

with a new vaccine and inject you where you sit. Literally.'

With this, chuckling, responding in kind, the company began to disperse

to the various huts. The Commander approached Kalus, shook his hand,

and apologized personally, while the hill-man repeated his own

contrition.

At last, looking down, Kalus found himself seated at the table alone,

his thoughts as dark and empty as the place itself. Sylviana had been

ashamed of him. ASHAMED. As if the past meant nothing, had never

happened.

He lay wearily on his arms, trying to understand. How had it all

happened so fast? The colony had absorbed her like water into sand,

leaving nothing for him. Even the cub had gone in to sleep beside her.

To sleep beside her! How acutely he would feel the absence of her body

tonight. He felt himself out of place: in the wrong tale, immersed in

chapters and characters that all around him understood, but which were

to him as incomprehensible as the Valley had been to Sylviana.

But this new life would not have seemed so bleak, perhaps even pleasant,

if while it slowly took possession of him, he was not losing the one

thing in all the world that truly mattered: the love of the woman he had

once called his. HIS.....

He felt soft fingers touch the back of his head, then slide downward and

begin to massage his neck and aching shoulders. He did not move,

knowing by touch alone that it was not his mate. He knew it was Kataya,

but was too exhausted, both physically and emotionally, to react one way

or the other.

But to the watching figure in the doorway, there was no such

ambivalence. Sylviana was furious. How different when the shoe is on

the other foot, was a thought she strangled as soon as it began to form

inside her.

She had gone to the spacious bed, surrounded by things she thought

missing from her life, only to experience the same emptiness and sense

of loss at not feeling the familiar body beside her, and having no one

to tell of her contentment. She tried to shrug it off and just sleep.

But she had slept off and on all day, and felt her weariness replaced by

a kind of yearning restlessness. PROBABLY JUST MY CONSCIENCE, she had

told herself. And with this the gentler part of her nature had begun to

rebel, saying that Kalus was a kind and decent man, who deserved better

than to be spoken to and treated as if he were some kind of savage.

But these gentle, Christian sentiments were too easily dismissed. He

had acted abominably, her harder self retorted, and fully deserved the

scorn that she had shown him.

And perhaps this was the problem---trying to make herself think more

fondly of him through the mind. Because gratitude and compassion are

not lasting in love, while instinct and self-fulfillment never fade. If

she could simply have admitted to herself that she missed the security

and intimacy of lying in his arms, and that the crowning pleasure of her

new-found happiness would have been to open herself to him, both body

and spirit, she could have put aside the hopeless tangle of her emotions

and simply gone to him, and taken him to her, and renewed again the bond

of true lovers. As it was she could only toss restlessly, then get up

and pace in frustration.

At length she had decided to go to him (or merely allowed the greater

part of herself to act), telling herself that she should at least say

goodnight, and give him the chance to make it up to her. But as she

passed through the hallway and began to enter the dimly lit compound,

she saw a male figure hunched at the table, and another, female form

behind, touching him. Thinking it one of the other couples, she drew

back into the shadows of the doorframe. But as her eyes grew more

accustomed to the half-light, she saw plainly the scene laid out before

her.

And there she remained, her mind and heart a whirlwind of conflicting

impulses. She wanted to rush at the woman and scratch her eyes out.

She wanted to walk up calmly and ask, 'Have you quite finished with

my husband?' Her HUSBAND? She wanted to scream at Kalus, to

apologize for being cold, to seduce him, and to have him out of her life

forever.

But she did none of the things, remaining stock still in the doorway.

She forced herself to be calm, and tried to rationalize. Why was she so

upset? After all, what had he done? And why did it matter to her

anyway? She wanted to break away, and put the whole thing from her

mind. But she couldn't. She had to see what he would do.

After a time Kataya sensed the man-child's indifference, or at least

his unwillingness to yield to her. This did not cool her half-admitted

desire for him, but only made it more patient, tactful. She moved to

sit in a corner chair, beside him.

'Why so glum, Kalus? Or are you just ignoring me?'

'I am sorry, Kataya. It's not you. I just

feel. . .overwhelmed.' And with this, he surrendered.

'How so?'

'So much has happened,' he began, feeling as he said the words the

bewilderment that lay beneath all other emotions. 'Three weeks ago

Sylviana and I made love as if there was nothing else in the world. And

for us, there wasn't. Three months ago we struggled together against

the Cold World, in a place we called our home. At the time it often

seemed like Hell, but it brought us closer than you can possibly

imagine. And three days ago. Three days. I lived more or less in the

land where I was born, with paradise at my fingers.'

'Then why did you leave?'

'Because I couldn't keep lying to her, that we were alone.....

She isn't like me. She needs the company of her own kind.' He

spoke now more to himself, and to the darkness. She was silent for a

moment, her own feelings and experience submerged.

'And now?'

'That's just it. I can't bring it all up to now. It's like

a great wave that just goes on and on. The voyage here. . .sweet Jesus.

And just this morning I held her close while she slept, then woke her to

a sight that broke both our hearts, and opened to us the possibility of

a child of our own.' Again she felt him drifting, into a world that

did not even recognize her existence. 'And now all of you, a flood

of strange names and faces, and emotions I don't know how to read.

It just goes on and on, with Sylviana slipping farther and farther

away.'

'All waves must eventually end, Kalus. This one will, too. And when

you find yourself safely landed among us?' She hesitated. 'And if

the girl is no longer yours? What then?'

'I cannot even think of that. It would be the end of everything, of

life itself.'

Kataya hung her head. WHY MUST IT ALWAYS BE SO?

Kalus saw this gesture of defeat and knew, for all his confusion and

despair, that he had been selfish, and forgotten her. There in the

stillness of night he felt her presence acutely, felt the soul inside

her and knew she was as achingly alive as himself. And the feelings

this knowledge aroused in him both troubled and comforted his own

loneliness. He put his hand beneath her chin and raised the lovely,

oval face to look at him.

'You are very beautiful, Kataya. I have chosen Sylviana, but you are

a woman that a man could truly love.' She wrapped her hand about his

wrist, whispered something in a strange language, then broke off and

quickly walked away. He watched her go in sadness.

All this time Sylviana had watched them, unable to hear what was said,

imagining the worst. Then she saw him lift her face to his, and whisper

tender words which should have been hers alone.

Confused and angry, she stormed back into her room. Confused and weary,

Kalus spread himself on the ground like an animal, missing them both,

and staring at the stars. Confused and bitter, Kataya swore she would

not let herself want him, and be hurt yet again and again.

All three slept alone, finding no shelter from the mocking night.

Chapter 40

The next day was Sunday, and the one day a week which the hard-working

colonists had agreed to set aside as a respite from their labors. Those

who worked the fields, those who maintained the power and water supply,

those who scavenged the city for underground vaults filled with books

and computer records, as well as those who performed the experiments,

translations, and radio communications (never answered) which were vital

to the group's morale and sense of purpose, all surrendered for this

one day the businesslike security of endeavor, to think and contemplate

like the first pious Jews, who had looked to the heavens and tried to

understand their world.

In the hushed morning they gathered for the non-denominational service,

Christian, Jew, Buddhist and atheist alike, spread about the candle-lit

conference room. And it was here that Sylviana first felt the depth of

loneliness and sorrow that this handful of survivors carried with them

as inescapably as a damaged organ, or the memory of an amputated limb.

And she realized that all their surface carelessness and ease, all the

jokes about being bored with one another, were mere facade, the

necessary illusions of commonplace existence. It was clear in this

small chapel of honesty, that they not only loved and respected one

another, but clung to each other, and held the value of each human life

high above any other aspiration.

Commander Stenmark in particular she watched, and began to wonder at

this grizzled pioneer whose age was so incongruous to all around him,

most of whom were under forty. And during the moment of silent prayer

she had to restrain with difficulty her own emotions, as she saw the

same face that could be so still and dispassionate, draw close over the

fervently folded hands with tears of age, and thanks, and tired

responsibility flowing like the sudden, relentless Spring. And it was

with warmth and a further shock that she realized this outpouring was

for her: that something, someone dear to him had been spared. She had

never felt so honored.

When the service ended they moved outside, and after a light meal,

spread themselves more comfortably on the grassy earth of a clear space

at one end of the compound, backed by a gentle rise and a single, lithe

and undistorted maple. This in preparation for what remained to them

the greatest pleasure (and diversion) in life. Learning.

Sylviana's story was fascinating, what they had heard of it the night

before, but it was Kalus whom they longed to interrogate. For here was

an anthropologist's dream: a young man who had lived among throwback

Neanderthals, who had carved his existence, without medicine or steel,

from the harsh realities of a world in which Man not only held no

exalted place, but was on the contrary smallish and ill-equipped, as

likely to be hunted as hunter. And the fact that he himself had emerged

from the recessed traits of three hundred generations, to be born fully

human..... They knew nothing yet of the Machine or the Visitors, only

that for most of his life Kalus had possessed no spoken language, had

been an outcast and object of suspicion because of his appearance and

greater intelligence, had met and shared deepest communion with a young

woman and fellow creature of the twenty-first century. And for now,

this was more than enough.

Dr. David Rawlings, cell biologist, spoke first, a strongly built,

intense black man in his mid thirties. Apparently the least abashed of

the company, he assumed the role he had chosen for himself, and which

the others now expected and took for granted.

'Well,' he said, moving to stand at the fore of the group. 'I

suppose first we should tell you something of ourselves.' And without

the wasted words of diplomacy, he did.

'You see before you the surviving crew members of Virgo II, the

manned exploration of Mars. Two years into the flight, and not yet

two-thirds of the way there, we received a delayed signal from earth,

and at an undesignated interval. The bloody butchers who called

themselves our leaders had finally done it: missiles and satellite

stations vomiting their nuclear death, and pounding the cities flat.

The emotions of those conscious---most of us were in a suspended state,

so as not to age unnecessarily during the voyage---I can't imagine.

But Stenmark, and the Doc, and poor dead Rene' Christian, well, they

had to do something.

'So they turned the ship about, and upon returning to Earth engaged

in a high orbit around it, and tried to make contact, with anybody. No

one there. Even the orbiting agri-colonies and Moon bases hadn't

been spared. The latter might have been construed as some kind of

military threat, to the sick and paranoid, but to kill innocent

civilians, farmers for Christ's sake, just to be sure all was

ended..... The worst you can think of us isn't bad enough, Kalus, if

you look at what we did to each other in the end. Maybe we ‘common

people' of the superpowers didn't take an active part in the

destruction; but we sure as hell sat on our asses, and let the

presidents and the generals make it inevitable.' He subdued, or at

least restrained, his rising passion.

'But that's neither here nor there. Or anywhere, now. That world

is gone, and will never return.' He sighed bitterly.

'Back on the ship, Christian lost her mind when she saw the

devastation, and knew that her husband and son were dead, like all the

others. She couldn't live without them, and so she killed herself.

That left only Stenmark and Doc McIntyre to try and decide our fate.

The best they could do, under the circumstances, was to re-rig the

entire ship---computer, cryogenics, life-support, everything---for a

vastly different purpose than what they'd been designed for. Their

new function was, simply, to hold us all in suspension, retain the high

orbit, and wake us all when, hopefully, it was safe to return to the

surface.

'It's no coincidence that you, Sylviana, and William---you

haven't met him yet---came out of suspension at approximately the

same time we did. A German scientist named Krause had been advocating a

common de-suspension date, in the event such a travesty ever occurred.

He was considered a black pessimist at the time, and partly insane. But

your father, and Sten, and possibly others, took his advice, and set the

‘wake up call' for exactly ten thousand years from the first day

of Armageddon, hoping that would give the planet enough time to heal

itself, and support recognizable life-forms once more.

'So the rest of the crew, myself included, came back from our little

nap to find our world ravaged, Christian dead, and the Commander aged

twenty-five years. The poor compassionate bastard had kept himself

conscious all that extra time, making sure the orbit wouldn't decay,

that the converted solar panels and other adjustments he'd made would

hold up. Probably would have died for us if he thought it would

help.....

'You've seen the worst in us, Kalus. But that damn Swede over

there . .is the best. And a lot of others like him paid the same price

as the political cowboys, and blind hedonists who elected them. Death.

'So. That's the long and short of it. We dealt with our feelings

and our fears as best we could, and landed here, for a variety of

reasons, just over a year ago. We found William underground, and

apparently you found us. So maybe our efforts aren't entirely

futile. And who's to say, there may be others scattered around the

planet, each feeling as isolated and cut off as we do.'

He concluded as frankly as he had begun. 'But now I'm heartily

sick of standing here and telling you our troubles, and I should hope

you're as tired of hearing them. Apologies to the meek, and you see

the kind of ‘Earth' you've inherited. We'll let the

customary interval of moody silence pass, and then we'll begin our

scientific questioning.' With that he moved off and sat on the hard

ground, leaving the raw taste of truth, accepted willingly or not, in

the mouths of those around him.

Just as he had said, an interval of silence ensued. Then, to the

surprise of all, Kalus rose without prodding and moved to stand before

them.

'This will not be easy for me,' he said. 'But I begin to see

that it is important, if only for myself. I feared at first that you

would think me a mindless animal. But I see now that isn't true.

Kataya told me not to be ashamed of what I am, and inside, in the heart

of me, I'm not. I am proud. Because I survived for twenty-two years

a world that would kill most of you in a week. That is not said to hurt

you, and I begin to see that you are strong in other ways. It is only

the truth. Here on the Island there is shelter from predators---there

are no giant spiders or lizards---and you have the knowledge to bring

food from the land without killing. My people have none of these

things.

'We call ourselves the hill-tribe. Yes we, Sylviana, I will not

renounce them.' She started to glare at him, then colored when she

saw others (including Kataya) watching her, and looked away.

'We live in a cave of many entrances, in the heart of the Wild, with

enemies all around us. We survive by being shrewd and fiercely

determined, and by showing any creature that comes too close there is a

high price to pay for thinking us weak and afraid.

'But we are not cruel, if we can avoid it, and do not kill without

need. If there was some way we could live in peace and well-fed

contentment, we would throw away our spears and never kill again. But

no one has ever shown us how to do this, if such a way exists.'

A gleam came into his eyes such as Sylviana had not seen for many

months: when he first looked out from the smaller cave, and beheld the

power and majesty of the Mantis. 'Go ahead,' he told them, almost

defiantly. 'Ask me any question. Thank you Kataya, and David

Rawlings. You have made me feel strong and unashamed.'

At this there was another brief space in which the company felt

reluctant to speak. But it did not last. Their desire to know, and to

touch new life, was stronger than their natural timidity.

'Yes, I have a question,' said a woman. 'You say that your

people have no spoken language.' (Sylviana had told the doctor, who

in turn had passed it on to the others). 'And yet you have a name.

How is that?'

'My people all have names, but no sounds to go with them. My name is

a sign made with the hands, or a figure drawn in the dirt, so that I can

be identified to others at need, such as during a hunt. The Machine

called me Kalus, to my mind as well as my ears, just as it gave names to

all the elements of my world. I have always wondered how this was

done.'

Brushing over this last information, which none understood and which

they could always come back to, they asked several more questions about

the hill-people, until one of the younger men produced a greaseboard and

marker, and approached him.

'Your sign, the one that identifies you. Could you draw it?'

Kalus took the board, and after being shown how to use it, drew a

straight line, horizontal, then a long curving tooth like a saber at the

end of it, pointing downward.

'This represents the upper jaw of the hill-cat, one of the greatest

hunters of our world. My first father made it for me, hoping that I

would be as fierce and cunning. All our names our similar. When he was

killed by a bear. . .I drew it in anger on the ground, then with my foot

blurred away the sharp point, to show that I was no great predator, but

only a man. Like this.' He smeared the lower half of the tusk,

leaving only a squarish root. 'That has been my mark ever since.'

'The MANtooth,' said Sylviana suddenly, and much to her own

consternation. But half embarrassed, half proud in spite of herself,

she pushed on. 'The Machine called you the Mantooth.'

'Yes,' he said simply. 'And that is what I am.'

'This machine---' began another.

'No, no, we'll come back to that later,' said Rawlings.

'Your ‘first father', Kalus. What did you mean by that?'

'Barabbas is my father now. I think it is what you would call

adoption, though to us it is much more than that. The adopted sons of a

childless leader are more dear to him.....' He stopped as emotion

swelled in his throat, and he realized with a sudden pang the truth of

these words. 'Barabbas is my father now.'

'Barabbas,' replied Rawlings thoughtfully. 'Surely that's

not a name given by a machine.'

'Yes. In fact it is. But I too have always thought it strange, and

somehow appropriate, since I learned of the Barabbas in your Bible.'

'It's not MY Bible,' said Rawlings quickly. 'But still, how

do you mean that?' Kalus pondered for a moment, trying to think how

to express it.

'It wasn't Barabbas' fault: that he was freed, and Jesus

crucified. He was only trying to survive. And who can say what his

‘crime' was that he should have been imprisoned by the Romans, who

seem to me among the greatest criminals of history. And yet for the

simple fact of his presence on that day, and his desire to live rather

than die in agony, he is branded a villain and hated, by those who need

such symbols of hate, and love. Surely Jesus did not hate him.'

At this all were quietly stunned. For until that moment they had

retained the subconscious arrogance that Sylviana first experienced, and

to which she had lately returned: the belief that a rough man without

education could not think or feel as they did, could not possess the

same soul, or depth of feeling.

They were wrong.

'Well said,' came a voice. And for the rest of the afternoon the

questions were not asked as from adult to child, from superior beings to

inferior, but as from man (and woman) to man. Sylviana could only watch

and listen, and tell herself in vain she didn't love him.

Because she had been stung by the affection he showed Kataya, and

refused to admit she was afraid of losing him.

Chapter 41

The next morning Kalus was woken by Kataya, who came to the secluded

clear space where he had made his bed on softer ground, with the

sleeping bag that Rawlings had given him. In the first light and waking

life of morning she was beautiful, and sad, and it was only with an

effort that he reminded himself he was not free, to take her then and

there, and make love among the sacred rites of Spring. But she showed

no such inclination, saying only.

'The Children will go North today, if Ishmael speaks the truth. I

want to say goodbye, and I want you to be there with me.'

Her tone was passive, and yet deeply serious. He couldn't fully

understand the reason, but consented, giving to her, unquestioningly,

the next hours of his life---giving as only the innocent can, without

exacting a price, or expecting anything in return.

They walked together through the jumble of wounded landscape, now

growing less stark with the blooming of flowers and the spreading of new

leaves. She seemed to know the way by heart, and he followed her with

every confidence. They spoke little, but there seemed no need of talk

between them, and Kalus felt no awkwardness.

At length the sounds of the sea became closer, and they emerged from the

crumpled hills to stand at the high back reaches of the inlet, the

fjord. It was not great, knifing inland for less than a mile, and

scarcely sixty yards wide as it met the open sea. Yet still it formed a

separate world, and spoke of green, unspoiled lands beyond.

>From their rocky overlook they began to descend along an angular path

that skirted its northern face. They moved carefully and quietly, as

the waterline grew nearer, and the sounds of the Sea more pervasive.

Turning a last, difficult bend, they saw the Children among the rocks

and moss-covered earth of the uneven slope ahead of them, the margins

of their amphibious, Winter home.

As the man and woman continued to advance, a cry of 'Ay, oy!' was

heard, and the younger members leapt into the water, as the whales

clustered about the lower stones, waiting.

But one of the older males, in particular, showed no fear, and no sign

of retreating. Kataya he knew, and trusted, and the strong man with the

sheathed weapon he had seen, in the boat, far away. Also, as Kataya had

intended, he felt something akin to jealousy at his presence here with

her. There was the matter of possession.

This was Ishmael, so named by Kataya---the second leader, who would be

first when the eldest died. He stood his ground in silence, along with

the leader, and slowly the others returned, though maintaining their

distance, and keeping close to the water's edge.

Kataya asked Kalus to remain where he was, and walked the numbered

strides that took her to the fourteen year old Ishmael. He smiled as

she approached, and together they stood on the tiny patch of level

ground between them. She brought an open hand to her chest, as she had

done with Kalus, then opened it toward him in greeting. He did the

same, taking childlike pleasure in the understanding of her ways.

'Izmai,' she said softly, pointing to the North. 'You go?'

Then remembering that she had affixed no time, she added. 'This day,

North?'

'Izmai go,' he said proudly. Then his look became one of eager

entreaty, touching in its innocence. 'You go, Kai-tai, Noth?' And

his arm followed hers in obvious longing, a sweeping arc that to his

mind held images of bergs and floes and sweeping tundra, and vast

islands of thirty thousand seals: the cold, exhilarating perfection of

unspoiled Arctic Seas.

She looked down, as pain clouded her face. How could she tell him, who

in naive trust believed that she could follow wherever he led?

'No, I cannot.' But this word she had not taught him, and he would

not have understood. She looked up into the huge, puzzled iris of his

eyes---blue, crater lakes that drowned all efforts to reach him.

Weakly, the more pitiable because it came from one so strong, she said.

'You come, in Winter, this place?'

But he could not get past the non-answer to his own question. Knowing

no other course, he repeated it. 'You come, Kai-tai, Noth?' She

shook her head, and there was nothing more she could do or say. He

looked hurt, but could not bridge the distance between them.