The walls glowed.
They had come a long way, Matlin and Haazahri, through tunnels carved
in the soft, limey rock under the Balata 'kai ruins. The last signs
for tourists had long-since vanished behind them and the way would
have been totally dark but for the strangely glowing walls. Matlin
went confidently at a dog-trot. Occasionally he stopped while Haazahri
rested, and she saw the look on his face and never questioned him.
He knew where he was going, without knowing how he knew. But he had
been this way before--seeking ... no, hiding. He had found something in
the ruins, in an airtight box which had preserved it as if it had been
left there yesterday and not five thousand years ago, and he had come
this way to hide it, because it needed safe-keeping until he was ready
for it....
If he could only find it!
For he knew that it held the key to his memory. A blow on the head, the
Arcturan physician Quotis had told him once, was not enough to destroy
memory. The blow was merely a trigger. Unconsciously, the victim of
amnesia wanted his memory destroyed, to forget something intolerable,
to hide something....
To hide something. Prison. Dark, wet walls. Torture. Subtle
psychological torture. He held out, but couldn't hold out much
longer. The fire, the beams falling, the horrible burning. And
gladly surrendering memory because, miraculously, he had not died.
Surrendering memory to hide--what lay before him in these caverns! One
look, he thought as he ran, leaving Haazahri momentarily behind, and it
will all come surging back like the sea at ebb tide. One look and I'll
know not merely what it was I hid here, but the secrets of myself as
well.
"Haazahri," he said.
Abruptly he stopped. He was here and the walls glowed and he could see
but needed no vision for this.
"Haazahri," he said again, and she came up to him. "We're here,
Haazahri," he said.
The passage looked like all the others. He'd led the way to it
instinctively and knew that if he lost whatever instinct had guided his
feet, they would be lost in this labyrinth forever. But it did not seem
very important now. What was important had been hidden here, in this
cavern.
"Where?" Haazahri asked. "Where is it, whatever you seek?"
He touched the wall near her head and she heard a shifting, a grinding
of heavy stones. Part of the wall swung slowly to one side, revealing
a dark recess, a niche with walls that did not glow. Matlin thrust his
hands within the niche and took out a large, heavy book with a black,
unmarked cover. When he got it clear of the niche, he looked at it a
moment in the glowing cavern light and his eyes grew big and round and
the book dropped from his hands to the floor of the cavern. He stood
there, clutching his head with his hands and Haazahri cried:
"What is it? What happened, Matlin?"
The pain of returning memory thrust at him like a sharp knife, but was
not intolerable. He remembered! He remembered!
"Rhodes," he said in a dream. "My name is Rhodes. Phil Rhodes, and
I'm an Earthman. They took me and they tortured me and I was going to
break. I must have known it, subconsciously. So I welcomed amnesia, as
the one way I could not reveal where I had hidden this. I had revealed
once the fact that I'd found it, to Gawroi, before I told the Earth
authorities. The Earth authorities still don't know, but when they do
know, when they see what has been found...."
"But what is it?" Haazahri asked him.
* * * * *
He stooped, picking up the book. "Earth doesn't want to dictate to your
people, understand that. You are a sovereign people. But if in your
sovereignty a small percentage of you have used lies and fabrications
to enslave fifty generations of your people, and if Earth decides to do
something about that...."
"But what is it?"
With both hands, Rhodes held the big book over his head. His face shone
with triumph and he said softly, his voice almost a whisper, "_The Book
of the Dead_, Haazahri."
She looked at it, and at him. Then abruptly she fell to her knees and
touched the floor with her face. "_The Book_," she said. "_The Book?_
You mean that?"
"Haazahri, listen. You're important. You're very important. I knew it
would be dangerous coming here. Maybe, instinctively, that's why I let
you come with me. Because you're so important. You're a Kedaki, don't
you see? With a Kedaki's reactions. I know about this _Book_. It's
sacred. It's had five thousand years in hiding to become sacred. Even
your rulers today probably didn't know where it was. Excerpts only,
key passages out of context, remained from the days the book had been
hidden, remained to keep most of the Kedaki enslaved, chained to the
lies of metempsychosis.
"I know, Haazahri. I know what it must be like. This book is the center
of everything you believe. Your loves and dreams and hopes. Right now
you must be telling yourself you ought to remain there, forever, your
face in the dust before it. _The Book of the Dead_, Haazahri! Well, the
_Book_ is lies, do you understand? Lies! And I can prove it, the Earth
scientists here on Kedak can prove it to all your people. Listen to
me, Haazahri. This book doesn't explain the wonders of reincarnation,
as you thought it might. No, Haazahri! Although, out of context, what
material your leaders had might indicate that it did.
"This book is a book of instructions for the ruling classes of Kedak,
through the unborn generations. The lies are explained, codified,
systematized. There is no doubt, nothing left to interpretation. Keep
them base, the book says. Keep them base and promise them a better
life in their next incarnation, and they'll obey you. That's the
cynical message of _The Book of the Dead_, Haazahri! Don't you see
the difference between this and the true religions, in their many
forms, of the other worlds? Yes, good behavior is rewarded, and
should be rewarded. But what is good behavior for the Kedaki lowborn?
Good behavior is merely servitude, slavery. And the reward which the
slave-masters hold out is one which, in the beginning, in this book,
they did not even believe themselves. It's a fiction, Haazahri! And
they say so. They say so here. Do you believe me?"
For a long time Haazahri did not answer. When she did, her voice was
choked with sobs. "You ... you're an Earthman. You brought me out here
to ... test me with _The Book_ and see ... not because you wanted
me ... not because you love me. Matlin, Matlin...."
Rhodes said, "Stand up, Haazahri, and show me your face. Stand up,
Haazahri, and let me kiss your tears. And don't cry, Haazahri. There
isn't any reason to cry. Yes, I'm an Earthman. But I love you,
Haazahri; I love you--"
She stood quickly and somehow he could sense that five thousand
years of dogma and superstition were slipping away as, in time, with
the passing of a generation perhaps, and with the understanding and
patience of the rest of the galaxy, they would slip away for all of
Kedak's peoples. She stood up boldly in the face of _The Book_, but
seemed shy. She said, "Then Matlin is no more?"
"I am Matlin and more than Matlin. Matlin was only a part of me. But
you can call me Matlin, if you wish. All our lives."
"Do _you_ wish?"
"It is not my name."
"Philrhodes?"
"It is customary," he said, smiling, "to use one half or the other."
"Phil? Phil?" she breathed tremulously, and came into his arms. Then,
after a while, he tucked _The Book of the Dead_ under one arm and her
hand under the other and started on the long trek back toward the
sunshine.
* * * * *
Daylight was very bright, dazzling them.
"There they are!" a voice shouted, and Haazahri screamed:
"It's Felg!"
Rhodes said, "Watch the _Book_," and flung it to one side. They had
come out into the daylight on the high limestone crag which jutted
above the desert floor and Rhodes as yet could see no more than shadows
against the fierce sun. The shadows came apart and one went toward
Haazahri and the Book, and the other toward Rhodes. Tears sprang from
Rhodes' eyes in the effort to see. Neither man was armed. It seemed
right, somehow, that they battle for the _Book_ which had been born
with the birth of a civilization, with their bare hands.
Then he was closing with Felg and heard Haazahri scream and knew the
noise of their fighting would summon the guards, who would take the
_Book_ from him.
"My life!" screamed Felg hysterically. "You destroyed my life!"
The words meant much to Felg, but meant nothing to Rhodes. Felg was
mad--and strong with the strength of madness.
He forced Rhodes slowly back, and back meant toward the edge of the
precipice and Rhodes got a quick vision of it as he was spun around,
the world down there, far down, the tiny sand-car gleaming in the
sun and the long stretches of sand and far away the huddle of stone
structures that was Haatok gleaming in the sun. And then, still being
forced back, he saw Haazahri, sprawled on the sand before one of the
three great columns of the ruins of Balata 'kai. Blood trickled from
her mouth and she was not moving. Of _The Book of the Dead_ and Gawroi
he saw nothing.
Then his own madness matched and surpassed Felg's own. Haazahri, he
thought, Haazahri. His hands found Felg's throat and held there a
moment, but not long. He shifted them and got Felg's weight up and Felg
screamed a thin sound in the high air and then he sent Felg's body
hurtling down, the scream fading, over the precipice.
He did not wait to see it land, but ran to Haazahri. He touched her
breast and she was warm, warm! her heart beating....
"Haazahri," he murmured.
Her eyelids fluttered. "Go after him! Quickly, for he has _The Book_.
I'll follow."
He whirled and sprinted for the broken, ruined staircase on the side of
the cliff. Down it he went, tumbling, falling, sliding from rock-ledge
to rock-ledge. The staircase, what was left of it, turned and twisted,
and he could not see Gawroi below him.
When finally he hit the hot sands of the desert he saw Gawroi's figure
ahead of him. Gawroi, running swiftly, and _The Book_! Heading for the
sand-car, swift, swift--
And if Gawroi won the race, a people would remain in bondage. How long?
Another five thousand years?
Gawroi looked over his shoulder once, redoubled his efforts. The sand
was hot and the wind whipped it at Rhodes' face, but he was closing
the gap rapidly on the ponderous Gawroi. Still, there was no time.
The distance was too great.... Gawroi stumbled, rolled over, lost _The
Book_, clutched it and began running again. Rhodes was closer, closer--
And Gawroi flung himself into the sand-car.
The engine growled, caught. The wheels spun in the sand, tractionless
at first. But soon their big treads gained traction, and the car leaped
forward with a surge of power.
Defeat....
But the car spun around, bore down on Rhodes. At the last moment he
realized what Gawroi was attempting. He knew too much and Gawroi wanted
to kill him.
Gawroi was going to run him down.
The car came screaming across the sand at him, whine of tires and whine
of over-heated motor and Gawroi's grim face, growing, growing....
Rhodes flung himself aside, then leaped. His hands caught the side of
the open car, clung there even though it felt as if his arms would be
wrenched from their sockets. He had a quick glimpse of a dot which was
Haazahri working her way down the staircase on the side of the cliff
and another--a guard--pursuing her. Then he pulled himself up into the
sand-car and was grappling with Gawroi.
* * * * *
They fought, and the wheel was forgotten, the car lurching from side
to side across the sand. The cliff blurred ahead of them. How fast
were they going? Seventy miles an hour? Eighty? If they struck at that
speed....
Gawroi was a man possessed. He didn't care. If the crash would destroy
_The Book of the Dead_, destroy Rhodes, who knew of _The Book_, it was
enough.
Rhodes pushed flank against flank in the narrow front seat of the open
sand car. Gawroi's hands tore at his face, ripping skin and flesh. All
Gawroi needed was a few seconds, and it would all be over. Gawroi, who
was fighting for an idea, fighting to preserve a five thousand year
lie. And Rhodes, who was fighting that a people might live, after five
thousand years....
Abruptly Gawroi tumbled from the car, clawing at air and screaming
before he hit the sand at terrible speed, rolling and tumbling and
coming to rest with his head at an impossible angle.
Then Rhodes was battling the car, and for a time which seemed extended
over a yawning gap of infinity, he did not know if he would be able to
bring it under control in time. The base of the cliff loomed. He could
not see above it. He stamped on the brake and still the cliff blurred
at him. He felt himself flung forward....
And gazed at the wall of rock, two feet in front of the now motionless
car.
In a daze, he watched Haazahri climb in beside him. Close by a guard
was shouting something; in the car, Haazahri was saying something about
his cut and bleeding face.
The guard would find Felg, his body broken from the fall; would find
Gawroi, his neck broken. The guard would summon help.
But by that time, Rhodes knew, _The Book of the Dead_ would be in safe
hands. Ever since the earthquake, thieves had been looting Balata 'kai.
They were thieves in the eyes of the guard, only that. There was no
reason for special pursuit and, in Gawroi's sand-car, they would reach
Junction City.
And the pages of _The Book of the Dead_ would be flung open for all the
worlds to see. A generation might pass before the Kedaki could assume
their rightful place in the civilized community of worlds, a generation
in which the kind of thinking that had put Rhodes in a prison cell must
be stamped out.
But in the end, the Kedaki would know freedom, and a mingling with the
peoples of the other worlds.
He started the sand-car. Haazahri smiled at him, and kissed his
bleeding face. And the love between him and this girl of the Kedaki was
a symbol....