Edmund Cooper - A Far Sunset

They made love, but though there was great tenderness there was little passion. It had seemed strangely, thought Poul Mer Lo when it was over, more like a solemn ritual, dignifying or celebrating some unique event that had not happened before and would not happen again. He was puzzled and, for the first time, he was afraid.

‘Lord,’ said Mylai Tui simply, ‘the fire is kindled, flourishes and dies. We shall not come to each other again. I wish to humbly thank you, for you have given me much joy … I do not have the gift of leaping thoughts like Shah Shan, whom I think you loved, and like some others whom, perhaps, you love in a lesser way. But if my thoughts could not leap, lord, my flesh leaped joyously. I am sad now that it will leap no more.’

He held her very close. ‘I shall return from the Temple of the White Darkness,’ he whispered. ‘This I swear.’

‘If it is the will of Oruri,’ said Mylai Tui, dully. ‘My lord has the gift of greatness and can accomplish much.’

‘I shall return,’ he repeated fiercely.

Mylai Tui sighed. ‘But we shall come together no more. This I know. It is written on the water. It is written in the wind … Lay your hand on my belly, lord.’

He did so, and was rewarded with a kick.

‘Is not your son vigorous and mighty of limb like him that presented the seed?’

‘Truly, he will be a fine child.’

‘Then go now, for the first light is with us. And remember, lord. Such as I am, I gave what I could. I will remember with pride that I carry the child of one who has ridden upon a silver bird. But go now, for the waters sting in my eyes, and I would not have you remember me thus … Oruri be with you—at the end as at the beginning.’

‘Oruri be with you always,’ responded Poul Mer Lo. He touched her forehead with his lips. Then he got up and quickly went from the house.

In the pre-dawn light, the world seemed very quiet and very lonely. He walked briskly down to the Canal of Life without looking back, and trying not to think of anything at all. But there was a taste of salt upon his lips, and he was amazed that non-existent tears could hurt so much.

It was going to be a hot day. The Canal of Life lay placid and steaming with a light mist that held close to its surface, drifting and swirling lazily in the still air. Voices carried. From many paces away, Poul Mer Lo could hear the low murmurings of the hunters and the boys as they made ready for the journey.

Excitement was in the tight atmosphere. Poul Mer Lo felt almost that he could reach out his hands and touch it as he stepped aboard the rough but sturdy barge that was to carry them on the journey. He pushed regret and doubt out of his mind. He locked his last memories of Mylai Tui—knowing now that they were indeed his last memories of her—into some deep compartment of his brain where they would be safe until he needed to take them out and dwell upon them.

‘Lord,’ said Shon Hu, ‘we have eaten and are ready. Speak only the word.’

Poul Mer Lo glanced round the small craft and saw six faces gazing at him expectantly. ‘As this journey begins,’ he said formally, ‘though it be long or short, easy or most hard, let all here know that they are as brothers to help each other in difficulty and to rejoice or suffer with each other according to the will of Oruri… Let us go, then.’

The hunters turned to the sides of the barge and urinated into the Canal of Life. Then they took up their poles and pushed away from the bank. Presendy the barge was gliding smoothly over the still, mist-covered water; and as the sun rose above the edge of the forest, bringing with it new textures and forms, and intensifying colours, Poul Mer Lo began to feel for the first time since his arrival on Altair Five an odd lightness of heart. So far, he thought, he had been chiefly a spectator— despite his introduction of the wheel into the Bayani culture and despite his sporadic efforts to fulfil the prediction of the oracle that he would be a great teacher. But now, he felt, he was really doing something.

Whether the legend of the coming and Nemo’s dreams amounted to anything did not really matter. Whether there were any spectacular discoveries to be made at the Temple of the White Darkness did not really matter. What did matter was that he had managed to break through the centuries old Bayani mood of insularity. For so long, they had cultivated the habit of not wanting to know. They had been content with their tiny static society in a small corner of the forests of Altair Five.

But now things were different; and whatever happened there could be no permanent return to the status quo. The hunters, he realized, were not coming with him for the ring money alone. Nor were they coming because of blind faith in Foul Mer Lo. They were coming basically because their curiosity had been aroused—because they, too, wished to find out what was in the next valley or over the next mountain.

They did not know it, but they were the first genuine Bayani explorers for centuries … All that I have done, thought Poul Mer Lo, and perhaps the most important thing that I have done, is to help make such a mental climate possible.

Which turned his mind automatically to Enka Ne. For hundreds of years the god-kings of Baya Nor had—consciously or otherwise—maintained their absolute authority and absolute power by inhibiting curiosity. This Shah Shan had realized. He had had the wisdom to encourage Poul Mer Lo, whom the councillors and the priests of the blind order regarded as an instrument of chaos because he asked questions that had not previously been asked, and did things that had not previously been done.

But the Enka Ne who came after Shah Shan was of a different temperament altogether. For one thing he was old. Perhaps in his youth, he, too, had possessed an enquiring mind. But if so, it had been crushed by his elders and by the ritualistic Bayani approach to life. Now that he was old, he stood clearly and decisively for orthodoxy.

As the barge left the kappa fields and the cleared land behind, passing under the great green umbra of the forest, Poul Mer Lo wondered idly if Enka Ne knew of his expedition. It was highly probable; for though Zu Shan had been very cautious in his recruitment of hunters, he had talked to several who had rejected the invitation. They, in turn, must have talked to others; and it was quite likely that an embroidered description of the expedition had now reached the ears of the god-king.

But now, thought Poul Mer Lo comfortably, it was too late to prevent the journey; and, in any case, if the god-king were as clever—despite his orthodoxy—as Poul Mer Lo suspected, he would not wish to prevent it. He would be somewhat relieved that the stranger had chosen to seek the bosom of Oruri far from Baya Nor.

Presently the barge passed the forest temple of Baya Sur without incident. There was no one at the landing place to witness its passing, since no one knew of its coming. And so the small craft sped on, deep into the forest to where the Canal of Life joined the Watering of Oruri.

The sun had passed its zenith before the hunters were ready to abandon their poles and take food and rest. They pulled in to the bank of the canal where there was a very small clearing and threw the anchor stone overboard.

Poul Mer Lo was glad of the opportunity to stretch his legs. He had offered to take turns with the poles, as Zu Shan had done; but the hunters had rejected his offer with great politeness. He was Poul Mer Lo, the stranger, unaccustomed to the ways and rhythms of watermen. He was also their employer and captain; and therefore it would be unthinkable to let him do menial tasks except in extremis.

When they had eaten, Poul Mer Lo, Zu Shan and two of the hunters dozed. Nemo and the remaining two kept watch against wild animals, for there were many carnivorous beasts that hunted by night and by day in the forest.