Edmund Cooper: A Far Sunset

But as the barge came nearer to Baya Nor the shock began to recede. Slowly he emerged from the deadly lethargy that had gripped him. He began to think once again, realizing that despite privation and tragedy, the journey had been successful, that he had made the most important discovery in the history of mankind, and that he was on his way home. It was the realization of being on his way home that unnerved him a little. Home, originally, had been somewhere on Earth—and he couldn’t clearly remember where. It was now on Altair Five—and he could visualize very clearly exactly where it was and what it was.

It was a thatched house, standing on short stilts. It was a small dark woman who was immensely proud of the growing bundle of life in her belly … It was a bowl of cooled kappa spirit on the verandah steps in the evening… It was the sound of bare feet against wood, the smell of cooking, the tranquil movements of a small alien body…

The barge was only a few hours’ poling from Baya Nor before Paul had pulled himself together sufficiently to think about Enka Ne. In making his journey to the Temple of the White Darkness, he had not only challenged the authority of the god-king, he had humiliated him. He had humiliated Enka Ne by destroying the pursuing barge and by tipping the godking’s warriors into the Canal of Life.

Possibly, for the sake of his prestige, Enka Ne would choose to treat the incident as if it had never happened. But that, thought Paul, was unlikely. It was far more likely that, as soon as he was able, Enka Ne would inflict some punishment or humiliation in return.

That was why Paul had not allowed Shon Hu and Zu Shan to bring the barge back to the city. He had made them stay with it on the Canal of Life, about an hour’s walking distance away, while he came on ahead to learn—if he could—something of the situation. If he did not return that day, he had left them with orders to go back into the forest for a while, in the hope that time would diminish the god-king’s displeasure and that he, Paul, would be able to establish sole responsibility for his transgression.

It had been raining during the night, but the day was becoming very warm, and the earth was steaming. And now, here he was, staring at an untidy scattering of damp ashes, patiently watched by the child, Tsong Tsong, whom Paul had left as company for Mylai Tui.

Tsong Tsong was as wet and miserable as the ashes. He had never been particularly bright or coherent, and he was now an even more pathetic figure, being half-starved. It had been the desire of his master, Poul Mer Lo, that Tsong Tsong should stay at the house. The child had interpreted the command literally and, even after the house had been burned down and Mylai Tui was dead, Tsong Tsong had kept vigil—patiently waiting for the return of Poul Mer Lo.

If Paul had never come back, he reflected, no doubt Tsong Tsong would have stayed there until he died of starvation.

He patted the small boy’s head, looked down with pity at the blank face, the dark uncomprehending eyes, and patiently elicited the story.

‘Lord,’ said Tsong Tsong in atrociously low Bayani, ‘it was perhaps the morning of the day after you went on the great journey … Or the morning of the day after that day … I have been hungry, lord, and I do not greatly remember these things … There were many warriors. They came from the god-king … It was a good morning because I had eaten much meat that the woman, Mylai Tui, could not eat… She was a good cook, lord, though cooking seemed to make her weep. Perhaps the vapours of the food were not good to her eyes … But the meat was excellent.’

‘Tsong Tsong,’ said Paul gently, ‘you were telling me about the warriors.’

‘Yes, lord … The warriors came … They made the woman leave the house. She was angry and there were many loud words … I—I stood back, lord, because it is known that the warriors of Enka Ne are impatient men. So, being unworthy of their consideration, and also much afraid, I drew back … My lord understands that it would perhaps not have been good for me to remain?’

‘Yes, I understand. Tell me what happened.’

‘The warriors said they must burn the house, and this I could not understand, because it is known that Poul Mer Lo is of some importance … It was very strange, lord. When the woman, Mylai Tui, saw them make fire she became as one touched by Oruri. She shook and spoke in a loud voice and wept … She tried to run into the burning house, shouting words that I could not understand. But a warrior held her. It was very frightening, lord … And the house made great noisy flames. And then she seized a trident and wounded the man who held her … And then—and then she died.’

Paul was amazed that he could still find no tears, no pain.

He knelt down and rested his hand on the small boy’s shoulder. ‘How did she die, Tsong Tsong?’ he asked calmly.

The boy seemed surprised at the question. ‘A warrior struck her.’

‘It was—it was quick?’

“Lord, the warriors of Enka Ne do not need to strike twice … I have been very hungry since then. There was some kappa, but it was black and had the taste of fire about it. My stomach was unhappy … Forgive me, lord, but do you have any food?’

Paul thought for a moment or two. Then he said: ‘Listen carefully, Tsong Tsong. There is something that you must do, then you shall have much food … Do you think you can walk?’

‘Yes, lord, but it not a thing I gready desire to do.’

‘I am sorry, Tsong Tsong. It is necessary to walk to get to the food. I have left Shon Hu, the hunter, and your comrades Zu Shan and Nemo in the barge some distance from here along the Canal of Life. You must go to them. Tell them what you have told me. Also tell them that Poul Mer Lo desires that they and you shall remain in the forest for as many days as there are fingers on both hands. Can you remember that?’

‘Yes, lord … Do they have much food?’

‘Enough to fill you up, little one. Shon Hu is a good hunter. You will not starve. Now go—and say to them also that when they leave the forest they must be careful how they come to Baya Nor, and careful how they enquire after me.’

The child stretched his limbs and gave a deep sigh. ‘I will remember, Lord … You are not angry with me?’

‘No, Tsong Tsong, I am not angry. Go, now, and soon you will eat.’

He watched the small boy trot unsteadily down to the Canal of Life and along its bank. Then he turned to look at the steaming ashes once more.

He thought of Mylai Tui, so proud of the son she would never bear, and of Ann, enduring patiently in the heart of the forest until she could keep an appointment in Samara, and of the Aru Re, Bird of Mars, standing in its icy fastness through the passing millennia—a lofty, enigmatic sentinel waiting for the maturation of the seed.

So much had happened that he was drunk with privation and with grief and with wonder. The sun had not yet reached its zenith, but he was desperately tired.

He sat down on the small and relatively dry patch of earth that Tsong Tsong had vacated. For a while, he stared blankly at the ashes as if he expected Mylai Tui, phoenix-wise, to rise from them. But there was nothing but silence and stillness.

After a time, he closed his aching eyes and immediately fell asleep—sitting up. Presently he toppled over, but he did not wake.

He did not wake until shortly before sunset. He was stiff and lonely and still filled with a great emptiness.

He looked around him and blinked. Then he sat up suddenly, oblivious of the throbbing in his head.

He was surrounded by a ring of tridents, and a ring of blank black faces of the warriors of the royal guard.

For a moment or two, unmoving, he tried to collect his thoughts. Obviously the warriors did not mean to kill him, for they could have accomplished that task quite easily while he was still sleeping. They looked, oddly, as if they were waiting for something.