Shon Hu said that it would be possible to travel by barge for two and a half days—one day along the Canal of Life and one and a half days upstream on the great river, which was known, picturesquely enough, as the Watering of Oruri. After that there would be perhaps three days in the forest and a further day, or perhaps two days, on the uplands. Shon Hu was vague about this latter stretch of the journey. All that he seemed certain about was that once the forest was left behind, the Temple of the White Darkness would be clearly visible. How it was to be approached was a matter upon which Oruri would doubtless provide guidance when the time came.
The expedition was to depart from Baya Nor at the first sign of light so that much poling could be done before the sun rose high in the sky. Also, such an early departure would be unlikely to attract the attention of anyone but hunters; for few Bayani cared to move before the sun was clear of the horizon.
The barge was ready, laden with food, water, the blow pipes, darts and tridents of the hunters, the sweeper rifle and the transceiver, and a pile of skins for the use as bedding and then as clothing when the warm forest was left behind. Besides the four hunters, Poul Mer Lo was taking Zu Shan and Nemo with him. Tsong Tsong was to be left behind as company for Mylai Tui, and Poul Mer Lo had given her sufficient money to purchase a girl servant to help in the house if the baby should arrive before he returned from the Temple of the White Darkness.
Nemo was the real problem. With his grotesquely deformed legs he could not possibly walk. Yet Poul Mer Lo did not wish to leave him behind—not only because the oddly ancient child desperately wanted to go with him but because Nemo’s telepathic powers might prove useful. It was Nemo, with his visions of a god bringing forth children from his belly, who had triggered the whole thing off. Just possibly there might be something on the slopes of the white mountain. Just possibly Nemo might sense where and what that something was. Yes, he would have to go. And so a sling was made for him so that he could ride on the back of each of the hunters in turn.
The night before departure, the hunters, Nemo and Zu Shan slept on skins on the flat bottom of the barge. Poul Mer Lo did not sleep. Neither did Mylai Tui. They lay close to each other and remote from each other in the small house that, over the months, had begun to acquire for Poul Mer Lo the sweetly subtle smell of home.
Mylai Tui was certain it was the last time they would hold each other.
‘Lord,’ she said in Bayani, ‘I am fat, now, and can no longer pretend to possess some beauty. It is not fitting that a woman should speak thus—but I gready desire that you should lie with me and try to remember how it once was.’
He kissed her and fondled her. ‘Mylai Tui,’ he said, also speaking in the high Bayani that he knew she preferred, ‘to be with child does not diminish beauty, but changes the shape of beauty. I will remember how it once was. But how it now is is dear to me also. And this, too, I will remember.’
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.
TWENTY-SIX
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.