As the afternoon shadows lengthened, the group moved away from the Watering of Oruri with Shon Hu in the lead. Paul followed immediately behind him, and after Paul came Zu Shan with Nemo slung like an awkward child from his back. The rearguard consisted of the two remaining hunters.
Remarkably enough, Nemo seemed to have almost completely recovered from the death of Mien She. But Paul noticed that at all times he stayed very close to Zu Shan. The two had come to depend on each other. Though Zu Shan was half a man, he was also still only half a boy. Basically, he found much more satisfaction talking to Nemo than to Paul or the hunters.
The two of them liked to demonstrate their assumed superiority over the Bayani by jabbering away to each other in English; interlaced with a few Bayani words and phrases. The resulting medley was very odd and, at times, amusing. It brought die boys closer and closer together. Originally, the plan had been that everyone should take turns in carrying Nemo. But this neither Nemo nor Zu Shan would permit. Fortunately, Nemo, being hardly more than a small bundle of skin and bone himself, was no heavier—and probably not quite as heavy—as the bundles that the rest, including Paul, were carrying.
Despite the fact that the group had to travel slowly, and somewhat noisily—if the pained expression on Shon Hu’s face was any indication—along the perimeter of what was clearly regarded by the Bayani as Lokhali country, the fierce warriors of the forest were never seen. Nor, surprisingly enough, were many wild animals. Perhaps it was as Shon Hu claimed—that the great noise of their passing was sufficient to send any wild things other than belligerent carnivores far out of range of the intruders.
Whatever the reason, they passed two nights and the best part of three days safely in die forest—the only disturbing incident being when a tree-snake fell on Paul. But the small, fearsome-looking creature seemed quite as shaken by the encounter as he was, and rapidly disappeared.
The forest did not end abruptly. It simply began to thin out, so that the leaves of the trees no longer created an interwoven roof that shut out the sky. Paul noticed that the ground became more firm and less damp. The air was growing cooler, and it became obvious that the ground ahead was rising slowly. Presently, large patches of blue became noticeable between the tree-tops. Paul realized then how much he had been missing the open sky.
The forest gave way to savannah—rich grassland where the trees were few and scattered and were often no higher than the grass itself, which frequendy came up to the shoulders of the small Bayani. Far ahead, Paul could see the uplands. Beyond them, now and again becoming briefly visible in the haze of late afternoon, there seemed to be a shimmering range of whitetipped mountains. Was it a trick of his imagination or was there really one that stood far higher than the rest? One that he knew instinctively was the Temple of the White Darkness.
Shortly before the sun set, they made camp in the middle of the rolling savannah. Now that the forest was behind, making the death of Mien She seem oddly remote, and now that it was possible to see the stars and the nine sisters—the nine moons of Altair Five—once more, the spirits of the hunters rose. After their evening meal, they wrapped themselves in skins against the cool night air and told stories to each other as before.
Paul had hoped that it would have been possible to make a fire. But to have started a fire in the middle of the savannah would have been very dangerous indeed—besides which, it would have been difficult to find sufficient fuel for one. So he was content to lean against his pillow of skins, himself warmly wrapped and listen vaguely to die chattering of the Bayani.
As he gazed idly at the stars, he began to think. In the journey through the forest—a timeless journey through time— he had apparendy cast off the personality and conditioning of Poul Mer Lo. For some reasons he could not understand, in some way he could not understand, he had become very consciously Paul Marlowe, native of Earth, once more.
And the surprising thing was that it no longer hurt. He was a castaway, far from home, and with no hope of returning. Yet, it no longer hurt…
He was amazed at the discovery.
Presently, the talk of the hunters died down and they made ready for sleep. Zu Shan and Nemo were already asleep, having tired themselves out with the day’s journey. Presently, Paul and Shon Hu shared the first watch.
They did not talk. Shon Hu, though satisfied with the day’s progress and relieved now that the forest was behind them, was not inclined to be very communicative. This suited Paul who was able—pleasurably for once—to contemplate the night sky and let his thoughts drift among the stars.
When it was time to wake the two hunters for their spell of watch, Paul felt more exhilarated than tired. Perhaps it was the effect of the cooler, bracing air. Or perhaps it was because they were nearing the end of the journey.
Nevertheless he very quickly fell asleep when at last he lay down.
THIRTY-ONE
He was aware of words being spoken loudly and urgently in his head. Vaguely and sleepily he tried to dismiss them as some aspect of a dream that he was not aware of dreaming. But the words would not be dismissed. They were not to be abolished either by sleepiness or will-power. They would not be ignored. They became louder, more insistent.
Until he sat bolt upright, listening to them with a sensation of panic that it was hard to fight down. In the starlight, he could see dimly that the others were also sitting upright. They, too, were listening—motionless, as if the sound that was not a sound had frozen the living flesh. There was also another sound—a real sound—that seemed very far away. With an effort, Paul concentrated on it. With an even greater effort, he managed to analyse it—the sound of Nemo whimpering. Then his thoughts were snapped back by the loud, imperative and utterly soundless message.
‘Hear, now, the voice of Aru Re!
If you would live to a ripeness, go back!
If you would toil in the fields,
if you would hunt in the forest,
if you would rest in the evening, go back.
If you would look upon women and beget children,
if you would discourse with brothers and fathers,
if you would gather the harvest of living,
if you would pass your days in contentment,
having heard the voice of Aru Re,
go back! Go back! Go back!’
The words without sound became silent. No one moved. Shon Hu was the first to speak. ‘Lord,’ he said shakily, ‘we have heard the voice of Oruri and still live. This journey is not favoured. Now must we return.’
Paul tried desperately to marshal his racing thoughts. ‘The voice spoke to you in Bayani, Shon Hu?’
‘Most clearly, lord.’
‘And yet it spoke to me in English—the language of my own country.’
‘Such is the mystery of Oruri.’
‘Not Oruri,’ said Paul positively, ‘but Aru Re.'
‘Paul,’ said Zu Shan, ‘the voice spoke to me in both English and Bayani.’
Paul was silent for a moment. Then he said in English: ‘That, I suppose, is because you are now able to think in both languages … What about you, Nemo? Are you all right?’
Nemo’s whimpering had stopped. ‘I am very much afraid,’ he confessed in a thin, high voice. ‘I—I cannot remember what language I heard.’