Suddenly, Will Harbin lifted his head. “Listen!” he whispered. But they had all heard it at the same moment, the distant keening. It was a low, wailing song without words, a moaning as of many voices. And it was coming nearer—
Brant and Tuan sprung to their feet, and the others scrambled up upon their cue.
Hathera appeared in the doorway, like a sudden apparition. He was naked, save for a wreath of strange blossoms which crowned his brow. Behind him many others could be seen, men, women, young children. All wore similar wreaths of the curious flowers.
“The time has come for you to leave us,” said Hathera softly. His face was lined and weary, his eyes sorrowful, with no animosity in them.
At that moment, the mental constraint which had bound them all within the room—changed. They were free to leave the chamber, and a compulsion came upon them to do so. They trooped out into the hallway and Hathera turned, leading them. And, although Tuan’s band of outlaws had their weapons ready in their hands, it did not occur to them to use them; perhaps this was another form of the constraint, for by now Hathera had learned the meaning of the word “weapon.”
Zuarra slipped her strong, small hand into Brant’s, nodding behind them. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the Sea People were bearing the bodies of Agila and Suoli upon stretchers.
The twin power guns lay upon the breasts of the slain couple.
When they emerged from the central building into the dim luminance of eternal dawn, they saw an unearthly sight.
For all of the people of Zhah, from the oldest man to the babes in their mother’s arms, were gathered to observe their passage. In their hundreds and their thousands they stood ranked along the way, and each of them wore the strange crown of blossoms upon their brows.
The soft, sorrowful crooning rose now in a swelling chorus from the throats of many thousands. It was a sad, low susurration, like the sobbing of wind in gaunt boughs, or the sighing of the sea. It raised the hackles on Brant’s nape.
He stared into many faces as Hathera led them down to the sea. The same mournful expression was upon each face, and in the eyes of all. Nowhere did he read anger or even resentment: only a stricken, heart-deep sorrow, a hurt puzzlement.
The ship was waiting for them at the end of the long quay, but whether it was the same vessel that had borne them across the luminous sea to the floating city, or another very much resembling it, they could not tell.
They boarded the vessel, and Hathera stood aside to let them pass. Brant felt the urge to say something—to stammer apologies—but the words died in his mouth. There was nothing to say; nothing at all… .
The sad-faced children were on board the vessel before them, and the moment the last of the unwelcome visitors strangers had reached the deck, lines were cast off and the captive dragonflies bore the ship away from Zhah.
The elfin city dwindled gradually across the expanse of the shining waters, until it was merely a moat on the horizon. And Brant felt a strange, sad elation rise up within him.
“Guess they’re not going to kill us, after all,” he muttered to Will Harbin. “Wonder why?”
“God knows,” said the older man soberly.
Among the naked children who manned the craft were little Kirin and the girl Aulli who had tutored the two Earthsiders in the ancient tongue of Zhah. But the children only looked at them sadly, wistfully, and did not address the two. Neither did Brant or Harbin attempt to speak to them.
They sat down on the deck, rather shakily, glad to be still alive. A somber mood was upon them all, and they said little to each other, for each was busied with his own thoughts.
The ship sailed on across the glowing sea.
27 Expelled from Eden
The voyage was a dreamlike thing, and ever after they found it difficult to recall aught that occurred during this time. The silent children gave them food and drink; at intervals they slept; when rested, they woke. The children did not address them and left them strictly to themselves.
After a time, the jewel-strewn shore came into view on the horizon, but whether they had been brought back to the same place or not they could not at once discern.
They were put ashore, and the bodies of Suoli and Agila went with them. As he was about to leave the ship, Brant turned and his gaze sought out the face of the boy.
“Kirin,” he said awkwardly, but he said no more. For tears welled into the amber eyes of the lad and fell slowly, one by one, down his cheeks. Brant bowed his head and turned away and left.
Once they were all ashore, the ship was turned about and began the voyage back to Zhah. Brant felt a pang go through him as it receded into the haze of the distance.
Will Harbin stood beside him, and they both gazed, rather wistfully, as the ship vanished.
“Can we ever return here again?” murmured the scientist. “The knowledge we could gain, the wisdom, the value to science—!”
Brant said nothing. They both knew that this Eden was forbidden to them, and to all men from the surface world forever. They did not need the vision of the angel with the flaming sword to tell them they were expelled from Eden… .
“You have your memories, your notes,” Brant said, almost roughly. The old scientist screwed up his face into a rueful expression.
“I do, Jim; but who would ever believe the story, even if he heard it from our own lips?”
Zuarra came toward them, excitement in her face.
“They have returned us to the very place where they found us,” she informed them breathlessly. “See? There—our gear and garments—and there! The strange forest where we fed.”
She was right, of course. The fungus forest stood as it had always stood, and Brant could even spot the growth from which they had first eaten. Everything was as it had been then … the azure moss, with its tiny white star-flowers, the nodding fungi in their rich and varied hues … but everything was different.
The weird underground cavern-world had turned against them as swiftly as it had once warmly and innocently welcomed them. And they must soon begone from this enchanted place where they were no longer wanted.
But first there was a grim and melancholy duty to be performed. From his gear, Brant removed an entrenching tool and began to dig the twin graves. When he was winded, one of Tuan’s warriors replaced him. They dug the graves shallowly enough, for there were no wolves in this faerie world, no predators who would disturb the peaceful slumbers of the dead.
And they laid to rest Agila and Suoli, wrapped in each other’s arms, under the azure moss.
No words were spoken over the dead, for the Martian natives have little in the way of religious ceremonies, as Earthsiders understand the term. If, any of them prayed to the Timeless Ones to watch over the slumber of the twain, it was silently and inwardly.
Brant and Zuarra stood side by side, hand clasped in hand, as Tuan’s men laid the mossy sod over the dual grave. He stole a sidewise glance at her, and found her face stony and devoid of any expression. Neither were there any tears in her eyes.
She had said her farewells to Suoli long ago, he guessed or knew… .
They had buried them without the guns. Those now hung heavy in the hands of Tuan.
The outlaw chief saw that Brant had noticed that he had taken up the power guns that he had once thieved from Brant. Now, his face proud, he approached the Earthsider, who stood easy, empty hands at his side, waiting for whatever might come.
“The truce that was between the people of Brant and the people of Tuan was to last only so long as both were the prisoners of the Sea People,” Tuan reminded him softly. Brant nodded.