As they groped carefully toward the vault, he went on: “As Chief, I do have power to go here whenever I wish, and I have spent long times studying the marvels within. But my people won’t let me remove anything from it. They’re afraid. All the world is afraid. Man’s greatest devil is fear.”
The door still gaped open on unknown blacknesses. Ronwy struck flint and steel to light a candle he bore. “Follow me,” he said. The yellow glow picked his face out of night, old and calm and immensely comforting. “I have entered often. There is no magic, no Doom-nothing to be afraid of—only wonder and mystery.”
They went down the steps. At the bottom, Ronwy lifted his candle high and Carl saw that the vault was a great underground chamber lined with concrete, reaching farther into shadowy distance than he could see. He stood unmoving, caught up in the marvel of it.
Steel cabinets stretched along the sides. Long benches held models protected under glass covers: cunningly wrought models of engines whose purpose Carl could not imagine, their metal catching the light in a dull shimmer. Full-size things of steel and copper and glass, shapes such as he had never dreamed, quietly waited for a man who understood. And there were books—books, everywhere books, shelf after glassed-in shelf of books from floor to ceiling—
“Come here,” said Ronwy.
Carl followed him over to a wall on which there was a bronze plaque. The boy’s lips moved as he slowly puzzled out what was engraved thereon.
TO YOU WHO COME AFTER: THE WORLD IS ON THE EDGE OF THE FINAL WAR, THE WAR WHICH I THINK WILL DESTROY ALL CIVILIZATION AND HURL MAN, IF MAN SURVIVES, BACK TO SAVAGERY AND IGNORANCE. IT WILL TAKE LONG TO REGAIN WHAT IS LOST. PERHAPS IT WILL NEVER BE DONE. BUT I MUST DO WHAT I CAN TO SAVE THE KNOWLEDGE WHICH IS SO GREAT AND GOOD. IT IS MEN WHO ARE EVIL AND MISUSE THEIR POWERS; THEIR KNOWLEDGE CAN ONLY BE GOOD. LEST THE TORCH WHICH IS NOW BURNING LOW GO OUT FOREVER, I PLACE A SPARK FROM IT HERE TO REKINDLE IT IN FUTURE AGES.
IN THIS VAULT, THERE ARE BOOKS WHICH EXPLAIN WHAT WE KNOW OF SCIENCE AND HISTORY, STARTING WITH SIMPLE THINGS WHICH ANYONE CAN UNDERSTAND AND GOING ON TO THE PROUDEST DISCOVERS OF THE HUMAN RACE. OUR SMALLER TOOLS AND MACHINES ARE HERE, AND MODELS OF THE LARGER ONES, TO HELP YOU LEARN AND REBUILD. HERE, TOO, ARE WHAT I COULD GATHER OF THE GREAT PROPHETS AND PHILOSOPHERS AND ARTISTS FROM ALL OUR PAST AGES, TO EXPLAIN HOW A REGAINED POWER SHOULD BE USED WITH MORE WISDOM AND KINDNESS THAN OUR UNHAPPY WORLD HAS SHOWN, AND TO INSPIRE YOU NOT MERELY TO IMITATE US, BUT TO GO ON FOR YOURSELVES AND CREATE NEWER AND BETTER DREAMS OF YOUR OWN.
GUARD THIS TREASURE. USE IT WELL. MAY GOD HELP YOU IN YOUR TASK AND IN YOUR TRIUMPHS.
It was long before Carl had finished spelling it out, and he had not understood much of what was in the message. But he knew it was a cry across the ages, and tears stung his eyes.
“Who did this?” he whispered.
“I don’t know,” answered Ronwy as softly. “It must have been a scientist who foresaw the Doom, five hundred years ago, and tried to save this for us. But his name is nowhere here. I think,” he added after a moment, “that he didn’t want us to know his name, that he wanted us to think of the whole human race> which had created all this, as giving it to us.”
“And the vault is tabooed!” Carl’s bitter cry sent the echoes booming hollowly from wall to wall.
“It need not always be so,” replied Ronwy. “Someday, when you are Chief of the Dalesmen, you may be able to get the taboo lifted. It will take the work of many men and many years to learn all that is in here and put it to use. In a lifetime of study, I have only mastered a tiny part of this great store. Come.” He took Carl’s hand. “Let me show you a little.”
It was a strange quest, hunting among these dusty cases and boxes, lifting books and plans and models in trembling hands, there in the vault where time—yes, time itself—had been caged.
Carl’s mind staggered from most of the writings and machines. But there were things which could be used right now, today! A new design of sailboat, a windmill, a ritual called vaccination for preventing the dreaded smallpox, the natural laws of heredity by which farmers could breed better grain and livestock—a whole new world lay under his hands!
Tom picked up one thing, a short metal tube with glass in one end and a crank on the side.
“What is this?” he asked.
Ronwy smiled in the yellow candle glow. “Turn the crank,” he said.
Tom did, and yelled in astonishment as a clear, white beam of light sprang from the glass. He dropped the thing—Carl snatched it out of the air—and the light died away.
“It’s called a flashlight,” said Ronwy. “It has to be hand-powered, the card by it said, because the batteries they once had wouldn’t last many years.”
Carl turned the miracle over in his fingers. “May I keep this?” he asked. “I’ll need something to prove what I say when I bring this story back to Dalestown.”
It was Ronwy’s turn to be surprised. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Carl’s eyes gleamed fierce. “I mean that tomorrow night we three will try to sneak past those Lann scouts and get home,” he answered. “Then the Dalesmen will come here in force, take over the vault, learn how to make weapons like the ancients had—and drive the invaders away!”
There was a silence, then—
“We get past the Lann,” said Owl.
Chapter 4
THE UNDYING LIGHT
Another day went by, a day of restlessly prowling the ruins under the hostile eyes of the witch-folk, and slowly the sun crossed heaven and limned the high, stern towers black against a ruddy western sky. Carl, Tom, and Owl fetched their horses, which had been stabled in an old place of polished marble known as BANK, and began readying themselves for their journey.
“The Lann may have gone away,” said Owl hopefully.
“I’m afraid not,” answered Carl. “They’re scared of the City, but at the same time they know it’s well for them to stop any messages going between the witches and the Dalesmen. They’ll have at least a few men waiting outside to catch us.” He smiled, trying to ignore the coldness of his hands and the tightness in his throat. “But it’s a big woods and a dark night, so with fair luck we can slip by them. And if not—” He slapped his saddlebag. “If not, we may still have a chance.”
“I am guilty,” said Ronwy. “I am guilty of sending you out to your enemies, when you are my guests.”
“You couldn’t help it, sir,” replied Tom quietly. “We know you’re our friend.”
“In the old days,” said Ronwy, “you could have traveled from one end of America to another without fear. Now those few miles you have to go are one long deathtrap. If you get home, Carl—if you become Chief of the Dalesmen—remember that!”
“I will remember,” said Carl.
He tied his pony’s mouth shut so that it could not whinny and betray him; his comrades did the same. Clear and lovely overhead, the first stars winked through a gathering dusk.
“Good-by, Ronwy,” said Carl. “And thank you.”
“The gods go with you,” said the old man.
He stood looking after them until their forms were lost in bush and shadow.
The boys walked, leading their horses. Night thickened until they were groping through a pit of darkness whose walls bulked ragged against the stars. Slowly, stumblingly, they made their way through tumbled wreckage and crackling brush until they stood at the edge of the City and looked out over a dim sweep of forest and meadow. Straining their ears, they could hear only the dry chirp of crickets and rustle of wind-once an owl hooted, once a wildcat screamed—but no sign of the enemy, no trace. Their own breathing seemed loud in the stillness, and Carl thought that surely the Lann must hear the drumbeats of his heart.