A Far Sunset

SIX

It was mid-morning; and Poul Mer Lo, surrounded by small dancing rainbows, drenched by a fine water mist, was kneeling with his arms tied behind his back. Behind him stood two Bayani warriors, each armed with a short trident, each trident poised above his neck for a finishing stroke. Before him lay the sad heap of his personal possessions: one electronic wristwatch, one miniature transceiver, one vest, one shirt, one pair of shorts, one plastic visor, a set of body armour, a pair of boots and an automatic sweeper rifle.

Poul Mer Lo was naked. The mist formed into refreshing droplets on his body, the droplets ran down his face and chest and back. The Bayani warriors stood motionless. There was nothing to be heard but the hypnotic sound of the fountains. There was nothing to do but wait patiently for his audience with the god-king.

He looked at the sweeper rifle and smiled. It was a formidable weapon. With it—and providing he could choose his ground—he could annihilate a thousand Bayani armed with tridents. But he had not been able to choose his ground. And here he was—at the mercy of two small brown men, awaiting the pleasure of the god-king of Baya Nor.

He wanted to laugh. He badly wanted to laugh. But he repressed the laughter because his motivation might have been misunderstood. The two sombre guards could hardly be expected to appreciate the irony of the situation. To them he was simply a stranger, a captive. That he could be an emissary from a technological civilization on another world would be utterly beyond their comprehension.

In the country of the blind, thought Poul Mer Lo, recalling a legend that belonged to another time and space, the one-eyed man is king.

Again he wanted to laugh. For, as in the legend, the blind man—with all their obvious limitations—had turned out to be more formidable than the man with one eye.

‘You are smiling,’ said an oddly immature voice. ‘There are not many who dare to smile in the presence. Nor are there many who do not even notice the presence.’

Poul Mer Lo blinked the droplets from his eyes and looked up. At first he thought he saw a great bird, covered in brilliant plumage, with iridescent feathers of blue and red and green and gold; and with brilliant yellow eyes and a hooked black beak. But the feathers clothed a man, and the great bird’s head was set like a helmet above a recognizable face. The face of Enka Ne, god-king of Baya Nor.

It was also the face of a boy—or of a very young man.

‘Lord,’ said Poul Mer Lo, struggling now with the language that had seemed so easy when he practised it with the noia, ‘I ask pardon. My thoughts were far away.’

‘Riding, perhaps, on the wings of a silver bird,’ suggested Enka Ne, ‘to a land beyond the sky … Yes, I have spoken with the noia. You have told her a strange story … It is the truth?’

‘Yes, Lord, it is the truth.’

Enka Ne smiled. ‘Here we have a story about a beast called a tlamyn. It is supposed to be a beast of the night, living in caves and dark places, never showing itself by day. It is said that once long ago six of our wise men ventured into the lair of a tlamyn—not, indeed, knowing of the presence or even the existence of such a creature. One of the wise men chanced upon the damyn’s face. It was tusked and hard and hairy like the dongoir that we hunt for sport. Therefore, feeling it in the darkness, he concluded that he had encountered a dongoir. Another touched the soft underbelly. It had two enormous breasts. Therefore, he concluded that he had come upon a great sleeping woman. A third touched the beast’s legs. They had scales and claws. Naturally, he thought he had found a nesting bird. A fourth touched the tlamyn’s tail. It was long and muscular and cold. So he decided that he had stumbled across a great serpent. A fifth found a pair of soft ears and deduced that he was lucky enough to discover one of the domasi whose meat we prize. And the sixth, sniffing the scent of the tlamyn, thought that he must be in the Temple of Gaiety. Each of the wise men made his discovery known to his comrades. Each insisted that his interpretation was the truth. The noise of their disputation, which was prolonged and energetic, eventually woke the sleeping tlamyn. And it, being very hungry, promptly ate them all … I should add that none of my people have ever seen a tlamyn and lived.’

Poul Mer Lo looked at the god-king, surprised by his intelligence. ‘Lord, that was a good story. There is one like it, concerning a creature called an elephant, that is told in my own country.’

‘In the land beyond the sky?’

‘In the land beyond the sky.’

Enka Ne laughed. ‘What is truth?’ he demanded. ‘Beyond the world in which we live there is nothing but Oruri. And even I am but a passing shadow in his endless dreams.’

Poul Mer Lo decided to take a gamble. ‘Yet who can say what and what does not belong to the dreams of Oruri. Might not Oruri dream of a strange country wherein there are such things as silver birds?’

Enka Ne was silent. He folded his arms, and gazed thoughtfully down at his prisoner. The feathers rustled. Water ran from them and made little pools on the stone floor.

At last the god-king spoke. ‘The oracle has said that you are a teacher—a great teacher. Is that so?’

‘Lord, I have skills that were prized among my own people. I have a little of the knowledge of my people. I do not know if I am a great teacher. I do not yet know what I can teach.’

The answer seemed to please Enka Ne. ‘Perhaps you speak honestly Why did your comrades die?’

Until then, Poul Mer Lo had not known that he was the last survivor. He felt an intense desolation. He felt a sense of loneliness that made him cry out, as in pain.

‘You suffer?’ enquired the god-king. He looked puzzled. Poul Mer Lo spoke with difficulty. ‘I did not know that my comrades were dead.’

Again there was a silence. Enka Ne gazed disconcertingly at the pale giant kneeling before him. He moved from side to side as if inspecting the phenomenon from all possible angles. The feathers rustled. The noise of the fountains became loud, like thunder.

Eventually, the god-king seemed to have made up his mind.

‘What would you do,’ asked Enka Ne, ‘if I were to grant you freedom?’

‘I should have to find somewhere to stay.’

‘What would you do, then, if you found somewhere to stay?’

‘I should have to find someone to cook for me. I do not even know what is good and what is not good to eat.’

‘And having found a home and a woman, what then?’

‘Then, Lord, I should have to decide how I could repay the people of Baya Nor who have given me these things.’

Enka Ne stretched out a hand. ‘Live,’ he said simply.

Poul Mer Lo felt a sharp jerk. Then his arms were free. The two silent Bayani warriors lifted him to his feet. He fell down because, having kneeled so long, the blood was not flowing in his legs.

Again they lifted him and supported him.

Enka Ne gazed at him without expression. Then he turned and walked away. After three or four paces he stopped and turned again.

He glanced at Poul Mer Lo and spoke, to the guards. ‘This man has too many fingers,’ he said. ‘It is offensive to Oruri. Strike one from each hand.’