The Deep Gods, Page 4

“Would you?” Daniel said, his voice edged. He stared at Galta. “Would you like to throw fire at others, while you flew over them?”

  “Why would I want to do that?” Galta asked.

  “I wish I could tell you,” Daniel said. He stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Let’s begin.”

  The log rollers were placed under the hull and ropes tied to it; then, with hours of effort, the doorway was cleared of the piled snow. It was evident that the boats had once been launched in the same way, into the river; but now the water was a sheet of solid ice at the foot of the launching way.

  But, as the sun rose, the black hull was moving slowly down toward the ice river. As it moved, drawn by Daniel and Banar, Galta and Ammi seized rollers and ran with them, ahead of the moving bulk. On the ice, it moved more rapidly; but there was an ominous creaking as the weight pressed the ice.

  Ahead, the open water glimmered, and beyond it, the sea. Now, the ice underfoot crackled; a terrifying sound came, like a gun shot, and a great crack opened ahead.

  “Wait!” Daniel cried out. The hull stopped; walking carefully, the four gathered at the boat’s prow.

  “Ammi, climb in; the rest of us will shove hard,” Daniel said. “If it goes as far as the water, and floats, turn it toward that ice edge, there, where we can climb in too. All right, now!”

  As the girl clambered into the boat, the others put their shoulders to the hull, and thrust. The black hull slid forward, gathering speed; the ice creaked explosively under it. With a great splash the boat met the water, and went on out into the flood.

  But Ammi had gotten an oar over and was thrusting at it; the boat swung around and moved slowly toward the ice again. The men ran, grasping at the thwarts as the ice buckled under them; and then they were all in, tumbling on the deck and laughing.

  The sail was thawed, now; the fire had done that the night before. They spread it out, Banar and Galta marveling at the material. It was a simple sort of sail, a triangular affair such as Daniel had seen on Arab dhows; they got it up without too much trouble.

  The oars, however, would be more useful just now. Galta and Daniel took one each, while Ammi roped a third aft, to act as a rudder. Banar grasped a line of the sail and braced himself against a thwart as the boat rolled in the deepening swells. The sea was visible now where the ice-choked river poured out; the white teeth of the ocean glittered in the low sun.

  I’m an idiot, Daniel thought; taking this thing out into that, a boat I’ve never handled. And a boat that’s lain in an icebox for nobody knows how long. But, as the sea wind came, he felt a crazy joy, and hauled harder on the long oar. The boat moved swiftly now, riding up over the combers and out.

  “It will leak!” Banar shouted from where he stood braced.

  “Let it!” Daniel bellowed over the increasing sound of the wind. “Bring the sail round! The wind will help now!”

  The boat heeled and Daniel hauled his oar in; Galta followed suit. There was a growing flash of white foam under the prow as the wind took the triangle sail, and a vast snarling and groaning as lines stretched taut.

  The jagged white line of cliffs lay uncomfortably close along the boat’s course, but Daniel did not know what the entrance to Alvanir’s bay might look like, and he did not wish to miss it.

  There was a heavy, long swell, but the black-hulled boat took the waves like a floating sea bird; the wind was exactly right, too. Daniel grinned exultantly, gripping the steering oar beside Ammi; the girl’s hair flew wildly in the wind, like a banner, as she laughed back at him.

  It had taken them nearly a full day to walk the distance, but the sun was still high when the boat sailed through the gap in the cliffs and into the smoother water of the bay. Ahead, through the mists, the higher roofs of the town showed. And just ahead, anchored, Gannat’s smaller boat rocked; one of his sons peered, wide-eyed with amazement, over the bows at the approaching boat.

  In another minute the beach became visible; Daniel lowered the sail. The boat coasted slowly in and gravel grated under the keel; Banar splashed into the water and then the others after him, tugging to draw the boat higher. Seeing them, several people were coming out from among the houses, running to help, calling out in wonder at the size of the new boat.

  “I’m going to sleep,” Daniel said, standing back at last and staring at the beached boat He yawned enormously. “For… three or four days.”

  It was actually less than a day that Daniel slept, then the work began. There would have to be much more done to that boat before it was ready for sea, than Gannat or the others had to do to theirs.

  One by one the others sailed out into the open sea; tiny boats, jammed with people who laughed and waved as they went. But some of the older folk wept, too, quietly.

  Others said that they would stay; usually the oldest of the people, though a few younger ones would also remain. There would be plenty of food still; and there was always warmth in the burning earth and the hot springs. Most of them felt that the ice would not swallow the ancient city in their own lifetime, and that they could not leave the only home they knew.

  Meanwhile, Daniel continued to work, aided by a slightly puzzled Banar and Galta; and a young woman named Lali, who had attached herself to Galta, to his pleased surprise. Banar had shrugged resignedly, and wondered aloud about whether there might be at least one good woman in one of those mysterious lands across the sea.

  Some of Daniel’s ideas were understandable enough to the others; a fixed rudder, weights along the keel, a better rigging of the sail. He built a tight water container on each side, too, so that there would be enough fresh water for a long trip. There was no way to tell how long it might be, Daniel knew.

  But one other activity puzzled the others immensely, though they politely pretended not to notice what seemed to be Daniel’s lunacy. For several days, while the others continued to gather stores and complete the rigging, Daniel went up into the valley beyond the city. Usually Ammi went with him; watching and helping, she contained her growing curiosity for three of the trips, then finally gave in.

  “First it was the yellow stuff that smelled badly,” she said. “Then the white salt that is not salt, which smelled worse. Now the burned wood, which is no use to anyone. Daniel, what is this we are doing?”

  They were in a courtyard, in the empty part of the city; skin bags of the substances Daniel had gathered lay piled up while he carefully weighed some of the stuff with a crude balance he had rigged up. He grinned at Ammi, continuing to pour yellow sulphur into the pan.

  “It is called sulphur,” he told her. “The other stuff is called nitrate.” He sniffed at a pinch of it. “At least, I hope it’s nitrate,” he amended. “And charcoal…”

  As he spoke he was carefully packing clay into the mouth of a small jar; out of the clay, the tubular spine of a seagull’s feather protruded. He balanced the thing in his hand, looking at it.

  “Don’t be disappointed if this doesn’t work, Ammi,” Daniel said. “It’s something I remembered, a mixture that was once used in my world… for a number of things, till we found easier ways.” He grinned wryly at her. “The better ways would take tools I don’t have, and knowledge I don’t have, too. I’m not even sure I’ve got the proportions right, here. But it’s worth trying.”

  He put the jar down and went to the little fire that burned against one wall of the courtyard. Thrusting in a stick, he brought it back and touched the fire to the protruding quill. Ammi had come closer to see what he did; he grasped her roughly and pushed her back, away.

  “What…” Ammi cried out, and then the jar exploded.

  Their ears rang with the blast; thick, foul smoke filled the courtyard, and Ammi coughed, staggering back against Daniel. Daniel grinned broadly, his own ears so deafened that he could not hear his own voice when he spoke.

  “I got it right!” he said. “Damn it, I got it right, the first time!”

  For another day or two, Daniel and Ammi filled clay jars and stoppered them; he c
ontinued to mix, in careful lots, until he used up all his ingredients. He had been extremely lucky, he knew; both in finding enough saltpeter, of relatively high purity, and in mixing the ancient formula correctly. It was probably the worst gunpowder ever made since Black Berthold went out of business, Daniel thought. But it might make a great deal of difference, out there. It had been a long time since the first Eloran tribes had sailed away north; they might now be aliens, unable to recognize their late-coming relatives.

  Weapons were needed, Daniel felt. The others did not seem to understand that idea, and the clay bombs were a complete mystery to all of them. They knew of bows; when Daniel made one, the others followed suit quickly, though they could not quite see of what use the bows and arrows might be.

  “When there were many birds, we used such things,” Galta said, twanging his bow string thoughtfully. “It makes a pretty sound, doesn’t it?”

  “In other lands, there may be many birds again,” his woman, Lali, told him. “Galta, make the sound once more. I like it.”

  Daniel, fitting a point to a heavy spear, looked up.

  “There was a musical instrument, called a harp,” he said abstractedly. “I think people made it out of a kind of bow, but with more strings…”

  He had never noticed it till now, he thought suddenly. The people of Alvanir made no music; they sang, sometimes, and thumped occasionally on anything handy, for rhythm, but he had seen no real instruments. Maybe the sea folk music was enough, he thought; it would be hard to do as well.

  But Galta had gotten the harp idea into his head now; nothing would do but to try it. His first effort was not too successful, but with a little advice from Daniel, his second was much better. It had nine strings, which he continually retuned with all the experimental zeal of a true musician. He invented tunes and played to his woman’s particular pleasure. However, he got hardly any work done, less and less as he became more fascinated by his harp.

  But Daniel knew better than to protest. Galta’s repetitive strumming sometimes brought him close to a vocal cry of complaint; but all the others thought Galta’s music was wonderful. And the black-hulled boat was nearly ready to go now, anyway.

  The harp was strung with gut; possibly, Daniel thought the damp air at sea might disable it for a while. There was hope in the notion, anyway.

  A day or two before they were ready to go, however, Daniel made another mistake; to amuse Ammi, he blew a note or two on a hollow bone. Before he realized it, he had added another instrument to the list. Listening to the initial efforts at harmony, he groaned quietly and resolved to try not to do it again. He walked away down the beach, out of earshot, kicking at a rock and thinking hard.

  Then, a few yards out, he saw the dark head lift out of the water, and a high whistle sounded. He stared at the creature for a moment, then, as it tweeted again, impatiently, he went into the water toward it.

  He felt the familiar buzzing as he came nearer; and now, waist-deep, he heard the dolphin speak.

  “You man, why?” it asked; in an oddly human way, it sounded arrogant. “Why you take so long, I’m asking? You must come, please. You have your boat.”

  He chuckled. “I’d intended to sail tomorrow,” he told the creature. “But what does it matter to you?”

  “You are to speak with the Morra-ayar, man,” it said. “We must guide you. Land folk cannot find a way on the sea.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” he told the dolphin. “I’m a very clever land creature. I can read the sky and tell where I am, and I have another thing that tells me, too.” The dolphin uttered a whistle.

  “Land creatures don’t have a direction thing in their heads, as we do,” the dolphin said, but he sounded unsure. “Have you a thing in your head?” it demanded after a moment.

  Daniel had managed to make a crude compass, in which he had very little real faith, but he was not prepared to back down before a dolphin.

  “Yes,” he said firmly.

  “Maybe you are indeed a new kind of land creature,” the dolphin said with deep interest. He emitted a bubbling grunt. “But we must go with you. The Morra-ayar told us to.”

  “Go where?” Daniel demanded. “I’m not sure I want…”

  “We will show you,” the dolphin said. “It is… ah, how can anybody explain such things to a land creature?” He blew another bubble. “There is a big land, the way you are looking now. Do you understand?”

  “Africa,” Daniel said, recalling the crude map. It had to be Africa, if the beast meant the direction as he described it.

  “I do not know its name,” the dolphin said. “The sea where the Morra-ayar dwell is beyond that land, on that side.” He lifted his nose from the water, to point. “Far, for you, but you will be safe; we shall come with you. But hurry, please. We are tired of staying here waiting.”

  He flipped around and shot into deeper water, with a great splash. Daniel stared after him angrily.

  Damn it, he thought, he’s ordering me about as if I were a slave. Or a pet animal, in a way.

  So the Morra-ayar apparently lived in the Indian Ocean, if it could be called that. For all Daniel knew, India might not exist; the maps showed a much smaller area there. He grunted, remembering the theories he’d once heard: that man came from Asia, or possibly India, in the beginning. Well, this was certainly the beginning, in a way.

  He walked back to the beached boat; approaching, he heard Galta still plunking away, and the occasional notes of a pipe. The others were sitting in the shadow of the black hull, listening with evident delight, and sometimes adding a verse to Galta’s rhymes. Daniel grinned a little sourly and went on toward them.

  “Once,” Ammi told him, later, “there were many things, like the harp Galta made. I saw pictures of such things.”

  They were curled together, under the skins, beside the dying fire on the beach. None of them wished to go far from the boat now; it was as if they were already away, somehow. All they owned that could be taken along was already aboard; in the dawn, they would launch the boat and go.

  “No one made music of their own, though, in my life,” she added thoughtfully. “You are wise, Daniel.”

  He could not think of an answer just then.

  “We go a different way from Gannat’s people, and all the others,” Ammi said, staring into the darkness. “Daniel, do you think there will be other people, like us, where we go?”

  “Probably,” he grunted. That, he thought, was why he had made weapons to bring along. But it would be best not to talk of that.

  “Many people went out of Eloran, in the first years of winter,” Ammi said. “There were ships, then…” She yawned. “At first, a few came back to bring other people out. Later, there were none. But I suppose there are many out there…”

  Then she slept. The fire died, and after a long time, Daniel slept too.

  In the dawn, the boat was pushed down into the water, the oars unshipped, and the black hull moved out toward the sea gate. Before the boat was halfway to the strait, the water stirred on either side, behind and ahead; dolphin heads came up and vanished. The convoy was there, Daniel thought.

  Behind, the ancient city began to fade in the fog while the two women watched silently. Their eyes were bright and wide, but they held the steering line steady while the men rowed.

  The wind was less than it had been on their first trip; now it set from their port quarter, making it necessary to take a course slightly westerly. The dolphins around the ship rose again and again, whistling; it was clear that they did not entirely approve of the direction. But when Daniel was satisfied by the sail’s set, he went to the thwarts and leaned over, calling out.

  He was almost certain that the bottle-nosed face below was that of the dolphin to whom he had already spoken twice. Its arrogant tone was familiar, too.

  “Man, you said you have a thing in your head,” the dolphin croaked. His voice was not as clear in open air. “You go the wrong way!”

  “This boat sails on the wind,” Daniel
told him. “We must go a little the wrong way, to go at all.”

  It took a little more shouting before the dolphin was convinced. Even then, Daniel was not sure that the creature liked the idea of going out of the direct line; but the dolphin liked talking above water even less. At last he had blown an indignant spray and vanished; the boat sailed on.

  But in the days that passed, the dolphin convoy remained always with them. Sometimes they would rise and leap in great arching curves around the boat, as though showing how much better they traveled than did the slow land people. And at other times some of them slid along the side, when Galta played his harp; their own organ tones came, humming through the wooden sides of the ship. Apparently they liked Galta’s music, and the sound of the pipe, as well.

  Daniel showed the others how he measured their progress; a primitive log-line, cast over the side, with knots to count as the float slid aft, gave him a crude notion of their speed. It was necessary, at first, to inform the dolphins of the fact that the log line was not a fishing line; two or three of them came up to tell the foolish land folk that they had forgotten bait and hook

  He had made a cross staff, too, from remembered drawings of the instrument that had guided medieval ships; at night, he indicated to the others such stars as he knew. They already had some idea of the matter, but the cross staff pleased them immensely. Banar, in particular, learned to use it at once and played with it constantly, sighting various stars.

  When land was sighted, at last, on their starboard, Daniel felt a secret pleasure at his skill. He, alone of all those aboard, had doubted the accuracy of their course. For all he knew, they might have been heading for Australia, if that island existed.

  But he was surer now; the land to the west had to be Africa. He bore closer in, studying the shore, but nowhere did it resemble the coast as he recalled it.

  It could be anywhere, he realized, from Durban to Capetown… though neither city would exist for thousands of years. Still, there ought to be some resemblance, and there wasn’t. There had been low, rolling hills; lightly forested and often bare. But these were steep and crowned with dense tropical growth. And the days were growing warmer, too, so warm as to make the others uncomfortable. None of them had ever experienced such heat.