2 - Blades of Mars (6 page)

 
          
 
'Time to stop the Priosa.'

 
          
 
'From what?'

 
          
 
Ora Lis coughed weakly and blood flecked her
lips.

 
          
 
‘I - I told them where you were . . .'

 
          
 
She tried to rise then. 'I told them where you
were ... Do you not understand? I told them of the meeting I was mad. It - it
was my grief. Oh ...'

 
          
 
Hool Haji looked at me again, his eyes full of
misery. He realised now. It had been Ora Lis who had betrayed us - her revenge
on Hool Haji for his rejection of her.

 
          
 
Then he looked down at her. What he said to
her then told me once and for all that he was a man in every sense - a man of
strength and of pity also. 'No,' he said, 'they have done nothing. We will warn
the - village - at once.' She died saying nothing more. There was a smile of
relief on her lips.

 
          
 
We buried the ill-starred girl in the loamy
soil of the hills. We did not mark her grave. Something in us seemed to tell us
not to - that in burying Ora Lis in an unmarked grave it was as if we sought to
bury the whole tragic episode.

 
          
 
It was impossible, of course.

 
          
 
Later that day we were joined by several more
fleeing Mendishar. We learned that the Priosa were hunting down all
survivors, that
they were hot on the heels of the warriors
who had escaped. We also learned that a few prisoners had been taken, though
the survivors could not name them, and that the village had been razed.

 
          
 
One of the town-leaders, "a warrior in
middle age called Khal Hira, said as we rode 'I would still like to discover
who betrayed us. I have racked my brains and can think of no explanation.'

 
          
 
I glanced at Hool Haji and he looked at me. It
was at that moment, perhaps - though it might have been earlier - that we
entered into an unspoken agreement to say nothing of Ora Lis. Let it remain a
mystery. The only true villains were the Proisa. The rest were victims of fate.

 
          
 
We did not answer Khal Hira at all. He did not
speak thereafter.

 
          
 
None of us was in any mood for conversation.

 
          
 
The hills gave way to plains and the plains to
desert country as we fled in defeat from the Priosa pursuers.

 
          
 
They did not catch us - but they drove some of
us, indirectly, to our deaths.

The Tower in the Desert

 
          
 
Khal Hira's lips were swollen but firmly
clenched as stared out over the desert.

 
          
 
Desert it was - no longer a bare wasteland of
cracked earth and rock, but a place of black sand stirred into constantly
shifting life by a perpetual breeze.

 
          
 
We no longer found pools of brackish water, no
longer knew, even roughly, where we were, save that we had travelled
north-west.

 
          
 
Our tough mounts were almost as weary as we
were and beginning to flag. Here the sky was cloudless and the sun a throbbing,
burning enemy.

 
          
 
For five days we had ridden the desert, rather
aimlessly. Our minds were still stunned by the sudden turn of events at the
village. We were still badly demoralised, and unless we were able to find water
soon we should die. Our bodies were grimed with the thick black desert sand and
we were slumped in our saddles with weariness.

 
          
 
There was nothing for it but to keep moving,
to continue our hopeless quest for water.

 
          
 
It was on the sixth day that Khal Hira keeled
from his saddle. He uttered no sound and when we went to his assistance we
discovered he was dead.

 
          
 
Two more died on the following day. Apart from
Hool Haji and
myself
, three others remained alive - if
'alive' is the proper word to use. These were Jil Deera, Vas Oola and Back
Puri. The first was a stocky warrior of even fewer words than his fellows and
very short for a Mendishar. The other two were tall young men. Of the pair,
Bac
Puri was beginning to show visible signs of losing his
grip. I could not blame him - very soon the beating sun would drive us all mad,
even if it did not kill us first.

 
          
 
Bac Puri was beginning to mutter to himself
and his eyes were rolling dreadfully. We pretended not to notice, partly for
his sake, partly for our own. His condition seemed prophetic of the state we
ourselves would soon be reaching.

 
          
 
Then we saw the tower.

 
          
 
I had seen nothing like it on Mars. Though
partially ruined and seeming incredibly ancient, it bore no trace of erosion.
Its partial destruction seemed to be the result of some bombardment, its upper
sections having great jagged holes blown through them at some stage in the
tower's history.

 
          
 
It offered shelter, if nothing else. But it
also told us that once there had been a settlement here - and where there had
been a settlement there might have been water.

 
          
 
Reaching the tower and touching it I was
astounded to discover that it was of no natural substance - at least none that
I could recognise. It seemed to be made of some immensely durable plastic as
strong as steel - stronger, perhaps, since it had withstood any sort of damage
from the corrosive sand

 
          
 
We entered, my companions being forced to
duck. Sand had drifted into the tower, but it was cool. We collapsed to the
ground and, no one having spoken, almost immediately fell asleep.

 
          
 
I was the first to awake. This was probably
because I had not yet became fully used to the longer Martian night.

 
          
 
It was barely dawn and I still felt weak
though refreshed.

 
          
 
Even in the condition I was in I felt
curiosity about the tower. There was a roof about twelve feet above my head,
but no apparent means of reaching the upper floor which must obviously be
there.

 
          
 
Leaving my sleeping companions, I began to
explore the surrounding desert looking for some sign of water lying somewhere
beneath the sand.

 
          
 
I was sure that it must, but whether I would
find it was an entirely different matter.

 
          
 
Then my eyes caught sight of a projection in
the sand. It was not a dune. Inspecting it, I found it to be a kind of low wall
made of the same material as the tower. However, when I scraped away the sand I
saw that the wall enclosed a surface also of the same material. I could not
make out the purpose of this construction. It was laid out in a perfect square
some thirty feet across. I began to walk towards the opposite wall.

 
          
 
I was not cautious enough - or perhaps I was
too weary - for I suddenly put one foot upon yeilding sand, tried to recover as
T lost my balance, failed and fell downwards through the surface. I landed,
winded and bruised, in a chamber half filled with sand. Rolling over and
looking up, I saw that there was a jagged hole above me through which daylight
filtered. The hole seemed to have been caused by the same thing that had torn
the holes in the tower. Some attempt had been made to patch it and it was
across the makeshift patch that sand had blown. It was through this that I had
fallen.

 
          
 
The patch was flimsy, originally a sheet of
light plastic. I looked at a piece that had fallen with me. Again I could not
recognise the substance, although not being a chemist I could not say whether
the process was familiar on Earth of my own time or not. Like the tower,
however, it spoke of an advanced technology not possessed by any of the Martian
races with whom I had come in contact.

 
          
 
Suddenly my weariness seemed to fall away from
me as a thought struck me. The thought had many implications but I confess I
did not think of my companions above but of myself.

 
          
 
Was this a dwelling of the Sheev? If so, there
might be a chance of being able to return to that Mars of the age I needed to
visit - the age in which my Shizala lived!

 
          
 
I spat the harsh sand from my mouth and stood
up. The chamber was almost featureless, though, as my eyes grew accustomed to
the gloom, I made out a small panel on the far wall. Inspecting this I saw it
consisted of half-a-dozen small studs. My hand hovered over them. If I pressed
one, what would happen? Would anything happen? Maybe it was unlikely - yet the
hand which had patched the roof might have kept any machinery alive. Was the
place occupied? I was sure that other chambers opened off from this one. It was
logical. If there were control studs there was machinery.

 
          
 
I pressed a stud at random. The result was
rather anti-climactic, for all that happened was that dim light filled the
chamber, issuing from the walls themselves. This light revealed something else
- a rectangular hairline close to the panel, speaking of a door. I had been
right.

 
          
 
And the power - or some of it, at any rate -
was still working.

 
          
 
Before exploring further I cautioned myself
and returned to my position immediately below the gap in the roof. I heard
faint voices. Evidently my companions had awakened, wondered where I was and
had come to find me.

 
          
 
I called upwards.

 
          
 
Soon I saw Hool Haji’s face staring down at me
in surprise.

 
          
 
'What have you
found.
Michael Kane.'

 
          
 
'Perhaps our salvation,' I said with a
passable imitation of a grin. 'Come down - bring the others - see for
yourselves what I've discovered.'

 
          
 
Soon Hool Haji dropped down into the chamber,
followed by Jil Deera and Vas Oola. Bac Puri was the last to swing downwards,
looking intensely suspicious and still half mad.

 
          
 
'Water?' said
Bac
Puri. 'Have you found water?'

 
          
 
I shook my head. 'No. But perhaps we shall.'

 
          
 
'Perhaps!
Perhaps! I
am dying!'

 
          
 
Hool Haji put a hand on
Bac
Puri's shoulder. 'Calm yourself, friend. Have patience.'

 
          
 
Bac Puri's tongue moved slowly across his
swollen lips and he sank into a mood of sullen gloom. Only his eyes continued
to dart about

 
          
 
'What are these?' Jil Deera waved his hand
towards the studs.

 
          
 
'One of them brought this light,' I said. 'I
presume that another activates the door -I cannot guess which.'

 
          
 
'And what lies beyond the door? I wonder,' put
in Vas Oola.

 
          
 
I shook my head. Then I reached out and
pressed another stud. The chamber began to vibrate slightly. Hastily I pressed
the stud again and the vibration ceased. Pressing a third stud brought no
apparent result.

 
          
 
A fourth produced a shrill, wining sound and a
grating noise which, I quickly saw, indicated that the door was opening,
sliding into the right-hand wall.

 
          
 
At first, peering into the aperture revealed,
we saw nothing but pitch darkness and felt cold, cold air on our faces.

 
          
 
'Who do you think created this place?' I
whispered to Hool Haji.
'The Sheev?'

 
          
 
'It could have been the Sheev, yes.' He did
not seem very certain.

 
          
 
I reached my hand inside and felt about for a
panel that should, logically, correspond with the one in the chamber in which
we stood.

 
          
 
I found it I pressed the corresponding stud
and light filled the other chamber.

 
          
 
There was no sand in this one. It was roughly
the same shape as the one we were in but there were large, spherical objects
set into the walls on one side. Beneath them were what
were
plainly controls of some kind
.

 
          
 
Lying on the floor was a skeleton.

 
          
 
Seeing the remains of what had evidently been
a blue giant of the Mendishar,
Bac
Puri let out a
shriek and pointed a shaking finger at the bones.

 
          
 
'An omen!
He, too,
was curious. He was slain. There is some supernatural agency at work here!'

 
          
 
Affecting insouciance, I stepped into the
chamber and bent towards the skeleton.

 
          
 
'Nonsense,' I said, stooping and wrenching a
short-shafted spear from the remains. 'He was slain by this -look!' I held up
the lance. It was light and strong, made all in one piece, again of advanced
materials.

 
          
 
'I have seen nothing like that in my life,'
Jil Deera said, joining me and looking curiously at the weapon. 'And see -
these symbols engraved on the shaft - they are in no language I recognise.'

 
          
 
I also did not recognise the language as the
basic common tongue of Mars. There were still sinJlarities - though much
fainter - to ancient Sanskrit, however. The essential form of the script was
the same.