Paragaea (13 page)

“It must have been the same culture that paved the stream,” Leena said as they approached the sculpture. “But why make such a thing, and how?”

“Well,” Hieronymus said, a philosophical tone creeping into his voice, “it could well be that the beings who constructed this enormous snake idol were all dead and gone when the world was new, before man ever trod a foot upon Paragaea.”

“No, perhaps not,” Balam objected. They were now within arm's reach of the sculpture, standing entirely within its sharp-edged shadow. “There is every chance the idol-makers are very much alive.”

Balam directed their attention to the figures emerging from the shadows all around them. There were nearly a dozen beings in all, looking like the products of a union between man and snake, scaled and hairless, with large round eyes, double slits for noses, and only abbreviated holes on either side of their head for ears. Their scaly skins were ranged from hues of deep russet-gold to red to green, iridescent and shimmering slightly like oil on water. Each stood nearly two and a half meters tall, but walked hunched over, the two massive fingers and thumb of each hand reaching out and grasping, a kind of hissing sounding deep in their chests.

Leena didn't waste a single thought, but immediately reached for her short sword, falling into a martial stance.

“Peace, little sister,” Hieronymus said, laying a hand on her arm. “These are Nagas.”

“Despite their sometimes fearsome mien,” Balam said, “the snake men are by and large peaceful creatures.”

Reluctantly, Leena let the blade slide back into its sheath, but her hand remained near the hilt.

One of the snake men stepped forward, and bowed slightly from the waist, his large round eyes glistening in the shadows like polished glass.

“I am Oshunmare,” the Naga said, in perfectly accented Sakrian. “Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“I am Hieronymus Bonaventure, and these are my companions, Balam, prince of the Sinaa, and Akilina Mikhailovna Chirikova.”

“You are most welcome to the lands of the Nagas, Hieronymus
Bonaventure.” Oshunmare bowed again, dipping more deeply, and his fellow snake men followed suit.

Hieronymus and Balam bowed in return. Leena felt awkward, but had been raised to bow to no man, and so instead snapped off a crisp salute. She hoped it would not give offense.

“You are invited to be our guests in the temple-city of Patala”—Oshunmare pointed towards the east—“if you are willing only to be interrogated by the interlocutors, to help us increase our conception of the All. In return for this courtesy, you will be provided housing and sustenance for as long as you might require.”

Leena bridled at the mention of “interrogation,” thinking back on her Red Army training in anti-interrogation techniques, but from the responses of Hieronymus and Bonaventure, she assumed the meaning carried different connotations in Sakrian.

“We would be delighted,” Hieronymus said, answering for the group.

“This way, then, to Patala.” Oshunmare turned and, without further ceremony, led the party on a path to the east, around the massive carved serpent and back into the forests.

As they walked, with the dozen snake men a short distance ahead of them, Leena spoke in low tones to her companions, asking them what they knew of this strange race. Were they another race of metamen, like the jaguarlike Sinaa and the birdlike Struthio, or something else besides?

“They are not among the kingdoms of metamankind,” Balam answered in a quiet voice. “Not so far as I have always been told. As children, my sisters and I were taught that the culture of the snake men is one of the most ancient in all of Paragaea. I'm not sure anyone knows their origins, perhaps not even the Nagas themselves.”

“If that is the case,” Leena said, “and they are so ancient a culture, perhaps they will have some arcane knowledge of Earth lost to the rest of the world.”

“Perhaps,” Hieronymus said, rubbing his lower lip between thumb and forefinger. “I can't admit to much knowledge of the Nagas. I've seen snake men in the streets of the Sakrian cities, of course, and in the port towns of the Inner Sea, but those are typically snake men who have left their own ways behind, to better assimilate, their cultural traditions reduced to mummery performed on street corners for coins from passersby.”

Leena, whose mother's people had been Russian gypsies, knew what it meant to have traditions degraded to the level of street performance.

After a short journey through the forests, they reached the city of Patala. Though not large for a city or township, as the whole city was one large complex of buildings and temples, in terms of single standing structures it was enormous. The temple-city first impressed itself on the senses as being unimaginably ancient. Its high, gray stone walls were in places completely obscured by climbing vines, in other places stained by mosses a deep greenish black. The temple-city rose in seven tiers, like a layered cake or step pyramid. As they climbed the wide, deep steps carved into the stone structures, they passed open-air plazas and pavilions, dotting the upper reaches of the complex, where Nagas young and old gathered to recite strange poetry, or dance, or debate, or produce haunting tones from vibrating crystals.

Oshunmare led the trio to the third tier of the temple-city, where waited for them three Nagas, each wearing a simple copper-colored tunic and, around their necks like a sort of badge of office, a crystal pendant.

“These three,” the snake man explained, pointing to each in turn,
“Kalseru, Vasuki, and Manasa, are the designated interlocutors for this cycle, selected from all the population of Patala for this honor. They will have the rare opportunity to interview all outsiders who visit our temple-city until the next turn of the seasons, when the honor will fall on other fortunate Nagas.”

The three Nagas stepped forward, each extending a two-fingered hand to one of the trio.

“If you would each follow one of the interlocutors,” Oshunmare said, “the interrogations should be complete in short order.”

Leena was anxious at the notion of being separated from her companions in a strange place, surrounded by inhuman beings, however placid or unthreatening they might initially seem. Hieronymus saw the concern etched across her face, and turned to address the interlocutors.

“We will be allowed to keep our weapons, of course.”

“Of course,” Oshunmare answered. “And no doors will bar your way. You may leave at any time during the interrogation, though in doing so, you would perforce be refusing our continued hospitality.”

“Understood,” Hieronymus said, and cast a glance at Leena.

Reluctantly, her hand staying near the hilt of her short sword, Leena nodded.

“I am Kalseru,” one of the interlocutors said in perfect Sakrian, stepping towards Lena and bowing reverently. From the tenor of Kalseru's voice, she was evidently a female of the Naga species. “If you would accompany me, please, we may begin.”

In a private interview chamber, little more than a semicircular room open to the plaza, Kalseru explained to Leena that it was the custom of the Nagas to welcome outsiders with reverence and respect, seeing each encounter as a possible opportunity to expand their understanding
of Ananta, a concept that most easily translates into other tongues as “the All.” Kalseru would ask Leena a series of questions about her people's views on religion, cosmology, and existence, and Leena should answer as truthfully as she was able, with as much or as little detail as she felt comfortable providing.

Leena responded to all of Kalseru's questions—somewhat surprised her Sakrian had improved sufficient to the purpose—explaining about Marxist dialects, historical imperatives, and the inevitable rise of the proletariat. Leena explained in no uncertain terms that any belief in the supernatural, whether the occult or the divine, is simply a sop for the masses in decadent capitalist countries, to keep the workers' thoughts on the illusory rewards of the hereafter, and not on their miserable condition in the here and now.

“So,” Kalseru asked, lazily drawing symbols in the sands of the chamber's floor, legs folded beneath her, “can we then assume that your conception of the All does not allow for the possibility of other planes of existence, of other realms of being?”

Leena was brought up short. Until a few weeks ago, her answer to that question would have come as easily and unbidden as her other answers, but now she wasn't so sure. Did the superstitions and fairy tales of the unenlightened have their origins in the other-dimensional realm of Paragaea? Was this the Fairyland of her grandmother's stories?

Leena began now to question Kalseru, asking her what knowledge the Nagas had of other worlds.

Kalseru was unable to answer her questions, and excusing herself for a moment, called in Oshunmare. The older Naga joined them, but after listening to Leena's inquiries about Earth, he, too, was unable to answer her questions. A number of other interlocutors, debaters, poets, and thinkers were brought into the chamber in the hours that followed, all of them listening respectfully to Leena's questions, and then disagreeing one with another over how little the Nagas' conception of the All was able to account for her questions.

The Nagas agreed on one point, at least. They had, of course, heard of the existence of portals between Paragaea and the plane known as Earth—no culture of their great age could have avoided the knowledge—but they knew of no way to predict where and when such portals would occur

Finally, Oshunmare called for silence. It was clear that none of those present had a sufficiently advanced conception to address Leena's questions. Their only option was to take her before the Aevum.

“I was promised food and rest after all those damnable questions,” Balam rumbled as they climbed the steps to the upper reaches of the temple-city. “And now I have to go along and listen to you ask even more?”

Leena did not answer, but continued to mount the deep steps to the summit.

“I've not talked so much about the great god Thun since I was a cub taking my maturation examinations,” Balam said, “and perhaps not even then.”

“I quite enjoyed the interview, actually,” Hieronymus said, smiling. “I confess that I'm scarcely qualified to speak to the religion of my own people, since while I was ostensibly raised in the Church of England, I only attended service a handful of times in my whole childhood. Instead, I spoke with Vasuki at length about Greek myths and legends, which I learned from my mother, who, if nominally a Dutch Protestant, would more likely have worshipped at the altar of Zeus, or at least of Homer, had she been able.”