Princess of Amathar (15 page)

I acknowledged Vena Remontar's commentary, and then turned away from the window. Several food servers in the traditional white bodysuits were delivering tall glasses of ice water and trays of small appetizer cakes. The young knight, and I as her companion, were served first.

"There certainly seems to be a great deal of respect and privilege associated with being a knight," I observed.

"That is very true," Vena Remontar replied, with a slight smile, "but it is more than that in my case. The Remontar family name is well known, as are all who carry that name. In addition, my cousins are the heirs of the Sun Overlord. Norar Remontar and his sister are beloved of the entire city." We busied ourselves eating the delicious cakes, which were filled with a ground meat and a variety of vegetables. In certain parts of the land of my birth, they might have been called pasties, though they were seasoned unlike anything found on Earth. The water was delicious. It seemed that water was the beverage of choice among the Amatharians, and they went to great lengths to see that any water found within the city was not only crystal clear and healthful, but tasty as well. With the exception of mirrah, and a few other fermented drinks, water was all that was available to drink in most city places. We had just finished eating when the sky train made one more stop in the industrial center. After it began on its way again, we crossed out of the region of factories and complexes and began crossing a vast open cultivated land. I watched out the window as we continued on, and the buildings of the city grew distant behind us. Roaming the ground like huge grazing animals, were monstrous machines, planting, thinning, and harvesting a tremendous variety of vegetables and fruits.

"Have we left the city?" I asked.

"This is one of the five cultivation areas within the city," explained the knight. "Each is a circle two hundred fifty kentads (about two hundred miles) in diameter. Four are in operation growing our food, while a fifth lies fallow."

As we cruised along, our conversation did not lag. I had a thousand, no ten thousand questions for this lovely young woman from a very alien culture. She explained much about the hopes and aspirations of the Amatharian people, the day to day functioning of the clans and family businesses, and the many obligations and requirements. Even though I know that I learned much during the course of that lengthy ride, it is hard to remember the exact order of the conversation now.

We passed the far edge of the cultivation area and once again entered into the urban mass. This portion of the city was obviously of far greater age than the majority of the buildings I had seen until now, though these old edifices maintained the same style and ornamentation as the newer ones. I had come to think of Amathar as one would think of a city one Earth, a great urban realm, but this city was on an entirely different scale. Within the walls of the Amatharians' home were not only vast areas of cultivated fields, but mountains, lakes, and rivers as well. This older portion of the city, though still urban, was built upon a low mountain range.

The train stopped at a station upon a platform high in the air, and this time we stood up and stepped off the sky train. Vena Remontar led me down a great escalator so steep that it seemed I was walking straight down. Once at the bottom I looked around at a plaza some two miles across. Great statues of stone, some as high as forty feet were interspersed with surging fountains, tall green hedge rows, and monstrous tile pictures. Two sides of the plaza were lined with large buildings resembling hotels. The third side faced a large park or wilderness area. Facing the fourth side was a fantastic stepped pyramid, more than a mile wide and more than two thousand feet high.

"That is the Temple of Amath," my blue-skinned companion said. "At the other end is the Garden of Souls."

"Wow," I said. "Of course I could very well be delirious. I feel like I haven't slept in a... well, in a long time."

"It was a long train ride," she agreed. "We will rest before we see the sites." The beautiful knight led me to one of the large buildings on the plaza, and we walked inside. At a large desk was an Amatharian in a great brown robe. He had a shaved head which gave him a slightly sinister though still handsome look. He was the first man I had seen here who did not have a head of straight black hair.

"Greetings Remiant Vena Remontar," said the man.

"Greetings Templar. We wish a room."

"Come with me."

The bald man came out from behind the desk, and led the two of us up several flights of stairs to a room. I found myself for the first time in the Amatharian equivalent of a hotel, and in many ways, it was very like many hotels I had stayed in--the bedroom was about the size one would expect, though the bathroom was proportionately much larger. The real differences were subtle. One did not pay for the room. There we no numbers on the door. There was no checkout time. There were no locks on the doors. The room featured two large beds of the Amatharian style--embedded into the floor. I removed my weapons, boots, and tabard and placed them beside one of the beds, then lay down and stretched out. Vena Remontar did the same on the other bed. I believe that at that point in time, my body still had not adjusted to the eternal day, and I was not sleeping as much as I should have. When my head hit the pillow though, I was ready. Within only a few minutes, I had fallen asleep. I awoke slowly, my mind gently drifting back to reality. I opened my eyes and looked around. I was alone in the room, though a moment later I saw Vena Remontar through the door, bathing in the bathroom. The bath was large enough to be considered a small swimming pool. She called out and invited me to bathe with her. One of the reasons that the baths were so large, though by no means the only reason, was that Amatharians often bathed together.

I stepped into the bathroom and self-consciously began to undress. I have never really been shy by nature, but that doesn’t mean that I am in the habit of undressing in front of someone I hardly known, especially in broad daylight, which was all one had in Ecos. Vena Remontar was busy washing herself and seemed to take very little notice of me. I quickly pulled off my jumpsuit and climbed over the edge of the tub. That is when I noticed that she was staring at me.

“You are frighteningly pale,” she said.

I quickly lowered myself into the warm water and could not help noticing that she was not frighteningly pale. Her dark blue shoulders poked out above the water and perfectly matched the dark but smooth skin of her face. I turned and busied myself soaping my face and arms and trying not to think of a frighteningly beautiful and frighteningly naked vision just a foot away, when I felt Vena Remontar’s hands on my shoulder. She was soaping my back for me. When she had finished, I submerged to rinse off.

“I am done,” she said, climbing out of the tub.

I could not help but notice the grace with which she did so, and the soft but muscular form which she presented on the way to her towel. She was really very...very... pleasant. She left the room to get dressed and I soaked for a little while before getting out myself. Once I had done so, and gotten dressed, the two of us made our way downstairs, stopping briefly at the desk, and then out the front door.

"That bald man seemed to know you well," I observed, remembering the day before.

"He is of the Holy Order," she explained. "It is his business to know everyone. This whole area is organized and run by the Holy Order from the Temple of Amath. They use the cream on their heads that I gave you for your face. It is traditional."

We walked across the great expanse of the plaza toward the open end. A huge, ornately decorated, stone gate led the way into what lay beyond. From where I stood, it seemed that precious little lay beyond. It was a hilly scrub land, with stunted trees and large bushes. I could see no animal life. Vena Remontar and I reached the edge of the plaza, and stood watching, as a young Amatharian man stepped through the gate. A group of Holy Order Templars took note of his passage on small note pads.

"This is the Garden of Souls," said Vena Remontar. "When a swordsman has become skilled, he feels drawn into the garden. There he must go, and remain until his soul finds him.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

I nodded absentmindedly.

"Let's get something to eat." The knight started toward a nearby restaurant, not looking back to see that I followed.

I did not follow. I could not. From the moment we had stopped in front of the great gate, I had felt my muscles tighten and my stomach churn. It was as if my whole body was attempting to push me forward, through the gate. I tried to resist, but my own legs it seemed, were against me. For several moments I fought the compulsion--I pushed back against myself. I wondered what could be drawing me toward the rugged landscape beyond, and then I remembered the story of the souls. What if my own soul were calling be from beyond the border of the garden. But how could this be. I was a stranger here, an alien in fact. How could I have a soul awaiting me here, in the middle of this strange city of Amathar. One last time, I attempted to push myself away from the gate, but I couldn’t. I was drawn with a force that I could not understand, toward what could only be my soul, luring me to my destiny. What did it want?

More specifically, what did it want with me?

I crossed the border into the garden, seeing in the corner of my eye that the templars took careful note of my passage. Suddenly I heard Vena Remontar's frantic voice calling from behind me.

"Alexander Ashton! Alexander Ashton! You don't understand!” she cried. “You don't know! Once you cross into the Garden, you cannot come out again! To come out without your knighthood, is the greatest disgrace!"

I waved to acknowledge her. I could see a kind of fear in her face, even at this distance. I have often jumped into something without thinking, and I resigned myself to the fact that this was probably just such an occasion, though it didn’t quite seem fair that I should bear all the burden, drawn as I was without my consent. I was compelled beyond my ability to refuse. I saw that Vena Remontar stepped over to speak with the group of templars, no doubt to plead that I was only an ignorant savage. I didn't watch to see the outcome, but turned and made my way into the wilderness.

I had walked a mile or more, when I turned to look back. The gate was no longer visible, lying beyond a small hill that I had crossed without really thinking about it. In fact, I could no longer see the city in any direction, though I knew that it lay all around me. I didn't know how large the Garden of Souls was, but there was a small mountain rising up ahead of me, so I headed toward it. I know it must have been a number of miles, but it seemed that I crossed the distance and climbed up the mountain, in no time at all. When I reached the summit I looked down into a small valley surrounding a blue pool. It was not the most beautiful valley that I had ever seen, but is seemed a nice place to await my soul. I was unsure as to just what I was really waiting for. I knew that the Amatharians met their souls here, but just what was a soul? I could only think of the soul as a mystical force, as in the Judeo-Christian sense of the word, but I knew that the Amatharian soul was different. For one thing, not everyone had one. For another, I knew there was some physical manifestation. There was a force of some kind which made the remiant's sword glow and cut through anything. I had seen it myself.

I sat down on the ground, below a small tree, beside the blue pool. Try as I might, I just couldn’t feel fearful about what I had done. Any sane person would, I suppose. I had stepped into a life or death situation without any thought at all. If I came out without a soul I would be disgraced and would be forced to leave the only friends that I knew in this world. If I didn’t come out at all, I would die where I sat. Still, I wasn’t sad or afraid or unhappy. I was fine. At least that’s how I remember it. A slight breeze picked up, and blew low clouds in to block out the sun. I leaned on my right hand, and felt something smooth beneath my palm. Looking down to see what it was, I saw a partially buried skull grinning back at me. I slowly looked around, and for the first time noticed that the ground around the little pool was littered with bones, some with decomposing flesh still hanging upon them. Here were the remains of those who failed to find their souls. I suddenly felt my stomach sink and my loins tighten. Here was the fear that had failed to manifest itself up until this point. I should say two fears, for there were two distinct emotions, and I didn’t know which was causing me the most anxiety--the fear that I would die here, or the fear that I would prove unworthy and drag myself from the garden in disgrace. These thoughts were still occupying my mind when I noticed a small flame directly in front of me. Something on the ground had caught fire. The fire was the size one would expect from a freshly filled cigarette lighter or five or six wood matches lit together, though I couldn't quite tell what was on fire. Nothing seemed to be consumed by the blaze. Then the little fire hopped toward me, leaving nothing scorched in its wake, and stopped within arms reach. At the same time, I felt a tickling sensation on the surface of my scalp. I had the impression of thinking a thought, or smelling a smell, or reading a word which I could not quite identify.

"You are my soul," I said, a feeling of awe coming over me.

The little flame burned and I continued to have the tickling sensation in my head, which continued until it became an itching and then an aching.

"What do I do now?" I asked, though I didn’t know to whom I had directed the question. As if in answer, a vague thought penetrated my brain. "Open your sword." I drew my long sword and carefully unwrapped the hilt, and opened the small compartment there. The soul hopped into the compartment and for a fraction of a second, my sword blade glowed the way that I had seen Norar Remontar's glow so many times. Then just as quickly, the sword faded, and the little soul fire shrank to a faint flicker.