The Cydonian Pyramid (10 page)

Lia stared at him as understanding came to her. “You mean they’re dead.”

“Their physical bodies constrain them no longer.”

“They are ghosts.”

“There are no such things as ghosts.” Artur smiled through his beard. “The Klaatu are
transcended.
They live without illness, pain, or misery. A Klaatu can never die, and not one has ever asked to be unmade. When you join them, you will not regret your decision.”

Was he telling her she had a choice?

“If being a Klaatu is so good, why don’t you do it to yourself?” she asked.

“One day I will.” He spread his arms, palms up. “For now, I have responsibilities.”

“So do I,” she said, believing her own words, even though she had no notion of what those responsibilities might entail. “I do not wish to die.”

“Excellent!” He clapped his hands together. “You will live forever. The Klaatu will be delighted.”

The ghosts stirred about excitedly, hovering above and on every side of her.

“I mean, I don’t want to be a ghost.”

“Not ghost.
Klaatu!
” He pointed toward a pair of coffinlike chambers affixed to the wall, each one just big enough to contain a person. “It is a perfectly painless process. I will show you.”

“No, thank you. I like being alive. I mean, in my body.”

The Klaatu hovering around her began to move away. She could sense their disappointment. Artur’s shoulders dropped, and his face darkened.

“You will change your mind,” he said.

Lia began to edge away from him.

“Where do you think to go,
bubeluh
?”

Lia walked quickly to the door. Outside, the bright sunlight blinded her for a moment. She stopped and squinted back at the barn. Artur appeared in the doorway.

“There is no need for you to leave, child.”

Lia turned and ran. Artur waddled after her, slowed by his oversize belly.

“You are always welcome here!” he called after her.

A pair of Boggsian women were taking sheets down from a clothesline. Lia approached the nearest woman.

“Can you help me?” she said.

The woman would not look at her. Lia looked back toward Artur. He was coming toward her.

“Excuse me!” Lia tugged on the woman’s long dress. The woman brushed her hand away as if it were a pesky fly.

There were several other Boggsians in sight, each one of them studiously not looking at her. These people might not approve of Artur, but he was one of them, and she was a stranger. Lia realized that her only choice was to return to Romelas, or whatever it was called in this primitive era of digits and ghosts. She thought she could walk there in a day, but she wasn’t sure — Artur’s horseless horse-drawn cart had traveled swiftly, and she had no sense of how much distance they had covered.

She walked quickly along the road through the settlement, back the way they had come. Artur continued to waddle after her, pleading with her to stay. Lia was certain she could outrun him on foot, but then he turned and headed back toward his cart. Lia walked faster. As she passed the last house, she looked back. Artur was coming after her. He hadn’t bothered to hitch Gort to the cart or even to activate the horse image. The cart rolled along, balanced on its pair of wheels.

Lia stopped. She could not outrun the cart. Across the field to her left was a line of trees. He could not follow her into the woods. She was about to make a run for it when a Boggsian on a horse-drawn hay wagon pulled onto the road between them, cutting Artur off. He said something Lia could not quite hear. Artur replied angrily. The man pointed back toward Artur’s barn. Artur tried to drive around him, but the man moved the wagon to block his way.

Lia was startled by a nearby voice: “You should go, child.”

The old woman Lia had seen earlier was standing a few feet away in a patch of blackberry bushes, looking at her.

“Go now,” the old woman said. “Gerard will deal with Herr Boggs. Go.”

“All right. Um . . . thank you!”

“Do not thank me. You are unwelcome here.” The woman went back to picking berries.

Lia took one last look at Harmony, then set off down the road.

I
T TOOK HER UNTIL NIGHTFALL TO REACH THE RIVER
.

Several times, she hid in the brush beside the road when she thought she heard the
clop, clop, clop
of Artur’s wagon, but it was only her imagination. By the time she got to the bridge, her dress was soiled with dirt and grass stains, and she was more hungry and thirsty than she had ever been in her life.

She drank from a creek that fed into the river and ate a few handfuls of blackberries she found growing along the bank. It was not enough, but she did not know which of the other plants, if any, could be eaten. How long could a person go without food? Pike had told her of prophets who had lived hands upon hands of days on nothing but dew. Lia was not a prophet. She would have to make do with berries and creek water. She huddled beneath the wooden bridge and, after a time, fell into a fitful sleep.

Dawn arrived, slow, moist, and gray. Mist curled and settled beneath the bridge as the first sleepy cheeps and chitters filtered down from the trees. Lia stretched her legs, intensely aware of the emptiness in her gut. She washed her face in the river, gathered a few more handfuls of berries, and continued her journey, climbing up the far side of the river valley. By the time the sun cut through the fog, she had left the valley far behind.

I can do this,
she thought. One step followed another. The only parts of her that were not sore were her feet, which were protected by the Medicant foot coverings.

The road became wider. A patchwork of crops came into view. Lia began to walk faster. Perhaps there was something she could eat.

Lia was gnawing on a raw ear of corn when she heard a distant whine — something approaching from the direction of the city. Lia ducked into the ditch beside the road. A long boxy vehicle with many wheels blew past at high speed, shivering the nearest cornstalks. Lia waited until it was out of sight, then returned to the road. A mile or so later, she heard another vehicle approaching and hid in a field of wheat. The closer she got to the city, the more autos and trucks flashed by. Each time, she concealed herself until they passed. Once, she came across a cantaloupe field. She broke one open. The melon wasn’t ripe, but she ate a few bites anyway.

She saw no sign of Artur Zelig-Boggs, or any other Boggsians.

The sun was high overhead when the tallest buildings of the city came into view. There were so many vehicles on the road by then that Lia gave up hiding and simply walked. No one stopped or displayed any curiosity as to why she was trudging down the side of a busy highway.

At nightfall, exhausted and sore, her belly cramping from the raw corn and unripe melon, she reached the pyramid.

The area surrounding the pyramid — what would one day become the Great Zocalo of Romelas — was a muddy field studded with blocks of stone, handcarts, mortar troughs, and assorted other tools. The workers had all gone home. There were no lights, only the last remaining glow from the sunken sun. Lia sat on a broken block of limestone and regarded the unfinished structure.

In Lia’s time — a time yet to come — the stones of the pyramid were slightly rounded from rain and countless footfalls. Lichen and moss had taken hold in the crevices and shadowed areas. The pyramid’s antiquity had bestowed upon it a sense of timelessness, an aura of permanence. For the Lah Sept, the Cydonian Pyramid represented eternity. Now she was witnessing its birth. The carefully fitted stone blocks that made up the sides were freshly hewn, with crisp edges and unworn surfaces. It would take many generations for their pale tawny color to take on the darker patina of age, and hands upon hands of lifetimes before they would begin to crumble and sink into the earth.

The pyramid had nearly reached its final height. The top few layers had yet to receive their finishing blocks, giving it a ragged appearance. Lia was sure she had seen a Gate when she had ridden past it with Artur, but now, as dusk deepened, she saw nothing. She hopped off the block of stone and circled the pyramid, keeping an eye on the top. There — a flicker. She tipped her head. A single Gate, just off the edge of the pyramid’s highest point, came into focus. She crossed the muddy construction area to the base of the pyramid and began to climb. It was a staircase for giants, each step as high as her waist. She had to push up with her arms, swing one leg onto the next step, bring up her other leg, stand, then do it all over again to mount the next tier. She climbed quickly at first, then more slowly — as her arms and legs tired, she had to take a few moments to rest with each new step.

She was halfway up when she heard voices. Looking back, she saw a pair of men at the side of the road standing beside a horse-drawn cart. Artur — she recognized him by his girth — dismounted and spoke urgently to the men. He pointed at Lia. The men looked at her, then ran toward the pyramid.

Lia continued to climb, faster now. The men reached the base of the pyramid and shouted for her to stop. They did not sound like Boggsians.

The men climbed after her, leaping from step to step with alarming agility. Lia redoubled her efforts, but the men were faster — they would catch her before she reached the frustum. She stopped, breathing heavily, and waited. When the first man reached the step below her, Lia spoke.

“What do you want of me?”

The man looked up at her. He was young and bearded — she could see little else in the fading light.

“You must come down. You cannot be here. This is a sacred place.”

“Are you a Lamb?” Lia asked.

“I am.”

“I am a Lamb as well. Why should you give one of your own to the Boggsian?”

“You are no Lamb. You have traded with the Medicants. Your feet betray you.”

Lia looked down at her blue foot coverings.

The other man climbed onto the step just below his companion. “Come down,” he said. “We will talk about it.”

“No.”

The first man grabbed for her ankle. Lia kicked him in the forehead. He fell back, but his companion caught him. Recovering quickly, they spread out to either side and climbed up to her level. Lia spread her feet apart, centering herself as Yar Song had taught her. The men approached from opposite sides. The one on her left lunged at her; Lia caught his wrist and jumped down to the next tier, spinning her body in the air and twisting the man’s arm. He screamed and fell, hitting several steps before coming to rest a hand of tiers below her.

The other man jumped down behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Lia snapped her head back and heard the bridge of his nose crumple from the impact of her skull. With a shout of pain, he let go of her. She spun and kicked. The man jumped back to avoid her foot and fell off the step. Lia scrambled up several tiers before looking back. One of the men was not moving. The other was climbing after her again, but more slowly. His left leg was not working properly. Lia continued to climb until she reached the top.

The top of the pyramid was a jumble of partially fitted stones. Lia picked up a chunk of broken rock — the largest she could lift. She carried it to the edge and raised it above her head. The man below her saw the stone in her hands and froze.

“Leave me alone,” Lia said. She was breathing heavily, her arms shaking.

“You must come down,” the man said.

“Why?”

“The Boggsian wishes it.”

Lia looked past him. From the base of the pyramid, Artur stood looking up at them.

“The Boggsian is mad,” Lia said.

“Of course he is mad. He is a Boggsian.”

“Why do you obey him?”

“He is owed a debt.”

“Do you owe him your life?”

The man thought for a moment. “No,” he said.

“Then you should go.” She could not hold the stone above her head much longer. “Help your friend. He is injured.”

The man looked down at his friend, several levels below.

“I will go,” he said. He began to descend. Lia lowered the stone and set it on the edge of the frustum. From the base of the pyramid, Artur was shouting something, but she couldn’t understand what he was saying. She watched until the man reached his injured companion, then she backed away from the edge and surveyed her surroundings.

The Gate she had seen before had faded from sight. Had it really been there? Suddenly she wasn’t sure.

Near the center of the frustum, an opening led into the interior of the pyramid. She looked down at the spiral staircase within the hole. One day in the distant future, on her blood moon, she would climb those same steps with Master Gheen. She returned to the edge of the frustum.

The unconscious man was still sprawled on a step halfway down the side. The other man had reached the bottom and was running down the road. Artur was waving his arms and shouting after him. The man would be back soon, with others. She might escape through the pyramid’s interior or by descending the other side of the pyramid, but what then? No one in this world would help her. The Medicants would give her back to Artur. The only way out was through a Gate — but the Gate was gone.