The Resuurection Fields (4 page)

Dante thought about this. He guessed that muzur were probably insects, and of course zimbir were birds. So whatever else this circle of blackness did, it swallowed up any creature that got too close.

Suddenly Kidu grew tense. “Watch!” he ordered. “Shurruppak getting ready.”

Sure enough, some sort of change was taking place at the
center of the circle. It began to ripple and then to seethe, almost like water that was coming to the boil. Suddenly a finger of darkness shot downwards from its center towards the field. It was like a bolt of dark lightning. A moment later the finger of darkness was gone, and with it, the soldier and his jeep.

“See!” Kidu declared triumphantly. “Silly zittenziteen go about field all day in stink-move-noise-thing. Careless. Busy guarding field. Not look up. Whoosh! Gone.”

“What happened to him?” Dante asked.

“You know what happened to him!” Kidu declared angrily. “You belong Shurruppak.”

“Why do you say that?” Dante asked.

“All zimbir know story of beginning.”

“I don’t know it. Tell me the story.”

“No. Giddim go now. Go back to Shurruppak.”

“I can’t, Kidu. I’m sorry.”

“You promised!”

“I can’t leave until I get my body back. I
don’t
belong to Shurruppak, whatever you think, but I think I know who is behind it. Maybe if you tell me your story …?”

“Kidu not tell story! Giddim liar!”

Suddenly Kidu’s mood changed. He pulled out of his slow circular glide and began flying rapidly away.

Dante sensed the bird’s panic. “What is it?” he asked.

“Huwawa!” Kidu turned his head upwards and Dante caught a glimpse of a much larger bird, descending rapidly towards them from a great height. It looked like some kind of hawk.

Dante could tell that Kidu was putting all his strength into trying to escape, but his small wings were no match for those of the bigger bird. In almost no time it was directly above. A moment later Dante felt a searing pain as the bird’s talons raked across Kidu’s neck. Dante felt Kidu’s pain and his waning strength.

Desperately he sought to find a connection to the Odylic realm. Ezekiel Semiramis had taught him, “Along with our physical body, each of us possesses another body that dwells within us, invisible and unknown. Let us call it the phantom. This phantom is made of the same stuff as the Odyll and always wants to return to its source. Discover the phantom within yourself and you will find the gateway to the Odyll.”

Dante’s phantom now shared Kidu’s physical body. So the gateway to the Odylic realm must still be within Dante’s reach. “Stop worrying about your physical body,” he told himself. “Summon the gateway.”

But before he could even begin to compose himself for the act of will that this involved, the hawk plunged once more, and its talons raked Kidu’s back. With a cry of pain Kidu began falling helplessly towards the ground. “Don’t give up!” Dante urged, but there was no response.

As Kidu was hurtling downwards with increasing speed, Dante struggled to visualize the gray door that would open into that other world of which this one was a mere shadow.

The door took shape in his mind, and immediately the power of the Odyll flowed out towards him. “You are not falling,” he told Kidu. “There is nowhere to fall, nowhere except everywhere.”

He felt the bird’s confusion as Kidu opened his eyes and found that everything had changed. To Dante’s surprise, however, the world of the Odyll appeared different to him now that he was seeing it through Kidu’s eyes. Before him stretched an endless plain of blue, gray and violet, across which great masses of creamy clouds drifted, traversed by a zigzagged trail that seemed to be made of millions of golden and silver sparks. “The Hidden Path!” Kidu said, his voice filled with awe. “Then Kidu is…”

“No,” Dante told him. “You are not dead.”

“Kidu not survive fall. Not possible.”

“You did not hit the ground,” Dante told him. “I took us away.”

“How?”

“I am a giddim,” Dante said, with a touch of irony. “But we cannot stay here,” he continued. “I don’t have enough power to hold us here. Besides, it is not yet time for you to take the Hidden Path.”

Dante forced himself to ignore what Kidu was seeing and to use his own vision instead. Immediately he found himself surrounded by the ever-changing forms of the Odyll. They rushed past him, borne on the great current of time. But he knew that, like Kidu’s Hidden Path, this procession of images was only an illusion. Beyond it was another, deeper level where the power of the Odyll was unrestrained, and it was into this ocean of formless energy that Dante now reached. Instantly he was filled with such strength that he felt like a match that flares up brilliantly, only to be burned away into lifeless ash. He struggled to keep himself separate—to be filled with power but not utterly consumed.

Just as he felt certain that the power was his to command, he became aware of another consciousness, one that was all too horribly familiar. Orobas had been alerted to his presence in the Odylic world, and now he began to turn all the force of his attention in Dante’s direction. In a moment Dante would be fully in his sight, and then Dante would face a battle for the survival of his self, a battle he was far from sure that he could win. He knew he must retreat, remember the world he had left behind, imagine himself within the body of Kidu, perched on a branch somewhere safe, and order his phantom to take them both there. This picture began to form itself in his mind. At the same time he sensed a glowing form beside him, and for the briefest of instants, his mother’s voice whispered in his ear.

“On Enil’s Tower there is a message for Bea.”

Then he and Kidu were once more in the everyday world.

“The Hidden Path!” Kidu said mournfully. “You show Kidu, then make him come back here. Not fair. Kidu hurting. Let him finish the thousand journeys now, go back and take the Hidden Path.”

“I’m sorry, Kidu, but you will return, I promise you.”

Kidu said nothing for a long time, and Dante sensed that the bird was deep in thought. Finally he spoke. “Kidu rest. Get well. Tell story of beginning. Then Giddim understand everything.”

“Thank you, Kidu.”

“Kidu thank Giddim.”

Urged on by Albigen’s description of what he had seen, the Púca packed quickly and left their camp. Many struggled to accept that Dante had switched sides. Nevertheless, the presence of a detachment of armed security guards on the nearby cliff top was a fact that could not be ignored.

It was impossible for more than a hundred people to travel across the country in a line of trucks and cars without drawing some attention to themselves. But fortunately, this part of Gehenna had been largely depopulated when the majority of the inhabitants had been forced north to work in the Ichor mines. So the Púca’s exodus passed largely unnoticed, though here and there a bewildered farmhand stood in a field, gaping at the convoy of ramshackle vehicles that rattled past.

Bea sat beside Albigen, expecting to be set upon by security guards at any moment, but her fears proved groundless. “Perhaps our enemies have already set off for Ellison?” she thought, then shook her head in confusion. Even though it was less than an hour since Dante had tried to kill her, it was difficult to think of him as her enemy. What would his next move be? she wondered.

In a heavily wooded area Albigen turned off the road onto an old logging track. No vehicles had been this way for a long time, and the trail was quite overgrown in places. Eventually it petered out altogether, and Albigen stopped his truck. One by one the others came to a halt in a semicircle behind him. This was where they would lay Ezekiel to rest.

It was Manachee, Maeve’s father and Ezekiel’s longtime friend,
who dug the grave. Tree roots held the earth in an iron grip but Manachee refused to be deterred. Muscles straining, his face smudged with dirt and sweat, he drove his spade into the ground repeatedly until the hole grew so deep that he was forced to stand within it and shovel the earth upwards. At last it was deep enough. Then he and Albigen lowered Ezekiel’s body, wrapped in a white cotton sheet, gently into the grave.

Everyone stood in mute respect, overcome by their sadness. Then Maeve spoke. “Before we met Ezekiel, we were afraid to speak of our dreams, afraid to own up to who we really are. We knew we were different but did not dare admit it,” she reminded them. “He helped us conquer that fear and showed us we are not alone. He taught us how to stand up and fight. We will not give up now that he is no longer with us. We will carry on the struggle and make him proud of us.” With this, they shoveled the earth back into the grave and marked the spot with a little pile of stones.

Afterwards they discussed where they ought to head next. “About half a day’s journey to the east of here is what used to be one of the most famous sites in Gehenna,” Manachee told them. “Nobody bothers about it now because people have forgotten their history, but Alvar took me there once. He used to go there quite often to seek inspiration.”

Bea recalled that Manachee had also been friends with Dante’s father, Alvar Mendini, the famous poet.

“It’s a mysterious stone pillar built on a hilltop with a collection of cone-shaped buildings beside it,” Manachee went on. “Alvar used to say they looked like giant beehives. Nobody knows much about the people who built them, except that they lived over a thousand years ago. But it’s a good spot because you can see for miles in all directions. It would be difficult for anyone to sneak up on us.”

Glad to have a destination and a plan, the Púca got back into
their vehicles and continued on their way, picking roads that were seldom used. By late afternoon they had reached the hill on which the ancient monument had been built. Here the road narrowed considerably, snaking around the hillside alarmingly with a sheer drop on one side. The engine of the truck in which Bea sat whined in protest as the ascent grew ever steeper. Albigen’s face was a mask of concentration, and he gripped the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white.

At last they reached the top, and there it was: a stone pillar about three times the height of a man, with a set of steps spiraling around it and a platform at the top just large enough for someone to stand on.

The huts beside it had been made from individual stones placed carefully, one on top of the other, in ever-decreasing circles. They seemed as ancient as the land on which they stood. Each one was large enough for three or four people to share, though there would not be much privacy. Manachee had been quite correct. It was a wonderful spot for a camp. North, south and west you could see for miles. To the east reared Mount Sulyaman, the country’s tallest mountain.

But Bea felt puzzled by the pillar. With such an unimpeded view of the countryside all around, why had the ancient people felt the need to build a lookout post?

“Nobody really knows,” Manachee told her. “Perhaps it was just a monument.”

“Then why the steps and the platform at the top?” she wondered.

Bea and Maeve elected to share a hut. They were carrying their belongings from the trucks when Bea noticed a bright
green lizard clinging to the outside of their hut. On its back was a distinctive marking almost in the shape of a key. As she watched, the lizard’s dark tongue flicked in and out in search of insects. A moment later the lizard disappeared into a crack between two stones.

Manachee passed by and saw what she was looking at. “They’re a feature of this place,” he told her. “There’s even a picture of one on the wall of the meetinghouse.”

The meetinghouse was a larger, square building set apart from the others. After she had finished unpacking, Bea decided to take a look at it. The building was constructed of regular stone blocks. It must once have possessed a timber roof, though that had long since rotted away. Despite being exposed to the elements, the mural that Manachee had described was remarkably well preserved, its colors and details still bright and clear. It showed an enormous man lying on the hillside. Compared to him, the huts were no bigger than thimbles. In the foreground of the picture was one of the lizards Bea had seen earlier. Next to the lizard was a bell.

Manachee came into the meetinghouse while she was studying the mural. “It’s known as the Sleeping Giant,” he told her.

“What does it represent?”

“Oh, there have been all sorts of theories. Some historians have suggested that the ancient people of Gehenna believed this world was no more than the dream of a sleeping giant and that it would end when he woke up. But the study of our history was discouraged after Dr. Sigmundus came to power, so we don’t really know anything beyond speculation.”

“But what do
you
think it means?” Bea asked.

Manachee raised one eyebrow. “Well, I like to think that bell in the foreground is a symbol of hope, somehow.”

After a while the rest of the Púca gathered in the meetinghouse to admire the mural and make plans. Food was high on the
agenda. They had enough to feed themselves for the time being but would need to increase their supplies before too long. Bea and Seersha volunteered to drive to the nearest town the following morning to see what it had to offer. There might be a government warehouse that could be raided. Failing that, since the Púca still possessed a small stock of money left over from previous raids, they could at least buy a few staples like flour and rice.