From the Ocean from teh Stars (78 page)

the relatively uninhabited regions of Lys which they would be visiting.
He intended to travel as far south as the machine could take them, and
the rest of the way they would have to go on foot. Not realizing the full
implications of this, Alvin made no objections.

They had a companion with them on the journey—Krif, the most spectacular of Hilvar's many pets. When Krif was resting, his six gauzy
wings lay folded along his body, which glittered through them like a jeweled scepter. If something disturbed him, he would rise into the air
with a flicker of iridescence and a faint whirring of invisible wings.
Though the great insect would come when called and would—sometimes —obey simple orders, it was almost wholly mindless. Yet it had a definite
personality of its own, and for some reason was suspicious of Alvin,
whose sporadic attempts to gain its confidence always ended in failure.

To Alvin, the journey across Lys had a dreamlike unreality. Silent
as a ghost, the machine slid across rolling plains and wound its way
through forests, never deviating from its invisible track. It traveled per
haps ten times as fast as a man could comfortably walk; seldom indeed
was any inhabitant of Lys in a greater hurry than that.

They passed through many villages, some larger than Airlee but most
of them built along very smiliar lines. Alvin was interested to notice
the subtle but significant differences in clothing and even physical ap
pearance that occurred as they moved from one community to the next.
The civilization of Lys was composed of hundreds of distinct cultures,
each contributing some special talent toward the whole. The ground-car
was well stocked with Airlee's most famous product, a small, yellow peach which was gratefully received whenever Hilvar gave away some samples.
He often stopped to talk to friends and to introduce Alvin, who never
ceased to be impressed by the simple courtesy with which everyone used
vocal speech as soon as they knew who he was. It must often have been
very tedious to them, but as far as he could judge they always resisted the temptation to lapse into telepathy and he never felt excluded from
their conversation.

They made their longest pause at a tiny village almost hidden in a sea
of tall golden grass, which soared high above their heads and which undulated in the gentle wind as if it was endowed with life. As they moved through it, they were continually overtaken by rolling waves as the countless blades bowed in unison above them. At first it was faintly disturbing,
for Alvin had a foolish fancy that the grass was bending down to look at
him, but after a while he found the continual motion quite restful.

Alvin soon discovered why they had made this stop. Among the little
crowd that had already gathered before the car came gliding into the

village was a shy, dark girl whom Hilvar introduced as Nyara. They were
obviously very pleased to see one another again, and Alvin felt envious
of their patent happiness at this brief reunion. Hilvar was clearly torn
between his duties as a guide and his desire to have no other company
but Nyara, and Alvin soon rescued him from his quandary by setting off
on a tour of exploration by himself. There was not much to see in the
little village, but he took his time.

When they started on their way again, there were many questions
he was anxious to ask Hilvar. He could not imagine what love must be
like in a telepathic society, and after a discreet interval he broached the subject. Hilvar was willing enough to explain, even though Alvin sus
pected that he had made his friend interrupt a prolonged and tender mental leave-taking.

In Lys, it seemed, all love began with mental contact, and it might
be months or years before a couple actually met. In this way, Hilvar
explained, there could be no false impressions, no deceptions on either
side. Two people whose minds were open to one another could hide
no secrets. If either attempted it, the other partner would know at once
that something was being concealed.

Only very mature and well-balanced minds could afford such honesty; only love based upon absolute unselfishness could survive it. Alvin could
well understand that such a love would be deeper and richer than any
thing his people could know; it could be so perfect, in fact, that he found
it hard to believe that it could ever occur at all.

Yet Hilvar assured him that it did, and became starry-eyed and lost
in his own reveries when Alvin pressed him to be more explicit. There
were some things that could not be communicated; one either knew them or one did not. Alvin decided sadly that he could never attain the kind of
mutual understanding which these fortunate people had made the very
basis of their lives.

When the ground-car emerged from the savanna, which ended
abruptly as though a frontier had been drawn beyond which the grass was not permitted to grow, there was a range of low, heavily wooded
hills ahead of them. This was an outpost, Hilvar explained, of the main rampart guarding Lys. The real mountains lay beyond, but to Alvin even
these small hills were an impressive and awe-inspiring sight.

The car came to a halt in a narrow, sheltered valley which was still
flooded by the warmth and light of the descending sun. Hilvar looked at
Alvin with a kind of wide-eyed candor which, one could have sworn,
was totally innocent of any guile.

"This is where we start to walk," he said cheerfully, beginning to
throw equipment out of the vehicle. "We can't ride any farther."

Alvin looked at the hills surrounding them, then at the comfortable
seat in which he had been riding.

"Isn't there a way around?" he asked, not very hopefully.

"Of course," replied Hilvar. "But we're not going around. We're
going to the top, which is much more interesting. I'll put the car on
automatic so that it will be waiting for us when we get down the other side."

Determined not to give in without a struggle, Alvin made one last
effort.

"It will soon be dark," he protested. "We'll never be able to go all
that way before sunset."

"Exactly," said Hilvar, sorting packages and equipment with incredi
ble speed. "We'll spend the night on the summit, and finish the journey in the morning."

For once, Alvin knew when he was beaten.

The gear that they were carrying looked very formidable, but though
it was bulky it weighed practically nothing. It was all packed in gravity-
polarizing containers that neutralized its weight, leaving only inertia to be
contended with. As long as Alvin moved in a straight line, he was not conscious that he was carrying any load. Dealing with these containers
required a little practice, for if he attempted to make a sudden change of
direction his pack seemed to develop a stubborn personality and did its best to keep him on his original course, until he had overcome its mo
mentum.

When Hilvar had adjusted all the straps and satisfied himself that
everything was in order, they began to walk slowly up the valley. Alvin
looked back wistfully as the ground-car retraced its track and disap
peared from sight; he wondered how many hours would elapse before he
could again relax in its comfort.

Nevertheless, it was very pleasant climbing upward with the mild
sun beating on their backs, and seeing ever-new vistas unfold around them.
There was a partly obliterated path which disappeared from time to
time but which Hilvar seemed able to follow even when Alvin could see
no trace of it. He asked Hilvar what had made the path, and was told
that there were many small animals in these hills—some solitary, and
some living in primitive communities which echoed many of the features
of human civilization. A few had even discovered, or been taught, the
use of tools and fire. It never occurred to Alvin that such creatures might
be other than friendly; both he and Hilvar took this for granted, for it

had been so many ages since anything on Earth had challenged the
supremacy of Man.

They had been climbing for half an hour when Alvin first noticed the faint, reverberating murmur in the air around him. He could not
detect its source, for it seemed to come from no particular direction. It
never ceased, and it grew steadily louder as the landscape widened around
them. He would have asked Hilvar what it was, but it had become nec
essary to save his breath for more essential purposes.

Alvin was in perfect health; indeed, he had never had an hour's ill
ness in his life. But physical well-being, however important and necessary
it might be, was not sufficient for the task he was facing now. He had
the body, but he did not possess the skill. Hilvar's easy strides, the effort
less surge of power which took him up every slope, filled Alvin with envy
—and a determination not to give in while he could still place one foot in
front of the other. He knew perfectly well that Hilvar was testing him,
and did not resent the fact. It was a good-natured game, and he entered
into the spirit of it even while the fatigue spread slowly through his legs.

Hilvar took pity on him when they had completed two-thirds of the
ascent, and they rested for a while propped up against a westward-
facing bank, letting the mellow sunlight drench their bodies. The throb
bing thunder was very strong now, and although Alvin questioned him
Hilvar refused to explain it. It would, he said, spoil the surprise if Alvin
knew what to expect at the end of the climb.

They were now racing against the sun, but fortunately the final ascent
was smooth and gentle. The trees that had covered the lower part of the
hill had now thinned out, as if they too were tired of the fight against
gravity, and for the last few hundred yards the ground was carpeted
with short, wiry grass on which it was very pleasant to walk. As the summit
came in sight, Hilvar put forth a sudden burst of energy and went racing up the slope. Alvin decided to ignore the challenge; indeed, he had no
choice. He was quite content to plod steadily onward, and when he had
caught up with Hilvar to collapse in contented exhaustion by his side.

Not until he had regained his breath was he able to appreciate the
view spread out beneath him, and to see the origin of the endless thunder
which now filled the air. The ground ahead fell away steeply from the crest
of the hill—so steeply, indeed, that it soon became an almost vertical
cliff. And leaping far out from the face of the cliff was a mighty ribbon
of water, which curved out through space to crash into the rocks a thou
sand feet below. There it was lost in a shimmering mist of spray, while up from the depths rose that ceaseless, drumming thunder that rever
berated in hollow echoes from the hills on either side.

Most of the waterfall was now in shadow, but the sunlight streaming
past the mountain still illuminated the land beneath, adding the final
touch of magic to the scene. For quivering in evanescent beauty above
the base of the fall was the last rainbow left on Earth.

Hilvar waved his arm in a sweep which embraced the whole horizon.

"From here," he said, raising his voice so that it could be heard above the thunder of the waterfall, "you can see right across Lys."

Alvin could well believe him. To the north lay mile upon mile of
forest, broken here and there by clearings and fields and the wandering
threads of a hundred rivers. Hidden somewhere in that vast panorama
was the village of Airlee, but it was hopeless to try to find it. Alvin
fancied that he could catch a glimpse of the lake past which the path led to the entrance into Lys, but decided that his eyes had tricked him. Still further north, trees and clearings alike were lost in a mottled carpet of
green, rucked here and there by lines of hills. And beyond that, at the
very edge of vision, the mountains that hemmed Lys from the desert lay
like a bank of distant clouds.

East and west the view was little different, but to the south the moun
tains seemed only a few miles away. Alvin could see them very clearly,
and he realized that they were far higher than the little peak on which he
was standing. They were separated from him by country that was much
wilder than the land through which he had just passed. In some indefinable
way it seemed deserted and empty, as if Man had not lived here for many, many years.

Hilvar answered Alvin's unspoken question.

"Once that part of Lys was inhabited," he said. "I don't know why it was abandoned, and perhaps one day we shall move into it again. Only
the animals live there now."

Indeed, there was nowhere any sign of human life—none of the clear
ings or well-disciplined rivers that spoke of Man's presence. Only in one spot was there any indication that he had ever lived here, for many miles away a solitary white ruin jutted above the forest roof like a broken fang.
Elsewhere, the jungle had returned to its own.

The sun was sinking below the western walls of Lys. For a breathless
moment, the distant mountains seemed to burn with golden flames; then
the land they guarded was swiftly drowned with shadow and the night
had come.

"We should have done this before," said Hilvar, practical as ever, as
he started to unload their equipment. "It'll be pitch dark in five minutes
—and cold, too."

Curious pieces of apparatus began to cover the grass. A slim tripod