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villagers broke and ran. Chimal fought the obscuring depression of defeat from his thoughts and turned
Coatlicue to follow them. The fight wasn't over yet. Another way out could be found, Coatlicue would
force the villagers to help him, their fear of her presence could not be washed away by rain and
darkness.
Halfway about the goddess stopped, rigid. The snakes were frozen in the endless coiling and their voices
cut off short. For a second she leaned forward onto a partly raised foot, then came to rest. All the power
had been cut off and the control box was useless. Chimal let it drop from his hand, then slowly and
painfully slid down the wet and slippery metal back to the muddy ground.
He realized that the laser rifle was still in his hand; he pointed it at the rock barrier in a futile gesture of
hatred and pulled hard on the trigger. But even this weak protest was denied him: the rain had penetrated
its mechanism and it would not fire. He hurled it away from him.
The rain poured down and it was darker than the darkest night.
6
Chimal found himself sitting on the bank of the river, the roar of the water flooding by invisibly before
him. His head rested on his knees and his right side, leg and arm, should do it soon before it became too
deep. There was water sounded high and if he were going to cross he should do it soon before it became
too deep. There was really no reason to cross, he would be just as dead on the outer side as he would be
here, but Quilapa was over there and that was his village.
But when he tried to rise, to push himself to his feet, he found that he was frozen in the hunched
position. The water had shorted out his eskoskeleton and it would permit only limited movements. With
an effort he freed one arm, then released all the other fastenings. When he finally rose he left it behind
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r r
like a discarded husk of a former life, perpetually crouching in obeisance by the water's edge. When he
stepped into the river it came to his knees, then up to his waist before he was halfway across. He had to
feel for each foothold carefully, leaning his weight against the current all of the tune. If he were swept
away now he knew that he would not be strong enough to swim to safety.
Step by step he went forward, the water tugging relentlessly at him: it would be so easy to give in and let
it carry him away from everything. For some reason he found the idea distasteful a sudden memory of
the Air Tender hanging by his neck and he rejected it and went on. The water was only to his thighs
now, then below his knees again. He was across. Before climbing out he bent and filled his cupped
hands and drank from them, many times. He was thirsty and in spite of the rain and the cold his skin was
hot. His wounds did not bear thinking about.
Was there nowhere to go? Was it all over, forever? Chimal stood there, swaying in the darkness, his face
up to the rain. Perhaps there really was a Great Designer who watched and thwarted him at every
turning. No, that couldn't be true. He would not give in to a greater superstition now that he had
discarded all his smaller ones. This world had been designed by men, built by men; he had read their
proud reports and understood their thinking. He even knew the name of the one they called the Great
Designer and knew the reasons why He had done all this. They were written in the books and could be
read two ways.
Chimal knew that he had failed because of chance  and ignorance. It was luck that he had managed to
come this far. A man was not made whole in a few short months. He had the knowledge of a man,
perhaps. He had learnt so much and so quickly, but he still thought like a villager. Lash out. Run. Fight.
Die. If only he could have done better.
If only he could have led his people through that painted hall and down the golden corridor to the stars.
And with this thought, this vision, came the first tiny inkling of hope.
Chimal walked on. He was again alone in the valley, and when the rains ceased and the sun came, out
the hunt would once more be on for him. How tenderly the priests would keep him alive for the tortures
that they would invent and dwell upon. They who taught fear had felt fear, had run, craven. Their
revenge would be exacting.
They would not have him. Once before, in absolute ignorance he had escaped the valley he would do it
again. Now he knew what lay behind the rock wall, where the entrances were and what they led to.
There had to be a way to reach one of them. Ahead, on the top of the cliff, was the entrance near which
he had hidden his food and water. If he could reach it he could rest and hide, make plans.
Yet even as he thought of it he knew that it was impossible. He had never been able to climb the valley
walls when in perfect health and possessed of all his strength. It had been cunningly designed
everywhere to prevent anyone from escaping in that manner. Even the vulture's ledge, far beneath the
canyon's rim, would have been impossible to reach had not some chance accident broken a gap in the
overhanging lip of rock.
In the darkness he stopped and laughed, until it turned into a fit of coughing.
That was the way. That might be the way out. Now he had a purpose and, in spite of the pain, he moved
forward steadily in the streaming downpour. By the time he reached the valley wall the rain had lessened
to a steady drizzle and the sky was lighter. The gods had made their point; they were still in command.
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r r
They would gain nothing by flooding the valley.
Only they weren't gods, they were men. Fallible and stupid men whose work was finished even if they
did not know it.
Through the faffing rain he could make out the dark bulk of the pyramid as he passed it, but it was silent
there and nothing moved. If the priests had returned they were now locked in their deepest chambers. He
smiled and rubbed his knuckles across his mouth. Well, if he had done nothing else he had given them a
fright they would never forget, oh yes he had. Perhaps this made up, in a very small way, for what they
had done to his mother. These arrogant, strutting bullies would never again have the assurance that they
were the final law among men.
When Chimal reached the spot below the ledge he stopped to rest. The rain had ceased but the valley
was still swathed in a sea of damp fog. His left side was on fire and when he touched it his hand came
away red with blood. Too bad. It was not going to stop him. This climb had to be made while vision was
still obscured, so neither the villagers nor the watching observers could see him. The pickups in the sky
above would be useless now, but there might be others nearby that would be able to see him. Certainly
things would be upset now among the watchmen, and the sooner he moved the better his chances would
be of doing it unseen. But he was so tired. He stood and placed his hands against the rock.
The only memory of the climb he had was one of pain. Red agony that fogged his vision and made it [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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