Chapter VIII: Balata 'kai!

Even the word was like heady wine.

Balata 'kai!

Where, five thousand years ago, civilization--and a lie--had been born on Kedak. Where now the ruins were ghostly in the early dawnlight, standing like grim sentinels against the still dark sky, silhouetted there on the limestone crag above the floor of the desert.

"Would you believe it, Matlin," Haazahri said, "I'm a native of Junction City, but I've never seen the ruins of Balata 'kai?"

"Sure. It's like that all over. Only the tourists are interested in what makes where you live famous," Matlin said, and smiled. He was happy. He felt happy for the first time since his accident. The woman? She was part of the reason, but not most of it. Did he love her? He hardly knew, and wouldn't press it yet, not until he remembered. Because it wasn't fair either to Haazahri or whatever he was, whoever he was, in lost memory.

It was Balata 'kai. He belonged here. Somehow, he could sense that. The navel of his people, was that the reason? Because any Kedaki would feel at home where the world-idea that governed his planet had been born, fifty centuries ago?

But not Matlin. Matlin was an iconoclast. Matlin did not believe, Matlin wished to smash idols, Matlin wished....

Did he? He didn't know what he wished. He'd come here on an impulse. Idol-breaker? But why? And what idols?

"Look," he said, pointing at the limestone crag. There was something at once ineffably serene and tumultuously exciting about the five thousand year old slabs and columns perched there. There were stories they could tell, stories of generations long turned to dust, stories of the past and how, from the past, the present came, child of history, buffetted by forces it only half-understood, the helpless, passionate, living present, the moment for which, whether we admit it or not, we all live, ephemeral, hardly palpable, thrilling and then gone, dead, history, the navel for tomorrow which is today....

"It is beautiful," Haazahri said slowly.

A wind stirred, swirling little puffs of sand at their feet, their clothing, even their faces. The sun was very hot already and would be much hotter soon. Dazzling white Deneb, far brighter than Sol....

Sol!

But Sol was the day star of the planet Earth, remote on the other edge of this small filamental arm of the galaxy. So, why Sol? Look at your skin, Matlin. Matlin, the Reborn! Proud, insolent name! But look at your skin. Gaze on it. You're Kedaki. Of course you're Kedaki. What else could you be?

"Have you ever been here before?" Haazahri asked.

"Yes, I think so."

"Probably it's why you wanted to come."

"I've been here. I know I have, Haazahri. Many times. Straight ahead, there, see where I'm pointing? There used to be a staircase there, carved in the living rock. For tourists to climb to the top, to see the ruins. See the jumble of rocks now? We'll have to climb, but it won't be like climbing stairs. We'll--"

"Get down!" Haazahri cried suddenly, and threw herself at him, and bore them both to the sand, where they lay still. "Where you were pointing," she whispered. "Look, but don't turn your head. Don't move. Someone's up there."

They were a hundred paces from the base of the limestone crag, obscure in the dimness of its early morning shadow. The crag was perhaps another hundred paces high and at the top, where the three tallest columns of Balata 'kai stood, piercing the sky for half the height of the crag or more, a figure was marching.

"Police," whispered Haazahri. "Has he seen us?"

"No," said Matlin. "It's dark down here. We're all right, I think."

"There is treasure in the ruins," Haazahri told him. "It's what the tourists come to see mostly. But since the quake, the ruins are off-limits. Thieves have been out here in the dark of night, defiling the temples and...."

"Defiling?"

"Defiling, if one believes."

"Do you believe, Haazahri?"

"You're a strange man, Matlin. We're down on our bellies in the sand, hiding from the police, and yet you ask a question like that. I--I don't know if I believe or not. I believe a people need something, some faith...."

"Do you believe in reincarnation? Do you believe that every poor craven lowborn, if he leads a meek, servile life, will be rewarded in a fresh incarnation by moving up a rung in the social ladder? Do you believe?"

* * * * *

Slowly, Haazahri shook her head. "No," she said, confusion in her eyes. "I never could admit it to myself before, Matlin. But you have a way ... you put it so simply. No, Matlin. I don't believe that."

"Good, because otherwise we would have been defilers."

"I don't understand."

"I'm not sure I do, either. But we're going up there. We can work our way up among the rocks, when the guard is out of sight. We can--"

"It will be dangerous."

"I have to chance it. You don't."

"I'll go with you. I already said so, Matlin. But why will we be defilers?"

"Because there's something up there. Oh, I don't know what. Something, though. Waiting for me. My head, Haazahri! My memory! As if I've been sundered, disembodied, and part of me is up there. I--I had it once, this thing. I had it, and lost it. No ... wait. _I had it, then hid it._ It was something--dynamite, Haazahri. Something so explosive that I didn't know what to do with it but knew I must do something. Like playing with fire, the memory says."

"What kind of fire?"

"Fire for the Kedaki. Cultural fire. Idol-breaking, iconoclastic...."

"But you don't remember what?"

"No."

"And the way you speak of us, The Kedaki. As if you, as if you're--alien."

Matlin said nothing. His head ached with the half-thoughts, the dream-thoughts. The wind had died down and he breathed deeply of the clear hot morning air. When he looked up and saw the ruins of Balata 'kai silhouetted against the brightening sky, he could see nothing of the guard.

"Come," he said, and stood up, helping Haazahri to her feet. She leaned against him for a moment, the maiden suppleness of her ripe against his thews and chest. He held her and she breathed against his ear, touching the lobe of it with her lips. "I love you, Matlin," she said. "Whoever you are, whatever you are. You know that, don't you?"

"Haazahri," he said, pushing her away gently. "You may only hurt yourself. I don't know. I don't know! I can't say anything, can't think anything of that, until I know. My name is not Matlin. I don't even know my name."

A faint, wistful smile played about her lips as she said, "All right, lead on to what's left of that staircase of yours."

They took half a dozen strides toward the base of the limestone crag. Limestone. On the desert, with little water to erode it, how long would limestone endure? A dozen eternities, thought Matlin, and more. Balata 'kai--forever....

Suddenly, he was running. Something had moved in the shadow at the foot of the cliff. Since it hadn't called out, whatever it was, he hoped that it would not. He ran silently, swiftly.

He reached the spot. There was nothing. He gazed around. The shadows were dark.

Something just above his head made a sound. A pebble was dislodged, dropped on his shoulder and to the sand. He did not look up. On his way he'd seen a ledge there, its flat surface at about the height his hand could reach. The ledge, narrow, barely wide enough for a man to stand on, would not be empty now.

His hand blurred up at it, grasped something which yielded, then struggled. He tugged and a voice pleaded: "Lord, I'll fall!"

With a yank, he pulled the man off the ledge. He had hold of the man's ankle, then let go of it, and leaped on the man when he had fallen to the sand. There was a brief scuffle, and he had the man by the throat. He let his hands go loose for a moment and hissed:

"Who are you?"

"Please, lord. I mean no harm."

"Who are you?"

Just then Haazahri came up. "Why, I know this fellow," she said. "And so do you, Matlin."

* * * * *

He looked again. It was a woe-begotten face, meek, homely, the eyes terror-filled. Its owner said, "I am Ranmut the lowborn, lord."

"Ranmut!" Matlin cried.

"Yesterday you took my place and won, though why you did not kill Felg, I do not know." He grinned hopefully when Matlin's fingers did not return to his throat. "Lord, I came seeking you."

"You followed us all the way out here from Junction City last night?" Matlin asked, amazed.

"It was the least I could do. You saved my life, lord, and while the life means nothing, is but one pathway among many, nevertheless this lowborn like many has a family and even if I go on to a higher pathway that wouldn't help my wife and children, who probably would have starved. Therefore, lord, am I thankful."

"You followed just to tell me this?"

"No, lord. Last night Felg was very angry. When you left the bar with this lovely lady, Felg came after you."

Matlin looked at Haazahri. She nodded, said, "He would."

"All the way to Balata 'kai?" Matlin asked.

"Not this far, lord. The man Felg came as far as Haatok."

"Don't tell me you were on the same bus with us?"

"Yes. And Felg also. Then, last night, after reading the newspaper, Felg rushed back to Junction City. I have saved the newspaper, lord," Ranmut said proudly.

"Saved it?"

"I took the liberty of following Felg back to the bus station. He deposited the newspaper in a trash receptacle. He had marked something."

"Let me see that," Matlin urged as he heard the rustle of paper. Ranmut spread a crumpled sheet before him on the sand and he saw that a small part of the first column was circled in red.

He read, his heart thumping against his ribs: "... professor of archaeology at Kedak College. Ser Gawroi believes this Matlin to be the missing Earth scientist, Philip Rhodes. While the police maintain that Rhodes is harboring some unspecified material deemed not in the best interests of Kedak, Ser Gawroi would not comment on this. 'Rhodes,' the archaeologist said, 'was a colleague. If Rhodes is sick and needs help, we'll have to find him.'

"No reason was given as to why the alleged Earthman was seen in the streets of Junction City last night, to all appearances a native of Kedak. His name, according to Gawroi, is Matlin. If anyone has any knowledge of...."

Then Haazahri took the paper and read it. She returned it to Ranmut, her hand trembling. "Do you know Gawroi?" she asked Matlin.

"No."

"An Earthman? Do you think that's what you are--purple skin or not?"

"Don't look at me like that," Matlin said, smiling. "Earthmen are human too. Just as human as Kedaki."

"I know, but--"

"Yes, I think I'm an Earthman. I think I'm this Philip Rhodes. I--"

"Oh, Matlin! Then you remember?"

"No, but there have been other things--no time to go into them now...." Quotis, he thought. The Arcturan doctor. There had been no mention of Quotis, but there should have been. It was as if the Kedaki authorities and this Gawroi wanted to ease Quotis out of the picture, and Matlin did not like that. Why? Why shouldn't Quotis have been contacted? Quotis knew more about Matlin than anyone did. Gawroi disturbed him more than the police. He sensed that he knew the Kedaki archaeologist. Besides, if Gawroi's purpose for finding Rhodes had not been sinister, wouldn't he seek Quotis for whatever help the Arcturan could offer?

"It means something to you, lord?" Ranmut asked, indicating the newspaper.

When Matlin answered, his words were addressed to Haazahri. "Tell me, would your friend Felg go to the police or to this Gawroi?"

"Felg would avoid the police if he could. Do you trust this Gawroi?"

"No," said Matlin promptly, not bothering to give his reason.

"Then you think Felg and the archaeologist are now in league against you?"

Matlin nodded, grasped Ranmut's shoulders. "Ranmut," he said, "I don't have to tell you you've done enough for us already. You came all the way out here to help, and--"

"I have done nothing, lord. Last night you saved my life, for my family."

"Do you wish to stay at Balata 'kai?"

"We lowborn are told Balata 'kai is a frightful place," said Ranmut, shaking his head dolefully. "We lowborn are told it is most dangerous for us to approach this shrine."

"And still you came," Matlin marveled. "Will you leave now?"

Ranmut shuffled his feet in the sand. "I'll stay if the Lord Matlin wishes."

But Matlin shook his head. "By all means go back."

"If the Lord needs me--"

"No, you can deliver a message for me in Junction City. In the Arcturan hospital, to a Dr. Quotis. Tell him that his patient Matlin is seeking his lost memory at Balata 'kai. Show him the newspaper article and say for certain reasons Matlin does not trust the archaeologist Gawroi. And tell him Matlin has not gone to the police because first he must find something which the police don't want him to find. Ask Quotis to contact the Earth authorities in Junction City, if he thinks that best. You'll do this?"

"Of course, lord," Ranmut said simply, and bowed.

"And don't do that. Don't bow. You're a man, Ranmut. You're as good a man as I am, or Felg, or anyone."

"Yes, lord," said Ranmut doubtfully. He smiled shyly at Haazahri, then Matlin offered his hand and Ranmut shook it solemnly and trudged back across the sands on his long walk to Haatok.

* * * * *

Ranmut was in luck, for a bus was just arriving that would soon take him back to Junction City. He jingled the few remaining denebs in his pocket thinking, proudly, that he had not asked Matlin for money. He owed the strange-talking highborn Kedaki this much: he would defend the message to the alien Quotis with his life if necessary, and it seemed ridiculous to ask money for it, even for the bus fare to Junction City.

He stood in the dusty throngs on the raised sidewalk alongside the bus while its passengers stepped onto the ramp, stretched themselves and claimed their baggage. Suddenly, he froze. Two men came through the wide bus doors together. The very large man he did not know, but the reasonably large one he did. The reasonably large one was Felg and Ranmut turned away quickly, trying to push his way through the crowd. But Ranmut was a small, slender man, and arms, legs and bodies could easily detain him. It was very hot there, and he began to sweat. He felt the sweat streaming from his face, dampening his armpits, coursing down his sides and flanks. He pushed and struggled in the pressing crowd, and the ranks of the indifferent, as if in league with his enemies, closed in.

"Careful, lowborn!" an indignant Kedaki woman chirped, and Ranmut offered her an obsequious smile, then helplessly felt the surging crowd, pushing forward now to find seats on the bus, turning him so that he faced Felg and the man who must be Gawroi.

The two highborn Kedaki were just alighting from the bus, their feet touching down on the section of the ramp which had been roped off for disembarking passengers. Gawroi said something, and Felg answered. They were very close. They were far closer than Ranmut had realized. Then Felg pointed and his finger, unwavering, speared air in Ranmut's direction. Ranmut tried to make himself very small. Sweat beaded his brow, stung his eyes. He wanted to disappear into his mean clothing. Felg pointed again and walked quickly with Gawroi to the rear of the crowd, where Ranmut lost them.

Several minutes later, the crowd had swept him to the doors of the bus. He held his three denebs overhead in one wet hand, waiting for the conductor to exchange them for a ticket to Junction City. Heads taller than his were everywhere. He could not see the conductor. Then something plucked the three denebs from his hand and a smile of relief lit his woe-begotten features momentarily. He expected to feel the bus ticket thrust between his fingers, where he would clutch it almost lovingly. It did not matter that the bus was already crowded and he would have standing room all the way back to Junction City. It mattered only that Felg had not pointed in his direction, that by now Felg and the archaeologist Gawroi were gone from the depot, and....

A hand closed on his elbow. A voice hissed in his ear: "This way, Ranmut." He knew the voice, and despaired. It was Felg.

They took him quickly from the bus station and thence across the hot dusty streets of Haatok to a small hotel where a sleepy-eyed desk clerk admitted them, gave them a big brass key and went back to doing absolutely nothing and wishing he could do less without even seeing their faces. Ranmut wanted to scream out for help, but the hotel clerk would be no help at all. Ranmut allowed them, Felg and the man Gawroi, to lead him upstairs to a small, dingy room with scabbing walls and a dirty floor and a faintly foul smell. Gawroi, who had held his elbow all the way from the bus station, flung him across the room as Felg shut the door. He fell on the bed and he did not weigh much, but the bed collapsed under him. At another time, it would have been very funny.

"What are you doing in Haatok?" Felg snapped.

He got up. Felg pushed him and he fell on the mattress and remained there.

"What are you doing in Haatok?"

He was not glib. He had never been glib. He could think of absolutely no answer, no fiction to substitute for the truth. He remained silent. Something rustled as he leaned uncomfortably on his left side. It was the newspaper with the circled article. If Felg found that, Felg would know. So, Felg must not find it. He shifted his weight to that side, trying to cover the telltale edge of paper protruding from his pocket.

"What are you doing?" Felg said.

He rolled over. The paper rustled. He wanted to scream.

Felg took hold of his arm and dragged him to his feet. The other man, Gawroi, merely stood and watched. Felg was going to get the newspaper, Ranmut knew. He broke away and ran toward the door. Felg stuck his foot out and Ranmut fell over it headlong, skidding across the dirty floor to the door, where he lay in a heap. Directly in front of his face was Gawroi's large shoe, the toe under his chin. But Gawroi's shoe did not move.

* * * * *

Felg reached down and got the newspaper. His face became dark with blood when he saw it. He pulled Ranmut to his feet and shook the paper before his face and bellowed, "Where did you get this?"

"In the bus depot, lord."

Felg thrust Ranmut back toward the broken bed and showed the newspaper to Gawroi. "I marked it. It's my paper," he admitted.

"That was clumsy of you, wasn't it?" Gawroi said. He had a powerful voice, but there seemed to be very little concern in it, as if whatever happened hardly mattered to him at all. "So now Rhodes knows you're after him."

"You think this slave told Rhodes?"

"Look at him. Dust-covered. Can't you see he's been on the desert, Felg? Can't you see anything?"

"Yes," Felg grumbled. "Then what can we do?"

Instead of answering, Gawroi said to Ranmut: "You realize we can do with you as we wish. No one knows we brought you here. The hotel clerk saw nothing. What sort of errand are you running for Rhodes?"

"Who," said Ranmut, "is Rhodes?"

"For Matlin."

Ranmut said nothing.

Felg growled, "We can break the bones in your body one at a time, you fool!"

"Yes, lord," said Ranmut meekly, speaking to gain courage from the sound of his own voice.

"But we won't do anything of the sort," Gawroi said. "Why should we? Listen."

A rumbling sound could be heard in the street. It became a growl and then a loud smooth purr of power. "The bus to Junction City," Gawroi said. "The only bus. What can this fellow do here in Haatok."

"He can go to the police."

"Who are seeking Matlin? Don't be ridiculous."

"Well, I don't trust him."

"Did I say I trusted him? But it doesn't matter, if he's quite helpless."

"Alive, he isn't helpless."

Gawroi said, "Violence satisfies a certain need in you, doesn't it? Do you want to hurt this little fellow? Is that what you wish? I have no interest in the matter, but I am ready to go to Balata 'kai."

"Alive, he isn't helpless," Felg repeated.

Ranmut did not let the relief show on his face. Words now, just words. They were going to let him go. And somehow, for the first time in his life, he wanted to live. It was very important that he lived. He had no wish to die. Because he did not believe? In truth, he could not tell himself that. Because he had always been a good man, if a lowborn, and had no desire for reincarnation if the highborn were men such as Felg and Gawroi? Something of that passed through his mind, but it was not altogether clear. I'm going to live, he thought. After all, I'm going to live. And he allowed himself the luxury of a slow smile. The smile dropped from his face when Gawroi said:

"All right, Felg. Do as you wish. I won't interfere with your pleasure. But I'm going downstairs. I'm renting a sand-car to take us to Balata 'kai. I'll meet you outside."

"Alive, he--"

"Don't try to rationalize it for my benefit. Do as you wish. I have utterly no interest in the matter." Gawroi gave Ranmut one final, utterly indifferent look, and left the room. That look told Ranmut his doom was sealed.

He was small and weak and Felg was a strapping, strong highborn. Felg said, when the door shut, "You had an extra day of life, for you should have died by my mace."

Ranmut said nothing.

Felg said, "Are you happy? You probably led a life exemplary for its lack of significance, as a lowborn should. You ought to be happy--your next incarnation will be a higher one."

"Please kill me if you are going to, lord," said Ranmut.

"Don't you believe? Aren't you glad for the chance to die? What have you to live for?" Beads of sweat stood out on Felg's forehead, and Ranmut did not understand.

"Kill me, lord. I won't resist, I won't prolong it."

"Then you do believe?" demanded Felg softly, passionately, his fingers closing on Ranmut's frail throat without applying pressure.

"No, lord," said Ranmut. "I do not believe."

"You've got to believe in reincarnation!" Felg screamed.

"I no longer believe."

"You must! Don't you see, you must?"

"I only know that my belief fades like the leaves in autumn in deep southern climes."

"Believe!" screamed Felg.

This was all madness to Ranmut. He waited for the fingers to tighten on his throat, to constrict there. But they did not.

"Believe!" The hands uncoiled, made weak fists and beat without strength against Ranmut's chest, beat beseechingly. "I need your belief!" Felg screamed, and, when next he spoke, he was sobbing with bitterness and fear. "I need your belief, please oh please, I need it to make my own belief strong. I need it, I need you, Ranmut, please, you've got to believe, because you're a lowborn and you have nothing to live for and if you don't believe then surely I, I can't believe either and that leaves nothing.... Ranmut, Ranmut, I don't want to die, Ranmut...."

Despite everything, Ranmut felt himself engulfed by waves of pity. He said, softly, "But you're not going to die, lord."

Felg hit him and his eyes and nose stung, the hot blood trickling from his nostrils. Then Felg sobbed and did not look at Ranmut again. Sitting on the broken bed, Ranmut watched the big man lumber, sobbing, from the room.

Outside, a horn blew. Gawroi was waiting and Ranmut sensed that if Felg were weak, Gawroi was strong. Together they were going to Balata 'kai after Matlin and there was nothing that he, Ranmut, could do to warn his friend that danger and possibly death was approaching across the sun-scorched sands.