Beyond The Tomorrow Mountains (26 page)

He crouched beside Brek, first feeling his pulse and checking for broken bones, and then, when he was reasonably sure that there were no serious injuries, shaking him into consciousness. Brek sat up painfully, holding his hand to his side. “Have you contacted anyone?” he gasped.

Noren shook his head silently. “We’ll do that later,” he said. “Let’s get Talyra out first.”

Brek glanced at the wreckage, stifled his cry of dismay, and with Noren’s aid got to his feet. Together they moved the pieces of canopy under which Talyra was pinned and unfastened her seat straps so that she too could rise. All three of them were dazed, bruised and shaken, but they could walk; supporting each other, they made their way to a level piece of ground and stared back at the shattered aircar.

“It—it’s not going to fly again,” Talyra stated unnecessarily.

“No.”

“Can we talk to the City by radiophone? Or to the outpost?”

“Noren and I will go and see,” Brek told her. “You stay here.”

“Wait,” Talyra said, seeing him wince as he drew breath. “You’re hurt, Brek.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s a broken rib,” she declared, investigating with a nurse’s practiced skill. She looked around her, searching for something that could be used to cut bandages; the fabric of their clothing was too strong to tear. “If only I were a doctor and knew the words that ease pain—”

She had come a long way since the days when she had considered an aspiration to be a Technician blasphemous, Noren thought; village nurses did not dream that those words—sacred ones reserved for the induction of hypnotic anesthesia—could be learned, much less pronounced, by an ordinary person. “I’ll hunt for a piece of sharp metal,” he said, “so you can make bandages when we get back. Come on, Brek.”

They returned to the aircar, the search for a cutting tool giving them an excuse to remain there while they discussed the situation out of Talyra’s hearing. Brek had no need to examine the radiophone; there wasn’t that much left of it. “I couldn’t salvage enough to transmit any signal, let alone a voice,” he said sadly. “What are we going to tell her?”

“The truth.”

“Are you sure—” He broke off. “That’s a stupid question; I know you too well to ask it. But Noren, we’ve got to offer some kind of plan.”

“A plan for what? For walking out of the mountains? It would take weeks even if we had provisions.”

“For signaling, then.”

“Brek,” Noren protested, “you know as well as I do that they haven’t enough aircars for a search. If we could contact them, they’d come, but otherwise they’ll simply fly the regular route.”

“We’re not far off it. Maybe we can attract their attention. We could start a fire, for instance.”

“In the first place, it wouldn’t show except at night, and they won’t fly at night; in the second place, there isn’t anything here that will burn.” That was all too true; there was no moss in the area, and certainly not straw or tallow. The components of the aircar were incombustible, though its batteries could perhaps be used to provide a spark.

Wretchedly, Noren confronted cold fact. For himself he did not care, but by his actions Brek and Talyra had been doomed. He looked back over the long chain of events that had led to this moment, thinking that there could be no more fitting retribution for his earlier weaknesses. The aircar destroyed; his own death wasted; Talyra’s meaningless and unnecessary… .

And painful. It was not quite as hot in the mountains as in the low country, but there was heat enough to make thirst a torment past hearing, Starvation, if they should find water enough to last until they starved, would be still slower. Then too, Brek’s injuries might be less trivial than he was making them out to be. Watching him, Noren said quietly, “I think I could induce anesthesia if you want me to try. You’ve had practice in going under.”

“No” said Brek. “Hypnosis wouldn’t be a very good idea; I’ll need my wits, and you couldn’t make it selective enough.”

What good would wits do? Noren thought. In some cases, one’s wits merely confirmed the futility of further effort. Brek went on, “I’ll be all right once Talyra bandages my ribs. Look, Noren—if you’re going to tell her how things stand, you’d better do it privately. Go back to her now, while I find something that will cut cloth.”

Reluctantly, Noren headed back to the place where Talyra waited, sitting down beside her on the sun-warmed pebbles. “The radiophone’s smashed,” he said frankly, “and we can’t fix it.”

“Then we can’t call for help?”

“There isn’t any way to.”

Talyra met his eyes. “I’m not scared, Noren,” she said in a not-quite-steady voice.

Not scared? Then she was closing her mind to the obvious, Noren thought; he himself was terrified. He had, to be sure, started out that morning in the belief that he would not live till sundown… but death had somehow seemed a less real and immediate prospect than it did now, when it was to be slow, certain, and shared by the only person he had ever loved deeply. Of course, he was not going to let Talyra see how afraid he was, and perhaps she felt the same way. She too had pride.

“We mustn’t panic,” he agreed, putting his arm around her.

“What are we going to do first—after I fix the bandages, I mean?”

“There’s not anything we can do, Talyra.”

She stared at him, shocked, “You mean we’re just going to sit here and wait to be rescued? I don’t think that will work! Without the radiophone they can’t possibly find us in all this wilderness.”

His first impression had been correct, then; she did not realize that it was hopeless. With sorrow, a more stirring sorrow than he had felt during the past weeks of lethargy and bitterness, he admitted, “No, darling, they can’t.”

“You’re talking as if you’re ready to
give up
.”

Noren faced her, knowing that decency demanded it, whatever the cost in personal anguish. “Talyra,” he began, “it’s my fault this is happening; you’re here because of me, and I was even flying the aircar—”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Talyra said gently. “It was an accident, and after all, you didn’t ask me to come. I was the one who insisted.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I’ll be responsible when we die.”

“You mustn’t say that!” she burst out. “We may be in danger, but that doesn’t mean we can’t live through it. The spirit of the Mother Star will protect us.”

Horrified, Noren realized that this reaction was what he should have expected; it was entirely consistent with Talyra’s whole outlook. Yet it was based on a delusion. She must not cling to any such false hope. “You’ve said yourself no one can find us,” he pointed out, “and there’s no food, Talyra. We can’t escape from the mountains without food; it’s much too far to the nearest village.”

“I—I know. I don’t see a way out either… but it’s
wrong
not to search for one! It’s wrong to assume we’re going to die when we’re not sure.”

“If I weren’t sure—if there could be any means at all of saving you—do you think I wouldn’t try it?” Noren demanded.

“No one can be sure of such things,” insisted Talyra. “There are mysteries beyond our imagining; the Star’s spirit is more powerful than we guess. Doesn’t the Prophecy say,
‘We affirm life in the face of annihilation, we shall reaffirm it though death be in view; and the affirmation will be our strength’?
It’s heresy to deny that, and to give up is a denial.”

Yes, thought Noren, and he was again a heretic; had it not been for the crash, within hours he would have proclaimed himself a relapsed heretic before the people. He was unwilling to hurt Talyra by telling her that, but he should at least enlighten her about the Mother Star. To believe literally in symbols of an underlying truth might be all right, but he could not bear that she, like his mother, should die trusting in something that did not exist.

“I’ve been told more of the mysteries than you have,” he said slowly, “and they are not as you think. The Mother Star can’t change the laws of nature.”

“Of course it can’t,” she agreed. “But we don’t know all the laws of nature, do we? Sometimes… sometimes, lately, I’ve wondered whether even the Scholars do.”

“They do not,” declared Noren grimly.

In a confident tone Talyra proclaimed, “Then the Scholars themselves could not say that nothing can save us.”

“The Scholars,” Noren continued with pain, “know much about the Mother Star that is not in the Prophecy. They know, for instance, that it has killed more people than it will ever save.”

She reached for his hand, saying soberly, “Noren, don’t speak of this now. It’s not that I can’t bear it, it’s just that you’ve suffered over it too long, and here we’ve got enough else to worry about.” At his astonished stare she went on, “Do you suppose I can’t guess what sorts of things have been torturing you all this time? You needn’t answer; I know you’re not free to tell—but I’m not stupid, darling. In the beginning I thought they were punishing you, but when you swore they weren’t, I began to figure it out.”

“Figure what out?” he asked, wondering how much he had given away.

“Not any deep secrets,” she assured him. “But you said at your trial that you preferred truth to comfort, and I don’t doubt that the Scholars took you at your word. There really isn’t any other way they could have persuaded you to recant, is there? They showed you mysteries, and naturally not all the mysteries are pleasant ones. People
do
die. Everybody dies sooner or later, and the Mother Star doesn’t prevent it; we all know that. Only we don’t think about it very much. The Scholars must have to, and someone like you, who starts out by thinking, has to, too.”

At a loss for words, Noren turned aside. It was uncanny how close Talyra could come to facts she lacked the background to interpret. Yet in spite of that she still believed what she wanted to believe! She was still convinced that some miraculous force could deliver her from danger! Would it really hurt anything for her to go on believing a while longer? he thought suddenly. It would be days before they died, and hope, even groundless hope, would make the waiting less dreadful. With weariness, he confessed to himself that he had not the heart to destroy her illusions.

“We won’t talk about it,” he said; then, because he saw that she expected it, he took her into his arms. And when they kissed, he realized that although he should be strong, he should give comfort, it was she who was comforting him.

*
 
*
 
*

Later, when a portion of Brek’s tunic had been cut into bandages with a fragment of metal he’d found in the wreck and Talyra had bound his ribs securely, they decided to climb out of the canyon. “We’ve a much better chance of being seen from higher ground,” Brek insisted; and Noren, knowing that only action could maintain Talyra’s optimism, concurred without argument. If they were to go, they must do so at once, for they’d neither eaten nor drunk that day and their stamina would not last.

They were hardened to some degree, of course, by the weeks of camp life; the self-discipline of voluntary rationing had inured them to hunger and thirst. But by the same token, that discipline had taught them to recognize and meet their bodies’ needs. Fasting to the point of malnutrition was not permitted in camp, and dehydration was even more closely watched. They’d learned to know the warnings; to pay no heed would be harder than to ignore what might be dismissed as mere discomfort. Moreover, having no excess reserves, they would face starvation sooner than well-fed villagers would have—that is, if they did not succumb to thirst before finding a stream.

The question of drinking stream water was discussed before they set out. Talyra raised it herself by observing matter-of-factly that rescue would be of little benefit unless it came soon, and Noren seized the opportunity to introduce what was bound to be a difficult topic. “Talyra,” he said bluntly, “do you remember how at my trial I admitted having drunk impure water?”

Nodding, she protested, “But it’s a sin against the High Law to do that!”

“Yes. Still, there is no other water in the mountains, and the High Law does not demand that we die for lack of it.”

“We’d be transformed into idiots—” She stopped, realizing that the villagers’ tale that had come automatically to her lips must be untrue. Though originally she’d told herself that others were right in thinking Noren’s admission an idle boast, she knew him better now. In horror she whispered, “The other story… the one mentioned in the courtroom—”

“About a man who drinks impure water fathering idiot children?”

His face confirmed its truth; for the first time since the crash she was moved to tears. “That’s the reason you can’t marry,” she faltered miserably, “and you—you couldn’t bear to tell me. Oh, Noren—”

“It’s not the reason. One can drink a limited amount, and I didn’t exceed my limit; the Scholar Stefred has assured me of that.” There had also been confirming medical tests. He had been warned, however, that he could drink very little more.

Taking him aside, Brek protested, “Are you really going to run the risk, Noren?”

“What risk? There won’t be any child, that’s certain.”

Reddening, Brek glanced at Talyra and muttered, “I thought—well, anyway, someday—”

“There won’t be any ‘someday,’ not for any of us.”

“Oh. But what if something unforeseen happens; what if we get out?”