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Page 37.

For the first time in his life, Alex felt utterly safe.

Maryan felt the same. Forces out did not surround them to kill them at a moment’s notice. Xumar’s people were prepared to fight the Siirk to keep them out of the Takkar people’s territory—maybe. Alex and Maryan would be able to live their lives out in their valley after all, for which by now they had a kind of grisly affection—it was the place of their birth, and the burial ground of a nation of the clone people.

As they hiked through the forest with their 20 armed companions, Alex and Maryan began to learn a little about them and their language. There were actually two Takkar races—which they called the Big Takkar and the Little Takkar. The Big Takkar were an intelligent humanoid race, while the Little Takkar were an offspring whose intelligence was in the bovine range. Unlike the Siirk, who used the Little Takkar as cattle, the Big Takkar protected them, cared for them, and employed them in a kindly fashion. Their fondness for the Takkar grew the more they learned about them.

They began to pass through Takkar outposts. The first were sprawling forts on hilltops, with walls of thick upright logs that would resist anything but heavy cannon fire. Alex imagined during a battle they’d wet the wood to make it less likely to burn. Dark figures cheered and waved spears as they passed each of the forts, for Xumar was king over all of them. The Siirk hadn’t had any idea of the prize they’d captured some weeks before they’d captured them. Xumar had been on the water, fishing with several colleagues—he’d stayed and battled the Siirk raiding party while his friends escaped to seek help.

After several days’ march, they came to Xumar’s capital, Takkar. This was a city in the forest, sprawling over several hills, containing maybe 1000 wooden structures. Some of these were quite long and reminded him of Native American long lodges Alex Kirk had read about.

Everywhere they went, they were received as heroes. They went with Xumar to his magnificent palace, which was built of logs and plaster, and white-washed. It was two stories tall, and must have had fifteen rooms. They had cold running water, but no hot water or toilets. It was still an outhouse society, but what the hell, he figured, can’t hold it against them. Give them a few hundred more years and they’ll build St. Peter’s.

Alex and Maryan were given bowls of warm milk with honeyed rice and a mint leaf—very tasty—and shown to an enclosed tub of water. There, in privacy, Maryan and he were able to soak in luxury for what seemed like an hour. A pipe running in from a stove provided a steady trickle of hot water to keep them warm—They had to avoid going near that pipe to prevent a scald.

Xumar had five wives and a crowd of children, all of whom presented themselves at a lavish feast. The Takkar obviously loved life—they loved to eat, and they ate well, as they found out. “A few weeks here and they won’t want to leave,” Maryan whispered, nudging him in the ribs, while they ate.

Their stay in Takkar lasted about ten days, though he wasn’t counting closely. They felt safe at last, and relaxed. It was a vacation for them.

But Xumar was a restless man, always planning something, always thinking of new ways to affect the world around him. One day, he introduced them to Mixic (“Mishik”), a priest of the Eagle cult. Mixic was an older man, gray around the head, and wrinkled around the mouth.

Alex and Maryan followed Mixic into the inner sanctum of the Eagle lodge. This was a mysterious, hallowed place. The entrance corridor sank into the earth and was lined with tightly woven poles and topped with a thatch roof. The corridor was gloomy, lit only by stray threads of sunlight filtering through the poles, and this ended as they got deeper down. There, torches flickered along the walls, and stuffed eagles sat in wall niches—altars, he guessed, with candles flickering before them.

They came to a round hall about 30 feet in diameter. The wall all around was about 8 feet high, rising in a slight dome to 12 feet at the center point. Under the center point stood a wooden table or altar with ritual objects on it—feathers, leather pouches, wooden containers of powder, and more. They all had to bow before the altar. Mixic told them to wait. He went to the altar, took an object in both hands, and brought it to them. Alex gasped.

It was an amulet like the one that Nizin had worn around his neck.

Mixic took the amulet back and laid it on the table with the utmost care. He tried to explain about its function, making twisting motions with fists close together. Xumar joined in, making motions of objects coming from the sky and landing ... He held up both hands, palms facing each other...in a valley.

Alex grew excited, and inquired in pantomime if this valley lay near the sea.

Xumar nodded vigorously, lighting up because he could see the comprehension on his face. He pointed at him, signaling he understood that he understood. Then he pointed at the amulet. They must walk, he signaled, back to the valley where there is a sacred place of the Takkar at which they will call a silver house down to earth. The silver house is the home of the Eagle God, and the Takkar wait months beyond number for another visit. When the silver house is in the valley, he signed, the hunting is always better and enemies stay away.

How did the Siirk obtain an amulet? Alex signed.

They raided an Eagle cult lodge ten days’ march south of here. That was several years ago. They found a sacred spot in their own territory and brought down a silver house.

Xumar signed: The silver house killed some Siirk.

Mixic signed: It displeased the Eagle god greatly that they took a silver house. He added: We go soon, show you.

Alex and Maryan returned to the valley with Xumar, Mixic, and ten warriors.

Xumar rode bareback on a horse whose long, magnificent blonde mane curled in the wind.

Maryan looked healthy and strong, a far cry from the woman dying of infection that Alex had rescued from the monsters in her birthing caves. In her ankle-length, flowing dress, she looked positively regal. The Takkar had given them some blankets and clothes of wool that they appreciated very much; Xumar carried them for them on the back of his horse. The Takkar tended to weave very fine wool in dark earth-tone colors. He thought several times that they might have to travel to their city to trade their furs for their wool and other goods; but since they were the last of their kind, he did not feel a great ambition.

They both felt a tangle of emotions as they entered the valley, coming down from the mountains. Maryan sniffled a few tears away, and he felt a horrible pang as he saw the late afternoon sun glint like blood in the water, and on two dozen or more skull-tops that stuck in the riverbank sand like cobblestones. The Takkar looked about with misgivings and made the Sign of the Eagle—a fist with index finger and thumb spread, held to the forehead while looking to the sky. Xumar pulled his cloak tight around himself and gripped his iron-tipped spear harder.

They came down on the east side of the river, opposite the bank of skulls. There were fewer skulls in the middle of the valley—testimony that few clones had ever gotten that far on their first run out of the birthing cave doors.

Mixic unfolded a soft leather map, which he consulted in a conversation with Xumar, holding the map against the horse’s neck. He saw a drawing etched in burn marks: the river, the plain, the cliffs on either side. In the center of the map was a circle, and lines radiated from it in all directions. At the end of each line was a notation—a landmark of some type. Guarded by the warriors—for Xumar carried the sacred talisman in a bag that hung from his neck—They moved closer and closer to the center of the radians. It was getting dark, and they had to break to make camp. They did not light a fire, but posted guards all around.

In the morning, Xumar rode out to do a fast reconnaissance along the seashore. He returned saying the shore appeared safe. He sent several warriors to the east and west to carefully scout the area.

With Mixic and four remaining warriors, they came to a tangle of brush. They set to clear it at Xumar’s direction, and discovered a slightly raised surface of concrete, badly weathered and pitted. It was an oval about 100 feet long and 40 feet across—a landing platform? This was a human artifact he’d missed in his desperate search long ago! It was impossible to read the lines the map said should exist on the surface. Perhaps centuries ago, when Takkar ancestors had brought down the first rescue ship, the concrete had been in better shape.

The platform was completely cleared within about two hours. By noon, a vast pile of brush, thorns, and torn-up grass lined the sides of the platform. The warriors had been able to use their stout spear-handles to simply push the brush off. In a few places, the platform was cracked, and thick trunks had to be sawn off. Two or three real trees had also poked through, and these had to be cut down with great effort, down to the surface so nothing should stab the ship.

Mixic alone stepped onto the platform, his layered clothing blowing in the wind, his dark, angular ox face enigmatic. He moved with great dignity, holding the amulet up like an offering. Then he gave it a gentle twist, laid it on the platform, and walked off with the same dignity. They waited.

Alex noticed after a while that a shaft of glowing light, very faint, stretched from a center point in the concrete right next to the amulet. The Takkar noticed it too and a murmur went around. The ancestors had been right. Several men fell to their knees. Xumar stood holding his horse’s bridle and looked up, shading his eyes. Maryan and he did the same. It must have taken nearly an hour, and Alex grew impatient, puzzled, even disappointed—then several warriors shouted, pointing into the sky.

The ‘silver house’ fell down like a drop of water, like a splash of mercury.

Alex wasn’t sure it was even a solid shape until the spacecraft descended in a crisp, quick motion. There was a whoosh of air, like a subway train arriving, and they were pushed back several feet, all of them, their clothes and their hair blowing, grit getting into their eyes. The boat almost materialized rather than landed. There it was, a 100 foot long cylinder, 20 feet in diameter, devoid of any markings. It steamed where its hot skin burned the condensation out of the air.

The silver skin was very hot now. Mixic motioned for the group to wait.

Just then the first gunshot rang out.