Chapter 38

Inland the earth grew somewhat less troubled. The undulating cross of ridges became smoother and more widely spaced, with patchwork valleys sinking in their midst. The scarred remains of buildings were also less frequent, though here and there an inexplicable mound of slag, half overgrown like an ancient, impoverished barrow, rose to recall the unsleeping dead that still walked there.

Sylviana was soon pale and exhausted, and Kalus could no longer indulge her almost distracted urge to keep moving. Almost angry, he made her sit down in the grim shade of a leering monolith. For the day had grown hot and humid, with hardly a breeze to calm the reeling senses, or break the spell of sunny, smiling death that seemed to hang in the air around them like a witch’s curse. A delirium of fever had come over her from the tumultuous passage of the rapids and the sea, but in her excited state she was not calm or rational enough to realize it.

Kalus gave her water and tried to cool her burning forehead, telling her in no uncertain terms that they would not go one step further until she had caught her breath, and let him do something about the gash on her knee---the result of a fall---which she kept insisting was nothing.

NOTHING?

But she hardly heard him, unable to master her emotions. She knew where she was, mentally, but this drab physical assurance helped not at all. Why in the name of all that was dark, mysterious and unfathomable was she here, ten thousand years removed from the time and world she had known? And who was this half wild man who tended her, and the bewildered animal that licked her hand in half-formed worry and confusion? KALUS. ALASKA. NEW YORK. What were they but names? What was this place, truly, but the untouchable Land of the Dead, which the sun had somehow invaded.

As her breath came easier the thoughts slowed and became less feverish, but did not change in character. Her body ached. She felt lonely and numb and afraid. Yet somehow she grew calmer, feeling that if once she looked into Kalus’ eyes the world would again become comprehensible, if still cruel and unfair.

But by dint of some perverse pride she refused to do so. She would not be a slave to any man, or concede her spirit to a Nature so base and single-minded. Whatever that might mean. She did not know.

And as soon as the slightest strength returned to her limbs she was up again, fighting the stubborn rush of dizziness, assuring the nagging voice of caution that she was ready to go on.

Kalus was truly worried, himself not immune to the alien strangeness of the place. He did not know what waited over the next hill, the next series of hills, or how with his primitive weapons alone he would protect them. For he had seen the wisp of smoke, the kind that only man can make: the white smoke of intentional fire, though he dared not speak of it to the girl.

All seemed lost and out of control. He wanted to yield and to trust, and if it had been his life alone he might have done so. But the more the woman-child railed and pulled away from him, the more he knew that she was family in the deepest sense. Nothing she could do or say made him feel any less bound to her, one with her, or responsible for her safety and well-being.

There was nothing else for it. She had begun of her own to climb the uneven slant. He could either follow behind or forcibly stop her; there was no third alternative. He ran to stand beside her, taking her arm as gently as he could.

‘Sylviana, please. Let me lead the way. I do not think it is far, but we must be careful. Please.’

She finally looked at him, and remembered. She wanted to collapse in his arms and weep. She wanted to say that nothing else mattered. She wanted to go back to their life by the sea and never again think of islands and men. But she could not. She took his hand firmly in hers, kissed it, and yielded to what had to be. She must go on, and he must lead her. As he must somehow understand.

Together, more slowly, they dipped two more valleys and climbed a final ridge. They reached the top of it, Kalus for some reason hugging close to the shadows of a stunted oak...

There, in that small recession, their lives changed forever. An outdoor cooking fire, a row of low stone buildings. Two women and a man moving about a table with plates and cups. And not dressed like animals, but men. Overalls, a blue NASA worksuit, an Oriental dress. Sylviana looked on, not surprised she told herself, then felt the ground rush up to meet her.