The Totems of Abydos

CHAPTER 20





“Perhaps it is here that they celebrate the Festival of the Harvesting of Seed,” said Brenner.

“It is far from the fields,” said Rodriguez.

“They might celebrate it here,” said Brenner.

“It would be more likely, I would think, to do it in the village, or near the village,” said Rodriguez. “Perhaps it is done in the temple.”

“Why not here?” asked Brenner, putting out his hand, to the surface of the platform.

“This place does not look used,” said Rodriguez. “It could be dangerous here, too, this far from the palisade. There have been beasts about. Look there. There are claw marks on the surface of the platform.”

Brenner was not pleased with what he saw. Some of the furrows on the platform were better than a half inch deep. Similar furrows defaced a nearby post.

“Surely this place must have some purpose,” said Brenner.

“Or once had,” said Rodriguez. “Look at the age of these timbers, the weathering of them.”

“You do not think anything occurs here now?”

“No,” said Rodriguez. “This place is deserted, forgotten. The Pons may not even know it is here.”

“It may belong to their history,” said Brenner.

“Possibly,” said Rodriguez.

“The string led here,” said Brenner.

“That is true,” said Rodriguez.

“And surely that is not as old as the platform.”

“That is true,” said Rodriguez. “But it could be kept up as a matter of tradition, that the string be there, that it lead here, perhaps for no reason even remembered now.”

“Such things are not unknown amongst primitive peoples,” said Brenner.

“Nor even amongst others,” said Rodriguez.

Rodriguez and Brenner had followed the string, that gray, frail, worn, dried strand, strung between trees, to a sort of hemispheric amphitheater, floored with flat stones, carefully fitted together, at one end of which was which was a low, broad, sturdy platform. This platform was apparently very old, and it was surely muchly worn and weathered. Here and there traces of paint were detectable on its surface, these suggesting it had once been the object of careful decoration.

“Why is the platform not of stone, like the amphitheater?” said Brenner.

“I don’t know,” said Rodriguez.

“Those claw marks are frightening,” said Brenner.

“Yes,” said Rodriguez.

“This place seems eerie,” said Brenner, “with the cliffs behind the platform.”

“We might be able to see the village from the cliffs,” said Rodriguez.

“You were wrong about one thing,” said Brenner.

“What is that?” asked Rodriguez.

“We set off quite openly in this direction this morning,” said Brenner, “and no one attempted to dissuade us.”

“I assure you they were clear in their attempts to deter me in the past,” said Rodriguez.

“You were surprised then this morning?”

“Yes,” said Rodriguez.

“There was no interference.”

“No,” said Rodriguez.

“Nor even, if I am not mistaken, any sign of particular interest.”

“No,” said Rodriguez.

“You were then mistaken about things before.”

“I do not think so,” said Rodriguez.

“What is the difference then?” asked Brenner.

“I do not know,” said Rodriguez.

“Perhaps they wanted us out of the village, so they could celebrate the Festival of the Harvesting of Seed,” mused Brenner.

“No,” said Rodriguez. “That much I know.”

“How so?” asked Brenner.

“It was apparently celebrated some days ago,” said Rodriguez.

“I did not know that,” said Brenner.

“They are sneaky little bastards,” said Rodriguez.

“It would not be surprising if the rituals, having to do with things of importance to their very survival, the harvesting of seed, and such, were secret. They might fear the presence of strangers might profane their mysteries, or impair their efficacy. Such fears are common with simple peoples.”

“There does not seem to be much here,” said Rodriguez. His voice, as he spoke toward the cliffs, had an extra ring.

“Rodriguez,” said Brenner.

“What?” asked Rodriguez.

“I have an idea, said Brenner.

“What?” asked Rodriguez.

“The Pons did not wish you to explore to the northeast?”

“No,” said Rodriguez. “But I did so often enough. I merely took a different route, and then circled about. They are stupid.”

“They did not object today.”

“No,” said Rodriguez.

“Why not?” asked Brenner.

“I do not know,” said Rodriguez.

“What was the difference?” asked Brenner.

“I do not know,” said Rodriguez.

“I am the difference,” said Brenner.

“I do not understand,” said Rodriguez.

“Don’t you see?” said Brenner, delightedly.

“No,” said Rodriguez.

“They trust me.”

“I don’t understand,” said Rodriguez, slowly.

“We are successful,” said Brenner. “My efforts, my attention, my kindness, the simple decency of my intentions, my interest in them, my concern for their well-being, my solicitude for their happiness, my desire to be of service to them, to help them, to care for them, have been recognized, and appreciated, and accepted.”

“What are you saying?” asked Rodriguez.

“I think they like me,” said Brenner.

“Do not be sure of it,” said Rodriguez. “They may not be capable of liking anything.”

“I have, if I am not mistaken,” said Brenner, “earned their respect and trust.”

“Do not count on it,” said Rodriguez.

“I think this is a day for which I have long striven,” said Brenner. “I think I am important to them. I think they will listen to me. I think that I have at last won their confidence!”

“That, if true, may be useful in our inquiries,” said Rodriguez.

“It goes far beyond that,” said Brenner, angrily. “It is a victory of trust, of emotion, of civilization.”

“I think I will climb these cliffs,” said Rodriguez, looking up to the steepnesses behind the platform.

“Don’t you understand?” asked Brenner. “I may be able to help them.”

“They can’t understand the concept of “three,”” said Rodriguez.

“Why do you hate them?” asked Brenner.

“They are monkeys,” said Rodriguez.

“You said they were at the “beginning”!”

“That is what makes them important, not lovable,” said Rodriguez.

“There is more to them than you understand,” said Brenner.

“You do not even know what they are,” said Rodriguez.

“I do not understand,” said Brenner.

“You are romanticizing them,” said Rodriguez. “You are reading your own mentality, and interests, and such, into them. You are committing the anthropomorphic fallacy.”

“They are on the brink of civilization,” said Brenner.

“They are subrational.”

“We can help them!”

“Do not interfere with them,” said Rodriguez. “You are here to study them, not change them.”

“You are cruel,” said Brenner.

“You do not even know what they are,” said Rodriguez.

“I understand them, and you do not,” said Brenner.

“You could as easily understand a git,” said Rodriguez.

“And you are good for only Heimat and weed!” cried Brenner.

“There is a sort of path, or trail, here,” said Rodriguez.

“I am sorry, Rodriguez,” said Brenner.

“I wish I did have some Heimat and weed,” said Rodriguez.

“They are totemistic,” said Brenner.

“And so are thousands of other life forms, far more advanced,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner leaped lightly to the surface of the platform. Its surface, here and there, was deeply, widely scarred, apparently from having been torn at with claws. He stood there for a moment, in something like awe. He had not appreciated the full extent or depth of these things before, as they had not been so evident from his former angle of vision.

“Come along,” invited Rodriguez.

“Have you seen the markings on the platform?” asked Brenner.

“Yes,” said Rodriguez.

“From up here?”

“Yes,” said Rodriguez.

“What could make such marks?” asked Brenner.

“I know something that could,” said Rodriguez. “But it is impossible.”

“Do you hear something?” asked Brenner.

“No,” said Rodriguez. “Come along.”

Brenner scrambled up a yard or so behind Rodriguez.

“Do not put your hand anywhere you cannot see,” said Rodriguez.

Brenner knew enough not to do that. On ledges, sunning themselves, soaking up the sunlight, even now, in the late fall, there might be various snakes, some of them poisonous. There was the possibility of unpleasant arachnids, as well, tarantulas, in particular, occasional scorpions, and such.

“I hear something,” said Brenner.

“I am now sure of it,” said Rodriguez.

“You hear it?” asked Brenner.

“Consider the height,” said Rodriguez.

“What?” asked Brenner.

“That we will be able to see the village from the top,” said Rodriguez. “It is almost certain that these are the cliffs which are visible from the village.”

The path up the cliff, while it was rather steep, was not precipitous. Indeed, here and there there was the clear sign of a carved step. Something, at one time, at any rate, doubtless in the distant past, had used that path.

“Ah!” said Rodriguez, hoisting himself to the height of the cliff.

“I hear it quite clearly now,” said Brenner, stopping on the ascent, looking about.

“Come up,” said Rodriguez.

In a moment Brenner had attained the level and was beside Rodriguez.

“There is the village,” said Rodriguez, pointing.

“Yes,” said Brenner uneasily. He could see the palisade, and the village within, tiny, thatched, with smoke from cooking fires ascending into the sky, located in the center of a large, environing clearing.

“What is wrong?” asked Rodriguez.

“Surely you can hear it now?” said Brenner.

“You have excellent hearing,” said Rodriguez.

“Listen,” said Brenner.

Yes!” said Rodriguez.

The sound was faint, but it was clear now. It was a bit difficult to interpret, of course. Something in it sounded like a pack, except that there was no baying, no barking. There were, in it, the sounds of more than one organism. One thing was clear. They were not silent runners, one of the forms of life in the forest, humped, crested quadrupeds which, in groups of five to ten, were wont to pursue a quarry in deadly silence, if necessary, for hours at a time.

“It is Pons,” said Brenner.

“Yes,” said Rodriguez.

There was no mistaking the sounds of Pons, that particular vocal timber, that special quality of sound produced by their tiny throats, but these noises, though doubtless of Pons, seemed somehow anomalous emanating from such small, gentle creatures. These sounds seemed unusually shrill, angry, hysterical, even vengeful.

“There must be several of them,” said Brenner.

“You would come here openly,” said Rodriguez, in disgust.

“I don’t think this has anything to do with us,” said Brenner.

Rodriguez unslung the Naxian rifle.

“They are coming this way,” said Brenner.

“Step back, do not let them see you,” said Rodriguez.

“No,” said Brenner. “We have nothing to hide.”

“There must be another way down,” said Rodriguez, backing away.

Brenner heard the arming of the Naxian rifle.

“Do not do anything foolish,” said Brenner.

Rodriguez was somewhere behind him. He was not, presumably, as Brenner was, standing on the edge of the cliff, outlined against the sky.

“Something is coming from the trees!” said Brenner. “It is alone! No, it is being followed! It is a Pon. It is being pursued by other Pons!”

“Look here!” cried Rodriguez. “There is a path down here, on the other side. And there is a valley between cliffs. There are openings of some sort in the far cliff.”

“Come here!” said Brenner.

“The openings are not natural,” said Rodriguez. “They are squared, rectangular.”

“It is running this way!” said Brenner.

“I think it is a burial place, a graveyard,” said Rodriguez.

The tiny Pon, several yards before its pursuers, hurried into the amphitheater.

“It’s below!” said Brenner. “This may be a place of sanctuary!”

“Do not let them see you!” said Rodriguez.

“It is on the platform!” said Brenner.

The Pon below, on the heavy platform, was casting about, wildly.

It is highly unlikely this is a place of sanctuary,” said Rodriguez. “Come away. Do not let them see you. There is a path down, on this side.”

“It sees me!” said Brenner. “So, too, do the others! They are not stopping!”

“This is no place of sanctuary,” said Rodriguez, grimly. He now stood beside Brenner, in full view. He had his arm in the sling of the weapon, to steady it, in firing.

The fleeing Pon, having seen Brenner, now began to scramble up the cliff side.

“What are they going to do to it?” asked Brenner.

“Ki11 it,” speculated Rodriguez.

“No!” said Brenner.

In an instant the fleeing Pon had reached Brenner and, whimpering and howling, clutched his leg, pressing itself against it.

The other Pons, below, on the path up, stopped. The path was narrow, and Brenner and Rodriguez, even without the rifle, could have defended it against such tiny foes, however militant.

“She is frightened,” said Brenner. He touched the head of the Pon, soothingly.

“It is a she?” said Rodriguez.

“Certainly,” said Brenner.

“You are aware that distances have been breached,” said Rodriguez.

The Pon looked up at Brenner, her eyes wide. Her nostrils, almost flat with her face, opened and closed. The downlike hair on the tiny face glistened with sweat.

“Do not be afraid,” said Brenner.

She pulled at his pants’ leg.

“I do not understand,” said Brenner.

“If it was a pet ferric, you’d understand,” said Rodriguez. “She wants you to go with her.”

“It is all right,” said Brenner to the other Pons, several of which were on the ascent, and several others of which were below, on the platform, or on the flooring of the amphitheater. Several carried tiny, pointed sticks. “Nothing is wrong. Everything is all right now.” He then said to the Pon near him. “Do not be afraid. I won’t let them hurt you.”

Again she pulled at his pants’ leg.

“She wants you to go back to the village,” said Rodriguez. “There is some reason.”

“I don’t understand,” said Brenner.

“It is no accident she is here,” said Rodriguez. “The village knew we went this way. She doubtless came looking for you. She wants you to go back with her.”

“Then we will go back,” said Brenner. He then faced the other Pons, very calmly. “We will go back home,” he said. “Things are all right now. There is no trouble. We will go back home now.”

They looked at him for a moment, and then those on the path turned about, and began to descend.

“I think you have managed it,” said Rodriguez, removing the rifle sling from his arm.

Brenner picked up the quivering Pon in his arms, gently. She weighed no more than twenty to thirty Commonworld pounds. He then, carefully, began the descent, toward the platform, and the flooring of the amphitheater. Rodriguez revolved the plating on the rifle, returning it to its normal guise.