Leila shook her head. It wasn’t the boy’s fault. And Serebur? couldn’t be blamed, either. Both she and her husband had prayed for a child, for more than three years. It was the shrine that was to have saved their family’s lineage. It was all because of the shrine.
She still mourned the loss of Serebur?, and every night, Leila replayed in her mind the scenes that ended their life together—as if by reliving the events she might somehow change their outcome. But of course things had not changed, and these days she knew better than most that the worst death of all was the death of hope. And so Leila habitually relived the past inside her head. It always began with her childhood friendship with Serebur?, then their wedding. And though their marriage had been cut short, she smiled at the thought that they had known more love than many people knew in a lifetime. The only imperfection in the union between their two families was that, after three years, she had not yet produced a male heir—or any child at all.
The couple knew that women had begun to whisper behind Leila’s back, and at first she and her husband did their best to ignore it. But when the men began to taunt Serebur?, he responded with violence. During a particularly brutal fight, one of his opponents had lost an eye.
Sensing their plight, and concerned that the conflict might generate more violence if they did not intervene, the tribe’s spiritual leaders, including Leila’s own father, summoned Serebur? to the smoke-filled hut of the cacique. That night the medicine men’s magic sent Serebur? into the Place of Visions, and there he remained for two days.
Upon his return, Leila’s husband revealed nothing about what had taken place, but each morning thereafter, he awoke from uneasy dreams, and soon he began speaking as if possessed.
“I saw . . . a dead city,” Serebur? told her at last. Leila noticed that his voice had taken on an unfamiliar monotone. “And within the city, a shrine. We must go there.”
She asked him why.
“If we do this, if we leave an offering, the forest and the river spirits will grant us our child.”
Leila had never heard of this particular shrine, but like others in her tribe, she was familiar with stories that told of a Lost City, a city built deep within the stone cliffs that soared above their valley. But Leila recalled other stories as well, stories that explained why the city was never to be visited. There were demons inhabiting the lost world behind the cliffs and it was said that they would kill any intruder. These were the tales parents told their children at night, stories meant to keep them from wandering too far from their mothers or behaving badly. And like the other monsters of her childhood, the Night Demons too had faded to a dim memory by the time Leila reached adulthood. Leila was torn between knowing that the shrine might not exist and a belief that the most important truths were sometimes hidden in dreams. In the end, she decided to make the two-day journey with her husband, in spite of her forebodings.
Leila remembered Serebur? uncovering a steep trail that clung to the rock wall. The wall itself had irregularly shaped sections that frequently jutted out into the path. Some of the protrusions had been carved to resemble strange animals—a stone jaguar straining its petrified muscles as if about to hurl itself into the void . . . a half-formed caiman struggling to be born out of solid rock.
On several occasions, Leila was convinced that she saw movement out of the corner of an eye, a shifting of shadows among the moss-shrouded crags and crevices. But whenever she looked more closely, the shadows were still.
The couple made their way upward until at last they stood beside a vertical scar that seemed to have been torn into the side of the cliff face. It was twice the height of a man and nearly as wide as it was tall.
As Serebur? prepared the red-glow lantern he had been instructed to bring, Leila peered into the cave and gave an involuntary shudder. Although it was midday, the light barely penetrated into a darkness that knew no end. Even more unsettling was a wind coming from inside the earth. It moaned as it passed them, carrying with it a rich earthy scent.
Cautiously, they moved into a spacious antechamber and, crossing it, they came to a steadily narrowing passageway. Here the scent was stronger, much stronger.
Like mushrooms and black soil, Leila thought, but just as she identified the scent with something safe and commonplace, she noticed that the current of air bore something else as well—something heard—yet unheard.
Singing, Leila thought, as the couple descended into the throat of the plateau.
Serebur? tried to quicken their pace toward the sound, holding the lantern-torch in one hand and gripping Leila’s hand in the other.
For a reason she could not explain, Leila stood her ground. In fact, she leaned forward, straining to hear the strange song below the cave wind.
I will conceive a child, she thought.