From the Ocean from teh Stars (75 page)

line of stone which would have dwarfed the mightiest giants of Diaspar.
It was so far away that its details were blurred by sheer distance, but
there was something about its outlines that Alvin found puzzling. Then
his eyes became at last accustomed to the scale of that colossal landscape, and he knew that those far-off walls had not been built by man.

Time had not conquered everything; Earth still possessed mountains
of which she could be proud.

For a long time Alvin stood at the mouth of the tunnel, slowly growing accustomed to the strange world in which he had found himself. He
was half stunned by the impact of sheer size and space; that ring of
misty mountains could have enclosed a dozen cities as large as Diaspar.
Search as he might, however, Alvin could see no trace of human life.
Yet the road that led down the hillside seemed well-kept; he could do no
better than accept its guidance.

At the foot of the hill, the road disappeared between great trees that
almost hid the sun. As Alvin walked into their shadow, a strange medley
of scents and sounds greeted him. The rustle of the wind among the
leaves he had known before, but underlying that were a thousand vague
noises that conveyed nothing to his mind. Unknown odors assailed him,
smells that had been lost even to the memory of his race. The warmth,
the profusion of scent and color, and the unseen presences of a million
living things, smote him with almost physical violence.

He came upon the lake without any warning. The trees to the right
suddenly ended, and before him was a great expanse of water, dotted
with tiny islands. Never in his life had Alvin seen so much water; by
comparison, the largest pools in Diaspar were scarcely more than pud
dles. He walked slowly down to the edge of the lake and cupped the
warm water in his hands, letting it trickle through his fingers.

The great silver fish that suddenly forced its way through the under
water reeds was the first nonhuman creature that Alvin had ever seen.
It should have been utterly strange to him, yet its shape teased his mind
with a haunting familiarity. As it hung there in the pale green void,
its fins a faint blur of motion, it seemed the very embodiment of power and speed. Here, incorporated in living flesh, were the graceful lines of
the great ships that had once ruled the skies of Earth. Evolution and
science had come to the same answers; and the work of Nature had lasted longer.

At last Alvin broke the lake's enchantment, and continued along the
winding road. The forest closed around him once more, but only for a
little while. Presently the road ended, in a great clearing half a mile

wide and twice as long—and Alvin understood why he had seen no trace of Man before.

The clearing was full of low, two-storied buildings, colored in soft
shades that rested the eye even in the full glare of the sun. Most were of clean, straightforward design, but several were built in a complex architectural style involving the use of fluted columns and gracefully fretted
stone. In these buildings, which seemed of great age, the immeasurably
ancient device of the pointed arch was used.

As he walked slowly toward the village, Alvin was still struggling to
grasp his new surroundings. Nothing was familiar; even the air had
changed, with its hint of throbbing, unknown life. And the tall, golden-
haired people going among the buildings with such unconscious grace
were obviously of a different stock from the men of Diaspar.

They took no notice of Alvin, and that was strange, for his clothing
was totally different from theirs. Since the temperature never changed in
Diaspar, dress there was purely ornamental and often extremely elabo
rate. Here it seemed mainly functional, designed for use rather than display, and frequently consisted of a single sheet draped around the
body.

It was not until Alvin was well inside the village that the people of
Lys reacted to his presence, and then their response took a somewhat unexpected form. A group of five men emerged from one of the houses
and began to walk purposefully toward him—almost as if, indeed, they
had been expecting his arrival. Alvin felt a sudden, heady excitement,
and the blood pounded in his veins. He thought of all the fateful meetings
men must have had with other races on far-off worlds. Those he was
meeting now were of his own species—but how far had they diverged in
the aeons that had sundered them from Diaspar?

The delegation came to a halt a few feet away from Alvin. Its leader
smiled, holding out his hand in the ancient gesture of friendship.

"We thought it best to meet you here," he said. "Our home is very different from Diaspar, and the walk from the terminus gives visitors a
chance to become—acclimatized."

Alvin accepted the outstretched hand, but for a moment was too
surprised to reply. Now he understood why all the other villagers had
ignored him so completely.

"You knew I was coming?" he said at length.

"Of course. We always know when the carriers start to move. Tell
me—how did you discover the way? It has been such a long time since
the last visit that we feared the secret had been lost."

The speaker was interrupted by one of his companions.

"I think we'd better restrain our curiosity, Gerane. Seranis is waiting."

The name "Seranis" was preceded by a word unfamiliar to Alvin,
and he assumed that it was a title of some kind. He had no difficulty
in understanding the others, and it never occurred to him that there was
anything surprising about this. Diaspar and Lys shared the same linguistic
heritage, and the ancient invention of sound recording had long ago frozen
speech in an unbreakable mold.

Gerane gave a shrug of mock resignation. "Very well," he smiled.
"Seranis has few privileges—I should not rob her of this one."

As they walked deeper into the village, Alvin studied the men around
him. They appeared kindly and intelligent, but these were virtues he
had taken for granted all his life, and he was looking for ways in which
they differed from a similar group in Diaspar. There were differences,
but it was hard to define them. They were all somewhat taller than Alvin,
and two of them showed the unmistakable marks of physical age. Their skins were very brown, and in all their movements they seemed to radiate
a vigor and zest which Alvin found refreshing, though at the same time
a little bewildering. He smiled as he remembered Khedron's prophecy
that, if he ever reached Lys, he would find it exactly the same as Diaspar.

The people of the village now watched with frank curiosity as Alvin
followed his guides; there was no longer any pretense that they took him
for granted. Suddenly there were shrill, high-pitched shouts from the trees on the right, and a group of small, excited creatures burst out of
the woods and crowded around Alvin. He stopped in utter amazement,
unable to believe his eyes. Here was something that his world had lost
so long ago that it lay in the realms of mythology. This was the way that
life had once begun; these noisy, fascinating creatures were human
children.

Alvin watched them with wondering disbelief—and with another sensation which tugged at his heart but which he could not yet identify.
No other sight could have brought home to him so vividly his remoteness
from the world he knew. Diaspar had paid, and paid in full, the price of
immortality.

The party halted before the largest building Alvin had yet seen. It
stood in the center of the village and from a flagpole on its small circular
tower a green pennant floated along the breeze.

All but Gerane dropped behind as he entered the building. Inside it
was quiet and cool; sunlight filtering through the translucent walls lit up
everything with a soft, restful glow. The floor was smooth and resilient, inlaid with fine mosaics. On the walls, an artist of great ability and power
had depicted a set of forest scenes. Mingled with these paintings were

other murals which conveyed nothing to Alvin's mind, yet which were
attractive and pleasant to look upon. Let into one wall was a rectangular screen filled with a shifting maze of colors—presumably a visiphone
receiver, though a rather small one.

They walked together up a short circular stairway that led them out
onto the flat roof of the building. From this point, the entire village was
visible, and Alvin could see that it consisted of about a hundred build
ings. In the distance the trees opened out to enclose wide meadows,
where animals of several different types were grazing. Alvin could not
imagine what these were; most of them were quadrupeds, but some
seemed to have six or even eight legs.

Seranis was waiting for him in the shadow of the tower. Alvin won
dered how old she was; her long, golden hair was touched with gray,
which he guessed must be some indication of age. The presence of children, with all the consequences that implied, had left him very confused.
Where there was birth, then surely there must also be death, and the life
span here in Lys might be very different from that in Diaspar. He could
not tell whether Seranis was fifty, five hundred, or five thousand years
old, but looking into her eyes he could sense that wisdom and depth of
experience he sometimes felt when he was with Jeserac.

She pointed to a small seat, but though her eyes smiled a welcome
she said nothing until Alvin had made himself comfortable—or as com
fortable as he could be under that intense though friendly scrutiny. Then
she sighed, and addressed Alvin in a low, gentle voice.

"This is an occasion which does not often arise, so you will excuse
me if I do not know the correct behavior. But there are certain rights due
to a guest, even if an unexpected one. Before we talk, there is something about which I should warn you. I can read your mind."

She smiled at Alvin's obvious consternation, and added quickly:
"There is no need to let that worry you. No right is respected more
strongly than that of mental privacy. I will enter your mind only if you
invite me to. But it would not be fair to hide this fact from you, and it
will explain why we find speech somewhat slow and diflSicult. It is not
often used here."

This revelation, though slightly alarming, did not surprise Alvin. Once
both men and machines had possessed this power, and the unchanging machines could still read their masters' orders. But in Diaspar, man him
self had lost the gift he had once shared with his slaves.

"I do not know what brought you from your world to ours," continued
Seranis, "but if you are looking for life, your search has ended. Apart
from Diaspar, there is only desert beyond our mountains."

It was strange that Alvin, who had questioned accepted beliefs so
often before, did not doubt the words of Seranis. His only reaction was
one of sadness that all his teaching had been so nearly true.

"Tell me about Lys," he begged. "Why have you been cut off from
Diaspar for so long, when you seem to know so much about us?"

Seranis smiled at his eagerness.

"Presently," she said. "But first I would like to know something about
you. Tell me how you found the way here, and why you came."

Haltingly at first, and then with growing confidence, Alvin told his story. He had never spoken with such freedom before; here at last was
someone who would not laugh at his dreams, because they knew those
dreams were true. Once or twice Seranis interrupted him with swift
questions, when he mentioned some aspect of Diaspar that was unfamiliar
to her. It was hard for Alvin to realize that things which were part of his
everyday life would be meaningless to someone who had never lived in
the city and knew nothing of its complex culture and social organization. Seranis listened with such understanding that he took her comprehension
for granted; not until much later did he realize that many other minds
besides hers were listening to his words.

When he had finished, there was silence for a while. Then Seranis
looked at him and said quietly: "Why did you come to Lys?"

Alvin glanced at her in surprise.

"I've told you," he said. "I wanted to explore the world. Everyone
told me that there was only desert beyond the city, but I had to see for
myself."

"And was that the only reason?"

Alvin hesitated. When at last he answered, it was not the indomitable
explorer who spoke, but the lost child who had been born into an alien
world.

"No," he said slowly, "that wasn't the only reason—though I did not
know it until now. I was lonely."

"Lonely? In Diaspar?" There was a smile on the lips of Seranis, but
sympathy in her eyes, and Alvin knew that she expected no further
answer.

Now that he had told his story, he waited for her to keep her share of the bargain. Presently Seranis rose to her feet and began to pace to
and fro on the roof.

"I know the questions you wish to ask," she said. "Some of them I
can answer, but it would be wearisome to do it in words. If you
will open your mind to me, I will tell you what you need to know. You
can trust me: I will take nothing from you without your permission."