The Island Under the Earth (16 page)

Troscegac the augur spoke often to himself, for he was not yet used to being
one
again. “There is an oddness in the air, is there not?” he asked. “And has been, somehow, since the rainy night. Odd … odd … indefinable, indescribable … had that night not been so overcast, we might have seen a thing or two to shed as it were light upon the subject.” He issued a brief titter. “Eh, not so? To be sure. Or unsure, as the case may equally be. Or be not. Perhaps we unnecessarily perturb ourselves, awaiting upon starflux, upon earthflux. We say that they are yet to come. Perhaps. This is but assumption, this is but uncertainty. What is certain and what alone is certain is that they have already been. That they have already been, all men must agree. That they are yet to be again, all men need not necessarily agree. One cries out and declares, ‘He is coming!’ and at the selfsame moment another declares and cries out, ‘He has already gone!’ Which is a-right? May not both be right? Certainly. It all depends on where each one is standing at the time….

“For the whole is contained within each of its parts. That is to say, all events are contained within each event, as Gortecas and Castegor are contained within Troscegac, as elements of every part of a quickworm are contained within any part of a quickworm: cut it into never so many pieces, will not each piece and part regenerate itself into an whole? Assuredly.” He coughed and spet and waggled his head. “Many philosophers,” he said, “have disputed the question, Does the future indeed follow the past? or does it perhaps precede it? If time is cyclical in nature like a turning wheel, need the wheel and does the wheel turn ever in only one direction? and what, if anything, precludes the wheel from reversing itself? before, during, after any full turn is made — in which case might not the past in a very actual sense come before the future? Hence, need there truly be sequences? may there not be simultaneity?

“Is not the present a cross-section of eternity?”

And so he babbled on. The corsairs said nothing; they nothing understood. Lo said nothing; he was still from fear. Spahana said nothing; what should she say? The rim of the plate turned round and round and round, the scenes seemed but all phases of the same one scene: captivity. The mute said nothing, for no word could he say, and for the moment he forebore even to hiss.

• • •

In between the half-hills and the sea is a wide, wide area, rather like a vast dish, and here certain things took place. Someone looking down from dead above might regard them indeed as scenes painted upon the rim of a platter. Someone might see these scenes alive and not be aware of which came first to life and being. It might not matter in the least. The matter might well be unanswerable. But, as with a circle, one measures its circumference by beginning at any point, there being neither proper beginning nor proper end, so imagine the observer to begin by descrying a group of armed men standing off a group of attacking centaurs. And next would be a scene showing a few unarmed men turning here and there in confusion and alarm. And going further round the rim is seen a woman standing by herself. And now comes a single centaur from off the scene entirely, swift at the gallop, hair and beard and mane and pelt all silvery. And next appear two further armed men and one sees the woman and cries out something, so:
“Spahana! Spahana!”
The woman turns and sees him, the woman begins to raise her arms towards him, the woman throws one arm across her face quite suddenly, the woman cries to anyone who might listen something which might be, “Oh, tell him I am not yet ready — ” and throws up both her arms and reaches out to and is caught up by the silvery centaur and vaulted over his back and gone, and gone, and gone, dwindling, dwindling —

And now, suddenly, every ear is bent and every face changes tenor and there comes a strident shrillness and there comes a dull and heavy, heavy humming. Now, suddenly and all is terribly changed. There comes a noise like the bellowing of great bulls — hundreds and thousands and myriads of great bulls; there comes a noise like the shrilling of endless swarms of great bats; a noise like gigant bull-roarers; men stop and look up and around, centaurs stop and look around and up, from every throat a cry of terror comes before terror stills every throat —

For that perpetual obscurity in the corner of the sky has begun to brighten and to clear, that fixed and immovable tangent has come unfixed and has begun to move, and even had its starry warning not gone unperceived, what could either four limbs or six have done or do now either to prepare or to resist or flee? — it gathers speed, and, shield dropped and disregarded, it tears itself loose from its eternal corner of the firmament and now appears for a sole second as a gigant disk all strangely marked and then with its rumblethunder-rumblethunder it slides into a thin bright line and expands into a spindle stretching from horizon to horizon and spins across the sky: earthquake, skyquake, seaquake, rain, thunder, waterspouts, earthspouts, going up, coming down, lightning, hail, showers of burning stones, brightness, darkness, heaven become hell —

The centaurs stoop and squat and piddle in fear, the men let drop their arms and fall face down upon the shaking ground:
“Earthflux! Earthflux! Earthflux!”
is the one common cry. Only the augur, half-thrown, half-resisting, dares to point a trembling hand, dares to cry out,
“There is the source of all our woe! — that accursed Island above the earth!”

Serving as inspiration for contemporary literature, Prologue Books, a division of F+W Media, offers readers a vibrant, living record of crime, science fiction, fantasy, western, and romance genres.

If you enjoyed this Science-Fiction title from Prologue Books, check out
Masters of the Maze
by Avram Davidson at:

www.prologuebooks.com

This edition published by
Prologue Books
a division of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
www.prologuebooks.com

Copyright © 1969 by Avram Davidson
All rights reserved.

Cover image ©
isotckphoto.com
/frentusha

Published in association with Athans & Associates Creative Consulting

Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

eISBN 10: 1-4405-4479-4
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-4479-8