black and white horse. And the white star on its forehead was dabbed with red, a circle centred by a double dot – If this newcomer was not the wizard Bokatan, then he had acquired Bokatan’s favourite mount, which had been described to Storm in advance. This would not be too impossible. Storm remained where he was, his bow ready.
“Hoooooooooo!” The call was the twitter of Norbie speech prolonged into a high-pitched hoot. Out of the rock, seemingly, Dagotag arose to meet the wizard. At least the party now had their promised guide.
Before nightfall they had crossed the invisible border of the taboo land, to camp that night on the banks of a swollen stream. The water was red with silt, whirling along uprooted bushes and even small trees. Sorenson surveyed it critically.
“You can have too much of a good thing. We have to depend upon the mountain rains for water. But, on the other hand, flash floods in these narrow gorges can wipe out a party such as ours in a matter of seconds. Tomorrow we’ll have to parallel this as long as we can to water the horses. Let us hope the level begins to drop instead of to rise –”
Before noon the next day, not only was the flood dwindling but Bokatan pointed them away from it, using as a guide for their new direction something that excited them all. There was no mistaking the artificial origin of that low black ridge, running at right angles to the north-east.
Storm measured it roughly with his hand, finding it about a foot wide, though raised only a few inches from the ground. It was wedge-shaped with the narrower edge straight up. To the touch it was not stone, nor metal, at least no stone nor metal he had ever seen before. And its purpose remained a mystery. A knife blade made no impression, but under prodding fingers the substance had a faintly greasy feel, though neither dry soil nor leaves clung to its surface. Nor would Surra put paw on it. She sniffed dubiously at the ridge, plainly avoiding contact, sneezing twice and shaking her head in her gesture of distaste.
“Like a rail,” Mac commented, and whacked the first pack horse on, though that animal, too, picked a way that did not bring it close to the black ridge.
Sorenson stopped to snap tri-dee prints of the thing though Bokatan urged the party to hurry. “Up!” his fingers counselled. “Up and through the hole in the earth before sun sets – then you may look upon the valley of the sealed ones –”
Already the cliffs rose so high that the light of the sun did not penetrate to the floor of the canyon through which they passed, and gathering shadows thickened almost to dusk as they rode along by the black rail.
Death defiles, that old belief of his people haunted Storm, while his modern training denied it. A man who touched the dead, or their possessions, dwelt under a roof where death had been, was unclean, accursed. This black ridge was like a thread wrought by the dead to draw others into the house of the dead – He blinked, shrugged the blanket about his shoulders, dropping a little behind the rest as he fumbled in his belt pouch for an object he had fashioned during their noon halt.
The Terran did not dismount, but leaned far from his riding pad, holding that small sliver of wood plumed at one end with two of Baku’s feathers. It had been shaped with the aid of one of his war arrows after immemorial custom, and now he aimed its point at the alien rail – if rail it was. The prayer stick caught and held in some infinitesimal crack of the substance, standing unwavering, its feathers triumphantly erect.
One magic against another. Storm clicked his tongue to Rain and the horse trotted on to catch up, just as a turn in the canyon brought them to what Bokatan could well term the “hole” in the earth.
If they had not been able to see the brightness of sunlight ahead, Storm would have protested against entering the place. For the tunnel opening was like an open mouth, fanged at the upper arch with regular pointed projections of the same substance as the rail that had led them here. What purpose those projections had originally served, the explorers could not guess. Now they resembled nothing so much as teeth ready to close upon the unwary. And Storm envied Baku who could wing aloft and cross the mountain barrier in the free air.
Though the tunnel was a short one, open at both ends, within it the air was stale to taste and smell, as if no cleansing wind had ever flown through. Surra took the passage in a rush, the horses pounding after her, until they burst out into the brilliant blaze of the sun again, to find themselves at one end of a much larger valley.
“This is a leg-breaking do, if I ever saw one!” Mac exploded – rightly. For before them was a choked stretch of debris, tumbled blocks of the black material overgrown with generations of vines and brush.
Sorenson dismounted. “Some kind of a building – perhaps a gatehouse for defence –” He was reaching for his tri-dee camera when Bokatan pushed to the fore.
“Into the valley now – night come here – bad –”
Reluctantly Sorenson agreed. Storm was already afoot, his horse’s reins hooked over his arm, ready to help Mac with the pack train, while the Norbies strung out, scouting the easiest way through the maze before them. Storm, threading a narrow path between banks of the broken black material, decided this was an excellent trap, certainly not any trail to be travelled after dark.
“I’d like to know what happened here.” Mac puffed up to join the Terran, towing the grey lead horse of the pack train. “Looks like somebody got real mad and loosed a buster where it would do the most harm – don’t it now?”
Storm gazed at the ruins about them for the first time with interest in the debris itself, not just regarding it as an entanglement through which they must worm their way. He still did not care to make too close an inspection, but Mac’s suggestion was shrewdly taken. An earthquake might have reduced a stoutly built structure to this, but mere lapse of time – no. And outside of a convulsion of nature there remained only war. Yet nowhere in the tradition of the Norbies was there any reference to war as the reason for the withdrawal of the sealed ones.
“Yes – a buster –” Mac scrambled ahead. “Or maybe a good, big flood.”
“Or a series of floods –” That was Sorenson catching up as they paused to rest the horses. “Look there!” Now that he pointed out the high watermarks on the wall of the valley the others could not miss them.
“Do you suppose that tunnel acts as a drain?” hazarded Storm.
“If it wasn’t originally intended for that use, it must serve now – and has done so for a good many years. There’s a large lake in the valley according to Bokatan – a few flash floods and the overflow must seek an outlet –”
The ruins sprawled for half a mile of hard going. Then they came into the course of a dry river bed fronting a sharp slope. The black rail ran straight ahead, to be hidden in the earth of the slope that perhaps had accumulated since the builders of the black wedge had laid it down.
Up the slope they trudged and stood on the verge of a broad dam, which controlled the stagnant-looking, brown water of quite a sizeable lake. And beyond the opposite shore of that dank lake was the rest of the valley.
Dotted in the lake itself and along its shores were mounds of weathered and overgrown debris. The remains of a city? Sorenson sighed and pulled off his hat, wiping his arm across his flushed dusty face.
“We may not have found the Caves,” he said slowly, “but we have found something. Go ahead and make camp, boys, I want all the shots of this I can get before the light is gone!”
They made camp on an inlet of the lake and Storm took over the job of dampening down the ground with insect repellent. He noticed that the Norbies did not range far away and that the natives piled their hide night shelters well within the circle of the fire glow.
Mac surveyed the wealth of mounds. “If we’re going to dig, we have plenty of places to choose from. Only maybe you “n” me “n” Sorenson’s goin’ to have to do most of it. Norbies don’t ever take kindly to usin’ shovels –”
“About all we can do on this trip is map.” Sorenson came down at last to join them. “Maybe open a test trench or two. A couple of small finds to impress the directors would help out a lot. But if this site is as good as it looks, we’d need a more permanent camp and a dozen years to really clean it out. Bokatan” – he appealed to their guide – “this water,” he signed, ‘does it go with the coming of the big dry, or does it stay?”
The Norbie’s hands spread in a gesture of bafflement. “Bokatan come only in wet times – no see in dry. But water much –no think go away when big dry comes –”
“I’m inclined to believe that,” Sorenson said happily. That means we can think about year around work here.”
“If you don’t get too much water,” Storm returned. “From the evidence of those high watermarks there have been floods clear across this space.”
The Survey man refused to be dismayed by that. “If necessary we can pitch camp back against the cliffs to
