'The God Wall,' Ogram said tersely. 'You'll find out about it soon enough.'
They climbed for a few minutes in silence. Trees with heavy gray bark towered above them, shading them with large, blue-green leaves. There was no path, but Karyn DiMemmo seemed to know her
way well enough. Paul moved carefully, watching |
his step. Heavy underbrush pulled at him.
'How far is it?' he asked.
'Half a kil,' Ogram answered. 'Take us a few minutes.'
The slope steepened. The forest thinned, and the William Greenleaf
68
ground became rocky with patches of vegetation showing through. They climbed past several large outcroppings of pink-veined rock, and large boulders that looked as if they were on the verge of tumbling down the slope. The boulders were oddly uniform, with rounded comers. Then Paul realized they were arranged in two curved rows that ran ten meters or more across the slope of the hill. A barrier—and when he looked closer he saw that it was a lethal one. Each boulder was held in place by a pair of wooden angle braces. Ropes attached to each brace trailed away up the slope.
They live in a cave, and their defense consists of throwing big rocks, he thought wonderingly. They picked their way carefully through the barrier. Beyond it were a few scattered benches made of roughly cut wood. A thin wisp of smoke spiraled upward from a primitive fire pit. Beyond the pit loomed the mouth of a large cave. A big man at the entrance sat on a sawed tree stump and worked at something he held in his hands. Wood shavings lay on the ground at his feet. He wore rough coveralls and a shaggy beard. He looked up at the approaching group and pushed himself to his feet.
'Hey, Dorland!'
Dorland stopped to take the man's hand. 'Olaf. It's good to see you.'
'You, too, boy.' The big man shook his hand. Dorland introduced Paul, and the man named
Olaf shook his hand. Then his eyes went back to Dorland. 'You shouldn't have come back. I told Sabastian to leave you alone.' He seemed to run out of breath. When he drew another, Paul heard an unhealthy rattle. 'He wouldn't listen to me.'
'Are you all right?' Dorland had a concerned look on his face.
'Aw, yeah. A little lungspot, that's all.' Olaf paused for another rattling breath. 'All they let me
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do around here is cook, if you can believe that.' He laughed, then broke into a fit of coughing. When it was over, he hooked a thumb toward the cave.
'You better go see Sabastian. I'll fix up a big pot of stew for supper.'
'This way,' Karyn said, obviously impatient. Paul and Dorland followed her into the cave. Just inside the opening, an older man sat hunched over a rough wooden table. His attention was on something that had been disassembled and laid out across the table. A machine, but unrecognizable to Paul—an odd assortment of springs and cylinders and other small pieces. A few hand tools were arranged carefully on one side of the table. A woven basket on the ground beside the table held more parts.
The old man carefully fitted a thumb-sized cylinder over the end of a tube and tightened something at the end of the cylinder with a bladed tool. Then he placed the tool on the table and leaned back in the chair to regard Dorland.
'Do you know what this is?' he asked, holding up the cylinder-and-tube assembly. His voice was dry and gravelly.
Dorland looked more closely at the object. 'It's part of a power pack for a light globe.'
'That's right. We had twelve of them when you were here. Now we're down to three. When those are gone, we will be forced to light wooden torches at night.' Nobody had bothered with introductions, but Paul had already decided the old man was Dorland's uncle, Sabastian Avery. He was lanky, with a face composed of harsh angles and straight lines. His skin was sun-darkened and wrinkled. The family resemblance was unmistakable; in Sabastian's dark, brooding eyes, heavy brows and thick black hair, Paul saw an older version of Dorland.
