“You'll see.”
And when he got into the grav car to make the drive, she said, “Oh, I so wish you could fly.”
“So do I, Leah,” he said, pulling the car into the drifting leaves that settled from the yellow trees onto the rough, black road. “So do I.”
The car hummed down the tree-shrouded lane.
Proteus sat in back, inches above the seat, bored — if such an emotion were possible for a plasti-plasma robot.
Davis knew the temple when they came in sight of it. Twin hills peaked breastlike against the backdrop of yellow mountains, and each was adorned with a giant structure. On the first hill there was a building composed of nine huge towers all joined in the middle to form a giant central chamber. Great teardrop entry portals split the gray-brown stone here and there. This was the temple. On the other breast, perched like a rakish nipple, lay the Sanctuary, a manmade block of ugly cement. Behind both, creeping close to them, were the terribly dense forests of the yellow mountains, the great, broad-leafed yil trees.
They stopped the car before the temple and waited until it settled onto its rubber rim, then got out.
Above the Sanctuary on the other hill several hundred yards away, half a dozen female angels floated on the breezes of autumn. The cool air carried their tinkling laughter to Davis and Leah: bells, Chinese wind chimes, water trickling into a jug.
One of the angels flew at the thick trees, her wings dazzling with refracted sunlight. She turned fifty yards from the edge of the woods and flew back to the others who giggled and squealed with delight.
Fascinated, Davis stood by Leah, watching them.
Another of the Demosian beauties swept away from the group and moved to within ten feet of the forest, hung there an instant, came back to the others like a triumphant child who has walked a dark alley without collapsing of fright.
The girls cheered.
A third soared to the challenge, crossed over the trees and hovered over them, dipped and swayed just over the tops of the branches and the brilliant yellow leaves. She came back slowly, proudly. As she approached them, the other five cherubs went wild with excited chattering and squeals of laughter.
“What are they doing?” he asked Leah at last, unconsciously taking her tiny hand in one of his giant, callused mitts and effectively swallowing it with his own hard flesh.
“The legends say the woods are haunted. The girls are playing a game that is centuries old: Daring the Demons of the Woods.”
“You believe in spirits?”
“Not really.” She watched the girls a moment. “It just helps to pass the time anymore.”
“Then how did something like this get started?”
Her hand was a hot ball of flesh in his fist.
“The woods are a great danger, for one thing.”
“Why?”
“We cannot fly in there. The trees are so thick that their branches restrict flight. If we should be chased by a wolf or some other fierce creature of the mountains, we wouldn't have a chance. We're too delicate for running much of a distance. Flight is our only escape', and the trees would deny us that. So we stay out of the woods. Time, then, builds up legends of demons. We are as superstitious a people, in some ways, as you men of Earth.”
Davis smiled. “Fascinating! It has to go into the book.”
They watched the game.
“Will I be in your book?” she asked at last.
“But of course! I think you'll even be the heroine.”
She laughed and wiggled her hand in his.
He drew her closer, not taking time to think that the gesture was exactly the one he should be avoiding at all costs. “Shall we look at the temple?”
“Yes!” she said enthusiastically. “You'll want that in your book too.”
They entered at the base of one of the immense towers and walked through stone corridors into the huge central chamber where the nine towers met. The bare floor, cobbled in crimson and pitch, stretched some hundred feet to a granite slab framed by stone candlesticks as tall as a tall man. Behind this altar was an enormous face which composed an entire wall of the church, stretching 120 feet overhead, 90 feet from ear to ear. The vacant black eyes were 30 feet across, 16 feet high. The nose was an elongated boulder punctuated by nostrils that were really caverns almost large enough to drive a grav car into. The full-lipped mouth was carved in loving detail, the broad teeth showing grayly in a benevolent smile.
“What is it?” he asked.
“The Face of God,” she said. “Come on. Let's go inside.”
“Inside?”
“Come on.”
She tugged at his hand, drew him toward the Face of God. At the chin, they stopped while she tugged at a granite mole and swung a stone door outward. Behind, there were steps chiseled from the rock: broad, rugged platforms that led upwards into darkness. They climbed them, moving from the gray light that flushed through the open door into a dense blackness, then into another area of soft illumination that filtered down from above. Eventually, they came out of the gloomy stairwell into a passageway wide enough for three men to walk abreast. Ahead lay circles of brighter light in the grayness. When they got to these, he found they were the result of light passing through the giant eyes. They were directly behind the godly orbs, looking out and down on an empty temple.
“Isn't it wonderful?” she asked.
He nodded, truly struck with the beauty of the place. “What is the passage for?”
“The bishop would sit up here on holy days that demanded his presence.”
“Tell me about this god,” he said, running his hands along the rims of the eyes. “What was believed of him?”
She abruptly pulled away from him and turned to look stiffly out over the empty pews.
“What's the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Something's the matter. Have I violated a taboo?”
“No. Of course not.”
“What, then?”
“He was the god—” Her voice broke into a miserable gasping. She silenced herself, tried to collect her wits. “I should not have brought you here.”
“Why?”
“He—”
Then he knew; much as men are visited by great revelations in biblical stories, he was touched by the understanding of what she was trying to say but could not. He grasped her and held her against his chest, held her tightly and closely. She cried on his shoulder while he stroked the mane of her hair. “He was the god—” Davis began, trying to say it for her. His own voice broke and refused to speak the rest of it.
She sank to her knees, and he knelt with her. On the floor, together, they cradled each other.
He found his voice again where it cowered in his throat. “He was the god of fertility, wasn't he? The god of the future.”
She nodded her head against his chest.
“Don't cry,” he said, knowing the foolishness of the statement. Her people were dead, the last of her kind were dying. Why the hell shouldn't she cry?
His curses were like a litany on his tongue, spurting between his tears and echoing about the stone corridor within the head of God. He held her, rocked with her. He lifted her face and kissed her nose. It was tiny and warm against his lips. He kissed her cheeks, neck, hair, lips… And she kissed back, with enthusiasm. He felt her tongue against his, her tears mingled with his.
