No Other Love (14 page)

“Don’t be too sure of that. From what I saw
as we came in, the sea is too near for this to be Tathan, as you
believe. Tathan was miles away from the water.”

“I saw the ruins,” Merin insisted.

“Perhaps there is more than one set of ruins
on the planet.” For a moment Herne thought she might cry. Her eyes
grew wide and frightened and her face began to crumple, but within
a second she had pulled her usual smooth expression into place,
with her gaze directed to the floor. And he, who at any other time
would have welcomed any evidence of emotion from her, was relieved
to see that she would not give way to it now.

“We cannot remain immobilized inside a
useless ship,” Merin said, picking up her ever-present recorder and
moving toward the hatch. “If this is not Tathan, then we need to
know where we have landed.” She stopped with one hand at her head,
to take a gasping breath. Then she straightened with a brave lift
of her chin that tugged at Herne’s heart. He wanted to touch her
but knew she would not appreciate such a sign of his concern for
her. He confined himself to a question.

“Are you still dizzy?”

“A little,” she admitted. “It will pass.”

“I’m feeling unsettled, too, ever since that
bolt of lightning hit us.”

They stepped outside of the shuttlecraft into
brilliant, reddish sunshine, made even brighter by its reflection
off a calm blue sea. A glance at the sky showed them the
directions, and Herne could understand Merin’s insistence that she
knew where they were, for to the north rose the cliffs at the edge
of the high plateau that formed the center of the continent. From
the base of the cliffs stretched the lowland plain, its overall
configuration familiar after their previous visit. But the forest
Herne remembered from that visit was gone, and now a broad river
meandered southward across the plain until it finally met the sea
at the head of a curving harbor. There, where river and harbor
joined, lay the buildings Merin had seen.

“They don’t look like ruins to me,” Herne
said, squinting so he could see more clearly. “They are only about
a mile away. Perhaps we can find some answers there.” He began to
walk eastward, toward the buildings in the distance.

Merin went with him reluctantly, unwilling to
be left alone with the disabled shuttlecraft, yet fearing what they
might discover among the strange buildings.

“Everything I see is wrong,” she objected as
they drew nearer. “At Home it is early winter, which means that
this far into the southern hemisphere it should be late spring, yet
the vegetation is in late summer growth. I see planted farmland
where forest should be. Nothing here makes sense.

“Herne.” She caught his arm and pointed. Two
human figures had emerged from a nearby stone cottage, hoes over
their shoulders. Taking no notice of Herne and Merin, the figures
began walking toward one of the fields that stretched north toward
the cliffs.. “Herne, where are we? What has happened? Is this
real?”

“Good questions all,” Herne said. “Those two
fellows don’t look like especially welcoming types, so let’s try
that settlement up ahead. If we find nothing there, we can always
stop here on our way back to the shuttlecraft.” He walked a few
paces more before turning to look at her. “Are you coming with me,
or are you going to stand there staring?”

“I have to stare,” she told him. “As I should
have expected, my recorder isn’t working. I will have to remember
every detail so I can make an accurate report later.” With a
gesture that indicated complete bewilderment, she hurried to catch
up with Herne. They trudged on, side by side.

As they drew nearer to the harbor area, a
salty breeze touched their faces, while above them a pair of
seabirds cried. The faint sound of distant surf reached their ears.
Merin sniffed the air appreciatively.

“What is it?” Herne asked, watching her.

“It smells familiar.” She was so confused and
unsettled that she revealed too much. “I used to live by the
sea.”

“Oressia has a salty ocean?” Herne asked,
fascinated by this spontaneous remark.

“I should not have said that.” Her face grew
closed and still.

“Do you imagine we have somehow been
transported to Oressia?” he asked. “That is impossible. Though, of
course, all of this could be an illusion of some kind.”

“It’s not Oressia.” A terrible suspicion had
begun to grow in Merin’s mind, an idea so fantastic that she should
have rejected it at once. Instead, spurred by Herne’s wild
suggestion about Oressia, she began to explain to him her theory.
It was based on what she had seen as they skimmed over the area
before landing, combined with what she was now observing. “I think
what we are seeing is Tathan, but not the Tathan we visited. And I
hope it is an illusion, because if it is not…” Her words trailed
off.

“What are you saying?” Herne saw that her
face was pinched and stark white, but after a couple of deep
breaths she began again, speaking in a quiet, detached tone,
explaining the unbelievable as if it were perfectly logical.

“It is possible that over six centuries of
neglect a harbor can fill with silt deposited by a river until
there is no longer any harbor at all. Or a coastline might be
changed by an earthquake or volcanic activity. We know both are
frequent in the southern half of the continent. That could explain
the discrepancy between the geography we discovered on our earlier
expeditions and what we are seeing now. Certainly, six hundred
years would be time enough to allow a forest to grow on deserted
land.”

She had his full attention. His eyes were
boring into hers and for once she felt no need to lower her own.
There was nothing personal in his gaze, only surprise and a growing
interest in what she was saying. She went on, determined to tell
him all she suspected before she lost her nerve and became too
terrified to speak.

“I believe this is Tathan as it once was,
Tathan as we know it from the records we discovered at our
headquarters building. This is Dulan’s Tathan, but whether it is an
illusion, or whether it is real and we have been moved in time, I
do not know.” She saw Herne considering what she had said, and she
saw that he would not reject it immediately as she had half feared
he might.

“You may be right,” he said. He looked at sea
and sky, at the near by farmland and the tall cliffs in the
distance. “Tathan.”

“Shall we test my theory?” she asked. A surge
of pure recklessness urged her forward, an impulse unlike anything
she had ever known before. She knew she was still confused and more
than a bit unbalanced by what had happened to them, but she did not
care. “Shall we set our feet upon that bridge just ahead and
attempt to cross the river by it and enter the city?”

“I’ll go first,” he said. “You wait here
until I reach the other side. If that is no real bridge, you can
pull me out of the water. That’s assuming there really is a
river.”

She waited only until he had reached the
middle of the bridge before, certain the structure was solid, she
hurried after him. They entered the city together, and Merin was
not surprised to recognize the arrangement of streets and
buildings, not after helping Tarik and Osiyar to map Tathan. She
was convinced now that she was right. Somehow, she and Herne had
come to Old Tathan.

They chose a wide, tree-lined avenue and
began to walk along it. The two-story buildings on each side of the
street were perfectly simple, yet of elegant and pleasing
proportions, and all made of a rose-red stone that looked as though
it could have been quarried from the face of the cliffs where the
plateau ended. Almost every house had a lush garden.

They saw no one, but a murmur of sound drew
them onward to where the avenue ended at a large, open square. Here
at least they found evidence of busy life. The square was filled
with people, most of whom appeared to be human, clothed in bright
red, blue, or green. Produce was piled in bins beneath the striped
awnings of several shops. A few buildings away from the produce
market, a weaver worked at his loom, the previous products of his
labors draped on frames to display their many-colored patterns.
Another shop sold ready-made clothing; still another displayed
racks of leather goods.

“It seems so real,” Herne said, turning about
slowly in order not to miss a thing in the bustling square. “But
who – or what – has done this?”

“Do you really think all of this is an
illusion?” Merin asked, looking around, trying to remember
everything she saw.

“Let’s find out.” Herne stepped in front of a
red-robed figure. “Excuse me, sir. May I speak with you?” The
figure walked past him, apparently unaware of Herne’s presence.

Herne caught at the sleeve of a second
figure, but again the person simply moved away. A third and a
fourth try brought the same results.

“I gather we aren’t really here,” Herne noted
dryly, glancing at Merin.

She had been observing his attempts to make
someone notice their presence. Convinced by now that he would be
unsuccessful, she turned away to scan the crowded square, looking
for some clue to their mysterious circumstances. The crowd shifted,
giving her a new view of their surroundings. She cried out,
pointing to a building strikingly different from all the rose-stone
structures they had seen so far. This was a low white edifice, long
enough to form one side of the square. White stone steps led up to
an arched doorway. The dark wood double doors were wide open. She
recognized the building from Herne’s description. Herne stepped to
her side, following her line of sight through the moving patterns
of brightly clothed figures.

“That’s it,” Herne exclaimed. “This square
must be where we landed the shuttlecraft when we came to explore,
because that is the building I saw then.”

“Be careful,” Merin warned, but he wasn’t
listening. He made straight for the entrance. “Herne, wait.”

“No,” he said. “I intend to find out exactly
what is going on here.” With that, he mounted the steps and
disappeared through the arch.

Not wanting to remain alone among figures
that bought and sold and otherwise acted as if they were alive
while completely ignoring Herne and herself, Merin decided the only
sensible thing to do was follow him inside.

The white stone interior was as Herne had
described it to her a month before, while they had explored its
ruins. Here was the double row of columns, shaped like the columns
of their headquarters building at the lake. In the center of the
building, exactly where Herne had once told her, was the statue of
a Chon with wings upraised and beak open. There was no roof on this
section of the hall. Herne stopped beside the golden statue, and
there Merin caught up with him.

“It’s beautiful, just as you said,” she
whispered, laying one hand on the bird, her fingers tracing the
delicately carved feathers. “I have never seen such exquisite
workmanship.”

“It’s not real. It can’t be. None of this is
real. I’m certain of it now. It’s all too much like the dream I
had. It’s too perfect.”

As he spoke Herne was striding down the
length of the long chamber, taking wide steps that quickly brought
him to double doors at the far end, set in an arch that matched the
main entrance. With Merin at his heels, Herne burst through these
doors into a garden. White flowers in every conceivable shape and
size filled the garden, their mingled fragrances almost too sweet
and heavy for human nose and throat and lungs to tolerate.

“Where is the grotto?” Herne glared at the
high white wall surrounding the garden. He raised his voice.
“Whoever you are, since you seem determined to recreate an
illusion, show me the entrance to the grotto.”

They stood in silence, Herne clenching his
fists, both of them waiting for some response. It came from the far
side of the garden.

“How impatient you are,” said an oddly
scratchy voice. “But then, impatience is one of the attributes of
Jurisdiction personnel.”

“Who are you?” Herne demanded.

Merin thought he was disappointed because the
short figure now approaching them, hooded and cloaked in pale blue,
could not possibly be the Ananka whom Herne had described to her.
She could not even see the figure’s face beneath the sheltering
hood, and she could not tell by the voice whether it was male or
female.

“You must relinquish your weapons,” the
figure told them. The blue robe rippled and two slender but
obviously strong hands stretched forward. “Tathan is a peaceful
place, but all here remember too well the violence of the
Jurisdiction. We cannot allow you to break our peace. The weapons,
if you please.
Now.”

It was impossible to resist that voice. Herne
placed his small hand weapon into the figure’s hands. Merin did the
same, making certain to touch those hands as she did so. The flesh
was solid, warm, real. Still, she could not see the face, and she
sensed a cool reserve more than matching that of any Oressian. She
decided to try courtesy.

“I also have a recorder that doesn’t work.”
She touched the strap at her shoulder, from which the useless
recorder swung. “Will you want it, also?”

“Since it is not functional, you may keep
it.”

“Thank you. I am Merin of Oressia,” she said
politely. “This is Herne of Sibirna.”

“Both Jurisdiction planets,” said the
figure.

“In a way, we are exiles from the
Jurisdiction,” Merin said. “May we know your name?”

The cloaked figure bowed its head. “I am
Dulan of Romesan, also an exile,” replied the scratchy voice.

“You are Dulan?” Herne’s shock was plain to
see.

Although surprised herself, and immediately,
frighteningly, aware of the many implications of finding themselves
in a Tathan in which Dulan still lived, Merin found her voice.