Alan Dean Foster - Humanx 4 - Voyage City of the Dead

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Author: Alan Dean Foster

Title: Voyage To The City of the Dead

Series: A Novel of the Humanx Commonwealth

Series No:

Original copyright year: 1984

Genre: Science Fiction

Date of e-text: 01/14/2001

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Version: 1.0

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By Alan Dean Foster : Published by Ballantine Books:

The Icenggger Trilogy

ICERIGGER

MISSION TO MOULOKIN

THE DELUGE DRIVERS

The Adventures of Flinx of the Commonwealth

FOR LOVE OF MOTHER-NOT

THE TAR-AIYM KRANG

ORPHAN STAR

THE END OF THE MATTER

FLINX IN FLUX

MID-FLINX

BLOODHYPE

THE HOWLING STONES

The Damned

Book One: A CALL TO ARMS

Book Two: THE FALSE MIRROR

Book Three: THE SPOILS OF WAR

THE BLACK HOLE CACHALOT

DARK STAR THE METROGNOME and Other Stories

MIDWORLD NOR CRYSTALTEARS

SENTENCED TO PRISM SPLINTER OF THE MIND'S EYE

STAR TREK@ LOGS ONE-TEN VOYAGE TO THE CITY OF

THE

DEAD

WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE . . . ... WHO NEEDS

ENEMIES?

MAD AMOS PARALLELITIES*

* forthcoming

Books published by The Ballantine Publishing Group are available at quantity

discounts on bulk purchases for premium, educational, fund-raising, and

special

sales use. For details, please call 1-500-733-3000.

***************************************************

First published in the USA in 1984 by Ballantine Books

This edition published by arrangement with Ballantine Books, a Division of

Random House, Inc.

First NEL Paperback Edition 1986 Third impression 1987

British Library C.I.P.

Foster, Alan Dean

Voyage to the city of the dead.

I. Title

813'.54[F] PS3556.0756

ISBN 0 450 39874 9

The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no

relation to any real person or actual happening.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, byway of trade

or

otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the

publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in

which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition

being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by

any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying, recording

or

any information storage or retrieval system, without either the prior

permission

in writing from the publisher or a licence, permitting restricted copying,

issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 7 Ridgmount Street, London WC1E 7AA.

Printed and bound in Great Britain for Hodder and Stoughton Paperbacks, a

division of Hodder and Stoughton Ltd., Mill Road, Dunton Green, Sevenoaks,

Kent

TN13 2YA. (Editorial Office: 47 Bedford Square, London WC1 B 3DP) by Cox &

Wyman

Ltd., Reading

***************************************************

For, Daniel, with love,

For when he gets older and starts traveling…

***************************************************

Chapter One

They didn't call in the Guard because the intruder was already half dead.

Still,

they were upset.

Muttering angrily among themselves over the outrageous breach of protocol, the

members of the Zanur looked to their leader for direction, but Najoke

de-me-Halmur held his peace. It was up to the intruder to explain himself, and

fast. Hands still hovered close to sheathed knives, although it was be-coming

apparent this was no assassination attempt-the in-truder was too enfeebled to

present a threat to anyone but himself. So Najoke stayed his hand as well as

his

lips. Seeing this, the other members of the Zanur calmed themselves.

Two unkempt servants attended the intruder, and they had their hands full

keeping him on his feet. He was com-pletely bald, as befitted his age, but

more

than age had been at work on that body recently. Pain was evident even in the

movement of the eyes, and their owner was breathing as if he'd run a long

ways,

for all that two younger Mai supported him.

Several of the more impatient members of the Zanur started toward the

stranger.

De-me-Halmur stayed them with a wave of one slim, six-fingered hand.

"Patience,

my friends. Let us hear what this despoiler of etiquette has to say.

Retri-bution can come later. We are no judges here."

The leader's words sparked the withered visitor's atten-tion. He shrugged off

the helping hands of his servants, much as he continued to push away the

clutching hand of death. Though unsteady and shaking, he stood straight and by

him-self. "Good members of the Zanur, I beg forgiveness for this intrusion on

the affairs of state. When one has little time left, one has no time at all

for

protocol. I have much to tell you."

De-Yarawut rose and pointed, hairless brows drawing to-gether. "I know you.

You

reside in my district."

The elderly speaker tried to bow to the side, as etiquette required, and the

effort nearly sent him sprawling. His servants rushed to help but he gestured

them back.

"I am flattered by your remembrance, Zanural de-Yara-wut. I am Bril

de-Panltatol. A humble trader who works Upriver." The drama of the oldster's

intrusion, his unfor-givable breach of tradition, was beginning to fade. And

he

was known. No surprises were here.

Legends sing of the wrongness of such thoughts.

"No excuse can be made for your interruption, de-Panlt-atol," de-me-Halmur

said.

"You know the penalties."

"Your most excessive indulgence, Moyt, but as I said and as you can see,

little

time is left to me."

De-me-Halmur had not become ruler of a great city-state without the occasional

ostentatious display of compassion. "You must have bribed efficiently to

obtain

this entrance, oldster. You are to be admired for that. Say what you have come

to say."

"Good members of the Zanur, I have for most of my life been a trader of fine

woods and metals between our great city of Po Rabi and the Upriver. Hai, even

as

far as Kek-kalong." Kekkalong was a very long way Upriver, and many of the

Zanurals had never journeyed beyond the boundaries of the city. They listened

to

the rover with a little more respect.

"I am a good citizen and work hard for my city. So I listen well to any tale

or

rumor that suggests the opportunity to increase my wealth."

"As do we all," Zanural de-Parinti commented. "Get on with it."

"Among the many tales of the Upriver are those which speak of a dead place,

home

to spirits and ghosts and demons beyond counting, who guard such wealth as

could

not be counted in a thousand lifetimes by all the accountants of all the

city-states that ring the Groalamasan itself."

"A wonderful story, I'm sure," another Zanural called from his council seat.

"I

too have heard such stories."

"It is well known," de-Panltatol continued, "that the nearer one travels to

the

source of such tales, the more vivid and impressive they become-or else they

fade away entirely.

"This particular tale is told over and over again in a hundred towns and

villages of the North. I have listened to it for more than fifty years. I

resolved finally to pursue it to the last storyteller. Instead it drew me

onward, pulling me ever farther north. Sometimes the tale smelled of truth,

more

often of village embroidery, but never did I lose track of it entirely.

"I went beyond maps and merchant trails, always up the Barshajagad, following

the current of the Skar and in places abandoning it completely. I walked- I,

Bril de-Panltatol- upon the surface of the frozen Guntali itself!"

Now the whispers of interest were submerged by ill-concealed laughter. The

Guntali Plateau, from which arose all the great rivers of the world that

drained

into the single ocean that was the Groalamasan, was so high and cold and thin

of

air that no Mai could travel upon it. Yet the wrinkled old trader was laying

claim to such a feat.

Like his fellow merchants and Zanural, de-me-Halmur refused to countenance the

possibility, but neither did he laugh. He had not become Moyt of Po Rabi by

dismissing the most elaborate absurdities without careful dissection. "Let

this

one continue proving himself the fool, but let him not be convicted until he

has

finished his story."

"Up past even far Hochac I went," de-Panltatol was breathing harder now, "and

my

journey was but beginning. I lost servants and companions until I was obliged

to

travel on my own, because none would go farther in my company. All believed me

mad, you see. I nearly perished many times. The rumors and the river led me

ever

onward."

"Onward to what?" another of the Zanural snorted deri-sively.

The oldster glanced sideways and seemed to draw strength from his scoffers.

"To

the source of all the tales and songs. To the land of the dead. To the part of

the world where demons and monsters make their home. To the top of the world,

good Zanural."

This time the laughter could not be contained. It did not appear to discourage

the old trader.

"I found the City of the Dead. I, Bril de-Panltatol! And I came away with a

piece of it." He frowned then, and wheezed painfully. "I don't remember that

time very well. My mind was numbed by all I had endured. How I stayed alive I

don't know, but I drove myself to make another boat. I made many boats, I

think.

It's hard to remember. I dis-guised what I had brought away beneath a bale of

Salp skins and brought it all the way Downriver, all the way back to my home,

to

Po Rabi."

De-me-Halmur's wide black eyes flickered. "A most in-teresting and

entertaining

story, de-Panltatol, but all such tales of demon cities are entertaining. I

hope

you are a better trader than you are a storyteller." Polite laughter rose from

the other members of the Zanur.

"Is that what you broke into our conference to tell us?" snapped another

Zanural

angrily. "If you can do no better than that, I promise you your age will not

save you."

"There is only one thing I can add to what I have told you," the exhausted

trader admitted. "For it I have ruined my mind and my self, so there is little

for you to threaten me with. My triumph will be short-lived and I will not buy

the seat on the Zanur that I longed for." A few insulted murmurs arose among

the

Zanural, loudest from those whose fortunes were smallest.

"So I will leave my tale to you, together with that one other thing, and let

you

judge, Zanural of the city, if I might have been thought equal in wealth to

sit

among you." He turned and blew on a small bone whistle that hung from a cord

around his neck.

A dozen laborers entered in two columns of six. Between them they held ropes

attached to a low dolly. Laughter gave way to curiosity and confusion among

the

members of the Zanur. The dolly had six axles and fat rubbery wheels made from

the treated sap of the arer tree.

From his place at the head of the long council table de--me-Halmur saw the

pile

of fine gray Salp pelts piled high on the dolly. They were valuable but not

exceptionally so. Cer-tainly they weren't heavy enough to require the use of a

six-axle and twelve strong Mai to pull the load. He could see the way muscles

strained against something massive but con-cealed. He stood slightly,

unconscious of the movement, to have a better view.

The laborers halted and moved aside. With the aid of his servants Panltatol

staggered to the dolly, Disdaining help, he reached out and shakily pulled the

skins onto the floor. They'd been sewn together and came off as one.

There was something else on the dolly, as de-me-Halmur suspected, but the

sight

of it struck him speechless-a single metal bar reposed on the wooden platform.

It was twisted and bent by some unknown force and was as thick as a large

Mai's

body. But that observation passed quickly. The Zan-ural were interested in its

composition far more than its shape.

It had not been polished and it displayed long gashes and much pitting,

evidence

of exposure to powerful chemicals or energies. Its color was familiar.

"I did not actually enter the place of the dead." Panltatol's voice was

weakening. "I was near, very near, when weather so terrible it cannot be

imagined except in dreams finally forced me to retreat. This relic I found on

the banks of the Skar, where the river had carried it. This alone I was able

to

bring back with me. Zanural of Po Rabi, this is my legacy."

Forgetting their dignity, abjuring protocol, they left their seats to examine

the massive metal bar. Sensitive six-fingered hands caressed the smooth gray

substance. The dull silvery sheen was a property of the metal itself.

It looked like sunit. It had the color of sunit. It felt like sunit. When

three

of the Zanural from northern Po Rabi tried to lift it and could not, they were

positive it was sunit.

De-Changrit, who on the Zanur was second in power only to de-me-Halmur

himself,

removed a small ingot from the money belt that circled his waist. It was a

serl,

the largest denomination coined by any of the great city-states that lined the

shores of the Groalamasan Ocean, newly minted in pow-erful Chienba. He placed

it

in one of the gouges cut in the flank of the bar and tried to calculate the

worth of the twisted mass in his head. He was a superb businessmai and his

estimate was very near the mark.

"Several million," he announced aloud. "At least." Hav-ing already made their

own calculations, several of his associates nodded by way of confirmation.

De-Panltatol abruptly sat down on the edge of the dolly, leaning back against

the bar for support. He ran one hand gently across the cold metal, lovingly,

as

if it were a woman reclining in his hammock. There was not a Mai among the

Zanur

who did not feel the same love for that bar. It rep-resented a great and

compact

fortune.

When the murmurs and excited conversations began to die down it was Changrit

who

asked the question uppermost in all minds. "Is there more?"

His tone was respectful now, no longer sarcastic or ac-cusing. Thus

vindicated,

Panltatol seemed to draw strength from some unknown source. They were no

longer

laughing at him.

"Honored sirs, I do not know. I found only this one piece, washed up on a

rocky

and wild shore. But the rumors that drove me to the top of the world always

spoke of more in the City of the Dead."

Many signs were made by the Zanural, for they were as intensely superstitious

as

the common folk. Daily their lives were punctuated by the performance of

rituals

designed to ward off unfriendly deities and spirits, which all Mai knew ruled

the affairs of each individual from birth to death. At the rear of the chamber

a

wide-eyed servant hastily dumped more incense in the ritual burner, in case

the

spirits in at-tendance that day were possessed of particularly large noses.

The

air of the chamber was immediately suffused with sweet fragrance.

"No actual City of the Dead exists," one of the Zanural ventured hesitantly.

"It

is not a real place."

De-me-Halmur used his hands eloquently. "No such solid piece of sunit as this

exists, yet it sits there before us."

"More," Panltatol mumbled. "More in the City of the Dead."

"How much more?" asked Changrit with becoming avariciousness.

"They say ... the rumors say ... that the city itself is built of sunit." Dead

silence greeted his declaration, appropriately. "I am sorry I did not go

farther." A thin smile appeared on his withered face. His right arm lay like

brown cloth against the cold metal. "I am so tired, honored ones. I must rest

a

while."

"Wait!" Changrit rushed forward. With his own arms he supported the oldster, a

sign of the esteem in which Panltatol was suddenly held. "How do we find the

City of the Dead? How could one retrace your travels?"

"Why, don't you know?" Panltatol whispered. "There is no City of the Dead. The

journey cannot be made. But I made it. I, Bril de-Panltatol, went where it is

impossible to go. But you can't follow, none of you." He said it with

vehemence

as he unexpectedly sat up without aid. "You can't follow because only an

insane

one could make such a journey. I am mad, you see, and you are not." A sudden

thought made him blink with confusion.

"Very tired." He leaned back against Changrit again and closed his eyes. They

would not open again.

Changrit gently lowered the thin body. "A true Mai. He sacrificed everything

in

hopes of improving his fortune. I honor him."

"We all honor him," de-me-Halmur said, "as we will honor his memory."

"What of the sunit?" Lust was apparent in the voice of the Zanural who voiced

the common thought. All eyes were on the bar.

"You know the law," de-me-Halmur said sternly, if a trifle reluctantly. "I

covet

it as much as any of you, but it goes to his family and employees." He made a

protective sign in case certain spirits were listening. "The law is clear."

Zanural de-Peyetmy was almost in tears. "Couldn't we bend the law just a

little?"

"I am sworn to uphold it, and I will do so. Those who would bend the law

ultimately find themselves strangled by it." Murmurs of assent sounded from

around the table.

"Of course," de-me-Halmur went on, "there is the matter of a death tax." A few

smiles appeared. "Also the fact that de-Panltatol undertook this journey

without

proper author-ization, and we still must deal with the matter of his rude

intrusion into the Zanur Chamber." He studied the bar. "I would say that

perhaps

half should go into the city treasury."

"That still leaves a nice fortune." Changrit had retaken his seat on

de-me-Halmur's left. "No family could be disappointed to receive such an

inheritance. Now that the law has been dealt with, how are we to deal with

this

remarkable story?"

"A great journey," one of the other Zanural announced portentously. "One to be

enshrined in memory and song. I myself will commission a song cycle to

commemorate it."

"A thoughtful gesture," de-me-Halmur agreed, thankful for the Zanural's

support.

His proposal meant that de-me-Halmur would not have to pay for the requisite

memorial. Other Zanural cursed themselves for not thinking to make the clever

political move.

"Now who shall volunteer to help equip a new expedition to journey to the top

of

the world in search of this rumored City of the Dead?"

Suddenly every member of the council sought to shrink in his seat. One, bolder

than the rest, said sharply, "I would not venture more than a thousand legats

Upriver for all the sunit on Tslamaina."

"Nor would I," de-me-Halmur agreed. "De-Panltatol was quite right. None of us

is

mad. The very idea of setting foot on the Guntali Plateau is a concept only a

disturbed mind could conceive. To attempt to retrace his wild path would be

impossible." He gestured toward the bar and the body lying next to it. "We

must

be satisfied with this."

"Not necessarily." All eyes turned in surprise to Changrit. De-me-Halmur

waited

warily for any suggestion his rival might make. Each had much respect for the

other, so much so that they never employed assassins. Such methods they left

to

cruder Mai while they dueled with words and gestures.

"It is true that any journey far up the Skar is daunting, let alone one to the

top of the world. One might undertake such an expedition only to perish within

sight of one's goal. It is more likely any travelers would end up staring at

the

inside of a Na's belly instead of the City of the Dead." Zanurals executed

signs

indicating anxiety.

"Or else they would find themselves deceived by the Tsia. We do not have the

means for accomplishing such a journey, but there are those who do."

"I don't see them here," another Zanpral called. Laughter punctuated his

observation.

Changrit gave him a withering look until the laughter had subsided. "A good

merchant knows his responsibility to the Zanur, to his city-state. He knows

also

his own limitations. I am quite aware of mine as you must be of yours.

"But there is something new come recently to Tslamaina. I speak of the

visitors

from the sky."

Uncertain mutterings were silenced by de-me-Halmur. "I've heard much of them.

What is it you propose, Chan-grit?"

"I can propose nothing unless recent information I have received from my

agents

can be confirmed. Call for the ambassador to Losithi."

There followed a long delay, made palatable by a regal midday meal, while Ror

de-Kelwhoang, ambassador to Los-ithi, was summoned from his offices in the

Ministry. He arrived in due course, breathless and puzzled.

"For what reason have I been summoned in such haste, honored Zanural?"

There was much respect among the members for the skills of the elderly

Kelwhoang, just as there was in the Zanur of Losithi. Po Rabi's main rival in

trade and commerce, it lay several hundred legats to the southwest and

controlled the western end of the Skatandah Delta, the great marshland formed

by

the emptying of the Skar River into the Groala-masan.

Midway between the two city-states but slightly nearer Losithi lay the station

established by the strange visitors from the sky. Their science was much

advanced and gain was to be made there for those who knew how to ferret it

out.

The visitors were carefully courted by diplomats from Losithi as well as Po

Rabi.

"Tell the Zanur," Changrit instructed the ambassador, "what you told me

several

weeks ago concerning the visitors from the sky. The .new visitors."

"New visitors?" De-me-Halmur frowned, as did several other Zanural. "You mean

that more of the large bug- creatures have arrived on Tslamaina?"

Kelwhoang looked toward his sponsor Changrit uncer-tainly, but received a

gesture of openness by way of reply.

"All are friends here today, Kelwhoang. Speak freely."

The ambassador nodded. "There came upon us a day rainy and cold, which forced

me

to-"

De-me-Halmur interrupted him. "Our time is valuable, Kelwhoang. Spare us the

poetry."

"Forgive me, Moyt. I was taken aback by this sight." He indicated the

monstrous

bar of sunit.

"Understandable. Your attention to potential profit marks you well in our

sight.

Still, make your tale concise."

Kelwhoang gestured in agreement. "Members of the Zanur. As you know, I make it

my business during the long journey between our city and Losithi to take note

of

all of interest that transpires within the Delta. The visitors from the sky

keep

to their building-that-walks-the-water, but I have cultivated my acquaintance

with them.

"Thus did I learn that five weeks ago allies from the sky arrived among them.

I

was astonished to learn that these newcomers look not like those who built the

sky-station, but much like us." That bit of news prompted gasps of

astonishment

from the Zanurals.

"You mean," Guptinak asked, "that they are not as hor-rible to look upon as

the

large bug-things?"

"No," said Kelwhoang, gratified by the reaction his rev-elation had produced.

"They are much like Mai, only taller, taller even than a Tsla but not so large

as a Na. They have more body hair and their features are sharper and more

pronounced, rougher and not as beautiful. They suffer from our climate much as

does a Tsla, unlike their bug-thing friends who are quite comfortable in the

Delta. One male and one female, similar enough to us that at a distance one

could almost think them Mai.

"I did not meet them myself, only saw them conversing with the Moyt of the

station, the one called," and he struggled with the difficult alien name,

"Porlezmozmith. Later I was able to talk with her and she remarked on the

similarity between us and the new visitors. Truly the resemblance is striking

between us. These newcomers' faces have smaller eyes, larger ears that are

great

curved winged things visible even at a distance. Oh yes, they have but five

digits on their hands and feet instead of the normal six, even as the

bug-things

have but four, though they have that extra pair of arms and legs. It may be

that

these new visitors are more akin to us than the Tsla or the Na, with whom we

share our world."

"All fascinating," de-me-Halmur said, "but how does this profit us?"

"Tell them what the bug-thing told you his new guests have planned," Changrit

prompted.

"Ah. I was told they brought with them a wondrous mag-ical boat which walks

upon

the water more freely than the station the visitors first built. It does not

depend on wind or muscle for power but carries its own energy inside it. I was

told that it can travel at great speed Upriver, against the current of the

Skar."

More mutters of astonishment rose from the assembled members. "We've heard

much

of the wonders brought by the visitors from the sky," de-me-Halmur said. "I

sense your thought, Changrit, but surely they would not sell us this amazing

craft?"

"Never," the ambassador admitted. "I have been told many times by the Moyt

Porlezmozmith that they can have only the briefest of contacts with us and

that

they are for-bidden by their own laws to sell us any of the advanced tools and

instruments they have brought with them."

"No profit in that," one of the Zanural grumbled. "Truly these visitors are

alien."

"These newcomers who are like us," the ambassador con-tinued, "are scholars,

not

merchants. They intend to make a study of the Barshajagad, the canyon which

cradles our river Skar."

"Now that makes sense," de-me-Halmur commented. "There is always profit in

good

scholarship." He made a sign to invoke the spirit of knowledge and insight,

but

finally had to ask, "What is in your mind, Changrit?"

"These visitors from the sky still know little of our world. Beyond the Delta

they are ignorant, for all their knowledge. They know nothing of the ways of

the

Skar, or of the Hotiek or the Aurang or any of the lesser tributaries. They

know

nothing of the peoples who inhabit the canyon. They will need guides."

"Ah!" De-me-Halmur's expression was fed by enlight-enment. "Friendly locals to

show them the way."

"Yes, to show them the way."

"And good friends that we are, it behooves us as the rulers of Po Rabi to find

volunteers to assist them?"

"Every chance we can find," Changrit agreed firmly.

"How do we know that these strange creatures have any interest in traveling up

the Skar farther than the town of Ibe?" a Zanural wondered aloud.

"We do not," Changrit admitted. "How does one divine the intentions of aliens?

Yet if they are as similar in appearance to us as Ambassador de-Kelwhoang

says,

who is to say that their motivations are different?" He looked away from the

table. "You've no idea how far they intend to go Upriver, Kelwhoang?"

"No. The bug-Moyt was not too clear. He did say a long journey. Certainly

farther than Ibe."

"Then our course is clear, Zanural." De-me-Halmur leaned forward the better to

emphasize his words and gestures. "We must do our utmost to ensure that these

visitors make use of our good intentions and accept the aid that the people of

Po Rabi will freely extend to them."

"Assuming they accept," said another member. "What if they do not travel to

the

region of our hopes? What if they reach Kekkalong and decide they have

journeyed

far enough?"

"Then perhaps," Changrit murmured quietly, "they might at that time be

persuaded

to loan us the use of their wondrous craft. I'm certain that the loquacious

Alan Dean Foster - Humanx 4 - Voyage City of the Dead

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