Ancestor's World by A. C. Crispin, T. Jackson King Page A
Authors: A. C. Crispin, T. Jackson King
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topped pyramid temples, similar to what she'd seen in Spirit. The high white wall enclosed the city, but in her mind's eye she saw what she knew from Mitchell's report lay there: massive temples, small, boxy homes, plazas, and open markets. A great stone causeway speared out from the western city gate, then marched down to the valley center, where it crumbled off into a deep arroyo. At the bottom of the arroyo ran the River of Life, its waters shallow this time of year. Mahree saw that a fallen pylon had gouged out part of the red stone causeway and thought of the earthquakes. She repressed a shiver. "I can almost hear the voices from the past, Gordon."
"I know. I hear them, too. Especially at night. You should see this place by moonlight. Talk about romantic ..."
Mahree glanced at him quickly, then away again, as she fiddled with the strap of her duffel bag. How long had it been since she'd been anywhere or done anything that could be construed as romantic? Years, probably.
She drank in the dry air as another cooling breeze touched her face. They were surrounded by wild canyon country. Flat mesa tops towered high above their heads, reaching into the pale indigo sky. A volcano flamed in the western distance, and even where she stood on the elevated ramp, Mahree could feel the vibration of a microquake. It was as if this land, this world, was alive, stirring and rumbling like some great, immensely old animal.
"They were right to call it 'Ancestor's World,' " she whispered. "It even smells ancient."
He squinted at the setting sun as it lowered on the western horizon. "Hazy sky. Dust's thick in the air. We might get ashfall tonight."
Mahree had wondered about that when she sighted the distant volcano spewing forth its orange flames and black clouds. "Should I wear a filter-mask?"
"Not unless you have some sort of respiratory condition." Gordon leaned back against the ramp railing and folded his arms, regarding her intently. "It's pretty far away. The rainstorms wash most of the ash out of the air."
73
His eyes were light, hazel or blue-gray... Mahree couldn't tell for sure. She glanced away, breaking the eye contact, and pointed, almost at random, to a giant earthen ramp that lay downvalley, on the opposite side of the City of White Stone. "That rampway. What's it for?"
Gordon straightened up. "It's the access to the Royal Road. Starts up top on the mesa. Runs all the way back to Spirit."
Mahree's eyes widened in amazement. "But... but, how could the Na-Dina have known where to run the road? You told me on the trip down here that Spirit was founded three thousand years ago, and this is twice that old! Why build a road when--"
"When you don't know where you'll end up?" Mitchell grinned, then crossed deeply tanned arms over his sweat- darkened shirt. "The Na-Dina, or the People as they call themselves, have always trusted their fate to the dead Ancestors. Yes, the Royal Road was begun six thousand years ago, when Spirit didn't exist." He gestured at the arroyo. "As Na-Dina civilization expanded downriver, following the River of Life, so too did the Royal Roads reach out, arriving in the Delta millennia ago. Apparently one of the dead kings, the Revered Ancestors, told 'em to build a road into the wilderness, and by God they did. They had faith that it would go somewhere someday, so they built it. And eventually, it did go somewhere."
Mahree shivered, despite the baking heat that reflected back from the beige-banded canyon walls. This sense of the ages, of a history that stretched back into a misty past, was strange to her, alien in a way that the Na-Dina people themselves were not. She was used to aliens. But she wasn't used to six-thousand-year-old cities, or earthquakes, or volcanoes..
She glanced at Gordon, who was staring north, where a mesa top glowed red-orange in the light of the setting sun. "Gordon ... what made you choose archaeology--especially archaeology on alien worlds?"
He turned to
topped pyramid temples, similar to what she'd seen in Spirit. The high white wall enclosed the city, but in her mind's eye she saw what she knew from Mitchell's report lay there: massive temples, small, boxy homes, plazas, and open markets. A great stone causeway speared out from the western city gate, then marched down to the valley center, where it crumbled off into a deep arroyo. At the bottom of the arroyo ran the River of Life, its waters shallow this time of year. Mahree saw that a fallen pylon had gouged out part of the red stone causeway and thought of the earthquakes. She repressed a shiver. "I can almost hear the voices from the past, Gordon."
"I know. I hear them, too. Especially at night. You should see this place by moonlight. Talk about romantic ..."
Mahree glanced at him quickly, then away again, as she fiddled with the strap of her duffel bag. How long had it been since she'd been anywhere or done anything that could be construed as romantic? Years, probably.
She drank in the dry air as another cooling breeze touched her face. They were surrounded by wild canyon country. Flat mesa tops towered high above their heads, reaching into the pale indigo sky. A volcano flamed in the western distance, and even where she stood on the elevated ramp, Mahree could feel the vibration of a microquake. It was as if this land, this world, was alive, stirring and rumbling like some great, immensely old animal.
"They were right to call it 'Ancestor's World,' " she whispered. "It even smells ancient."
He squinted at the setting sun as it lowered on the western horizon. "Hazy sky. Dust's thick in the air. We might get ashfall tonight."
Mahree had wondered about that when she sighted the distant volcano spewing forth its orange flames and black clouds. "Should I wear a filter-mask?"
"Not unless you have some sort of respiratory condition." Gordon leaned back against the ramp railing and folded his arms, regarding her intently. "It's pretty far away. The rainstorms wash most of the ash out of the air."
73
His eyes were light, hazel or blue-gray... Mahree couldn't tell for sure. She glanced away, breaking the eye contact, and pointed, almost at random, to a giant earthen ramp that lay downvalley, on the opposite side of the City of White Stone. "That rampway. What's it for?"
Gordon straightened up. "It's the access to the Royal Road. Starts up top on the mesa. Runs all the way back to Spirit."
Mahree's eyes widened in amazement. "But... but, how could the Na-Dina have known where to run the road? You told me on the trip down here that Spirit was founded three thousand years ago, and this is twice that old! Why build a road when--"
"When you don't know where you'll end up?" Mitchell grinned, then crossed deeply tanned arms over his sweat- darkened shirt. "The Na-Dina, or the People as they call themselves, have always trusted their fate to the dead Ancestors. Yes, the Royal Road was begun six thousand years ago, when Spirit didn't exist." He gestured at the arroyo. "As Na-Dina civilization expanded downriver, following the River of Life, so too did the Royal Roads reach out, arriving in the Delta millennia ago. Apparently one of the dead kings, the Revered Ancestors, told 'em to build a road into the wilderness, and by God they did. They had faith that it would go somewhere someday, so they built it. And eventually, it did go somewhere."
Mahree shivered, despite the baking heat that reflected back from the beige-banded canyon walls. This sense of the ages, of a history that stretched back into a misty past, was strange to her, alien in a way that the Na-Dina people themselves were not. She was used to aliens. But she wasn't used to six-thousand-year-old cities, or earthquakes, or volcanoes..
She glanced at Gordon, who was staring north, where a mesa top glowed red-orange in the light of the setting sun. "Gordon ... what made you choose archaeology--especially archaeology on alien worlds?"
He turned to
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