The Greatest Tales of Lost Worlds & Alternative Universes. Филип Дик

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СКАЧАТЬ have always liked you,” she murmured naively, “since first I saw you in that place where the Shining One goes forth into your world. And I am glad you like my medicine as well as that you carry in the black box that you left behind,” she added swiftly.

      “How know you of that, Lakla?” I gasped.

      “Oft and oft I came to him there, and to you, while you lay sleeping. How call you HIM?” She paused.

      “Larry!” I said.

      “Larry!” she repeated it excellently. “And you?”

      “Goodwin,” said Rador.

      I bowed quite as though I were being introduced to some charming young lady met in that old life now seemingly aeons removed.

      “Yes — Goodwin.” she said. “Oft and oft I came. Sometimes I thought you saw me. And HE— did he not dream of me sometime —?” she asked wistfully.

      “He did.” I said, “and watched for you.” Then amazement grew vocal. “But how came you?” I asked.

      “By a strange road,” she whispered, “to see that all was well with HIM— and to look into his heart; for I feared Yolara and her beauty. But I saw that she was not in his heart.” A blush burned over her, turning even the little bare breast rosy. “It is a strange road,” she went on hurriedly. “Many times have I followed it and watched the Shining One bear back its prey to the blue pool; seen the woman HE seeks”— she made a quick gesture toward Olaf —“and a babe cast from her arms in the last pang of her mother love; seen another woman throw herself into the Shining One’s embrace to save a man she loved; and I could not help!” Her voice grew deep, thrilled. “The friend, it comes to me, who drew you here, Goodwin!”

      She was silent, walking as one who sees visions and listens to voices unheard by others, Rador made a warning gesture; I crowded back my questions, glanced about me. We were passing over a smooth strand, hard packed as some beach of long-thrust-back ocean. It was like crushed garnets, each grain stained deep red, faintly sparkling. On each side were distances, the floor stretching away into them bare of vegetation — stretching on and on into infinitudes of rosy mist, even as did the space above.

      Flanking and behind us marched the giant batrachians, fivescore of them at least, black scale and crimson scale lustrous and gleaming in the rosaceous radiance; saucer eyes shining circles of phosphorescence green, purple, red; spurs clicking as they crouched along with a gait at once grotesque and formidable.

      Ahead the mist deepened into a ruddier glow; through it a long, dark line began to appear — the mouth I thought of the caverned space through which we were going; it was just before us; over us — we stood bathed in a flood of rubescence!

      A sea stretched before us — a crimson sea, gleaming like that lost lacquer of royal coral and the Flame Dragon’s blood which Fu S’cze set upon the bower he built for his stolen sun maiden — that going toward it she might think it the sun itself rising over the summer seas. Unmoved by wave or ripple, it was placid as some deep woodland pool when night rushes up over the world.

      It seemed molten — or as though some hand great enough to rock earth had distilled here from conflagrations of autumn sunsets their flaming essences.

      A fish broke through, large as a shark, blunt-headed, flashing bronze, ridged and mailed as though with serrate plates of armour. It leaped high, shaking from it a sparkling spray of rubies; dropped and shot up a geyser of fiery gems.

      Across my line of vision, moving stately over the sea, floated a half globe, luminous, diaphanous, its iridescence melting into turquoise, thence to amethyst, to orange, to scarlet shot with rose, to vermilion, a translucent green, thence back into the iridescence; behind it four others, and the least of them ten feet in diameter, and the largest no less than thirty. They drifted past like bubbles blown from froth of rainbows by pipes in mouths of Titans’ young. Then from the base of one arose a tangle of shimmering strands, long, slender whiplashes that played about and sank slowly again beneath the crimson surface.

      I gasped — for the fish had been a ganoid — that ancient, armoured form that was perhaps the most intelligent of all life on our planet during the Devonian era, but which for age upon age had vanished, save for its fossils held in the embrace of the stone that once was their soft bottom beds; and the half-globes were Medusae, jelly-fish — but of a size, luminosity, and colour unheard of.

      Now Lakla cupped her mouth with pink palms and sent a clarion note ringing out. The ledge on which we stood continued a few hundred feet before us, falling abruptly, though from no great height to the Crimson Sea; at right and left it extended in a long semicircle. Turning to the right whence she had sent her call, I saw rising a mile or more away, veiled lightly by the haze, a rainbow, a gigantic prismatic arch, flattened, I thought, by some quality of the strange atmosphere. It sprang from the ruddy strand, leaped the crimson tide, and dropped three miles away upon a precipitous, jagged upthrust of rock frowning black from the lacquered depths.

      And surmounting a higher ledge beyond this upthrust a huge dome of dull gold, Cyclopean, striking eyes and mind with something unhumanly alien, baffling; sending the mind groping, as though across the deserts of space, from some far-flung star, should fall upon us linked sounds, coherent certainly, meaningful surely, vaguely familiar — yet never to be translated into any symbol or thought of our own particular planet.

      The sea of crimson lacquer, with its floating moons of luminous colour — this bow of prismed stone leaping to the weird isle crowned by the anomalous, aureate excrescence — the half human batrachians-the elfland through which we had passed, with all its hidden wonders and terrors — I felt the foundations of my cherished knowledge shaking. Was this all a dream? Was this body of mine lying somewhere, fighting a fevered death, and all these but images floating through the breaking chambers of my brain? My knees shook; involuntarily I groaned.

      Lakla turned, looked at me anxiously, slipped a soft arm behind me, held me till the vertigo passed.

      “Patience,” she said. “The bearers come. Soon you shall rest.”

      I looked; down toward us from the bow’s end were leaping swiftly another score of the frog-men. Some bore litters, high, handled, not unlike palanquins —

      “Asgard!” Olaf stood beside me, eyes burning, pointing to the arch. “Bifrost Bridge, sharp as sword edge, over which souls go to Valhalla. And SHE— she is a Valkyr — a sword maiden, Ja!”

      I gripped the Norseman’s hand. It was hot, and a pang of remorse shot through me. If this place had so shaken me, how must it have shaken Olaf? It was with relief that I watched him, at Lakla’s gentle command, drop into one of the litters and lie back, eyes closed, as two of the monsters raised its yoke to their scaled shoulders. Nor was it without further relief that I myself lay back on the soft velvety cushions of another.

      The cavalcade began to move. Lakla had ordered O’Keefe placed beside her, and she sat, knees crossed Orient fashion, leaning over the pale head on her lap, the white, tapering fingers straying fondly through his hair.

      Presently I saw her reach up, slowly unwind the coronal of her tresses, shake them loose, and let them fall like a veil over her and him.

      Her head bent low; I heard a soft sobbing — I turned away my gaze, lorn enough in my own heart, God knew!

      Chapter XXV.

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