The City And The Stars - Arthur C. Clarke [58]
‘We’ll go around the lake,’ said Hilvar, speaking softly as if the majestic desolation had struck awe into his soul. ‘Perhaps we may find something in those ruins over there.’
For the first few hundred yards the crater walls were so steep and smooth that it was difficult to stand upright, but after a while they reached the gentler slopes and could walk without difficulty. Near the border of the lake the smooth ebony surface was concealed by a thin layer of soil, which the winds of Lys must have brought here through the ages.
A quarter of a mile away, titanic blocks of stone were piled one upon the other, like the discarded toys of an infant giant. Here, a section of a massive wall was still recognisable; there, two carven obelisks marked what had once been a mighty entrance. Everywhere grew mosses and creeping plants, and tiny stunted trees. Even the wind was hushed.
So Alvin and Hilvar came to the ruins of Shalmirane. Against those walls, and against the energies they had housed, forces that could shatter a world to dust had flamed and thundered and been utterly defeated. Once these peaceful skies had blazed with fires torn from the hearts of suns, and the mountains of Lys must have quailed like living things beneath the fury of their masters.
No one had ever captured Shalmirane. But now the fortress, the impregnable fortress, had fallen at last—captured and destroyed by the patient tendrils of the ivy, the generations of blindly burrowing worms, and the slowly rising waters of the lake.
Overawed by its majesty, Alvin and Hilvar walked in silence towards the colossal wreck. They passed into the shadow of a broken wall, and entered a canyon where the mountains of stone had split asunder. Before them lay the lake, and presently they stood with the dark water lapping at their feet. Tiny waves, no more than a few inches high, broke endlessly upon the narrow shore.
Hilvar was the first to speak, and his voice held a hint of uncertainty which made Alvin glance at him in sudden surprise.
‘There’s something here I don’t understand,’ he said slowly. ‘There’s no wind, so what causes these ripples? The water should be perfectly still.’
Before Alvin could think of any reply, Hilvar dropped to the ground, turned his head on one side, and immersed his right ear in the water. Alvin wondered what he hoped to discover in such a ludicrous position; then he realised that he was listening. With some repugnance—for the rayless waters looked singularly uninviting—he followed Hilvar’s example.
The first shock of coldness lasted only for a second; when it passed he could hear, faint but distinct, a steady, rhythmic throbbing. It was as if he could hear, from far down in the depths of the lake, the beating of a giant heart.
They shook the water from their hair, and stared at each other with silent surmise. Neither liked to say what he thought—that the lake was alive.
‘It would be best,’ said Hilvar presently, ‘if we searched among these ruins, and kept away from the lake.’
‘Do you think there’s something down there?’ asked Alvin, pointing to the enigmatic ripples that were still breaking against his feet. ‘Could it be dangerous?’
‘Nothing that possesses a mind is dangerous,’ Hilvar replied. (Was that true? thought Alvin. What of the Invaders?) ‘I can detect no thoughts of any kind here, but I do not believe we are alone. It is very strange.’
They walked slowly back towards the ruins of the fortress, each carrying in his mind the sound of that steady, muffled pulsing. It seemed to Alvin that mystery was piling upon mystery, and that for all his efforts he was getting further and further from any understanding of the truths he sought.
It did not seem that the ruins could teach them anything, but they searched carefully among the piles of rubble and great mounds of stone. Here, perhaps, lay the graves of buried machines—the machinery that had done their work so long ago. They