and almost fall backward. But he caught himself, sweating, trembling, and trying not to be ill.
At several places he came upon landings, like little oases. Each had a break in the wall that allowed in a glimmer of moonlight. Through them Alex was able to look out and mark his progress. Soon the dark gash of the canal was lost below. The cliffs were much higher than he had imagined; he began counting the stairs—one hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four hundred. Somewhere in the fives he lost track, and they just kept on.
It was at the end of the darkest and steepest passage, when Alex was sobbing from sheer exhaustion, at the very moment when he was ready to give up and die, that he broke through a mass of vines and found himself at the top. What he saw made him think that he was dreaming.
Spread out in the moonlight were the ruins of a vast and terrible city. Before him stretched the jagged hulks of ten thousand ancient buildings. Huge pyramids, domes, obelisks, towers, arches, all lay in rubble like the rotting bodies of stone giants. And blanketing all of it were vines. Like waves of long black hair they drifted in the wind that moaned through the desolation.
Cowering in the staircase, Alex couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. This was what he had climbed so far to reach? Better to die at the bottom of the ocean. He was about to turn and run back down to the canal when he heard the one sound that mattered more than anything else.
Splashing water.
Faint.
Far away.
But very clear.
Suddenly not even the terror of the dead city could overcome his thirst. Where was that sound coming from? Alex scanned the buildings. Directly in front of him stretched a broad avenue lined with massive columns. The splashes were coming from that direction, he was sure of it. He told himself that he would find the water, get a drink, then go back down to the raft and try to float out into the ocean. Just one drink, that was all.
Cautiously he stepped from his hiding place and began creeping down the avenue. But the farther he went, the more jittery he became. The buildings were hideous. Where the vines didn’t cover the walls, he could make out huge grotesque slashes like letters in a strange language. And carved into the street were monstrous flat heads with wide eyes and gaping mouths as though trying to swallow the sky.
Alex did his best to think only of the water and how good it would taste. Instead, he thought more and more about the twisting shadows that loomed around him. On and on he went, but the splashing didn’t seem to be getting any closer. Finally, ahead he saw it: a fountain. Like everything else, it was crumbled with age, but dusky moonlit sparkles still gushed from it.
He ran.
When he reached it, he fell down and let the cold liquid pour into his mouth. Unlike the ocean, it had a metallic taste, but he didn’t care. And if it killed him, what did it matter? After drinking all he could hold, he let it splash over his head. He was drying his face on his shirt, when the same awful feeling returned.
He was being watched.
And this time it was close.
For an instant Alex was afraid to move, terrified of what he might see. And then the sound began. From everywhere came a mournful cry, as though the whole dead city had begun to weep with one unearthly voice. Starting in a low moan, it rose to a bloodcurdling scream…and then fell back, vanishing in a thousand echoes.
Alex thought he was going to be ill. Forcing himself to turn, he looked behind him. A hundred yards away, in the center of the street that crossed the avenue of the columns, stood a gigantic shadow, and it wasn’t the shadow of a building.
In the moonlight loomed the silhouette of a bird with its huge wings outstretched. And it was staring straight at him with shimmering eyes. He froze; all he could do was wait for it to sweep down and crush him. But it didn’t move. Squinting at it, he almost sobbed with relief. It wasn’t a real bird at all.
At several places he came upon landings, like little oases. Each had a break in the wall that allowed in a glimmer of moonlight. Through them Alex was able to look out and mark his progress. Soon the dark gash of the canal was lost below. The cliffs were much higher than he had imagined; he began counting the stairs—one hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four hundred. Somewhere in the fives he lost track, and they just kept on.
It was at the end of the darkest and steepest passage, when Alex was sobbing from sheer exhaustion, at the very moment when he was ready to give up and die, that he broke through a mass of vines and found himself at the top. What he saw made him think that he was dreaming.
Spread out in the moonlight were the ruins of a vast and terrible city. Before him stretched the jagged hulks of ten thousand ancient buildings. Huge pyramids, domes, obelisks, towers, arches, all lay in rubble like the rotting bodies of stone giants. And blanketing all of it were vines. Like waves of long black hair they drifted in the wind that moaned through the desolation.
Cowering in the staircase, Alex couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing. This was what he had climbed so far to reach? Better to die at the bottom of the ocean. He was about to turn and run back down to the canal when he heard the one sound that mattered more than anything else.
Splashing water.
Faint.
Far away.
But very clear.
Suddenly not even the terror of the dead city could overcome his thirst. Where was that sound coming from? Alex scanned the buildings. Directly in front of him stretched a broad avenue lined with massive columns. The splashes were coming from that direction, he was sure of it. He told himself that he would find the water, get a drink, then go back down to the raft and try to float out into the ocean. Just one drink, that was all.
Cautiously he stepped from his hiding place and began creeping down the avenue. But the farther he went, the more jittery he became. The buildings were hideous. Where the vines didn’t cover the walls, he could make out huge grotesque slashes like letters in a strange language. And carved into the street were monstrous flat heads with wide eyes and gaping mouths as though trying to swallow the sky.
Alex did his best to think only of the water and how good it would taste. Instead, he thought more and more about the twisting shadows that loomed around him. On and on he went, but the splashing didn’t seem to be getting any closer. Finally, ahead he saw it: a fountain. Like everything else, it was crumbled with age, but dusky moonlit sparkles still gushed from it.
He ran.
When he reached it, he fell down and let the cold liquid pour into his mouth. Unlike the ocean, it had a metallic taste, but he didn’t care. And if it killed him, what did it matter? After drinking all he could hold, he let it splash over his head. He was drying his face on his shirt, when the same awful feeling returned.
He was being watched.
And this time it was close.
For an instant Alex was afraid to move, terrified of what he might see. And then the sound began. From everywhere came a mournful cry, as though the whole dead city had begun to weep with one unearthly voice. Starting in a low moan, it rose to a bloodcurdling scream…and then fell back, vanishing in a thousand echoes.
Alex thought he was going to be ill. Forcing himself to turn, he looked behind him. A hundred yards away, in the center of the street that crossed the avenue of the columns, stood a gigantic shadow, and it wasn’t the shadow of a building.
In the moonlight loomed the silhouette of a bird with its huge wings outstretched. And it was staring straight at him with shimmering eyes. He froze; all he could do was wait for it to sweep down and crush him. But it didn’t move. Squinting at it, he almost sobbed with relief. It wasn’t a real bird at all.
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