It was only a statue with moonlight shining through jagged holes in its head.
But it wasn’t like any bird that he had ever seen. Instead of two wings, it had four, and its feathers looked like shards of broken glass. It had a yawning beak, lined with teeth, that hung open as though caught in an endless shriek, and above the beak were the eyes . Even after Alex understood that they weren’t real, he couldn’t rid himself of the sensation that they were watching him. So the bird was a statue, but that didn’t explain the awful scream. The thought had barely come into his mind when it began again, wailing higher and higher. This time, as it faded, he heard something else: a dull clattering roar.
He knew that he had to hide and there was no time to run back to the stairs. Across the street was a building. Rushing over to it, he buried himself in the vines. Slowly the clatter grew. What was that sound? It was familiar. Then he recognized it; it was like marching . Thousands of feet marching, but not in unison. More like a shapeless mob. Soon the city shook with it.
The scream sounded a third time.
From where he hid Alex could see all the way back to where he had emerged from the staircase. He knew there was nothing beyond the wall but a sheer drop into the gorge. Yet from out of the vine-covered stone appeared a cloud of luminous shapes. At first they were indistinct, but as they drew nearer, he saw that it was a great mass of people—thousands of them, all swathed in black—marching toward him in utter silence. Their bodies were like mist, yet it was the sound of their feet that shook the city. He panicked. These must be the ones who had been watching. And now they were coming for him. He had to run, but he was too terrified to move. On and on the apparitions marched, down the street of the columns, until they were almost in front of him. Alex could hardly breathe.
But they passed right by.
They didn’t even seem to know that he was there. When the first row reached the fountain, they turned and headed in a new direction. The street was jammed with shadow-forms. Men and women, old and young, so close he could almost touch them. Individual faces became visible in the moonlight, each was different, yet all were the same. They were like sleepwalkers, without the slightest trace of life in their eyes. And there was a dustiness about them, as though they had been wandering in a desert.
Finally Alex mustered enough courage to turn and see where they were going. They were headed straight toward the statue of the bird. When they reached it, they disappeared under its claws, almost as though they were melting into the stone. The moon was sinking when the last of them had vanished and the city was empty and silent once more.
Suddenly Alex felt desperately tired. He had to find some place to sleep. At his back was the building; maybe he could get inside. Groping through the vines, he began searching for an entrance. Gradually he worked his way down one wall. Then another and another. Nothing. Not even a window.
Finally he was at the place where he had started, and he discovered that wasn’t a building at all; it was a solid block of stone. He wondered if the other ruins were the same, but there was nothing to do but step out into the street and take a look.
Creeping into the moonlight, he scanned the piles of rubble. Quickly he realized that what he had taken for buildings might not be buildings at all. Most were exactly like the one he had examined. Then, several blocks away, he saw a structure with a dome. Around the bottom were shadowy arches. Beneath them he thought he could make out entrances. To get there he would have to walk straight past the statue—down the same street the phantoms had traveled.
Alex told himself that there must be some other choice, but there were no other buildings like it anywhere.
From across the street came a new sound. A kind of scurrying and scraping. Definitely animal. Not a small
But it wasn’t like any bird that he had ever seen. Instead of two wings, it had four, and its feathers looked like shards of broken glass. It had a yawning beak, lined with teeth, that hung open as though caught in an endless shriek, and above the beak were the eyes . Even after Alex understood that they weren’t real, he couldn’t rid himself of the sensation that they were watching him. So the bird was a statue, but that didn’t explain the awful scream. The thought had barely come into his mind when it began again, wailing higher and higher. This time, as it faded, he heard something else: a dull clattering roar.
He knew that he had to hide and there was no time to run back to the stairs. Across the street was a building. Rushing over to it, he buried himself in the vines. Slowly the clatter grew. What was that sound? It was familiar. Then he recognized it; it was like marching . Thousands of feet marching, but not in unison. More like a shapeless mob. Soon the city shook with it.
The scream sounded a third time.
From where he hid Alex could see all the way back to where he had emerged from the staircase. He knew there was nothing beyond the wall but a sheer drop into the gorge. Yet from out of the vine-covered stone appeared a cloud of luminous shapes. At first they were indistinct, but as they drew nearer, he saw that it was a great mass of people—thousands of them, all swathed in black—marching toward him in utter silence. Their bodies were like mist, yet it was the sound of their feet that shook the city. He panicked. These must be the ones who had been watching. And now they were coming for him. He had to run, but he was too terrified to move. On and on the apparitions marched, down the street of the columns, until they were almost in front of him. Alex could hardly breathe.
But they passed right by.
They didn’t even seem to know that he was there. When the first row reached the fountain, they turned and headed in a new direction. The street was jammed with shadow-forms. Men and women, old and young, so close he could almost touch them. Individual faces became visible in the moonlight, each was different, yet all were the same. They were like sleepwalkers, without the slightest trace of life in their eyes. And there was a dustiness about them, as though they had been wandering in a desert.
Finally Alex mustered enough courage to turn and see where they were going. They were headed straight toward the statue of the bird. When they reached it, they disappeared under its claws, almost as though they were melting into the stone. The moon was sinking when the last of them had vanished and the city was empty and silent once more.
Suddenly Alex felt desperately tired. He had to find some place to sleep. At his back was the building; maybe he could get inside. Groping through the vines, he began searching for an entrance. Gradually he worked his way down one wall. Then another and another. Nothing. Not even a window.
Finally he was at the place where he had started, and he discovered that wasn’t a building at all; it was a solid block of stone. He wondered if the other ruins were the same, but there was nothing to do but step out into the street and take a look.
Creeping into the moonlight, he scanned the piles of rubble. Quickly he realized that what he had taken for buildings might not be buildings at all. Most were exactly like the one he had examined. Then, several blocks away, he saw a structure with a dome. Around the bottom were shadowy arches. Beneath them he thought he could make out entrances. To get there he would have to walk straight past the statue—down the same street the phantoms had traveled.
Alex told himself that there must be some other choice, but there were no other buildings like it anywhere.
From across the street came a new sound. A kind of scurrying and scraping. Definitely animal. Not a small
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