Proteus sat in back, inches above the seat, bored—if such an emotion were possible for a plasti-plasma robot.
Davis knew the temple when they came in sight of it. Twin hills peaked breastlike against the backdrop of yellow mountains, and each was adorned with a giant structure. On the first hill there was a building composed of nine huge towers all joined in the middle to form a giant central chamber. Great teardrop entry portals split the gray-brown stone here and there. This was the temple. On the other breast, perched like a rakish nipple, lay the Sanctuary, a manmade block of ugly cement. Behind both, creeping close to them, were the terribly dense forests of the yellow mountains, the great, broad-leafed yil trees.
They stopped the car before the temple and waited until it settled onto its rubber rim, then got out.
Above the Sanctuary on the other hill several hundred yards away, half a dozen female angels floated on the breezes of autumn. The cool air carried their tinkling laughter to Davis and Leah: bells, Chinese wind chimes, water trickling into a jug.
One of the angels flew at the thick trees, her wings dazzling with refracted sunlight. She turned fifty yards from the edge of the woods and flew back to the others who giggled and squealed with delight.
Fascinated, Davis stood by Leah, watching them.
Another of the Demosian beauties swept away from the group and moved to within ten feet of the forest, hung there an instant, came back to the others like a triumphant child who has walked a dark alley without collapsing of fright.
The girls cheered.
A third soared to the challenge, crossed over the trees and hovered over them, dipped and swayed just over the tops of the branches and the brilliant yellow leaves. She came back slowly, proudly. As she approached them, the other five cherubs went wild with excited chattering and squeals of laughter.
“What are they doing?” he asked Leah at last, unconsciously taking her tiny hand in one of his giant, callused mitts and effectively swallowing it with his own hard flesh.
“The legends say the woods are haunted. The girls are playing a game that is centuries old: Daring the Demons of the Woods.”
“You believe in spirits?”
“Not really.” She watched the girls a moment. “It just helps to pass the time anymore.”
“Then how did something like this get started?”
Her hand was a hot ball of flesh in his fist.
“The woods are a great danger, for one thing.”
“Why?”
“We cannot fly in there. The trees are so thick that their branches restrict flight. If we should be chased by a wolf or some other fierce creature of the mountains, we wouldn’t have a chance. We’re too delicate for running much of a distance. Flight is our only escape”, and the trees would deny us that. So we stay out of the woods. Time, then, builds up legends of demons. We are as superstitious a people, in some ways, as you men of Earth.”
Davis smiled. “Fascinating! It has to go into the book.”
They watched the game.
“Will I be in your book?” she asked at last.
“But of course! I think you’ll even be the heroine.”
She laughed and wiggled her hand in his.
He drew her closer, not taking time to think that the gesture was exactly the one he should be avoiding at all costs. “Shall we look at the temple?”
“Yes!” she said enthusiastically. “You’ll want that in your book too.”
They entered at the base of one of the immense towers and walked through stone corridors into the huge central chamber where the nine towers met. The bare floor, cobbled in crimson and pitch, stretched some hundred feet to a granite slab framed by stone candlesticks as tall as a tall man. Behind this altar was an enormous face which composed an entire wall of the church, stretching 120 feet overhead, 90 feet from ear to ear. The vacant black eyes were 30 feet across, 16 feet high. The nose was an elongated boulder punctuated by nostrils that were really caverns almost large enough to drive a grav car into. The full-lipped mouth was carved in loving detail, the broad teeth showing grayly in a benevolent smile.