Shadowland. Spider World 06 by Colin Wilson

As Niall had suspected, they soon came upon the remains of a road that led uphill to the ruins of the town. It had been well made of square carved blocks that had survived the centuries, and was still surprisingly smooth to the feet. This road ran beside the stream, which became narrower and faster as they ascended the valley, filling the air with its rushing sound. Farther on, the road turned left and climbed steeply toward the town, while the stream itself descended in a series of waterfalls before it became broader and slower. At this point, the stream was partly blocked by the ruins of a stone bridge that had collapsed into the water. If they were going to cross, this was obviously the best place.

They descended the steep bank, then had to climb the broken blocks. The bridge had once been an archway, and enough of its big, roughly carved stones lay in the stream to afford a way across, although the water foamed alarmingly between some of them, and covered others, so that Niall had to remove his sandals. The spider, who could have crossed the stream in half a dozen huge strides, was obviously nervous, and preferred to allow Niall to lead the way. It was not until they reached the far side, where Niall had to wade in the water up to his thighs, that the captain went past him in a single great bound.

Now the pinnacle of stone was clearly visible ahead of them, rising to a point about a hundred feet above its base. It was twisted and weathered, and a few trees had succeeded in gaining a foothold on its ledges. From a mile away, it looked distinctly man-made, or at least improved by human beings who had appreciated its romantic appeal. The top had the same purple color as the crystal of the cliffs, and reflected the sun.

The track on the other side was narrower than the road that had brought them to the bridge, and less well made. But it was clear that the bridge had been constructed only to reach this track that led up to the pinnacle, for it had no downhill continuation.

The track became so rough and steep that Niall soon had to sit down to drink some springwater. This refreshed him, but did nothing to alleviate the heat of the sun, which beat fiercely on the top of his head and made the sweat stream down his face. There were places where the path had been carved out of solid rock, with V-shaped notches cut into it. He envied the spider for the ease with which he climbed — giving the impression that he easily could have run uphill to the pinnacle. Yet Niall also noted that if he concentrated hard, the tiredness vanished, and his knees and thighs ceased to ache. The thought mirror obviously made available considerable reserves of strength.

Half an hour later, when they reached the base of the pinnacle, it became clear that this was not, as Niall had supposed, the top of a mountain, but only of the immense cliff that formed the southern wall of the Valley of the Dead. Above the ruined town, the mountain continued until its top vanished in mist.

Down below them was a green plain that, as Niall knew, extended to the sea in the west. To the east the plain continued as far as a low range of mountains, less high than those that surrounded them. A long black lake occupied the center of the Valley of the Dead, and from where they stood, Niall could see the river that flowed into it from the east. On the far side of the lake, a battlemented wall stretched the length of the valley and continued about fifty miles to the east. Even from this height it looked impressive, being a hundred feet high and at least twenty feet wide. Every hundred yards or so there were square towers that rose fifty feet above the level of the wall. This was the wall that had been built on the orders of a Spider Lord called Kasib the Warrior, to keep out the unknown enemy from the northern mountains. It had cost the lives of twenty thousand human slaves.

Across the valley, on the far side of the wall, rose the dark cliffs of these forbidding northern mountains — the domain of the Magician. Yet the cliffs were beautiful as well as forbidding, being streaked with the same dark blue and purple veins as the cliffs behind them; where the afternoon sunlight fell on them, these glittered and sparkled as if from some inner fire. In the cliff on the far side of the wall, Niall could make out buildings that looked as if they were carved out of the solid rock.

But below them was a sight that made Niall’s heart sink. There was no steep path that ran down the face of the cliff to the Valley of the Dead. In fact, it would have been impossible, since the cliff sloped inward.

So their journey up the “shortcut” had been a waste of time.

It seemed there was nothing for it but to return the way they had come, and take the other route. This was going to take the rest of the day, for their shortcut would have saved them a detour of at least ten miles. Moreover, to the east, the cliff wall came to an end in a mountain prominence that extended a quarter of a mile across the valley.

Niall found a patch of shade and sat down; the captain rested nearby in the shadow of a twisted tree. He could now see that the pinnacle above him, which towered about a hundred feet, was made of volcanic lava, which had weathered into a shape not unlike the twisted conical houses of the city of the bombardier beetles, but far less symmetrical. To the west the base stuck out, forming a kind of table on which a miniature wood of small trees and bushes had taken root. From this small plateau, a path climbed the pinnacle. It obviously had been man-made, and the marks of tools could still be seen on its gray-green surface.

Since it would be a pity to descend without examining the pinnacle more closely, Niall clambered up onto the rock plateau and started up the path. The captain watched him incuriously; for him, the pinnacle obviously held no interest whatever. For Niall, it was an odd puzzle. Why had the natives of the ruined town taken the trouble to build the bridge across the stream, then hack the path up the steep hill? And it must have taken years of labor to chisel this ramp out of the hard, smooth lava, which billowed into cushions, so that in places it looked like intestines.

The ramp followed a corkscrew path up the first third of the monument, sometimes wide, sometimes narrow. On one corner it had become so narrow that the workers had been forced to create more space by hacking a wall at an angle of forty-five degrees into the rock. On the next bend, Niall found himself looking out over the Valley of the Dead, with a sheer drop below him. He had never liked heights, and it made his stomach feel queasy.

Round this bend was another platform whose uneven surface suggested it was natural, and a stunted tree had managed to find a foothold. At this level of the pinnacle, the rock was full of veins of crystal, some blue, some purple, some as clear as glass. There was a hole in the rock face behind the tree, like a cave entrance. Niall took the flashlight from his backpack and shone it inside. There was a squawk, and a bird blundered past him, almost knocking him backwards.

The light showed an oval chamber, about ten feet in diameter, with a stone bench carved around the wall, which seemed to be made entirely of blue quartz crystals; its floor was a shallow bowl. It reminded Niall vaguely of the underground council chamber of the bombardier beetles. Higher around its walls, at a height of about seven feet, were niches, which had probably held oil lamps, since the stone above them was blackened. In one of these niches there was a bird’s nest. Niall stood on the bench and peered into it; half a dozen tiny birds raised their heads, their mouths wide open.

Niall sat down on the bench, switching off the flashlight; there was enough light from the doorway to see around the chamber. Something was odd about this place, although it was hard to say what; the blue crystal made Niall feel he was under water. He tried turning the thought mirror away from his chest, causing a drop in the intensity of his concentration. For a few moments he felt nothing — it was like walking out of sunlight into darkness. Then the feeling returned even more strongly. It was as if there was a vibration that made him feel more alert, and it unmistakably came from the crystal. He had experienced a similar sensation in the valley of the sacred lake: the sense of some great secret or mystery. Niall realized that he was in a place that generations of men had regarded as holy, and had left it impressed with their thoughts and feelings.