The idea of novices with deadly weapons was not cheering, and the others turned their eyes elsewhere, not to seem threatening.
“Let’s not bother them with talk,” Lutha suggested. “If that’s really the Great Flag of the Alliance coming down the hill, let the envoy or whoever deal with the problem.”
Our willingness to be penned up seemed to have quieted some of the panicky gestures and voices around us. The clumsy guards backed off a little, allowing us to concentrate on the view of the omphalos our low hill afforded.
The temple was now surrounded by several nearly complete concentric circles of kneeling men, some spirit people, and some songfathers, distinguishable by the colors of their robes, black for spirit people, hide brown for the others. Each had his own cushion, and each knelt at an equal distance from his fellows. The circles were neat and perfectly regular, and as new men arrived they filled in the gaps and started new circles concentric to the old ones. I saw no women anywhere near the temple.
Lutha laid her hand on my arm and jerked her head toward the eastern cliffs. There were other black-clad forms huddled at the base of the buildings and in the windows. She borrowed the glasses from Trompe and gave them a good looking over before passing the glasses to me. They were the female spirit people, all of them disfigured or maimed and as thin as the men.
Lutha said, “They’re too thin for childbearing. Starving women don’t get pregnant. They don’t even menstruate.”
“But this valley is fertile!” I told her. “The soil is wonderful. And they have a river! They should have lots of food! More than we can raise in the canyons!” Perhaps it was significant that we had seen no sign of cultivation anywhere in the valley. The grass was of a different sort than I knew. Perhaps it too was sacred and farming was forbidden.
“Look at the temple,” urged Leelson. “At the floor!”
The temple was in the form of a circular dais made up of three concentric steps. The first was below the pillars. The second formed the base for the circle of pillars that supported the roof. The third was inside the pillars and made up the floor of the temple itself. The south half, a semicircle of this inner circle, was one step higher yet, with massive metal links protruding at both the east and west ends of the low step. A long and heavy rope had been attached to the eastern link, then threaded around the golden base of the northernmost pillar, back across the raised floor, around the southernmost pillar, then back to the north again, making a Z shape.
“It’s a tackle,” said Trompe.
So much was obvious. We used similar gear to get water from the deepest wells. The loose end of the rope lay stretched along the ground to the north, and it was now being tugged at by a few dozen songfathers. They managed to pull the east end of the semicircular floor a hand span closer, rotating it on its diametric center, then nodded in satisfaction at one another as they dropped the rope and departed.
“Those golden rings around the pillars are metal sheaves,” remarked Leelson, who was looking at them through the glass. “What are they moving the floor for? And what’s it made of?”
“It is made of one great block of stone,” I told them. “It was brought from the cliffs by the Gracious One, who, having created the great gate, then opened it unto us. The stone covers the navel of the world. The sacred sipapu. The gate through which we came. Now it will be uncovered and the beautiful people, those who carry the spirits of our beloved dead, will depart through this gateway to heaven.”
Leelson threw Lutha a startled glance, and she gave him a look that meant “don’t ask.” He glared, but he clamped his lips shut. I had just revealed the holiest secrets of our religion. It didn’t matter now. There would be no secrets soon. He would see, as I would.
More songfathers arrived. There were other brief episodes of rope tugging with nobody trying very hard. Groups came and went, rehearsing separately, accustoming themselves to the feel of the rope. It was as Leelson had said at one point during our journey: every participant was here for the first time. They knew what was to be done, but not precisely how to do it. They had to practice.