Free Clarke, Arthur C - Fall of Night 02 by Beyond the Fall of Night

reverberated in hollow echoes
from the mountain walls. And quivering in the air above the base of the fall
was the last rainbow left on Earth.
                   For long minutes the two boys lay on the edge
of the cliff, gazing at this last Niagara and the unknown land beyond. It was
very different from the country they had left, for in some indefinable way it
seemed deserted and empty. Man had not lived here for many, many years.
                   Theon answered his friend's unspoken question.
                   "Once the whole of Lys was
inhabited," he said, "but that was a very long time ago. Only the
animals live here now."
                   Indeed, there was nowhere any sign of human
life—none of the clearings or well-disciplined rivers that spoke of Man's
presence. Only in one spot was there any indication that he had ever lived
here, for many miles away a solitary white ruin jutted above the forest roof
like a broken fang. Elsewhere, the jungle had returned to its own.
                  
     
     

7.
                
     
                   It was night when Alvin awoke, the utter night
of mountain country, terrifying in its intensity. Something had disturbed him,
some whisper of sound that had crept into his mind above the dull thunder of
the falls. He sat up in the darkness, straining his eyes across the hidden
land, while with indrawn breath he listened to the drumming roar of the falls
and the faint but unending rustle of life in the trees around him.
                   Nothing was visible. The starlight was too dim
to reveal the miles of country that lay hundreds of feet below: only a jagged
line of darker night eclipsing the stars told of the mountains on the southern
horizon. In the darkness beside him Alvin heard his friend roll over and sit
up.
                   "What is it?" came a whispered voice.
                   "I thought I heard a noise."
                   "What sort of noise?"
                   "I don't know. Perhaps I was only
dreaming."
                   There was silence while two pairs of eyes
peered out into the mystery of night. Then, suddenly, Theon caught his friend's
arm.
                   "Look!" he whispered.
                   Far to the south glowed a solitary point of
light, too low in the heavens to be a star. It was a
brilliant white, tinged with violet, and as the boys watched it began to climb
the spectrum of intensity, until the eye could no longer bear to look upon it. Then it exploded—and it seemed as if lightning had struck
below the rim of the world. For an instant the mountains, and the great land
they guarded, were etched with fire against the darkness of the night. Ages
later came the echo of a mighty explosion, and in the forest below a sudden
wind stirred among the trees. It died away swiftly, and one by one the routed
stars crept back into the sky.
                   For the first time in his life, Alvin knew
that fear of the unknown that had been the curse of ancient Man. It was a
feeling so strange that for a while he could not even give it a name. In the
moment of recognition it vanished and he became himself again.
                   "What is it?" he whispered.
                   There was a pause so long that he repeated the
question.
                   "I'm trying to remember," said
Theon, and was silent for a while. A little later he spoke again.
                   "That must be Shalmirane," he said
simply.
                   "Shalmirane! Does it still exist?"
                   "I'd almost forgotten," replied
Theon, "but it's coming back now. Mother once told me that the fortress
lies in those mountains. Of course, it's been in ruins for ages, but someone is
still supposed to live there."
                   Shalmirane! To these children of two races,