The reins were simple and straightforward and both Redowls were mounted in minutes. Tyl turned his own steed, spoke comfortingly.
“One thing to be careful of. The lekka stands quietly, but they love to run. So be prepared.” A stableyard gate was swung open ahead and he swung his lekka around.
As their guide shouted an indecipherable Tsla word, Etienne’s mount made a sudden rush for the gap, reaching out with those long forelegs and nearly throwing its rider feet over head despite the saddle’s solid backbrace. As it was he almost kicked himself in the mouth. Lyra’s deep, vibrant laugh didn’t make him feel any better. He threw her a murderous look which she ignored as she smoothly followed Tyl out the gate.
Etienne brought up the rear, furious at his own clumsiness and determined to master his animal. Before too long his hips adjusted to the odd reaching gallop and he was speeding up the wide dirt road as comfortably as Lyra.
The track ran parallel to the river. The Aurang here was some six kilometers wide, a mighty torrent but only a trickle compared to the Skar. At the far end of the hanging valley the river fell to earth in a broad waterfall, sparkling and most impressive. It was a good hundred meters high and reminded him of the great waterfalls trideed on the tropical thranx worlds that they someday hoped to visit.
He nudged his mount nearer Lyra and Tyl, called across to their guide.
“It is called the Visautik,” Tyl informed him. “We will reach it by midday.”
Etienne was studying the sheer wall that seemed to mark the end of the valley. “Then what?”
“There is a trail not visible from here, a trading road that climbs a rockfall on this side of the Visautik. It rises to the next valley. Many legats beyond lies the temple of Moraung Motau. And the Cuparaggai.”
“What’s that?” Lyra asked, simultaneously noting that the Tsla used the same unit to measure distance as did the Mai.
There was no way of telling if their guide smiled, since his mouth was hidden by the weaving proboscis, but Tyl nonetheless managed to convey a feeling of anticipation as well as delighted amusement as he said, “Thee will see.”
VIII 
They heard the Cuparaggai long before they saw it, and felt it before they heard it. It announced itself as a buzzing in the ears, a vibration in the bones. Its roar drowned out the rush of Visautik Falls before they crested the canyon wall.
The temple valley was not as large as the one in which Turput lay, and it appeared narrower and smaller still because of the height of the walls that enclosed it. Jewellike fields filled the valley, nourished by the Aurang’s flow. At the far end of the valley lay the still unseen source of steady thunder, marked only by sunlit mist.
They paused atop the ridge and had an interesting lunch that consisted of some kind of local rolled meat and thick, sweet breadsticks. Then they remounted and rode on. Several hours later Tyl paused and extracted a handful of small round cottony pads.
Lyra examined the pair he handed to her. “What are these for?”
Tyl pointed to the small shapes atop his head, then pushed one of the pads inside.
“Oh!” Lyra hadn’t noticed that they now had to shout in order to be heard over the nearing roar, but she was made aware of it as soon as she inserted the pads and silence returned.
Despite these precautions they were quite unprepared for the sight that greeted them when they turned a sharp bend in the canyon.
Several kilometers ahead, sheer rock walls met to form a vertical defile no more than four kilometers wide. For the first time since they’d left the Skar, Etienne forgot his irritation with Lyra. He was enveloped by wonder.
“How high?” she shouted at him, leaning close so that he could hear her through his earplugs. He’d already taken a sighting with the instrumentation on his wrist.
“Twenty-five hundred meters!” Only the fact that the spray did not rise half as high as the falls themselves enabled them to see the cliff where the Aurang River flowed over the edge of the Guntali Plateau. It was a frightening, magnificent drop and the result was a cascade of unmatched proportions, fittingly located on a world of geological superlatives.
It seemed impossible that the stone at the base of that torrent could withstand the impact of so much water falling from such a height without turning to powder. Just as it seemed impossible for the ancient multistory edifice that clung to the cliff face just to the right of the waterfall to remain in place without having been shaken to pieces hundreds of years ago.
Tyl pointed. “Moraung Motau.”
“How old?” Lyra shouted as they raced toward it.
“A thousand years, two thousand, who can say?” Tyl spurred his lekka on.
Hundreds of windows threw back the sun from the rambling, rock-climbing structure, which appeared more than large enough to shelter the whole population of Turput. Huge bas-reliefs covered the facade with writhing figures and decorative motifs. Only the fact that the building had been hewn from the raw stone of the Cliff face enabled it to withstand the steady vibration produced by the immense waterfall nearby.
Several thousand years, Tyl had said, and Etienne had no reason to doubt the Tsla’s veracity. He had shown himself to be truthful in everything else.
As they drew near he saw that the thick green lines that covered the lower part of the cliff on both sides of the Cuparaggki were not sculpted and painted decorations but enormous vines, unlike anything they had observed growing on Tslamaina before. Tsla toiled among them, tending to roots and leaves. They wore longer capes of some shiny material which kept them from being soaked by the omnipresent spray.
Tyl reined in his lekka and the two humans slowed accordingly.
“Aren’t we going any farther?” Lyra asked, shouting to make herself heard over the Cuparaggai’s thunder. “Aren’t we going inside the temple?”
Tyl gestured negatively and looked apologetic. “I am sorry, but it is not permitted. Thee are not initiates. Nor could thee stand it for very long. The monks who live and work at Moraung Motau are attuned to the old books and ancient ways. They are also quite deaf. It has always been so.”
He led them through the gate of a nearby farm. Etienne could not tell if the stop had been prearranged, but the farmer and his two mates were as cordial and relaxed as if they’d known their guests for years.
There they stayed and spent the remainder of the day talking, or rather, everyone listened politely and attempted to answer Lyra’s unending questions. She inquired about division of labor in the valley, family structure, monkish ritual, about trading procedure and education and what the Tsla expected of an afterlife until the poor farmer and his mates were exhausted. Eventually Tyl intervened.
“Much of what thee request of this family they cannot provide for reasons of ignorance, inhibition, custom, or uncertainty. Nor can I. There is one who might sate thy endless curiosity.”
“Then that’s who I want to meet.”
“Mii-an is Chief Consoler and First Scholar of Turput. His time he gives of but sparingly, for he is old and tired. But I believe he will consent to share himself with thee.”
“That would be wonderful.” Lyra put a hand on her husband’s arm. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Etienne?”
“Wonderful. You won’t mind if I don’t tag along?”
She looked shocked: “Etienne, this is a special opportunity. How can you…?” She caught herself, coughed. “You’d rather look at the rocks, wouldn’t you?”
