Part 19 (1/2)

”Hunkapa not like.” Though the big hulk was suffering visibly beneath his thick coat of silver-gray hair, he plodded along determinedly, his head hung down and his arms almost dragging the ground.

Ehomba was in better shape than any of them, but took no credit for it. He was used to spending long days standing out in the merciless sun, watching over the village herds. Now he squinted at the sky. They had awakened early from the day-sleep and had been marching for more than two hours westward into the advancing evening.

”Take heart. The sun will be down soon.” He nodded toward the mountains. They loomed ma.s.sively before the weary travelers, but the foothills still lay more than a day's hike distant. Or rather, a night's. To avoid the worst of the heat, they had opted to sleep during the day and trek after dark. ”It will grow cooler, and walking will become easier.”

”Hoy, you mean it will become less hot.” The swordsman wiped perspiration from his brow and neck.

”Not in any way, shape, or form does the word 'cool' apply to this place.”

In the course of their travels they had encountered many strange life-forms surviving in equally strange environments. From the blizzard-coc.o.o.ned crests of mountains to the high dunes of the desert, from swamps shallow and deep to the vast open reaches of the Semordria itself, there had always been life, be it nothing more than a limpet or a leaf. Until now, until this tormented, perfectly flat plain of desiccated salts. There was not even, a panting Ahlitah pointed out, a warm worm to tickle a cat's taste buds.

With the onset of evening the heat fell, but not as fast as the sun. Even after dark, parching temperatures persisted. Mentally, walking was easier without the brilliant bright bloodshot eye of the sun staring you ruthlessly in the face. Physically, it was only a little less difficult.

Their meals, such as they were, had been necessarily skewed by their topsy-turvy schedule. Supper became breakfast, lunch a midnight snack, and breakfast, supper. Not that it mattered. Their stores were limited in quant.i.ty and consequently offered little in the way of variety. What one ate was often the same, meal after meal. Such victuals kept them alive, but their bellies were not entertained.

At least the moon was on their side, Ehomba reflected as they trudged along. Nearly full, bright as stibnite crystals and almost as hard of aspect, it allowed them to stride forth with some idea not only of where they were going, but also of what lay in their immediate path. By its providential brightness obviating the need for torches, it allowed them to advance with a modic.u.m of comfort.

By midnight the air had cooled sufficiently to raise their spirits. Water was still in plentiful supply. In light of the other hards.h.i.+ps they were enduring, Ehomba had not had the heart to propose rationing. When he finally did venture to broach the subject, he was shouted down by all three of his companions. They might not have much else, but at least they could drink their fill. Furthermore, the more they drank, the less weight they had to carry. And as Ahlitah pointed out, he was confident he would be able to smell water as soon as they reached the mountains. It might not seem like much, but even the herdsman had to admit that a long, cool drink compensated for much of what they did not have.

Resuming the march rejuvenated and refreshed but acutely conscious of the ominous presence of the sun lurking just over the eastern horizon, they entered an area of the salt pan that was not flat. Merged as it was with its identically tinted surroundings, it was not surprising they had missed seeing it from a distance.

Though equally devoid of food or water, it at least gave them something new to look at and comment upon.

Towers of salt rose around them, not numerous enough to impede their progress but sufficient to alter it from time to time. Worn by the wind and the occasional infrequent storm, they had been weathered into a fantastic array of shapes. Amusing themselves by a.s.signing names to the formations, the travelers competed to see who could identify the most outrageous or exceptional.

Pointing sharply to a column of whitened, translucent halite that had been undercut by the wind, Hunkapa Aub conveyed childlike excitement in his voice. ”See that, see there! An ape bowing to us, acknowledging our pa.s.sage.”

Simna cast a critical eye on the structure. ”Looks more like a pile of rubbish to me.”

”No, no!” Moving close and nearly knocking the swordsman down in the process, Hunkapa jabbed a thick, hirsute finger in the column's direction. ”It an ape. See-the eye is there, those are the hands, down at the bottom are the-”

”Ask it if it can show us a shortcut out of here,” Simna grunted. Nodding to his left, he singled out a ridge of distorted, eroded salt crystals. ”Now that looks like something. The jade wall of the Grand Norin's palace, complete with open gates and war turrets.” He gestured with a hand. ”If you squint a little you can even see the floating gardens that front the palace over by ...”

But Hunkapa Aub was not listening. Elated by one discovery of the imagination after another, he was prancing from the nearest formation to the next, gleefully a.s.signing a name to each and every one as proudly as if his fanciful appellations were destined to appear on some future gilded traveler's map of the territory. Ehomba looked on tolerantly. Of them all, their hulking companion was suffering the most from the heat. Simna obviously thought the brute was making a fool of himself, but Ehomba knew that no one is a fool who can find humor in desolation.

He found himself playing the naming game. It was irresistible, the first harmless diversion they had enjoyed in many days. Not only was it gently amusing, especially when made-up names for the same formation were compared side by side, but it helped greatly to pa.s.s an otherwise disagreeable time. He and Simna wordlessly agreed to compete to find the most suitable cognomen for certain structures. The game was left to them in any case, since the black litah found it repet.i.tive and Hunkapa Aub was quite lost, happily adrift on a sea of a thousand mult.i.tudinous namings of his own.

”That column there,” the swordsman was saying, ”see how it sparkles and dances in the moonlight?” He singled out a formation spotted with many small crystals of gypsum. ”I once knew a dancer like that. She would glue pearls and precious gems all over herself. Then when at the end of her dance she removed the last of her veils it was revealed that the jewels were glued not to the fabric of her costume but to her naked skin, and that all along they had only been glistening through the sheer material she had been wearing.” He turned to his companion. ”What does it look like to you?”

”I would not think of disputing such a deeply felt description.” The herdsman stepped over a series of inch-high rills that ran across the surface in a straight line. Deposited eons ago by water action, they looked fragile, but were in fact hard as rock and sharp enough to slice open a man's flesh where it lay exposed between the protective straps of his sandals.

”Over there I see a fisherman's hut by the ocean,” he declared. ”Not the ocean below my village, but another ocean.”

”How can you see a difference?” Simna squinted in the indicated direction.

”Because this sea is calm. It is rarely calm beneath my village. There are always waves, even on clear, windless days. And no Naumkib would build a fis.h.i.+ng hut so close to the water. Too much effort for too little reward, as the first storm would wash it away.”

”I see the sea,” the swordsman admitted, ”and the hut, but what makes it a fis.h.i.+ng hut?”

Ehomba pointed. ”Those long blades of crystal salt there near the bottom. Those are the fisherman's poles, set aside while he rests within.”

”I could use a rest myself, and something to eat that isn't dried and preserved.” The swordsman turned slightly in the direction of the formation and wandered away for a moment before rejoining the others on their chosen course. In response to the herdsman's slightly stern, questioning look, he shrugged diffidently. ”Hoy, I know it's made of salt-but it doesn't hurt to dream for a few seconds.”

”That's a sentiment I'll confess to sharing.” Ahlitah had come up behind them. As usual, so silent was his approach that even the reactive Ehomba was unaware of his presence until he spoke. With his head, the big cat nodded leftward. ”For example, over that way I can see a large herd of saiga standing one behind the other, fat and plump and slow of foot, just waiting to be run down and disemboweled.”

Peering in the indicated direction, Ehomba had to admit that the resemblance of the broken ridge of salt to a column of plodding antelope was remarkable.

Evidently Simna was of like mind. ”Sure looks real. Like they could take off in all directions if somebody made a loud noise.”

”You're already making a loud noise.” Crouching low and making himself nearly invisible even in the bright moonlight, the big cat had begun to stalk the wind-sculpted ridge. Realistic they might be, but the salt formations did not move. Ehomba was about to say something when the swordsman put a constraining hand on his arm.

”Leave him alone. All cats need to play. Don't you think he's earned a few moments of amus.e.m.e.nt?”

”Yes, of course. But he is being so serious about it.” Uncertainly, Ehomba watched as Ahlitah continued to stalk the weathered parapet of halite crystals.

Simna shrugged it off. ”I've never seen a cat that wasn't serious about its play. He'll catch up to us when he's through. Remember, he can cover a mile in the time it would take either one of us to run to that big ridge over there.” He pointed. ”See it? The one that looks like the entrance to a castle?”

Reluctantly, the herdsman allowed his attention to be diverted. Something did not feel right. Maybe, he thought, it was him. The heat was beginning to melt their thoughts. Behind them, the litah dropped even closer to the ground, maintaining its hunting posture as it stalked the salt. Try as he would, Ehomba could not see the harm in it.

Ahead and slightly to their right rose a ma.s.sive hill of achromatic salts that had been eroded by the wind into a fantastic a.s.sortment of spires and steeples, turrets and minarets. The gleaming citadel boasted an arched entrance and dark recesses in the salt fortifications that during the day would not have commanded a second glance but which at night pa.s.sed easily for windows. A breeze sprang up, advancing unimpeded across the dry lake bed. Whipping around the extravagant towers that had been precipitated ages ago out of a viscid solution of sodium chloride and other minerals, it imparted a carnival air to the formation, whistling and trilling through the hollows that had been worn in the salt. At a distance it almost sounded like people laughing and joking.

”Hoy, Etjole,” the swordsman prompted him. ”Come on now, don't let me win without a fight. I say it looks like a castle. What would you call it?” As they walked past, salt crystals crunching under their sandals, he studied the pale ramparts admiringly.

”I cannot argue with you this time, Simna. A castle or fortress of some kind. I could not imagine calling it anything else, because that is exactly what it looks like.”

”Then we are agreed.” Turning to his right, the swordsman started toward the silent formation. ”Come on, bruther. Don't you want to see what it looks like up close?”

”I am certain it looks the same at close range, except that individual crystals of salt will begin to stand out.”

Shaking his head, the swordsman continued toward the looming structure. ”All this traveling in my company still hasn't made you a more jolly companion. Go on, pa.s.s up the chance to study up close a fascinating phenomenon you'll never see again.”

As always, Ehomba's tone was unchanged, but his thoughts were churning fretfully. ”Let me guess: You'll catch up to me in a few minutes.”

”Depend on it, bruther.” Turning away, Simna continued blithely toward the salt castle, moonlight reflecting off the hilt of the sword he wore against his back.

In front of Ehomba, nothing moved on the lake bed. No pennants of gleaming salt waved in the clear, stark light. No white-faced figures emerged from the weathered hill to greet him. Except for the barely perceptible breeze, all was silent, and still.

Frowning, he pivoted to look back the way they had come. It was with considerable relief that he saw the rea.s.suring oversized shape of Hunkapa Aub standing and waiting patiently not more than a few yards behind him.

”Come on, Hunkapa. If these two want to amuse themselves with silly nighttime fancies, they will have to hurry to catch up with us.” The ma.s.sive, hirsute figure did not stir. Ehomba raised his voice slightly.

”Hunkapa Aub? Come with me. There is no reason for us to wait here until these two finish their games.”

When the hulking shape still did not move, a puzzled Ehomba walked back toward him, retracing his steps across the lake bed. He knew he was retracing his steps because he could see where his feet had sunk a quarter inch or more into the bleached, caked surface. He was on the verge of reaching out to grab his ungainly companion's s.h.a.ggy wrist when something made him pause.

Despite Ehomba's proximity, Hunkapa Aub had yet to acknowledge the herdsman's presence. No, the tall southerner decided: It was worse than that. Hunkapa Aub was ignoring him completely, treating him as if he wasn't there. Now Ehomba did reach out to take his ma.s.sive companion's hand. He pulled, none too gently. He might as well have been tugging on a tree growing from the side of a mountain. Hunkapa Aub did not budge, nor did he react in any way. Instead, he continued to stare straight ahead.

Turning uneasily to seek the source of the brute's fascination, Ehomba found his gaze settling on a tall, heavily eroded pillar of salt.

A pillar of salt that looked exactly like Hunkapa Aub.