Part 90 (2/2)

He sighed. ”At least it shows one thing, all this: the soul outlasts the strongest stone.”

”How about getting your priorities right?” came d.i.c.kon's voice over my shoulder. ”Souls belong to the dead: we're living. But we won't be much longer unless you find us something to eat and drink.”

Without cooking I had a couple of rice cakes, some dried fruit, a little cheese.

”If you will unload me please,” said Ky-Lin, ”you will find one small water skin under the blankets. One mug of water each, no more; the rice cakes and cheese will be enough for now.”

Strange: I had never noticed that particular water skin before, but then he was Magic. . . .

I shared my cheese and water with Growch, and although his share of the liquid was gone in half a dozen quick laps, I sipped mine as slowly as I could, running it over my parched tongue before swallowing, to get the maximum benefit; behind me I heard d.i.c.kon's water gone in a couple of quick gulps. I went over to Ky-Lin with some dried raisins and apricots.

”Come, you must eat something too; we depend on you to keep us going.”

His forked tongue, ever so soft, lapped the fruit from my palm. ”Now get some rest. Go into the shade of that wall. I am going to reconnoiter. I shall return as soon as I can.”

I settled back with my back against the stone. Just five minutes' nap, and then . . .

And then it was dawn. Someone had tucked a blanket round Growch and me, and further away d.i.c.kon was snoring softly. I was neither hot nor cold, hungry nor thirsty, and I felt rested and refreshed. Beside me was a heap of wood, smooth, bleached wood that had obviously been around for a while.

Beyond, Ky-Lin was curled around, fast asleep, only the rise and fall of his chest showing that he was still alive.

A surprisingly wet and cold nose was shoved in my face. ”What's for breakfast, then?”

I used half the water that was left to boil up rice, beans, dried vegetables and herbs, on Ky-Lin's advice adding the rest of the salted meat, and some rather dessicated roots he had found. They smelt oniony, and looked like water lily suckers. The wood burned brightly and too fast, with a sort of bluish flame, and I kept it down as much as I could, for now the sun was high and extra heat was unwelcome. Just before it was cooked I took the pot off the fire and clamped on the lid tight, then buried it in the sand so it would retain heat and absorb the last of the liquid, as I had seen it done in this country to ensure both tenderness and conservation of fuel.

”And now,” said Ky-Lin, ”we must find somewhere to shelter. I can smell wind, and that here will mean a sandstorm.” He led us through the remains of a small archway to the left of the altar. Behind was part of a wall and domed roof, and a set of steps leading down into the darkness. There was remarkably little of the ubiquitous drifted sand.

”The way the wind blows here,” explained Ky-Lin, ”the sand merely piles up on the other side of the wall. Now, we shall go down the steps to better shelter. Once at the bottom, if we spread out the blankets, we shall be snug enough.”

Something scuttled past my feet and I gave a stifled scream.

”Scorpion,” said d.i.c.kon. ”I'm not going down there, and that's flat!”

He kicked out at the creature, who raised its stinging tail threateningly and disappeared through a crack in the wall.

”The ultimate survivors,” said Ky-Lin. ”When everything else has disappeared from the earth, the ants, the scorpions, and the c.o.c.kroaches will have it all to themselves. Don't worry,” he added. ”There are no more down there. Follow me,” and he disappeared down the flight of stone steps.

”You're on your own,” said d.i.c.kon, as I prepared to follow. ”I'm not going down.”

I fumbled my way down steps worn smooth by generations of monks. Once at the bottom the air was pleasantly cool, with only a fine layer of sand underfoot. The light from above was enough for me to see that this was a little cul-de-sac, but large enough to hold us all comfortably.

”Come on down!”

”Not on your life,” came d.i.c.kon's voice, oddly distorted by the turn in the stairs, although Growch had already joined me quite happily.

”In that case,” I yelled back, ”you can go out and fetch in all the baggage. And the cooking pot,” I added.

I knew he wouldn't, and it took the three of us to transfer everything to safety, d.i.c.kon grumbling all the while. By the time all was stowed away safely the wind had risen enough for us to hear even at the bottom of the stairs, and when I went out to retrieve the cooking pot it was really nasty up top. The wind was whining like a caged dog, gusting every now and again into a shriek, and with it the sand was spiralling as tall as a man, blasting into any unprotected skin like the rasp of a file. The very heaps of sand in the courtyard had changed position so much that it took me several minutes to locate where I had buried the cooking pot; it was still hot, and I had to take off my s.h.i.+rt and wrap it in that to carry it safely, the driving sand stinging my bare skin unmercifully.

I served out half the contents of the pot; a bowl each, my meat ration for Growch, and half a mug of water, and as I scoured out the bowls with the ubiquitous sand I wondered which of us was still the hungriest and thirstiest.

Settling down on my blanket, I asked the questions that would probably mean the difference between life and death to us. Somebody had to ask; I didn't want to, but it was obvious d.i.c.kon wanted to hear the answers even less than I did.

”What did you find out, Ky-Lin?”

”I searched the whole of the ruins while you were asleep. I gave you all a little Sleepy Dust to ensure you slept for a day and a half-” He raised his left front hoof as we protested. ”Yes, yes, I know; but you needed the rest, and I wanted time without your worries burdening me. I needed to let my senses roam free.

”This place was abandoned some eighty years ago. What drove them out was probably the threat of famine. From what I could determine, the wells on which the town depended for its water started to dry up, due to the river deep beneath the desert floor changing course. There may still have been enough for drinking, but certainly not enough for irrigating their crops.

”Added to this, there was the unprecedented advance of the Sand Mountains, a phenomenon peculiar to this desert. The villagers mentioned them, remember? They are formed by a combination of wind and sand, and move to any place they are driven. They may not be seen for a hundred years, but given special conditions they can build up within days, and overwhelm anything in their path. Such a disaster overtook this town. They had enough notice to move out in an orderly fas.h.i.+on, so everything portable was taken with them. The monks were the last to leave.”

”And where are the Sand Mountains now?”

He shrugged. ”Who knows? They were not here long, but time enough to destroy the fabric of the buildings, as you saw.”

”Where did the people go?”

He shrugged again. ”Probably west and north. The way we go. . . .”

Here it was, the question I had so been dreading. ”Any-any sign of water?”

He looked at me with compa.s.sion, then shook his head. ”No, I found no trace of water. Not yet, anyway. That doesn't mean there isn't any.”

d.i.c.kon leapt to his feet. ”No water, no food-what the h.e.l.l do we do now?”

”We would do well to pray. Now, together. Each to our own G.o.d or G.o.ds.” He bowed his head. ”In any case it will concentrate our minds if we are quiet for a few minutes. Prayer always helps. Focus on our predicament and ask for guidance. . . .”

I wanted to pray as my mother had taught me: speak to G.o.d direct, she had always said. But she had sent me to the priest to learn my letters and the Catechism, and it was these familiar formulas, as comforting as a child's rhymes, that I now found filled my mind; the priest had taught me that G.o.d could only be approached through His intermediaries, those like Himself. My mother, on the other hand, had never been afraid to speak her mind, and she told me G.o.d was there to be talked to, just like anyone else, person to person.

I don't know whether she believed in Him; I think she only believed in herself.

I recited three rapid Ave's under my breath, not thinking of anything really, except the comfort of the formula. I glanced at the others; Ky-Lin was obviously in communication with his Lord, but d.i.c.kon's hands were twisting as if he was wringing out a cloth, his eyelids flickering. No point in looking at Growch; his G.o.d, Pan, was a heathen.

But it was Growch who saved us.

I was in the middle of my third Paternoster when a sacrilegious interruption destroyed all thought of prayer.

”b.l.o.o.d.y 'ell! Effin' little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!”

”Growch!”

”Sorree! But what d'you say if'n you'd just been bit on yer privates by a bunch o' ravenin' ants?”

”Ants? But-”

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