Part 14 (1/2)

The floors were covered with fresh fruit and vegetables. There had to be some cultivation in spite of the dry season, Hasan thought. Did they irrigate? Bright green cone-shaped lotus-pods stood in piled pyramids. Flattened dried frogs were pressed together in bunches. Turtle eggs and edible lizards were displayed, together with pugnacious live crabs and even live octopuses squatting in bowls of water.

Some food was already prepared: octopus entrails and tentacles served as a side dish to steaming boiled rice. Hasan looked at the obvious suction pads and moved on, unhungry.

Some of the young village girls wore fancy belts under their blouses. ”The quality of the belt shows her value on the marriage market,” Shawahi explained. ”Good sys- tem,” Hasan agreed.

That night Shawahi treated him to a special delicacy of the region: a royal fruit called the durian. It was green and thorned on the outside, almost the size of a man's head. She cut it open to expose the creamy meat inside and an odor of garlic, rotten cheese and camel-urine wafted up. She handed a thick slice to him. ”Eat your fill, Hasan-you will seldom get to feast on a delight like this!” she said mischievously, while Hasan gagged on the stench and eyed the brain-like convolutions of the surface.

Shawahi ate with gusto. ”You'll find it melts in your mouth,” she said, cutting a second slice from the large center fruit stone. ”Isn't this an unforgettable experience?”

Hasan agreed wanly.

Egrets rose lazily as the army marched from the village, and hawks circled high overhead. There were cities along their route, but Shawahi intended to avoid these. Next was the Land of Birds.

Hasan wondered whether his mouth would feel clean by the time they reached it.

Chapter 10. Queen.

He was thoroughly weary of the plain by the time they reached the forested mountains. Though the sun beat down mercilessly, there were signs of change. The monsoon season was approaching.

The transition was abrupt. Suddenly they were in the thickest and rankest rainforest Hasan had ever seen. Here grew the gigantic yang trees: the enormous trunks branch- less for well over a hundred feet, topped by broad crowns of small leathery leaves. Bamboos were the size of trees, seventy-five feet tall with culms a foot in diameter. A handsome tree with long, narrow silver-green leaves bore greenish-yellow flowers on stems sprouting directly from the trunk. The undersides of the leaves were reddish. Hasan studied it and was reminded of Serendip; then it occurred to him that this could be the tree that bore the durian fruit, and he lost interest.

The party plodded single file through the jungle along narrow trails shut in by walls of green. Herbs and shrubs rose up to great heights, and sizable tree-trunks stood close together. Elephants made these trails, Shawahi explained; they were indefatigable path-makers, contouring them around peaks and along valleys.

”A rhinoceros will try to burrow under tangled vegeta- tion,” she said, ”rather than walk over it. But the elephant is at home in the forest. It can go anywhere a man can go, and we are not too proud to use the good trails it leaves for us.”

Hasan looked at the deep growth of climbing and twist- ing plants surrounding many of the trunks and festooning the s.p.a.ces between them, and was glad she felt that way.

Broken tree-trunks lay on the ground, and some dead trees were so entangled they could not fall. They leaned, defunct and rotting, upon other trees. Luxuriant moss cov- ered these, and from this moss sprang beautifully colored orchids. Cup-shaped palms grew where they could, and so did the tree-ferns. The upper foliage of the forest was so dense that it was impossible to see the sky from the ground. Only occasionally did the canopy part to admit the blinding suns.h.i.+ne, which reflected from the s.h.i.+ny surfaces of the lower leaves. The forest air was humid and musty-a hothouse of solid greens.

This was the Land of Birds. Near the water were small white egrets, storks and ibises. Hasan stood at the edge of a brook, where the sunlight fell from the side and made every leaf turn toward it, and watched a red-headed crane take off from behind a tree-trunk bridge. The bird was almost as tall as he was, standing, with uniform gray plum- age and a bright wine-red head.

The birds of the forest were much prettier than those of the plain and swamp. There were brilliant kingfishers, flocks of noisy green parakeets, and jungle hens with rusty red feathers and a metallic sheen in the tail. There were pheasants, crows, falcons and buzzards; peac.o.c.ks perched over the streams, and the pied hornbill was frighteningly large in flight. Hasan's favorite was what he learned was the long-tailed broadbill: it had a green back, yellow throat, blue tail, and a black cap with a bush of blue and yellow feathers. Shawahi also pointed out the small swifts, from whose nests soup was made.

But birds were hardly the only creatures here. The jungle resounded with the calls of unseen animals and the chatter of families of gibbons. The shrill ma.s.s-chirping of the cicadas began at dawn and filled the air until the hottest part of the day. Then it stopped-no one begrudged the insects a rest-and began again in the afternoon until it reached a deafening crescendo at dusk. Even at night it did not stop; the noise abated only gradually as the hours of darkness pa.s.sed.

The mountainsides were steep, and high up Hasan en- countered nests of sticks half the height of a man. No, not for birds-these were built by wild pigs to protect their burrows from predators. Flying lizards moved between the trees, and bats appeared in every size. ”Wait until you see the flying centipedes of Wak,” Shawahi said.

Hasan had thought he had seen the most spectacular refuge of wild-life and wilderness in Serendip. Now he realized that there was a great deal yet to appreciate.

The monsoon came as they crossed the valley between the long mountain ranges, to the western side of the penin- sula. The rains beat down with devastating force, drench- ing everything with elemental savagery. This was one of the wettest spots in the world, Shawahi said, and Hasan believed it.

They moved on south, day by day. Brilliant flowers were everywhere. Plants climbed trees, reached up through the crowns and out into the sun. Some plants even lived in the high foliage entirely, with their roots dangling in the air below. b.u.t.terflies fluttered about, and even fish climbed trees.

Land appeared across the ocean to the south. This was the major island of Wak itself-the land where Hasan was to meet his fate.

They crossed in long double-hulled boats, the amazons taking paddles and rowing vigorously in their enthusiasm to be home. All day they rowed, and did not touch land again until night; Hasan was glad there was no storm that day, for the ocean seemed exceedingly wide and deep for such tiny craft.

They landed; but the journey was hardly over yet. They had yet to traverse the Land of the Jinn.

Great mountains lay to the south and west. The country- side did not seem to change, except for one notable fea- ture: the top of the largest mountain they pa.s.sed was white. Hasan remembered this effect from the mountain of the black Shaykh.

”What's the matter with that peak?” he demanded, gesturing.

Shawahi smiled. ”That is snow.”

Hasan fidgeted in the heat, looking for the joke. ”But snow is cold.”

She nodded agreeably.

Hasan gave up. Evidently he was missing something again.

They marched inland now, through thick forest. Ani- mals and birds of every description were present, and Hasan gaped at bamboo stalks over two feet thick, and fly-covered flowers the same size. The soil was uncom- monly rich and black, but still-!

At night he woke with a shock: the ground was shaking! ”What's happening?” he shouted.

”Go back to sleep, lad,” Shawahi mumbled. ”I told you this was the land of the Jinn.”

The jinn! So it was true. The flying ifrit Dahnash had said that the demons of the earth could shake the ground...

”Do they really make cones of fire?”

”Of course,” the old woman said. ”Go to sleep.”

”How can I sleep when the jinn are walking?”

Shawahi sat up. ”Listen, Hasan-all that a man needs for happiness is a horse, a knife, a wife and a singing bird. That's a proverb of ours. Worry about your wife. That's all you're missing. You don't need to concern yourself about the doings of the fire-spirits. You'll see enough of that tomorrow. Now sleep.”

Somehow he wasn't rea.s.sured.

In the morning they marched uphill. The jungle opened out and they stood before a ragged mountain of ominous appearance. ”That's your cone,” Shawahi said. ”One of the largest in Wak. See-there's a little fire now.”

Hasan looked anxiously. The top of the mountain lev- eled off, and above it was a cloud of smoke. As he watched, an expanding ball of blackness puffed up from the mountain itself.

”That's really a ball of steam and ashes,” the old woman said. ”Just a little innocent practice. Sometimes Magma is angry; then the fire shoots out and the ashes fall everywhere, and the terrible burning rock flows down the side. When that happens, you must get as far away as you can.” She smiled reminiscently. ”But it doesn't happen often.”

”Magma? Who is-?”

”Magma is the marid of the mountain. You haven't seen power until you've seen a marid in action. But don't be alarmed-our temple to Buddha is nearby, and while the holy men hardly serve the marid, there seems to be a pacifying influence.”

”What kind of temple does-Buddha-have?” Hasan was still curious about this strange religion that never faced Mekkeh.

”You'll see it when we pa.s.s beyond the mountain. There are holy relics and the sacred ashes of our dead. You can hear the bells for many miles, and it is a sanctu- ary for all who are in need.”

”But why so far from your cities? You said we still have to travel many-”

”Buddha loved the forest. A tree may be as holy as a temple. Isn't that true in your land?”