“Reports are coming in,” he said. “The whole area seems cool and secure. The building seals held very well.”
Stavros breathed a sigh of relief.
“My younglings,” said Hulagh, “will find means of restoring the water and repairing the collectors for the power.” He waved a massive hand. “Hada will attend other matters, given use of transport I believe some of the vehicles at the water plant may have survived intact.”
Chapter Twenty-One
At the entrance to Sil’athen a dus met them, warding with such strength that Niun’s dus shied off. And there in the rocks, half buried in the sands, lay Eddan’s remains; and not far away lay a tangle of black that had been Liran and Debas, and gold that had been Sathell.
Melein veiled herself and drew aside, being she’pan and unable to look upon death; but came and reverently arranged the visor over Eddan’s face, and it was long before he could look up and face the human that hovered uncertainly by.
He cleansed his hands in the sand, and made the reverence sign and rose. The human also made such a sign, in his own fashion, a respect which Niun accepted as it was given. “They chose this end,” he said to Duncan, “and it was better for them here than for those that stayed.”
And he poured a little of their precious water, and turned his back to wash, hands and face, and veiled again. When he looked up at the rocks he saw two other dusei, that began to come down from their heights; and he gave back at once.
His own dus came between, and tried to approach the three warding beasts that had formed a common front against them. Noses extended, they circled back and forth, and then the great gentle creature that had been Eddan’s, or so Niun thought it, reared up and cried put, driving the dus away. But the smallest of the three hesitated between, and followed the stranger-dus of Niun, and its fellow came after.
The largest, Eddan’s, gave a plaintive moan and retreated from these traitor-dusei, that he no longer knew. Niun felt its anger, and trembled; but when he moved away from this place, not alone his own dus came, but the two that had been of Liran and Debas, a tight triangle with his own. They called and moaned, and would not yet suffer Niun to come near them, but they came away from their duty all the same, choosing life, leaving matters to the dus of Eddan, who settled by his dead and remained faithful.
“Lo’a’ni dus,” Niun saluted that one softly, with great respect; but he shut his heart to it, because the warding impulse was too strong to bear.
And he shouldered his burden again and began walking, his course and Duncan’s converging with that of Melein.
There was no need to speak of what they had found. The dusei walked ahead of them, and now and then one would make to go back and go toward Duncan, but Niun’s dus would not allow this, and constantly circled toward the rear to prevent them when they did so. Soon they seemed to understand that this particular tsi’mri was under safe-conduct and gave up their attempts on him.
They were at the entrance to the inner valley of Sil’athen, and here was another sort of warder. Niun saw it across the flat sweep of sand, and, touching the human on the arm, he bent and picked up a tiny stone. He hurled it far, far out across the flat sand, toward the central depression.
It erupted, a circumference twenty times the length of a dus, a cloud of sand from the edge of the burrower’s mantle and it rose and dived again a few lengths farther.
The human swore in a tone of awe.
“I have shown you,” said Niun, “so that you will understand that a man without knowledge of this land—and without a dus to walk with him—will not find his way across it. Across the great sands, there are said to be larger ones than what you saw. The dusei smell them out. They smell out other dangers too. Even mri do not like to walk this country alone, although we can do it. I do not think you can.”
“I understand you,” said Duncan.
They walked quietly thereafter, near the wall of the cliffs, where the safe course was, past caves sealed and marked with stones, and the strange shapes of Sil’athen’s rocks one by one passed behind them, ringing them about and shutting off view of the way they had come.
“What is this place?” Duncan asked in a lowered voice, as they passed the high graves of the she’panei.
“Nla’ai’mri,” said Niun. “Sil’athen, the burying place of our kind.”
And thereafter Duncan said nothing, but looked uneasily from one side of the valley to the other as they passed, and once backward, over his shoulder, where the wind erased their tracks, wiping clean all the trace that men had ever walked this way.
Melein led them now, walking at their head, her hand on the back of Niun’s dus, which ambled slowly beside her, and the beast even seemed to enjoy that contact. Deep into the canyons they went, by a path that Niun had never walked, down the aisle of rock that belonged to the tombs of the she’panei. Here there were signs graven on the rocks—names, perhaps, of ancient she’panei, or directions: Melein read them, and Niun trusted her leading, that she knew their way though she herself had never walked it.
She tired, and it seemed at times that she must surely stop, but she would not, only paused for breath now and again, and went on. The sun that was at noon became the fervent blaze of afternoon, and sank so that they walked in the cold shadow of the cliffs, dangerous if not for the protecting dusei that probed the way for them.
Deep in that shadow they came to the blind end of the cliffs, and Niun looked to Melein, suddenly wondering if she had not after all lost their way, or whether this was where she meant that they should stop. But she gazed upward at a trail that he had not seen until he followed the direction of her gaze, that could not be seen at all save from this vantage point. It led up and up into the red rocks, toward a maze of sandstone pillars that thrust fingers at the sky.
“Niun,” Melein said then, and cast a glance backward.
He looked where she did, toward Duncan, who, exhausted in the thin air, had slumped to rest over his pack. The dusei were moving toward him. One extended a paw. Duncan froze, lying still, his head still pillowed on the pack.
“Yai!” Niun reproved the dus, who guiltily retracted the curious paw. The dusei in general retreated, radiating mingled confusion.
And in his own mind was unease at the thought of entering that steep, tangled maze with the human in their company, where a misstep could be the end of them.
“What shall I do with, him?” he asked of Melein, in the high language, so that Duncan could not understand. “He should not be here. Shall I find a way to be rid of him?”
“The dusei will manage him,” she said. “Let him alone.”
He started to protest, not for his own sake, but for fear for her; but she did not look as if she were prepared to listen.
“He will go last when we are climbing,” he said, and gathering in his belly all the same was a knot of fear. Intel had seen the future clearly; I have an ill feeling, she had said the night they all died; and he had such a dread now, a cold, clear premonition that here was a point of no return, that he was losing some chance or passing something; and the human wound himself deeper and deeper into his mind.
He did not want him. He carried Duncan in his mind the way he carried the memories of the attack, indelible. He looked at the human and shuddered with sudden and vehement loathing, and found himself carrying the human’s due burden, and not knowing what else to do with it. He fingered the pistol.
But he had been made kel’en for the honor of the People, not for outright butchery; and Melein had ordered otherwise, easing his conscience. He was not able to make such a decision. It was hers to say, and she had said, agreeing with his better conscience.
And suddenly Duncan was looking at him, and he slipped his fingers into his belt, trying to cover his thoughts and the motion at once. “Come,” he said to Duncan. “Come, we are going up now.”
He set himself first on the narrow climb, and saw at once that Melein was scarcely able to make the climb on that eroded, unused track. He braced
his feet where he could and reached for her hand, and she took his fingers crosshanded, to favor her injured side. He moved very carefully, each time that he must give a gentle pull to help her, for he saw her face and knew that she was in great pain.
Duncan came after, and the dusei last of all, clumsy and scattering rocks that rattled into the deep canyon, but their claws and great strength made them surer-footed than they looked.
And halfway, the sound of an aircraft reached them.
It was Melein’s keen hearing that caught it first, between steps, as she was resting: and she turned and pointed where it circled above the main valley. It could not see or detect them where they were, and they were free to watch it, that tiny speck in the rosy halflight that remained.
Niun had view not only of that, but of Duncan’s back, as the human stood holding his place against a great boulder and looking outward at that ship; and he could not think how gladly Duncan would have run to signal it and how he might well do so if he had some future chance.
They were no longer alone in the world.
“Let us climb,” said Melein, “and get off this cliffside before it circles this way.”
“Come,” said Niun sharply to Duncan, with hatefulness in his tone; and Duncan turned and climbed after them, away from what in all likelihood was hope of rescue.
Looking down another time to help Melein, Niun looked put and did not see the aircraft; and that gave him no comfort at all. It could as easily appear directly overhead, passing the cliffs and sandstone fingers that gave them only partial cover.
And to his relief, once they gained the top of the cliffs, they were not faced with another flat, but went down a slight decline, and followed a winding track among sandstone pillars that were now burning red against the purpling sky. There was strong wind, that skirled small clouds among the pillars and erased their tracks as they made them.
Duncan’s dry cough began again and continued a time until the human had caught his breath from the climb. They were at high altitude, and it was far drier air than the lowlands. Here on the highlands, over much of the rest of the land, there was no rain, only blowing sand. A sea lay beyond, the The’asacha, but it was small and dead as the Alkaline Sea that bordered the regul city; and beyond that sea was a mountain chain, the Dogin, the mere skeletons of eroded mountains that still were tall enough to cast the winds this way and that across the backbone of the continent, and generated storms that never fell on the uplands plain, but down-country, in the flats.
The clouds that rimmed the sky now were headed to shed their load of moisture on the lowlands, affording them neither concern for the storm nor hope of water from it. All that it would bring them was a dark sky and a hard and dangerous walk without the stars.
The sound of the aircraft intruded suddenly upon Niun’s hearing: he shepherded human and dusei toward the deepest shadows, in the gathering dark—Melein had sought shelter at once. If the aircraft saw anything it would be the image of a dus, a hot, massive silhouette for their instruments, something that was common enough to see in the wilds. If they fired at every dus on Kesrith, they would be a long time in their searching.
It passed. Niun, his fist entangled in the human’s robes, a grip he had not relaxed since he herded them in together, let go and drew his first even breath.
“We may rest here a moment,” said Melein in a thin, tired voice. “It is a long walk from here—I must rest.”
Niun looked at her, seeing her pain, that she had tried so long to hide. On the climb he had felt her every wince in his own vitals. And they were not to rest long. He was distressed with this, feeling that she was spending her last strength against this urgency to go farther.
And without her, there was nothing.
He took the cloth for a blanket, and settled her against the side of the dus, into that friendly warmth, and was glad when she relaxed against that comfort he offered, and the line of pain knit into her brow, eased and began to vanish.
“I will be all right,” she said, touching his hand.
And then her eyes widened and he whirled about upon a shadow—a darting reach for a water flask and Duncan was gone, into the maze of rocks in the dark.
Niun swore and sprang after him, hearing the moaning roar of the dusei at once behind him. He came round the side of a pillar, half expecting ambush, which would have been idiocy on the human’s part, and did not meet it.
Nor was there sight or sign of Duncan.
And he had left Melein, and sweat broke out on him, only to think what could happen if Duncan circled on them and attacked her, hurt as she was.
Then the sound of a dus hunting arose, moaning carried on the wind, and that cry meant quarry: sighted. He blessed the several gods of his caste and ran toward that sound, pistol in hand.
So he met Melein, a pale wraith in the dark, and a dus beside her: and together they found the blind way where the other dusei had Duncan pent.
“Yai!” Niun called the beasts, before they should close in and kill; and they wheeled in a slope-shouldered and truculent withdrawal, only enough to let Duncan rise from the ledge where he had been cornered. He would not. He huddled there, unveiled in the scramble he had made, his naked face contorted with exhaustion and anger. He coughed rackingly, and his nose poured blood.
“Come down,” said Melein.
But he would not, and Niun went in after him, pushing the dusei aside. Then Duncan made to move, but he fell again, and sat still and dropped his head on his folded arms.
Niun took of the water flask and ripped it from Duncan’s hand, and let him rest the moment, for they were all hard-breathing.
“It was a good attempt,” said Niun. “But the next time I will kill you; it is a wonder that the dusei did not kill you this time.”
Duncan lifted his face, jaw set in anger: He shrugged, a gesture of defiance, a gesture spoiled by an attack of helpless coughing.
“You would have signaled the airship,” said Melein, “and brought them down on as.”
Duncan shrugged again, and came to his feet, went with them of his own accord in leaving the blind pocket. The dusei were still blood-roused, and confused by being set on and drawn off their quarry; and Niun walked between them and the human. Melein followed after them as they went back to the place where they had abandoned their gear in the chase.
There they sank down where they had begun to rest, doubly exhausted now; and Niun stared at Duncan thoughtfully, thinking what might have happened, and what damage might have been done them.
There was Melein, fragile with her injury.
And there was an aircraft in the vicinity that wanted only the least error from them, the least slip into the open at the wrong moment, in order to locate and put an end to them.
“Cover your face,” Niun said at last.
Duncan stared at him sullenly, as if he would defy that order, but in the end he lowered his eyes and arranged the veil, and stared at him still.
The dus moaned and reared up.
“Yai!” Niun ordered him, and he subsided, swaying nervously. The dus-anger stirred his own blood. He fought it down and mastered it, as a man must, who went among dusei, be more rational than they.
Duncan shifted aside, tearing his glance from them and the beasts, fixing it instead on the rock before them.
“We will move on,” said Melein after a time, and pulled herself to her feet, carefully, painfully. She faltered, needed Niun’s immediate hand to steady her.
But she set her hand; then upon the dus, and the beast ambled out to the fore, and she was able to walk at its side, a slow pace and deliberate—the beast the only safety they had in this dark and close passage through the rocks.
Niun gathered up the water flasks, and left the human all the rest of the burden to carry, and hurried him on with a heavy hand, in among the two other dusei, before they should lose sight of Melein’s pale figure.
The dusei, their oily hides immune to the poison of windflowers, their keen senses aware of other
dangers, were the only means by which they could dare to move after dark in this place; and the dark, as Melein was surely reckoning, was friendly to them as it would not be those that pursued them.
The long walk, led them into more open areas, where they crossed fearfully exposed stretches of sand under the ragged clouds; and they made it in among the sandstone formations again as they heard the distant sound of the aircraft still in the area.
It came close. Duncan looked to the skies as if in hope, looked back sharply as Niun whipped the av-tlen from its sheath, a whisper of edged metal.
They faced each other, he and Duncan, standing still as the aircraft circled off again, out of hearing. Niun put the weapon back into its sheath with a practiced reverse.
“Someone,” Duncan said, his voice almost unrecognizable from his raw throat, “someone knows where to look for you. I somehow don’t think my people would know that.”
It was sense that struck cold to Niun’s heart. He glanced at Melein.
“We cannot stop again for rest,” she said. “They must not find us, not here. We must be at the place before light and come away again. Niun, let us hurry.”
He pushed the human gently. “Come,” he said.
“Is it her?” Duncan asked, nodded back toward Melein without moving from where he stood. “Is it somehow to do with her that the regul keep after you?”
“It could not be,” he said with assurance; and then another thought began to grow in him with horrid clarity, mental process working again where for a long time there had been only shock. He looked again to Melein, spoke in the hal’ari, the high language. “It could not be that they are hunting us. They could not know that we exist. What are two mri to them, with others dead? Or how could regul have reached the edun to know survivors left it? They could not have climbed among those ruins. It is this human, this cursed human. He has ties back in the city, a master, and for his sake the regul tracked me across the flats. If it is the regul, they are still on that trail. There are regul and humans at work in this thing.”