And then he was dreaming for sure, for he was no longer in the mountains of Cheem at all, but on a great rolling grassland that seemed to go on forever beneath a sun that arched overhead shallow and pale. A solitary bird wheeled in the sky. Flies hovered in clouds just above the grasses, but no animals could be seen on the land, no sounds of life could be heard. In a blink night fell. The twin moons shone overhead. He was looking down upon a man curled up beneath a scrubby tree, wrapped in animal skins, sound asleep. The man wasn't alone. Shapes were moving silently towards him. What little Nico could see of them, they were shapes made from nightmares, for they looked like insects, spiders or ants perhaps – though huge in size. Each seemed the size of a mule, and scuttled rather than ran.
It was a dream, Nico realized, but unlike any he had ever experienced. He did not seem to be within this dream – rather, he was hovering in some disembodied form, witnessing the nightmare of another. Something else was strange about it, too, for he seemed to know this man, even though he could barely make out his face in the darkness.
Suddenly Nico was yelling at the familiar stranger to wake up, to gather his weapons and defend himself; but without effect, for no sound would come from his mouth. He yelled even louder, began screaming even, as the shadows converged on the sleeping shape. But the only thing to stir was a slight breeze, the rustling of a few leaves on the tree under which he slept.
A seed pod detached itself from an otherwise bare branch. Possibly it was the very last seed on the tree. Its wings caught the air and it spun slowly earthwards, before, it settled right on the sleeping man's cheek.
In an instant the man was up, and fighting for his life.
*
'Boy!'
Nico came awake with a start, gasping for air.
Ash was shaking him lightly, holding out a cup of steaming chee. Nico blinked at him dumbly. For some seconds he was unable to move; then, with an effort, he sat up.
He turned his head to see where they were. Yet another high valley, it seemed.
'Easy, boy,' said the old farlander, fixing Nico's hand around the mug. There was a wildness in his eyes this morning.
'Are we there yet?' Nico asked.
'Almost. How do you feel?'
Nico groaned in response. He felt particularly delicate, and a dull pain throbbed behind his eyes. His clothes were in a fine mess, too, torn and smeared with dirt and leaves. Ash looked no better, his robe in tatters, his face grubby and sprouting the beginnings of a grey beard. 'How long…?' Nico began, not sure how to phrase the rest of his question.
'Five days, I think – maybe more. You did well. You held it together.'
Nico sipped the hot chee, though he could barely taste it. He badly needed to scrub his teeth. He studied his surroundings more closely now that his eyes had cleared of sleep. A high valley divided down its length by a broad stream that meandered calmly past their camp on the far side of the two mules grazing a few yards away.
His gaze followed the stream upwards, past the rushes that massed along its curving banks, towards the yellow grassland that spread beyond them across the whole of the valley floor, all of it rippling in a morning breeze that carried the scents of hot keesh and frying garlic, and occasionally a hint of distant laughter. At the very head of the valley sat a large building of red brick, with a tower rising at one corner. Around it huddled a small forest of low, gold-coloured trees.
They took their time striking camp that morning. Nico sat quietly and let the chee soothe his empty belly, idly observing the view as their small campfire kept the grassflies at bay. Ash shaved and washed himself in the stream, standing waist-deep and naked, occasionally whooping at the shock of the cold water. Nico pieced together what little he could recall of the previous five days… mere fragments of memory, vivid scenes framed by nothingness and, even more out of place, a strange dream of a man he had somehow known… None of it made sense to him.
He eventually decided that he really did need to wash himself and scrub his teeth. He cast away these futile recollections along with his clothes, drew from his pack a bar of soap and the little covestick, and went to join Ash in the slow, frigid flow of the mountain water. It was deep enough to swim in some parts, and he passed much of the morning like that, swimming or floating on his back, the sunrays bouncing down on him from high overhead, the occasional shy rainbow trout making dashes around his toes. His stiff, overstretched muscles gradually loosened in relaxation. His many cuts and grazes stung with the welcome freshness of the chilly current.
As Nico dried himself with his tunic, shivering in the cool breeze, he found himself staring down upon a small bush growing by the side of the stream. It was the same species that had sent them on their strange journey through the mountains for the last four or five days, with its oily black berries and white markings. Nico drew Ash's attention to it.
'Yes, we make use of its berries again when we leave,' explained the old man. 'Don't worry,' he said, on noticing Nico's obvious concern, 'we will be here for many moons yet.'
*
They were being watched, Nico sensed, as they began their ascent from the valley floor on muleback. Ash noticed his searching gaze, as he scanned nearby rises of rock. 'You waste your time,' was all Ash had to say, before spurring his own mule onwards.
It took longer than Nico had expected to work their way up to the monastery. Smoke rose lazily from the building's many chimneys, and the shutters of glassless windows stood open to the day. As they got closer to the small forest that surrounded it, they began passing walled gardens tended by figures in black robes; men of many races, sweating in the hot mountain sun, some laughing or chatting as they worked, others solitary and focused only on their tasks.
Many hailed Ash as he passed by, raising their fists in salute. Others bowed with palms pressed together in the traditional greeting of the Way, the sami, their mouths turning into soft smiles.
'Ash!' cried an old farlander, who flashed a gap-toothed smile as he pranced towards them on bare feet, his hands clutching the filthy hem of his robe. Of a similar age to Ash, he possessed the same unusual features, though stockier in size and sporting a top-knot of black and silver hair. 'By Dao, I thought you dead and buried in the ice by now,' panted the Rshun.
'How are you, old friend?' inquired Ash.
'Better, now that you have returned to us safely. And not alone, I see.'
'This is my apprentice.' Ash jabbed a thumb over his shoulder towards Nico. 'Nico, greet this old fool, who goes by the name of Kosh.'
The man's eyes widened ever further as Nico offered him a weak smile. 'A quiet one,' observed Kosh with good humour.
'Hardly. He only speaks when it is least called for.'
'Well,' said Kosh, 'I will leave you both to get settled. But we must have a drink tonight, and some tales of your journey.' The man slapped the rear of Ash's mule to send it on its way. Nico followed, turning in his saddle to see the Rshun pull himself erect and bow respectfully towards the departing back of Ash, while they moved on.
'These trees…' Nico began, as the mules crunched along a gravel path leading through the forest. Small trees, covered in a golden brown bark, with canopies of copper leaves and reddish blossoms shaped like stars. He had never seen their like before.