Still the road wound upward, still it followed the ill-tempered Venj. Still the travellers followed the road. And at last they were rewarded by fine views.
They were approaching Sharagatt, five thousand metres above sea level. When the clouds dispersed, views were to be had northwestward, down the tangled mountainsides, into terrifying gorges where vultures soared. Even farther, if the pilgrim was lucky and eagle-eyed, he might see the plains of Bribahr, blue with distance or possibly frost.
Before Sharagatt, a few pokey wayside shops began again. Some had nuts and mountain fruits to sell, some offered paintings of the landscape, as badly drawn as they were highly idealised. Signs appeared. A bend in the road—and yet another bend—and how tired the calf muscles suddenly seemed—and a stall selling waffles—and a glimpse of a wooden spire—and then another bend—and people—crowds—and Sharagatt, yes, that haven!—Sharagatt and the prospect of a bath and a clean bed.
Sharagatt was full of churches, some modelled on the ones in Kharnabhar. Paintings and engravings of Kharnabhar were on sale. Some claimed that, if you knew where to go, you could purchase genuine certificates to say that you had visited the Great Wheel.
For Sharagatt—considerable though the achievement was to reach it—was nothing. It was but a halt, a beginning. Sharagatt was where the real journey to Kharnabhar began. Sharagatt was as far as many travellers ever got. Promising everything, it was a milestone of lost hopes. Many people found themselves too old, too tired, too ill, or simply too poor to get further. They stayed for a day or two. Then they turned round and made their way back down to Rivenjk, at the mouth of the unforgiving river.
For Sharagatt was little past the tropical zone. To the north, further up the mountain, the climate rapidly grew more severe. Many hundreds of miles lay between Sharagatt and Kharnabhar. More than determina- tion was needed to make that journey.
Luterin Shokerandit, Toress Lahl, and Harbin Fashnalgid slept in the Sharagatt Star Hotel. More precisely, they slept on a verandah under the broad eaves of the Sharagatt Star Hotel. For even Shokerandit’s careful booking of all details in Rivenjk had not prevented a muddle at the hotel, which was fully occupied. A creaky three-decker bunk bed had been carried onto the verandah for their comfort.
Fashnalgid lay in the top bunk, with Shokerandit next and the woman at the bottom. Fashnalgid had not been pleased with the arrangement, but Shokerandit had bought them each a pipe full of occhara, the weed grown from a mountain plant, and they were full of peace. A light wagon had brought them and other privileged passengers this far. Tomorrow they would take to a sledge. Tonight was for rest. When the mists cleared over the mountain, the night sky blazed with familiar constellations, the Queen’s Scar, the Fountain, the Old Pursuer.
“Toress Lahl, you see the stars? Can you name them?” Shokerandit asked in a dreamy voice.
“I name them all—stars…” She gave a faint laugh. “Then I shall climb down into your bunk and teach you.” “There are so many.” “It will take me a long time…”
But he fell asleep before he could move, and even animal cries from further down the mountainside did not awaken him.
Shokerandit was up early next morning, feeling stale and tired. He pulled his chilly top clothes on before rousing Toress Lahl.
“We sleep in all our clothes from now until the end of the journey,” he said. Without waiting for her to follow he was off to the stores to see to the equipment that would be needed for the month ahead. NORTH TRAVEL STORES it announced over the door, with a painting of the Great Wheel.
He was anxious. Fashnalgid, a true Uskuti, thought of Shivenink as a mountainous backwater. Luterin Shokerandit knew better. Remote though it was from the capital, Shivenink was well provided with police and informers. After Fashnalgid’s killing of a soldier, both police and military would be on their track. He grieved to think of the trouble he had left with Eedap Mun Odim and Hernisarath.
Using an assumed name, he bought various necessary items at the store, and then went to inspect the team, already booked, which would transport them to Kharnabhar and the safety of his father’s estates.
Fashnalgid took the processes of the morning more slowly. Directly Shokerandit was gone from the verandah, he ceased to feign sleep and climbed down into the lower bunk with Toress Lahl. Now that he had broken her spirit, she offered no resistance. The occhara had left her listless.
“Luterin will kill you when he discovers what you are doing,” she said.
“Shut up and enjoy it, you hussy. I’ll take care of him when the time comes.” He seized her in a bear’s embrace, and with his ankles wrapped about hers, parted her thighs, and thrust into her. His thrusting set the rickety bunk banging against the rail of the verandah.
Sharagatt was divided into two parts. There was Sharagatt and North Sharagatt. The two parts were close. Little more than a hundred yards and a cliff like corner of rock separated them. Sharagatt was protected by wedges of mountainside above it. On North Sharagatt cold katabatic winds poured, lowering the temperature by several degrees. The teams that made the northward journey were stabled only in North Sharagatt. Sharagatt itself would have made them soft.
It took Shokerandit two hours to see that all was arranged for the journey. He knew the folk he had to deal with. They were mountain people who called themselves Ondod, which meant—according to who was translating from their complex language—either “Spirit People” or “Spirited People.”
One Ondod would be driver. With him would be his phagor slave. He had a good sledge and an eight- dog asokin team.
While he was inspecting the harness inch by inch, Toress Lahl appeared, her face pale and sullen.
“It’s freezing here,” she said listlessly.
He went over to the supplies he had acquired and brought back a woollen one-piece undergarment. Smiling, he handed it to her. “This is for you. Put it on now.”
“Where?”
“Here.” He caught her meaning, glanced at the Ondod and phagors standing there. “Oh, these people have no shame. Put your new garment on.”
“I’m the one with shame,” she said. But she did as she was told, while the others watched smiling.
He went back to checking everything and interrogating their Ondod driver, by name Uuundaamp, a small person with brilliant black eyes, pockmarked cheeks, and a narrow moustache that faded out into lashes across his cheekbones. He was fourteen, and had made the difficult journey many times.
As Uuundaamp took Shokerandit out to see the team, Toress Lahl joined them in her new gear, glancing at the Ondod questioningly.
“All drivers are young,” Shokerandit told her. “They live on meat, and generally die young.”
At the back of the store, a door opened into a yard. Here were the pens, separated by high wire. Dirty snow lay on the ground. The noise of the dogs was deafening.
Uuundaamp walked the narrow path between the pens. On either side, asokins hurled themselves at the wire, teeth snapping, saliva running from their jaws. The horned dogs stood as high as a man’s hip, and were covered in thick fur, brown, white, grey, black, or mixed.
“This our team—gumtaa team—very good asokin,” Uuundaamp said, pointing out the contents of one pen and glancing slyly up at Shokerandit. “Before we go here, you two give one meat chunk for lead dog, make friend together him. Then you alway friend together him. Ishto?”