“How could anyone have lived to tell of it?” he had whispered to his grandfather, not daring to speak openly, impolitely, before the hosted tribal elders.
Grandfather had smiled brightly. With a wink and pat on Ghassan’s hand, he placed a finger over his wrinkled lips.
Ghassan had not thought of that tale again until after he met Wynn Hygeorht. Now he looked up the base slope of a headless—or “fallen”—mountain beyond, hidden from the desert below by the jagged hills and lower crags.
It must have once been as immense as any other peak in the range. He could almost not see from one side of its base to the other. About halfway up, the entire top half seemed to have caved in. He wondered, if he climbed all the way up, would he find a flat plateau, crumbled hillocks of boulders, or a crater?
“I am here, Wynn,” Ghassan whispered in the cold evening breeze. “I have found it first.”
He rushed downward through the depression to the mountain’s base.
If this was where Bäalâle Seatt had once existed, climbing to its top would avail him nothing. Any higher entrance would have collapsed if the mountain-top had indeed fallen. But if the tales of the “headless mountain” were based on fact, anyone who had come here and lived had never mentioned anything below it. Lower entrances, if they existed, surely would have been found. So did they even exist?
Yes, he was here. He believed he had found the location of the lost seatt.
“But how do I get inside?” Ghassan whispered again on the wind.
Chapter 19
A few nights later, Chane was out foraging on his own. He took relief in being off by himself for a while.
In his mortal days, he had needed a share of solitude. That penchant had increased since the night he rose from death. Though he cherished Wynn’s company, the last two moons in close quarters with others had begun to take its toll.
He still had some acquired life in one bottle, so he was not concerned for himself, but he strode the pass’s western slope, looking for firewood or anything edible for his companions.
They had made good time in the last few nights, and mountains loomed close ahead. But even in darkness, the landscape was bleak, a rocky terrain spare of trees.
He wandered into an open area at the base of a shorn slope where no trees grew among the scattered, loose stones. Only the sharp angles of embedded boulders showed in the dark. He headed toward the straggly trees at the far side, for no game would linger here.
Chane’s boot toe caught on something.
Stumbling forward before righting himself, he looked down at a square edge protruding from hardened ground. He found himself standing on a flat area, and an exposed patch of smooth stone showed where his boot had scuffed away the dirt. He bent over, studying it.
It was smooth—too smooth—and level versus the surrounding slope of dirt. Crouching, he began brushing away more dirt, and soon exposed an edge.
Though the stone was pitted with wear and age, the small patch appeared to be cut square. He began using his old shortened sword to break more of the hard earth. When he had cleared five paces’ worth, he stopped to examine what he had exposed. The entire edge of stone ran straight and square for the whole distance. It might have once been the foundation of a small but heavy building set into the gradual slope. He stood up, scanning the ground around him, and let hunger rise a little to sharpen his night sight.
Those other shallow, angular protrusions were not embedded boulders. He could see the outlines for what they were—the bones of long-forgotten buildings at various points up the shallow slope.
Had there been a settlement here long ago? That was strange for the middle of nowhere.
Chane walked back along the edge he had exposed. He noticed a fallen tree, weather grayed, lower down the slope. Hacking off pieces, he gathered what he could before turning back the way he had come. But he paused, glancing back once at those ruins’ remains, and remembered what Ore-Locks had claimed at the shattered pylon.
Something is out there, along our path.
Chane was tempted not to mention this place at all.
Before dawn, they had found a decent spot to camp between two ridges up the pass’s western slope. A tiny, if somewhat clouded, stream trickled down a rock crevice to replenish their water casks. Walking into camp, Chane found a fire burning with the remains of last night’s wood. Wynn was bent over a pot at the fireside.
“I’m telling you, they are edible,” she said emphatically. “As long as they are thoroughly cooked with enough water.”
Ore-Locks frowned, almost to the point of disgust, showing more emotion than usual. Lying nearby, Shade grumbled, her head on her paws.
“What is edible?” Chane asked, dropping the wood beside the fire.
Wynn looked up, and he noted her dust-laced hair. She wore it loose tonight, and instead of wispy and light brown, it looked flat and dull in the firelight.
“Oats,” she answered.
Both surprised and dubious, Chane leaned over the pot. “The stone-rolled ones ... for the horses?”
“It’s the most abundant foodstuff we have left. Domin Tilswith and I were forced to live on them several times. They are perfectly edible if cooked down enough ... but a pity we have no honey.”
Shade made a little retching noise and squirmed around to face the other way.
Chane regretted the lost hare from a few nights back, more so when he studied the cream-colored goop Wynn was cooking. Fortunately, he would not have to eat it.
“Did you find anything else?” she asked.
“Nothing to eat,” he returned. “Only ... only a place.”
Wynn stopped stirring. Ore-Locks was still slightly aghast, watching the pot. He blinked and looked up.
“A what?” he asked.
The look in Wynn’s eyes made Chane clench his jaw, wishing he had said nothing at all. But it was too late.
Wynn held her crystal over the half-buried stone remains. Excitement—even hope—slowly built within her.
“Well?” she asked Ore-Locks.
He’d done some digging and unearthed a forearm’s height of a stone wall’s base. He was crouched, examining it.
“This was cut by my people,” he confirmed. “Humans do not fit stone like this without mortar, but ...”
“But what?”
“I see proof of only three dwellings. My people do not live in small villages in the middle of nowhere.”
“So what was this doing out here?” she asked.
Wynn twisted in her squat and spotted Chane a few paces off with his arms crossed. For some reason, he’d been resentful about bringing them here. Shade sniffed the ground all around but didn’t seem any happier than Chane. Wynn ignored them both.
Ever since finding the broken pylon and Ore-Locks’s mention of a ground-level entrance into the mountains, her thoughts hadn’t stopped churning.
“What do you think it was?” she asked Ore-Locks.
She couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice. When she saw her own hesitant hope mirrored in his face, it made her falter for an instant.
“Perhaps a way station for overland travelers,” he said slowly. “My people have constructed a few such north of Dhredze Seatt, along the coast toward the Northlanders’ territory. But those were built on a well-traveled route and—”
“Then Vreuvillä was right!” Wynn cut in excitedly. “Dwarves once used this pass to interact with the Lhoin’na ancestors. But we are nowhere near the range’s southern side and the seatt itself. Where were the dwarves coming from, going to, that they’d require a layover here?”