Also, some of them might still be hanging around with nowhere else to go, and after what he’d seen of them so far he didn’t want them popping up in his own dreams.
CHAPTER 17
When the rhino awoke that evening, he was fully rejuvenated and ready to roll. To his surprise, none of his companions exhibited comparable enthusiasm. So he was compelled to wait while they spent the night in the shelter of the eroded boulders, wondering how they could be so exhausted when he felt relaxed and thoroughly refreshed.
Snaugenhutt’s nightmares had departed for more congenial dreams, and everyone slept comfortably. After a quick breakfast, they remounted their bemused but now fully recovered four-legged ferry and pressed on deeper into the Tamas.
The landscape grew ever more fantastic, presenting towers and turrets of stone that had been carved by angry wind and impatient water into a surfeit of fanciful shapes. Fragile fingers of layered stone reached hundreds of feet into the sky, while rivers of broken rock flowed in frozen riot down the slopes of brooding, flat-topped mesas. The blaze of mineralized color ranged from pure white to a deep maroon that reminded Buncan of fine wines he’d seen for sale in the shops of Lynchbany. Black basalt and gleaming obsidian striped the lighter stone like collapsed veins in the bodies of fallen giants.
They passed beneath a wall of solid peridot, the intense green volcanic gemstone afire with inanimate life, and had to avert their eyes from the glare.
Squill stared until the tears ran down his cheeks, and not only from the light. “Wot a site! A determined bloke could winkle out jewels ‘ere for a century without dentin’ the supply. Ain’t that right, Gragelouth?”
The merchant nodded. “It is certainly a remarkable deposit.”
“Remarkable? ‘Ell, it’s bleedin’ unique.”
“Mining’s hard work, Squill.” Buncan shifted his backside against the unyielding iron. “You’re allergic to hard work, remember?”
The otter pursed his lips. “Oi, that’s right. For a minute there I’d forgotten.” He went silent as Snaugenhutt picked a route between a pair of brittle sandstone spires.
They stopped for the night by the side of an arroyo. A small stream sang through its twists and turns, running clear and cold over slick sandstone slabs. There were several deep pools, one of which provided the otters with an opportunity for a noisy swim.
All the talk in Pbukelpo had been of the desolate, unforgiving Tamas and its endless stretches of windswept rock and gravel. So far the actuality had been both greener and wetter. They’d found water not once but several times, and their casks were as full as when they’d started out.
Maybe, he dared to muse, after all the trouble they’d had in places where they’d expected none, they might now have an easy time of it in the one region where difficulties were anticipated.
While the Tamas had proven itself unexpectedly benign, it was still far from an inviting place. Not only hadn’t they met a soul since leaving Poukelpo, there was no indication that anyone else had passed this way at any time in the recent past. There were no tracks of riding animals, no casually cast-off detritus of civilization, not even the chilled embers of an old campfire. They were truly alone.
The arroyo gave way to a spectacular, sheer-walled canyon that wound north. Gragelouth was good at analyzing the topography ahead, and they had the benefit of Viz’s wings. Each time the merchant decreed a change of direction, the tickbird would soar ahead to confirm or deny the wisdom of his decision. Invariably, the sloth chose correctly.
Buncan marveled openly at this talent. “Years of traveling by oneself sharpens one’s sense of direction, cub.”
“It must, because I’d get us good and lost in these chasms and gorges.” He scrutinized the sandstone ramparts. “How much more of this do you think there is?”
“That I cannot tell you.” The sloth scanned the high rim of the canyon they were traversing.
“So far it’s been a lot easier than I expected.”
“Yes.” The dour-visaged merchant almost, but not quite, grinned. “Something must be wrong.”
“Nothin’s wrong, mate.” Squill lay flat in his seat, his incredibly limber body curled so that his head rested on his hips. “Our luck’s changed, that’s all. ‘Bout bloody time, too.”
The canyon continued to grow both deeper and wider, until it seemed as if any passing clouds must surely stumble over its lofty rim. Here and there isolated pinnacles thrust their peaks into the sky. Their appearance was deceptively frail. Though it looked as if the first random gust of wind would topple them, still they stood, silent and immutable sentinels, the only witnesses to the presence of the diminutive creatures on the canyon floor far below.
Armor clinking, Snaugenhutt splashed through a shallow tributary of the cheerful stream they had camped beside the night before. On the far side he paused and knelt to slake his thirst. Sensing the chance for a quick dip, the otters dismounted and disrobed in one smooth, flowing motion. Buncan settled himself in a comfortable hollow in the rocks, while Viz hunted for water bugs along the shore. With great dignity, Gragelouth slid from his seat and set about washing his face and hands.
Buncan lay back and contemplated the sky. Not such a bad journey, not now. He glanced lazily to his left, then to his right. And blinked.
Something was coming down the canyon toward them. It was big, bigger than Snaugenhutt. Much bigger.
In point of fact, it reached a third of the way up the canyon wall.
He scrambled to his feet. The object most nearly resembled an inverted cone, its top being much broader than the base on which it scooted along the ground. As it drew nearer, the faint whisper which had first caught his attention had risen to a dull roar. The otters had scrambled clear of the pool and were throwing themselves into their clothing. Viz had rushed to his armored perch atop Snaugenhutt’s forehead, while Gragelouth edged close to the rhino’s protective bulk.
The merchant was anxiously examining the base of the canyon walls. “Shelter. We have to find shelter.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve seen bigger whirlwinds in the Chacmadura country,” Viz told him. “Everybody hunker down close to Snaugenhutt. I don’t think it’s strong enough to move him.” He glanced to left and right. “I don’t see any caves, merchant. We might as well stand our ground.”
“Easy for you to say.” Gragelouth clung determinedly to part of the rhino’s armor as the introverted storm bore down on them. “You can be caught up in such a phenomenon, thrown skyward, and simply cast free while the rest of us would suffer a prolonged and possibly lethal descent.”
Snaugenhutt turned his snout into the oncoming whirlwind and braced himself against the rocks underfoot. The storm collected gravel and unfortunate insects, swapping them for twigs and fragments of other plants it had picked up elsewhere. Its roar was loud but not overpowering.
Buncan hugged the rhino’s comfortingly massive flank, squinting into the flying debris. The disturbance would pass over them quickly and they could be on their way.
He was feeling quite confident until he saw the second whirlwind.
It entered the gorge from the opposite end, as if sniffing along their track. Much larger and more intense than its predecessor, its concentrated winds reached three-quarters of the way up the canyon walls. Instead of a muted, mottled gray, it was an angry black. Instead of twigs and leaves, entire trees could be seen spinning and snapping within its tubular core. As it bore down on them, it lifted huge sandstone boulders as if they were pebbles and flung them aside.
Gragelouth saw it too. “Most unusual to encounter two such atmospheric phenomena at the same time. I fear for our safety.” He rubbed at his eyes. Flying sand was starting to become a problem. “Perhaps they will bypass us, slam into one another, and cancel themselves out.”