he knelt in the sand.
" 'Ere now, 'ave either of you two noticed this?"
"Noticed what?" The sweat was pouring down Jon-
Tom's face, as much in frustration at finding no sign of
their quarry as from the heat.
Mudge put a paw fiat on the ground. "This 'ere sand.
'Ave a close look."
Jon-Tom knelt and stared. At first he saw nothing. Then
one grain crept from beneath Mudge's fingers. A second, a
third, moving from west to east. Mudge's paw hadn't
moved them, nor had the wind. There was no wind.
At the same time as loose grains were shifting from
beneath the otter's paw, a small rampart of sand was
building up against the other side of his thumb. The sand
was moving, without aid of wind, from east to west.
Jon-Tom put his own hand against the hot sand, watched
as the phenomenon repeated itself. All around them, the
sand was shifting from east to west. He felt the small hairs
on the back of his neck stiffen.
4' Tis bloody creepy,' * the otter muttered as he rose and
brushed sand from his paws.
"Some underground disturbance," Jon-Tom suggested.
"Or something alive under the surface." That was not a
pleasant thought, and he hastened to discard it. They had
no proof that anything lived in this land, anyway.
"That's not all." Mudge gestured back the way they'd
come. "There's somethin' else mighty funny. See that 'ill
we passed the other day?" Jon-Tom and Mudge strained to
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
2O9
see the distant relative of a Serengeti kopje. " Tis lower
than it were."
"Nothing unnatural about that, Mudge. It's just shrink-
ing into the distance as we walk."
The otter shook his head insistently. " 'Tis shrinkin' too
bloomin' fast, mate." He shouldered his pack and resumed
the march. "One more thing. Don't it seem to either o'
you that we're walkin' downhill?"
Jon-Tom didn't try to hide his confusion. He gestured at
the western horizon. "We're on level ground. What are
you talking about?"
"I dunno." The otter strained to put his feelings into
words. "Tis just that somethin' don't feel right 'ere,
mate. It just don't feel right."
That night the otter's nose proved of more help than his
sense of balance. They dug a hole through a dark stain in
the sand and were rewarded with a trickle of surprisingly
clear water. Patience enabled them to top off their water
skins and relieve their major anxiety. It was decided
unanimously to spend the night by the moisture seep.
Jon-Tom felt someone shaking him awake, peered sleep-
ily into still solid darkness. Mudge stared anxiously down
at him.
"Got somethin' for you to 'ave a looksee at, mate."
"At this hour? Are you nuts?"
"I 'ope so, mate," the otter whispered. "I sincerely
'ope so."
Jon-Tom sighed and unrolled himself. As he did so he
found himself spitting out sand. The full moon gleamed
brightly on their campsite, to reveal packs, weapons, and
Roseroar's feet partially buried in sand.
"The wind came up during the night, that's all." He
found he was whispering, too, though there seemed no
reason for it.
"Feel any wind now, mate?"
Jon-Tom wet a finger, stuck it into the air. "No. Not a
breeze."
"Then 'ave a look at your own feet, mate."
210
Alan Dean Foster
THE DAY OF THE DISSOJVAJVCE
211
Jon-Tom did so. As he stared he saw sand flowing over
his toes. There was no wind at all, and now the sand was
moving much faster. He drew his feet up as if the pulver-
ized silica might bite him.
"Look all around, lad."
The sand was crawling westward at an ever more rapid
pace. It seemed to accelerate even as he watched. In
addition to the steady movement there came the first
murmurs of a dry, slithery, rasping sound as grains tumbled
over one another.
The discussion finally woke Roseroar. "What's goin' on
heah?"
"I don't know," Jon-Tom muttered, eyeing the crawling
ground. "The sand is moving, and much faster now than it
was yesterday. I'm not sure I want to know what's making
it move."
"Should we go back?" The tigress was slipping on her
sandals, shaking the grains from the leather.
"We can't go back." He pulled on his boots. "If we go
back now, we lose Jalwar, Folly, and likely as not,
Clothahump's medicine. But I won't force either of you to
stay with me. Roseroar, are you listening to me?"
She wasn't. Instead, she was pointing southward. "Ah
think we might get ourselves a second opinion. We have
company, y'all."
The line of camels the tigress had spotted was slightly
behind them but moving in the same direction. Hastily
gathering their equipment, the trio hurried to intercept the
column of dromedaries. As they ran the sun began to rise,
bringing with it welcome light and unwelcome heat. And
all around them, the sand continued to crawl inexorably
westward.
Mounted on the backs of the camels was an irregular
assortment of robed rodents—pack rats, kangaroo rats,
field mice, and other desert dwellers of related species.
They looked to Jon-Tom like a bunch of midget bewhis-
kered bedouins. He loped alongside the lead camel, tried
to bow slightly, and nearly tripped over his own feet.
"Where are you headed in such a hurry?" The pack rat
did not reply. The camel did.
"We go to Redrock, Everyone goes now to Redrock,
man. Everyone who lives in the desert." The camel's
manner was imperious and wholly typical of his kind. He
spat a glob of foul-smelling sputum to his left, making
Jon-Tom dodge.
"Who are you people?" inquired the pack rat in the
front. There was room on the camel's back for several.
"Strangers in this land."
"That is obvious enough," commented the camel.
"Why is everyone going to Redrock?" Jon-Tom asked.
The camel glanced back up at its lead rider and shook its
head sadly. The rat spoke. "You really don't know?"
"If we did, would we be askin' you, mate?" said
Mudge.
The rat gestured with both paws, spreading his arms
wide. "It is the Conjunction. The time when the threads of
magic that bind together this land reach their apogee. The
time of the time inversion."
"What does that mean?"
The rat shrugged. "Do not ask me to explain it. I am no
magician. This I do know. If you do not reach the safety of
Redrock by the time the next moon begins to rise, you
never will." He slapped the camel on the side of its neck.
The animal turned to gaze back up at him.
"Let's have none of that, Bartim, or you will find
yourself walking. 1 am measuring my pace, as are the rest
of the brethren."
"The time is upon us!"
"No less so upon me than thee," said the camel with a
pained expression. He turned to glance back to where
Jon-Tom was beginning to fall behind. "We will see you
in Redrock, strangers, or we will drink the long drink to
your memory."
212
Alan Dean Foster
THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE
213
Panting hard in the rising light, Jon-Tom slowed to a
walk, unable to maintain the pace. On firm ground he
might have kept up, but not in the soft sand. Roseroar and
Mudge were equally winded.
"What was that all about, Jon-Tom?" asked Roseroar.
"I'm not sure. It didn't make much sense."
"Ah you not a spellsingah?"
"I know my songs, but not other magic. If Clothahump
were here ..."
"If 'is wizardship were 'ere we wouldn't be, mate."