"Yangin-Atep and Coyote both."
"So another touch wouldn't kill you."
A giant under the ground?
Suspicion would have made sense, but the Stone Needles Man wouldn't let him hurt himself, would he? He couldn't believe it. Whandall climbed the stone finger and laid the palm of his hand on top.
The land was in a coma of starvation.
Once these expanses of narcotic white weed had lured dragons out of the sky, down to the ridges where they could feed. Then stone fingers closed on them and they were lost. The bones of dragons remained, ossified stone ribs.
But dragons were gone now. Ten thousand huge fingers poked from the ground, questing for prey gone mythical. Flesh alone was not enough to feed a near god. Mammoths were big enough and had magic too, but they ate the dragon nip and avoided the fingers. A mammoth's long nose was perfect for that.
The Giant had been dying for ages, in a sleep as deep as death.
"Sleepy," Whandall said, stumbling back to the fire. "Hungry," as a whiff of stew reached him. He scooped more stew from the pot, working around Morth's hand, barely aware that they were both burning themselves. He ate and then slept.
"I remember when dragon nip grew taller," Hermit said. It was morning, and he wasn't likely to be interrupted. Morth and Whandall were eating. "Thousand years ago. I think it learned to grow shorter than what dragons could pull up. Plants do fight back, you know."
The pot was clean. Whandall licked his bowl. He wondered if he was being rude, but the Hermit was amazingly rude, and so what?
Morth asked, "What did you tell them, down there?"
"Nothing," Whandall said.
"They'll be going crazy. I'd better send a message."
The rainbow-colored crow came at his call. It settled on his shoulder, listened to a whispered message, then winged away.
Morth said, "We should be going too." He didn't stand up.
Hermit picked up a hollowed-out ram's horn. He asked, "Want to ride down?"
"Ride?"
The Hermit blew into the horn. Morth and Whandall winced away from a blast of sound, the sound of Behemoth screaming. Faintly an echo rose from below. No, wait, that wasn't. ..
From behind a granite mass too small to hide him, Behemoth stepped into view, and reached. Whandall threw himself flat beneath nostrils big enough to swallow a wagon. "I believe I'll walk-"
"Yes, indeed," Morth babbled, "but thank you very much-"
"Come visit any time," Hermit said. "People do visit. They never hurt me or rob me. It's getting rid of them, that's the trick. They taught me to be rude."
"They did not," Morth, said immediately.
The Hermit snickered. "Well. No, but I get tired. The cursed language changes every few years and I have to learn to talk all over again. I do get lonely, though. Come again."
The wagon was in sight, and Green Stone was closer yet and climbing. Morth said, "It wasn't just different customs. He's crazy."
Whandall smiled. "Likable, though. He keeps giving things away. Anyone who comes here for the spices will have to climb, I think, and be glad he did."
Then Green Stone, gasping too hard to speak, was nonetheless demanding where they'd been for two days and nights.
Three bison-drawn wagons were in view, way off down the road.
When Whandall's wagon reached the flats, they were closer yet. His own bison were glad to stop and graze while they waited. Whitey loped off west to make contact.
Feathersnake's other wagon and two Puma wagons pulled up around sunset. Carver told him, "We were worried. A talking bird isn't a message we could verily."
"Did bandits give you any trouble?"
"No. This last village, there wasn't anyone in it. You didn't-"
"I never touched them! They just ran away. Must have thought you'd
bring Behemoth down on them."
Chapter 59
The two Puma wagons rolled past the New Castle's gate. The Feathersnake wagons stopped. Green Stone helped Lilac down. Whandall waved Morth back before Morth could join them. Where was everyone? "We sent the cursed bird," he said. "We'll take care of it," Green Stone said. "Go on, Father." "Tell Willow that I have brought Morth of Atlantis and will take him to Road's End. He will not be coming in." "Right."
Whandall set his own wagon moving and looked behind to see Carver's wagon following. They had left considerable cargo in Green Stone's care. He didn't intend to pay storage and tax on all of this!
Every wagon fit to roll was gone from Road's End. The two Puma wagons were on their sides, stripped of their covers and their wheels. Puma guarded stacks of cargo. Carver went searching for the repair crew. Chief Farthest Land's men had to be found to open the warehouses-
"I could do that," Morth said.
"Better if they don't know it. Hello, that's..." Whandall called, "Twisted Cloud!"
"Whandall Feathersnake!" Twisted Cloud made her way toward them, but she was limping. Two boys ran ahead of her. "You're back in good time!"
"Yes, but why aren't you with the caravan?"
"I broke an ankle. Patch of mud wasn't dry yet. It's almost healed, but I
couldn't stand at all when the caravan rolled. I had to send Clever Squirrel." Her daughter. Coyote's daughter. Whandall's daughter, some would say. An obligation it Twisted Cloud cared to make it one, hut she never had, beyond the wagon Whandall had bought for her daughter. "The wagon's hers, and she's old enough now."
"She was born old enough. Twisted Cloud, this is Morth of Atlantis, of whom you've heard tales. You're both wizards-"
"Yes, I can see the glow," Twisted Cloud said.
"And you, there's a familiarity. Like Whandall. A god has been in you?"
She blushed. "Well. .. yes."
The boys watched and listened with interest. Boys would not be introduced until they discovered their names... as Green Stone found malachite in a cave, or as his father's tales of the Black Pit shaped Saber Tooth's dreams.
"Did you come to join the caravan?" Twisted Cloud asked.
Morth said, "Yes, to reach the Burning City."
Whandall said, "I fear Morth has been sniffing raw gold-"
"Whandall, I can't tell you more! Your mind is open to too many gods, and the gods of fire and trickery all seem to be related."
Twisted Cloud said, "But the wagons are all gone!"
Whandall said, "Yes. Morth, they left when we did, as soon as the Hemp Road became passable. You'll be here until spring. That gives you most of a year to come to your senses!"
"And then the caravan goes only as far as the Firewoods," Twisted Cloud said.
"Curse," Morth said. "I'd lose all the power I gained on the mountain."
Whandall noticed that the band around the Puma wagons had grown. "I need to do some business," he said.
"I'll scrape up a meal for us," Twisted Cloud offered.
"Here, I brought back some spices."
Chief Farthest Land's men made meticulous records as Whandall stored his gatherings. They took a percentage of the estimated value. It was worth it to most traders, and to Whandall too, up to a point. The New Castle was the only hold in these parts that could be called safer than the Chief's safehouse.
Then again, like the Spotted Coyotes, or the Toronexti in Tep's Town, Chief Farthest Land insisted.
No doubt the Chief knew-very likely his clerks knew-that not everything Whandall brought home came this far. He had never made a point of it, and Whandall didn't abuse the privilege.