“Who was he?” Balkis asked, staring after him as though by doing so she could ignore his advice.
“Who tended the garden from which the Physon flows?” Panyat asked with a smile, but would not answer his own question.
The next morning Panyat told them regretfully, “I fear I must leave you now, my friends. These three apples will see me safely home, but if I go much farther with you, I shall not be able to carry enough fruit to last me, even though I take only its aroma.”
Tears in her eyes, Balkis embraced him. “Thank you so for guiding us safely to this borderland!”
“It was my pleasure,” Panyat assured her. “When I come home, I think that I shall have had my fill of adventuring.”
“If you do not, perhaps I shall see you again when I return,” Anthony said, clasping his hand, “and we may travel southward together.”
Balkis felt a stirring of alarm within her breast at the thought of Anthony leaving her and returning to the harshness of his father's farm—but she had no claim on him, no right to bid him stay, so she bit her lip and said to Panyat, “Fare you well, then, my friend. We shall miss you sorely.”
“And I you,” Panyat assured them. For a moment he held both their hands, his eyes shining as he looked from one to the other; then he turned and walked away, back along the shores of the river Physon.
They watched him until he had disappeared among the trees. Then Balkis turned away with a sigh, wiping a tear, and Anthony said, “I hope he will not go hungry.”
“If his provender fails,” Balkis said, “he has only to travel by night, for he can plant an appleseed every morning, sleep until the tree is grown and its fruit ripe, then pluck an apple and walk south under the moon again.”
“I wish we could accompany him and guard him,” Anthony sighed, “but would we not then be the merry company, forever going back and forth over the wasteland and the Sea of Sand?”
Balkis smiled at the thought, but assured him, “I had some concern for his safety, too, and I plan to recite a spell every morning to shield him. For now, though, perhaps we should continue our own journey—or have you no longer any wish to see Maracanda?”
“Maracanda!” Anthony's eyes lit. “Yes, of course we must march northward, for I must see you to your homeland and discover the city for myself!”
Balkis set off with him on the northward path, somewhat nettled that his reason for traveling onward seemed to be Maracanda, and not more time spent with her.
The ant heard the rumble from far off but, knowing only the drives of hunger and the need to regain what was its own, had no idea what the sound meant, nor even thought of it. When it came to the river of stones, it was half dead of thirst and hunger, but its antennae quivered at the scent of water. It leaped upon the rocks, never thinking of danger—never thinking at all, seeking only water. The stones rolled under its feet; it leaped and danced, but a rock came rolling over the others and struck it a glancing blow. It scrabbled, trying vainly to keep its feet, then fell, rolling, and felt itself being pulled toward two rotating rocks. In desperation, it flailed with its forelegs, mandibles opening and closing, striving to catch hold of something, anything—and its jaws closed on driftwood, a broken branch five feet long and half a foot thick. Its forelegs found footing, pulled its middle and back legs up, and it perched precariously on its makeshift surfboard, dancing as the branch turned under it. Then the bank was coming closer, closer, and at last it leaped and caught firm soil. Its back legs tangled in the branch's twigs, though, and it hobbled away from the river of stones hauling a large piece of wood after it. The poor insect was too tired to try to wriggle free— but it smelled water again! Much safer than the water beneath the rolling rocks, which it had not found. It hurried forward as best as it could with the branch dragging behind it, and found the hollow in the huge boulder. The scent of water was stronger still, and it plunged downward into the darkness, the log bumping along behind. Down and down it went, impelled by the swelling scent, then by the sound of water rushing. Faster and faster the ant ran—and plunged straight into the water.
Its legs flailed and water shot into its spiracles as it tried to breathe, wracking it with pain. Then, suddenly, it burst through to air, flailing about with its forelegs, for its spiracles were still submerged. A leg caught; it pulled itself up—onto the very log it had hauled from the river of stones.
Water drained from its spiracles; the blessed air flooded in. It clung, then danced as the log turned under it, clung again until the log spun, when it danced again—and so, bedraggled, chilled, but no longer thirsty, it rode its former burden, clinging and dancing by turns, plunging and rolling through the darkness with absolutely no idea where it was going.
Above its head, far above, Panyat walked south under the moon, now and again sniffing the apple in his hand.
Matt studied the valley below and said, “Funny how from this height all the people look like ants.”
Stegoman glanced down and informed him, “Those are ants.”
“Impossible!” Matt scoffed. “If those are ants, that castle down there must be a mile high!”
Stegoman looked more closely and said, “Perhaps we should fly lower.” He banked, dove, and passed over the castle again at a much lower altitude.
Matt stared. “There are people on the walls!”
“So I see,” said Stegoman.
“They can look over the crenels! That castle can't be more than five stories high!”
“I would estimate fifty feet from the moat to the tops of the towers,” Stegoman said.
“But that can't be! Those ants would have to be the size of foxes!”
“Perhaps there are no such predators, and they have … how did you explain it? 'Evolved to fill an ecological niche'?”
“Ants that size would certainly be all the predators you'd need.” Matt shuddered. “In fact, one would wonder why there would be anything else left alive in that valley.”
“In truth,” Stegoman said, “I see no other animals—only the humans.”
“Yeah, and they're penned up in the castles. No wonder, with wildlife like that running around.” Matt frowned. “Wonder why they stay there?”
“You have told me of people who dwell in frozen wastes, and we have seen desert nomads,” Stegoman reminded him. “Why do they stay?”
“Because it's home.” Matt nodded. “I see your point. But I also see cultivated fields. Either the people find some way to come out now and then, or those are mighty smart ants.”
“I would not wish to test them,” Stegoman said.
“Neither would I.” Matt frowned. “Wait a minute! I wondered why the snakeman was so open about telling us where to go!”
“Of course,” Stegoman said slowly. “He knew what we would find here—or what would find us.”
Matt shuddered. “He was very insistent that we show up in the middle of the day. Wonder why?”
A wailing cry made him look up—just in time to see Di-metrolas plunging toward him, all claws out. Matt shouted with anger, but Stegoman only sideslipped in the air, and Di-metrolas plunged past them. She cupped her wings; air boomed as she slowed, then circled back up to them. “Someday, overgrown newt, I shall see the same shock and anger on your face that I have seen on your friend's!”
“I am somewhat larger than he,” Stegoman said, unperturbed. “How came you here, maiden?”
“How came I? Forsooth! I flew, overbearing worm!”
“To see rare sights?”
“I will own I have never seen ants so large,” Dimetrolas admitted, “though it could be that the people are very small. Shall we land among them and learn?”