“Truly it would,” sighed Hodjay. “A pity existence is so brief. You are quite positive you cannot stay?” He looked at Ethan.
“I’m sorry, we really can’t. We should take advantage of the good weather, too.”
The Prior picked at something that looked like a baked pudding with his knife.
“How far have you still to travel?”
“Fifty or sixty satch,” said Hunnar. He added conversationally, “But first we have to reach the Place-Where-The-Earth’s-Blood-Burns.”
There was a crash.
“I… my clumsiness shames me,” said one of the Brothers. He pushed back his chair and knelt to help one of the servers gather up the shards of broken mug.
“Alas, Brother Podren’s development has gone wholly to the brain,” chuckled the Prior easily. The other Brothers made the tran laugh-equivalent. To Ethan it seemed a little forced.
The Prior continued as though nothing had happened.
“Do not be surprised at Brother Podren’s reaction. Not many folk travel to the Place-Where-The-Earth’s-Blood-Burns.”
“Why not?” asked September a little sharply, and then Ethan knew he wasn’t alone in detecting their hosts’ reactions.
The Prior spread his arms, opened his paws. “Superstition. The common folk say strange things about the great smoking mountain.”
“It is a volcano, then,” muttered Ethan to himself. They’d assumed as much all along, but it was nice to have additional confirmation.
“Could you elaborate, Prior?” September pressed.
“Surely. Those who pass too close are said to have their minds affected. Some report seeing odd visions, while others see nothing at all and remain untouched. Others, they say, are drawn toward the mountain as a starving being may be drawn to food. Again, their companions may experience nothing. There is no soil and little grows there. None would live there anyway.”
“Superstition is all that keeps them away?” asked Ethan.
“That, and the fact that the mountain throws out melted earth and choking black dust very often.”
“Oh.”
“But you’ve been there,” said September shrewdly.
The old tran nodded. “I have been close by the place,” he conceded. “I did not set foot on the ground.”
“Because of the superstitions?” September toyed with his pseudo-pudding.
“No. Because at the time it was throwing out melted stone in huge quantities and the heat was appalling. The danger was real and not imaginary. My spirit was quite safe, but there was a real danger to the body. So the ship I was on did not linger in the area. Hopefully, you will have better luck.”
“We expect to,” September replied.
“And now, tell me once more of your miraculous sky-boat and its unfathomable mechanisms. I did not understand the first time and probably will not this time either, but there is merit in trying.”
Dinner ended with a pleasant little liqueur. Conversation continued for another hour or so. Then Colette yawned widely, and Budjir confessed that he had to rise early on the morrow to help oversee the setting of the new bowsprit. So the Prior declared the gathering at an end.
The group of visiting humans and tran were guided back to their communal sleeping room. Ethan walked next to September.
“What do you think of our hosts?” said the big man.
“Hmmm? Oh, I guess they’re okay. A little dry and self-centered maybe, but okay. For a second there, when Hunnar mentioned our destination and what’s-his-name dropped his mug…”
“Podren.”
“Yes, Podren. I thought there was something very unfriendly in his expression. He covered it fast, though, and I’m sure no expert at interpreting alien facial expressions. On the other hand, it didn’t seem to affect the Prior at all.”
“He was probably right… our going to a place regarded as a home for devils and spirits and what-not, young feller. Leaking gases could explain the hallucinations and weird reactions among passing natives.”
“I suppose so. In any case, we’ll have the chance to find out for ourselves before long.”
They reached the room. The central firepit was crackling and spitting merrily, throwing welcome heat to every corner of the room. It had apparently been burning during the meal, as a respectable pile of coals had accumulated in the bottom of the pit. These added to the pleasant heat.
Ethan made his goodnights to everyone else. There were no dividers between the beds. It wasn’t a problem, however, since none of the humans had any intention of exposing their bare skin to the still-frigid air.
He climbed into bed. Hunnar and September split up and set about extinguishing the lamps that burned on the walls. Ethan would have helped, but they hung at tran height and that was a bit too high for him.
There were fewer furs and blankets on the bed than he’d grown used to. Their hosts, of course, had no way of knowing that the hairless strangers were far more affected by the cold than Hunnar and the squires and Elfa. Then, too, this was not the castle of Wannome, nor were they the privileged passengers on a great raft.
Hunnar and the squires took the beds placed farthest from the firepit. Elfa insisted on doing likewise, as did old Eer-Meesach. That was fine with Ethan. He had no desire to play the Stoic Terran. A place near the dying blaze was worth any moral oversight.
He drifted almost immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep.
It seemed minutes later when he awoke, but it wasn’t. He sat up in near total darkness to an uncomfortably familiar scream. The fire was gone, but there was enough light from the star-filled windows and the failing coals to make out shapes.
The room was filled with struggling, swearing, darting forms. The first scream wasn’t repeated, but there were plenty of yells and bellows of outrage. He could recognize Hunnar’s and September’s among them.
The half of the room nearest the doorway was full of white-robed, bearded silhouettes. A pair of muscular paws grabbed at him as he sat in the bed and pulled him bodily out of it. He fought in the tight grasp and got to his knees.
Leaning backward, he pulled hard. His proportionately greater body weight obviously startled his attacker. The clutching paws went limp in surprise as their owner was suddenly tugged off balance.
Something struck him on the right shoulder and he turned and swung blindly. He felt a bearded face under his knuckles.
Still frantically trying to blink the sleep from his eyes, he was knocked roughly sideways into a huge figure. He pulled at it.
“It’s me, young feller-me-lad, it’s me!” September pressed a still-warm log into Ethan’s hands and turned to swing at a dim shape.
They were shoved backwards by the sheer press of bodies pouring into the room. The Brothers also fought with clubs, but they seemed to be taking care not to kill anyone. However, that did not necessarily hint of compassion to come.
It did make things a bit more difficult for them, since no such compunction existed on the part of those they were fighting. But the tightly-packed crowd made it hard just to swing a club.
“This way!” came a cry from the back of the room. Ethan whirled, spotted Budjir leaning from the sill of one of the high east-side windows. He parried another blow, swung downward and felt the wood meet bone with a satisfying crunch.
Then he turned and ran. Hunnar was there to give him a boost up. The powerful arms of the big squire went under his. Another moment and he was through the window, standing underneath the impartial stars on a chill, pebble-topped roof.
Fortunately there was little wind. Dark, monolithic forms loomed to the west, the spires and steeples of the highest monastery. Elfa and Suaxus were already on the roof.
Another second and he was helping Eer-Meesach through. Ethan braced himself against the wall and the old wizard came up easily. His breathing was ragged. Aged eyes blinked in the darkness.