It did get worse, and Eldene went down twice on her backside — the second time sliding down right behind Fethan. However, she did not manage to knock him over — colliding with him was like running into a deeprooted tree. He himself did not slip once on the way down.
Soon they were walking up again, through cold mist beside the river, mountain slopes on their left and long grass rustling on their right. Despite all the exertion, Eldene found herself getting colder and colder as now, closely following Calypse, the sun dropped from sight behind the mountains and afternoon slid into twilight. In this poor light Eldene could only just discern the squarish things that flapped overhead and honked mournfully.
"What are those?" she asked.
"Kite-bats — harmless again," Fethan replied.
As it got darker, the bats moved higher up and further away, their cries echoing in the mountains. When something emitted a gasping hiss in the flute grasses behind her, she jumped, then suddenly found herself shivering. For a time she kept silent, not wanting to keep asking about every strange sound, but when the same sound came again she could not stop herself.
"What was that?" she asked of Fethan, who had stopped and was peering back in the direction of the noise.
"I haven't a clue," he replied, then waved her on past him. "Just keep going."
She did that thing, feeling her flesh crawling as she remembered the old man's mention of 'siluroynes' and 'hooders'. She even considered drawing the gun, but her hands were shaking so badly now she'd probably shoot her own foot off.
"About another two hours and we cut back up the slope," Fethan told her. "There's a cave there where we can shelter for the night."
Great: a nice cold, damp cave — just what she needed.
As night descended the sound was heard again, as if whatever made it was keeping pace with them. Now they distinctly heard something pushing through the flute grass, its passage followed by a clicking sigh. Eldene wondered if she would feel so frightened if she knew what that sound issued from.
"Let's move back up the slope," Fethan suggested. "We're a bit too close to the grass here."
Eldene quickly obeyed him, with images of something like that gabbleduck or the heroyne lunging out at her, clamping down and dragging her screaming back into the flute grasses to be consumed. She laboured on up the slippery slope, spilling rocks and dislodging fungi, slipping and grazing her knees. That didn't matter — she just wanted to get higher. Glancing back she experienced a sudden terror — Fethan had vanished. She moved faster, fell hard, got up and kept going. The slope finally levelled and she found a flat stretch where she could pick up her pace. Down below, more movement, and she could just about discern something huge thrashing about in the grasses. Next thing, Fethan was running along beside her… She did a double take: it wasn't Fethan. It was a big heavy-boned man dressed in combat gear, breather mask and helmet. He caught her arm and dragged her off course.
"This way. He's leading it off."
She considered fighting him off, but was just too frightened. He certainly did not look like a proctor. So she ran with him, sometimes supported by him, sometimes supporting him when he stumbled. Gasping for breath, she was wondering how much further she could manage to run when he tugged her by the arm towards a tumble of massive boulders. Rounding the first boulder, two other people appeared and shoved her past them into a cave in which a fire was burning. Standing amid equipment stacked on the floor, she stared at the three now crouching at the cave mouth, heavy rifles clutched in readiness.
"What was it?" asked the only woman of the three: her hair and one side of her face concealed under a military-issue coms helmet.
"Didn't see it clearly," said the man she addressed. "I'd just eye-balled Fethan and this one heading our way when it started to come out of the valley after them. It was big."
The woman studied him for a moment then turned to Eldene. "Did you see it?"
Eldene shook her head in bewilderment.
"Whoa," said the woman, now speaking into her helmet mike. "That you, Fethan?" She listened for a moment then her expression paled. "Fuck," she said succinctly and stared out again into the night.
"What is it, Lellan?" the second man asked her.
"He's leading it away," she replied. "Says he'll be back with us by morning."
"Lellan…" the man said warningly.
"Seems we got ourselves a hooder out there."
Eldene studied the sick expressions worn by these three heavily armed individuals and wondered just how terrible a hooder could be.
"You're Lellan Stanton," she said at last.
"Yeah," replied the woman. "Welcome to the Underworld." Then she faced back out into the night.
As the ship drew away, Hierarch Loman gazed into the mouth of Faith and contemplated his work. It had been said that on Amoloran's ascension a red mist had swept through the cylinder world from the bodies of the thousands who had been tortured and killed. Not wishing to be outdone, Loman had ordered the Up Mirror to be painted with the blood of traitors, to cast a red light into the world, for a thousand days. His technical advisors had nervously informed him of the impracticality of doing this in vacuum, but then quickly told him how the reflective surfaces did allow for an amount of tunable refraction — usually to prevent too much ultraviolet being reflected in. So now the light of Faith was red, though only for a maximum of ten days — anything beyond that would start killing the plants in the gardens.
"A jewel in your crown," Aberil commented.
Loman turned to him and nodded, before scanning the rather cramped cabin in which he and his brother had been installed.
"Amoloran should not have sent the General Patten. What was he thinking?" he asked.
Sitting on the edge of the sofa as if distrustful of its comfort, Aberil replied, "He had the ridiculous idea that Outlinkers might serve as hostages should the Polity decide to come in; also the idea that in their gratitude at being rescued they might help upgrade the laser arrays and close some of the gaps in coverage. Had he spent a little less time killing off those technicians who disagreed with him, that would not have become necessary."
Loman winced and briefly wondered if he himself had been a bit hasty in having the chief mirror technician thrown out of the upper tower window into vacuum. Then he dismissed the idea: the man had been impertinent, and could have at least attempted the blood-painting idea.
"Reverend Hierarch, we are ready to U-jump upon your order," spoke a voice from a console set into one wall.
"Then do so," said Loman, waving his hand dismissively.
After a short delay, the viewing screen turned black and engines thrummed deep within the ship. Loman grimaced, well aware that Polity ships did not need to warm up like this before dropping into underspace, and that grav-plates were used throughout their ships, not just in one luxury suite like this. He looked around it contemptuously.
"Now all our plans mesh," he said. "You are sure that no possible connection can be made between the mycelium and us?"
Aberil shook his head. "Our agent entered the Polity at Cheyne III, and travelled via many worlds before finally coming to Miranda, and even he did not know what he was taking there. He thought he was taking a listening device to install on a communications array, and anyway the virus we also gave him before he set out killed him shortly after he delivered the mycelium. Our only problem will be Behemoth himself, should he inform the Polity he gave us the mycelium twenty years ago."
"Ah, but would the Polity believe him? I think not. They will assume he has done the same as his twin did on Samarkand, and so seek to destroy him. Behemoth will flee them," said Loman. "Soon we will be utterly free of this Tempter."