The Feline Wizard

CHAPTER 19

Balkis looked about her, wide-eyed, upon awakening. As she recalled, they had come to another oasis, bathed in it and drunk of its tasty water before going to sleep. “Has someone taken us from it while we slept?” she said now. “I see no palm trees, no pond, not even a puddle!”

“But I see the rock.” Anthony looked up at the boulder in whose shade they had slept. “It is the same as it was last night.”

Balkis looked, too, gave the stone a long and searching examination, then nodded. “You speak truly. It is the same.”

“Could someone have moved both us and it?” Panyat asked.

“Not without waking us, unless they wielded mighty magic,” Balkis answered.

“Less magic than it took to make the oasis disappear?” Anthony asked.

Balkis looked sharply at him, but he had not spoken in sarcasm—his face was open and confused. She considered the matter. “No, it would have required more magic,” she said, “but not of a kind to wake us.”

“How is that?” Anthony was befuddled.

“If someone created the oasis by magic,” Balkis said, “all they would have to do, during the day, was let that magic fade, to cease supporting the illusion.”

“If that was an illusion,” Anthony said, “it was a most convincing one. I can still feel the water on my skin and taste its various flavors.” He frowned. “Though an illusion would explain the changes in its taste. Still, I am no longer thirsty—nor hungry.” He held up his waterskin to demonstrate—then stared at it. The skin was as flat as slate.

“Strange,” Panyat said nervously. “I did not know this oasis, and now it has disappeared. I think I would like to be gone from this place. Come, let us be off to the next oasis as quickly as we may.”

“Quickly indeed,” Anthony concurred, “and let us hope it is there, and real!”

They set off following the north star, shuffling their skis through the sand more quickly than usual. Illusion or not, the pond had renewed their strength. They traveled quickly.

Someone else traveled even more quickly.

About midnight, Anthony looked back to see if he could still spy the boulder where they had spent the day and yelped with dismay. “What is that which cuts the sand and comes toward us?”

Panyat and Balkis turned to look, too, and saw a great curve-sided triangle with a rounded tip moving toward them. Balkis gripped Anthony's hand. “I have seen such a thing on a lord's crest—but it was on the back of a dolphin.”

“What is a dolphin?” Anthony asked.

“It is fantastical good luck!” Panyat cried. “The traders told me about them, but I never thought to see one! Step back from its path—but as it passes, leap and catch hold of that fin!”

They stood, waiting, as the huge fin rushed toward them. “What is it?” Balkis asked.

“A giant sandfish, and we can ride its back to our oasis!”

“Let us hope it does not mean to revenge its smaller cousins,” Anthony said nervously.

“I think we need not worry about that,” Balkis said. “It probably has a goodly number of them in its belly.”

The sand hissed as the huge fin sped toward them.

“Now!” Panyat cried. They ran and leaped to catch the huge fin. Anthony's fingers closed on it first. Balkis clung to him, then swept an arm around Panyat. He clung to her while he set his feet down, then sat, gaining a secure hold. “We are well aboard now, I think,” he said. “Anthony, have you a rope in your pack?”

“Of course,” Anthony said, “but I am reluctant to loose my hold on this fin.”

“Then, Balkis, would you dig out that rope and tie Anthony to the fin, so he can sit down on this creature's back? Then we can sit with him and hold onto his rope.”

“A good plan,” Balkis said, and did as he asked.

Pressing against Anthony while she cast the rope about the fin aroused the pleasant but frightening feelings that were quickly becoming familiar—and less alarming. Still, when they were all sitting on the creature's back, holding fast to the rope, there were only Anthony's eyes, shining in the moonlight as they gazed at her, and the admiring smile on his lips—and, of course, the moonlight itself…

Glad that Panyat was there, she tore her gaze away from Anthony's and asked, “How long should we ride this monster fish?”

“Until we come to the next oasis.” Panyat smiled into the breeze of the fish's passage, his hair blowing behind him. “It will certainly be quicker than walking—and far less tiring.”

Eventually they saw the oasis, far away on the eastern horizon. “Is that it?” Anthony pointed toward the palm trees, silhouetted against the reddening sky.

“It is indeed!” Panyat replied. “We would not have come to it for another day if we'd had to walk. Perhaps we should stay with this fish awhile longer.”

“How far is the next oasis?” Balkis asked uneasily.

“Only a night's travel—or half that, at this fish's speed.”

“If we had water,” Anthony said, “I would not hesitate for a minute.”

“Are you thirsty, then?” Balkis asked.

Anthony thought about it, then said, “No. It seems the water at that disappearing oasis has sustained me.”

Panyat pointed east. “The palm trees have sunk below the horizon.”

Balkis gazed at the flat sand stretching to the rose-colored sky and felt apprehension coil in the pit of her stomach. Still, the die was cast, so she said, “Let us drape our cloaks over our heads—and Panyat, do you sit in their shadow. If we are to stay with this fish, we must travel through the day.”

But the heat wasn't a problem after all, for the fish actually traveled faster in the daylight, stirring up a breeze that kept them cool. They chatted idly, comparing more tales and exchanging songs, and never thirsted, thanks to the magical oasis.

“Amazing!” Matt said, looking down at the beige waste below them. “You'd swear it was an ocean, with those waves of sand dunes rolling across it!”

“If they roll, they roll very slowly,” Stegoman said.

“Just a matter of rate,” Matt said. “Watch it in time lapse and you'll see it move like an ocean.”

Stegoman frowned. “What is 'time lapse'?”

“Watching it with time slowed down, so that its motion seems to be speeded up so much that a single day takes only a few minutes.”

“Ah. Another one of your spells,” Stegoman said, dismissing the matter.

His comment gave Matt pause. Could he craft a time lapse spell? Why not?

Better question: Why bother? But you never knew what spells might come in handy in this universe. Matt decided to try working this one out when they rested for the evening.

“There is a stripe of green ahead,” Stegoman said.

Matt looked up, craning his neck and squinting. “I'll take your word for it, eagle eyes.”

“Eagles,” Stegoman said with disdainfully, “can see only a mile or so with any clarity.”

“Nice to associate with a superior breed.” For a dizzy moment Matt wondered what kind of country would select Stegoman for its national bird. He looked down and said, “But I can see a road, or some sort of track, anyway.”

“A road indeed, and a traveler on it,” Stegoman replied.

“Traveler?” Matt squinted and made out a dark speck. “Great! Let's drop down and ask him if he's seen anyone today.”

“I suppose we must,” Stegoman sighed, and banked into a downward spiral. “I assume I should land out of sight.”

“It would help,” Matt said, “though I don't think he's going to have too much doubt about where I came from.”

Stegoman put a dune between himself and the traveler, then Matt hiked around the sandy hill. The traveler stopped as soon as he saw Matt, and waited, staff in hand but not leaning on it. Matt was automatically on his guard—the traveler had to connect him with the monster that had just flown overhead, but he looked neither frightened nor awed, only stood and waited. Also, he didn't seem to be fazed by the heat, but now that Matt was down and out of the wind of Stegoman's passage, he was already drenched with sweat and wilting.

Coming close enough to make out the traveler's features, Matt shuddered. The face was triangular, gaunt, snub-nosed and beardless, with a strange sheen to the pale skin and a hard glitter to the unwinking eyes. They stared, but without curiosity—or any other feeling Matt could detect. It made his skin crawl.

Still, politeness was an obligation, Matt told himself, then smiled and raised a hand in greeting. “Hail, traveler! May your journey be peaceful.”

“And yours,” the traveler answered with an oddly breathy voice. “What do you seek, stranger?”

“A young woman,” Matt said, “a friend of mine, a former traveling companion.” He waited for the suggestive comment, but when none came, he went on, even more uneasy. “She's about this high”—he held a palm up at shoulder height—“golden skin, black hair, last seen wearing white and gold robes.”

“I have seen her.” The traveler lifted his staff, turning to point toward the south. “She sojourned in a valley some distance yonder. There are two other valleys between, both of which hold little people. You must pass them and go to the third.”

“Thanks!” Hope sprang, and Matt felt as though a weight had lifted off his shoulders; he'd been more worried than he'd let himself realize. “Was she … was she free? Happy?”

“Quite happy, so far as I could see, and quite friendly with the folk who dwelled there,” the stranger said. “As to being free, she seemed to like the valley and had no desire to leave.”

Suspicion stabbed at Matt, but he forced a smile and said, “Thanks. That's a huge relief. We'll go check it out.”

“You should not arrive at night, or the people there will be wary,” the stranger warned, “nor should you arrive in early morning, for they will be ill-tempered while they labor in the fields. But they stop to dine at noon and will then be more welcoming.”

“Awfully nice of you to give us such great tips,” Matt said slowly, though his brain was racing, seeking motives. He grinned, stepping forward quickly, hand out to shake. “Can't thank you enough.”

The traveler gave his hand a hard-eyed stare, keeping his own palms deliberately on his staff, then lifted his hard glittering gaze to meet Matt's—and something flickered there. “You are welcome. Surely we of the road must aid one another.”

“Surely we must.” Matt lowered his hand, turned away— and lashed out a sweeping ankle-high kick.

It caught the traveler by surprise. He fell with a raging sound somewhere between a hiss and a roar—then froze, staring up the bright length of Matt's sword blade, feeling its tip poke his throat. “This is rude thanks for my courtesy.”

“If it was courtesy. Stegoman! Help!”

Wings cupping thunder, the dragon was beside him, bellowing, “What moves?”

“Nothing, and I want to keep it that way. Hold him down, will you?”

At that the stranger writhed, trying to squirm away from the blade, but a huge claw descended, pressing into his chest. “Keep still,” Stegoman rumbled, “for I have but to shift my weight, and you will be pinned to this road.”

The traveler froze. Matt flicked his sword-point, untying the belt and opening the stranger's robe.

“Another of my kind!” Stegoman hissed, but the traveler hissed back and a forked tongue flicked out.

Matt saw a lean, sinuous body covered with iridescent scales. It had two arms and two legs, but nonetheless seemed more reptilian than mammalian, possibly because it had no genitalia. A bright circle winked on its chest, a medallion held around the creature's neck by a leather thong.

“You're as much snake as man,” Matt said. “Who sent you here?”

“Monkeys chatter,” the traveler hissed, “but they mean little.”

Matt whipped his sword in a half-circle ending with the point at the creature's throat. “Snakes mean treachery. If you don't want an early molt, you'd better tell me your mission.”

“Only warm-blooded fools would think molting a threat.”

“Don't be too sure you can grow a new skin,” Matt cautioned. “Who told you about this girl I mentioned?”

“You did, blind fool!”

“Enough of this game,” Stegoman rumbled. “He will tell you nothing but more insults. Let me lean on him.”

The stranger only hissed defiance.

“I think we might induce him to cooperate,” Matt said, and chanted,

He didn't think Lowell would mind his patching verses from separate poems—after all, they dealt with the same topic.

“Now,” he said, “who sent you?”

The traveler's lip writhed with scorn as it opened its lips— then its eyes went wide with shock as its tongue moved without its control and its voice said, “Kala Nag has sent me.”

“What mission did she give you?”

This time the traveler clamped his jaws shut, his throat and face swelling with the effort of holding the answer in—but it burst out in hissing: “I am sent to stop the soul of destiny who could be her only serious impediment to conquering Prester John and his realm.”

“An ambitious goal.” Mart's eyes narrowed. “Why does she wish to conquer him?”

Again the struggle, again the bursting answer. “Because Prester John alone prevents her conquest of the rest of the world.”

“She isn't modest in her expectations, our Kala Nag,” Matt said. “Am I the soul of destiny? Is that why you tried to stop me?”

“Nay. You could aid the destined one, but you yourself are not.”

Matt frowned, trying to puzzle out the cryptic comments, but sure they were true, and all the snakeman knew. “How will you know this soul of destiny?”

“There will be two traveling together,” the snakeman answered, as though the words were torn from him. “For the aid you might give them, you must be stopped.”

“Two?” Matt demanded. “Is one the woman of whom I told you?”

“Yes!” the snake screamed in torture.

“And the other?”

“The other is also young, is—” Then its hissing tore into a scream as its whole body burst into flames. An instant later it went limp, clearly dead, as inert as a log, though the blaze continued, consuming robe and skin.

Matt drew a shaky breath. “Well, that's one way to stop somebody from talking.”

“A most gruesome way,” Stegoman said, his voice hard, “though quick, at least.”

“Yeah, the pain didn't last long at all. Still, if this is how Kala Nag rewards the followers who fail her, she must be as cold-blooded as her name.”

“You know its meaning, then?” Stegoman asked.

“From a story I read when I was a kid,” Matt said. “It means 'Black Snake.'”

“At least now we know what we seek,” Stegoman said.

“Yeah.” Matt turned away from the impromptu pyre and climbed backup to Stegoman's shoulders. “Somehow I doubt we'll find Balkis in that third valley to the south, Stegoman, and I'm very wary of landing there—but we'd better have a look, just to make sure.”

“It should not take long,” the dragon agreed, “and I am eager to be back in the clean air.”

“Cool air, too.” Matt wiped a hand across his brow. “How could that snakeman stand the heat?”

“He has cold blood, as do I,” Stegoman reported, “though I think he would have sought the shade in an hour or so anyway.”

“Yeah, this furnace sun would fry a stoker,” Matt said. “Let's seek a bit of breeze, shall we?”

When night came, the giant sandfish did not slacken its speed, and Balkis asked, “How many more oases before the northern edge of the desert?”

“I have watched two pass us and fail astern,” Panyat said, “so I calculate that only one remains.”

Anthony gave a start, then looked about him at the empty sands. “The more fool I! I was so enwrapped in talk that I never noticed.”

“Nor should you have,” Panyat said, “for you did not know their distances. The last oasis was three days' journey from the edge of the desert, but this sandfish is going quickly now, very quickly. I think we might do well to stay as long as it travels northward.”

“A good thought.” But Balkis frowned. “I begin to thirst”

Before Panyat could answer, the fish began to turn. Balkis gave a yelp of surprise, thrown backward by the curve. Anthony tightened his hold on the dorsal fin and seized her wrist. Panyat went tumbling over her, though, and disappeared into the night with a cry of alarm.

“To him, quickly!” Balkis cried, and leaped off the sandfish. Anthony followed her, then ran to catch up as she sped back to the Pytanian.

“I am well, I am well!” Panyat protested, sitting up and brushing off sand. “My apologies, my friends—my clumsiness has lost us our steed.”

“I think that it is well for us.” Anthony pointed back along their trail.

Looking, Panyat and Balkis saw the great dorsal fin curving away, turning southwest, running back into the barren dunes.

“Why would it go back so suddenly?” Balkis asked, wide-eyed.

“It feeds upon the lesser sandfish.” Panyat blanched at the thought. “That must be why it was coming north across the waste—because it had exhausted the shoals in the south, and fortunate we were to catch what we could before it came. Now, though, it has eaten all it can find here, for we have come too close to the northern edge of the desert for the small fish to swim. The giant must go west to find fresh prey.”

“But if that is so,” Balkis said, “our crossing is nearly done!”

Panyat faced north and inhaled deeply. He exhaled and said, “I think you may be right. Let us walk while we may.”

They strapped their sand-skis on again and shuffled through the night. Balkis was feeling even thirstier now, but managed not to speak of it—one glance at Anthony's face showed that he was feeling it, too. She hoped they would soon find an oasis, if not the edge of the desert itself.

Through the darkest part of the night they traveled, speaking less and less as thirst sapped their energy. Finally, Anthony brought out a wineskin and offered it to Balkis. She stared. “From whence came that?”

“From Piconye,” Anthony answered. “Do you not remember? Their king gave it to us as a parting gift.”

“How welcome it is now!” Balkis said fervently as she took the skin. She squirted a few sips into her mouth, swallowed, then coughed and held it out, eyes bulging, hand at her throat. “Tay … take it, Anthony, but only a swallow!” she gasped, her voice hoarse. “It is terribly strong!”

“I had forgotten that.” Anthony's face turned tragic. “Forgive me, sweet companion!”

“I shall thank you instead,” she rasped, “for it is better than nothing—though not by much! Sip at it, Anthony. We shall surely make that last!”

Anthony drank, and they shuffled onward, following Panyat, who watched them with troubled eyes. Now and again they would stop and share a sip or two of brandywine, but the skin was still almost full when Balkis realized that she was hearing a distant roaring sound, had been hearing it for some time, but that it had grown louder so gradually that she had not remarked upon it.

“The river!” Panyat cried. “Hear you that sound? It is the river that flows into this sandy sea!”

Balkis stared. What manner of river made so much noise? Was it one huge waterfall?

“Then we have come to the end of the desert?” Anthony asked hopefully.

“To the end of the sandy sea, at least,” Panyat said. “There is more desert between the seashore and the mountains, but it is far less harsh than this, and has more frequent water.”

“That will be a blessing, certainly.” The mere thought of water seemed to revive Anthony. “Come, Panyat, let us see this river of yours!” He set out at a quick pace.

Panyat looked up at the note of his voice and cautioned, “There is not much water there.”

“Not much water?” Anthony stared. “How can there be a river without water?”

“Because it has many rocks,” Panyat told him. “Come, you shall see for yourself.”

They came to the river in the unreal half-light that comes as night is beginning to yield to day. First it was only a line of deeper darkness against lighter, but as they approached they saw it broaden even as its noise grew to thunderous proportions—not a roaring anymore, but a crunching and grinding. Coming closer, they stared in disbelief, for they saw a jumbled stream of rocks of all sizes, from boulders to pebbles, ail turning against one another, over and over as they rolled on like a river swollen with springtime rain.

Anthony stared at it, aghast. “If there is any water in there, it would be death to dip for it!”

“Very true,” Panyat said, “but there is moisture trapped beneath the stones, and if you dig a hole in the bank, it will fill with enough for a mouthful now and then. I saw the traders drink thus while they waited to cross.”

“Waited to cross?” Balkis asked. “Did they not see a ford or a bridge?”

“There is none, for shallow or deep, the turning rocks would grind you to meal,” Panyat said, “and none could build a bridge, for the pilings that hold it up would be swept away in minutes. For three days in the week it flows, casting up stones both great and small, and carries with it also wood to the sandy sea—but on the fourth day the river slows, then stills. Then we may cross it.”

Balkis gazed out over the turning stones. “So we must wait three days?”

Panyat shrugged. “Perhaps three, perhaps one—perhaps even tomorrow the river will stop. Who knows on which of those three days we have come?”

As the day brightened, Balkis saw how the grinding rocks could carry wood—whole tree trunks slid along on its surface, the stones rolling beneath them. Following their course with her gaze, she saw the end of the river—the place where the huge stream of rocks and wood poured into the sandy sea, the stones and wood disappearing into the sand.

“Yonder is its ending!” Balkis pointed. “Can we not simply walk around itV

“Nay, Balkis. You can see how the stones sink into the sand, how it swallows them up. It is a quicksand, and no one knows how far it extends.”

“Do we have to cross the river at all?”

“Yes, for the land of Prester John is on the other side—far on the other side. This side leads only into more wasteland.”

“A drink!” Anthony rose from kneeling beside a foot-wide hole, flourishing his waterskin triumphantly; it bulged very slightly at the bottom. He presented it to Balkis as though it were a treasure, which indeed it was.

“Many thanks, sweet fellow,” she said, and upended the skin, letting a mouthful trickle past her lips. Then, with a supreme effort of will, she handed it back to Anthony.

He took and drank, too, afterward pushing the skin back into the hole he had dug. Looking out over the river, clear now in dawn's light, he said, “Can it be that all the sand of this sea has come from these rocks grinding themselves to powder as they flow?”

“Perhaps,” Panyat said, “though I should think it would take a great many such rivers, and this is the only one of its kind in all the world—or so say the traders.”

As the day brightened, Anthony's little well slaked their thirst a mouthful at a time; then he set himself to filling both waterskins. As he waited, Anthony scouted along the river-bank and gathered small branches and other bits of wood that had broken off the rolling trunks and been carried to the sides. As he stacked kindling and small sticks to build a fire, Balkis set out the baskets one last time. As Panyat had said, it was too shallow for good fishing, but they did catch several small sandfish and made one last meal of the savory creatures. Then Balkis and Anthony buried the butts of their branches in the sand and stretched their cloaks over the improvised frame to give them shelter from the sun.

They napped in the afternoon, sleeping peacefully in spite of the noise of the river—they had grown so used to it that it troubled them not at all.

The ant was faint with hunger; even for an ant, there was little to eat amidst the sand dunes. It had slowed to half its normal speed but kept plodding on as long as daylight lasted. Its thirst was raging; it had lost the humans' scent, but doggedly pushed ahead, sure it would find them. Poor insect, it could not know that it had strayed, that its path had curved amidst the shifting dunes, that it was far from their route of march.

Its antennae quivered; ahead, it detected moisture. Energy flowed, and it moved toward the source, if not with its old speed, at least faster than it had been going.

It came to an oasis and sped toward the water, ignoring the palm trees, the birds, the lizards that fled as the ant's acrid scent reached them, ignoring everything but the scent of water. It was a brackish pond, but it was wet, and the ant drank deeply. Finally, its thirst assuaged, it became aware of the pang of hunger again, and turned to seek the scent of living things.

They were all around it, six times as tall as it was, and all of them carried clubs.

Among the things the ant had ignored was the skin tents that circled the oasis, for it was home to a clan of humans— but rather strange humans, for their shoulders were level and uninterrupted by necks or heads. Instead, faces looked out of their chests, huge eyes just beneath the collarbones, mouths just beneath their rib cages. The women with babies in their arms stayed back by the tents, waiting curiously for the rest of the clan to deal with the little intruder. All the rest, men and women alike, gathered about the creature, raising clubs.

The ant ignored the clubs; all it knew was the scent of flesh. It charged the nearest of the men, then swerved at the last second to attack the woman beside him. Three clubs smashed into the earth behind it. The woman screamed in anger and swung; the ant shied in the nick of time, and the club pounded sand right in front of it. It leaped onto the wood and ran its length, then up the arm that held it, knowing how to deal with these soft creatures, for had it not killed the anteater-man and the uniped with a single clash of its huge mandibles? It scurried to the shoulder and reached out to bite…

But there was no neck.

Shouts rang in its ears as something struck its abdomen, knocking it from the woman's shoulders and sending it spinning through the air. It landed on its feet, though, and turned to charge back.

A dozen clubs pounded at it.

The ant danced, managing to avoid all the blows except the one that crushed the tip of one antenna. Even for a live eating machine like itself, the danger was obvious, and it turned and ran. The people ran after it, shouting and slamming clubs every time they came near. Having been revived by the water, however, the ant outstripped them and shot out into the desert.

Something struck it, and it fell to the side, then rolled and came to its feet again, not even stopping to look but running and running from these horrible creatures that did not die when they should. At last the clan's shouting diminished behind it.

The companions woke in late afternoon, drank, ate the last of the sandfish, and sat about trading tales again, then fell asleep for the night.

Balkis woke suddenly and looked about, wondering what had wakened her. She saw Anthony and Panyat likewise sitting up, blinking in puzzlement. The rosy hues of dawn made even the river of stones lovely, the rocks seeming to glow.

“What wakened us?” Anthony asked.

His voice seemed unnaturally loud, and Balkis suddenly knew the answer. “Silence woke us! The river has stopped!”

They turned to look, and sure enough, the stones had stopped turning. All three shouted with delight. They made a quick breakfast, tied their branches to their packs, left their sand-skis for anyone who might want to travel southward, and set out to cross the river of stones.

“Step carefully,” Panyat warned. “One or two might turn beneath your feet, and even those that hold still may be uncertain footing.”

Uncertain indeed, as Balkis discovered—she had thought it would be like crossing a brook on stepping-stones, but such stones had been flattened by long use, and these were all rounded from their grinding. They pressed painfully against the soles of her slippers, all the more because the long journey had worn those soles thin. She tried one large step, skipping a rock in between, and cried out with alarm, arms windmilling. Anthony instantly turned back and caught her wrist, steadying her enough so that she caught her balance— but he threw himself off and tumbled gracelessly to the stones. Balkis cried out and stooped to help him up.

He cast a rueful glance at her, then brushed himself off, avoiding her gaze. “It is not as easy as it seems.”

“Not at all,” Balkis agreed. “Pardon me for slowness, but I think I shall mince my way across.”

So she did, stopping on only one stone at a time and making sure both feet were secure before she stepped to the next—or as secure as they could be on a rounded surface; she teetered each time, but caught her balance, then stepped on. Finally, though, one stone turned beneath her foot, and she cried out as she slipped and fell.

Again Anthony was beside her in an instant, lifting her to her feet—but pain stabbed through her ankle, and she caught her breath to stifle a scream.

“Carefully, then,” Anthony said. “Lean on me, and hop with the good foot. Hold the other high.”

“Be wary,” she told him. “I do not wish you to be hurt, too”

But he wasn't, not until they were within ten feet of the northern bank. Then he stepped over a small pile of rocks, a sort of granite wave, and as he put both feet past it, one stone fell, crashing down at his heel. To escape it, Anthony stepped more quickly than he should have and fell with a cry of surprise. Balkis hauled back on his arm, almost upsetting herself, and cried with pain as her injured foot touched rock.

“Can you rise?” she asked.

“I think so.” But Anthony spoke through stiff lips, his face white and strained. He shoved himself to his feet—then cried out and fell to his knees.

Panyat was there, though, shoving a shoulder under Anthony's and keeping his fall from having too rough a landing. “You must both lean on me now,” he told them. “Come, it is only a few yards more.”

That was how they finished the crossing, bracing themselves on Panyat's shoulders, which turned out to be just the right height. As they stepped onto the hard ground of the northern bank, they sank down with sighs of relief.

“I had not thought it would be so hard to cross a waterless river when it v/as still,” Anthony admitted.

“Thank Heaven we did not have to try when it moved!” Balkis said.

They rested a little while, then pushed themselves to their feet and turned to look northward—and stared in dismay.

There were no dunes here, nor even very much sand—only hardpacked ground, bright here and there with salt-pans. There was actually plant life, but only outcrops of thorny brush, dry now but ready to bloom if rain came.

It had been a very long time since that happened.

The river of stones twisted across that wasteland, miles and miles to a distant range of mountains from which it flowed.

Anthony shuddered. “How could there ever have been life here?”

“There is water,” Panyat told him, “but it flows deep under the ground.”

“We cannot drink it when it is hidden,” Balkis said in despair.

Anthony, scanning the landscape with narrowed eyes, remarked, “Perhaps there is a way to climb down to it—how else would people know it is there?”

Balkis searched, too, hope resurgent, before shaking her head sadly. “I see no cave, nor any other way to journey downward.”

“Nonetheless, there is such,” Panyat told them. “Let us each gather a few pieces of driftwood, for if we can find that stream, we may be able to ride it.”

Balkis shuddered. “I have no wish to climb out among those stones again—nor will my ankle stand it!”

“Nor shall it have to,” Panyat returned. “The smaller branches are torn off the trees and cast up on the banks.” He proved his point by bringing each of them a driftwood staff. Leaning on them, they each managed to find a few good-sized branches about five feet long lying by the banks. They dragged them as Panyat led the way along a winding track, barely discernible in the hard-packed earth, to the lee of a huge boulder—and there, to their surprise, they saw a cave, a scooped-out declivity whose bottom lay below the ground.

Panyat took the sticks and tossed them in. They fell with a clatter that seemed to go on a long time, and Balkis paled. “How are we to descend so far?”

“Very carefully,” Panyat answered, “especially with those turned ankles. But the way is easy enough, though rough.”

They followed him into the cave, stepping down gingerly— and discovered a sort of staircase probing deep into the earth, made of slabs of rock and shelves of shale. The height of the steps was uneven, their depth varied from a few inches to several feet, and Balkis asked, as she sat down to descend a particularly high step, “Did people build this?”

“I think not,” said Panyat. “Even the ancients would have made it more even. I would guess that the gods made this staircase and cared little about human convenience—but it will take us down to the stream. Be glad we will not have to climb back up laden with waterskins, as did the traders who showed me this.”

Balkis shuddered at the thought, and was very glad indeed.

The stairs curved slowly in a great, uneven spiral, and the sunlight stayed with them almost to the bottom, though it became gray and dim. Finally Panyat encountered their driftwood and sent it clattering farther down—but before he did, he broke off a two-foot limb and asked Anthony, “Can you light this with your flint and steel?”

“Gladly.” Anthony took some tow from his pack, struck sparks into it, nursed the flame to life, then held the tip of the branch in until fire caught firmly. Stamping out the tow, he gave the branch to Panyat, who held it high as he led the way down.

They followed into a darkness lit only by the torch. It gleamed on the stone walls about them—there wasn't much space to light, really. After a few minutes, they heard a gurgling sound, which grew louder as the daylight faded. Then, suddenly, the walls fell away and the torchlight glowed alone in the darkness—but at their feet, it showed them a shelf of rock and the winking turbulent mass of a flowing river.