Carnivores of Light and Darkness (22 page)
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Simna’s eyes widened as he surveyed the moonswept sand. A few ragged bushes puffed branches into the night sky. It was almost morning and he was freshly tired. Too tired for jokes.
“Castle, is it, wee bruther? I see no castle. I see not even an outhouse.”
“Come around this ridge of sand.” Oblivious to the swordsman’s sarcasm, Loswee beckoned for them to follow. To their left, the rest of the Swick troop lined up, wing to wing, forming a guard of honor. The travelers, after securing their floating water supply to a well-rooted nearby bush, marched on past, trailing Loswee.
The entrance was far larger than any of them had expected, a dark, gaping hole in the side of the dune. Why the shifting sand did not spill down to cover it they could not understand. Though it was difficult to tell anything for certain in the dim light, it was clear that something was holding the sand above securely in place and keeping it from tumbling down to block the opening. Provided that he advanced in a hunting crouch, it was even large enough to admit Ahlitah.
While the mere existence of the unnatural ingress was unexpected, it hardly harmonized with Loswee’s description.
“I was wrong,” Simna declared churlishly. “It
could
serve as an outhouse.”
could
serve as an outhouse.”
“Come inside.” Unperturbed and at ease, Loswee led the way.
Equally as remarkable as the undisturbed, unblocked entrance was the depth to which it penetrated the dune. Bending double to keep from bumping his head against the ceiling of the tunnel, Ehomba and his companions were uncomfortably aware of the many tons of loose sand that loomed overhead. But though walled with the same grains that constituted the shifting slopes outside, the tunnel showed no signs of instability.
After a while, the soft babble of many voices became audible. Light appeared ahead. Loswee straightened in his saddle, a miniature portrait of satisfaction as he chirped to his soldiers.
“Heigh up back there! Ware your posture!” In a less martial tone he explained to his guests. “We are coming into Barrick, and the castle is waking up.”
Simna grunted. “Good for it. Me, I’m going to sleep.”
Close behind him, Ahlitah growled warningly. “This better be good. I didn’t trot all this way for a breakfast of beans and berries. On the other paw,” he added after a moment’s consideration, “some of these Swick look quite nutritious.”
“Ahlitah!” Looking back past his hunched-over shoulder, Ehomba glared at the big cat. “We are guests here. Mind your manners.”
“Hoy that, long bruther,” Simna admonished him. “Etiquette’s not my style, but even I know the idea’s to dine with one’s hosts—not on them.”
“But I’m
hungry
.” Irked by the early morning run, the hulking feline did not try to conceal his displeasure.
hungry
.” Irked by the early morning run, the hulking feline did not try to conceal his displeasure.
He forgot it, as they all did, when the tunnel made an abrupt turn to the left and they found themselves gazing at last upon the castle itself. Outside, it would have been a wonder. Here, in the deep heart of the dune, its existence was nothing short of miraculous.
Simna’s anticipated tents and huts were nowhere to be seen. Instead, it was a true castle that rose before them, complete to external battlements and towers, minarets and multiple keeps. Off to the right were commodious stables where the prized running birds were quartered. In place of miniature wagons, cleverly made sand sleds were parked neatly side by side, and blacksmiths were arriving to begin the day’s work with tiny bundles of wood and bands of black iron.
As they entered, advancing down a central avenue just wide enough to accommodate Ahlitah’s bulk, awakening Swick appeared on the innumerable side streets to gawk at them. Smoke rose from dozens of cooking fires, trailing out tall, crooked chimneys as it curled toward the high dome of the great artificial cavern that had been hollowed out of the inside of the dune. Holes bored in the ceiling drew the smoke, allowing it to find a way out.
Pens held captive food animals: mice and rats, lizards and snakes. There were tanneries and slaughterhouses, farms exuberant with domesticated mushrooms and other edible fungi, kitchens and schools, workshops and apartments. Ehomba marveled, Simna was struck dumb, and even Ahlitah, though he gave little sign of it, was impressed. Expecting to find an unpretentious encampment, they found themselves instead in a veritable underground city. Prepared to deal with a few dozens of Swick, they instead were confronted by the People of the Sand in their teeming hundreds, perhaps thousands.
Looking past the main castle, Ehomba found that he could not see to the far end of the chamber, so extensive was the excavation. There were side galleries as well, similarly quarried from the dune, that were home to still more of the same. And everywhere rose miniaturized battlements and towers from which hung innumerable flags and decorations. Despite its reduced size, the citadel had been constructed on a grand scale, notwithstanding its implausible location or the diminutive size of its inhabitants.
He found himself smiling at no one in particular. In actuality, he was thinking of Daki and Nelecha. Because they would prize this place as no one else could.
Who else but children could truly appreciate the grandest of all sand castles?
XXII
T
HEY WONDERED WHAT HELD IT ALL TOGETHER
,
MUCH LESS
kept the dune from collapsing in upon them, until they saw the first of many eternally busy construction crews. Secure in their saddles, Swick engineers directed dozens of domesticated slugs and snails as they worked at maintaining and adding to the buildings and walls.
HEY WONDERED WHAT HELD IT ALL TOGETHER
,
MUCH LESS
kept the dune from collapsing in upon them, until they saw the first of many eternally busy construction crews. Secure in their saddles, Swick engineers directed dozens of domesticated slugs and snails as they worked at maintaining and adding to the buildings and walls.
Moving more swiftly than Ehomba had ever seen their kind travel, these humble creatures spread thick, viscid trails wherever they went. Other Swick riding large, sucker-toed geckoes followed behind, using long-handled brushes to spread and position the natural glue before it could harden. Looking up and to the side, he observed one crew working on the ceiling, the Swick hanging upside down in their saddles and harnesses.
Reaching over, Simna felt a nearby castle wall. Though nothing but fine yellow-red sand that glistened in the light of the many town lamps, it was firm and rigid to the touch.
Loswee was watching him. “Go ahead—try it.”
Simna hesitated, then pushed hard with a finger, and then with his entire hand. To his astonishment, the wall held firm against his giant’s push.
“You could stand on it.” Loswee’s words were suffused with pride. “The Swick build thick.”
They were coming to a central square. Beneath their feet, sand sifted by color and brilliance had been collected in minuscule molds. Framed and then glued in place, it gave the plaza the appearance of having been paved with multicolored stone. Tall buildings topped with cylindrical towers rose around them, some soaring to heights that would enable a Swick to look down even on Ehomba. Overhead, the dome peaked at twenty feet, allowing the visitors to stand freely.
Multiple street lamps formed a glowing necklace around the plaza, whose fringes were now filling with curious Swick anxious for a look at the giant guests. The mounted warriors of Barrick filed away through a gate off to the right, leaving only Loswee behind. Trotting up to Ehomba’s feet, he tilted back his head and raised his spear in salute.
“I go to announce your presence to the Elected and to arrange for your proper reception. I will be back in a moment.” With that he turned and sped off, his mount sprinting out of sight in seconds.
The travelers settled down to wait, Ahlitah pacing three tight circles before settling down against himself. Looking out at the inquisitive Swick staring back up at them from the edges of the plaza, the swordsman whispered to his phlegmatic companion, “Wonder what he meant by ‘proper reception’?”
“I would imagine food, like he promised.” Ehomba looked around sharply to face his friend. “I thought you did not believe that these people posed any threat to us.”
“That was when we were outside, bruther.” Simna studied their surroundings, which were much more spacious than the entrance tunnel but still confining. “In here, we’re trapped. Any folk that can train snails to do masonry for them could have all sorts of surprising tricks up their smelly little sleeves.”
Ehomba chuckled softly. “You are too suspicious, my friend.”
“Hoy yes. I’m also still alive.”
“And noisy.” Behind them, the litah fully extended his remarkably long legs and stretched. “Why don’t you shut up for a while?”
“Long bruther, why don’t you—” Simna started to retort, but he was interrupted by the return of Loswee.
“That did not take very long,” Ehomba ventured in greeting.
The Swick officer dismounted, leaving his bird tethered nearby. “Arrangements are being realized even as we speak. Prepare yourselves for a true Swick feast, my friends! The bites may be small, but you will find the quality and satisfaction unsurpassed.”
Breakfast arrived on sand sleds pulled by teams of running birds yoked in pairs. And arrived, and kept on arriving. Where the Swick stored such copious quantities of food Ehomba did not know, but despite his unease he accepted Loswee’s assurance that the banquet would in no way impoverish the community or impact adversely on its stores.
There was finely cooked and flavored meat, the origins of which Simna chose not to question. There were wild berries and nuts, desert melon, and a dozen different varieties of edible fungi, all basted and broasted and sauced to a turn. There were insects, cooked crisp in oil, and even cracker-sized loaves of bread made from wild grains. After days of living on jerked antelope and fish and what they could scavenge from their surroundings, the travelers soon put aside all pretense at politeness and gladly gave themselves over to Loswee’s invitation to indulge.
When tankard-sized barrels of home-brewed beer appeared, Simna was all but ready to apply for transient citizenship.
“Not such a bad place, by Gyofah.” Wearing a contented smile, he surveyed their splendid if shrunken surroundings. “A man could get used to it, if they put in a few windows.”
“I believe the idea is to hide from danger,” Ehomba commented dryly, “and not give it a way to look in.” He considered the endless and apparently untiring line of heavily laden sleds that continued to funnel food and drink to him and his companions. “I am so full I can hardly keep my eyes open. I wonder if one of us should stand guard while the others sleep?”
Simna tossed back a cup-sized barrel of beer and blinked at him. “Now who’s being suspicious? I thought you trusted these people.”
“I trust everyone to a degree, but in a new country among unknown people it is better to trust no one completely. Not at first.”
“So maybe you’re smarter than your sheep after all.” The swordsman grinned.
“Go ahead and rest.” Both men turned to where Ahlitah lay on his side, having eaten his fill. The great cat’s eyes were shut tight. “My kind sleeps long but lightly lest we miss the footsteps of passing prey. Trust me. If our hosts prove duplicitous, I will be up and on my feet in an instant.”
“Remarkable,” Simna murmured.
One yellow eye popped halfway open. “That I should rest so lightly?”
“No. That you’d use a word like ‘duplicitous,’” the swordsman replied. “What’s it mean, anyway?”
“One who articulates with the apposite orifice.” The eye closed. “Shut up and go to sleep.”
“Might as well.” Stretching out prone on the paved plaza, Simna found himself regarding the domed sand ceiling. “Can’t tell whether it’s day or night in here anyway. Can you, Etjole?”
But the herdsman, never one to waste the opportunity, was already locked fast in slumber.
• • •
In the morning they were taken to another part of the underground castle-city to see how the Swick were able to extend and expand their living space. The method was not at all what Ehomba had envisioned. There were plenty of shovels in evidence, and teams of birds hauling away sled-loads of excavated sand, and slug and snail supervisors shoring up the finished walls, but the initial removal was accomplished not by digging but by a small choir around which the rest of the engineering activity centered.
“I wondered how you had managed to burrow all this out.” Ehomba gestured around him. “If I had tried to do so, fresh sand would simply spill into any hole I tried to dig.”
“See,” Loswee advised him. “They are working on extending that small service tunnel.”
The choir faced a small hole in the wall. As the visitors looked on, the choir master raised his stubby arms and brought them down. Simple, single notes poured from several dozen petite Swick throats. High and sharply pitched, the consequent tone was astonishingly loud to have been produced by such downsized lungs.
As the travelers looked on in bemusement, the sand in the back of the hole began to disappear. No, Ehomba noted as he bent over for a closer look. Not disappear. It was retreating, compacting away from the singing as if propelled by an invisible shovel. As the tunnel deepened and widened, the slime spreaders moved in to cement and stabilize the new walls. Meanwhile, the choir continued to pour forth high, extended notes. Among the Naumkib Ehomba was reckoned a fine singer in his own right, but at his best he could not have matched the staying power of the weakest of the Swick singers. Not only natural talent but also much strenuous vocal training was being put to use.
“Where is the sand going?” he asked their host. Eyeing him, Simna shook his head sadly.
“Who cares? Do you always have to ask questions? Must you know everything? Do you have any idea how exasperating that is to those around you?”
“Yes, hopefully. I know but cannot help it,” the herdsman replied.
“The sand is not going anywhere.” Loswee ignored the byplay between his guests. “Look more closely. The same number of grains are present. It is the air between them that is being disappeared. Have you ever slid down a dune and listened to it roar?” Ehomba nodded while Simna shook his head energetically. Ahlitah ignored them, bored with the entire matter and wishing they were back outside.
“That roaring,” Loswee went on, “is caused by the movement of air trapped between the particles of sand. Our singing disturbs the air and pushes it out from between the grains. The sand that remains behind becomes consolidated. This not only opens up living space but helps to stabilize the sand. Our masons complete the task of stabilization before air can seep back between the grains and expand the pile or wall once again.”
“Sounds like magic to me,” Simna avowed.
“Not at all,” Loswee countered. “It is simply sound engineering, in every sense of the term.”
“It is a wonderful thing.” Ehomba was openly admiring. “Of what other marvels are the Swick masters?”
“Come and I’ll show you.” Loswee led them back toward the plaza.
They were shown the vast underground storehouses and fungi farms, the workshops where Swick craftsfolk turned out superb works in leather and in fabric woven from desert fibers, the narrow-bore but deep wells that brought cool water up from unsuspected pools deep beneath the dune, and the extensive stables for the care and breeding of running birds and other small domesticated creatures. A dark seep at the end of a tunnel so long and low they could not enter produced an endless supply of fine black oil that kept the lamps of the community burning around the clock.
“This country is full of such seeps,” Loswee told them. “I think there must be enough of the black liquid here to fill all the lamps of the world.”
Ehomba’s nose wrinkled at the thought. “It smells badly, though, and it stains clothes, and animals could become trapped in it. Give me a clean wood fire any day.”
“Same here,” agreed Simna readily. “The stuff’s not good for anything else anyway. I say take what you need for your lamps and leave the rest of it in the ground.”
“That is what we do.” Loswee turned back toward the main square. “You have seen much in a short time. I am hungry again myself.”
Simna rubbed his hands together. “I wouldn’t have thought a man could get fat on such small portions, but your cooks are as adept as your singers.”
It was as they were finishing the midday meal that Loswee reappeared to confront them in the company of half a dozen senior Swick. These Elders had long, curly white whiskers emerging from their chins, like gypsum helectites protruding from a cave wall, but not one could boast of sufficient chin hair to be labeled the father of a real beard. The two females among them had manes of scraggly white hair corkscrewing down their backs. Instead of the familiar Swick attire of shorts and upper garment, these respected seniors wore voluminous cloaks whose hems scraped the ground.
Despite their impressive appearance, both individually and as a group, it was still Loswee who did the talking. Ehomba found himself wondering if the Swick warrior had volunteered for the position of go-between or if he had been delegated to the task. Whatever the truth of the matter, he did not act like someone laboring under a compulsion.
“These are members of the Council of Elders,” he explained. The half dozen senior Swick promptly kowtowed spryly. “As the first among Swick to encounter you, I have been asked by them to beg your help.”
Leaning to his right, Simna whispered to his companion, “Hoy—here it comes. I knew all this food and friendship had to come with a price.”
“Hush,” Ehomba admonished him softly. “Let us see what they have to say.” Louder he responded, “What kind of help?”
For such a small warrior, Loswee could muster an impressively steely gaze. “We want you to fight the Dunawake.”
“I knew it,” muttered Simna sourly as he put down his latest barrel of beer.
As always, Ehomba’s tone remained unchanged. “You said that magic was necessary to battle this creature. We told you before you brought us to your castle-town that we had no magic. Nothing has changed since we first talked.”
Loswee’s demeanor began to show some cracks. “When I said that we wanted to beg your help I was being truthful. The Dunawake is very close and comes nearer every day. You have seen how much work has gone into the building of our home here. Can you imagine the effort involved for people our size?”
Ehomba nodded slowly. “I think I can.”
“I told you outside that we cannot fight the Dunawake, that we can only try to keep ahead of it.” He gestured expansively, taking in the central square, the surrounding towers and buildings and shops. “How many times do you think we have had to move? How many times do you think we have had to rebuild our homes starting outside the face of a virgin dune?” When none of the visitors responded, Loswee quietly informed them, “This castle in whose center you sit, this thriving community wherein we dwell, is our forty-fifth. Forty-five times we have raised a castle-town like this, and forty-four times we have had to abandon it and move on, to keep clear of the Dunawake.”
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