Once resolved, Bogg lost no time scrambling up next to Simon. It was roomy enough up there that Simon and Bogg sat facing each other, their legs kicking out, clutching handfuls of hill hair in front of them.
"And the cussed swordsman?" asked Bogg. "Are we no longer interested in him?"
Simon shrugged. "We're still alive."
"Don't lose my hat," Bogg said.
Simon clapped a hand on his head, holding down Bogg's raccoon hat as the hill lurched to its feet, lifting Simon and Bogg into the air. Hills, elks, and greenies lit out for parts unknown.
#
It was sure no trouble staying awake on the back of a four-legged hill. The hairy pile of flesh they clung to rocked in a figure-eight as its four pillars each took a step. You couldn't let go of the hair and you couldn't relax for a second. All the rocking set Bogg's stomach on edge, a state of discomfort amplified by the smell of the beast. Waves of hot animal stink rose up from its back.
It was nice to be so warm, but the smell made Bogg's eyes cross. The greenie pilot never turned to watch them, though the greenies on the other hills looked over plenty enough. All their own greenie ever did was nudge the hill this way and that, in a pattern Bogg couldn't fathom. On occasion, it also reached into the thing's fur, pulled out a beetle or maggot big as its green fist, and gulped it down.
At this height, Bogg could see for miles down the treed mountainside and up to Desperation Peak. The caravan was leaving a decent trail of hill prints and uprooted trees, too. If Bogg got loose, he could follow it easy back to Settler's Pass and be on his way again.
And as for getting loose, Bogg could conjure all manner of violence in his mind. The greenies hadn't bothered to disarm him, they were so cocky. They were the big-bugs under the cow chip, all right. He thought of killing the pilot in front of them... but riding an out-of-control four-legged hill to freedom didn't seem a likely prospect. He thought of slashing his fang dagger into the hill itself -- kill it and escape in the fracas. But beneath all the hair, he and the pup were riding on a good six feet of blubber. He doubted he could cut deep enough to hit the spiney column without going spelunking into the beast.
The pup seemed unreasonably easy and content. After hanging on through the rocking for an hour or so, he turned around and started asking questions to the hill driver, all in that humbug talky-talk.
"Tlal," the kid said.
The driver whipped his head around and stared at Simon with the water-blue eyes all the greenies had. "Tlal," he said back, sounding as much like a little kid as the kid, and looked forward again, past the hairy crown of the hill's head.
"Non trofos," said the pup.
"Col sombi sok." The driver didn't look around again.
"Galdo hama," said the pup.
Bogg could tell that Simon was just saying the words he had picked up from someplace, and didn't really have a clue.
"Tlal?" The lad was determined.
"Kili falm mano lob Ahm," snapped the driver. Simon seemed to chew on that a bit.
Cuss that kid! Bogg had been hot on the trail of the swordsman just a bit ago. He wasn't sure how, but all that had been pissed away. Bogg knew now it had been a blunder to keep the kid with him. He should have left Simon by the gulley, and lit out on his own. That was what he was good at. Being on his own.
Bogg stayed quiet and hung on, stewing in his juices, for hours and hours and into the night.
#
Chapter 24
Simon woke up when the hill stopped moving. Bogg's hand had him by the shirt collar, holding him on the creature's back. "Wake up, lad," said Bogg. "We've stopped."
Simon couldn't see anything. It was night and overcast -- not even starlight to see by. He felt a sharp poking from the hill driver, prodding him off the hill. He slipped down its hirsute mound, gripping fistfuls of hair, without seeing where his feet would land. At last, they touched solid ground. He heard Bogg thump down behind him, grumbling.
Vivets appeared in the darkness ahead, holding sticks with glowing ends, as if they had just been pulled from a fire. Simon followed them past smooth stone walls, into a shelter, or structure of some kind -- he wished he could see! He stepped onto a stone floor so smooth it glistened in the amber glow of the fire in the center of the room. There were no seams in the floor. It was not made of blocks, but appeared to be a single rock, polished flat.
Bogg made a commotion behind him. "Hey, kid..."
Two vivets had stepped between them, facing Bogg, leading him away. Bogg stood his ground, his blue eyes narrow, his hairy chin thrust forward.
"It's all right, Bogg," Simon said, knowing that it wasn't all right.
Bogg's jaw worked back and forth. "See you in the morning, kid." He turned into the shadows. "Maybe." He let the vivets lead him away, behind a wavy sheet of rock that reflected red and tan in the firelight.
For the moment, Simon was alone in the room, all flowing stone and campfire. He knew Bogg was right -- they weren't safe here. The vivets could do anything to them. Or worse, the vivets could keep them captive indefinitely. Escape made sense, and the sooner the better.
But Simon also knew that in his dream, the wild man had spoken vivet to him. The dream had saved him on the ice. It had gotten him here. He knew the wild man was real, he knew the wild man had put the dream in his head and given him those words.
Vivet words.
What did they have to do with all this?
What was he supposed to do here?
A vivet appeared at the far end of the chamber, as if from nowhere. Simon couldn't see well enough to pick out the passageway it had come from.
The creature stepped around the fire. It was a bit under his height, the firelight casting its green skin as orange dancing on gray. Its tunic was made of fresh oval leaves with no sign of stitchwork -- perhaps pasted together with sap. Its naked feet were four-toed and smaller than Simon's.
Black hair fell back from its forehead and beyond its slender neck. It was the first vivet Simon had seen with hair. There was a trace of a high widow's peak, and the creature's budlike ears showed behind locks of hair braided and held with bits of stem.
Simon suddenly wondered if it was a boy or a girl. Something about it suggested female, although its body was thin and childlike, as were all the vivets at the frozen lake. There was nothing womanly about her. Maybe the leaf-tunic reminded him of petticoats. Maybe vivets didn't have genders... although Simon didn't see how that could work. Even plants had genders.
Her large eyes were wary... and possibly blue; it was hard to tell in the firelight. Her nose and mouth were tiny, and her cheeks sloped to a small rounded chin.
Simon took off his hat.
"Tlal," he said.
#
Chapter 25
Her eyes narrowed and her head drew back, in a way that suggested he was using the word incorrectly.
"My name is Simon Jones."
"Mahee name is Sahman Dones."
He had been hearing her voice all his life, in the calling of birds in the apple orchards and the babbling of Stone Brook eost of Fort Sanctuary.
He touched his hat to his chest. "Call me Simon."
She rested a four-fingered hand on her hair. "Call me Sahman."
Simon shook his head.
"Humu lalo feldus," she declared. "Po lal Ahm fan oko?"
An icy chill trickled down Simon's spine. He was in deep over his head. "Pardon?"
She stepped close to him and peered up into his eyes. Hers were blue, Simon could see despite the dim firelight. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. She sniffed at his mouth, and he closed it and swallowed nervously. Then she sniffed at his neck, and looked from his left shoulder to his right.
Simon held his breath.
Her fingers gripped the hat in his hand. He let it go. She brought it to her nose, gave it three quick inhales, and dropped it on the stone beside her. Her eyes roved over his b
ody.
Simon's eyebrows raised. "What are you doing?"
"What are you doing?" she said. It was the sound of a stone skipping across a lake.
She raised a tentative hand to his face and held it before his eyes. Simon saw fingerprints on the tips of her rounded fingers, and no nails. Her fingers touched his raised eyebrows, and felt slightly warm. Slowly, she brushed his cheek, then his ear. She tugged gently on his earlobe, and slipped a finger inside.
He squirmed and pulled away. "Hey, now." He froze, fearing he'd overreacted. If she took offense, what would she do?
"Hey, now," she said. She felt his nose. Then she brought both hands to the back of his neck and tugged carefully at his hair. Then she pressed her palms to feel the shape of his head.
Simon guessed that she had never been this close to a human before. Or maybe vivets always greeted each other this way. In either case...
He lifted his hand and held it before her. She froze. He touched her nose -- just a little bump above two nostrils. Her skin was warm and featureless -- no pores, nor hairs, nor scars. He felt the bud of her ear, and tugged on a black braid.
Her head tipped to the pull, and she grinned. Her teeth shone in the firelight, small and round. He grinned back.
She took his hand in both of hers, pulling and working his fingers, feeling his fingernails, rotating his thumb, then making a fist. She squeezed and pulled his index finger, as if deciding that it, in particular, was the extra one.
With his left, he felt the concatenating leaves over her shoulder. They were pliable and fresh, picked only a day or two ago. Vivets must make new clothes for themselves constantly. He pulled at a leaf, curious as to how they adhered to each other, and the leaf came off in his fingers. The strap of her tunic hung broken at her shoulder.
She released his hand and took a step back. "Hey, now," she admonished.
He held the leaf out to her. "Sorry."
She pressed it back into place and reattached the strap. It looked good as new, stuck with tree sap that didn't dry out.
She poked a button on his cotton shirt, and pulled at the collar, frowning. With one hand, she unbuttoned his top button. Simon's breath caught in his throat. She undid another.
"Hey, now," Simon said. He rebuttoned.
"Sorry." She turned her attention to his boots. He took them off so she could get a sense of them, and she sniffed them and reached inside. Footwear seemed very new to her.
"Boots," he said.
She briefly placed a hand over one eye. "Galdo boots." Simon guessed there was no vivet word for boot, but wondered about the gesture. One eye. Impaired perception. Confusion, maybe... a vivet shrug?
She stepped into the boots and clopped around the fire, wildly swinging her arms for balance. Simon clapped a hand over his mouth to hold in his laugh, but it was too much. He nearly exploded, so he forgot about propriety and laughed outright.
She stepped out of them and nudged them over with a toe. "Nok-toth," she said.
He stepped beside her to compare feet. She saw his five toes and dropped low to investigate.
"Toes," Simon said.
"Toes. Fim."
He sat down and counted for her. "One, two, three, four, five toes."
She sat and waved a foot at him. "Ob, nob, pob, dobe fimi."
Simon repeated it and held up four fingers. "Dobe."
She gave him a sidelong glance. "Tlal."
Simon frowned. He hadn't heard tlal used in the affirmative before. He had thought it was an attention-getter. Maybe it was both. Questions were piling up in his head, so he closed his eyes and repeated mentally what he had learned.
When he opened them, she was nose-to-nose with him, peering at him.
He fought the urge to step back. Instead he asked, "What is your name?"
She didn't answer.
He gestured to himself, placing his hand to his chest. "Simon." And she would surely think it was the word for chest, heart, shirt, soul... He pointed to his temple with his other hand. "Simon."
"Sahman." She looked askance at him, another sidelong glance. Turning one's head to the side... it could be a nod. She mimicked him, pressing her hand to the leaves at the front of her dress and touching her head with her other hand. "Ee-manu-lali."
"What?"
"Ee. Ifiga Ee."
"Ee," Simon said. "I can remember that." He gestured to himself again. "Ifiga Simon."
"Tlal, Sahman."
He looked askance at her. "Nice to meet you."
#
The glow from the fire had died down by the time Simon was talking about the thunderbird. He had worked his way through their story that far when he noticed the light in the room changing, acquiring the gray clarity of an approaching dawn. It was only then that he noticed there was no ceiling, but open sky above him. How could he have stayed so warm last night? What was this place?
Ee sat patiently -- his audience and tutor -- and showed no signs of fatigue. Simon wondered if vivets slept. Then again, he was a pretty entertaining act. He hopped around the room and flapped his arms.
She didn't get it.
He pointed to a rock he had pulled from the edge of the camp fire. Over the past hours, the rock had been a mountain (sosh), a horse (nidaboo), a four-legged hill (mamoo), Bogg (Bogg), an elk (kariboo), and a dozen other things. Now, he pointed to it and said "Kariboo," and made a show of flapping down and snatching it up with one hand.
"Tlal!" She gave him a sidelong look. "Borakoo."
"Got it," Simon said. "So Bogg and Deff dali in this clearing -- all the ish cut down, manack, and out of the sky comes this borakoo, and it nearly manack Bogg. Almost galdo Bogg. Instead, it just picked up, timack maybe, a couple of trees, nob ishi. Timack nob ishi, and flew away."
Her eyes were wide and her mouth made a little circle. "Nok-toth," she whispered.
"No, it's true!"
"Kolomo," she crooned. ("Amazing.")
"So these trees, ishi, must have been cut down, manack, by the privateers, the hunters, wren. Wren manack ishi. Bogg and I think that maybe they fought some vivets right there, before we got there. Wren manack vivoo."
Her eyes narrowed, grim and expressionless.
Simon knew this was dangerous ground. He had worked through his story all night, painfully slowly, in the hope of winning the vivets' favor, or at least keep the vivets from killing them. He had tried to make it clear that he and the vivets had a common enemy. He hoped he wouldn't botch up here. His grasp of her language was not firm, and a slight miscommunication could cost their lives.
She said slowly, "Po lal Ahm fan oko?"
She had asked it before. He didn't know any of those words.
Simon had guessed that his blatherings in their language had saved Bogg and him from being killed on the frozen lake... but why did she labor to teach him now? What did she want from him?
What had he said?
Sloros Ahm.
What did it mean? Why had he dreamt it?
She watched him intently, waiting for an answer.
"They manack vivoo, the unspeakably vicious criminals who started all this, in their ruthless sprint to save themselves, wren manack vivoo. How can I make you believe me?"
He put his hand to his heart and felt the beads. "And then, once Bogg and I were there, Deff timack... this." He drew the necklace from his shirt pocket and handed it to her.
She shrank away from it and keened a high note. It upset her so much, Simon knew he had blundered and wanted to put it away -- to take back the moment. Then she leapt to her feet and snatched it from him. "Sloros Ahm!" she said. "Non trofos. Wren fono."
He had heard that before. "Lalbi?" ("I don't understand.")
Her body shook with... rage? Terror?
She held up the beads. "Ahm!"
None of it made sense. Simon had crossed a line, made his error. He swallowed, and his own body quiver
ed with fear. "Lalbi," he whispered.
"Ee-manu-lali!" she cried, pressing her hand to her chest. "Ahm!" She pressed the bead necklace to her chest, bunching it in both hands. "Ahm-manu-lali!" She spoke more, but Simon only heard a keening howl. Clutching the necklace, Ee rushed away, between the stone walls and into the predawn gloom.
#
All night, Simon's world had been Ee, the fire, the stone floor, and the dim, flickering hints of walls. Now, gray twilight melted the darkness and brought his surroundings into proper existence.
The clouds overhead took on grim contours. They still threatened rain or snow.
For the first time, Simon saw the maze of stone in which he had been abandoned. Around him sprouted columns and walls like a forest of rock, twenty feet tall. They were stalagmites, or at least they looked it. Had they come from a cavern? There were no blocks, no seams, no sign of construction. The twelve columns, in a rough star-pattern around him, flowed like gray waterfalls, like they had been dripped into place from above over thousands of years. They were frozen in swaying, undulating motion, lumpy, pointed, tan with freshets of milky stone flowing through.
The floor was a pool of stone, with concentric rings of minerals. Simon couldn't see how it could have been built here, and from its size -- a single piece of stone thirty feet across -- he didn't see how the vivets could transport it.
It belonged a mile underground. Simon felt like he was in a lost cave, except for the clouds overhead and the dandelions growing at the floor's perimeter. Stretching between the pillars were wavy and folding sheets of what looked like limestone, thick and rounded at the edges and thin as buckskin in spots near the center. These sheets made bending rectangular walls.
The sun came up in the eost. It hung soft and red below the smeared charcoal of the clouds. Simon stepped behind one of the sloping, cascading sheets of rock, which was thin enough to be translucent. Through the rock, the sun was a golden flame. He touched the spot, expecting it to be warm.
But the stone was cold.
In a moment, the sun would rise into the blanket of clouds above it and be lost. But for now, it touched the monument and turned the curving tips of the twelve columns bright orange.
A pair of stalagmites standing eost of the circle twisted together, and sunlight beamed through a short segment of the gap between them. The spear of light fell on a thin sheet of stone standing near the central floor, making a pattern of light shaped like Bogg's sabertooth knife. The sheet was peppered with holes -- hundreds of them. Simon wondered if they had been water-carved by some subterranian river or polished into the stone by intelligent hands. The dagger of light fell on three of the holes.
New World: a Frontier Fantasy Novel Page 14
