The Hour of the Gate

by Alan Dean Foster

  Several days passed during which they encountered nothing suggestive of habitation. The hills swelled around them, becoming rockier and more barren. Even wildlife hereabouts was scarce.

  Once they did drift past a populated beach. A herd of unicorns was backed up there against the water. Stallions and mares formed a semicircle with the water at their backs protecting the colts, which snorted and neighed nervously.

  Pacing confusedly before the herd's defensive posture wa a pack of perhaps a dozen lion-sized lizards. They were sleei as whippets and their red and white scales gleamed in th sunlight. As the travelers cruised past, one of the lizards sprang trying to leap over the adults and break the semicircle Instead, he landed on the two-foot-long, gnarly hom of one of the stallions.

  A horrible hissing crackled like fresh foil through the day and blood fountained in all directions, splattering colts and killer alike. Bending his neck, the unicorn used both forehooves to shove the contorted body of the dying carnivore oflf his head.

  The boat drifted around a bend, its passengers ignorant of the eventual outcome of the war. Blood from the impaled predator flowed into the river. The red stain mindlessly stalked the retreating craft…

  VI

  It was the following afternoon, when they rounded a benc in the river, that Jon-Tom thought would surely be their last.

  The foothills had grown steadily steeper around them. They were impressive, but nonexistent compared to the sheer precipices that suddenly rose like a wall directly ahead Clouds veiled their summits, parting only intermittently to reveal shining white caps at the higher elevations; snow and ice that never melted. The mottled stalks of conifers looked like twigs where they marched up into the mists.

  It was a seamless gray cliff which rose up unbroken ahead of the raft. Solid old granite, impassable and cold.

  Bribbens was neither surprised nor perturbed by this impassable barrier. Leaning hard on the sweep, he turned the boat to port. At first Jon-Tom thought they would simply ! ground on me rocks lining the shore, but when they rounded a massive, sharp boulder he saw the tiny beach their boatman was aiming for.

  It was a dry notch cut into the fringe of the mountain. Warm water slapped against his boots as the boat's passengers scrambled to pull it onto the sand. Driftwood mixed with the blackened remnants of many camp fires. The little cove was the last landing point on the river.

  On the visible river, anyway.

  The wind tumbled and rolled down the sheer cliffs. It seemed to be saying, "Go back, fools! There is nothing beyond here but rock and death. Go back!" and a sudden gust would send Talea or Mudge stumbling westward as the wind tried to urge their retreat.

  Jon-Tom waded out into the river until the water lapped at his boot tops. Leaning around a large, slick rock, he was able to see why Bribbens had rowed them into the protected cove.

  Several hundred yards downstream, downstream was no more. An incessant crackling and grinding came from the river's end. An immense jam of logs and branches, bones, and other debris boiled like clotted pudding against the gray face of the mountain. Foam thundered on rock and wood like cold lava.

  He couldn't see where the water vanished into the mountainside because of the obstructing flotsam, but from time to time a log or branch would be sucked beneath the brow of the cliff, presumably into the cavern beyond. The thickness of the jam suggested that the cave opening into the mountain couldn't be more than a few inches above the wateriine. If it were higher, he would have been able to see it as a dark stain on the granite, and if lower, the river would have backed up and drowned out, among other things, me cove they were beached upon.

  But the opening must be quite deep, because the river had narrowed until it was no more than thirty yards wide where it ground against the mountainside, and the current was no swifter than usual.

  "What do we do now?" Flor had waded out to stand next to him. She watched as logs several yards thick spun and bounced off the rock. They must have weighed thousands of pounds and were waterlogged as well.

  "There's no way we can move any of that stuff upstream against the current."

  "It doesn't matter," he told her. "Even if Clothahump could magic them aside, the opening's still much too low to let the boat through."

  "So it seems." Bribbens stood on the sand behind them. He was unloading supplies from the boat. "But we're not going in that way. That is, we are, but we're not."

  "I don't follow you," said Jon-Tom.

  "You will. You're paying to." He grinned hugely. "Why do you think the Sloomaz-ayor-le-WeentU is called also The Double River, The River of Twos?"

  "I don't know." Jon-Tom was irritated at his ignorance. "I thought it forked somewhere upstream. It doesn't tell me how we're going to get through there," and he pointed at the churning, rumbling mass of jackstraw debris.

  "It does, if you know."

  "So what do we do first?" he said, tired of riddles.

  "First we take anything that'll float off the boat," was the boatman's order.

  "And then."

  "And then we pole her out into the middle of the current, open her stoppers, and sink her. After we've anchored her securely, of course."

  Jon-Tom started to say something, thought better of it. Since the frog's statement was absurd and since he was clearly not an idiot, then it must follow that he knew something Jon-Tom did not. When confronted by an inexplicable claim, he'd been taught, it was better not to debate until the supporting evidence was in.

  "I still don't understand," said Flor confusedly.

  "You will," Bribbens assured her. "By the way, can you both swim?"

  "Fairly well," said Jon-Tom.

  "I don't drown," was Hor's appraisal.

  "Good. I hope the other human is likewise trained.

  "For the moment you can't do anything except help with the unloading. Then I suggest you relax and watch."

  When the last buoyant object had been removed from the boat, they took the frog at his word and settled down on the beach to observe.

  Bribbens guided the little vessel out into the river. On locating a place that suited him (but that looked no different from anywhere else to Jon-Tom and Hor) he tossed over bow and stem anchors. Sunlight glistened off the boatman's now bare green and black back and off the smooth fur of the nude otter standing next to him.

  Both watched as the anchors descended. The boat slowly swung around before halting about a dozen yards farther downstream. Bribbens tested the lines to make certain both anchors were fast on the bottom.

  Then he Vanished belowdecks for several minutes. Soon me boat began to sink. Shortly only the mast was visible above the surface. Then it too had sunk out of sight. Mudge swam above the spot where it had gone under, occasionally dipping his head beneath me surface. The amphibian Bribbens was as at home in the river's depths as he was on land. Mudge was almost as comfortable, being a faster swimmer but unable to extract oxygen from the water.

  Soon the otter waved to those remaining on shore. He shouted something unintelligible. They saw his back arch as he dived. He repeated the dive-appear-dive-appear sequence several times. Then Bribbens broke the surface alongside him and they both swam in to the beach.

  They silently took turns convoying the floatable supplies (carefully packed in watertight skins) out to the center of the stream, disappearing with them, and then returning for more.

  Finally Bribbens stood dripping on the beach. "Good thing the river doesn't come out of the mountain. Be too cold for this sort of thing."

  "What sort of thing?" a thoroughly bemused Flor wanted to know.

  "Let's go and you'll find out."

  "Go? Go where?"

  "Why, to the ship, of course," said Talea. "You don't know, do you?"

  "No one explains things to me. They just look." She was almost angry.

  "It will all be explained in a minute," said Clothahump patiently.

  The boatman held out a watertight sack. "If you'll put your clothes in here."

  "
What for?" Flor's gaze narrowed.

  Bribbens explained patiently, "So they won't get wet." He started to turn away. "It's no difference to me. If you want to spend the journey inside the probably cold mountain in wet clothing, that's your business. I'm not going to argue with you."

  Jon-Tom was already removing his cape and shirt. Talea and Caz were doing likewise. Flor gave a little shrug and began to disrobe while the wizard made sure his plastron compartments were sealed tight. Physically he was the weakest of them, but like the boatman, he would have no difficulty going wherever they were going.

  There was one problem, though. It took the form of a black lump hanging from a large piece of driftwood.

  "Absolutely not! Not on your life, and sure as hell not on mine." Pog folded his wings adamantly around his body and looked immovable. "I'll wait for ya here."

  "We may not return this way," explained Clothahump.

  "You may not return at all, but dat ain't da point dat's botherin' me," grumbled the bat.

  "Come now." Clothahump had elected to try reason on his famulus. "I could make you come, you know."

  "You can make me do a lot of tings, boss," replied the bat, "but not you nor anyting else in dis world's going to drag me into dat river!"

  "Come on, Pog." Jon-Tom felt silly standing naked on the beach arguing with the reluctant bat. "Ror, Talea, Caz, and I aren't water breathers either. But I trust Clothahump and our boatman to know what they're about. Surely we're going to reach air soon. I can't hold my breath any longer man you."

  "Water's fit for drinking, not for living in," Pog continued to insist. "You ain't getting me into dat liquid grave and dat'p final."

  Jon-Tom's expression turned sorrowful. "If that's the wa;" you feel about it." He'd seen Talea and Mudge sneaking around to get behind the driftwood. "You might as well wai here for us, I suppose."

  "I beg your pardon?" said the wizard.

  Jon-Tom put a hand on the turtle's shell, turned him toward the river. "It's no use arguing with him, sir. His mind i-; made up and—"

  "Hey? Let me loose! Damn you, Mudge, get off m> wings! I'll tear your guts out! I'll, I'll…! Let me up!"

  "Get his wings down!… Watch those teeth!" Hor and Jon-Tom rushed to help. The four of them soon had the bat neatly pinned. Talea located some strong, thin vines and began wrapping the famulus like a holiday package.

  "Sorry to do this, old fellow," said Caz apologetically, "but we're wasting time. Jon-Tom's right though, you know I'm probably the worst swimmer of this lot, but I'm willing to give it a go if Clothahump insists there's no danger."

  "Of course not," said the wizard. "Well, very little, in any case. Bribbens knows precisely how far we must descend."

  The boatman stood listening. He eyed the bat distastefully. "Right. Bring him along, then."

  They carried the bound and trussed famulus toward the water's edge.

  "Let me go!" Pog's fear of the river was genuine. "I can't do it, I tell ya! I'll drown. I'm warning ya all I'll come back and haunt ya the rest of your damn days!"

  "That's your privilege." Talea led the way into the river.

  "You'll drown all right," Bribbens told him, "if you don't do exactly as I say."

  "Where are we going, then?" Jon-Tom asked, a little dazedly.

  The frog pointed out and down. "Just swim, man. When we get to the spot I'll say so. Then you dive… and swim."

  "Straight down?" Jon-Tom kicked, the water smooth and fresh around him. A little shiver of fear raced down his back. Clothahump and Bribbens and to a lesser extent Mudge need have no fear of the water. It was one of their environments. But what if they were wrong? What if the underwater cave (or whatever it was they were going down into) lay too deep?

  A friendly pat on one shoulder reassured him. " 'Ere now, why the sunken face, mate? There ain't a bloomin' thing t' worry about." Mudge smiled around his wet whiskers. " 'Tain't far down atall, not even for a splay-toed 'uman."

  Bribbens halted, bobbing in the warm current. "Ready then? Just straight down. I've allowed for the carry of the current, so no need to worry about that."

  Everyone exchanged glances. Pog's protests bordered on hysteria.

  "Here, give the flyer over." A disgusted Bribbens gripped one side of the bat, locking fingers tightly in the bindings.

  Pog resembled a large mouse sealed in black plastic. "You take the other side."

  "Righty-ho, mate." Mudge grabbed a handful of vines opposite the frog.

  With the two strongest swimmers holding their reluctant, wailing burden, Bribbens instructed the others. "Count to three, then dive." The humans nodded. So did Caz, who was doing a good job of concealing his fears.

  "Ready? One… two… better stop screaming and take a deep breath, bat, or you'll be ballast… three!"

  Backs arched into the morning air. The howling ceased as Pog suddenly gulped air.

  Jen-Tom felt himself sliding downward. Below the surface the water quickly turned darker and cooler. It clutched feebly at his naked body as he kicked hard.

  Around him were the dim forms of his companions. A slick palm touched one fluttering foot, pushed gently. Looking back he could make out the plump shape of Clothahump. He was swimming casually around the nonaquatics. The water took a hundred years off his age, and he moved with the grace and ease of a ballet dancer.

  The push was more to insure that no one lost his orientation and began swimming sideways than to speed the swimmers in their descent.

  Even so, Jon-Tom was beginning to grow a mite concerned. Increasing pressure told him that they'd descended a respectable distance. Both he and Flor were in fairly good condition, but he was less sure of Pog and Caz. If they didn't reach the air pocket they had to be heading toward shortly, he'd have to turn around and swim for the surface.

  The surface he broke was unexpected, however. He felt himself falling helplessly, head over heels, windmilling his arms in a desperate attempt to regain his balance.

  A loud splash echoed up to him as someone else hit the water. Then he landed with equal force, sank a few feet, and fought his way back to the surface and fresh air.

  He broke through and inhaled several deep breaths. Nearby Talea's red curls hung straight and limp as paint from her head. She blinked away water, gasped, and sniffed once.

  "Well, that wasn't bad at all. I'd heard it wasn't, but you can't always trust the tales people tell."

  Her breasts bobbed easily in the current. Jon-Tom stared at her, more conscious now of her nudity than he'd been when they'd first removed then- clothes up above.

  But they were above. Weren't they?

  Something shoved him firmly between the shoulders.

  "Let the current carry you."

  Jon-Tom turned in the water, stared into the vast eyes of Bribbens. Looking past him he saw the ship. It was neatly anchored and sat stable in the middle of the stream, perhaps ten yards away. They were drifting toward it.

  Following the boatman's advice he relaxed, his body grateful for the respite after the dive, and let the current push him toward the boat. Mudge was already aboard, restocking supplies. He leaned over the side and gave Jon-Tom a hand up, then did the same for Talea.

  There was a large, flopping thing on deck that Jon-Tom first thought to be an unfortunate fish. It flipped over, and he recognized the still bound and outraged body of Pog. He accepted Mudge's preferred towel, dried himself, and began to untie the famulus' bonds.

  "You okay, Pog?"

  "No, I'm not okay, dammit! I'm cold, drenched, and sore all over from that fall."

  "But you made it through all right." Jon-Tom loosened another slipknot and one wing stretched across the deck. It jerked, sent water flying.

  "Not much I can do about it now, I guess," he said angrily.

  With the other wing unbound the bat got to his knees, then his feet. He stood there fanning both wings slowly back and forth to dry them.

  Mudge joined them. His fur shed the water easily and, almost dry, he was slippin
g back into his clothes.

  "Wbt's up, mate?" he asked the bat. "Don't you 'ave no word for your old buddy?"

  The large sack of clothing lay opened nearby. Jon-Tom moved to sort his own attire from the wad.

  "Yeah, I got something to say ta my old buddy. You can go fuck yourself!" The bat flapped hard, lifted experimentally off the deck, and rose to grip the right spreader. He hung head down from there, his wings still extended and drying.

  "Now don't be like that, mate," said the otter, fitting his cap neatly over his ears and fluffing out the feather. "It was necessary. You were 'ardly about t' come voluntarily, you know."

  Pog said nothing further. The otter shrugged and left the disgruntled apprentice to his huff.

  Jon-Tom buttoned his pants. While the others continued dressing around him, he took a moment to inspect their extraordinary new surroundings.

  There was a dull roaring as if from a distant freight train. It sounded constantly in the ears and was a subtle vibration in his own body. His first thought was that they were in a dimly lit tunnel. In a way they were.

  The ship rode easily at anchor. On either side were high, moist banks lush with mosses and fungi^ That they were not normal riverbanks was proven by the peculiar habits of the higher growths clinging to them. These fems and creepers put out roots both upward and down, into both running rivers.

  Above was a silver-gray sky: the underside of the upper river. Jon-Tom estimated the distance between the two streams at perhaps ten meters. The mast of the boat cleared the watery ceiling easily.

  How the two rivers flowed without meeting, without smashing together and eliminating the air space between them, was an interesting bit of physics. More likely of magic, he reminded himself.

  "Easy part's over with." Bribbens moved to wind in the bow anchor, using the small winch bolted there.

  "The easy part?" Jon-Tom didn't hear the boatman too clearly. Water still sloshed in his ears.

  "Yes. This much of the Sloomaz-ayor-le-WeentIi is known. Little traveled in its lower portion, but still known." He pointed with a webbed hand over the bow. Ahead of them the river(s) disappeared into darkness. - "What's ahead is not."