Into the Thinking Kingdoms

by Alan Dean Foster

  * * *

  Ehomba was starting to miss notes, to falter in the middle of alternate tunes, when a gleeful Hunkapa began hopping about with even more ardor than usual.

  Simna muttered his reaction to the litah. “I’d say the simpleton has gone mad, except that it would be hard to tell the difference. What’s got into him now?”

  “Perhaps he is especially inspired by the tune Ehomba is presently fluting,” the big cat replied thoughtfully.

  “I’m surprised he can hear it.” Simna eyed the herdsman worriedly. “For the last hour or so his playing has grown quieter and quieter. I’m afraid our friend may be running out of wind.”

  The swordsman was right. Ehomba was almost done, his fingers cramped from fingering the holes atop the flute and his lips numb from blowing into the mouthpiece. But Ahlitah was also correct. Their hirsute pathfinder was indeed singularly inspired, but not by the herdsman’s playing. As swordsman and cat closed the distance between themselves and their leaping, gyrating guide, they saw for themselves the reason why. Bellowing joyfully into their cold-benumbed ears, Hunkapa Aub confirmed it.

  “Go down!” he was hooting. “Go down now; down, down, down!”

  Ahead lay more snow-covered slopes. They were no different from the white-clad terrain the travelers had spent the past difficult days traversing, with one notable exception: all inclined visibly downward. Additionally, the stream they had been following intermittently now visibly picked up speed, tumbling and spilling in a series of crystal-clear cataracts toward some far-distant river, as if the water itself could somehow sense the proximity of gentler climes and more accommodating surroundings.

  Cloud and fog continued to eddy around them as they picked up the pace. The downgrade enabled them to increase their speed without any additional exertion while simultaneously taking some of the strain off their weary legs. Falling snow sustained its miraculous waltzing, Ehomba’s faltering music inspiring ever newer patterns and designs in the air. The only difference was that now the pirouetting snowflakes began to surrender a gradually increasing percentage of the open sky to the unobstructed sun.

  By evening they had descended from alpine hardwood forest to slopes thick with dogwood and bottlebrush, oak and elm. The ground was bare of snow, and flowers once more brightened the earth between trees and bracken. As Ehomba finally lowered the flute from his lips, the last dozen snowflakes trickled down from above. Concluding a miniature ballet in twinkling white, they corkscrewed around one another down past the herdsman’s face, and paused in the fragile grip of a passing breeze to bow solemnly in his direction. Then, one by one, they struck the warm, rich soil and melted away into oblivion, leaving behind only tiny snowflake ghosts that each took the form of half a second’s lingering moisture.

  A solicitous Simna promptly came forward to peer into his friend’s face. “How are you, bruther? How do you feel?”

  “Myph—mimith . . .” Reaching around back, the herdsman took a long, slow draught from his water bag. After wetting his lips, he smacked them together several times before trying one more time to form a reply.

  “My mouth is—sore. But otherwise I am all right, Simna. Thank you for inquiring. I am also very hungry.”

  “We’re all hungry.” Looking around, the swordsman located the black litah. The big cat was scratching itself against an obliging tree and purring like an old waterwheel. “Hoy, kitty! What say me and thee go and kill something worth chewing?”

  Before Ahlitah could reply, Hunkapa Aub was standing in front of Simna and waving his arms excitedly. “No kill, no hunt!”

  “By Gomepoth, why not? Maybe you’re not hungry, fur face, but me and my friends are starving. All that walking and fighting that cold has left us as empty as a triplet of grog buckets on a forty-year-old’s first wedding night.”

  “No need.” Taking the protesting swordsman by the arm, their guide dragged him forward. Though the muscular, well-conditioned Simna did his best to resist, it was like trying to brake a runaway mountain.

  Hunkapa halted at the edge of an unseen, unsuspected overlook. Once he was exposed to the splendid panorama that was spread out before him, Simna stopped struggling. They were quickly joined by Ehomba and Ahlitah.

  Below and beyond the last foothills of the northern Hrugars, lush farmland dotted with numerous towns and small rivers spread out before them. The revealed countryside resembled a landlocked river delta. Hundreds of canals linked the natural waterways, from which the setting sun skipped layers of pink and gold and purple. Several larger communities were big enough to qualify as small cities.

  In the far distance, just visible as a sparkling thread of silver below the sky, was the majestic main river into which every canal and stream and waterway between the Hrugars and the horizon flowed. Hunkapa Aub pointed and gesticulated exuberantly.

  “See, see! Great river Eynharrowk.” His trunk of an arm shifted slightly to the west. “Cannot see from here, but over there, that way, on the great river, is Hamacassar.”

  “At last.” Utterly worn out, Simna sank to the ground as his legs gave way beneath him.

  “We are not there yet.” Tired as he was, Ehomba chose to remain standing, perhaps the better to drink in the view that was as full of promise as it was of beauty. “And do not forget that Hamacassar is only a possible waypoint, a place for us to look for a ship with captain and crew brave enough to dare a crossing of the Semordria.”

  A pleading expression on his grime-flocked face, Simna ibn Sind looked up at his companion. “Please, Etjole—can’t we delight in even one moment of pleasure at having lived through this past week? Will you never allow yourself to relax, not even for an instant?”

  “When I am again home with my family, friend Simna, then I will relax.” He smiled. “Until then, I anoint you in my stead. You are hereby authorized to relax for me.”

  Nodding understandingly, the swordsman spread both arms wide and fell back flat on the ground. “I accept the responsibility.”

  Still smiling, Ehomba moved to stand next to the quietly jubilant Hunkapa Aub. “You do not want us to go hunting because you think we can get food more easily in the towns down below.”

  Their hulking guide nodded vigorously. “Many places, much food. Not see myself, but come here often and spy on flatland people. Hear them talking, learn about flatlands.” He eyed the tall southerner questioningly. “We go down now?”

  Ehomba considered the sky. Away from the snow and cold, they might have a chance to reach a community before dark. He was not so concerned for himself, but Simna would clearly benefit from a night spent in civilized settings.

  “Yes, Hunkapa. Go down now.” He put a hand on one massive, shaggy arm. “And Hunkapa—thank you. We could not have made it through these mountains without your guidance.”

  It was impossible to tell whether the beast was blushing beneath all that thick hair, but Hunkapa Aub turned away so that Ehomba could not see his face.

  “You save me, I help you. Thanks not needed.”

  Ehomba turned to Simna. “Come on, my friend. We will go down into civilization and find you a bed.”

  The swordsman groaned piteously. “That means I have to walk again? On these poor feet?”

  Their guide immediately moved toward him. “Hunkapa carry.”

  “No, no, that’s not necessary, friend!” The speed with which Simna ascended to his supposedly untenable feet was something to behold.

  Together, the four travelers commenced their departure from the lower reaches of the inhospitable Hrugars. As they descended, Ehomba thought to inquire of Hunkapa as to the name of the country they were entering.

  “Hunkapa listen to flatlanders talk.” He gestured expansively with an imposing arm. “This place all one, called Lifongo. No,” he corrected himself quickly, his brows knotting. “Not that.” His expression brightened. “Laconda. That it. This place, Laconda.”

  It was Simna’s turn to frown. “Funny. Seems to me I’ve heard that name mentioned somewhere b
efore, but I can’t quite place—” He broke off, staring at Ehomba. The herdsman had stopped in his tracks and was staring, his lips slightly parted, straight ahead. “Hoy, bruther, you all right? You owe someone money here?”

  “No, friend Simna. You are correct. You have heard that name before.” Turning his head, he met the curious eyes of his companion. “You heard it from me. Laconda is the home of Tarin Beckwith, the noble warrior who died in my arms on the beach below my village.” He returned his gaze to the magnificent vista extending before them.

  “He cannot ever come home—but now, if fate is willing, perhaps I can return the honor of his memory to his people.”

  XX

  Long before they reached the outskirts of the first town they found themselves in among vast orchards of mango and guava. Planted in even rows and trimmed as neatly as any garden of roses, the trees were heavy with fruit. Eventually the travelers encountered growers and their assistants. Initial cheerful greetings were tempered by fear when the Lacondans caught sight of Hunkapa Aub and the black litah striding along behind the two men, but Ehomba and Simna were quick to reassure the locals that their unusual, and unusually large, friends would do them no harm.

  Awed and wide-eyed, the orchardists provided the visitors with instructions on the best way to pass through their country to Laconda North, for it was from there and not Laconda proper that Tarin Beckwith had hailed. Questioning revealed that despite their apparently contented demeanor the people still lived in a permanent state of mourning. Everyone knew the tale of how the perfidious warlock Hymneth the Possessed had come from a far country to steal away the joy of Laconda, the Visioness Themaryl. Of how the finest and most well-born soldiers of both Laconda and Laconda North had sought to effect her return by every means at their disposal, only to return dispirited and defeated, or not to return at all. The warlock Hymneth had taken his prize and vanished, some said across the Semordria itself. A few brave souls from both countries were reputed to have chased him that far. None had ever returned.

  “Aren’t we going to tell them what you’re here for?” Simna kept pace with the tall southerner as they strode along the secondary road of commerce that connected Laconda with its sister state to the north. People on foot, on horse- or antelope-back, or in wagons goggled at the sight of the two men leading the great cat and the hulking beast.

  “There is no need.” Ehomba kept his attention on the road ahead. It was dusty, but wide and smooth. After struggling through the Hrugars, walking normally felt like flying. “If we stop to speak to these people they will want to know more. Someone will inform the local authorities. Then they will want to hear our story.” He glanced over at his friend. “Every day I am away from my home and family is a day I will never have back. When I am old and lie dying I will remember all these moments, all these days that I did not have with them, and regret every one of them. The fates will not give these days back to me.” He returned his gaze to the road. “I want as little as possible to regret. We will explain ourselves in Laconda North. That much I owe to the parents of Tarin Beckwith—if they are still alive.”

  * * *

  Not only were they alive, but Count Bewaryn Beckwith still sat on the northern throne. This was told to them by the easygoing border guards who manned the station that marked the boundary between the two Lacondas. The armed men marveled at Hunkapa and shied away from Ahlitah, but let them pass through without hesitation. In fact, they were more than happy to see the back of the peculiar quartet.

  It was in Laconda North that the travelers encountered the first fish. Not in the canals or streams that were more numerous in the northern province than in its southern cousin, nor in the many lakes and ponds, but everywhere in the air. They swam through the sky with flicks of their fins and tails, passing with stately grace between trees and buildings. The Lacondans ignored them, paying drifting tuna and trevally, bannerfish and batfish no more mind than they would have stray dogs or cats.

  “There’s plenty of free-standing water hereabouts in all these canals and ponds, and I feel the humidity in the air,” Simna observed as a small school of sardines finned past on their left, “but this is ridiculous!”

  “The fish here have learned not only how to breathe air instead of water, but to levitate.” Ehomba admired a cluster of moorish idols, black and yellow and white emblems, as they turned off the road to disappear behind a hay barn. “I wonder what they eat?”

  His answer was provided by a brace of barracuda that rocketed out from behind a copse of cottonwoods to wreak momentary havoc among a school of rainbow runners. When the silvery torpedoes had finished their work, bits of fish tumbled slowly through the muggy air, sifting to the ground like gray snow. If such occurrences were relatively common, Ehomba knew, the soil hereabouts would be extremely fertile. Having done his turn at tending the village gardens, he knew that nothing was better for fertilizing the soil than fish parts and oil.

  Though they did their best, it was impossible to ignore the presence of the airborne fish. The Lacondans they encountered went about their business as if the bizarre phenomenon were a perfectly natural everyday occurrence, as indeed for them it was. Once, they saw a pair of boys laughing and chasing a small school of herring. The boys carried nets of fine, strong mesh attached to long poles. With these they caught not butterflies, but breakfasts.

  Ehomba and Simna did not have nets, and Hunkapa Aub was much too slow of hand to grab the darting, agile fish, but they had with them a catching mechanism more effective than any net. With lightning-fast, almost casual swipes of his claws, Ahlitah brought down mackerel and snapper whenever they felt like a meal.

  There was no need to look for an inn in which to spend the night. The air of Laconda and Laconda North was warm and moist, allowing them to sleep wherever the terrain took their fancy. This was fortunate, since the swordsman’s stock of Chlengguu gold had been exhausted. With food plentiful and freely available, they did not lack for nourishment. It was in this fashion that they made their way, in response to ready directions from farmers and fish-catchers, to the central city. Within a very few days they found themselves standing outside the castle of Count Bewaryn Beckwith, ruler of Laconda North.

  It was an impressive sight, a grand palace surrounded by an iron-topped stone wall. Beyond the gate was an expansive, paved parade ground. Elegantly uniformed soldiers stood guard at the gate or trooped past within on fine stallions and unicorns. Beyond lay the palace itself, a three-storied fancy of white limestone and marble. No turrets or battlements were in evidence. The sprawling structure before them served as a home and a seat of governance, not a fortress designed to repel a formal military attack.

  “We should announce ourselves.” From across the street Simna was conducting a thoughtful appraisal of the layout of the royal residence.

  “Yes.” Ehomba started forward, the tip of his spear clicking against the paving stones. “The sooner I have done my duty here, the sooner we can move on to Hamacassar.”

  The guards at the florid wrought-iron gate were dressed in thin coats of blue and gold. They were sleeveless, a sensible adaptation in the warm and humid climate. Long blue pants were tucked into short boots of soft leather, also dyed blue. Each of the four men, two flanking either side of the entrance, was armed with a short sword that hung from a belt of gold leather and a long, ornate pike. They stood at attention, but not immovably so. They became much more active when they saw the unprecedented quartet approaching. To their credit, they kept the pikes erect and made no move to challenge the approaching travelers with weapons poised.

  Ehomba walked up to the guard who appeared to be the senior member of the four. The man pushed his gold-trimmed blue cap back on his head and gaped; not at the herdsman, but at the looming mass of Hunkapa Aub.

  “Well now, what do we have here?”

  “A friend from the mountains.” Ehomba addressed the man politely but not deferentially. There were only a few individuals in this world whom the herdsman deferred to, and
this wide-shouldered gentleman in the blue uniform was not among them.

  “The Hrugars, eh?” Another of the guards came forward to join the conversation. He and his colleague exhibited no signs of panic, confident in their position and their weapons. It spoke well of their training, Ehomba decided. “He’s dressed for it, anyway. That’s a fine heavy coat he’s wearing, though I confess I don’t recognize the animal it came from.”

  “It’s not—” Ehomba started to say, but Simna stepped in front of his tall companion both physically and vocally.

  “And well tailored to him it is, too.” Looking back over his shoulder, the swordsman flashed his friend a look that managed to say, wordlessly and all at once, “This is a city, and you’re from the country, and I know city folk and their ways better than you ever will.” It was enough to prod Ehomba into holding his peace while the enterprising swordsman did the talking.

  “We’ve come a long way to see the Count. Farther than you can imagine.”

  The guards exchanged a glance. “I don’t know,” the one who had first spoken opined. “I can imagine quite a distance.” Leaning loosely on his pike, he contemplated Simna’s semibarbaric attire. “Do you think this is a public hall, where anyone can just walk in and make an appointment?”

  “What business have rascals like you with the Count?” Though far from hostile, the second guard was not as amicable as his comrade.

  Simna straightened importantly. “We have news of his son, Tarin Beckwith.”

  It was as if all four guards had been standing on a copper plate suddenly struck by lightning. The two who had said not a word and who did not even appear to have been listening to the conversation whirled and dashed off toward the palace, not even bothering to close the heavy iron gate behind them. As for the pair of casual conversationalists, they no longer gave the appearance of being disinterested in the peculiar quartet of visitors. They gripped their pikes firmly while their expressions indicated that they now held the travelers in an entirely new regard.