Crystal Gorge: Book Three of the Dreamers

by Alan Dean Foster

  “He’s good, all right,” Torl agreed. He squinted up the steep slope. “Here comes the chief of Athlan’s tribe. I think his name is Kathlak,” he said. “He might be able to give us enough information to save us the long hike down to the bottom of the gorge.”

  “You’d better let me do the talking, Torl,” Sorgan said. “These natives are very formal, and I’m sort of what they’d call ‘the chief’ of the Maags around here.”

  “Was there something you needed?” the silvery-haired chief of the Deer Hunter Tribe asked.

  “Mostly just information, Chief Kathlak,” Sorgan replied. “The bug-people have been attacking for the past several days. Are there very many more of them coming up the gorge?”

  “Oh, yes,” Kathlak replied in a somber tone.

  “Is there trouble of some kind?” Torl asked.

  “The young men of my tribe made a foolish mistake, that’s about all. The bottom of the gorge was completely covered with our enemies, so our young archers had many, many targets to shoot arrows at, and they got carried away. Can you believe that they wasted all of those metal arrowheads that the little fellow from the Land of Maag made for us? Now we’ll have to go back to using the old stone ones.”

  “I’ll have a talk with Rabbit when we get back,” Sorgan promised. “We’ll have him set up his arrow factory again.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” Kathlak said.

  “The bug-people we’ve seen so far seem to be carrying various kinds of weapons, Chief Kathlak,” Sorgan continued. “I’d say that it’s likely that they wandered around the battlefields during the first two wars stealing the weapons of our dead friends. We’ve seen them carrying swords and axes and spears.”

  “We’ve seen those as well,” Chief Kathlak replied.

  “Now we come to the important question. Have your people up here seen any of them at all that were carrying bows?”

  “I believe there was one,” Kathlak said, squinting down the slope. “I wouldn’t worry about him too much, though. I’m sure that he didn’t understand at all what it really was. He’d cut off the bowstring and used it to tie a spear-point to one of the bow-tips.”

  “You’re not serious!” Padan exclaimed.

  “Nobody’s ever accused our enemies of being very bright,” Kathlak replied. “I think ‘very dull’ would come closer.”

  “Have you happened to see any peculiar-looking ones?” Sorgan asked. “We encountered some of them during the last war that looked like a cross between a bug and a turtle. When Longbow’s archers shot arrows at them, the arrows just bounced off those turtle-shells.”

  “Athlan warned us about those. His friend Longbow described them. I thought he was just joking, though.”

  “Longbow doesn’t know how to joke,” Torl said. “Have any of the bug-people tried to climb up the quartz walls to these rims?”

  “A few tried that,” Kathlak replied, “but about all they did was cause us to waste more arrows. Those of us on this side picked off the ones on the other wall, and our friends of the Reindeer Tribes cleaned off our wall. Those bug-things climb very well, don’t they? There’s nothing at all like handholds on these quartz walls.”

  “Bugs don’t have hands, Chief Kathlak,” Padan said. “Flies can walk on the ceiling if they want to.”

  “How have things been going up beyond the gorge?” Kathlak asked.

  “Not bad at all. You should be very proud of your man Athlan, Chief Kathlak. He came up with an idea that’s never even occurred to those of us who fight wars for a living. The Trogites had built a sort of low fort-wall to hold our enemies back, and Athlan suggested that a mud-pit to the front of the wall would slow the enemies down quite a bit.”

  Kathlak smiled. “That’s Athlan for you,” he said. “How did it work?”

  “Not quite as good as it should have. The bug-people decided that a raised-up road would give them a way to cross the mud-pit to attack that wall, and they used their friends to build that road.”

  “I wouldn’t want friends who could do something like that.”

  “We got even with them later, though,” Padan said. “We splashed burning tar—or pitch—all over the ones who were trying to attack us on up the hill a ways. There were burning bugs running in all directions up there. Over the years we’ve found that one of the best ways there is to distract an enemy who’s charging you is to set him on fire.”

  “You people are very good,” Kathlak said.

  “We try,” Padan said modestly.

  3

  It was about midmorning when a stiff, chill wind came in from the west, carrying dark clouds that strongly hinted that stormy weather was on the way. Sorgan periodically looked down into the teeming gorge. It seemed to him that the bug-people stretched from wall to wall across the narrow valley. They were almost all carrying weapons of one kind or another. There were a few that had obviously been picked up during the two previous wars, but the vast majority of the bug-things carried nothing except for sharp-pointed sticks. A pointed stick wouldn’t be much in the way of a weapon, but just the fact that the bug-people had moved up from using nothing but their own teeth and claws worried Sorgan more than just a little. It seemed to him that the creatures of the Wasteland were becoming more and more intelligent every day. If that happened to continue at its current speed, it wouldn’t be very long before the bug-people outclassed the people-people in the world of intelligence. There was an old saying in the Land of Maag that declared that a stupid enemy was a gift from the gods. A suddenly intelligent enemy would be much more like a curse. “I think it might just be time to kill every last one of those cursed things down there in the gorge and then sweep on out into the Wasteland itself and kill every one of them out there as well.”

  “I didn’t quite catch that, cousin,” Torl said.

  “Just thinking out loud, Torl,” Sorgan said. “Let’s step right along here. We’ve got a few miles between us and the south end of the gorge. Let’s go take a look at that, and then hustle back on up to the north end. Narasan’s waiting for information, so let’s get back up there as quick as we can.”

  By midafternoon, the wind coming in from the west was howling through the mountains, and the clouds it carried had gone even darker. Sorgan glared at the sky. “Can’t you go someplace else to play?” he growled.

  “Cap’n!” he heard a shout coming from behind them.

  It was Rabbit, and the little smith seemed to be running just as hard as he could. “You’d all better get as far back from this rim as you possibly can, Cap’n,” he shouted, “and then we’ll probably need a cave to hide in for a few hours.”

  “What are you talking about, Rabbit?” Sorgan demanded.

  “Longbow’s ‘unknown friend’ is playing games again, Cap’n,” Rabbit said. “This time I think she’s going to use one of those land-bound waterspout things.”

  “A cyclone, you mean?” Padan asked.

  “I guess that’s what the land people call them,” Rabbit replied. “What they’re called doesn’t really matter all that much, though. Longbow told me that there’s one of those spin-around winds that’s going to zip right on down through this gorge. It’ll pick up the bug-people and throw them up about a thousand or so feet up into the air. That’s one of the reasons we’re going to need shelter. After that spin-around wind goes on down the gorge, it’s probably going to rain bug-people around here for an hour or two at least.”

  “Aw,” Torl said with a broad grin, “what a shame. I’d say that we’re just about to hear ‘splats’ coming from all over the place, and I surely wouldn’t want some bug going ‘splat’ right on top of my head.”

  “We’d better get some warning to the Tonthakan archers up at the head of the gorge,” Padan said. “If it’s really going to be a cyclone, they’d better get back at least a mile from the rim.”

  “I already took care of that, Padan,” Rabbit said. “They were running when I left. Now we need shelter ourselves.”

  “There, I think,
” Padan said, pointing at a nearby cluster of grey-colored boulders. “We should be able to find a cave—or at least a well-sheltered place—in that rock-pile.”

  “We’d better hurry,” Rabbit suggested, looking off to the north. “I don’t see anything coming our way yet, but it probably won’t be very long before it shows up. Longbow’s friend can move very, very fast when she thinks it’s necessary, and I’d say we’re getting real close to the edge of ‘necessary,’ wouldn’t you?”

  “Let’s go!” Sorgan said sharply.

  They reached the pile of mossy boulders, and as Padan had suggested, there were a goodly number of passages running between the huge rocks. When a large rock leans against one of its neighbors, it forms what almost looks like a tunnel.

  “Let’s try that one over there,” Padan suggested. “The boulder that’s facing the probable direction the cyclone will follow is as big as a house, and when a cyclone is coming your way, you want something big and heavy standing on the windy side.”

  “Here it comes,” Torl shouted. Then he stopped dead in his tracks. “Good god,” he exclaimed. “The silly thing’s on fire!”

  Sorgan whirled and stared at the approaching whirlwind. As Torl had observed, the spinning wind was definitely burning—but it was no ordinary fire. Normal fires are yellow or red.

  This one, however, was blue.

  4

  Sorgan and his friends crouched in the sheltered passageway between the two enormous boulders, listening to the shrieking roar of the wind. Rabbit, however, frequently crawled on his hands and knees to the narrow opening between the two boulders. “I think we’re safe,” he shouted over the roar of the whirlwind. “The storm’s on fire, that’s for sure, but the fire’s staying down there in the gorge. A few flickers come up above the rim, but they aren’t spreading out much.”

  “That curiosity of yours is likely to get you killed one of these days, Rabbit,” Sorgan shouted.

  “I don’t think so, Cap’n,” the little smith replied, “—at least not when Longbow’s friend’s involved. She did this to kill the bugs—not us. The color of the fire that windstorm is pulling along behind it says that it’s that gas that burns across the top of a swamp or comes boiling up out of coal-mines—except that it’s not very likely that anybody’s digging coal out of this one. I think I know how she did it, if you’re curious, Cap’n.”

  “I’ll listen,” Sorgan replied.

  “I’d say that she found a huge pocket of that gas that burns blue somewhere down below the floor of the gorge at the upper end. Then she cracked open the solid rock that was holding the gas back. Then, after quite a bit of the gas had built up, she reached out and grabbed this whirlwind and threw it in this direction.”

  “Nobody could do things like that, Rabbit,” Torl scoffed.

  “We’re not talking about just anybody, Torl. This is the lady who turned miles and miles of sand into imitation gold and then broke open a mountain to unleash an underground ocean on the bug-people and the Church people. I’d say that there’s almost nothing that she can’t do, if she really wants to.”

  “All right, then,” Torl said, “how did she set fire to the gas?”

  “We’ve all seen those waterspouts out at sea. I don’t know if you’ve ever looked hard at one of them, but it’s always seemed to me that every one of them had lightning jumping around as it went by. If you want to set something on fire, lightning will do it faster than just about anything else. I’m just guessing here, but I think her plan went something like this: First she turned the gas loose, then she set fire to it with lightning, and then she sent that whirlwind roaring down the gorge. The wind’s pulling the fire along behind it, and I’d say that’s what this is all about. A solid wall of fire is rushing down the gorge, burning every one of the bug-men who was rushing on up to attack the Trogite breastworks right down to little clumps of ashes. And—knowing Longbow’s friend and how she thinks—I’d say that the fire won’t stop at the bottom of the gorge. It’s probably going to sort of imitate that wall of water she used down south. The fire will most likely rush out into the Wasteland and set fire to every single bug-man within a hundred miles of where we are right now.”

  “A sea of fire instead of a sea of water?” Torl asked.

  “I’d say so, yes,” Rabbit agreed.

  After the shrieking of the whirlwind had begun to fade off to the south, Sorgan and his friends cautiously came out into the open again to see what had happened down in the gorge.

  There were no longer thousands of bug-people eagerly rushing north, that was obvious. Many of the bugs had been covered with those peculiar shells Sorgan and the others had seen during the war in Veltan’s Domain. Keselo had referred to those shells as “outer skeletons.” Evidently, some varieties of bugs wore their bones on the outside of their bodies rather than the inside. Sorgan saw that armor of any kind would be a bad idea if the enemy was using fire. Getting burned a bit around the edges was one thing. Getting cooked alive was quite another.

  There was a thick layer of ash covering the bottom of the gorge, stirred occasionally by the vagrant breeze. Since there were no plants down in the gorge, the ashes were almost certainly all that was left of hundreds—or even thousands—of bug-people. Sorgan shuddered. The bugs were enemies, certainly, but still . . .

  Though it was probably not really necessary now, Sorgan and the others went on down the west rim of the gorge to have a look at the fort they’d been forced to abandon some time back. Sorgan told himself that Narasan would like to know if the fort was still standing, so it was proper to have a look at it. Then too, there was now no real need for them to hurry back. Their enemies didn’t exist anymore, after all.

  Sorgan privately admitted to himself that it was pure curiosity that pulled him the last few miles down the rim of the gorge.

  The fort itself appeared to be intact, but there was a very noticeable difference now. The fort was bathed in blue fire that came boiling up out of the earth.

  “Now that’s what I’d call a miracle!” Padan exclaimed. “There’s a fort that doesn’t need any soldiers at all. The blue fire is doing all the work.”

  “Our ‘unknown friend’ must really hate the bug-people,” Rabbit said. “That first blue fire is still rushing on down to the Wasteland, burning bugs every inch of the way. Just on the off-chance that her first blue fire burns itself out sometime next year, she reached down and unleashed a second fire that’ll keep burning for the next hundred years or so.”

  “I suppose we might as well turn around and go on back up to Mount Shrak,” Sorgan said. “That fire—or the two of them, actually—put an end to this third war. Our ‘unknown friend’ ended the second war with a sea of water, but she ended this one with a sea of fire.”

  “Three down, and one to go,” Padan noted. “If we step right along, we should be able to finish that last war before next spring rolls around. Then we’ll all be able to go on home and spend the next thirty or forty years counting all the gold we made this year.”

  THE RETURN TO THE LAND OF DREAMS

  1

  Balacenia was alone in a seldom-used chamber in Dahlaine’s cave under Mount Shrak. There were several things she needed to consider, so she’d separated her awareness from the sleeping Eleria so that she could be alone with her thoughts.

  She had been more than a little startled by just how far Mother had been willing to go to halt the invasion of the North by the creatures of the Wasteland. Unleashing perpetual fire seemed to be more than a little extreme.

  “It was necessary, Dear Heart,” Mother’s voice came out of the darkness near the back of the cave. Her presence didn’t particularly surprise Balacenia. Mother had almost always appeared when Balacenia was troubled.

  “I don’t see just exactly why, Mother,” Balacenia replied. “The outlanders had things pretty much under control, and I’m sure they’d have defeated the servants of the Vlagh.”

  “But not in time, Balacenia.”

  “Is time
really all that significant, Mother?”

  “More significant than you could ever imagine, Dear Heart. If something doesn’t happen when it’s supposed to happen, the servants of the Vlagh will overcome our friends, and then the world will be hers. Her children are advancing much more rapidly than you could ever imagine, Balacenia. If we don’t destroy them all very soon, they’ll become more intelligent than people, and people will go down the path to extinction. We must move against the Vlagh now.”

  “We?”

  “You and the other children, Dear Heart. I love the elders dearly, but they’re too close to the end of their cycles to be of much use. That’s why the Vlagh waited so long. Her observers had described the slowing of thought that infects older ones, and she deliberately waited until now to unleash her servants. The local natives and the outlanders are still more clever than the creatures that serve the Vlagh, but that superiority won’t last very much longer, I’m afraid. The servants of the Vlagh are filching thought from people. It’s been less than a year since the incursions began, and the creatures that serve the Vlagh have already learned the value of weapons, and also the importance of fire. I shudder to think of how far their minds will have gone by next spring. Gather up your brothers and sister, Balacenia, and take them to that Land of Dreams you and Vash created. We need to make some decisions, and we don’t have very much time.”

  “We need to talk, Eleria,” Balacenia said, sending her thought out to her sleeping alternate.

  “Who are you?” Eleria mumbled in her sleep.

  “I am you, Eleria. I’m who you’ll become when you grow up.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Yes, you do—if you’ll think about it a little.”

  “You’ve come back to visit me from the future?”

  “Or the past. We’re in the Land of Dreams now, Eleria, so time doesn’t mean anything. Mother needs our help.”