“Ah, how considerate—a midnight snack.”
“Back, get back!” The warrior who had awakened Simna was screeching frantically at his comrades. Observing the retreat, the swordsman discreetly lowered his hands. There had really been no reason to raise them in the first place, and besides, his shoulders were getting tired.
Swinging his legs out from beneath the blanket, Ehomba sat up and contemplated their visitors. He addressed them with the same respect he would have accorded a squadron of full-sized men, even though the arrivals were neither full sized nor men.
“I am Etjole Ehomba. These are my traveling companions, the swordsman Simna ibn Sind and the litah Ahlitah.” He eyed the big cat disapprovingly. “Put your tongue back in your mouth. Guests are not for eating.”
“Hmph.” Disappointed, the litah slumped back onto his belly. “My late-night entertainments are more fun than yours.”
The diminutive callers gradually relaxed. Trotting forward on his feathered mount, the one who had awakened Simna confronted the herdsman. “I am Loswee, Son of the Patriarch Roosagin, of the Swick—the People of the Sand.” His gaze narrowed and the hairy oversized ears inclined ever so slightly forward. “You are not agents of the Dunawake?”
Herdsman and swordsman exchanged a glance while Ahlitah remained relaxed, unmoving, and uninterested. Long legs crossed, Ehomba looked back down at their interrogator. Loswee’s mount was pecking curiously at the underside of the southerner’s well-worn leather sandal.
“What is a Dunawake?”
“Not ‘a’ Dunawake,” the miniature warrior corrected him. “The Dunawake.” In the subdued silver shimmer of the moon, his shudder was clearly visible. “I don’t even like to consider the possibility that there might be more than one.” Wide eyes looked up at the infinitely larger visitor.
“The Dunawake is a Terrible. There are many Terribles in the world, but the Dunawake o’ertops them all. You can’t fight it. All you can do is get out of its way. And you’d better get out of its way, or you’ll be mushed. Obliterated, my friend, even such giants as yourselves, as deftly as I would pulp a sweet ant. So we move. It’s aching and arduous work, but we have no choice. There are those who are not as skillful or agile as we, and these suffer the unmentionable fate that befalls all victims of the Dunawake.” He sat a little straighter in his avian saddle. “So far we have succeeded in keeping ahead of it. We Swick are quick.
“We would fight it, if we had the weapons. But spears and arrows are less than raindrops to the Dunawake. We need something stronger.”
Simna considered. “Bigger spears, bigger arrows?”
Loswee’s gaze narrowed, tugged down by heavy brows, and Ehomba was quick to intercede. “You must excuse my friend. His muscles and his determination are both stronger than his imagination. What would you need to fight this Dunawake?”
“Magic,” the Swick replied promptly. “Magic such as you possess.”
Ehomba blinked. “We have no magic. I am a herder of cattle and sheep, my friends unpretentious wanderers. We are not magicians.” He was aware that Simna was watching him as closely as was Loswee.
“If you are not magicians,” the Swick countered, pointing with the tip of his spear, “then how do you explain that?”
He had singled out the half-full pond that hovered behind the travelers. A few minnows still swam in its reduced depths.
Ehomba smiled gently. “We did not conjure the floating water, nor can I explain it. We found it and many thousands like it in a land to the south of here, and brought it with us so that we would have enough to drink in this dry country. You could do the same.”
“To the south, you say?” Loswee reflected. “This is as far south as the Swick have ever come. And we would not have done so had the Dunawake not forced the journeying upon us.” He squinted at the pond, which was tied to a rock outcropping so that it would not drift away during the night. “I’m not sure I believe you. I think you have more magic than you’re admitting to.”
Ehomba shook his head. “I wish you were right and I untruthful. There have been times when I could have done with a little magic.”
Turning in his saddle, Loswee barked something at his squadron of armed fighters, then turned back to Ehomba. “Perhaps after we have talked further, you will feel like being more forthcoming.”
“We have no objection to talking,” Ehomba assured him noncommittally.
“Good. I see that you are traveling light, so you must be ready for a real meal.”
“Giquina knows that’s true!” Simna agreed heartily.
Ehomba frowned at his friend. “Look at this country, and the size of these people. They cannot have much to eat, far less anything to spare for visitors of our size.”
“On the contrary,” Loswee proudly disagreed, “we have more than ample stocks. We don’t lack for food, and we’ll be pleased to share. If not magic, then maybe you can give us some advice. Having come from the south, you must at least be the bearers of new ideas.” Extending his arm, he pointed with his spear. “It’s not far, and I promise you will be warmer in the castle than out here in this ravine.”
Ehomba beckoned to Simna, and the swordsman was at his side in an instant. The two men conferred briefly.
“What do you think?” the herdsman asked his friend.
Simna exhaled softly. “Any free food, however small the amount, is welcome. Especially if I don’t have to carry it. If they mean treachery, then their brains are as small as their fingers. You or I could probably give their whole army a good fight, and Ahlitah would simply stomp them at his leisure. Since I don’t see them being that stupid, I expect that their offer is genuine.”
Ehomba nodded. “Those are my thoughts as well.” He turned back to the bird rider and smiled. “We accept. Give us a moment to gather our things, and to untie our water, and we will come with you.”
“Excellent!” While Loswee’s mount could not rear back in the manner of a horse, it could mirror its rider’s enthusiasm by hopping about jerkily. “Wherever else you go and whatever else happens to you, you will never forget Swick hospitality.”
The riders waited patiently for the travelers to collect themselves. A number occupied themselves hunting along the base of the dunes for edible insects and plants. But they had little time for scavenging, because Ehomba and Simna were packed and ready to go within a very few minutes. Ahlitah, of course, was always ready.
The Swick troopers led the way down the gulch. Expecting to have to moderate their pace so as not to overstride their diminutive hosts, the travelers found themselves having to hurry to keep up, so swift were the Swick’s feathered earthbound mounts. They hardly had time to take note of their surroundings as the line of mounted warriors turned down a much narrower wadi between massive slopes of sand, and then just as rapidly down another.
Panting, Simna looked uneasily back the way they had come. “All these dunes look alike. Many more of these twists and turns and we’ll never be able to find our way back to the main canyon.”
“What makes you think it was the main one?” Ehomba was striding along easily beneath his pack. “Another day or two’s walk and it might have become as narrow and winding as this one.” He spared a glance at the sky. “At least we are still moving in a more or less northerly direction.”
“Hoy,” the swordsman agreed with a nod. “Didn’t they tell us that’s where this Dunawake was coming from?” He surveyed the encircling dune walls uneasily.
“Relax, my friend. I do not think they would run us right at their nemesis without any warning. I think they are taking us to their community, as they promised.”
The swordsman squinted ahead, past the double line of mounted Swick speeding along in front of them. “I’m looking for tents or huts, but I don’t see anything yet.”
He still saw nothing when the troop piped to a halt and Loswee trotted back to alert them. “We have arrived. Welcome to the castle.”
Simna’s eyes widened as he surveyed the moonswept sa
nd. 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.”
“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.
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
THEY 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?”
Carnivores of Darkness and Light: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 1 Page 22
