When The Changewinds Blow

by Jack L. Chalker

  The last day's journey was through rough, less developed country and rugged, volcanic terrain, and it was easy to see why this place would be ideal for bandits, but when they reached the end of the road nothing had happened. It seemed almost anticlimactic, but neither Sam nor Charley nor Boday could say they felt disappointed. So far so good. Over four hundred miles and the worst that had happened overall was a good drenching.

  The end of Bi'ihqua was not like the beginning. The road did not just end; only the land changed just beyond the border posts. The change was dramatic, but there was nothing to suggest anything odd or magical here. The road did not end; it continued on past a border control post and fort, and a few hundred yards beyond, the volcanic terrain simply ceased and was replaced by a thick, northern-style forest. The road changed at that point, too, from the rich black hard-packed earth of Bi'ihqua to a hard, unrutted red clay. The road seemed better maintained on the other side for all the soldier's remarks about Mashtopol, even to having drainage cuts on either side. There was a small border post there, too, with far fewer soldiers wearing blue, not black, uniforms and colored epaulets on their shoulders.

  They disembarked and set up for the night on the Tubikosan side, just outside the border fort. Sam couldn't help noticing that while the Tubikosa border was heavily double-fenced as far as you could see in both directions, the Mastopol one was not. After getting set up, she wandered over to the Serkosh family wagon and found Rini. "That is the Kudaan Wastes?" she asked mem. "It looks pretty nice to me!"

  Rini laughed, "Oh, not That's Kwei, I think. It's hard to keep track but I thought I heard the Pilot say so. I wish we were going that way, but few trains do. Kwei wood goes almost entirely to the rest of Mashtopol; little is exported. Unfortunately, the international trains coming back almost always go through the worst and ugliest sectors. That's because it's cheaper to get them to pick up the dangerous or heavy cargo and bring it in for free in lieu of transit fees. If we'd known someplace like Kwei would be up when we got here we would have arranged a special transfer through to it, but there's no way of knowing what you'll get when you come here and it's too late now." She sighed. "Too bad, too. I'd much rather pick up some nice wood furnishings cheap than go through a damned desert."

  Sam felt disappointed. The land in front of her looked so pleasant. "Then that's why they call it the Wastes? Because it's a desert?"

  Rini nodded. "They'll take on a water wagon here, I bet, and maybe more. I've heard the Wastes are pretty, though. It's just that down this end they're pretty dangerous. The land is so rugged it's a perfect hideout for anyone who, well, needs to hide out and can somehow get there. Ten armies wouldn't blast you out of there if you didn't want to be blasted out, so they don't try. There's a wonderful lot of books written set in the Kudaan Wastes. It's very romantic. They just quarantine the area and have a military escort the first hundred and fifty leegs. Nobody usually bothers the inbound trains anyway, though; not much to steal. So they only pick up the ores inbound. See? Oh, it'll be exotic but I don't think we'll be molested. If we thought there was a real danger we'd never go through there with the kids. There's a number of spots like Kudaan, and most of these navigators have deals, anyway. We might even see some of the accursed or changelings."

  Sam wasn't sure she was too excited about seeing anybody called accursed or a changeling but she let that pass. Charley seemed genuinely excited by the description; it sounded much like her own native desert southwest. Boday seemed interested only in the artistic possibilities, but she did explain two terms. "Changelings are those poor unfortunates caught in a changewind who manage to make it to such places," she told them. "They are often horrible or grotesque, and not all were Akhbreed to begin with. Some are partly changed-only a part of them received exposure and the result was able to live--and they are the halflings. The accursed-they may look similar or look ordinary, but their troubles are due to more deliberate magic. The changewinds are random; the accursed are truly that. Often they change in the dark or under special conditions from normal to quite mad, or from man or woman to beast. The others-criminals, malcontents, political refugees, zealots. Boday thinks most will keep well out of sight, particularly if we have troops with us. Most are there because they do not wish to be seen."

  The next morning dawned bleak and dreary. Kwei was gone; in its place was a slimy, creepy-looking swamp that was being wet down by a light, misty rain. The road still continued on; this one, however, was not in nearly as good shape as the one into Kwei; it was hard-packed and looked paved and slightly elevated and it had potholes in it that looked mean enough to bounce a wagon to the moon. There was a tiny bonier post there but it appeared unmanned. Boday read the sign on it that said, "Mashtopol Entry Point. All entrants should report to Customs Office in the Village of Muur, one hundred and six leegs."

  "They're real worried about their border, aren't they?" Charley noted sarcastically.

  "About as much as they are about road maintenance," Sam responded, eyeing those potholes. "This is one I'm glad we don't have to go through."

  Jahoort got them all assembled as if it were just another day's journey, but this was different. For one thing, all of the crew, including Jahoort, were now packing weapons. Sam saw pistols, rifles, shotguns, even fancy crossbows. They looked loaded for bear, that was for sure. Some of the people traveling with them also now were armed, a few with swords, fewer with guns which were generally prohibited to the public in Tubikosa.

  The navigator stood a moment with the Pilot who'd brought them through with no trouble. "I'll be picking up an inbound sometime tomorrow if he's on schedule," the Pilot was saying. He offered his hand "Well, good luck. It's been a pleasure, as usual. Take care through that armpit you're going into and shoot anything that don't shoot you first."

  Jahoort took the Pilot's hand. "Well, can't say I'm fond of taking paying passengers this route, but in a choice between saving money and risking lives the Company always chooses the money. I been that way dozens of times, though. It's not as bad as it's cracked up to be." He pointed to the swamp across the way. "Now, that just shouldn't be allowed. I'd rather go through Kudaan than risk horses, nargas, and wagons on that kind of road."

  With that, he stepped out, mounted his horse, then rode right up to the gate at the border, and stared out at the swamp.

  Again the scenes changed, first slowly, then more rapidly. Again infinite variations flashed before them, and again it suddenly stopped and there before them now the road led into the Kudaan Wastes.

  "Bleak," said Sam.

  "Beautiful," said Boday.

  "Oh, wow!" exclaimed Charley.

  11

  When the Desert Storms

  The misty rain and the humid feel suddenly vanished and they were hit by a sudden blast of incredibly dry, superheated air.

  Charley had not been far off in her guess. The Kudaan Wastes resembled the Four Corners area of New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, and Utah; the land where most western movies had been made, the land so pretty but so bleak nobody had even wanted to take it away from the Indians.

  It was a broad, flat plain punctuated with tall mesas and buttes of multicolored rock, twisted spires and places where the land ended in great gashes revealing more rock layers as you looked down into canyons. The colors were red, purple, black, white, tan, orange, even blue, in all sorts of shades and hues. The road was little more than a worn dirt track on the parched and cracked desert floor and it seemed to go off into the distance forever.

  Jahoort didn't immediately signal a forward advance and it was fairly clear why. He had said that troops were to meet them here and escort them beyond the no man's land before them, but there was not a living thing in sight and sight extended a fair ways. No military also meant no Pilot, and that meant they were on their own with no warnings of what was ahead. He gave a hand signal and all members of the crew went forward to meet with him, the ones driving the wagons jumping down and walking over there or doubling up with the horsemen and riggers.


  "Gentlemen, the safety of this train is our responsibility," Jahoort told his men, "and particularly mine. As you can see, no troops, no nothing, and I cannot maintain this synchronicity for very long, certainly no more than an hour. Any thoughts?" Donnah, one of the older hands and the cargomaster, spat, then said, "Hell, boss, if we could drop the passengers I'd say go for it, but I wouldn't go in there with paying customers for nothin' if I could avoid it. 'Course, I'll do what you order." "You know better, Donnah. We drop the passengers and make it, we're goona have to refund their whole damned passage and send a safe special back for 'em. Might be penalties, too. I ain't old enough to retire yet, let alone get kicked out on that account. Either we all stay or we all go. How say you?"

  It was Crindil who spoke for most of them. "You know we're game for it, boss. Been kind'a dull lately. I haven't been through here in six, seven months, but I didn't have much trouble with Sanglar and I don't expect none with you. Seems to me we go and we got a real club to hold to Mashtopol's head. Still, there's too many women and children this trip for me to just bravo it. I say we ask them."

  Everybody else gave their advice as well, but much of it was conflicting and contradictory. Still, the consensus was to go. Jahoort was asking for advice, though, not a vote. He was an absolute monarch in the end and the final choice was his. "No," he said. "I'll not have the blood of a child on my hands because her father was a damn fool." He took out a pocket watch and looked at it. "Forty-nine minutes. If them troopers get here within that time we'll move in. If not, we'll try again tomorrow and the day after that until we get sick and tired of it and go someplace civilized."

  He would have liked the option of simply defaulting to a better sector, but he really didn't have it. Those border posts that were staffed would not let them through if their papers said otherwise, and those that were not staffed were as bad as this one.

  They held in position, as instructed by the outriders, waiting for Jahoort to signal go ahead or abort. Sam waited impatiently, the reins in her hands, and scanned the terrain with her binoculars. Nothing much to see. Time dragged, and even the nargas grew bored and restless.

  Jahoort, too, sat atop his horse scanning the road, as immobile as a statue, except that every once in a while he'd take out his watch again and look at it. He was just about to give up and tell everybody to return to camp formation when he gave one last look down the road. There, in the distance, he could see riders coming toward mem, kicking up a bit of dust, definitely in formation. They had four minutes really to cross, and he had a split second to decide. He turned and made the call of "Ahead at full speed," and they began very suddenly and quickly to move, the outriders screaming at them to hurry up and cross and never mind the formation or the road. They'd fix it later.

  They were through the border before anyone even had time to wonder what would happen if they didn't make it-or, worse, made it halfway. Later they were reassured to learn that that simply did not happen, although the shift could occur the instant you were across.

  Jahoort wasted no time in reforming the train, and everyone was so busy that they could pay attention only to themselves. It was Charley, looking out of the back of the wagon, who wondered idly where some of the riders had gone and worried for a moment that some of the crew might have missed the crossing, but she dismissed the thought. She could not, after all, see everything, and nobody else seemed concerned. As soon as everyone was formed up and ready to go another reality hit them that began to occupy their attention.

  It was hotter than hell here, and so dry that perspiration seemed to evaporate as it formed on the skin. It bothered them all almost immediately, but it didn't seem to concern Jahoort, who had to be broiling in those buckskins. His attention was entirely on the oncoming riders.

  In back of them, the landscape was now tall, seemingly impenetrable mountains rising up through clouds. It was as barren a landscape as this one, but it looked a lot cooler. Wherever Bi'ihqua now was, it wasn't connected to them anymore.

  Jahoort waited for the riders, letting them come to him. There were ten men, in the blue uniforms of the Mashtopol Forces, but wearing white headdresses that sheltered their faces and left their dark, brown features to peer from folds of cooling white. Considering the dark blue uniforms had to soak up the sun, nobody could figure out how the hell they stood it.

  The man leading the ten-man patrol approached Jahoort and saluted. "Pilot Captain Yonan, sir. Sorry we were delayed. I hope we didn't inconvenience you."

  "Quite all right, Captain," Jahoort responded, looking over the men. They were a motley lot, and a couple looked like they had beards beneath those burnooses. "I'm most anxious to clear the Furnace Region by nightfall. If you like, I can have the water wagon release some into the portable trough so your horses can replenish. Then we'd best be off."

  The officer thought a moment. "Kind of you, sir. I believe we will."

  The navigator gave one of his signals and the water wagon driver lowered the trough and then turned a valve releasing water into it to a depth of perhaps six inches. Enough for all of them, three or four at a time.

  "That's the filthiest, motleyest crew of soldiers Boday has ever seen," the artist commented as they went past. "Look at that. Dirt all over, and even rips in their uniforms."

  Charley scurried back to get a good look, then went over and opened one of the trunks. "Sam-warn Boday. Here's that short sword of yours. Be ready for it. I'm getting my knife and blow gun."

  "Wha-what's the matter."

  "Sam, those aren't tears in some of those coats, and they're dirty for a reason. Hides the blood stains, but not completely. I guess the lead ones had the most intact uniforms." She saw that Sam still didn't get it. "Sam-they're not soldiers, and in that condition they can't play-act being soldiers real long."

  "Jesus!" Sam turned to Boday. "Charley says they're not soldiers. They're a gang in soldier's uniforms."

  Boday did not have an emotional reaction, but simply responded, "Good."

  "Good?"

  "Yes. Boday would hate to think any so mangy could be real soldiers. Tell Charley to hand her the whip."

  Jahoort maneuvered around on his horse just to one side of the gang as they went for the precious water, then drew his two pistols. "Pilot Captain!" he yelled. "You should tell your men to shave. And uniform means uniform-including bullet holes!"

  They turned and drew their own weapons, but as they did the navigator fired and the top of the water wagon suddenly swung out on hinges and four rifles fired simultaneously. The maneuver was obviously carefully planned and perhaps a standard for the crew; as five raiders fell without firing an accurate shot, one jumped to the water wagon and the other four turned to run before there was a reload. They didn't make it; the three remaining mounted riders of the crew opened up, cutting two down, then took off after the other two.

  The one who'd jumped on the water wagon, however, struggled with the driver and then managed to sock him hard on the chin and push him over. The raider then grabbed the reins and started off, yelling at the narga team to make speed.

  Boday stood on the running board of her wagon and waited. When the water wagon came close to pass, her whip snaked out and actually caught the driver, who was not hurt but was so startled he dropped the reins. The nargas weren't all that fast, but they were fast enough and now had no control. The top-heavy wagon overturned, breaking the hitch and crashing to the hard ground, while the team continued on. The huge, keg-like wagon cracked a bit, and water began spilling out of one of its seams even as the men in the compartment up top struggled to get out.

  Jahoort made for the water wagon and got there just as the raider was picking himself off the ground. He stared into a reloaded pistol and raised his hands, palms out.

  The three outriders were even then returning-empty-handed. "Two got away, boss," Hude told Jahoort. "They made it into the rocks over there and it could be all day catchin' 'em. We figured it was better to get back here."

  "Help the
men out of there and tend to any injuries," the navigator ordered. "This scumbag is going to talk if I have to get that alchemist woman to make him fall in love with a narga."

  The wagon drivers checked on the rest of the fallen band of pseudo-soldiers. A couple were still alive, but they were badly wounded and needed attention they did not get.

  Jahoort and Crindil stripped the one surviving raider stark naked and staked him down face up on the desert floor. He looked better with the uniform on, Sam decided. He was an ugly, hairy brute whose body seemed full of scars. He looked mean as hell, though.

  The navigator took a sword from its saddle scabbard and then stood over the man. As he did there was a series of yells from the area of the overturned water wagon, and everyone looked to see what was happening there. The water had almost completely seeped out, wetting down the immediate area heavily enough that it should have been soaked through, yet it was drying even as they watched. Then, suddenly, they saw what the yelling was all about.

  From everywhere under and around the overturned water wagon thick, green shoots like tentacles shot up-hundreds of them, growing, or oozing from the hard rock, whichever- with lightning speed and in a matter of a minute completely engulfed the wagon. One of the crew from the top, injured, had been pulled away just in time before the long green fingers came up right where he'd laid.

  Boday turned to Sam. "Get Boday her kit. Some of those men might need help!"

  Sam idly turned and picked up the small alchemical kit and handed it to Boday, at no time taking her eyes off the wagon which was now engulfed in the long, waving tendrils. Boday jumped off and went to see to the injured crew.

  "My God, Sam! They're alive!" Charley breathed, watching the spectacle. "They're moving! Crushing the wagon!"

  And that was exactly what they were doing to the entire wagon. Enfolding it, grasping it, then crushing it, tearing it slowly and methodically to shreds.

  Sam frowned. "Are they plants-or what?"