Norton, Andre - Chapbook 04

The
haze was thinner than a drifting cloud, moving with the travelers... was no
rain here to temper the burning of the rough soil under
Rentam's
bare and already scarred feet.
 
Modic
rode, even in this time and place he held to the
dignity of a Seeker, but the trembling legs of the bony horse he bestrode (it
was the worst mount of his train) threatened any moment to collapse, spilling
rider on the ground.
 
Only the Seeker's
will kept the horse going along a wandering seam in the surface of the stones
they had chanced upon an hour ago.

In
Rentam
coiled and wove the old fears which had been bred in
his kind for generations.
 
He had been
sure of disaster to come ever since this thin-faced man, with a jaw and nose
which had the side view of a sword, had come to the village to demand, with a
certainty overriding all other wills, a guide for journey west.
 
Neither had
Modic
followed the rules of the
Betweener
village but had
stabbed with a gloved forefinger at
Rentam
and called
for him.

Though
Sequine
, the Speaker, had argued it was not the tall
youth's turn.

Modic
had only grinned fiercely and shaken his head when the first
two drawn properly by lot came to him, saying that
Rentam
looked sturdy enough to lead a Traveler into the
Questionable
Land
.
 
At last
Sequine
had
shrugged and nodded.
 
Each of them knew
sooner or later a guide found the Gate of Death.
 
Now women and children hid in the mud-brick
huts as all had heard of
Betweeners
slain for drunken
amusement, or because would-be Seekers had been irritated by some small
matter.
 
From the moment
Modic
had made his choice they knew that it was
Rentam
who must go.

A
half company of riders appearing on the bluff above had been an open warning
for the clan village to obey
Modic's
desires.

"No
knife."
 
The Seeker had ridden
closer to inspect the guide's equipment which
Sequine's
own son had brought forth.
 
Modic
kicked out as the boy passed him with such skill that
the knife, a little loose in the scabbard, flew to strike against a hut wall.

"Leave
it, you!"
 
Modic
moved his mount again until it stood between the Speaker and the boy.
 
The Seeker said no more, but
Rentam
nodded to the Speaker.

"Obey
... for the good of the clan."

In
that last moment of boyhood the guide lost belief that truth and right were
strong against any evil which might prevail.
 
Now to be separated from his own people had only one meaning .. . this
doom-faced warrior had a secret, and surely no one would live to betray its
discovery.
 
There were his men beyond;
might he be able to get rid of them as easily?

"You
pledge yourself..
 
."
 
That was no question.
 
More like an order.
Rentam
nodded.
 
He could sense the tension seep
out of the rest of the villagers.
 
A
bargain had been struck and surely this one, who knew so much of their customs,
would now leave.
 
It was unfortunate
about

Rentam
of course, but he had no kin here closer than a cousin, and
between them had been many quarrels.
 
What was the life of one man compared to all the village?

They
had set out at the first color of sunrise and had kept plodding on straight
into the heart of the vast waste.
 
The
now risen sun pressed a blanket of heat down upon them.
 
They all carried water gourds which they had
filled at the village spring.
 
Yes,
Rentam
thought, watching them when he believed
Modic
no longer checked upon him, these were indeed
Seekers.
 
Certainly they used water
frugally at the rest stops
Modic
ordered each time
the shadows of the towering stones standing here and there lengthened
appreciatively.

Also
they watered their beasts, first giving them to drink out of their helms and
washing out the nostrils of each with a damp cloth.
 
For themselves they allowed only what must
have been a swallow or two.

Hereabouts
the desert land was not still flat for there appeared a way which ran straight
as if that had been cut by the force of man's desire for a road.
 
Curiosity awakened in
Rentam
.
 
At the third stop he pretended to adjust the
webbing which held his water gourd and packet of journey food, while, with his
left hand, he stabbed one of his long and narrow fingers into the sand and
gravel, far enough to scrape against the webbing of flesh which united all six
fingers into a more solid fist.
 
Underneath there was indeed a solid obstruction.
 
Two of his middle fingers met a solid surface
with bruising force.

Now
he pulled his sun-resisting cloak higher on his shoulders and, through narrowed
eyes, surveyed the country.
 
Here stood a
third hill, a mount of stone, partly seen there some summer dried shrubs... Yes!
Rentam's
breath puffed against the edge of his cloak
as straightaway he fought a sharp stab of emotion which he must not allow any
of those about him to see.

Even
the guides knew very little of this dreary world ... save of the paths to which
one or two bolder explorers might add a few new lengths several times in a
lifetime.
 
He knew that hill right enough
... it marked the furthermost of his own
rovings
in
this direction.
 
Now, as

he
sighted it, he believed that this curious sand covered cut ran directly towards
that, as if the hill was indeed a marker on an ancient road.

It
could lead where?
 
Still aware of
Modic
he turned his head slowly, this time seemingly
concentrating on the shoulder strapping of his supply net.
 
He was somehow sure that he was right.
 
They had camped on a portion of a forgotten
road which ran straight ahead.

Rentam's
pointed tongue slid over his lower lip as if, like his very
distant cousin of the true lizard breed, he could pick up scent impressions
cast by man or animal.

One
kept away from these roads.
 
Such could
be traced easily enough, but they led to the spirit places where the haze, such
as they had traveled through earlier, thickened to give shelter to things...
things which he had heard described, legends of all guide villages.
 
He slid his tongue out between his lips,
startled past prudence into a grunt.

Could
the Seeker know of this?
 
Was he now
aware that such roads led to the death light?
 
A shadow fell across his face as he watched,
Modic
,
wondering for a moment of real fear if the man had guessed at his own
discovery.

The
Seeker dropped to the sand and crossed his legs, his hands playing with the
hilt of his sword, drawing the blade out an inch or two from the scabbard and
then thrusting it forcefully back again, as if he foresaw a need for its
use.
 
Rentam
had regained full control... he could hear the snick of the blade, however his
narrow gaze was on
Modic's
face not the Seeker's
hands.
 
It was always the eyes into which
one must look,
Rentam
remembered clearly
Sequine's
warning.
 
For it is by the changes in a man's eyes one could read the coming of
violence.

"So,"
Modic's
voice was hardly above a whisper, certainly
it could not reach anyone farther away then
Rentam
,
"you have found it.
 
Dig!"
 
His lazy tone sharpened into an order, he
motioned toward where the guide had been secretly delving.
 
Obeying,
Rentam
dug
both-handed now. Within a number of breaths, lightly drawn breaths (lest he
could take into him some danger of this place), he scooped out parched earth,
throwing it to one side.
 
He was right,
it required very little in the way of labor to lay bare a section of a road of
the waste devils.." the black surface of it un corroded by time and as
smooth as his own scratched and bleeding skin.

Though
Modic
leaned more closely forward,
Rentam
perceived he did not lose sight of the guide for
more than half a breath at a time.

"Right."
 
When the Seeker spoke it seemed more to
himself than to
Rentam
.

"The
road to
Lonscraft
... at last!"

This
time
Rentam's
astonishment was rooted in fear.
 
He jerked back his hands from hand contact
with the damnable thing.
 
Fighting to
remain impassive, knowing within him that
Modic
was
well aware of his inbred fear and was now studying the
Betweener
closely, a small evil smile about his lips.

"Ah,
yes."
 
The Seeker kept his voice low
and confidential in tone, as if he and
Rentam
shared
some secret which was unknown to the others.

"This
is the way to
Lonscraft
.
 
Though that was not the name it bore in other
days when the world was still all for men and not for sand-dwelling rats!"

He
scrabbled inside his outer robe with his left hand, bringing out a small sheet
of dull metal, near as thin as the skin of a ripe
wavel
.
Still keeping one finger firmly on the edge of it he pushed the plate a little
closer to
Rentam
.

"Do
you know the reading of maps, Guide, or do you only carry such information in
your scaled head?"
 
His slight smile
now held no amusement, rather cruel, taunting humor.

So
this one did not know of those treasure places located by villages... to which
the youths went to learn ... by heart and deep in the mind ... the ancient
roads and more than roads, the dangers and few secrets of the
Sand
Sea
.
 
One quick glance told
Rentam
much.
 
That which
Modic
held must have been graven by a master worker in metal. However only as far as
the hillock behind them now did the lines assume any kinship with the records
he himself had long ago memorized.
 
This
map displayed the warning blue of the Before Time road leading to a city of even
darker blue, a color which seemed to pulsate in the light as if a breathing,
and perhaps sentient, creature.

"Well,
and what have you to say to this, Guide?
 
I needed your steering to that hillock, knowing that what I sought lay
beyond."

Dry
as it was, a droplet of saliva gathered at the corner of the Seeker's mouth, as
he no longer gazed at
Rentam
... rather at his map.

It
was the colors which confused the sight,
Rentam
decided.

Certainly
those lines did not really coil or quiver.
 
From which clan had
Modic
stolen this record
... one of the forbidden ones used to warn?