Warautumn (18 page)

“We backtrack,” Myx announced, indicating the least steep part of the bank. “Then we can swing around at the bottom. Better not to go down and through,” he added. “If this is like what little thick-cane I’ve seen back at Plantcraft, it’s got razor
edges on the leaves. And who knows what sorts of poisonous things might live in there.”

Bingg rolled his eyes. “That’s all I need to hear.”

“Lead the way,” Avall concluded—as much because Myx had the lone wide-sword, which was good for chopping away undergrowth, as for any other reason.

Because of the detritus on the designated slope, it took far longer than expected to reach the base of the thick-cane patch, and everyone except Bingg slipped at least once, so that they were all blotched with a healthy application of wood mulch by the time they gained their goal. Happily, the beach was even larger than it had looked—easily a quarter shot across, in fact. On the right it was bounded by the rocks atop which the birds Avall and Rann had seen the previous day nested; the back was walled by the canebrake itself; while the left ended at the imposing spear of stone down which the lower reaches of the newly discovered waterfall slid—a fall, they now saw, that emptied into what was more than a stream but definitely not a river.

“Keep a close eye on the lake,” Avall advised, though they were south and west of the rocks the water-beast had seemed to frequent. “That creature Rann and I saw might or might not be entirely aquatic, but it was definitely an air-breather. I wouldn’t be surprised if it denned on land—and in that case, there’s a good chance its den is on this island and close to the coast.”

“We should post watch anyway,” Rann agreed, glancing at the sky, where a skim of clouds now showed. “Not that we’re likely to accomplish much today regardless.”

“But this would be a great place to build the raft,” Lykkon observed. “Plenty of work space and a gradual slope to the water. Eight, it wouldn’t be a bad site for a permanent dock if we wind up staying here—assuming we could improve the trail.”

“We should probably explore farther around,” Myx observed absently, gazing toward the waterfall. “When we finish,
I mean. We’re over a quarter of the way around the island as it is, and it wouldn’t be much trouble to add another couple of shots to what we’ve already surveyed.”

Avall nodded, then sauntered over to the nearest stand of thick-cane. To his unpracticed eye, it looked like good, sturdy stuff; though it was hard to tell, since he had never seen any in the wild, the plant being native to Ixti, and only growing in Eron in greenhouses.
This
stand clearly needed no such encouragement, since each stalk was easily three times as tall as he was and most were as thick as his forearm. There would be no trouble finding enough to make any size raft they wanted, either—but there might be trouble cutting enough.

Riff studied the knobby lengths carefully. “We can get two sections out of most of these,” he informed them. He paused, did a bit of quick ciphering in his head. “Might be better to use the whole length, in the long run—for stability and to carry more of us at a time.” He did more calculations. “So, say we make a raft two spans square, which is about as small as would be useful and as big as we can easily move. And say twenty-four widths per span. That’s forty-eight lengths of thick-cane—or more. A railing would also be good, as would cross-bracing. And there’s five of us who can do a full man’s work, so that works out to about ten stalks each that we’d need to cut. But it’s going to take at least a hand per stalk, unless we want to savage our blades … so we’re looking at two or three days just to cut enough without killing ourselves. And that, in turn, raises the question of how to join the stalks together. We’ve got one length of tent rope that came with us, but that won’t be enough. We’ll have to use vines and probably peg some stuff, and maybe see if we can contrive some glue.”

“So we’re looking at maybe an eight to get off this place,” Avall summarized. “Assuming we spend half of each day scavenging for food.”

“It’s something to target,” Riff agreed. “And will give us an idea how much we have to ration—not that we’ll be able to go wild once we reach the mainland, either.”

Avall nodded, and reached over to run a hand down a length of smooth, hard cane skin.

“There’s better over here,” Bingg called, from where the patch angled back toward the escarpment.

They followed dutifully, noting that the waterfall formed a tiny pool in the vee between thick-cane and cliff. The stream ran from that pool to the sea; a dark opening lurked behind it. Avall angled shoreward to investigate the stream more thoroughly—back in Eron such places were a good source of freshwater mussels and clams. The others moved to the left, closer to the cave.

Avall had actually squatted at the edge of the clear, shallow water when he saw two things at once, both of which set him shouting.

One was the distinct trail of what could only be claw-edged flippers leading toward the cave. The other was a flash of movement inside it, as though something large and leathery lurked there.

“Watch the cave!” he yelled.

Too late.

Something came lurching out of the blackness toward the rest of their party: something as tall as their tallest, owing to a long, supple neck that issued from a squat, turtle-shaped body that was close to a span long itself. The head was the size of a man’s head but oval and far less distinct from the neck, of which it looked like a bulbous extension. Teeth showed, too: very
sharp
teeth. And that head moved on a neck like slick, wet lightning.

Jaws flashed out toward Bingg and would have bit him had he not danced back. By which time Avall could see the beast’s appendages. And tell, indeed, that they were very like a sea lion’s flippers, though the beast itself was clearly reptilian.

The odd thing was the silence. Most predators made noise when they felt threatened. This one didn’t.

But at least there was only one, and it a small one—smaller than the one he and Rann had seen, anyway—possibly an
adolescent. Which meant that the parents could be lurking nearby. Except that this cave was too small for one of them.

All of which reasoning took Avall perhaps three breaths before he’d unsheathed his sword and rushed into the fray. The beast was not actually
that
large, he realized, it was just that its parts covered a lot of space and moved quickly. In spite of that, Myx was poking at it with his homemade spear, while Riff and Bingg tried to circle it.

“Go for the neck,” Rann yelled, a long-knife flashing in his hand, while Lykkon tried to thrust his own sword past snapping jaws to connect with something vital.

Finding a flipper within easy range, Avall slashed down at it, and was rewarded with a gush of dark blood and a shrill, honking screech from the beast. Encouraged, he waded closer to the side, making a pair with Myx, opposite.

But it was Lykkon—Lykkon the scholar—who got in a lucky slash at the neck that severed the windpipe and at least one major artery. Blood fountained everywhere, showering them with gore. Myx and Riff caught the brunt of it.

Rann gave the beast its death blow: a second chop that severed the head.

“Food,” Riff grunted. “If no one has a delicate stomach.”

“Maybe,” Avall agreed, eyeing the shore speculatively, and wondering if it was wise to let the creature’s blood reach the stream that fed it. All they needed was for this lad’s kin to come honking up, primed for vengeance. “If we’re going to work here regularly, we’ll need more than one escape route,” he told Myx flatly, with another survey of the surrounding terrain.

Myx—who had very sharp eyes—squinted toward the cave. “There’s a more gradual slope in the angle,” he said. “Hard to see because it’s in shadow.”

“You and Riff check it out,” Avall told him. “Let us know what you find. We ought to get some of these cut today if we can.”

“And someone ought to see if there’s anything edible on that,” Rann added, pointing toward the inert monster. “If it’s like most large animals, there’s a nice chunk of solid meat along the spine. I’d start with that—unless someone else wants to—”

“I’ll do it,” Bingg volunteered gamely. “It nearly ate me; it’s only fair.”

“I’ll help,” Lykkon chimed in. “I might learn something. We can take turns being lookout.”

Avall found himself facing Rann. “Which I guess leaves us to do what we came for.”

Rann grimaced resignedly, but doffed his tunic, then his shirte. Avall followed his example. Unfortunately, the thick-cane proved all but impervious to their efforts. A strong hack with their most expendable sword produced sore hands but the barest nick in the hard skin. Knives used in a sawing action worked better, but the process was tedious and progress impossibly slow. Rann’s saw worked best of all, but even that was slow, and the blade showed signs of being unequal to cutting as many spars as required.

It was also hot, sweaty work, though Avall found himself enjoying the exertion. It had been a long time since he’d used his muscles so fully, a long time since he’d engaged in simple labor with his friends.

Time lapsed into a long, drifty languor, as everyone found a rhythm to his task and fit himself to it. Voices floated around the clearing, though no one ever relaxed entirely, to judge by the furtive looks constantly aimed at the shore. Still, no other threats made themselves known. And so a hand expired.

“Where’re Myx and Riff?” Rann wondered abruptly.

Avall rose from where he’d finally sawn one shaft of cane through, a half span from the bottom. It still remained upright, however; courtesy of leaves tangled with others higher up. “They went to check the area above the cave,” he replied, with a scowl. “They should’ve been back by now.”

“They should,” Rann agreed. “But they were covered with blood—and there’s water …”

“They still should’ve told us if they were planning to be gone this long.” A pause. “Myx!” Avall yelled. “Riff! Please acknowledge.”

Silence.

Rann grimaced sourly and shoved the saw back into its leather holder, then scooped up his shirte and used it for a towel. “Think we ought to check?”

“Guess we should,” Avall grumbled. He trotted over to where Bingg and Lykkon were freeing the second loin. It would be a lot of white, tender meat—if it proved edible. “We’re going to look for Myx and Riff,” Avall told them. “If we’re not back in a hand, come looking for us.”

Lykkon nodded, and wiped greasy hands on his tunic. It was, Avall realized, the first time he’d ever seen Lykkon dirty, sweaty,
and
disheveled.

Rann was waiting for him at the bank. Footprints showed in the soft earth there, one set bare, the better to assay what was a steep but not impossible climb. A ladder placed just so would work wonders. When they had time to build one.

Rann scrambled up a span, waiting for Avall to follow. A convenient vine made a nice handhold, and a moment later, they were above the level of the cave. Another span put them over an edge and onto the continuation of the path they had seen earlier, beyond the troublesome fissure, this side almost completely flat, half a span wide, and covered with soft grass. It ran to their right, where it ended at the stream that, lower down, became the waterfall. The escarpment rose beyond, but it had a back side, they saw, which made it a spear of rock rising upward. The mountain proper loomed to the left as they faced the spear, and the stream flowed from that direction. Their companions’ footprints followed it. Another slope soon blocked their way, but Myx and Riff had clearly climbed it, for it was barely twice as high as Avall’s head, and since it was covered
with vines, it was easy going. That put them on another ledge—and a good six spans above the beach, which was masked by a froth of ferns. The ledge swung left again, with the stream beside.

“Beautiful place,” Rann murmured. “No wonder they tarried.”

“And another waterfall nearby,” Avall noted, cocking his head. “The roar sneaks up on you. You can imagine why they kept wanting to go just a little farther—and that they might not have heard us call above the sound of the water.”

“Let’s hope,” Rann agreed, leading the way around a knife-edged slab of stone, beyond which the trail kinked out of sight. Avall heard Rann gasp, then guffaw, by which time he’d joined his friend, who had halted where he stood. Rann grinned broadly and pointed farther around the rock, even as he motioned silence with his other hand, but Avall had seen enough already.

There was indeed a waterfall where they had expected one. And there was a pool below it, into which it part-slid, part-fell, so that one might either stand clear of the falling water or stand in it.

Myx and Riff were doing the former. Naked, they stood thigh deep in the pool, locked in embrace, their hands sliding across each other’s shoulders and backs and now and then lower. They didn’t kiss—bond-brothers rarely did. Rather, they were simply sharing closeness. Myx was slimmer and taller, his hair dark, like most of his countrymen’s, and his skin was darker as well. Riff was shorter, stockier (though only by Eronese standards), and unmistakable by his fair hair and fairer skin.

Rann grinned again. “Should we let them know …?”

Avall shook his head. “Would you want to be interrupted? They’ve had no time for this since we got here, and little since we mustered out.”

Rann’s grin widened. “Maybe so, but I’m hot and sweaty, too—and
not
keen on climbing down again quite yet.”

Avall matched his grin. “Me neither.”

Eyes said the rest, as Avall took Rann by the arm and drew him back around the corner, assuring their friends’ privacy. Wordless, they sank down against the blade of stone. “Could be worse,” Rann murmured eventually.

“Could be,” Avall agreed. And then more comfortable silence.

Not a long one, however, for Myx and Riff were too conscientious to shirk duty indefinitely (and they
had
been covered with water-beast blood, Rann stressed). It was therefore no more than a finger later that they came ambling around the outcrop. Nor did either seem particularly surprised to find visitors, though Riff’s skin reddened visibly. “We found the way up—Majesty,” Myx all but stammered, genuinely chagrined. “We thought we’d better clean up, and we got … distracted. It’s quite beautiful around there.”