I had the watch. My belly gnawed, weighted by lead. All day dots
had traversed the sky, high up. A pair were there now, patroling.
The continuous presence of Taken was not a good omen.
Closer, two manta pairs planed the afternoon air. They would
ride the updrafts up, then circle down, taunting the Taken, trying
to lure them across the boundary. They resented outsiders. The more
so these, because these would crush them but for Darling—another
intruder.
Walking trees were on the move beyond the creek. The dead
menhirs glistened, somehow changed from their usual dullness.
Things were happening on the Plain. No outsider could comprehend
their import fully.
One great shadow clung to the desert. Way up there, daring the
Taken, a lone windwhale hovered. An occasional, barely perceptible
bass roar tumbled down. I’d never heard one talk before. They
do so only when enraged.
A breeze muttered and whimpered in the coral. Old Father Tree
sang counterpoint to the windwhale.
A menhir spoke behind me. “Your enemies come soon.”
I shivered. It recalled the flavor of a nightmare I have been
having lately. I can recall no specifics afterward, only that it is
filled with terror.
I refused to be unsettled by the sneaky stone. Much.
What are they? Where did they come from? Why are they different
from normal stones? For that matter, why is the Plain ridiculously
different? Why so bellicose? We are here on sufferance only, allied
against a greater enemy. Shatter the Lady and see how our
friendship prospers.
“How soon?”
“When they are ready.”
“Brilliant, old stone. Positively illuminating.”
My sarcasm did not go unnoticed, just unremarked. The menhirs
have their own flare for sarcasm and the sharp-edged tongue.
“Five armies,” said the voice. “They will not
wait long.”
I indicated the sky. “The Taken cruise at will.
Unchallenged.”
“They have not challenged.” True. But a weak excuse.
Allies should be allies. More, windwhales and mantas usually
consider appearance on the Plain sufficient challenge. It occurred
to me the Taken might have bought them off.
“Not so.” The menhir had moved. Its shadow now fell
across my toes. I finally looked. This one was just ten feet tall.
A real runt.
It had guessed my thought. Damn.
It continued telling me what I already knew. “It is not
possible to deal from a position of strength always. Take care.
There has been a call to the Peoples to reassess your acceptance on
the Plain.”
So. This overtalkative hunk was an emissary. The natives were
scared. Some thought they could save themselves trouble by booting
us out.
“Yes.”
“The Peoples” doesn’t properly describe the
parliament of species that makes decisions here, but I know no
better title.
If the menhirs are to be believed—and they lie only by omission
or indirection—over forty intelligent species inhabit the Plain of
Fear. Those I know include menhirs, walking trees, windwhales and
mantas, a handful of humans (both primitives and hermits), two
kinds of lizard, a bird like a buzzard, a giant white bat, and an
extremely scarce critter that looks like a camel-centaur put
together backward. I mean, the humanoid half is behind. The
creature runs toward what most would take as its fanny.
No doubt I have encountered others without recognizing them.
Goblin says there is a tiny rock monkey that lives in the hearts
of the great coral reefs. He claims it looks like a miniature
One-Eye. But Goblin is not to be trusted where One-Eye is
concerned.
“I am charged with delivering a warning,” the menhir
said. “There are strangers on the Plain.”
I asked questions. When it did not answer I turned irritably. It
was gone. “Damned stone . . . ”
Tracker and his mutt stood in the mouth of the Hole, watching
the Taken.
Darling interviewed Tracker thoroughly, I’m told. I missed
that. She was satisfied.
I had an argument with Elmo. Elmo liked Tracker. “Reminds
me of Raven,” he said. “We could use a few hundred
Ravens.”
“Reminds me of Raven, too. And that’s what I
don’t like.” But what good arguing? We cannot always
like everyone. Darling thinks he is all right. Elmo thinks so. The
Lieutenant accepts him. Why should I be different? Hell, if he is
from the same mold as Raven, the Lady is in trouble.
He will be tested soon enough. Darling has something in mind.
Something preemptive, I suspect. Possibly toward Rust.
Rust. Where the Limper had raised his Stella.
The Limper. Back from the dead. I did everything but burn the
body. Should have done that, I guess. Bloody hell.
The scary part is wondering if he is the only one. Did others
survive apparent certain death? Are they hidden away now, waiting
to astound the world? “
A shadow fell across my feet. I returned to the living. Tracker
stood beside me. “You look distressed,” he said. He did
show one every courtesy, I must admit.
I looked toward those patroling reminders of the struggle. I
said, “I am a soldier, grown old and tired and confused. I
have been fighting since before you were born. And I have yet to
see anything gained.”
He smiled a thin, almost secretive smile. It made me
uncomfortable. Everything he did made me uncomfortable. Even his
damned dog made me uncomfortable, and it did nothing but sleep.
Much as it loafed, how had it managed the journey from Oar? Too
much like work. I swear, that dog won’t even get in a hurry
to eat.
“Be of good faith, Croaker,” Tracker said.
“She will fall.” He spoke with absolute conviction.
“She hasn’t the strength to tame the world.”
There was that scariness again. True or not, the way he
expressed the sentiment was disturbing.
“We’ll bring them all down.” He indicated the
Taken. “They aren’t real, like those of old.”
Toadkiller Dog sneezed on Tracker’s boot. He looked down.
I thought he would kick the mutt. But instead he bent to scratch
the dog’s ear.
“Toadkiller Dog. What kind of name is that?”
“Oh, it’s an old joke. From when we were both a lot
younger. He took a shine to it. Insists on it now.”
Tracker seemed only half there. His eyes were vacant, his gaze
far away, though he continued to watch the Taken. Weird.
At least he admitted to having been young. There was a hint of
human vulnerability in that. It is the apparent invulnerability of
characters like Tracker and Raven that rattles me.
I had the watch. My belly gnawed, weighted by lead. All day dots
had traversed the sky, high up. A pair were there now, patroling.
The continuous presence of Taken was not a good omen.
Closer, two manta pairs planed the afternoon air. They would
ride the updrafts up, then circle down, taunting the Taken, trying
to lure them across the boundary. They resented outsiders. The more
so these, because these would crush them but for Darling—another
intruder.
Walking trees were on the move beyond the creek. The dead
menhirs glistened, somehow changed from their usual dullness.
Things were happening on the Plain. No outsider could comprehend
their import fully.
One great shadow clung to the desert. Way up there, daring the
Taken, a lone windwhale hovered. An occasional, barely perceptible
bass roar tumbled down. I’d never heard one talk before. They
do so only when enraged.
A breeze muttered and whimpered in the coral. Old Father Tree
sang counterpoint to the windwhale.
A menhir spoke behind me. “Your enemies come soon.”
I shivered. It recalled the flavor of a nightmare I have been
having lately. I can recall no specifics afterward, only that it is
filled with terror.
I refused to be unsettled by the sneaky stone. Much.
What are they? Where did they come from? Why are they different
from normal stones? For that matter, why is the Plain ridiculously
different? Why so bellicose? We are here on sufferance only, allied
against a greater enemy. Shatter the Lady and see how our
friendship prospers.
“How soon?”
“When they are ready.”
“Brilliant, old stone. Positively illuminating.”
My sarcasm did not go unnoticed, just unremarked. The menhirs
have their own flare for sarcasm and the sharp-edged tongue.
“Five armies,” said the voice. “They will not
wait long.”
I indicated the sky. “The Taken cruise at will.
Unchallenged.”
“They have not challenged.” True. But a weak excuse.
Allies should be allies. More, windwhales and mantas usually
consider appearance on the Plain sufficient challenge. It occurred
to me the Taken might have bought them off.
“Not so.” The menhir had moved. Its shadow now fell
across my toes. I finally looked. This one was just ten feet tall.
A real runt.
It had guessed my thought. Damn.
It continued telling me what I already knew. “It is not
possible to deal from a position of strength always. Take care.
There has been a call to the Peoples to reassess your acceptance on
the Plain.”
So. This overtalkative hunk was an emissary. The natives were
scared. Some thought they could save themselves trouble by booting
us out.
“Yes.”
“The Peoples” doesn’t properly describe the
parliament of species that makes decisions here, but I know no
better title.
If the menhirs are to be believed—and they lie only by omission
or indirection—over forty intelligent species inhabit the Plain of
Fear. Those I know include menhirs, walking trees, windwhales and
mantas, a handful of humans (both primitives and hermits), two
kinds of lizard, a bird like a buzzard, a giant white bat, and an
extremely scarce critter that looks like a camel-centaur put
together backward. I mean, the humanoid half is behind. The
creature runs toward what most would take as its fanny.
No doubt I have encountered others without recognizing them.
Goblin says there is a tiny rock monkey that lives in the hearts
of the great coral reefs. He claims it looks like a miniature
One-Eye. But Goblin is not to be trusted where One-Eye is
concerned.
“I am charged with delivering a warning,” the menhir
said. “There are strangers on the Plain.”
I asked questions. When it did not answer I turned irritably. It
was gone. “Damned stone . . . ”
Tracker and his mutt stood in the mouth of the Hole, watching
the Taken.
Darling interviewed Tracker thoroughly, I’m told. I missed
that. She was satisfied.
I had an argument with Elmo. Elmo liked Tracker. “Reminds
me of Raven,” he said. “We could use a few hundred
Ravens.”
“Reminds me of Raven, too. And that’s what I
don’t like.” But what good arguing? We cannot always
like everyone. Darling thinks he is all right. Elmo thinks so. The
Lieutenant accepts him. Why should I be different? Hell, if he is
from the same mold as Raven, the Lady is in trouble.
He will be tested soon enough. Darling has something in mind.
Something preemptive, I suspect. Possibly toward Rust.
Rust. Where the Limper had raised his Stella.
The Limper. Back from the dead. I did everything but burn the
body. Should have done that, I guess. Bloody hell.
The scary part is wondering if he is the only one. Did others
survive apparent certain death? Are they hidden away now, waiting
to astound the world? “
A shadow fell across my feet. I returned to the living. Tracker
stood beside me. “You look distressed,” he said. He did
show one every courtesy, I must admit.
I looked toward those patroling reminders of the struggle. I
said, “I am a soldier, grown old and tired and confused. I
have been fighting since before you were born. And I have yet to
see anything gained.”
He smiled a thin, almost secretive smile. It made me
uncomfortable. Everything he did made me uncomfortable. Even his
damned dog made me uncomfortable, and it did nothing but sleep.
Much as it loafed, how had it managed the journey from Oar? Too
much like work. I swear, that dog won’t even get in a hurry
to eat.
“Be of good faith, Croaker,” Tracker said.
“She will fall.” He spoke with absolute conviction.
“She hasn’t the strength to tame the world.”
There was that scariness again. True or not, the way he
expressed the sentiment was disturbing.
“We’ll bring them all down.” He indicated the
Taken. “They aren’t real, like those of old.”
Toadkiller Dog sneezed on Tracker’s boot. He looked down.
I thought he would kick the mutt. But instead he bent to scratch
the dog’s ear.
“Toadkiller Dog. What kind of name is that?”
“Oh, it’s an old joke. From when we were both a lot
younger. He took a shine to it. Insists on it now.”
Tracker seemed only half there. His eyes were vacant, his gaze
far away, though he continued to watch the Taken. Weird.
At least he admitted to having been young. There was a hint of
human vulnerability in that. It is the apparent invulnerability of
characters like Tracker and Raven that rattles me.