The Tower of Il Serrohe (52 page)

Don looked down the plain sloping into the Valle Abajo. Studying the tracks, he could tell they had headed that way. Plus he could smell the fresh odors of different clans.

They left yesterday afternoon. Not more than fourteen hours ago. Whoa! How did I know that?

Don suddenly realized he had the sensitive nose of a deer, not a scent-numbed human. And he could tell the direction the various paw and hoof prints headed without enlisting the close scrutiny of a boy scout. C
ould be handy if I get good at using these senses.

Maybe they hadn’t given up or forgotten about him after all, but, instead, thinking he had been captured or was in trouble, they had immediately headed for the Tower by way of the Valle Abajo rather than the more open Seared Meadow.

They’re going to attack! Shit!

Don took off at full gallop.

He couldn’t keep up that pace for long. The sand on this part of the foothills was looser than on Seared Meadow, and the tracks of clanspeople made it worse. On top of that, galloping was more exhausting than a steady lope and, finally, he was weak because he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since last night.

As he reached the floor of the Valle Abajo, he was surrounded by fields and a strange craving for the rich grasses and mature grains at the top of some of the plants. Could it be possible the Taurimin were truly “farmers,” and these were their fields?

Stopping to get his breath, he chomped great mouthfuls of grass and grains, finding the hard grains easy to mill with his teeth to a tasty meal-like consistency, rather like granola. He discovered a narrow stream nearby, whether it was natural or formed by clansmen, he couldn’t tell.

He heard the whap of leather wings, but a survey of the sky revealed nothing.

“
Bastard.”

In any case, the water was fresh and cool. He drank about a gallon and took off, this time at a more rational pace he could maintain for an hour or more.

When he was ready for another grass snack and drink from what looked like an irrigation ditch, the long, blackened west mesa ridge came into view. Ahead, at least another hour away, was the defiant Tower. Don struggled to find evidence of the horde of clanspeople climbing the slope below the Tower, but detected nothing moving or unusual.

They may be heading due north for the big arroyo which will take them west to the foot of the Tower. A hell of a lot of good that will do since the Soreyes would have seen their approach days ago.

Wait a minute! I need to do some thinking. Things aren’t quite adding up.

Not taking time for a longer rest, he set off again, keeping a barrier to the view between himself and the Tower. If they saw the clanspeople, they didn’t need to see him. As he continued through the western edge of the bosque, down in arroyos, behind small hills, and through a swampy area southeast of the Piralltah Steeples, he mulled over what had transpired the last two days.

The Soreyes were waiting for me because they had seen my arrival days before. They recognized me from the previous incident, yet they seemed to be friendly and not anxious to throw me in a slave pit. That means whatever they saw from the Tower, it didn’t show me as a threat. Which also means they didn’t see me today among the clanspeople in the attack I think is going to take place.

Does that mean I will never make it there, or that the clanspeople never attack—at least successfully? Or does it mean I sneak past them somehow to do—what? If the Tower comes down, wouldn’t they have seen that, and either given up and run, or fortified themselves to overcome what they saw in the future scenario? Does the Tower predict the future or does it show a
possible
future?

If the Tower is to come down, will they see that? What was it about the Tower that Nersite said? OK, the future stuff: that fits the odd things Scarflue talked about. But something Nersite and Netheraire noticed about the scenarios…

Of course! They said looking through the windows along the stairway was like there was “nothing under them.”
As if they were flying like a Sianox, which means when they looked down, they didn’t see the wall of the Tower at their feet, which is not what anyone would expect, even a dumb little Nohmin. Nersite has stood on a hill or ridge hundreds of times, and he expects to see the hill or the ridge and the slope leading down from his feet.

But on the Tower, it was like being a bird in the air with nothing under you but the ground far below. Of course, in the distant past, there was no Tower so, of course, you wouldn’t see it at your feet. But later, it still looked like that. What was Nersite seeing? Was it a time beyond now when there was no Tower?

Or is it possible the Tower is not visible to one standing on it because, although made of dried mud, the element of Time baked into it makes it invisible when you stand upon it? If so, then if the Tower is brought down or not, the Soreyes wouldn’t be able to tell.

So some element of nasty surprise is still possible.

All right, what else? I wasn’t seen as a present or near future threat, so that means I have a chance to help the clanspeople if I stay out of the Soreyes’ sight. And I think I know where I can make it happen. Also, the Soreyes, seeing that I’m human like them, felt I might be of use, which is why they let me teach them a little about writing and even tried to persuade me through the services of a whore.

But I’m not human here in the Valle Abajo. At least, not all the time. To the clanspeople, even Raquela, a Pirallt and descendant of Pia and Pita who were “sisters” to my great-grandmother, I am one of them. And also Teresa, yet different enough they thought she could defeat the Soreyes.

And they thought the same of me. That damned bat, Nightwing, drew me out from all the humanity in the Rio Grande Valley because he saw me as I am. I seemed to be human, but I’m not… or, at least, I’m something in addition.

I’m a stupid drunk who has elaborate delusions to escape my piss-ant, horrid reality, that’s what I am. Yet I’ve vowed to see this through as if it were true. What is reality? Only what our brains perceive. Enough said.

So I’m not some pervert falling in love and making love to Raquela. She and I are the same; we have kindred ancestors, which I would have known about if my mother hadn’t died giving birth. Teresa had taught her about me and trained her to raise one such as herself, not of this or another world, but of both.

Falling in love with Raquela is the most natural and best thing I’ve ever done. Whatever I do next whether it’s any good or not, that remains to be seen.

With that thought, Don—who had reached the arroyo that led from the ridge south of the Tower and ran west down the valley—arrived at a point where he could no longer be out of sight of the Tower. As he peered over the top of the arroyo’s bank, he saw a great, pulsing multitude, like the shadow of a cloud, spread across the steepening foot of the cliff below the Tower.

It was the horde of the clanspeople working their way up the rocks and dirt of the cliff to attack the Tower. A lost cause of the highest order!

Don slumped down onto the crumbling arroyo bank.

If I just go back the way I came, take a left, I’ll come to the Portal. Then I can go back to my regular life and try to pick up the pieces.

I can never return to the Casita; I must avoid all bats hanging in dark corners of old adobe houses and kill that bastard Nightwing if I hear his leather wings whapping.

This will have been all a delusion, and what is to come next will never happen.

But, in spite of himself, Don crept up the bank and looked again. Even from a distance of two miles, he could hear the excited calls of the clanspeople, and he could smell the excitement, terror, and anger of the horde.

Pinching himself and, indeed, getting whacked up side the head, and making the best love he’d ever had were all too real to deny. Dreams don’t connect with ones senses this well.

Delusions? Hallucinations? The delirium of an incorrigible alcoholic?

Who knows?

Don pulled himself up on the bank, finding four sharp hooves more effective than human feet and hands. Surely, they hadn’t seen him yet.
Or maybe they were seeing just another deer?

In any case, he made a high-speed run for the foot of the long volcanic ridge immediately to the west. In less than two minutes, he was, once again, out of sight of the Tower. He loped north, staying in the shadow of the high ridge.

In minutes, he was directly below the Tower. He could see its fully engorged shadow on the valley floor a few hundred yards due east. Looking up, he saw that little of the steep slope was out of the Tower’s sight.

Over the cliff and slope above him, the clanspeople covered the ground like a swarm of ants. Don saw the Soreyes above having a field day shooting arrows, throwing down huge rocks, spears, and what looked like big buckets of scalding water. They were laughing and spitting up a storm; what a party!

He watched the clanspeople struggle to avoid the reign of terror, but from sickening thumps and little figures falling left and right, it was obvious a number of Soreyes’ missiles were finding targets.

Just ahead of him a few clanspeople were milling around, some of them wounded, others tending to them. He didn’t recognize anyone.

He looked back up as the cold fist of dread gripped his heart. Somewhere up there were Raquela, Nersite, Netheraire, Bernie, and the rest of his newfound friends. But Don felt no desire to rush to their aid.

It was pointless. He had to put himself to more effective use.

Fighting back tears as a stifled sob stuck in his throat, he began threading his way through the small, confused crowd of clanspeople. Keeping his head low, he avoided contact and hoped no one would recognize him.

Soon, he heard only the moans and cries behind him, so he continued north where the cliff’s foot went around to northeast of the Tower above. Still out of sight of the Soreyes, he searched for a place to climb. But as he looked, he saw he would eventually be exposed two hundred feet below the top of the narrow mesa where the Tower stood.

Don climbed carefully, appreciating again the traction his hooves offered. Reaching the edge of the ridge’s shadow where he would be exposed, he looked for a way to take cover from the Tower but found nothing to his right, left, or above, until about six or seven feet below the mesa top.

He remembered his lone walk around the Soreye village and what he saw when he had leaned out and peered carefully over the edge of the cliff northwest of the Tower. There was a narrow ledge about twelve feet down from the top that led around to the east-facing cliff. Part of the Tower wall actually was within two or three feet of that extreme northeast corner of the mesa before it turned ninety degrees and continued south for fifteen miles or more.

If he could get on that narrow ledge, he could scramble up the twelve feet of cliff and be at the near wall of the Tower out of sight of any of windows at the top: the blind spot of the Tower!

But, because of the nearly vertical slope, there was no way from where he was now to reach any part of the narrow ledge that would be out of sight of those on the Tower or, if they didn’t try hard, even the edge of the mesa. Unless….

Oh, no! The old Nohmin cousin’s tunnels.

Don thought he could recollect seeing a couple of large openings to gopher holes along the narrow ledge. Had he imagined that, or was it a valid memory? He struggled to confirm it. He remembered the thought that crossed his mind, wondering if those were the Nohmin cousins’—gophers’ or the Gomin?—tunnels Nersite had talked about in the conclusion of his story about their failed attack on the Tower.

At the foot of the tall cliff, well below where he estimated the ledge was to his right, he couldn’t actually see the ledge, or if there were tunnel openings up there.

Then he spotted an entrance to one of the old tunnels just a couple feet above him. It could likely lead to a tunnel that would exit further above along the narrow ledge.

Or not.

At least its entrance could be easily accessed without being seen from above.

Yeah, easily accessed, but then, I’d be in that horror of blackness, dirt, and air thicker than felt. A tunnel too tight for man or stag.

Don again searched the area around him. No option. He tried to visualize going back down and moving further to the northeast, but that would put him in clear view of the Tower. He could see the bottom edge of a window up high and imagined a Soreye was there watching through the slits of his eyes.

No, no, no! There has to be some other way! And what guarantee is there that this tunnel is connected to the entrance above along the ledge? None, but what other way is there? And what if I do get up there? What can I do from there?

More than you can agonizing down here, you stupid shit!

Don knew this was one of the breakpoints
. Wherever you go from here, whatever you do, this is the point of no return. Leave and the clanspeople in their stupid haste and total lack of thought or planning will be on the main menu of a Soreye barbecue tonight. That is guaranteed.

Go ahead, and if this is the right tunnel, I’ll be the appetizer. I’m not a fighter. I don’t have a clue, but I probably have more of a clue than the clanspeople. OK, what do I know from reading Beowulf and my hero, King Arthur, that I can put into action?