Osro?’
‘I don’t know. I cannot. Something in me says, turn away.’
‘Because he’s evil?’
‘I don’t know evil. I don’t know good. I know nothing.’
‘Was it the Shy?’
‘The stinkweed? When the boy crushed it in my face, then I seemed to lose all I knew. But for a moment there was something. It said no, and it said yes. To one way and another. But I can’t – I can’t remember. And I must. Something goes before me, but it turns, it eludes me, I glimpse it but it will not stay and let itself be seen. All it tells me now is – I am alone. And so I must not be Osro’s man.’
‘What will you do? When we’re safe?’
‘I’ll go into the mountains. Live alone. And find there the thing that I must know.’
‘You can use the Shy again.’
‘Perhaps. I would sooner learn it for myself.’
‘You’d have a better chance of getting away if you left me.’
‘I cannot.’
They started west again, the sun behind them. It slanted through the trees and brought some light to the jungle floor. Then the jungle shrank, and soon they pushed through scrub that pricked like gorse. Steam rose ahead, with cliffs and towers that seemed to be trekking by like misshapen men.
‘We are at the Belt,’ Steen said. ‘A place gone mad. It rots the land like gangrene. O burns in a fever here.’
‘Do we have to go in?’
‘It runs north and south. So we cross. One day, one night. Then more sands. Iron, pumice, copper. Beyond that jungle, down to the sea.’
‘Can’t we find the Birdfolk?’
‘I’ve looked. They’re searching elsewhere.’
‘Steen – ’
‘Don’t be afraid. Test every step. We’ll use the rope.’ He tied an end round her waist and knotted the other in his belt. They walked over pumice sand, through fissures wet by steam and dried by heat. The bushes dwindled, giving way to scurfy weed and rock in clusters. Then they were in the cliffs and towers, which leaned away from them or bent over. They were like giants peering to see or jerking back. The steam turned and surged like blown cloud. It wet their faces and their clothes. Water covered them like sweat, dripping from their chins and fingertips. At least Slarda can’t track us here, Susan thought. She followed Steen’s back. She trusted him. He was almost as broad as he was tall – built like a barn door, Nick would say. She trusted him to find a way through this.
They went round the side of a boiling spring half as long as a football field, and followed the river flowing out. It churned through rapids, dived over falls, but did not lose its heat until it joined a cold stream flowing from the south. Steam sprang up from their meeting, rolling in the monoliths and blotting out the sky. They crossed further down, swimming roped together in water warm as tea.
By night they had climbed out of wet into dry. They slept on shaly stone warmed from underground and Susan had nightmares as though covered with too many blankets. She felt a stirring as if the hill she slept on was shifting. In the morning she saw they were on the inner slope of a huge pit.
‘Here a mountain was swallowed,’ Steen said. ‘O is hollow underneath and feeds on herself. And spits herself out.’ A rumbling came from the west. ‘That is her sound. She has no manners.’ He smiled – the first smile she had seen from him. It lit his heavy face and seemed to give a lighter colour to his slaty eyes. ‘We should reach the sands by afternoon.’
They went round the pit and crossed a trembling plain and climbed the flank of a long low mountain stretching north. Lava wormed from holes blown in its sides. It crumbled as it nosed down the slope. Smoking stones rolled on ahead. The mountain itself was lava-built. Great flat tongues lay on the landscape south.
It took them all day to get across. By nightfall they were in the scrub. Steen wrapped blankets round them to save them from the thorns. He kept on to the edge of a dry-grass plain, where he gave Susan
‘I don’t know. I cannot. Something in me says, turn away.’
‘Because he’s evil?’
‘I don’t know evil. I don’t know good. I know nothing.’
‘Was it the Shy?’
‘The stinkweed? When the boy crushed it in my face, then I seemed to lose all I knew. But for a moment there was something. It said no, and it said yes. To one way and another. But I can’t – I can’t remember. And I must. Something goes before me, but it turns, it eludes me, I glimpse it but it will not stay and let itself be seen. All it tells me now is – I am alone. And so I must not be Osro’s man.’
‘What will you do? When we’re safe?’
‘I’ll go into the mountains. Live alone. And find there the thing that I must know.’
‘You can use the Shy again.’
‘Perhaps. I would sooner learn it for myself.’
‘You’d have a better chance of getting away if you left me.’
‘I cannot.’
They started west again, the sun behind them. It slanted through the trees and brought some light to the jungle floor. Then the jungle shrank, and soon they pushed through scrub that pricked like gorse. Steam rose ahead, with cliffs and towers that seemed to be trekking by like misshapen men.
‘We are at the Belt,’ Steen said. ‘A place gone mad. It rots the land like gangrene. O burns in a fever here.’
‘Do we have to go in?’
‘It runs north and south. So we cross. One day, one night. Then more sands. Iron, pumice, copper. Beyond that jungle, down to the sea.’
‘Can’t we find the Birdfolk?’
‘I’ve looked. They’re searching elsewhere.’
‘Steen – ’
‘Don’t be afraid. Test every step. We’ll use the rope.’ He tied an end round her waist and knotted the other in his belt. They walked over pumice sand, through fissures wet by steam and dried by heat. The bushes dwindled, giving way to scurfy weed and rock in clusters. Then they were in the cliffs and towers, which leaned away from them or bent over. They were like giants peering to see or jerking back. The steam turned and surged like blown cloud. It wet their faces and their clothes. Water covered them like sweat, dripping from their chins and fingertips. At least Slarda can’t track us here, Susan thought. She followed Steen’s back. She trusted him. He was almost as broad as he was tall – built like a barn door, Nick would say. She trusted him to find a way through this.
They went round the side of a boiling spring half as long as a football field, and followed the river flowing out. It churned through rapids, dived over falls, but did not lose its heat until it joined a cold stream flowing from the south. Steam sprang up from their meeting, rolling in the monoliths and blotting out the sky. They crossed further down, swimming roped together in water warm as tea.
By night they had climbed out of wet into dry. They slept on shaly stone warmed from underground and Susan had nightmares as though covered with too many blankets. She felt a stirring as if the hill she slept on was shifting. In the morning she saw they were on the inner slope of a huge pit.
‘Here a mountain was swallowed,’ Steen said. ‘O is hollow underneath and feeds on herself. And spits herself out.’ A rumbling came from the west. ‘That is her sound. She has no manners.’ He smiled – the first smile she had seen from him. It lit his heavy face and seemed to give a lighter colour to his slaty eyes. ‘We should reach the sands by afternoon.’
They went round the pit and crossed a trembling plain and climbed the flank of a long low mountain stretching north. Lava wormed from holes blown in its sides. It crumbled as it nosed down the slope. Smoking stones rolled on ahead. The mountain itself was lava-built. Great flat tongues lay on the landscape south.
It took them all day to get across. By nightfall they were in the scrub. Steen wrapped blankets round them to save them from the thorns. He kept on to the edge of a dry-grass plain, where he gave Susan
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