company, y'all."
The line of camels the tigress had spotted was slightly
behind them but moving in the same direction. Hastily
gathering their equipment, the trio hurried to intercept the
column of dromedaries. As they ran the sun began to rise,
bringing with it welcome light and unwelcome heat. And
all around them, the sand continued to crawl inexorably
westward.
Mounted on the backs of the camels was an irregular
assortment of robed rodents—pack rats, kangaroo rats,
field mice, and other desert dwellers of related species.
They looked to Jon-Tom like a bunch of midget bewhis-
kered bedouins. He loped alongside the lead camel, tried
to bow slightly, and nearly tripped over his own feet.
"Where are you headed in such a hurry?" The pack rat
did not reply. The camel did.
"We go to Redrock, Everyone goes now to Redrock,
man. Everyone who lives in the desert." The camel's
manner was imperious and wholly typical of his kind. He
spat a glob of foul-smelling sputum to his left, making
Jon-Tom dodge.
"Who are you people?" inquired the pack rat in the
front. There was room on the camel's back for several.
"Strangers in this land."
"That is obvious enough," commented the camel.
"Why is everyone going to Redrock?" Jon-Tom asked.
The camel glanced back up at its lead rider and shook its
head sadly. The rat spoke. "You really don't know?"
"If we did, would we be askin' you, mate?" said
Mudge.
The rat gestured with both paws, spreading his arms
wide. "It is the Conjunction. The time when the threads of
magic that bind together this land reach their apogee. The
time of the time inversion."
"What does that mean?"
The rat shrugged. "Do not ask me to explain it. I am no
magician. This I do know. If you do not reach the safety of
Redrock by the time the next moon begins to rise, you
never will." He slapped the camel on the side of its neck.
The animal turned to gaze back up at him.
"Let's have none of that, Bartim, or you will find
yourself walking. 1 am measuring my pace, as are the rest
of the brethren."
"The time is upon us!"
"No less so upon me than thee," said the camel with a
pained expression. He turned to glance back to where
Jon-Tom was beginning to fall behind. "We will see you
in Redrock, strangers, or we will drink the long drink to
your memory."
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Alan Dean Foster
THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE
213
Panting hard in the rising light, Jon-Tom slowed to a
walk, unable to maintain the pace. On firm ground he
might have kept up, but not in the soft sand. Roseroar and
Mudge were equally winded.
"What was that all about, Jon-Tom?" asked Roseroar.
"I'm not sure. It didn't make much sense."
"Ah you not a spellsingah?"
"I know my songs, but not other magic. If Clothahump
were here ..."
"If 'is wizardship were 'ere we wouldn't be, mate."
"What do you think of their warning?"
Sand was building up around the otter's feet, and he
kicked angrily at it. "They were both scared. Wot of I
couldn't say, but scared they were. I think we'd better
listen to 'em and get a move on. Make Redrock by
nightfall, they said. If they can do it, so can we. Let's get
to it."
They began to jog, keeping up a steady pace and taking
turns in the lead. They barely paused to eat and made
lavish use of their water. The more they drank, the less
there was to carry, and if the warning was as significant as
it had seemed, they would have to drink in Redrock that
night or not drink at all.
As for the nature of the menace, that began to manifest
itself as they ran.
It was evening, and still no sign of the city, nor of the
caravan, which had far outdistanced them. The sand was
moving rapidly now, threatening to engulf their feet every
time they paused to catch their breath.
At first he thought he was sinking. A quick glance
revealed the truth. The ground behind them was rising. It
was as. if they were running inland from a beach and the
beach was pursuing, a steadily mounting tidal wave of
sand. He thought about turning and trying to scramble to
the crest of the granular wave. What stopped him was the
possibility that on the other side they might find only
another, even higher surge.
So they ran on, their lungs heaving, legs aching. Once
Mudge stumbled and they had to pull him to his feet while
the sand clutched eagerly at his legs.
When he fell a second time, he tried to wave them off. It
was as if his seemingly inexhaustible energy had finally
given out.
" 'Tis no use, lad. I can't go on anymore. Save your-
selves." He fluttered weakly with a paw.
Jon-Tom used the pause to catch his wind. "You're
right, Mudge," he finally declared. "That's the practical
thing to do. I'll always remember how nobly you died."
He turned to go on. Roseroar gave him a questioning look
but decided not to comment.
A handful of sand struck Jon-Tom on the back of the
neck. "Noble, me arse! You would've left me 'ere, wouldn't
you? Left poor old Mudge to die in the sand!"
Jon-Tom grinned, took care to conceal it from the
apoplectic otter. "Look, mate. I'm tired, too, and I'm
damned if I'm going to carry you."
The otter staggered after his companions. "I suppose you
think it's funny, don't you, you 'ypocritical, angular bastard?"
Jon-Tom fought not to laugh. For one thing, he couldn't
spare the wind. "Come off it, Mudge. You know we
wouldn't have left you."
"Oh, wouldn't you, now? Suppose I 'adn't gotten up to
follow you, eh? Wot then? 'Ow do I knows you would've
come back for me?"
"It's a moot point, Mudge. You were just trying to hitch
a ride."
"I admit nothin'." The otter pushed past him, taking the
lead, his short, stubby legs moving like pistons.
"A strange one, yoah fuzzy little friend," Roseroar
whispered to Jon-Tom. She matched her pace to his.
"Oh, Mudge is okay. He's a lazy, lying little cheat, but
other than that he's a prince."
Roseroar considered this. "Ah believes the standards o'
yoah world must be somewhat different from mine."
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Alan Dean Foster
"Depends on what part of my culture you come from.
Mudge, for example, would be right at home in a place
called Hollywood. Or Washington, D.C. His talents would
be much in demand."
Roseroar shook her head. "Those names have no meanuT
fo me."
"That's okay. They don't for a lot of my contemporaries,
either."
The sand continued to rise behind them, mounting
toward the darkening sky. At any moment the wave might
crest, to send tons of sand tumb
ling over them, swallowing
them up. He tried not to think of that, tried to think of
anything except lifting his legs and setting one foot down
ahead of the other. When the angle of the dune rising in
their wake became sharper than forty-five degrees the sand
would be rushing at them so rapidly they would be hard
put to keep free of its grasp.
All around them, in both directions as far as they could
see, the desert was climbing for the stars. He could only
wonder at the cause. The Conjunction, the pack rat had
said. The moon was up now, reaching silvery tendrils
toward the panting, desperate refugees. At moonrise, the
rat told him. But when would the critical moment come?
Now, in minutes, or at midnight? How much time did they
have left?
Then Roseroar was shouting, and a cluster of hills
became visible ahead of them. As they ran on, the outlines
of the hills sharpened, grew regular and familiar: Redrock,
so named for the red sandstone of which its multistoried
towers and buildings had been constructed. In the first
moonlight and the last rays of the sun the city looked as if
it were on fire.
Now they found themselves among other stragglers—
some on foot, others living in free association with camels
and burros. Some snapped frantic whips over the heads of
dray lizards.
Several ostrich families raced past, heavy backpacks
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
215
strapped to their useless wings. They carried no passen-
gers. Nor did the family of cougars that came loping in
from the north, running on hind legs like Roseroar. Bleating
and barking, honking and complaining, these streams of
divergent life came together in pushing, shoving lines that
struggled to enter the city.
"We're going to make it!" he shouted to his compan-
ions as they merged with the rear of the mob. He was
afraid to look back lest an avalanche of brown-and-yellow
particles prove him a fatal liar. His throat felt like the
underside of the hood of a new Corvette after a day of
drag-racing, but he didn't dare stop for a drink until they
were safely inside the city walls.
Then the ground fell away beneath him.
They were on a bridge, and looking down he could see
through the cracks in the wood. The lumber to build it
must have come from distant mountains. There was no
bottom to the moat, a black ring encircling the city.
His first thought was that Redrock had been built on a
hill in the center of some ancient volcanic crater. A glance
at the walls of the moat proved otherwise. They were too
regular, too smooth, and too vertical to have been fashioned
by hand. Something had dug the awesome ring. Who or
what, he could not imagine.
Thick smells and heavy musk filled the air around him.
The bridge seemed endless, the gaps between the heavy
timbers dangerously wide. If he missed a step and put a
leg through, he wouldn't fall, but he would be trampled by
the anxious mass of life crowding about him.
Once within the safety of the city walls, the panic
dissipated. Lines of tall guards clad in yellow shepherded
the exhausted flow of refugees into the vast courtyard
beyond the gate. There were no buildings within several
hundred yards of the wall and the moat just beyond. A
great open space had been provided for all who sought
shelter from the rising sands. How often did this phenom-
216
Alan Dean Foster
enon take place? The camel and the pack rat hadn't said,
but it was obviously a regular and predictable occurrence.
"I have to see what's going on outside," he told
Roseroar. She nodded, towering above most of the crowd.
Tents had been set up in expectation of the flood of
refugees. Jon-Tom and his companions were among the
last to enter, but they had interests other than shelter.
"This way," the tigress told him. She took his hand and
pulled him bodily through the milling, swarming crowd, a
striped iceberg breasting a sea of fur. Somehow Mudge
managed to keep up.
Then they found themselves by the city wall, followed
it until they came to stone stairs leading upward. Jon-Tom
let loose of Roseroar's paw and led the way.
Would the sand wave fill the moat? If so, what would
happen afterward?
A few others already stood watching atop the wall. They
were calm and relaxed, so Jon-Tom assumed there was no
danger. Everyone in the city was handling the situation too
well for there to be any danger.
One blase guard, a tall serval wearing a high turban to
protect his delicate ears, stood aside to let them pass.
"Mind the vibration, visitors," he warned them
They reached the top and stared out over the desert.
Beyond the moat, the world was turning upside down.
There was no sign of the far mountains they had left
many days ago. No sign of any landmark. Not a rock
protruded from the ground. There was only the sand sea
rising and rushing toward the city in a single wave two
hundred feet high, roaring like a billion pans of frying
bacon. Jon-Tom wanted to reach back and put his hand on
the guard, to ask what was going to happen next. Since
none of the other onlookers did so, he held his peace and
like them, simply stood and gaped.
The massive wave did not fall forward to smash against
the puny city walls. It began to slide into the dark moat,
pouring in a seemingly endless waterfall into the unbelievable
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
217
excavation. The wave was endless, too. As they watched
it seemed to grow even higher, climbing toward the clouds
as its base disappeared into the moat.
The thunder was all around him, and he could feel the
sandstone blocks quivering underfoot. Jon-Tom turned.
Across the roofs of the city, in all directions, he could see
the wave. The city was surrounded by rushing sand hun-
dreds of feet high and inestimable in volume, all of it
cascading down into the depths which surrounded Redrock.
Thirty minutes passed. The wave began to shrink. Un-
countable tons of sand continued to pour into the moat,
which still showed no sign of filling up. Another thirty
minutes and the torrent had slowed to a trickle. A few
minutes more and the last grains tumbled into the abyss.
Beyond, the moon illuminated the skeleton of the de-
sert. Bare rock stood revealed, as naked as the surface of
the moon. Between the city and the mountains, nothing
lived, nothing moved. A few hollows showed darkly
in the rock, ancient depressions now emptied of sand and
gravel.
A soft murmur rose from the onlookers as they turned
away from the moat and the naked desert to face the center
of the city. Jon-Tom and his companions turned with them.
In the exact center of Redrock a peculiar glassy tower
&
nbsp; stood apart from the sandstone buildings. All eyes focused
on the slim spire. There was a feeling of expectation.
He was about to give in to curiosity and ask the guard
what was going to happen when he heard something
nimble. The stone under his feet commenced quivering. It
was a different tremor this time, as though the planet itself
were in motion. The rumbling deepened, became a roar-
ing, then a constant thunder. Something was happening
deep inside the earth.
"What is it, what's going on?" Roseroar yelled at him.
He did not reply and could not have made himself heard
had he tried.
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Alan Dean Foster
Sudden, violent wind blew hats from heads and veils
from faces. Jon-Tom's cape stretched out straight behind
him like an iridescent flag. He staggered, leaned into the
unexpected hurricane as he tried to see the tower.
The sands of the Timeful Desert erupted skyward from
the open mouth of the glass pillar, climbing thousands of
feet toward the moon. Reaching some predetermined height,
the silica geyser started to spread out beneath the clouds.
Jon-Tom instinctively turned to seek shelter, but stopped
when he saw that none of the other pilgrims had moved.
As though sliding down an invisible roof, the sand did
not fall anywhere within the city walls. Instead, it spread
out like a cloud, to fall as yellow rain across the desert. It
continued to fall for hours as the tower blasted it into the
sky. Only when the moon was well past its zenith and had
begun to set again did the volume decrease and finally
peter out.
Then the geyser fell silent. The chatter of the refugees
and the cityfolk filled the air, replacing the roar of the
tower. A glance revealed that the bottomless moat was
empty once again.
Beyond the wall, beyond the moat, the Timeful Desert
once more was as it had been. All was still. The absence
of life there despite the presence of water was now explained.
"Great magic," said Roseroar solemnly.
"Lethal magic." Mudge twitched his nose. "If we'd
been a few minutes longer we'd be out there somewhere
with our 'earts stopped and our guts full o' sand."
Jon-Tom stopped a passing fox. "Is it over? What
happens now?"
"What happens now, man," said the fox, "is that we
sleep, and we celebrate the end of another Conjunction.
Tomorrow we return to our homes." She pushed past him
and started down the stairs.
Spellsinger 03 - The Day of the Dissonance Page 25