She backed away, her eyes still wide, her lips parted.
"What?" Cris asked.
"Only one other living creature has ever eaten of that fruit."
"Really? Did he live?"
"He is Caval Du Mal."
Cris turned to look back at the ancient tree. "So, you're not infallible."
"They are not gods, Cris. But you can imagine with that mistake just how reluctant they are to provide their fruit to another walker."
"What will it do to—or for—me?"
"None can say. But you must not abuse it as Caval Du Mal did."
"Right. Do you know where we are?"
Tattie was yet to recover from what had just happened, but managed her reply. "Yes, we are beyond the valley and Ekalden, or east of it. We have only to cross the mountains and we will see the great city of Emer Alda on the planes of Omnirode."
"How far?"
"Two days to reach the mountains, four or so to get over them, depending on the snow in the pass."
"Snow? You mean cold, and ice—great."
"What is wrong, Cris?"
"I hate cold weather."
○O○
Three hours later, they stood upon the side of a hill whose trees had burned away at some point several years ago, based on the diminutive size of the new growth. In the distance, the mountains could be seen. They were new mountains, sharp and jagged like broken glass. Their high tops perpetually crowned in snow.
The base of the charred hill marked the end of the dense woods. Like a wall of timber, like guardians of their world, the trees stood seemingly impervious to everything—except fire. Beyond, the trees were sparse; there were lakes, streams and a river. No farmland was evident, no villages. The land was wild and untamed as America must have been when Lewis and Clark first set eyes upon the west.
"Cris, as we descend, we must skirt this burnt area so as to avoid crushing young trees under foot."
"I understand."
They reached the base of the hill at sunset. Cris suggested they drink some elixir and push on. Tattie advised otherwise. "Here we lose the protection of the Avory. From here on Bruckna is likely to see us. The path is made more dangerous because we have no moons to light the night."
"On Earth," Cris said, "having no Moon as I tried to evade my enemies was a good thing, it made it harder for them to see me."
“Bruckna, like all Sorgina, hates light. The darker and colder the world, the more freedom she has to work her evil. She resides in darkness at all times and can carry it with her in the light of day."
"She carries darkness?"
"A great black cloud rolls over the land to protect her from the purity of the sun's warmth.
"Tonight, we should take sleep in the safety of the Avory, for we may not enjoy it again for several days."
They decided to camp against the edge of the wood line. They built no fire because, as Cris pointed out, they were tactical. Tattie did not understand the word but knew that a fire would be a sure sign to their enemies.
Tattie gathered leaves from the forest floor and built two mounds upon which they could sleep. They ate the dried meats, fruits and vegetables Tattie brought from her uncle's. They finished with water, as the elixir would keep them awake.
They sat and watched the sun set, and the stars, as plentiful as those above Earth's Moon, fill the firmament. To Impara, the north, Fitri Saren, the massive nebula, shone brightly all its colors. The night grew cool and a gentle breeze began to blow.
"Tattie, you go ahead and get some rest, I'll keep guard."
"There is no need to watch Cris; we are guarded by an army." She looked over his shoulder at the trees that gently swayed in the breeze.
They lay down on their respective nests. Cris watched the stars overhead for some time until his eyelids grew heavy. He was on the cusp of sleep when a shiver shook his entire body. As the night wore on, the temperature fell. He looked over at Tattie to find her sleeping soundly, unaffected by the cold. Cris was missing his insulated underwear now.
He sat up, folded his arms across his chest. He stood and started to walk around to get his blood circulating. He stepped on a twig, and the snap woke Tattie.
"What is the matter?"
"I'm just cold, go back to sleep—I'll warm up in a minute."
"You'll not get warm dancing in that manner, or perhaps you are beseeching some Earth heat deity?"
"How is it you're not cold? It must be freezing out here."
"Our bodies warm or cool themselves as necessary. I can see yours does not."
"Not to the apparent degree that your body—" Cris stopped, he seemed to lose the power of speech.
Tattie slid over and bid Cris join her on her bed of leaves.
"Ah—" was all he could find voice to say. Cris had still not gotten used to the idea of sleeping in such proximity to this woman, but she seemed unaffected by the idea, as long as he was sober.
Cris must have stood there a moment too long, so Tattie demanded, "Do you wish some warmth, or no?"
Cris sat down beside her, she leaned against him and her warmth seemed to radiate through his body. He sat with his knees up and his hands locked behind them. Tattie put her arms around his shoulders and he felt warmer yet.
"Cris, you're very tense, can you not relax?"
"Ah—it’s a physical reaction to the cold. I'll be better soon. Um—thanks.”
"You're shivering."
"Another physical reaction to the cold."
"Lay down Cris, and try to relax."
"Yeah," Cris responded and swallowed hard.
○O○
The dawn came at last. The night fled from the golden orb taking with it its frosty air. The mists that rose in the low grounds before them obscured the small hills and trees—and the river.
Cris woke warm and comfortable. He looked to his left and there lay Tattie. Her head next to his, her left arm over his chest, her left leg over his thighs. He did not move, rather he laid still and listened to her breathing, slow, deep, and rhythmic. He felt her breath on his neck. She was so peaceful.
Suddenly, her large, green eyes opened, four centimeters from his. She stared into him. Her gaze seemed to penetrate into his mind. Was she again reading his soul? She smiled, and a surge of heat blasted through him. He felt himself sweating.
"Bo drugad, Cris. Are you rested? Did you sleep the remainder of the night?" she spoke softly.
"I slept better than I have in a long time." He returned her smile. "Kept safe by the trees and warm—"
"In my arms?"
"Ah—well, yes. Thank you. I was—I had been cold."
"And your dreams, what of them?"
"I slept well," he responded blankly. "Did you do that?"
"Did I enter your mind and steal away your dreams? No, Cris, when it comes to dreams, I only have the power you grant me."
"What does that mean?"
"Think about it. It will come to you."
They gathered their belongings, and scattered their nests. Tattie scanned the distant mountains. "Do you see those two twin peaks?"
"Yes."
Between them is the pass of Narowdep. That is our destination. There are several streams in the low land to be crossed; these will be no problem. The river will be different. There is a bridge on the road to Emer Alda, a road we have avoided, for the Sorgina watches it."
"Why not just swim the river?" Cris asked.
"It is called the Dosfall Elvaflos, it is wide, deep and swift. One living being only has ever crossed it and lived. That being was an Avory—it fell from its bank when a storm washed the soil away, it floated five kronmals down river before reaching the other side to take root anew."
"So, we're going to have to take the bridge?"
"They spotted us in the valley. They know we entered the cave and cannot confirm us as dead, so they will assume we lived and are still headed toward the only populated place beyond the valley, Emer Alda.”
"They know, then, we have to cr
oss the river?" Cris asked.
Tattie nodded.
"There will be a lot of the enemy on the bridge?"
"Yes, a lot."
"There's an old expression on Earth that says, ‘we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.’"
Chapter 15
Capek, the Videkanica
The path from the edge of the forest was an easy one, being downhill. Cris and Tattie entered the flatlands that Tattie called Endganslomb. There were few trees, and those were rather small by comparison. Mostly, the land was covered in a tall, yellow grass that reminded Cris of wheat. No one lived in this vast area because the Avory claimed it. They suffered no construction or plowing here. They allowed the road and the bridge back during the time of peace, long before the arrival of Caval Du Mal. These days, very few ventured into Endganslomb, preferring a much longer route if a trip to Emer Alda became necessary.
The mists had cleared, the cold dispersed. It was a beautiful day. Tattie was humming a tune to herself, very quietly.
Midday was upon them, so Cris called for a rest and some bread and elixir. After eating, Cris rose and announced, "Gentlemen on the right, ladies on the left."
Cris walked fifty to sixty meters away before performing his ablutions behind an ancient fallen tree. There was little to hide behind out here except the tall grasses.
Cris was headed back to where he'd left Tattie when, in the distance, he heard a clanging, a metal on metal sound, interspersed with a voice. Cris assumed a combat crouch and hid behind the tall growth. He carefully removed his rifle from his back, and then slowly advanced toward the sound.
As he grew near he could hear, "Fahene! Demeener tag fer souppal!
The tall, yellow grass was Cris's only concealment, so he got on his belly and crawled forward. The first thing he saw was some sort of airplane sitting in a low depression and covered with large amounts of the straw-like plant that had been pulled from the ground. Obviously, an attempt had been made to camouflage it. Cris had approached the craft's left rear. The voice came from the opposite side. Cris started shifting to his right. After a few minutes of slow, careful movement, he could see someone working on the thing. The man's head and upper torso were inside an open access panel. Cris could not get a good look at him.
This guy was obviously preoccupied with fixing this machine, so no immediate threat. Cris considered just leaving him to his labors, but the thought of leaving a possible hostile in his rear, with an aircraft and communications, worried him. He should just kill him and be done with the threat. It was one of those acts in war that haunt you the rest of your life, like that time in Sumatra—
"Cris!" Tattie had come looking for him.
The guy working on his plane hit his head trying to extract himself from the access panel. "Oj! Kort aho viage!"
Cris readied his rifle. When the guy looked up, Cris had to redouble his efforts to see through the tall grass. There was no mistaking what he was looking at, it was a robot.
"Cris, where are you?" Tattie called out again.
Cris watched the robot for a hostile act, one false move and—
Cris now heard four soft quick tones come out of the robot, then it raised its right arm and shouted, "Madam, over here—and please, stop shouting!"
The robot climbed out of a depression by the side of the craft and waved again. Cris had a clear shot at it now, should he need to fire.
Cris heard Tattie change direction and head his way. When she was near enough, he whispered, "Tattie, stop. I have a bead on it. Get down."
"Madam, please come forward, and ask your friend Cris to accompany you."
Rather stunned, Cris rose up from his position and moved toward Tattie, keeping the weapon trained on the robot.
"Cenort Cris, I assure you that rama is not necessary."
"Put your arms up!" Cris commanded. He then turned to Tattie and whispered, "It might have a laser mounted in its head or body—be careful."
"Laser," the robot said, putting his arms into the air, "light amplification by stimulated emission of radiation. A quaint, and rather outdated weapons technology."
"Be quiet."
"Cris," Tattie said, "he's a videkanica. Most are programmed to avoid causing injury to advanced life forms."
"Maybe this one belongs to Caval Du Mal."
"No, his are warrior videkanica, very much larger and extremely aggressive."
"I am no warrior, Cenort Cris. I am foremost a pilot."
"No kidding. Me, too. How can I trust you?"
"Trust—having firm reliance in the integrity, ability, or character of a person or thing. Trust is earned, not given. I will have to earn your trust—"
"You got that right."
"Just as you will have to earn mine."
"Earn yours!" Cris's anger flared.
"Cris," said Tattie, "he's right. Have I not earned your trust, as you have earned mine?"
"But he's a machine."
"I beg your pardon!" the robot said. "I'm not human, but I still possess humanity. I have observed several of your species that do not."
"I can't argue with you there. Still, Tattie, I need to know whose side this guy is on."
"Videkanica," Tattie addressed the robot, "how are you called?"
"I am a Da Nee type videkanica, third generation of the fourth model. However, I am generally referred to by my craft's identification, in whichever craft I am. This was my last assignment," he indicated the craft behind him. “It is Unsate."
"Who is your owner?" Tattie went on.
"I fly for the Duke of Methderall."
"Methderall?"
"Yes," the robot responded.
"Methderall was destroyed by Caval Du Mal when he seized power many years ago."
"The Duke is no more?" The robot actually seemed despondent. He staggered back and sat on a mound of dirt.
Cris studied the machine. It was one point seven meters tall and, from a distance, looked like a human in a tight-fitting spacesuit. For the most part, it was white in color, but was quite dirty and scarred. The head looked like a space helmet, though it would have been far too small to fit over Cris's head. The visor of this helmet was black, and there was no apparent face, eyes, nose, or mouth, just a black visor. Its hands had four fingers and an opposable thumb. Its feet looked like it had on large black boots.
The torso was not smooth; there were lines upon it both inset and raised, forming small rectangles, squares, and circles.
"What type did you say you are?" Cris asked dryly.
"I am a Da Nee, third generation of the fourth model."
"Da Nee?"
"That is correct."
"Danny," Cris all but whispered the name.
"Incorrect, it is Da Nee, third generation of—"
"The fourth model. Yeah, I got it," Cris interrupted angrily.
Tattie continued speaking to the robot. "I'm sorry. All of Methderall is gone. Where were you during the war?"
"I have been here, trying to recover my craft in accordance with my instructions. I am to remain with my craft and make all attempts at self-recovery or wait until the craft is recovered. I am considered part of the craft, you see."
"My friend, your owners no longer exist. You are free from your instructions."
"Then, I have no purpose."
"So it would appear. What will you do?" Tattie asked.
"Remain here until I am without power."
"How long will that be?"
"A thousand, three hundred and sixty-two double moons."
"A thousand, three hundred and—" Cris was shocked, "Just what is your power source?"
"Sequestorial fusion."
"What?"
"In particle physics, sequestering is a procedure of isolating different types of physical processes or different particle species by separating them geometrically in additional dimensions of space—"
"Hold it—we don't have time for class just now, Professor. But thanks."
"You're welcome."
&nb
sp; "You can't just sit here," Tattie said.
"I am without purpose."
"Then come with us. We are en route to Emer Alda."
"To what end, madam?"
"You are in search of a function. Emer Alda employs many videkanica. I have little doubt that you'll find yourself useful there."
"I must have existence parameters. I will be pleased to accompany you to Emer Alda."
"Tattie—can we talk?" Cris took her aside. "I think that is a singularly bad idea."
"Why?"
"Tattie, this thing could be a plant. We don't know squat about it."
"Squat?"
"Oh, geez—we know nothing about this thing."
Tattie turned to face Cris. She took his hands and looked into his eyes. "Cris, I trust him."
"Him?"
"Cris—we can't just leave him here."
"Yes, we can."
She gave him a long look. Then she pulled her secret weapon to ensure her victory in this match. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek gently. "He can help."
"Ah—"
"Come with us, videkanica," she said to the robot. "Is there anything you need to bring with you?"
"Like an oil can?" Cris's comment earned him Tattie's disapproving look.
"No, Cenort Cris, I do not require lubrication from an external source."
"Okay—what's a Cenort?"
"It is a conventional title among Geldneth men."
"Just call me Cris."
"And what shall we call you?" Tattie asked.
"I can no longer be referred to by the name of my craft as I am no longer a part of it."
"Let's call you Da Nee," Tattie said.
"No!" Cris shouted. "Not that." He saw that Tattie made note of his outburst. "How about," Cris ventured, "we call you Capek?"
"I have no objection," the videkanica said.
"Cris—I know your sense of humor, that's an Earth word, what does it mean?"
"It's the name of the guy on Earth that invented the word robot."
Tattie simply tilted her head.
"My I ask, what is robot?" Capek asked.
"The Earth word for videkanica," Tattie said.
Capek rose. "I like the name, but it engenders a question. You said it is an Earth name. I am not familiar with Earth in any part of the kerfee."
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