Carnivores of Darkness and Light: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 1

by Alan Dean Foster

  Evidently all had shared in the bounty of this land, and now all had gathered to defend it. But the field of battle made no sense, not even to a nonprofessional like the herdsman. On this side the many-varied citizens of the good and fertile country were drawn up in lines of defense, swarming back and forth as if hunting for a weak spot in the enemy-held wall, or for a purpose. But they were crowded in too tightly together, crammed between the wall and the hills.

  “I know.” Simna was scrutinizing the battlefield intently. “It doesn’t look right, does it? Maybe the attackers just took the wall. Maybe it had been built by these people here to defend themselves against an assault from the south, and now they’ve been pushed back up and over their own defenses.”

  “I thought of that,” the herdsman replied. “But if these people wanted to defend themselves from a southerly invasion, why would they exclude so much of their land? Why would they not build such a wall in the sand hills where we first saw the line of fruit trees, to protect that rich farmland and that country as well? Or at the very least, why not build the wall on this side of that river to the north in order to make use of it as a moat?”

  “Don’t add up, do it?” The swordsman waved an arm at the field of battle. “Yet here’s this great huge long wall, stuck square in the middle of their fields and orchards. And in clear possession of the enemy. Or are these people we’ve been passing these past days the invaders, and the ones on the wall the defenders of their country?”

  Ehomba shook his head. “I do not see it that way, Simna. Were they the defenders, it would not explain why certain farms and homes are burning on their side of the wall. The cultivated lands to the north are the ones that bear the hallmarks of having been invaded and despoiled, not those on this side of the barrier. And these people are the ones whose faces show the blank stare of the displaced.”

  “I agree. So what’s going on here?”

  Turning slowly to study the hills, Ehomba scanned the numerous encampments. Below, the assembled fighting forces of all the two-legged tribes in the vicinity were frantically trying to compose themselves for combat. Even from their location at the top of the hill, the travelers could see that chaos commanded more allegiance than order among the disorganized ranks below. Therefore they would have to seek explication elsewhere, among the unarmed and less intractable, whether the individual they settled on wished to prove tractable or not.

  “We have to know what is going on,” he murmured. “Ahlitah, go and bring back a suitable person.”

  Massive brows narrowed. “Why me?”

  “Because I do not want to waste time arguing with several possibles, and I do not think they will argue with you.”

  The great cat snarled once before whirling and dashing off toward the nearest encampment. There followed several moments during which Ehomba and Simna occupied themselves trying to make sense of the incongruous situation below before Ahlitah returned with a middle-aged man in tow. Or rather, with the scruff of his well-made embroidered shirt held firmly in the big cat’s jaws. The fellow was overweight but otherwise healthy, even prosperous in appearance. Perhaps he had bought himself out of the ongoing strife below.

  As Ehomba had predicted, the man had chosen not to argue with the litah.

  Disdainfully, the cat parted his jaws and let his prisoner drop. The man immediately prostrated himself before the two travelers. “Please, oh warriors of unknown provenance! I beg of you, spare an ignoble life!” Face pressed to the ground, arms extended before him, the poor man was shaking and trembling so violently Ehomba feared he would destabilize his brains. “I have a condition of the belly that prevents me from participating in the illustrious struggle. I swear by all the seed of my loins that this is so!” Raising his head hesitantly, he stole a glance first at Simna, then at Ehomba. Reaching into a vest pocket, he pulled out a rolled parchment and held it up, quivering, for the herdsman to see.

  “Look! A draft of my physician’s statement, attesting to my piteous circumstance. Would that it were otherwise, and that I could join our brave citizens and allies in desperate conflict!”

  Simna snorted softly. “He’s got a condition of the belly, all right. A condition of excess, I’d say.”

  “Stand up.” Ehomba felt very uncomfortable. “Come on, man, get off your knees. Stand up and face us. We are not here to persecute you, and none of us cares in the least about your ‘condition’ or lack thereof. We need only to ask you some questions.”

  Uncertain, and unsteady, the man climbed warily to his feet. He glanced nervously at Ahlitah. When he saw that the great cat was eyeing his prominent paunch with more than casual interest, the chosen unfortunate hurriedly looked away.

  “Questions? I am but a modest and unassuming merchant of dry goods, and know little beyond my business and my family, who, even as we speak, must be sorely lamenting my enforced absence.”

  “You can go back to them in a minute,” Ehomba assured him impatiently. “The questions we want to ask are not difficult.” Peering past the detainee, he pointed with his spear in the direction of the great wall and the roiling surge of opposing forces below.

  “There is a war going on here. A big one. For days my friends and I have been passing through hills and little valleys filled with refugees. We have seen fine homes and farms abandoned, perhaps so their owners could join the fight while sending their families to a place of safety.”

  “There is no place of safety from the Chlengguu,” the merchant moaned. Fresh curiosity somewhat muted his fear as he looked from Ehomba to the short swordsman standing at his side. The predatory gaze of the great and terrible litah he avoided altogether.

  “Who are you people? Where are you from that you don’t know about the war with the Chlengguu?”

  Ehomba gestured casually with his spear. “We come from the far south, friend. So you fight the Chlengguu. Never heard of them. Is this a new war, or an old one?”

  “The Chlengguu have ceaselessly harassed the people of the Queppa, but by banding together we have always been able to fight them off. For centuries they have been a nuisance, with their raiding and stealing. They would mount and attack, we would pursue and give them a good hiding, and then there would be relative peace for many years until they felt strong enough to attack again. They would try new strategies, new weapons, and each time the farmers and merchants and townspeople of the Queppa would counter these and drive them off.” As his head dropped, so did his voice. “Until the Wall.”

  Ehomba turned to look down in the direction of the line of combat. “It is an impressive wall, but though I am no soldier, it seems to me to be in a strange location. We thought that perhaps it was your wall, and that your enemies had captured it from you.”

  “Our wall?” The merchant laughed bitterly. “Would that it were so! For if that were the case we would use it to push these murderous Chlengguu into the sea.”

  Ehomba started slightly. “The sea? We are near the ocean?” Strain as he might to see past the western horizon, he could detect no sign of the Semordria. He was surprised at how his heart ached at the mere mention of it. It had been far too long since he had set eyes on its dancing waves and green depths.

  “You mean the Semordria?” the merchant asked. When Ehomba nodded with quiet eagerness the other man could only shake his head. “You really are far from your home, aren’t you?” Raising one beringed hand, he pointed to the west. “The Semordria lies a great distance off toward the setting sun. I myself, though a man of modest means and varied interests, have never seen it.” His arm swung northward.

  “That way lies the Sea of Aboqua, a substantial body of water to be sure, but modest when compared to the unbounded Semordria. Upon its waters ships of many cities and states ply numerous trade routes. I am told that at several locations it enters into and merges with the Semordria, but I myself have never seen these places. I have only heard other merchants speak of them. And I have never heard of a trading vessel with captain and crew brave or foolhardy enough to ventu
re out upon the measureless reaches of the Semordria itself.”

  Ehomba slumped slightly. “There is something I must do that requires me to cross the Semordria.”

  The merchant’s heavy eyebrows rose. “Cross the Semordria? You are a brave man indeed.”

  “But if no ship will do that,” Simna put in, “how are we supposed to make this crossing? I’m a good swimmer, but no fish.”

  “From the tales I have heard of the monsters and terrors that swarm in the depths of the Semordria, I believe it a journey even fish would be reluctant to take.” The man rubbed his chin whiskers. “But it is rumored that in the rich lands on the far side of the Aboqua there are ports from whence sail ships grander than any that ply the smaller sea. Who knows? You might even find shipmaster and sailors stupid enough to attempt such a passage. Tell me, what do you hope to find on the other side of the Semordria, anyway?”

  “Closure,” Ehomba told him. “Now, about this Wall. It is a very impressive wall. Behind it I see fields and buildings, some of which have been burned. If it is not yours, then it must be a construction of these Chlengguu. But why build it here, and how did they manage to trap all of you on this side instead of the other, where your homes and villages lie?”

  The merchant looked over his shoulder. “My poor family must be in an agony of apprehension at my absence.”

  Simna fingered the hilt of his sword. “Let ’em agonize a little while longer. Answer the question.”

  “You really don’t know, do you?” The man heaved a deep sigh. “The Wall was not built here.” Turning, he pointed to the northwest. “When it first appeared on the outskirts of Mectin Township, no one could believe that the Chlengguu had managed to raise so massive a structure in so short a time. Its true nature was not immediately apparent to the people of the Queppa. That we learned all too soon.

  “There was nothing we could do. Our young men and women fought bravely, but the Wall is so high and strong it cannot be breached. The Chlengguu we fought to a standstill, but we could not stop the Wall.”

  Simna blinked at him, glanced sharply down at the line of battle then back at the merchant. “Are you telling us that these Chlengguu keep moving the Wall forward?” He stared at the unbroken barrier that stretched from far west to distant east. “The whole Wall? That’s impossible!”

  “Would that it were so, traveler,” the other man agreed, “but the Chlengguu do not move the Wall. Each time it advances, it pins us tighter and tighter against the desert lands. That is why you passed so many people, so many refugees. We have nowhere else to go. We are squeezed between the Wall and the desert.” He cast a sorrowful gaze downward. “These Relibaria Hills are our last refuge, our final hope. We pray that the Wall cannot surmount them. If it can—” He broke off, momentarily choked. “If it can, then we will be pushed out into the desert, where most of us will surely die, and the fertile lands of the Queppa will belong forever to the Chlengguu.”

  “I do not understand,” Ehomba confessed. “If the Chlengguu do not move the Wall, then how ... ?”

  “See, see!” Gesturing with a trembling hand, the merchant was pointing downward. “Look upon the abomination, and understand!”

  Below, activity had increased from the frantic to a frenzy. Scaling ladders were brought forth as the ragtag citizen soldiery of the united Queppa peoples mounted yet another assault on the Wall. Fusillades of arrows flew like hummingbirds but because of the Wall’s height were hard-pressed to wreak much havoc among its well-protected defenders. Catapults and siege engines heaved rocks and bales of burning, oil-soaked straw at the crest of the tawny palisade. They were not entirely ineffective. Ehomba saw figures topple from the battlements, to fall spinning and tumbling into the melee of furious fighters below.

  From the top of the escarpment the Chlengguu hurled spears and stones and arrows of their own at the attackers below. More ladders were brought up, and mobile siege towers as high as the Wall itself trundled forward. A few Queppa, battling madly, even succeeded in reaching the top of the Wall and pushing back some of its defenders. To Ehomba it looked as if, in one or two places along the line of battle, they might have a chance to overwhelm the Wall’s defenders and push them back.

  As he and his companions looked on, the Wall began to shiver slightly. At a distance it was difficult to tell if it was really happening. Ehomba rubbed at his eyes, Simna squinted doubtfully, and the singular activity even brought the largely indifferent Ahlitah out of his feline stupor.

  There it was again.

  “What was that?” Simna muttered uncertainly. “What just happened there?” Reaching out, he grabbed the merchant firmly by the shoulder, sinking his fingers into the soft flesh hard enough to hurt. But the other man just ignored him, staring, his gaze vacant with lost hope.

  “There!” Ehomba pointed. “Look there.” Alongside him, Ahlitah was on his feet now, growling deep in his throat.

  Below, the people of Queppa began to retreat, pulling back their siege engines and all their assembled forces. Atop the Wall, the hard-pressed Chlengguu quickly regained all they had lost. They lined the battlements, jumping up and down, their armor shimmering, yelling and screaming and taunting their fleeing, dispirited quarry. Those Queppa fighters who had taken parts of the Wall were surrounded and butchered, their bodies thrown like so much garbage over the parapets to land among their fleeing comrades.

  Then the Wall stood up, all hundred feet and more high of it, all along its considerable impressive length, and took one giant step forward.

  XXVIII

  SIMNA TRIED TO BELIEVE WHAT HE WAS SEEING, SHAKING HIS head more than once as if that would make it go away. The hair on Ahlitah’s back bristled and his lips curled in a snarl. Ehomba stood between them, holding firmly to his spear, staring at the inconceivable, improbable sight. Nearby, the distraught merchant wrung his hands and wept in silence.

  Having advanced one step, the Wall hunkered down. Dust rose from its base as a long, drawn-out Boooom echoed across the hills. Atop the battlements, the victorious Chlengguu howled and pranced a while longer. Then, except for the few assigned to the watch, they drew away from the edge, filtering back down stairways on the other side of the barrier to the numerous tented camps that served to house their multitudes. Soon campfires could be seen smoking among the ranked canopies, inviting the advancing night. The abundant serpentine coils of smoke gave the land the aspect of a vast plantation for snakes.

  In his mind Ehomba replayed the impossible spectacle he had just witnessed. All along its length the Wall had risen and sprouted hooves. Dark gray, bristle-haired, cloven hooves, with gigantic toes and glistening, untrimmed nails. Hooves whose ankles disappeared into the underside of the Wall. In unison, they had risen as much as they were able and stepped forward, in a one-step march of fleeting but irresistible duration. The merchant had been telling the truth. The Chlengguu had not moved the Wall. The Wall had moved itself.

  The heavyset man was watching him. “You see what has befallen us. From the first appearance of the Wall we were doomed. The people of the Queppa have been dying a slow death. The Wall is relentless and invincible. We attack, and sometimes we force back the Chlengguu. But then the Wall moves, overwhelming our war engines, dumping and smashing our siege ladders, forcing us always back, back, until now we are trapped here between it and the desert.” Helplessly, he spread his hands.

  “What can we do? We cannot fight a Wall that moves. If our soldiers try to outflank it, it grows another length, another extension, until our people are stretched so thin they cannot be supplied. Then the Chlengguu pour down off their Wall and slaughter the flanking party. These hills are our last hope.” Once more he peered downward. “The Wall can march. We pray it cannot climb.”

  Ehomba nodded, then smiled as gently as he could. “Go back to your family, friend. And thank you.”

  Much relieved, the merchant nodded and turned to go. Then he paused to glance back, frowning. “What will you do now?”

  The herdsman h
ad turned away from him and was staring at the terrain below. “To find passage across the Semordria I have to find a ship capable of crossing it. If all that you have said is true, to do that I must cross this Aboqua Sea and reach the lands to the north. So we will keep going north.”

  “But you can’t!” Licking thick lips, the merchant found his attention torn between his nearby encampment and the eccentric travelers. “You’ll never get over the Wall, or around it. Your situation is the same as ours, now. You can only go back.” His jawline tightened. “At least your home is safely distant to the south, and you know how to survive in the desert. The people of the Queppa do not.”

  “Nevertheless, we will continue northward.” Ehomba turned to regard him. “Go back to your family, friend, and do not worry about us. You do not have enough worry to spare for strangers.”

  “There is truth in that.” The merchant hesitated briefly, then raised a hand in a gesture that was both salute and farewell. “Good fortune to you, seekers of a sudden end. I wish you luck in your foolishness.” With that he turned and hurried off as fast as his thick, heavy legs would carry him.

  Simna sidled close to his companion. “I’ve no more desire to turn and go back the way we came than anyone, but he has a point. How do we get over the Wall?” The swordsman nodded toward the imposing barrier. “I count a pair of guards for every thirty feet of parapet and fire baskets or lamps for light every forty. We’ll have to try it at night anyway. We wouldn’t have a chance in daylight.” He nodded at the third member of the group.

  “And what about our great black smelly eminence here? Cats can climb well, but a smooth-faced vertical wall is another matter. You and I can go up a scaling rope, if we can borrow or steal one from this disheartened mob of defenders, but what about him?”

  The dark-maned head turned to face the swordsman. “I’ll get up and over. One way or another, I will do it.”

  “You won’t have to.” Ehomba was not looking at either of them, but at the Wall.