by John Marco
“Rass!” he shouted. “Run!”
Ghost was on his feet in an instant, diving for his sword. The huge shadow rose up over the darkened camp, its hissing tongue tasting the air. Gilwyn rolled from the fire, the rain of embers catching his hair and skin. His club foot twisted in the sand as he struggled upward. He had no weapon. The gigantic cobra fixed him in its lidless gaze.
He needed to run but couldn’t. Ghost cried out and waved his sword.
“Here, monster!” he sneered. He lunged, slashing the beast then quickly falling back, trying to draw the rass away. Annoyed, the snake coiled quickly to face him.
“Disappear!” Gilwyn cried.
Ghost backpedaled. “I can’t! It’ll see me!”
It was a trick for human minds, Gilwyn realized suddenly. Ghost was helpless. Gilwyn reached down and found his frying pan in the sand. With all his might he winged it at the creature’s hood. Again the monster turned to face him.
It wants food . . .
The realization struck him squarely. Suddenly he was in the beast’s skin, just as he’d been in Emerald’s and the other kreels. He focused, standing very still, penetrating the black eyes of the serpent, reaching deep into its primeval brain.
No food. Danger here!
The rass wavered, its wide hood blocking out the moon. Watching Gilwyn, its eyes grew distant. Gilwyn knew the beast could hear him. Sweat beaded down his forehead as he fought to hold the thing in sway.
“Get out of here!” Ghost shouted. “Run, for Fate’s sake!”
Slowly, Gilwyn raised his hands, opening his palms as if to calm the creature and hoping Ghost understood his gesture. Vaguely he could see the Inhuman backing up, shaking his head in confusion.
“I’m all right,” he said, his voice trancelike. “Ghost, keep stepping back. Be ready . . .”
“Ready? For what?”
Gilwyn couldn’t answer. All his mind-power focused on the task. His body started shaking. Carefully he split his thoughts, sending out a tiny tremor to Emerald.
No food, he told the rass. Leave here . . .
But the rass would not go. Gilwyn dipped deeper into its fearsome mind, picking his way through the primitive urges, searching for something—anything—to scare the creature. He could feel Emerald, too, very near and closing fast. The kreel had sensed his need.
Kreels are coming, he told the rass. His heart beat like thunder as he stared into the snake’s fanged maw. A dizzying ache split his skull. Kreels . . .
Then, like a giant’s angry fist, Emerald exploded over the dune. Claws bared, she howled and collided with the mesmerized rass, raking her knifelike nails against its underbelly and burying her teeth into its face. The two reptiles tumbled in the darkness, showering the camp with sand. The tail of the rass whipped around to seize the kreel, wrapping as it tumbled, working its way along Emerald’s bulging body. A spray of blood struck Gilwyn’s face. Dazed, he fell back just as Ghost tossed himself into the melee. Sword flashing, the albino slashed the snake’s leathery skin. Emerald gave an angry hiss, burying her snout into the rass’ hood and ripping out a great chunk. Her claws worked like those of a digging dog, spilling guts from the rass’ ruined belly. With a mighty shudder, the snake rose up and shook off its attackers. It stared at Gilwyn, seized by disbelief.
Then fell like a timber.
Ghost collapsed to his knees. Emerald sniffed at the beast’s twitching body. And Gilwyn, so exhausted he could barely stand, sent his kreel his silent thanks. The camp lay ruined. But all was blessedly silent. Ghost stuck his sword straight up in the sand.
“Gilwyn,” he gasped, “next time you send your kreel hunting, try keeping her a bit closer.”
By morning the next day, Gilwyn knew they were close to the kreel valley.
They had abandoned their camp after the rass attack, travelling by moonlight for an hour until Gilwyn found a place he felt sure was free of rass. Now that he had encountered one and sensed its mind, he knew what the creatures felt like and how to avoid them, a trick which Ghost reminded him would have been a lot handier had it been discovered an hour earlier. After a restless night’s sleep, they awoke at dawn and quickly took to travelling. The drowa seemed particularly pleased to see the sun again, though all of them, even Emerald, was grateful for the light.
The morning had been wonderfully uneventful. They had not encountered a single trouble, not even a scorpion. By desert standards, it was even cool. Gilwyn took the lead as they rode, using his mind to search out the valley, sure that they were getting close. All around the sands had given way to hard earth, sprouting with hearty greenery and rocks. Miraculously, they had found a fruit tree defiantly growing between the cracks in a gigantic boulder. Ghost had climbed up the rock and brought down a bounty of the tangy citrus, which he called goak and rightfully claimed was delicious. The fresh fruit replenished them, and both young men had smiles on their faces as they rode the last few miles to the valley.
At last, Gilwyn knew they had arrived. They were at the base of a tall, meandering hillside, slightly inclined and shadowed with bush and rocks. He brought Emerald to a stop. Over the hill he could feel the kreels. In his brain their voices bloomed like the laughter of children.
“We’re here,” he declared. “Over that ridge.”
Emerald bridled, excited as she too sensed her own kind. Ghost surveyed the hillside. It posed no problem at all for his drowa. The albino grinned.
“I’m actually nervous,” he confessed. “How many are there, Gilwyn?”
“What, kreels?” Gilwyn concentrated. The feeling was staggering. “A lot.”
“I have another question—just how to you expect to get them out of the valley? You haven’t told me that yet.”
Gilwyn shrugged. “I’ll ask them to come with us.”
“Really. Just like that?”
“Yes,” Gilwyn replied. “Just like that. Come on.”
With a gentle nudge he guided Emerald up the hill, waving at Ghost to follow. The young man grimaced, still stunned by his answer, then proceeded up the hill after him. His sure-footed drowa followed Emerald easily, bouncing up and down as it walked. Gilwyn supposed the ridge was fifty feet high, no problem at all for Emerald, who quickly took him to the top of the incline. There, the kreel stopped. At the crest of the hill Gilwyn looked out over the valley.
Below him, a bountiful, untouched world stretched for miles. He could see a river in the distance and clouds beyond the river. Far-off mountains glowed a dusty purple. A cool breeze blew up from the valley, sheltered by the surrounding hills that kept the land in shadows. Jagged rocks and slopes rested among glades of trees, restfully soaking up the sunrays bathing the valley. Gilwyn heard birdsong—the first time in days—and saw the rush of movement in the tall, amber grasses. Concentrating, he felt the full life of the valley and its teeming population, not just the kreels but the hawks and grasshoppers too. Gazing out toward the river, he could just barely see the packs of kreels moving along the bank, warming their colorful, scaled bodies in the sun. Emerald rumbled beneath him, a sound of enormous pleasure. She hadn’t come from the valley—she had been born in Jador—yet the sense of homecoming in her startled Gilwyn.
“It’s beautiful,” he told her, patting the beast’s long neck. She flicked her tongue to taste the air. In his mind Gilwyn tasted it with her, fresh and sweet. Behind him, he heard Ghost give an impressed whistle as he reached the hilltop.
“Gods above, this must be it,” he said. Behind his heavy wraps his eyes danced. “I’ll admit it—you’re a fine guide, Gilwyn Toms. This place is . . . I don’t know what to say. It’s miraculous.”
Not since leaving the library had Gilwyn felt so much at home. There was peace here, and a kind of strange belonging. He could not stop himself—he was riding down the hillside instantly.
“The kreels are by the river,” he cried over his shoulder. “Meet me there!”
“No, Gilwyn, wait for me . . .”
But Gilwyn was already gone, l
etting the kreel abandon her psychic yoke and plunge down the hill, past the rocks and spreading trees, into the cooling shadows. They ran like children together, Emerald purring a strange, reptilian song, Gilwyn laughing and urging her on, deeper into the valley. Behind him he could hear Ghost on his drowa, cursing and struggling to keep up. But they were safe here; Gilwyn knew that certainly. There were no rass in this valley, no dangers at all, and so he let Emerald gallop freely toward the river. He saw kreels along the way, mostly alone, some in small packs, slumbering beneath the sun or huddled near rocks, wild lizards that had never felt a rider on their backs or the bit of a bridle in their powerful jaws. The enormity of the creatures stunned Gilwyn. They were ancient, countless years older than Emerald, breeding and populating their valley with young. Gilwyn stretched his mind to greet them. They replied with laconic curiosity.
To the river, he told Emerald.
He relaxed and let the kreel carry him away. How long had it been since he’d seen clouds? Only a year, but it seemed like forever. He gazed at them off to the east, a thick train of white rope travelling across the distant mountaintops. Drawing closer, he could begin to hear the river, feel its urgent rush. They rounded a hillside and the bank came into view. Emerald slowed. Gilwyn craned to see it better. The river was wide here, panning out to its muddy sides. Long-legged birds dipped their bills into the water, fishing out food, while tiny creatures jumped through the trees, shaking down leaves. And everywhere were kreels. Gilwyn saw them each place he looked, prowling the river bank or stopping to drink or mating in the shadows while others lingered nearby. The sun dappled their shining skin. Great, long tails stretched contentedly in the sandy earth. Emerald let her tongue taste them, wary of her distant cousins. Amazingly, the kreels took little notice of the foreign pair.
“They’re not afraid of us,” Gilwyn told his mount. “We’re friends, after all.”
Somehow, the kreels of the valley knew this and so made no moves against them. Gilwyn slid down from Emerald’s back and carefully walked toward the riverbank, toward a brood of young kreels who had come to drink. As he drew near, the creatures looked up from the water to study him. There were a dozen of them at least. Gilwyn felt their playful thoughts. He paused some ten yards away from them, then watched as they returned to their business. Around him the larger kreels took no notice at all.
“This is amazing,” he sigh. He breathed the valley air, smelling flowers in it. Without moving from his spot, he crossed his legs beneath him and sat in the moist sand.
An hour later, Ghost had finally caught up with him. The Inhuman’s cross face appeared around the bend, stubbornly dragging his drowa behind him. The arrival of the new invaders caused the kreels to stir. Ghost paused and stood like a statue, his eyes darting with worry.
“Gilwyn,” he whispered angrily, “what’s all this?”
“Don’t be afraid, Ghost,” said Gilwyn. “They won’t hurt you. Just move quietly and leave the drowa. If you come slowly you won’t alarm them.”
“I have a better idea. Why don’t you just come out of there?”
Gilwyn shook his head. “No, you come,” he said. “It’s safe, I promise.”
Warily, Ghost stepped closer, letting go of his drowa and approaching the riverbank. The kreels watching him lowered their heads and flicked their tongues, but made no move to threaten him. Eventually, Ghost gained his confidence and reached Gilwyn. He looked down at his companion, his gray eyes stormy.
“Are you controlling them?” he asked.
“Not at all. I told you—they’re not afraid of us.”
“Afraid of us?” Ghost reached down a hand. “Come on, Gilwyn, we can’t stay here like this. We should fall back a little, make a plan to get them out of here.”
“We’re staying,” said Gilwyn flatly. “Right here, for the whole day. I want them to get to know me, so they’ll trust me.”
“Can’t you do that from the top of a hill? Someplace safer?”
“You can go if you want. I’m staying here.”
“Don’t be stupid,” hissed Ghost. “I’m here to protect you.”
Gilwyn hushed him. “Not too loud. You see?” He gestured toward the kreels surrounding them. “There’s nothing to protect me from, Ghost. They’re gentle. They won’t hurt us unless they feel threatened.”
“Gilwyn, I’ve seen these things in battle . . .”
“Not these kreels,” said Gilwyn. “They haven’t been trained. Now sit, will you? I have to concentrate.”
Ghost finally relented, sitting down next to Gilwyn and fighting to relax. After a few moments he asked, “What are you concentrating on?”
“The young,” replied Gilwyn. He smiled, because the young kreels were so open. “I’m telling them about us.”
Gilwyn and Ghost spent the rest of the day in the valley. By early afternoon, Ghost had tired of sitting by the river while Gilwyn communed with the kreels, and so set out to explore the surrounding area. Two hours later he returned with a satchel full of fruit, a prize that nearly tumbled from his arms when he saw Gilwyn in the water. Gilwyn noticed his friend at once, waving him closer. He had waded into the river to be nearer to the kreels, eventually touching them, then, at last, playing with them by splashing water over their scaly hides. The young kreels had responded in kind, using their tails to drench him. He was soaked by the time Ghost reappeared.
“What do you say?” Gilwyn called. “Want to go for a swim?”
Ghost lowered his satchel, his white face scandalized. “Great Fate Almighty . . .”
“You look hot, my friend!” Gilwyn chided. “Come and get cool.”
A dozen more kreels had come to the river, summoned by Gilwyn’s mind call and fascinated by his foreignness. Many had come into the river to play, while others—with their mothers—simply watched from the bank. They formed a long line there, barring Ghost’s way. The Inhuman stopped cold, refusing to take another step.
“Damn it, Gilwyn,” he rumbled. “I’m not coming any closer. Get out of the water now!”
Before Gilwyn could reply he felt the surge of a kreel beneath him, its long neck squeezing between his legs and lifting him out of the water.
“Whoa!” he squealed, delighted as the beast tossed him into the air. Splashing back into the river, the same kreel was there to right him, nudging him gently to his feet. “You see, Ghost?” he called, wiping water from his eyes. “They’re friendly!”
“Oh yes, just like puppies,” drawled Ghost. “They’re adorable. Now get out of there . . . please!”
Gilwyn waded toward the muddy shore, delighted with what had happened. He was sure now the kreels would listen to him. They had already listened, in fact, and he had told them everything. Even these wild ones were remarkably open to his mind, eager to learn and please him.
“They are like pups,” he said. He paused before the line of adults. Behind the group stood Ghost. “Playful, inquisitive—just wonderful.” He gestured for Ghost to come through. “You can’t still be afraid.”
Ghost glanced around, first at the adult kreels, then back at Gilwyn. Nearby, Emerald was asleep beside a rock, sunning herself. Ghost’s drowa clopped at the ground uneasily.
“I want to go, Gilwyn,” Ghost pronounced. “We don’t have much time. We can’t lay around like this.”
“I know,” Gilwyn replied, “and I’m ready. Just stand next to me, all right? If you push your way through they won’t stop you.”
“Thanks, but I can see fine from here.”
“Ghost, come on . . .”
Ghost let out a dreadful groan. Finally he stepped closer, trying hard not to disturb the mother kreels that had come to watch their offspring.
“That’s it,” Gilwyn coached. “Just go easy.”
Squeezing past the kreels, Ghost let out his breath when he reached the other side. His already pale face looked bloodless.
“Now what?” he asked. “I didn’t bring a leash big enough for all of them.”
“We won
’t need a leash,” said Gilwyn confidently. “They’ll follow.”
He turned back to the river and locked minds with the young kreels. He counted them instantly—forty individuals, all chattering in his brain at the same time. Ruana was with them, guiding them, lying over all their thoughts like a blanket. He spread out to them, letting Ruana bolster him, speaking to them all and asking the important question.
Will you come?
He was not Jadori. The blood that bonded these creatures to his dark-skinned hosts did not course through him, and so he did not command the kreels. Instead, he requested. He told them of his great need and of Jador, and how their brothers and sisters had died in battle, glorious and brave. Their reptilian minds understood this easily. For all their playfulness, they were fierce creatures. Fearless, the thought of battle intrigued them.
“Gilwyn?” Ghost asked softly. “Are you talking to them? What are they saying?”
Gradually the kreels came out of the water or loped along the sand to get closer. Emerald awoke from her slumber, like a dog that’s heard a whistle. The giant adults lowered their necks in curiosity. They began to rumble. Ghost turned to look at them, then tugged Gilwyn’s sleeve.
“Uh, Gilwyn?”
Gilwyn felt the adults’ stress. He tried to split his mind one more time to calm them. The young—all of them—drew closer. His mind rang with their voices.
“They’re coming,” he said. “They understand me.”
“But the big ones—”
“I know!”
Gilwyn strained to hold his contact with the youngsters. He called out to Ruana for help. Instantly the Akari was with him, granting new strength. Gilwyn turned to face the adults. Each enormous, they towered over him. He put up his hands and let his mind reach them.
“They’re parents,” said Gilwyn. “They’re afraid for their children.”
Ghost couldn’t help himself; he let his hand fall to his sword. “Explain it to them, Gilwyn!”