Midnight at the Well of Souls wos-1

by Jack L. Chalker

  There was a mild crackling sound in their rooms, and then The Rel’s odd, toneless voice came to the other three.

  “Please enjoy this night at the baron’s expense,” it said. “Tomorrow I shall arrange transportation for us which will take us to the border. We shall not have such pleasant and easy accommodations after this, so enjoy it. After tomorrow, things get tough.”

  Vardia took a long drink and then sank her roots into the rich soil that felt incredible, indescribable. With a feeling of total well-being, she turned off the lights.

  Skander was the last to sleep, since the Umiau had been cooped up in the saddle harness and was enjoying the freedom of the waters. At last she, too, crawled up the bank and pressed the light switch on the wall.

  Each of them slept soundly (except possibly for The Diviner and The Rel, who didn’t seem to need it—the others weren’t sure), and all were awakened not only by the automatic turning on of the lights but by the voice of The Rel.

  The creature conveyed emotion for the first time, not by tone but by the sharp, fast, excited way it spoke. “Something is terribly wrong!” it told them. “We are being detained for some technicality! We cannot leave today!”

  “Do you mean,” Skander’s voice came to all of them in a tone of almost total disbelief, “that we’re under arrest?”

  “It would seem so,” replied The Rel. “I cannot understand it.”

  MURITHEL—SOMEWHERE IN THE INTERIOR

  “We’re in some kind of trouble,” Nathan Brazil said half under his breath.

  For three days now they had moved along the rocky mountain ledges, mostly under cover of darkness guided by Cousin Bat’s exceptional night vision and inbred sonar. They had passed hundreds, perhaps thousands of the bloodthirsty Murnies, often coming close to their villages in the dark, quietly working around their dulled campfires.

  They had been exceptionally lucky, and they knew it. But now they had run out of mountains.

  The mountains—hills, really—ended abruptly in a jagged cliff, stretching off at an angle away from the direction they had to go. Ahead, toward the east, flat, unbroken prairie spread out to the horizon.

  The land was still dry this time of year, yet yellow grasses topped with pinkish blossoms carpeted the prairie. Also covering the plains were herds of thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of the antelope that were the Murnies’ staple diet.

  Murnie camps also dotted the plains, in small groups of three or four skin tents, never more than seven groups in a bunch, arranged in a circle.

  Even as Brazil looked at the scene, appreciating their position, something, some wrongness ahead of him, nagged at his mind.

  “How the hell are we ever going to get through them?” Wuju asked nervously. “We can’t fight them all, even in the dark.”

  “Well, let’s camp here for the day,” Cousin Bat suggested, “and tonight I’ll take a trip across and see how far we really have to go to reach cover. Maybe you’ll think of something by the time I get back.”

  They agreed it was the only thing they could do, so they carved out a niche in the rocky ledge and tried to sleep, first Brazil on guard, then Bat, and finally Wuju. The sequence was almost a routine by now.

  Nathan Brazil was dreaming more of his strange dreams when he felt hands gently shaking him. “Nathan!” Wuju whispered urgently. “Wake up! It’s almost dark!”

  He got up and tried to shake the sleep from his eyes. He was dizzy and upset from the small amount of food he had allowed himself from the dwindling supply in the packs. The deprivations were taking their toll on him. Wuju had it almost as bad, since there was precious little grass on the trail for one of her bulk. Yet she had never complained.

  They all smelled like concentrated sweat and feces, and Brazil wondered idly if Murnies had good smellers. With no baths for three days and only leaves for toilet paper, he was certain that, in reverse circumstances, he could smell his party five kilometers upwind.

  Cousin Bat was already waiting for the sun to sink completely behind them. Brazil went up to him quietly.

  “You ready, Bat?” he asked the night creature.

  “Not bad,” came the reply. “The wind’s wrong. If that plain’s too broad I might have to come down at least once. I don’t like that.”

  Brazil nodded. “Well, I want you to land if possible, or at least skim close enough to get me a handful of those weeds.”

  “Got something in mind?” the other asked.

  “Maybe,” he replied. “If we’re lucky—and if we don’t have to run to the border.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” the bat replied dryly. We’ve got to clear this bunch in one sweep, you know. Once committed, we’ll have no place to hide.”

  Brazil looked at the creature strangely. “You know, I can’t quite figure you out,” he said.

  “What’s to figure?” Bat replied. “It’s my neck, too, you know.”

  “Why not just fly over and away? You might not make it all the way in a stretch, but you could pick your own places. Why stick with us?”

  The bat gave that ratty smile, exposing those triple rows of sharply pointed little teeth.

  “To tell you the truth, I thought about it a number of times, particularly in the last few days. It’s extremely tempting—all the more so now—but I can’t do it.”

  “Why not?” pumped Brazil, puzzled.

  The bat thought for a minute. “Let’s just say that, once before, I was in a position to help some people I knew were in danger. I don’t want more people on my conscience.”

  “We all have our crosses to bear,” Brazil said in an understanding tone. “Myself more than most.”

  “It boils down to more than just conscience, Brazil,” responded Cousin Bat earnestly. “I’ve known some other men. They, like me, wanted power, wealth, fame—all the reasons for striving. They’d lie, cheat, steal, torture, even kill for those. I want these things, too, Brazil, but what more right do I have to them than they? Perhaps, though I don’t know for sure, the fact that they would abandon you and I would not makes me superior to them. I’d like to think so.”

  And with that, as the last rays of the sun disappeared behind the rocks to the west, Cousin Bat took off into the dark.

  A few seconds later, Wuju sidled up behind Brazil. “What a strange man,” she said wonderingly.

  He gave a mirthless chuckle. “Bat, you mean? He let his guard down more there than I’d expected. It’s the most personal thing we’ve gotten in all these days. But, no, strange is not the correct word for him. Unusual, perhaps, even uncommon. If he was telling the complete truth there, he’s also a good friend, a particularly nasty enemy—and, quite possibly, one of the most potentially dangerous men I’ve yet met on this planet.”

  She didn’t understand what he was talking about but didn’t pursue it, either. Something much more important was on her mind.

  “Nathan,” she asked softly, “are we going to die?”

  “I hope not,” he replied lightly, trying to break the mood. “With luck—”

  “The truth, Nathan!” she interrupted. “What are our chances?”

  “Not good,” he responded truthfully. “But I’ve been in spots as bad or worse in my long life. I survive, Wuju. I—” His voice broke off abruptly, and he averted his eyes from hers. She understood, and there were small tears in her eyes.

  “But the people around you don’t,” she finished. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s your cross. How many times have you been a lone survivor?”

  He looked out into the darkness for a minute. Then, without turning, he said, “I can’t count that high, Wuju.”

  * * *

  Cousin Bat returned in a little over an hour. Brazil and Wuju were doing something just inside the shelter, and he was curious.

  They looked up from their work as be approached, and Brazil asked the simple but all-important question: “Well?”

  “Five kilometers, give or take,” the bat replied evenly. “Before you get any far
ther there’s a steep drop to a river valley, mud sides with slow, shallow water. It’s barely flowing.”

  Brazil seemed to brighten at the news, particularly of the river’s speed and shallowness. “Can we get a straight run, more or less?” he asked.

  The bat nodded. “Once we get down, I’ll position you and point you in the right direction. I’ll stay over you once you get started to keep you on the right track.”

  “Good! Good!” Brazil enthused. “Now, what about the antelope?”

  “Tens of thousands of them,” the other replied. “Together in big groups. Nothing too near us, though.”

  “Excellent! Excellent!” Brazil seemed to get more excited with every word. “And now the clincher—did you get some of that grass?”

  Cousin Bat turned and walked back to where he had landed, picking up a clump of straw with one foot. Holding it, he hobbled back to them and dropped the grass at Brazil’s feet.

  The man picked it up expectantly, feeling it, even biting it. It was somewhat brittle, and gave a slight snap when it was bent too far.

  “Just out of curiosity, what are you doing?” the bat asked.

  Brazil reached down into a pouch and removed a small handful of the tiny sticks inside.

  “Safety matches,” he explained. “Haven’t you noticed it, or thought about it, you two? Haven’t you seen out there on the plain?”

  They both looked at him with blank expressions. “I haven’t seen anything except antelope, Murnies, and grass,” said Wuju, trying to think.

  “No! No!” Brazil responded, shaking his head animatedly. “Not what you see! What you don’t see! Look out there into the darkness! Tell me what you see.”

  “Nothing but pitch darkness,” Wuju said.

  “Nothing but sleeping antelope, Murnies, and grass,” Bat said.

  “Exactly!” Brazil said excitedly. “But what you don’t see, anywhere out there, is something we’ve seen in every Murnie camp we’ve passed up to this point.”

  They still didn’t see it, and he continued after a pause. “Look, why do the Murnies build campfires? Not to cook their food—they eat it raw, even live. It’s because they think this is cold! And to protect themselves from the dog packs at night, of course. It must be very important to them or we wouldn’t have seen the campfires so consistently. But there are no fires out there on the plains! No dots of light, no sparks of any kind! And the riverbed’s wide but slow and shallow is it flowing. You see what it means?”

  “I think I do,” Wuju replied hesitantly. “It’s the dry season. Out there on the grasslands, the danger of a brushfire exceeds their fears of the dogs or their desire for warmth.”

  “It must be like a tinderbox out there,” Brazil pointed out. “If they are afraid of any fire at all, it must be so dry that anything will set it off. If the wind’s right, we can make things so hot for them down there that the least thing they’ll be concerned about is us.”

  * * *

  “Wind’s about as right as you can get,” the bat said quietly.

  “Okay, then,” Brazil responded. He removed all his clothes, and jumped, stark naked, up on Wuju’s back, his back against hers. He pulled the shirt around his chest just under his armpits. “Take the ends on both sides, Wuju, and tie them tight around you. No! Pull it tight, damn it! As tight as you can! Yes, that’s better.” Next the stretchy pants were pulled around his waist and tied in front of her. It was several minutes before he was satisfied that he was solidly attached to her, riding backward. Tied just in front of him were the packs, the two pouches full of safety matches within easy reach. Then he applied the rest of the Slongornian cooking fat to as much of his exposed parts as he could. It was a sloppy job, but it would do in the dark.

  Cousin Bat nodded approvingly. The two men looked at each other wordlessly, and the bat turned and started down the rocky ledge. Wuju followed, Brazil cursing to himself at his inability to see anything ahead of them, thinking he forgot something, and feeling with every step that he was slipping off even though the knots remained secure.

  “Stop!” he yelled suddenly, and everyone froze. “Your hair, Wuju! Tie it down. Use the scabbard—you have to hold the sword anyway. I don’t want to set it on fire or have it blowing in my face.”

  She did what he asked silently, draping her hair forward and over her left breast so it wouldn’t interfere with the sword in her right hand. Now Brazil was roped in three ways, and he felt as if he were cut in pieces. Which was just the way he wanted it.

  They had gone over the plan many times, but he was still nervous. Wuju could sprint at more than thirty-five kilometers per hour, but that was just for short distances. She would have to go all out for over five kilometers, then down into a ditch, and keep running as long as she could.

  Cousin Bat took off and circled for what was only a minute but seemed to be an hour. Finally they heard him come up behind them. “Now!” the flying creature ordered. “Go!”

  Wuju took off across the plains at full speed.

  Brazil watched the grasses disappear behind her and held onto the pack for dear life. He was sitting on a bony place and being bounced around for all he was worth. Although it was a clear night and he had excellent night vision, Brazil already could not see the rocky hills they had left.

  Come on, Wuju! he thought tensely to himself. Keep going!

  “Turn slightly right.” Bat’s voice came from somewhere above, and she did as instructed. “Too much!” She heard the bat’s voice, probably just two or three meters above her head: “That’s it! Now straight!”

  Brazil panicked as he felt the upper bindings loosen, and he grabbed all the harder on the pack sides. And still she roared ahead at top speed! He could hear her take sobbing breaths and feel her horselike half inhale and exhale mightily, but still they went on.

  We’re going to make it! he thought excitedly. If I can only hold on to this goddamn pack for a few more minutes, we’ll be through them before they realize what happened!

  Suddenly the knots from the top two bands broke, sending the elastic clothing into the night and propelling him forward, headfirst, into the pack.

  “Nathan!” he heard her call breathlessly at the break and jerk.

  “I’m all right!” he called back. “Keep going!”

  Suddenly there were sounds around them, grunts, groans, and yells.

  “Nathan!” she screamed. “They’re ahead of us!”

  “Run right at them at top speed!” he yelled. “Slash with your sword!” He grabbed at the matches, struck several against the hard leather straps. They flared, but immediately went out because of the wind caused by her rapid movement.

  Suddenly she was heading into them, and they were roaring and clawing at her. She knocked the first several down and found, to her surprise, that the sword seemed to slice into them like butter. Once, twice more, she slashed at them, and they screamed in deep agony and clutched at wounds.

  And then she was through them!

  “Any ahead?” Brazil yelled.

  “Not yet,” came Bat’s voice. “Keep going!”

  “There’s plenty behind us!” Nathan called. “Slow down to a gallop so I can get at least one match lit!”

  Wuju slowed and he tried again. They stayed lit in his hands, but went out before they hit the ground.

  “Brazil!” Bat’s voice called urgently. “A whole bunch of them! Coming up fast to your right!”

  Suddenly a group of six or seven came at them out of the grasses. Nathan felt a searing pain in his right leg. One Murnie jumped and hit Wuju’s backside, tearing a deep gash in her just in front of the pack. She screamed, stopped, and reared, slashing out at them with her sword.

  Brazil hung on somehow, and tore off one of the pouches of matches with strength that surprised him. He struck one and threw it into the pouch. The matches caught with a whoomph and he threw the pack out onto the grass.

  Nothing for a minute, and she bolted for the Murnies at an apparent opening. They had formed a hunti
ng circle and their spears were ready.

  They expected the charge, but their traditional ways didn’t allow for their quarry to have a sword, and the formation broke.

  Suddenly the whole world caught fire.

  The suddenness and volatility was what stunned them all.

  My god! Brazil thought suddenly. It’s as if the stuff were made of cellulose!

  He could see Cousin Bat, saw the creature come down on a Murnie and kick with those powerful, handlike feet rolled up as fists. The giant green savage went down and didn’t move.

  The whole world suddenly became bright. Ahead she saw the stream valley, like a crack in the land.

  The Murnies started running and screaming. The antelope panicked and ran in all directions, trampling many Murnies underfoot to get away.

  She jumped into the ravine, and the momentum and steep sides caused her to lose her balance. She went sprawling down the hill. Brazil felt himself suddenly free as he was flung away onto the bank. He was stunned for a minute, then he picked himself up and looked around. There was a glow still from the fire above, but down in the valley there was a still, near-absolute darkness.

  Feeling numb and dizzy, he ran down the valley in the direction Cousin Bat had said the river flowed. He looked around for Wuju but couldn’t see her anywhere.

  “Wuju!” he screamed hoarsely. “Wuju!” But his voice was no match for the riot of noise above him, the cries of burning animals and panicked Murnies, many of whom were plunging over the bank into the valley.

  He ran down the muddy shore and into the river and followed it. The rocky bottom cut his feet. But he was oblivious to pain, running like a scarecrow, mindlessly, aimlessly down the river.

  Soon the glow and the sounds were far behind him, but still he pressed on. Suddenly he tripped and fell facedown in the water. He continued, crawling forward, then somehow picked himself up and started again.