The Glass Mountains

by Cynthia Kadohata

  “Perhaps Penn won’t tell them.” But even I didn’t believe that. “Why don’t we remove this tracking device and continue on our way down?”

  “Every device is implanted in a different place. I don’t know where it is.” We all got out of the motorsled, and Moor sent it down the path, where eventually we heard it run into the hillside. We decided to try to get around the side of the hill toward where we’d been going. So we turned and walked awkwardly in the blackness. We walked sideways along the slope of the hill, so it was hard to get a firm foothold. At some point we headed downward, and then we headed up the next hill. We climbed several hills in this way, and after a while I lost all sense of direction. Toward morning when it had begun to drizzle, we hid ourselves in some bushes to sleep. When we woke, fog moved all around over the green hills, and the pale gray sky grew brighter beyond the fog. At times the mist grew so heavy that when I held out my own hand I could see white trails caressing it.

  Having both lost track of the direction, we didn’t know whether continuing to walk would help or hurt our cause. Moor leaned back, and some of the tension left his face while he enjoyed the magic and changing scenery around us. “Sometimes the fog remains for days. Even with all their tracking devices and soldiers, the fog thwarts the Artrorans. In my country it is said that the fogs of Artroro keep the criminals in business.”

  “Since I am now a criminal, I approve of this fog. But think, you would have been a soldier chasing such as me in the countryside of Soom Kali.”

  “It’s too late for me to be a soldier now,” he said.

  “How can one who aspired to be a soldier now aspire to escape them?”

  “I would have been a just soldier and believe I am a just criminal as well.”

  “A soldier must follow orders first and justice second.” The fog had grown heavier still. The dogs, sleeping down the way, passed in and out of my vision. Moor hadn’t answered. “Do you regret that what you assumed would be your future has now escaped your reach?” I asked.

  “No. No,” he said.

  “Moor.” I touched his cool face. “I would not have let you come had I known the future. As a Bakshami I’ve no love of soldiers, but I would rather see you a soldier than pursued by one.”

  “And I would rather lie here beside you than see you pursued alone by soldiers, even just ones. But...” He rolled his eyes skyward, but couldn’t see the sky. “This is so different than my life was. And what of you?”

  “I was betrothed to the meat-seasoner’s son. My own parents were glassmakers as well as leaders. I hoped to become a dog trainer.”

  He smiled suddenly. “All in all I like this turn my life has taken. Don’t get me wrong. I would have been a good soldier. I’m not immune to the satisfactions of possessing power over others, nor to the satisfactions of standing strong as part of a group. But now in my life I will find other satisfactions instead.”

  “That’s as your father wished.” I immediately wished I hadn’t mentioned his father, for his face hardened into a sort of rock, like the faces carved on his door at home. He sat up and studied the haze all around. After a while his face softened. And the softness in his face made me feel sad. I knew that because Moor helped me, his beautiful face would not know peace for a long time. We had killed his friend and had become fugitives.

  He rose wearily.

  “Perhaps we should walk now while the fog hides us. This fog is a gift that we should take and use. And then we must find new gifts.”

  The dogs rose reluctantly, and the four of us began walking. We judged the position of the sun from the way brightness was distributed in the haze. After more than an hour of walking, we were surprised to come upon Penn’s motorsled, sitting like an illusion among the swirls of fog.

  “We’re lost!” I said.

  “We were lost,” he said wearily. “Now we’re not.”

  “We should take this vehicle as a gift.”

  “Or a trap,” Moor said. “But you’re lucky.”

  Lucky or not, the motorsled refused to start. But looking out over the hills, it was hard to feel disappointed. The fog rose from the earth like silver evaporating. We walked all day without eating, and at night we slept in some bushes, huddled together to keep warm. When we woke up the fog still covered the area, and this time we walked straight down a hill until we reached flat ground. There was a village here, and Moor reached his friend on a contactor. I walked a bit with the dogs and returned to hear part of Moor’s end of the conversation.

  “Yes, yes, she knows that. After all, it’s her parents ... She has great talents in the area of walking, very strong legs, and in general she possesses excellent coordination ... We would need to leave this area quickly ... I’m not sure of our town. Wait, I see a sign saying Plima. Yes, there’s another sign. The town is called Plima ... All right, then, I’ll meet your friend there and see you within five sunrises.”

  He disconnected. “What scheme have you committed us to?” I said.

  “My friend has a standing offer to do business in Forma. He will take us there.”

  “What kind of standing offer? Legal?”

  “We’re in no position to ask such questions. Nothing is legal in Forma. You must walk on the left some days, and on the right others, depending on the law. My friend will send a driver here.”

  Once more I turned away in shame, for in truth I was afraid to search for my parents. The hate I thought I’d felt for Forma, as well as the courage I possessed in my dreams, now deteriorated into fear. “This reliance on drivers has already grown tiresome,” I snapped.

  He laughed. “You may walk.” And then his face took on that responsive look again. “What would you have me do? Romance you as a Bakshami man would do? That falseness in romance offends me.”

  The fog began to lift while we walked to the next town. The walk seemed long, even to me. I was so sleepy and hungry that the fog seemed like part of a dream. When it lifted I saw everything was all too real. The town might have seemed quaint to me just a few days earlier, but now I saw betrayal in every face I saw. According to Moor, immigrants outnumbered native Artrorans in these outlying towns, and most of them struggled to make a living.

  My eye still throbbed where Penn had punched me. Moor had not mentioned my bruise, even as I saw him studying it. Bruises were a part of battle, nothing more, nothing less. The fog had lifted and I looked around for soldiers. But we’d walked a fair distance from where Penn had betrayed us, and there was no sign here of our pursuers.

  The friend of Moor’s friend hadn’t arrived yet, and we passed another night in the bushes. As I lay in the cold bushes, huddled up against Moor, I knew it was inevitable that I should go to Forma now that the opportunity had come to me. And yet I was scared. At every step of this new life I felt fear, just as in every step of my old life I had known no fear.

  In the morning, our new driver was waiting for us at the far end of town. I could hardly walk I was so hungry.

  “There he is,” said Moor.

  “How can you be sure? We must be careful who we trust.”

  “My friend said the driver’s hair would hang in curls.”

  The man in the motorsled had long curled brown hair. He nodded to us as we approached and we climbed in wordlessly. When he drove off, we still hadn’t spoken. He seemed more interested in the dogs than in us. Every so often he would scratch Artie in a seat near him, and a couple of times he turned to smile at Shami. I’d vowed to trust no one, but as a Bakshami I couldn’t help trusting a man who liked my dogs.

  Moor leaned forward. “How long is the ride?” he said.

  The man bowed his head once quickly.

  I leaned forward, too. “Do you like dogs?” I said, and he bowed his head quickly again.

  Moor and I both leaned back. The man motioned us forward with his hands and pointed at his mouth as he smiled. Then he covered his mouth. “Are you mute?” Moor asked, and the man nodded.

  As he drove I sleepily watched the landscape and soo
n realized that I was even more tired than hungry. That was the last thought I remembered before I woke up again. It was night, and the fog had drifted back in. The motorsled crawled along, the driver leaning forward. He’d turned on only the weakest lights. He sat right in front of me, but his outline was vague. I tapped his shoulder and he jumped, then laughed silently and nodded at me.

  “I need to stop,” I said.

  He raised a hand in acknowledgment and pulled over while Moor opened his eyes sleepily. The driver gave me a lamp to carry and I walked out into the fog to pee. Though I walked just a few measures away, when I turned back I couldn’t see even the form of the motorsled. I stood very still and heard someone walking not far from me, and when he stopped I called out.

  “Moor?” My voice sounded small in the darkness.

  “Coming.” In a moment he stepped out of the fog and into my small circle of vision. I’d set the lamp down and could see nothing but Moor and the fog around us.

  “How long is the drive?”

  “It depends how many breaks our driver needs. I’m starving, so I hope we stop for food.”

  “Me, too. I’m surprised your friend didn’t tell you he was a mute.”

  “I am, too. But I remember once he told me it was easier for a mute to keep secrets because by the time he has found a tablet to write down your secrets in order to pass them on, he has realized it’s best not to betray you. And my friend has many secrets.”

  “How do you know this friend?”

  “I helped him once as I am helping you.”

  “You helped get him out of Soom Kali?”

  “I hid him in our house when soldiers searched for him.”

  “Why did they search for him?”

  “He killed his sick father.”

  “And you helped him when you yourself have cared so long for your own father?”

  “I would never kill my own father, it’s true. But my friend’s heart was pure, that’s why he could do it. I could never kill my father because my heart is not pure.”

  “I’ve never heard such nonsense.”

  “There have been many times I’ve wanted to kill my father because I was angry with him or tired of taking care of him day after day. But my friend never had such feelings about his father. He loved him dearly and never thought of killing out of anger or fatigue, only from mercy. So though my father, like his, has asked me to end his life by stabbing his heart, unlike my friend I could not do it. Because doing so would satisfy a part of me I am ashamed of. It’s a small part, a part much smaller than the part that loves him, but it exists nevertheless. He has been cruel to both me and my mother at times, and despite his sickness I haven’t forgotten the cruelty, only forgiven it.” Moor spoke with a bitter sadness I’d never seen in him. But I admired how well he knew the darkness inside of himself as well as the light.

  I stood on tip-toes and kissed him deeply on his lips. I wanted to erase the sadness in his voice, but the more passionately we kissed the more I felt swept up in his sadness until it filled me with my own. As a supposedly stoic Bakshami I didn’t like to dwell on such things, so I kissed him harder and harder until the passion we felt erased all other feelings. But a new light shone on us then, and our driver stood smiling and nodding apologetically. He’d taken the dogs out as well, and the five of us returned to the motorsled.

  Back in our seats, Moor asked about food, but the driver just showed us his empty palms. And so we drove for three more days, stopping each day so the driver might sleep in his seat while we wandered about and gave the dogs a chance to exercise. I don’t know whether our driver sneaked food while we slept, but we ourselves didn’t eat for the entire drive. Sometimes when we stopped the desperate dogs chewed on flower stems.

  Moor and I would sit in the motorsled whispering to each other about food, scheming about how we were going to check the driver for hidden food, describing for each other what we would eat as soon as we found Moor’s friend. One night as the driver slept we did check him and the motorsled, but we found nothing. As we were searching, we saw the driver watching us, but he closed his eyes again.

  On the third day we entered the biggest city I’d ever seen; indeed, the only city I’d ever seen. Smooth towering buildings of metal, glass, stone, and wood stretched so high I feared one would fall on us as we drove among them. Ships flew across the sky, and on the ground the muscular Artrorans looked with mild curiosity at us as I hung out of the motorsled and stared at them. The buildings were as majestic as huge trees, with gigantic colorful banners rippling down some of their sides. Moor said the banners represented historical Artroran tribes, though there were very few people left with the pure blood of just one tribe. All the tribes had intermarried a long time ago, but the banners helped remind the populace of its origins and variety.

  I couldn’t decide whether to stare at the buildings or the people. The Artrorans, with their bulging muscles and shining eyes, were worthy competitors to the Soom Kali. They didn’t seem as fast, as graceful, as the people of Soom Kali, but in a show of strength I would bet on an Artroran. Except for an occasional disdainful glance around, Moor looked straight ahead.

  “You have to admit they seem very healthy,” I said, trying to speak judiciously.

  “They gain their health on the backs of the immigrants who work hard to keep this sector going and grow the food that builds their muscles. But how many immigrants do you see in this great city? None, at least not in this section of town. Not unless they’re servants or contract workers.”

  “The Soom Kali don’t tolerate any outsiders at all in their sector.”

  “We make our intentions clear. We don’t invite them in only to abuse them. They know the price of entering our sector.”

  “Surely there must be some cooperation and affection between the natives here and the immigrants.”

  “Cooperation, surely, but such affection as exists moves in one direction—from the immigrants toward the natives. And it’s more admiration and envy than affection.” He pointed to one especially gorgeous building, built of stone with shining colored glass domes for roofs. “That was designed by an Artroran and built by immigrants.”

  We continued through the busiest part of the city and on to a ramshackle house down a dead end. Huge buildings Moor said were warehouses dwarfed the house. Our driver turned around, smiling, and indicated the house. I saw Moor, ever suspicious, fingering his knife as we walked up to the door.

  “Hello!” he called out. “Zem! Are you there?”

  “Come in,” we heard a high male voice reply.

  5

  Inside, piles of exquisite and unique items cluttered the floors and tables like so much junk. I was reminded of some of the items at Moor’s lovely house. There were vases, paintings, bowls, embroideries, shoes, hats, furs, feathers, and a number of items I didn’t recognize. Some of the bowls seemed not just to shine but to glow, and Moor said the metal came from another planet where anything was possible.

  “What planet is that?”

  “I don’t know. Zem told me about it, but I’ve never been there. Maybe we can go with him one day.”

  Zem was an enormous bejeweled man with a slightly misshapen face and hands that made mine look like the hands of a baby. He tripped over a box as we came in, and the floor shook as he caught his balance. Artie and Shami growled at the three dogs that followed Zem into the room. The three were enormous, all almost as big as Artie.

  “Moor! How handsome you look!” They hugged each other, Moor’s arms barely reaching around Zem. Zem hugged me, too, and it was like reentering the womb the way he enveloped me in his warmth. “Mariska of the strong legs, how good to see you at last. Yes, yes, you do look strong. I know Bakshami have a reputation as hard workers, but I also know you’ve never been servants to any sector. So I hope you’re able to take orders on my ship.”

  “We have no intention of being your servants,” said Moor.

  “Did I say servants? I meant companions and co-workers. We’re
all equal here. Let me rephrase that. This is my house but in my heart we’re equal.” He rubbed his leg where he’d tripped over the box. “The hardest work is only at the beginning when we load up. I need a great deal of provisions as I’m very fond of food.”

  He signaled to our driver, who’d slipped in the door behind us, and the driver left the room with the dogs. “He lives near Plima but comes to Clasmata to take care of my guard dogs on my frequent trips.”

  “How does he control the dogs if he doesn’t speak?” I said.

  “Hand signals, whistles, clucking noises, claps. He’s ingenious at making noises. Somebody cut out his tongue in a fight he himself started and now he’s a man of peace.”

  “The tongue causes many fights,” said Moor.

  “When do we leave for Forma?” I asked anxiously.

  “Soon enough. Someone has offered me money to bring back artifacts. This sort of work is tedious for me. I’m not a natural adventurer. Who wants danger? But jewelry, that’s something else again.” He held up his hands and admired them. “Who would not want their wrists to glow with jewels? But I have almost as many jewels as I need now, enough to change completely every day for the rest of my life. I’m thinking of settling down and breeding soon, after I return from Forma. Do you two plan to breed?”

  “We have no plans now,” said Moor. “The future keeps finding us before we can make a plan.”

  “Then let the future come again! We’ll leave tomorrow. I can use some good servants. I don’t mean that! I consider us equals!” said Zem. His voice squeaked as he spoke. Later I was to learn that it squeaked whenever he lied. Sometimes it was hard to tell because he possessed an unusually high voice for a man, particularly a big man. “I swear to you, you will not be my servant. Moor saved my life once. And I’m the one taking the chance. It’ll be two against one if there are any disagreements. I’ll lose every debate.”

  “We haven’t eaten in days,” said Moor.

  “What? Didn’t my driver feed you? I told him to,” his voice squeaked. “I swear to you I did. Let me feed you.”