|
main | table of contents
Copyright © 2005, S. Y. Affolee 17 North River While the travelers had been trapped in the cliff dwelling during the storm and the barrage of crazed birds sent by the Authority, they had agreed that they were to continue roughly northwest to their destination—whether it was imaginary or not. According to Ficket’s map, they had crossed one of a series of canyons ripping through the landscape. The first one, at least, was effective enough to slow down the Others, and with subsequent canyons, they would, at least, be in relative safety. Judging from the map, though, if they went the most direct route, they would have to contend with some more northern canyons. If they headed directly west at this point, there would only be two. At the top of the canyon that they had just climbed out of, Prudence noticed a wooden stump to one side as if sign used to exist there. Ah, if only it were there and that we could read it, she mused. Perhaps it would have given them a clue about their best route. But at least there was a slight impression on the ground that might have been a road heading westward. Anything was better than nothing. The next couple of days remained uneventful. There were no other birds sent to harass them although they still kept up their rounds of careful night watching. Even if they had decided that the Authority could not catch up with them this far west, there might be other things like dangerous beasts and maybe ghosts—although perhaps even they were gone. The moon slowly waned from half-size to crescent. The wind from the north began to blow more strongly during the night and more effort was expended to find enough wood to build a larger blaze for their campfire. Crossing the two remaining canyons was not as difficult as it could have been. Each time, they were able to find sloping ledges or stairs along the walls of the canyons and the rivers at the bottom, although sometimes fearsome in their roaring, were never quite so deep that they could simply ford from one bank to another. However, they never found another cliff dwelling. Once they crossed the last canyon, they found themselves on a grassland instead of a literal Dustland. The horizon was darkened by what Ficket’s map indicated as a forest. But before that, about a days ride from the canyon edge, was the bank of the great North River. Scamp stood at the edge of the river peering into the depths like a gypsy into a crystal ball. The North River was a lot wider than any of the canyon rivers the travelers had had to cross. It was at least three times as wide and no matter how placid it looked now, there would be no doubt that it would also be quite deep and swift. Swimming would be out of the question—not only would a person be in danger of being swept away, but they had the problem of their horses too. “We need a raft of some sort,” said Ficket. “We could probably build one.” “With what?” said Prudence. “The trees are on the other side if you haven’t noticed.” The round man’s face fell. “Then what are going to do?” “The path could help us,” said Altner. “Look, it doesn’t really stop at the bank. It continues along it.” “You think the path could lead us to a boat?” said Dash skeptically. The wilderness guide shrugged. “This path has helped us through the canyons, hasn’t it?” The eastern bank along the North River was covered in coarse grasses and small purplish wild flowers that were hardy enough to survive the drier climes of the sand strewn Dustlands. The other side of the river was shrouded dark from distance. According to Ficket’s map, there was supposed to be the forest, and probably by deduction, greener grass. Small rodents quickly hid back into their holes as the band of humans and a large predatory cat passed, but the water fowl drifting along the sides of the river like so many lighter than water bobs paid no attention. The path that Altner pointed out was no more than a slight rut along the grasses. Was it their imagination or was it truly a path? Something was better than nothing, Prudence supposed. The path wound along the purple wild flowers for about an hour with the sun shining upon their necks in a cloudless sky. In the middle of the wide river, they spotted an island, dense with foliage and hidden except for the sand banks. The path soon tapered to nothing and they were left at the edge of the bank where a simple wooden pier stretched out from the land and into the water for about a hundred yards. Ficket was the first one to dismount and step onto the pier. It seemed solid enough. The river water lapped gently at the supports which rose from the bottom of the river, past the walkway, and up to waist height. But although there was a pier, there was no boat. Ficket cursed under his breath. “Someone must have built it for boating purposes,” said Dash. He walked out to the edge of the pier and took off his fedora. The breeze ruffled his hair. “Nice day though.” Scamp sat on her haunches at the bank and waited, seemingly bored. “What’s this?” Ficket had blinked enough of his frustrated stupor from his eyes and had begun examining the pier supports. A small silvery metal object glimmered in the daylight. From all observations, it looked like it was embedded in the support at the very end of the walkway. The round man touched it and it rang, clear as a dinner bell, the tinny chime fading quickly in the wind. “Careful with that,” said Altner. “We don’t know what that thing will do.” “Like call up ghosts or sea monsters?” replied Prudence, half-kidding. “River monsters, more like,” said Dash. “I guess we’re stuck, huh?” Altner stroked his beard. “We could take apart the pier and build a raft out of it. It’s not like there’s anyone living out here would care anyway. All the bits of civilization we’ve seen so far in the Dustlands look like they’ve been abandoned for quite a while. There’s no reason to think differently.” Prudence had walked to the edge of the pier too but did not take off her hat. She was squinting silver object. She placed a hand on the wooden support beneath the bell and felt a tremor. It wasn’t an ordinary tremor that anyone could have sensed. It was slow and oscillating as if a wave had originated from the bell that Ficket had touched and was sending it down through the support to the earth. She jerked her hand back and looked up, unnerved. She fixed her gaze on the island in the middle of the river, let out a breath, and promptly choked. “What’s that?” “Hmm?” said Dash. She pointed to the air above the trees on the island. A plume of smoke rose above the treetops and it was slowly moving sideways to the island edge. “That.” Ficket and Altner looked at the place she indicated. “A ghost?” said Ficket, fearful. “I shouldn’t have touched that thing, right?” In a few moments, the source of the smoke was revealed. A steamboat painted black chugged around the island toward the pier. For a few moments, the travelers stared at the vessel unable to comprehend how such a thing suddenly appeared in lands abandoned by civilization. Prudence felt her fingers itch so she placed them on her hip, near her pistols. Strange boats, although an answer to their current problem on crossing the North River, could also mean trouble.  |