main | table of contents Salamander Hill Copyright © 2004, S. Y. Affolee 8 Spiders and Deer Ficket was in one of his adoring monologues again, spouting off the virtues of his beloved Hester to the newest member of their group, Altner. The wilderness guide was stone faced in the midst of the round man’s chatter, but otherwise, one could have guessed that he was bored. Prudence brought up the rear with Scamp loping a few places ahead. Dash was also ahead, his fedora tipped down to cover his face so one couldn’t tell if he was awake or asleep. She sneaked a glance back. Copper Run was fading into a dark speck on the dry horizon. It promised to be sunny and whatever few clouds that had gathered the evening before were rapidly being chased northward. They were on the eastern edge of the Dustlands now, mostly dry and rocky with a few shrubs. According to Altner’s battered compass that the wilderness guide had consulted an hour before, they were heading steadily northwest. Altner had glanced at Ficket’s map and had agreed that they head roughly in that direction. He warned them, though, that the first couple of days in the Dustlands were going to be quite boring. Flat dusty land rolled beneath them for miles, crisscrossed with the occasional stream or creek. After that, according to the map, were a system of canyons. And then a forest and a wide river the map called simply, the North River. And after that, mountains and hills. One of them was supposedly Salamander Hill. Through all of this, there were no towns or any other sign of civilization. In the evening, the four of them set up a camp on the open, underneath the stars and a full moon. It was Prudence’s turn to cook and she stirred the pot of stew over the campfire thinking about the next night when she didn’t have to do this chore. Dash was busy checking the welfare of the horses. Scamp had sprinted off, most likely trying to find her own dinner. Ficket was busy pouring over his cousin’s map and journal. Only Altner appeared to be doing nothing except sitting back, his unreadable eyes on the fire. She had never met a wilderness guide before except once, when her older brother had taken her to an outpost to visit a business associate. It had been on the street that she had glimpsed a large, red bearded man with a sword. She had been young then and that wilderness guide who had disappeared as swiftly as he had appeared had seemed like a giant to her. Altner looked like a more shadowy copy of that wilderness guide and didn’t seem any less intimidating. Dash had said they could trust him for now. Prudence wasn’t quite so sure. What sort of man used a sword instead of a gun? “They say men like you go into the Dustlands to find sun-sands,” she said. Steam began to rise from the kettle. Dinner would boil soon. “There are a few women who do the same,” Altner replied. “They don’t like going to the outposts though. Too rough for them, perhaps.” “And the Dustlands aren’t?” “Out here, the roughness is of a different kind. In the natural world, even though the dangers may be unknown, the roughness is of survival. Back in civilization, any kind of civilization, the roughness of men is simply ugly.” “I suppose that makes sense,” she said. “People like you don’t see much of each other, do they?” “Rarely. I’m a bit of a loner, unless something interests me.” “Like this expedition.” “Hmm.” Finished with tending the horses, Dash walked over to the campfire and crouched down. “You look positively domestic this evening, Pru.” “Care to say that again?” she growled. “Nah, I don’t want my carcass to get laid out on the desert and picked by vultures.” A slight smile crossed Altner’s lips. “You two know each other long?” “Too long,” Prudence sniffed. The stew began to bubble. Dash grinned. “Not long enough. So Altner, you’ve been out here a couple times, I’d gather. What should we be looking out for?” The smile disappeared. “Looking out for?” “You know, dangerous stuff,” said Prudence. “I’ve been out here once or twice before,” Dash said off-handedly. “I never really saw anything unusual.” She narrowed her eyes. “So you saw the usual?” “Just some brush spiders,” he said. But it didn’t appear that he wanted to elaborate. She wondered briefly exactly what his experience with those creatures were. Ficket gave a yelp, his attention finally fixed on his companions rather than his map. “Spiders? Did someone say spiders?” Altner stroked his beard, his eyes unfocused. “Ah yes, brush spiders. Annoying critters. They’re shiny and black and about as big around as your thumb. Although one bite is fairly harmless, a hundred could kill you. They don’t behave like your usual house spider. They’re not solitary. Brush spiders live in colonies of thousands of members.” Prudence shuddered. “And I assume they also attack in mass?” “Yes. They usually come out of their burrows at dawn to scavenge for food. I wouldn’t worry too much about them though.” “Why not?” asked Ficket, his eyes round and voice a bit high. “We could get attacked while we’re asleep!” “Sure,” said Altner, “but this isn’t their habitat.” He rapped his knuckles against the stone beside him. “Brush spiders prefer much sandier terran because it’s easier to burrow into. And even though it is quite warm now, we’re a little too north for their tastes. You might find a colony fifty miles south. They like it hot.” Ficket wiped his brow. “I guess that’s good to know.” “Up here, there’s the dust deer, though,” the wilderness guide mused as Prudence began spooning the stew into separate bowls. “They look like stags, but their antlers, well, how should I describe it? The branching is different. They have sharp hooves and red eyes and the sense of smell of a bloodhound. They’re carnivorous and solitary and at least as twice as large as your normal horse.” “Good grief!” the round man exclaimed. “I hope they’re not common out here.” “They’re not common,” Altner confirmed, “And they usually keep their distance from a human. But you never know. I would be more worried about the ghosts.” “Ghosts don’t exist,” said Prudence. “They’re just part of the stories about the Dustlands, right?” Altner gave her a chastising look. “They’re not stories. But if you see one, you’d definitely know it was one. A gun, however, wouldn’t work very well against it. The thing ghosts usually have working for them is fear. As long as you know it can’t physically harm you, you’d be all right.” She had the impression that the wilderness guide was leaving something out, but she didn’t press on more about the subject. Ficket looked a bit queasy at the subject and Dash, usually never a cheeky grin away, looked positively morose. Instead, she announced, “Dinner’s ready!”