main | table of contents Salamander Hill Copyright © 2004, S. Y. Affolee 11 Contemplating Invisibility By morning, the thing had gelled in its own pool of black blood. The travelers kept an appreciable distance from it. And even if they wanted to get a close up examination of it, there was still the problem of smell—the one of oxidizing sulfur and brine in the damp air. They had quickly packed up, forgoing breakfast as none of them had the stomach for it, and moved out of the area with Scamp loping behind the horses’ hooves. The storm clouds from the previous night still hovered above them; little real sunlight was able to filter through. It was about a mile away, when they could no longer smell the thing that Ficket spoke up, although his voice was soft and low. “I thought they belonged to fairy tales.” His other three companions had no comment. They had all thought the thing belonged to fairy tales. “The wolf-walker,” Ficket continued again after a brief silence, “is said to be the wrath of God, the Authority’s pet, a punishment. I thought they were the monsters in children’s stories. Supposedly they lived in the alleyways of eastern cities, waiting only until their masters unleashed them so they could dine on the sinner’s flesh.” “A kind of regional demon?” inquired Altner. The wilderness guide showed no emotion. “I suppose so,” said the round man. “Then what is it doing so far west?” asked Prudence, voicing her question from the previous night again. “Others also roam the Dustlands,” said Altner, “searching for what they call abominations and sinners. I have come across them several times, either singly or paired, and usually they are more of an annoyance than a danger. They are armed with guns and knives and religious charms. If you swear that you are a treasure seeker and not a wilderness guide, they usually leave you alone. Otherwise, well, I don’t know. Probably something bad.” “Where there are wolf-walkers, it is said that their masters are not far behind,” said Ficket. “You don’t suppose someone, the Authority, is following us?” “We’re just treasure seekers,” said Dash. “But perhaps he, the Authority, the Others, have reason to believe otherwise.” Altner looked away. Ficket looked distinctly uncomfortable. Prudence frowned. “Why would the Authority think that?” said Ficket, his voice unusually high. “They’re going to think that anyway when they find their pet dead,” Prudence pointed out. “It doesn’t matter to them if you’re innocent or not. As long as there is the possibility that you aren’t your normal law abiding, brainwashed, and worshipful citizen, they’re going after you.” “Oh God!” Ficket cried. “I just thought it would be easy. Just get to Salamander Hill, get the treasure, and come back home in glory. I didn’t think of this.” Altner finally turned to look back at his companions. “God isn’t going to help us here. Whenever They catch up with us, we’ll have to be ready to face them.” “But I don’t want to die!” wailed the round man. Prudence grinned humorlessly. “Don’t worry, Ficket. We’re not going to sit here passively and let them slit our throats.” Dash tugged at the brim of his fedora. “Perhaps we might be able to lose Them at the canyons.” The other three stared at him. “The canyons?” Prudence repeated. “Canyons have a lot more hiding places than this blasted plain, doesn’t it?” Dash said sweeping an arm out over the flat land. “They might not be human, but they aren’t really omniscient gods.” The wilderness guide was stroking his beard. “You know, that might just work, if They don’t catch up to us in the mean time.” * * * A few more miles north, the brush stretched and grew into waist-high bushes that grew in clusters of five or six. Rodents and other small creatures peeked out from these oases only to jump back down in their burrows when the horses, and particularly a golden-haired puma, trod a little too close. The air was unusually humid, perhaps from the storm the previous night, and the heavy clouds above showed no sign of dissipating soon. Ficket did a poor job at disguising his glances behind, nervously checking out the horizon for anything following. If the Authority didn’t want to be seen, Prudence mused, then it wouldn’t be. There were many ways a person could go about unseen, even if the location was an open plain with little cover. Altner grumbled occasionally about the weather. Dash asked if he thought it was going to rain again. The wilderness guide said he didn’t know. The rain was very strange for the Dustlands. Dash looked over at her. “You look like you’re pondering something quite heavy.” “I’m not a philosopher or a genius.” “I said nothing of the sort. What are you thinking about?” “The Others.” “I hope you’re not thinking about converting. You don’t seem like the type.” “Type to convert? I don’t think they’d want me even if I wanted to.” She absently patted Star Chaser. “No, my thoughts were more along the line of invisibility.” “Talk of invisibility is blasphemy,” he replied mildly. “There’s no one else around. Besides, why not? They can do it easily enough.” “What’s easy for them is impossible for us. We’re mere humans, if you haven’t forgotten.” “No, I haven’t forgotten.” She looked up at the sky. It was still as gray as it had been hour ago. “Say Ficket, didn’t the map your cousin gave you say of any dangers associated with the direction we’re heading?” The round man shook his head and again sneaked another furtive glance to the horizon behind them. “No. It’s just a map. His journal, or as much as I’ve read of it anyway, said nothing of the kind either. The only obstacle, I thought, was the length of the trek to Salamander Hill.” “I see.” Prudence fingered her reins. “You know, I’ve also been thinking that we might as well get it over and face down our followers.” “Is that common sense or just your confrontational nature?” said Dash. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to buy us some time and some advantage. If we’re lucky, we might lose them altogether.” “But they’d be waiting when we come back,” Prudence replied. “Hey!” At Altner’s shout, the other three turned to where the wilderness guide was pointing. A dark smudge wavered on the horizon in front of them. Was it the canyon, a city, or their pursuers who had suddenly gotten ahead of them? Almost unconsciously, the four travelers spurred their horses to a faster pace. Something was out there on the Dustlands, something that wasn’t on the map. As they closed in on that smudge, it became clearer in the darkening light. It was a town of intricately built shanties. Sun burnt wood warped around each other to form small huts, the design none of the travelers saw before. “Is it just a mirage?” wondered Ficket. Once they were at the edge of this town, Dash noticed a sign staked into the dirt. Strange letters were etched into the wood. He assumed it was a welcoming sign to the town, but what sort of language was it? The town remained silent even as the travelers stared down what looked like the main street, a wavy dirt crossing dividing the shanties into two camps. Altner dismounted and looked through what appeared to be a window without any glass of the nearest shack. He tried the door and disappeared inside for a moment. When he came back out, he looked puzzled. “I think there used to be somebody living here, in this town,” the wilderness guide said. “But everything appears to be abandoned.” “But what kind of people?” asked Dash. “Judging from that sign, its not some lost settlement. Different people. Perhaps Natives?” “The Natives never had a written language until very recently,” said Altner. “At any rate, we should take advantage of this while we can. We can keep the horses in that lean-to shed. And we can stay here the night. It looks harmless enough. And it might rain again.”