Geomancer (Well of Echoes) (78 page)

‘Now what?’ said Nish as they ate bread and cheese for breakfast, washed down with swamp water.

‘Gather reeds for fuel,’ said S’lound. Nothing seemed to upset him. No doubt he’d had many worse days as a common soldier.

Nish picked a handful of reeds. ‘No heat in these. We’ll never get off the ground.’

‘Soak ’em in tar spirits. That’ll get us high enough that we can look for some wood.’

Nish doubted it. The expedition was turning into another disaster and this one was entirely his responsibility. Of course, they might not be able to walk out of this place at all. They might die here.

They spent the day gathering reeds. It was tedious work in the freezing water and sucking mud, and after labouring for about nine hours, all the daylight they had, the pile of fuel was depressingly small. Late in the afternoon Ullii came out of her basket and collected a bundle of reeds, handing it to Nish with the air of someone bestowing a great gift. It was, had Nish only realised it, but he was in no mood. He snapped at the seeker, who retreated to her basket, deeply hurt, and did not come out all night.

It was too late to take off that afternoon. The following morning, Nish’s prediction proved correct – the damp, hollow reeds generated hardly any heat at all. The ones soaked in spirits of tar were better, exploding as soon as they were tossed in the brazier. The first time it happened Nish fell off the ladder into the water and emerged covered in smelly mud. Had it happened in the air, he would have been killed.

‘Less spirits,’ said the imperturbable S’lound, lifting him over the side all black and dripping.

It was nearly midday by the time they were ready to go but the balloon did not budge. The basket was stuck in the mud. They had to rock it free before it would lift, and then sluggishly. Once in the air they caught a breeze and drifted west over swamp, lake and yet more swamp. There was not a stick of wood to be seen.

S’lound leaned on the edge, cheerful as ever. Nish scrunched himself up in the corner next to Ullii’s basket, pulled the coat over his head to keep the drifting flakes off, and felt a failure in every respect.

He was disturbed by a cold nose pushing against his cheek, an arm going over his shoulder. To his amazement it was Ullii.

‘You are sad, Nish,’ she said softly.

‘We’ll never get out of here. We’ll never find her. I’ve failed again.’

She sat quietly beside him. Nish was touched. She cared about him.

‘I can see trees!’ called S’lound.

Nish jumped up. A scrubby patch of forest had appeared out of the foggy distance, and just as well. The reed bundles were exhausted.

It was almost dark when they landed by the forest. The following morning they chopped wood for several hours, and had a good bit stacked in the basket, when Ullii cried out.

‘What’s the matter?’ yelled Nish.

‘Someone coming.’

A tall man was advancing towards them, waving a wooden spear and shouting in an unknown dialect. There was a host of angry villagers behind him.

‘Any idea what he’s saying?’ asked Nish.

‘We’re stealing his wood.’

‘There’s wood everywhere. It’s rotting on the ground.’

‘Nonetheless, it’s his.’ S’lound sprang up on the side and began shouting back, waving a menacing broadsword. ‘Get the fire stoked up,’ he said over his shoulder.

‘We’re ready to lift.’

‘Untie the ropes.’

Nish climbed out. The balloon was already putting pressure on the knots. He got them undone but the balloon went up too fast. Afraid of being left behind, he gave a triple turn of the rope around his wrist. It tightened and jerked him up. A spear whizzed between his legs, close to parts he was particularly fond of.

Ullii gave a shrill scream. The rope felt as if it was going to tear right through his skin. If it came undone he was dead. They were already as high as the treetops.

He snatched and caught the rope with his left hand. It eased the strain a little. Then S’lound was leaning right out, hauling him up and grabbing his free hand to make sure he did not fall. Nish was pulled over the side and dumped on the floor. Ullii herself helped to bring him down, and when he lay there, gasping, she kissed him on the nose, an astonishing intimacy.

‘I can see the sea,’ S’lound said as the sun was setting.

Nish scrambled to his feet. ‘We’d better put down. We can’t afford to go over the water.’

‘Then what?’

‘We gather fuel and wait for a southerly to take us north to the mountains.’

‘Shouldn’t be too long a wait,’ said S’lound. ‘Feels like it’s blowing from the South Pole right now.’

He was still saying that a week later. This time they’d gone to see the villagers and made an arrangement with them for fuel. Nish was canny enough to pay in coppers, which they were glad to have, and the villagers chopped and fetched a mountain of wood, enough to enable them to keep the brazier going the whole time. If the air in the balloon went cold it would take hours to fill it.

The wind blew from the west, the north and even the east, but never from the south. Nish fretted. What was Tiaan up to? Ullii had sensed great urgency the last time she’d
seen
her. They had, however, found out where they were, somewhere between the cities of Runcil and Tatusti. Ullii had managed a clear sighting on Tiaan. Assuming she had not moved, the intersection showed her to be near Mount Tirthrax.

Late on their eighth night in that place they were woken by a great buffet on the basket. The wind whistled through the ropes, a gale carrying not snow but stinging crystals of ice. It was a howling southerly that lifted the balloon with every blast.

‘We’d better go,’ said S’lound.

‘I don’t dare take it up in this.’

‘It’ll get worse! We’ll lose it if we stay here.’

The wind screamed and flung the balloon right over. Nish thought it was going to smash against the ground. Before the craft could right itself another gust pushed it over again and the stakes on the windward side tore out.

‘Cut the ropes,’ S’lound roared, drawing his knife.

Nish did the same. Either way they were doomed. Before he could put his knife to the rope the other stakes tore free. The basket bumped along the ground. Flames belched out of the top of the brazier and he held his breath as they went close to the tarred fabric.

Bump, bump, then the basket struck an obstruction that caved in the side but kicked them into the air. They drifted sideways, almost parallel to the ground. The wind eased and the balloon pulled the basket up.

Nish climbed the ladder, hanging by one hand while he stoked the fire with as much wood as he could cram in. ‘I want to get as high as I can,’ he said when he was safely down. ‘That’s where the winds are, and the further we’re blown the less we’ll have to walk.’

Soon the brazier was glowing red, the distant ground racing by faster than it ever had. The whole balloon was shuddering, as if the air up top was moving faster than at basket level. The moon reflected silver off a thousand lakes.

‘How far to go?’ S’lound asked.

‘A hundred and twenty, maybe thirty leagues.’ Nish was watching the procession of lakes and rivers go by, comparing them with his map and making constant amendments. ‘This is a very poor chart,’ he said, peering over the side. ‘That huge lake down there isn’t even marked, and the river turns west, not east.’

‘Hard place to map, I’d reckon,’ grunted S’lound. ‘Bad maps are the soldier’s biggest problem.’

‘Except from a balloon!’ He had an idea that might earn him credit with the scrutator. ‘Hey, S’lound, what if we were to fly over all the lands where the soldiers were fighting and make proper maps from balloons?’

‘Good idea! Guess that’s why you’re in the favour of the scrutator and I’m just an old soldier.’

‘I’m not …
Really
?’

‘So I hear.’

‘That was before I cocked up this mission.’

‘Ain’t over yet. How long to go, do you think?’

‘At this rate we should be pretty close by lunchtime. Ah, balloons are wonderful. This trip would takes us months, through the snow.’

‘If the wind lasts. And it takes us where
it
wants, not where we want to go.’

‘Well, yes, but certainly closer.’

As the sun rose it reflected redly off the eastern flank of Tirthrax itself, a way to their left. They were no more than thirty leagues from the mountains, which thrust up in an east–west line from the hummocky plains.

‘Oh, this is wonderful!’ Nish cried. ‘Come look, Ullii. You’ll never see a sight like this again.’

She peeped out of the basket, earmuffed and begoggled, and even she gazed at the astounding spectacle with wonder.

‘Can you still see Tiaan? Please say that you can, Ullii.’

‘I can see her. Her crystal fills my mind.’ She pointed to Tirthrax mountain, then darted back like a rabbit down a burrow.

‘How close do you think we can get?’ said Nish. The rugged foothills would be difficult country to walk in.

‘The wind has turned more easterly,’ said S’lound. ‘It’s carrying us in the right direction, at least.’

It was the first bit of good luck they’d had on the trip. ‘And maybe it’ll turn due east when it hits the mountains,’ Nish replied.

‘Or up and over, or fling itself at the cliffs. Might be an idea to set down sooner than later.’

‘We’ll keep going as long as we can. Most of those rivers look impassable.’

They drifted towards the mountains for another couple of hours. They were still east of Tirthrax, easily recognisable because it stood a good thousand spans above any of the other peaks. Great ice mounds covered the plain below the glacier falls.

Approaching the mountain wall, the winds did blow more from the east, carrying the balloon west towards their destination. They began to encounter turbulence, which grew worse the closer they approached, flinging the balloon about until they felt seasick. Nish could hear Ullii retching in her basket but she would not come out.

He let the fire die down. They were slowly losing height as Tirthrax loomed up before them. The buffeting diminished. Another hour passed. They crossed onto the middle flank of the mountain, the tree line a long way below them.

Nish called Ullii out, cleaned her up with a damp cloth, washed out her basket and asked her where Tiaan was now. Ullii pointed straight up the mountain, but as they drifted by her arm moved.

‘We’d better put it down,’ Nish said urgently. ‘We’ll get no closer than this.’

‘There, ahead.’

It was a long slope stripped down to rock by ice falling from the hanging valley above. On the other side lay a great boulder field, beyond which was a clear space that looked safe, though it was rather small. More rough country extended beyond it. Making an instant decision, Nish pulled the rope to open the valve.

They drifted towards the boulders. ‘Aren’t we going down a bit fast?’ yelled S’lound, who was hanging off the ladder near the stove.

Nish pulled the other rope. Nothing happened. ‘The valve must have frozen open! Come down, quick!’

S’lound stayed where he was, fiddling with the brazier lid. ‘Leave that!’ Nish yelled. ‘It won’t make any difference.’

Nish kept trying the valve to the end. They were dropping too quickly and would smash into the rocks. The ground raced up at them but at the last moment a gust lifted them over the rocks, unfortunately carrying them beyond the clear area as well. They headed towards another cluster of boulders. Nish threw himself at the side of the basket, which swayed in the air, glanced off the side of a boulder, then another, and fell between them, thumping into the ground. S’lound cried out.

Nish was hurled off his feet, cracking his head against the corner of Ullii’s basket. The slack went off the ropes; balloon and brazier seemed to be plunging straight at him. Momentarily he imagined the conflagration but the brazier stopped, resting on the rim of the basket. High above he heard a click that must have been the valve closing, for the balloon and brazier slowly drifted up until the ropes were taut.

The skeet let out shrill cries of rage. Nish picked himself up, bruised but unharmed. The basket was jammed between the boulders. He fixed the rope around a rock. ‘Well, that’s that. Are you all right, Ullii?’

‘Yes,’ she said softly.

Creeping out, goggles and muffs on, she surveyed the scene then slipped under Nish’s arm. He gave her a gentle squeeze.

‘Where is S’lound?’ she said into Nish’s armpit.

They found him around the other side, lying on his back with his head at a strange angle. He was dead. An unlucky landing had broken his neck.

Nish squatted beside him, head bowed. He’d never really come to know the soldier, but S’lound’s company had been pleasant enough these past days. He’d provided a reliable solidity, a cheerful presence.

There was nothing to bury the man with, so they piled stones over him. At least, Nish did. Ullii had no concept of cooperative work. She sat watching while Nish laboured. At the end she picked up a small stone, studied it carefully, turned it around in her hands several times and placed it on the pile above S’lound’s head.

Having done that, she slumped as if she’d done most of the work. Perhaps, for her, placing that small piece had been harder than Nish’s labour. Who knew what went on in that strange, closed-over mind of hers?

‘Let’s eat,’ said Nish, for it was well into the afternoon. ‘Then I suggest we head up after Tiaan. What do you think, Ullii?’ He did not expect much, but there was a mountainload on his shoulders and no one to help him carry it.

‘I don’t think anything.’

Nish sighed. The next few months, until they got back to the manufactory, were going to be harder than he had ever imagined.
If
they got back at all. He checked Ullii’s pack, filled his purse with the scrutator’s gold that would be needed for the return journey, and settled the sword on his hip. Lifting Ullii’s pack on, he made sure the layers of padding under the straps were spread smoothly. They set off.

After about a hundred paces Ullii said, ‘It hurts!’ and threw the pack on the ground. By the time he’d fixed the straps the sun was low. Clearly they were going nowhere today.