Dormia (33 page)

Hill took out his old pocket watch and glanced at the date wheel, which showed the numeral four.

"Yeah," Bilblox gruffly agreed. "And don't forget that Vice Admiral Purcheezie's boat is settin' sail in less than three weeks. We gotta get back to Barsh-yin-Binder before then. So there really ain't a lot of time."

"You're absolutely right," said Hill. "But before we go, I think we should do something for Resuza. To remember her."

"You mean a funeral?" asked Alfonso.

Hill looked with sorrow at Alfonso. "Something like that," he said.

"I don't know," said Alfonso. "I mean, we don't know for sure if she's dead." Alfonso recalled the sight of Resuza's cloak draped across the trail and the cryptic scrawling underneath.

"Still," insisted Hill, "we should do something. We'll build a cairn."

"A what?" asked Bilblox.

"It's a memorial," said Hill. "A pile of stones stacked together to honor someone. To honor Resuza."

Without another word, they spent the rest of the morning building a large rock pile in front of Straszydlo Forest. When they were finished, the pile stood almost six feet tall.

Just before they set off into the High Urals, Alfonso, Hill, Bilblox, and Spack gathered in front of the cairn to say a final goodbye.

"Resuza, I'm truly sorry," said Bilblox. His white eyes lent a particular ferocity to his words.

Hill approached the cairn and lightly touched it.

"She was so young," Spack said.

Alfonso said nothing. He stared at the dark, moss-speckled rocks and his eyes filled with tears. They all stood there, staring at the rocks and listening to the bitter wind howl in the distance.

Bilblox was the first to break the silence. "Let's go," he said roughly. "Nothin' we can do for her now. We're wastin' our time." He picked up the sealskin pack that held the bloom, and began stumbling awkwardly up the narrow path, one searching step at a time.

"All right, Bilblox," Hill softly replied. He, Alfonso, and Spack shouldered their packs and followed their blind friend into the foothills of the High Urals.

A
LFONSO
had seen mountains before, but none as grim as these. When they had flown to Fort Krasnik in their seaplane, they had crossed over the Rockies, yet the High Peaks of the Urals were entirely different. These mountains had a dark, empty, foreboding feeling about them. There were no trees to be seen anywhere on their slopes—just endless expanses of snow that climbed up to black, stony peaks. Heavy clouds shrouded the mountains in mist, as if storms were a permanent fixture.

Alfonso, Hill, and Bilblox trudged through the snow and up the rising slopes that led to the High Peaks. It was tough-going, but at least they wore sturdy snowshoes that Hill had purchased for them back in Barsh-yin-Binder.

Hill served as their navigator. He continually consulted the Estonian smuggler's map as he led the way past massive clumps of snow that were just waiting to become avalanches, past exposed rocks that howled with a cold, stinging wind, and into a world so filled with swirling snow that at times it was impossible to see more than a few feet.

They continued plodding forward in this manner for the next three days. Each day they'd get up early and spend all the daylight hours in a slow and steady climb. For Bilblox, it was especially difficult. He was blind most of the time, and had to rely on Alfonso's guidance. He had a few moments of vision after burning the leaf, but these moments left him feeling guilty. Every so often, he'd secretly check the bloom to see if it was fine. It looked normal, but what did he know about plants? He'd glance sideways at Alfonso and wonder if his friend somehow sensed that he had betrayed their pledge not to harm the plant. Bilblox was afraid that almost any conversation might lead to talking about the bloom, nestled inside the sealskin pack that he was carrying over his shoulder. So he kept quiet, and when anyone asked him a question, he grunted as short a reply as possible.

Alfonso and the others didn't sense Bilblox's inner torment, partly because the hiking was so exhausting, and partly because everyone was amazed by Spack. Since leaving behind the coffin and struggling through Straszydlo Forest, she was a changed person. She walked by herself and stayed awake just as long as they did. In the evening, she helped set up camp and in the morning, she even helped pack up.

On the third day after leaving Straszydlo Forest, the group encountered its first real mountain storm. A screaming wind poured down from the High Peaks above them, blasting them
from all sides. Snow swirled everywhere and the sun disappeared in a cloud of white. Thousands of tiny shards of ice flew about in the wind, cutting their faces and stinging their eyes. The temperature dropped to the point where Alfonso could no longer feel his feet. Everyone needed to stop and rest, but they couldn't find a place protected from the wind. They pressed onward through the storm until finally they came upon a possible shelter—a slab of dark, volcanic rock flanked by several massive pieces of ice. It provided just enough protection from the wind for them to set up camp and build a fire. They all huddled around the fire as Hill prepared a thin stew. When dinner was ready, they all ate ravenously and then tried to fall asleep.

Alfonso lay on his back with Hill to his left and Bilblox to his right. His body ached fiercely from the cold and from their long, tough journey. He was overwhelmingly tired, but he couldn't sleep because he kept thinking of all the steps that had brought them to this forgotten, lifeless area: the Dormian bloom,
McBridge's Book of Mythical Plants,
the ticking coordinates of Hill's watch, and the mysterious Estonian smuggler's map. Would it all add up to something? Most worrisome of all, the date wheel on Hill's watch was at one. They had less than twenty-four hours to find Somnos. It seemed impossible. Alfonso looked at his uncle. Hill's face was drawn and weary, as if the strain of leading them through the high mountains had taken its inevitable toll. He looked like an old man. Alfonso wanted to say something, but at that moment, a powerful wave of tiredness washed over him. He fell into a deep but restless sleep.

Alfonso was the first to wake up the next morning. The storm had passed. Alfonso investigated the area around their
campsite in the morning light but found nothing remarkable. The area contained only snow, ice, and rock. It was as desolate a place as he had ever seen. It seemed impossible that anybody or anything, even the smallest piece of moss, could live in such an extreme place.

Upon returning to the campsite, Alfonso found Hill scrutinizing the Estonian smuggler's map and muttering to himself. "This makes no sense," Hill said. "It just can't be right."

"What's that?" asked Alfonso.

"Well," said Hill with a frown, "according to this map, and to my calculations, we have arrived at the coordinates sixty-four degrees north latitude by sixty-two degrees east longitude."

"Really?" asked Bilblox excitedly.

"That's the problem," said Hill. "I don't see any cliffs, or mountains walls, or rock outcroppings where the gates to Somnos might appear."

"I agree," said Spack, who was tending to a teakettle dangling over the campfire. "This doesn't look like the right place at all."

Hill sighed heavily.

Spack began pouring everyone cups of tea.

At that very moment Bilblox rose to his feet and cocked his head to one side. "Wait a minute..." he mumbled. He was overcome with a very strange feeling. It was nothing easily described, except to say that the atmosphere at that moment—the scent of burning wood, the bite of the cold wind, and the sound of the rattling teakettle—felt familiar. But how? Why?

"Hey," said Bilblox, "does this place look familiar to any of you?"

"Not at all," replied Spack. "In fact, that's exactly the point
that I was just making. We're
nowhere.
"

"Strange," said Bilblox. He looked around, but his eyes were barely working. He could tell it was morning, but everything seemed foggy, like white mist on white snow. There was no reason for any of this to be familiar.

Nearby, a few soft chunks of snow fell from above and pattered lightly against the ground. It was an almost imperceptible sound, but it struck fear in Bilblox's heart. Suddenly, he realized where he had heard that sound before. It was in Straszydlo Forest—just after putting the ash in his eyes.

"MOVE!" yelled Bilblox. "GET OUT!"

Hill, Alfonso, and Spack exchanged confused looks.

"A little early for that kind of excitement, eh Bilblox?" Spack said.

Bilblox stood up. His big cheeks, perpetually red, gleamed a pale white. "You don't understand!" he shouted. "The ice above us is gonna come crashin' down. We'll all die.
Please
believe me, I know. Come on!" For a second, everyone was too shocked to move. Another small bit of snow pattered down from above. This did the trick. Alfonso and Hill stood up, followed a second later by Spack.

Bilblox pushed them roughly. "Hurry!" he shouted, and picked up the sealskin pack and its precious cargo. Bilblox half-stumbled, half-ran down the path they had trudged up the night before, and stopped about thirty feet away. Behind him followed the rest of the group. When they reached Bilblox's position, they stopped and listened, but heard nothing. Alfonso was about to accuse Bilblox of playing a very bad joke on them when a sudden roar made him turn around. In the next instant, their camp disappeared in a storm of white. It was an avalanche,
and the full brunt of its fury landed on the exact spot where they had been sleeping only moments before. For a full two minutes, the avalanche raged. It was a terrifying sight, especially when they were so close that ice pellets from the falling snow rained on them.

Finally, the avalanche stopped and the snowy mist cleared away. Their camp and all their gear lay buried under thirty feet of snow. The small, hollowed-out place where they slept had become part of the mountain wall, indistinguishable from any other steep incline.

With an astonished look in his eyes, Hill turned toward Bilblox. "How did you know?" he asked. "
How?
"

Bilblox shrugged. "I guess I got a sense for these things," he replied. "Longshoreman's instinct."

Alfonso looked at Bilblox with surprise and confusion. "I can't believe you predicted that," he said.

Bilblox just smiled, and hoped they'd fall for his explanation. Everyone stood there for a minute or two, not knowing exactly what to say or how to react. Hill, however, continued to look at Bilblox.

Bilblox ignored him.

"You know," Hill slowly said to Bilblox, "the last time you had that type of 'sense' was on the
Success Story.
Right?"

"Don't remember," said Bilblox nervously.

Alfonso knew what Hill meant. On the boat, after he had rubbed the ash into his eyes, Bilblox had predicted the arrival of the flying fish and the iceberg. And now, in a very similar manner, he had predicted the avalanche.

"Did you do it?" Alfonso asked Bilblox. "Did you burn another leaf?"

"What are ya talkin' about?" Bilblox protested.

Everyone was silent.

"Sorry," said Alfonso. "I had to ask."

Bilblox said nothing for a moment, then sighed and buried his head in his hands. His huge shoulders hung low and he looked terribly sad. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I-I-I got turned around on that iced-over stream and I just knew those blasted Straszydlos were everywhere. I
heard
'em! I thought I'd be killed, and then what would happen to that little plant? The wheelbarrow had slipped away and then, when I found it, I didn't know where I was and so—" He stopped and looked at everyone.

"So you burned
two
leaves from this plant?" asked an astonished Spack.

Bilblox nodded.

Spack shook her head grimly. "Of all the terrible things you could have done..." she said.

"But does it really matter?" asked Bilblox. "I mean I just saved us
and
the bloom."

"We'll see about that," Hill replied. He opened the pack and carefully reached in for the Dormian bloom. It looked the same, except for the obvious spot where Bilblox had broken off another leaf.

"Bilblox," Hill began. "I don't know what to say."

"I'm not surprised," declared Spack. "I bet he'd slit our throats for a pinch of that ash! Didn't I tell you? Leaf-burners are the worst scum on earth."

"It's not like that," Alfonso protested. "Bilblox is a loyal friend."

"That's not the point," yelled Spack. "Even if he was a loyal friend in the past, it no longer matters. Don't you see? He's burned the sacred Dormian bloom and used its ash—not once, but twice. I
told
you before we entered the forest that he can't be trusted. Any Dormian would tell you the exact same thing. Bilblox
must
leave. Now."

"I dunno what to say," mumbled Bilblox. He slumped to the snow, head and hands uncovered, and sat there dully, as if punched. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated. After a few minutes, he said in a soft voice, "I'll leave."

Bilblox stood up, waved his hand feebly, and turned to weave back down the trail. He walked carefully, like a cat, and held his hands outstretched for balance.

"It's a sad business," said Spack, shaking her head. "But this was the right thing for him to do."

"It's a pity," said Hill. "Such a pity. We trusted Bilblox."

"Wait," said Alfonso.

"Let him go!" snapped Spack. "There's no other choice. Even if he was a good man, that's finished now. He will keep burning the bloom until there is nothing left. I've read about this. He's no longer human—he doesn't know right from wrong."

"I'm afraid Spack is right," said Hill, his voice low and sad. "Bilblox is a good man, but he's a danger to us now. We have to let him go."

Alfonso said nothing but continued to watch Bilblox as he stumbled his way down the mountainside.

"No," said Alfonso as he stared at his snow-covered boots. He was tired and rundown, and it was about the worst he had ever felt in his life. His cheeks burned with the cold and he was
shivering violently. Still, none of that compared with how sick he felt when he looked at his friend Bilblox shuffling down the mountain, perhaps to his death. It wasn't right.