Paragaea (22 page)

“You are a strange being, Benu,” Balam said, cleaning his claws on the shirtfront of one of the fallen Bacharians.

“For this observation, I thank you,” the artificial man said with a gallows smile.

The next morning, the ferry, having arrived in the night, was ready to depart. The company and their reduced number of horses were waiting on the quay to board.

The ferry was an ancient craft of burled wood, with chrome fittings dulled to the color of ash by age and lack of attention. This had been a pleasure barge at some point in the distant past, though its provenance was now difficult to determine, given its decayed state.

“It was likely constructed during the interregnum between the fall of the Black Sun and the rise of the Metamankind Empires,” Benu lectured at Leena, while she tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes, “when human cultures were allowed briefly to flourish on the north shore of Parousia. These mayfly societies were brief-lived, going through the inevitable stages of historical development quickly, reaching a decadent, hedonistic stage within only a few generations. Their pleasure craft plied the waters of the Inner Sea, the lords and ladies carrying on opulent parties that lasted for weeks and months at a time. Obsessed
with pleasures of the flesh, and prurient license, they had no interest in preserving their own history, or in the pursuit of knowledge, or exploration. When the metamen expanded their respective spheres of influence from the south and east, these mayfly cultures were extinguished almost overnight.”

Leena, for her part, was more interested in the ship's design and locomotion than in the fate of the decadent culture that had constructed it. At one time, evidently, the barge had been propelled by some variety of internal combustion, using some explosive material as fuel. The gears and pistons, though, had long since rusted solid, and now the ferry was propelled across the river by sheer strength of arms. A long cable ran from one shore to the other, woven fibers as big around as a man's waist secured at either shore and threaded through a clamp on the port side of the barge. The deckhands' sole responsibility in transit, having either loaded or unloaded cargo and vehicles at either end, was to haul on this massive cable, advancing the barge by centimeters. But since the cable was not stretched taut, but had to be allowed to trail a few meters underwater so as not to ensnare any vessels sailing up or downriver, the weight of the cable was trebled or more by the brackish river water, and the cable itself was slick and black with algae.

The barge hands were a motley mix of all races and species: humans of all stripes, from those like Leena and Hieronymus to the half-sized Sheeog, from the barrel-chested, thick-nosed Kobolt to the towering Rephaim; and metamen of all varieties—Sinaa, Struthio, Canid, Arcas, and Tapiri.

The ferry's captain, a slight, frail-looking man with a fringe of dirty-gray hair that ringed his head, his skin a deep walnut brown, was introduced to them as the owner's husband. The mind boggled at the two of them in any kind of congress, but when it was revealed that the small brown-skinned girl was their daughter, it was almost too much to believe.

Frail as he looked, though, he drove the deckhands with an iron will, shouting at them to be about their duties, his voice alarmingly loud and booming.

“Pull, you dogs! Pull, or I'll lash the life from you!”

The barge slowly crossed the murky, slow-moving river, through waters sluggish and brown.

It took the better part of a day to cross to the other shore, and then the company was once more on its way.

Unable to change horses at midday, their progress was not as swift as it had been on the earlier leg of the journey, but they were still able to travel for eight or nine hours a day, covering more than thirty kilometers at a stretch. East of the Pison, the terrain was much different than that through which they'd been riding. The scrub brush lowlands that abutted the eastern shore of the Pison quickly gave way to arid stretches, dry and grassless, with the only trees small, twisted husks that rose like gnarled claws from the bone-dry ground. When the winds blew, sand and dust gritted in their eyes, noses, and mouths; and with the exception of Benu, who was not perturbed by such things, the company took to wrapping stretches of cloth around their heads, covering their mouths, ears, and noses, leaving only thin slits through which they could see. The sun beat down on them mercilessly, and after the second day they took to traveling by moonlight, and sleeping as best they could under the shade of their makeshift tents during the brightest hours of daylight. When Leena was informed that they had entered the edge of the Eastern Desert, she was hardly surprised.

By the end of their fourth day of traveling, they came within sight of the coast, and Leena got her first glimpse of Masjid Empor.

Masjid Empor was a city of contrasts, a gateway, a place of the borderlands. Not only did it straddle the border between the scorching deserts to the north and the crystal-blue waters of the Inner Sea to the south, but between the young Sakrian cultures to the west, and the older cultures to the east—the Nonae, and the scattered remains of the Parousian Dynasty, and the Sabaean culture of which Masjid Empor was the northernmost outpost. Even the ancient culture of Keir-Leystall, toward which they were bound, lay beyond Masjid Empor to the east.

Unlike the cities of the Sakrian plains, with their multistory buildings, Masjid Empor was low and wide, with only the calif's palace and the minarets of the temples rising up above the skyline. The rest of the city rose little more than two stories tall, with canopies hanging out over every door and window to increase the available shade, and wide thoroughfares that radiated out from the shore like spokes, to extend the cool breezes off the waves as far as they would travel. Only the
poorest dwelt in the quarter farthest from the seashore, on the desert side of the city, where the heat seemed to rise up off the sands like air from an open oven.

It was in this quarter that the company found lodging.

“I've seen enough of deserts,” Balam complained. He stood on the balcony, beneath the sheltering shade of the canopy, looking out on the endless desert stretching before them. They were on the second floor of a building at the far edge of the city, with nothing between them and the desert but a low wall. Evidently, the city builders had not feared invasion from the land side, and fortifications were negligible. “Couldn't we spend a little more for a seafront view? It's just for a few nights, at most.”

They had rented out a suite of rooms that shared a common area and a bathing room. The common area opened onto the balcony, through which nothing but sand was visible.

“If it's only for a few nights, you can stand the heat a while longer,” Hieronymus replied, stretched out lengthwise on a settee. “We need the money for our passage and, besides, we'll be on the waves soon enough.”

“More's the pity,” Balam said, shaking his head. “I much prefer watching waves to riding them.” He looked with deep apprehension over at Benu and Leena, who sat on matched chairs at the far side of the common area, their packs at their feet. “Are you sure we can't just ride on to Parousia, and the oracular forests beyond?”

“You were right, Hero.” Leena's mouth curled in a mocking smile. “He
is
afraid of the water.”

Benu looked at Balam, curious, and in all seriousness said, “Is this the result of some childhood trauma, perhaps? Phobias are typically the result of early imprinting, of incidents that occur in adolescence and which the psyche is not developed sufficiently to process.”

“It's not a phobia!” Balam shouted. “I just…I just don't like the water, all right? I just really don't like the water. I don't need a reason, do I?”

“In point of fact,” Benu said, “an irrational fear or dislike is the very definition of a phobia.”

“I'm going to take a bath,” Balam said dismissively, crossing to the entrance to the bathing chamber. “You lot can keep your amusements to yourselves.

“I'm just glad he's not afraid of the water in
there,”
Leena said.

“Though from the smell of him, you wouldn't know it,” Hieronymus said, waving a hand before his face, his nose crinkling comically.

“I wouldn't be so quick to point out the Sinaa's odorous qualities, Hieronymus,” Benu said. “You have yourself been emitting a somewhat pungent aroma these past weeks.”

Hieronymus sniffed experimentally under his arm, and then jerked back his head in alarm.

“Dear god, what a stench. Baths for everyone before we take another step.”

“But I'm next up,” Leena said, jumping out of her chair and snatching up her pack. “Bad enough I'm forced to clean jaguar fur out of the tub before cleaning myself, I'll not contend with your grime as well.”

Within the hour, once the sopping jaguar man had been driven from the bathing chamber, Leena luxuriated in the tiled tub. She'd not had a proper bath in ages. The best she'd managed since leaving Laxaria had been a few moments to sponge herself off in the privacy of the water closet aboard the
Rukh.
Thereafter, she'd been forced to make do with quick dips into rivers, ponds, and streams, having to keep a sharp lookout for snakes, leeches, or any other aquatic or amphibious predators—reptile, mammal, dinosaur, or otherwise—and usually in full view of the men. This was the first time she'd been able to shut a door behind her, strip out of her well-traveled clothes, and soak in a hot tub in long months.

Leena rested her head on a cushion at the tub's edge, her eyes closed. She breathed slowly in and out through her nose, her mouth curled in a contented smile. She felt better than she had in a longer time than she could recall. The hot water of the tub, laced with oils and perfumes, soothed her aching muscles, and the fact that they would soon board a ship that would carry them to the one place that might hold the answer to her return home helped calm her thoughts.

Leena was teetering on the edge of sleep when the door opened. Too relaxed to be startled, Leena rolled her head to the side and languorously opened her eyes. Hieronymus stood at the threshold, a clean set of clothing folded in his arms, his eyes wide.

“Ex-excuse me.” Hieronymus blushed, and averted his eyes. “I—I thought you were done in here, and already in your room.”

He turned to leave, his shoulders hunched and head low.

“Hold a moment, Hero,” Leena called after him. “There's something I wanted to ask you. But first…”

She stood up from the tub, the water sluicing off her bare skin. Suddenly exposed to the cooler air, her nipples stood erect, the areolas dark against the smooth white skin of her breasts. Leena put her hands on her hips, and cocked her head to one side.

“Why are you so embarrassed to see my nakedness? I've been disrobed in your company any number of times in our travels together.”

Hieronymus tried to keep his gaze fixed on the ceiling, but his eyes kept flicking to her chest, to the curve of her hips, to the thatch of hair between her legs. His face flushing red, he shifted uncomfortably. “Well, that is…You see, when we are in the wilds, and circumstances demand, your nudity seems functionary, merely a practical concern. Here, though…” He gestured around them. The inn was inexpensive, but the bathing chamber was no less opulent for its affordability. “Within doors, such a state seems terribly intimate, and I can't help but feel as though I am intruding on your privacy.”

Leena stepped dripping out of the tub and, wrapping a thick linen
towel around herself, perched on the edge of the tub. “If I should live to be a hundred years old, I'll never understand the opposite sex.”

“Then we have that in common,” Hieronymus said with a weary sigh. He turned back towards the door. “I'll leave you to it.”

“No,” Leena called after him, “that wasn't the question which I wanted to ask.”

Hieronymus set his clothes down on a low table, and leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

“I wanted to ask you about…well…I couldn't help but notice that your mood has been rather dark this past week or more. It is as though some nightmare of tortured sleep has clung to you throughout the daylight hours. You seem often sullen and withdrawn, and when you do smile or jest, it seems almost forced, as though you are trying to compensate for something. What is troubling you?”

Hieronymus took a deep breath, and paused before answering. “Perhaps some elements of Benu's story, related to us en route, reminded me of things in my own past of which I am not proud.”

“I thought as much.” Leena nodded. “All of us have done things which we later have cause to regret. But circumstances force our hand, and we do what we must to survive.”

“Perhaps,” Hieronymus said. “Or perhaps some of us are merely weak, and given to succumbing to our darker natures, without the influence of others to keep our feet on the appropriate path.”

Hieronymus crossed to the shuttered window, and looked down through the slats to the street and the desert beyond. He seemed pained, as though haunted by some memory he could not escape.

“What happened to you, when last you were in Masjid Empor?” Leena asked.

Hieronymus grimaced, and turned his back on her. “It was simply a…business opportunity that went awry. I would imagine the locals might not look back too fondly on that time, as indeed I don't myself.”

Leena stood and took a step forward, reaching out a tentative hand
to touch his shoulder. But in the instant before her fingers made contact, Hieronymus whirled, a smile forced onto his face.

“But enough of the gloomy past,” he said. “Masjid Empor is a marvelous metropolis, the jewel of the Inner Sea's eastern shore, and we've nothing to gain from staying indoors and moping. Let's see a bit of the town before we set sail for Parousia, and beyond that the forests of Keir-Leystall.”

“And beyond that, Earth?”

“And beyond that, Earth,” Hieronymus said, taking Leena's hands in his. “With any luck, we'll have you home in a trice.”

With her hands in Hieronymus's, her arms lifted and her towel slipped off, falling to the ground. Hieronymus looked down, standing only centimeters away from her naked form, and his face flushed even redder than before. After a long, awkward pause, he dropped Leena's hands as though they were hot rocks, rushed to the door, gathered up his clothes, and scuttled out into the common area.

“I'll just get dressed, then, shall I?” Leena called through the open door, a smile on her lips.

The company, at last refreshed, bathed, and dressed in clean clothing, set out into the streets of Masjid Empor. It was late afternoon, and the sun had just begun to set over the Inner Sea.

“We'll find the most likely vessels this way, I believe.” Benu walked up the street quickly, with a purpose.

“What is your rush, Benu?” Hieronymus called after him.

Benu paused in his tracks, and turned around, a confused expression on his unmarred features. “Are we not bound for the waterfront, to seek passage on a southbound ship?”

“We are bound for the waterfront, perhaps,” Hieronymus
answered, “but not yet to seek passage. In time we will. But first, we've needs to fulfill, even if you don't. I was anxious about returning to Masjid Empor, but I find now that having arrived, and walked once more these welcoming streets, I worried needlessly.”

“I'm hungry,” Balam said.

“You are always hungry,” Benu answered.

“No, I'm
frequently
hungry. I could always
eat
, but I am not always hungry. Now, however, I am hungry.”

“And I could use a drink,” Leena said.

“As could I,” Hieronymus answered with a will. “And I believe I recall just the place in which we can fulfill all of our purposes. This way.” With that, he took Leena by the elbow and strode down the avenue, leaving Balam and Benu to follow behind.