The Tower of Il Serrohe (46 page)

“
True, but that’s not what I’m getting at,” the bat said, gathering his forces. “They
are
different. In fact, when Teresa saw Pia and Pita, it ‘freaked her out’ as the teenagers around here would say. They weren’t exactly
human—”

Don sat up abruptly in spite of everything. “OK, mouse breath, that does it! Get the hell out of here. You tell me all this bullshit about the Valle and how they needed Teresa and how she delivered and how much they need me and I’m the only one who can save their sorry asses and now you’re saying Pia and Pita
aren’t human!

“
Just what in the hell are they?
Aliens!
Are we talking about another planet? Has this sorry little fantasy now been recast as science fiction? How much crap am I supposed to swallow before I get the full story? I gotta get out of here! I need a therapist, not a flying rat whispering to me. This place is cursed. Everything was going just fine until I came to this shithole. Hell, the only problem I had then was getting kicked out of my house and wife’s bed.

“
That
I can deal with.
This
I can’t.” Don fell back, spent and breathing hard. He felt like he was going to throw up again, but couldn’t gather the energy even to avoid puking all over himself.

Much to his disappointment, he was unable to throw up or drive the bat away. Nightwing just looked at him calmly, offering no comment.

Don looked over at him. “All right, you piece of flying, furry crap, let’s just see what’s what!”

With a Herculean effort, Don got to his feet. He checked the time on a cheap digital clock on the table next to the bat. It was noon. That meant it was midnight in the Valle.
Perfect time to make one last visit. Hell, most of the weekend is left before school starts again, why not go out and save a world in the meantime!

Grabbing the glass of water on the table, he rotated slowly trying to avoid a quick dump flat on his face and headed for the Portal shining on the south wall. He threw the water on it, stumbled through, and seemed to somersault in slow motion head over heels through the pudding of the transition zone.

He fell onto the cold, hard ground. Overhead, the moon shone brightly. The landscape was like a black and white negative with the Tower rising like a white phallus on the distant high plain. To the north were the more modest Steeples.

I don’t think I can face Raquela right now. I’ll head for the Nohmin Place of Homes. I probably didn’t hurt Nersite’s feelings quite as much. He won’t tell me off like Raquela will.

Don noticed he felt great, in spite of the sharp temporary pain in his back from the fall. Cleansed of the hangover, fresh non-alcoholic blood coursing through his veins, and a clear mind to sort things—all were what the Portal had to offer. As he got up, setting off at a brisk pace for the Place of Homes, he suddenly came up short.

That damned bat! He did it again. He said something provocative enough to get me back here. If he had asked outright, I would have fried him up for breakfast, but this way he got me to come here at breakneck speed. That sly bastard,
he thought, with a grudging respect for the bat’s manipulative skill.

Shrugging, he started walking at his original quick pace
. I feel better here even if it is a delusion. And I think I only disappointed these people instead of crushing even their low expectations by being such an ass. I have a feeling they aren’t capable of hanging on to resentment. Hell, they may have forgotten my getting drunk!

In about an hour, Don reached the Place of Homes, but he didn’t find the neatly arranged and carefully shaped flat rocks or wooden covers to the root homes. Instead, he saw a haphazard scattering of deep holes littered with dried plants and piles of dirt.

He feared it was too late. The Soreyes had raided the Place of Homes, tore up the holes and pulled out the inhabitants, carting them off in slave cages. Although, it was hard to imagine the Soreyes forcing themselves to go down into those holes to get the Nohmin. Don looked into a couple of holes, fighting off his dread and claustrophobia.

Nothing.

Now what?

He thought back to the “plan.” He looked southwest toward Lunatik Peak, the Valle Abajo version of Rio Luna Hill, towering over the smaller Tohmay Steeples. The peak was not just a few hundred feet of a rounded ancient volcano, but a massive mountain looking more like Mount Fuji than anything in the Rio Grande Valley. He had the vague recollection the clans were going to congregate on the far side of that mountain and then, somehow, sneak around to attack the Tower.

He faced north and contemplated the Tower, still menacing the Seared Meadow on its south side and the wide Valle Abajo to its east.
How do you sneak up on a place like that? What is the plan? Can there be any plan? That was my problem and the reason I copped out.

He turned to study the peak, seeing the quickest way would be to skirt around its east side and hope to hell he could find the clanspeoples’ encampment in the Pot Hills.

If there is an encampment.

Not knowing what else to do, he started south, keeping his mind clear of thinking, strategy, or tactics. He would have to make it up as they went along. He talked himself out of worrying about whether there would be anyone on the other side of the mountain.

In the brightness of the moonlight, this terrain looked more like the New Mexico he knew than anywhere else in this alternative place. The scrappy sage bushes, the mesquite, and chamisa were familiar flora. The rough, sandy hills and arroyos were just like those of his childhood spent prowling around the West Mesa on his dirt bike, that is, until his father sold his bike out from under him to finance a month’s worth of beer.

Bastard.

The hours drug along, but Don was pleased with the timing. He would make the south side of the massive “hill” before daylight. That way, any Soreyes on lookout duty on the Tower would have no chance of seeing him if they could see that far.

He appreciated the silence. No leather wings beating above.
Damned bat finally decided to leave me alone. Good!

The hard work, slogging through the loose sand and, at other times, clamoring up rocky hillsides while avoiding scrapes from the sharp, hardscrabble brush, kept Don focused and toughened his flabby muscles.

Problem is I’ll be exhausted when I get to the other side just in time for sun up!

And as the sun was starting to peek over the distant Mountains of the Sky, he rounded the southeastern edge of the steep slope of Lunatik Peak to be greeted by…

Nothing.

Nothing other than more low plains and distant sand hills covered with more sage and chamisa. The Pot Hills weren’t impressive.

He ended up on a small hill that dropped a hundred feet or so to the southern plains. To the east was the wide valley, a few fields probably belonging to southern Taurimin or Càhbahmin clans, and a much wider and wilder bosque that reached the edge of the sand hills which sloped down steeply before dropping to the flat valley floor.

But no clans were visible. Don scanned slowly across the Pot Hills, looking for smoke from clan fires, clusters of people, some activity. At this point, he would have welcomed the sound of leather wings approaching. At least from an aerial view, Nightwing could spot the clans.

Why did he get me to come here and then leave me on my own to find the clans?
Don thought, contradicting his earlier wishes.

Then among the waist high bushes that covered the down slope of the small hill where he stood, there was rustling and the noise of animals barking.

Barking?

But it was a high pitched “yap,” not that of a canine.

“
Hey! Hey! Hey!”

Don almost twisted his head like a canine when he heard it. Was that the Nohmin? It sounded somewhat like them, but more animal-like.

Suddenly he was surrounded by a herd of large prairie dogs darting around his feet, yipping away. Some of them stopped to glance up at him for a split second, then continued darting around in random trajectories.

Out of the commotion, he heard a familiar voice, “Don! Hey! Hey! Don! It’s me, Nersite! You’re back! Hey! Hey!”

Don looked about for his little friend, but that damned herd of prairie dogs was all he could see. Then he saw one of them standing on his haunches, staring at him with a familiar intensity.

“
Don! We knew you would come back!”

Don’s eyes were riveted on the prairie dog as he watched his mouth moving and his little front feet flitting up and down excitedly.

“
Nersite?”

“
Who else? You’ve come to help! Here, Netheraire! It’s Don!” The prairie dog
pointed
at him
.

Don closed his eyes so tightly that stars and flashes of light played on the inside of his eyelids.

When he slowly, carefully looked again, that damned prairie dog was gazing up at him, still there.

sixty eight

It
was
Nersite, no doubt. The beady eyes, small nose, round head, brown tunic—no, it was actually fur. There was intelligence in those eyes, and his mouth seemed to form words when he heard Nersite’s voice.

Oh. My. God! They’re animals. The Nohmin are prairie dogs!

“
You are a prairie dog!” Don blurted out.

“
Huh? What’s that? I’m Nohmin and these,” indicating the bunch that had stopped darting about and now sat staring back at Don, “these are my clanspeople. What’s a dog?”

Don’s vision faded-out like the end of a movie. Lightheaded, his stomach turned as the Earth tilted to rise up, slamming the back of his head. He could hear a din of yipping and excited talk.

“
What happened to him? Did he take a Soreye arrow? Is he sick?”

“
Shut up, Nohmin! Give him room. Let him breathe,” Nersite’s voice cut through the chatter.

Don felt someone lift his head and support his shoulders. Like a movie fade-in, light returned, though he saw only black and white. When color returned, Nersite’s face was front and center.

“
Jesus Christ, Nersite! I didn’t know. When I met you guys, when I last saw you, you were people. Funny-looking people, but people all the same.”

“
We’re still people! What are you talking about? What’s wrong?”

The one identified as Netheraire, came in closer, looking at Don like a nurse. “His nose looks dry. He doesn’t sound good. He’s probably hungry. Have you been walking all night?”

“
Yes, and of course I’m hungry. No food in I don’t how long. I threw up. Hung over. I just started walking. No food or clothes. Sorry, I don’t mean to offend anyone—”

“
What are you talking about?” Nersite asked.

Don laughed. “Hell, I don’t know. How do I look?”

“
Fine, other than what Netheraire just said. What clothes are you missing? Your fur looks OK to me.”

This is getting nowhere fast! I can feel the sand getting up my butt. I know I’m naked, but not to them. Go figure.

“
Let me get up.” Don stood with a lot of help from little paws. He looked around. They were awfully big for prairie dogs. In fact, they were the same size as the last time he’d seen them. He saw familiar faces. Nersite was totally recognizable, but like a prairie dog, not a person.

Then a sweet voice rang out.

“
Don!”

It was Raquela’s.
At last! She can explain this. She’s descended from Pia; the Pirallts understand this “two valleys” thing. She’ll…

Don turned gingerly toward her, hoping he wouldn’t black out again. Even more prairie dogs—or Nohmin—were gathered around him along with other animals: a couple of oxen (!), horses, and even beavers which had no business here on the plains. Three wolves up on the ridge looked down at him with a family of bobcats about twenty yards away, while overhead excited blue jays flitted about and a deer bounded through the slowly approaching crowd.

It leaped gracefully over the Nohmin, coming to a stop in a cloud of dust right in front of Don, startling him with its boldness. He raised his arm defensively, remembering his father’s warning that a threatened deer could stomp you to death with its sharp hooves.

“
Don? Why are you afraid?” said Raquela’s voice, sounding hurt.

Don looked around for her pretty face and figure.

“
Don? I’m right here.”

Looking back at the deer, for the second time this morning his eyes were riveted, this time to almond-shaped eyes.

Raquela?

Jesus.

Christ.

Almighty! It’s you!

While his mind screamed, his voice barely croaked. “Raquela? Jesus Christ Almighty! It’s you—you’re a deer!”

Her sweet face went painfully slack. “It’s me, yes. But I’m just a Pirallt. What is a deer?”