The Tower of Il Serrohe (51 page)

“
That was only an example. You can list whatever you want—”

“
And those other words: uh, ‘four,’ ‘twel’—”

“
That’s ‘twelve.’ Those are numbers to tell you how many of something you have.”

“
Oh, well, we have numbers. ‘Uno,’ ‘Dos,’ ‘tres,’—”

“
I’ll be damned. Spanish numbers. I understand. There are symbols for each of those as I’ve written.”

“
What is this ‘written’?”

“
Oh, that’s a word, meaning I’ve marked these words and numbers down on the page, uh, leather.”

The chief seemed overwhelmed and pushed back from the table to leave.

“
And here, I’ve written something from a story, uh, well known among my people: ‘It was the best of times, and the worst of times…’”

The chief
shook his head, discounting this demonstration, coming to his feet. “This is bullshit. I will send someone to talk to you. One of the priests. This sort of thing interests them.” But, he said by implication, not him.

He left without ceremony. The girl was dumbfounded, so she gathered the dirty dishes, fussed with crumbs, raking them into the half empty bowl of stew and rushed out. Don saw the old man looking as if he had just discovered a fox in the henhouse.

Without waiting for a priest to show up, Don took advantage of being alone and went outside. Looking up at the Tower, he decided to walk up the path meandering north between the adobe huts. Stopping at the edge of the mesa a few feet beyond the last huts, he looked down the steep cliffs of dirt and volcanic rock. He looked back at the Tower, about a hundred yards away.

Someone on up the Tower appeared, gazing east.  Don left before he could glance down.

He walked back the way he had come, or so he thought. He couldn’t find the plaza again and ended up at a ditch that served the huge gardens on the west side of the Soreye village. The men and women working in the small field looked up at the alien visitor.

High-pitched calls of playing Soreye children came from around the huts, out of sight. Then another sound (as if someone were pounding on a blanket or a large piece of leather) came from overhead. Don looked up, trying to locate its source. He saw a small dark brown dot with long narrow wings flapping, darting in unexpected directions every few strokes.

Nightwing, I’ll bet. That bastard can’t strain himself to come down here. Unless of course, he’s leaving.

Don sensed someone behind him. Turning, he was startled to find a young man with a shaved head.

“
Oh! Sorry,” Don said.

“
It’s all right. We lost track of you. Chief Sydewynder wants you to show me this ‘write’ you talked about.” He seemed unsuspicious of Don’s wandering around the village.

“
It’s called ‘writing.’ Where can we find a table and another piece of leather?”

Don took another look at the sky and found nothing but scattered clouds.

The young man led him to a hut south of the Tower, where they were occupied for the rest of the morning. Through an open window, the Tower was fully visible. By noon, the precocious young priest could write his name, ‘Sofuh’; had a good start on the base ten numbers system and symbols; and after learning enough letters of the alphabet and a few basic words, could write simple three word sentences.

Sofuh’s handwriting was atrocious because he hadn’t developed the coordination needed for writing. But that would improve with time. Meanwhile, he eagerly soaked up the
concepts
of writing and numbers.

After lunch, Sofuh showed his handiwork to Sydewynder with a great deal of pride. The chief sniffed and spat on the ground, but he seemed more impressed than he had been that morning. An older priest, the third in rank of the Soreye priests, spent the afternoon with Don and Sofuh as the lessons continued.

Taken in by the situation, Don didn’t question whether this was delirium or improbable reality. He enjoyed the teaching and interaction with the fairly bright priests, but he became worn out from the effort and eagerly accepted the offer of a modest sleeping pad in an adobe house where four young priests lived. After a simple meal of stew and fresh bread, he collapsed on the pad and fell asleep in the midst of thoughts that cycled from trying to remember what the bat had told him about Teresa to wondering how he came to be in this drawn-out hallucination.

He dreamt of Nohmin and Ursimin as they ran through a vast bosque thick with cottonwoods and willow bushes, being chased by Crotalmin who slithered along faster than any snake had a right to. Sometimes, Bernie and Nersite were a couple of ordinary guys; other times, they were a black bear and a prairie dog. At one point, Don’s childhood pet dog, Jack, tried to protect him from Sliktooth who could bounce from tree limb to the ground like a crazed boomerang.

Don gave more lessons to new students the next day, as well as advanced work with Sofuh who then served as mentor. Friar Scale, the head priest,
came by and seemed to watch with a mixture of distrust and reluctant curiosity. When he left, he smiled and patted Don’s shoulder.

As a result, they held a casual celebration honoring Don and his contribution to the Soreyes. He hoped this wasn’t creating a monster in the Valle Abajo.

Seven tall, mostly flat-chested young Soreye women danced for Don and a select group of Soreyes. The music was a fascinating mix of Mexican Ranchero and an alternative Appalachian folk style played on scales more Middle Eastern than European. Don would have given his left nut for an audio recorder, hell no, a video recorder as he knew he could never recreate what he’d heard and seen that night.

His second great discovery during this sojourn in the Valle Abajo was that the Soreyes had beer! A somewhat watery version with a strange pulp, it looked orange but had a flavor like off-tasting squash. There may have been corn in it, too, but he wasn’t sure since the alcohol content was high. His tongue went numb after only two drinks.

All things considered, the Barbamin had a much better beer.

After three drinks the lanky dancing girls looked fairly voluptuous. As he started his fourth, one of the better built young women agreed to join him. As the room swayed to the now somber music, he failed to notice the encouragement she received from Sydewynder. Near the end of the fourth drink, the new friends stumbled their way back to her hut.

She wasn’t a priest, so her hut was in an overcrowded, trashy part of the village with a full view of Seared Meadow through her one, tiny window. Lighting a candle that filled the dingy room with a romantic glow, she went directly to her sleeping pad on a mat of worn-out felt, plopping down inelegantly. The strong musky odor irritated Don’s nose so he medicated it with another deep draught of beer.

She patted the spot next to her, inviting Don to sit. He veered his way over like an ineptly piloted barge while she removed her feather headdress and bright green vest, thereby revealing a skimpy bra holding a substantial pair of breasts. Turned to him, she thrust out her chest, inviting him to explore.

Don considered the offer. She wasn’t pretty, but in the dim candlelight, she wasn’t hard to look at either. “Are you bashful, teacher-man?” she slurred.

“
No, just careful. I’m not sure what my standing is here among the Soreyes—uh, I mean So-rye. I wouldn’t want to offend your family—”

She laughed heartily, like the kind of middle-aged hard-drinking woman one might find in a seedy downtown bar. The nature of that laugh startled him. He looked at her more carefully, thinking he might have misjudged her age. However, she still appeared to be fairly young. In fact, she could be under eighteen, though Don doubted they had statutory rape laws here. If you messed with one of their girls or women and they didn’t like you, you got your balls cut off. If they liked you, you could probably do anything you wanted.

Don wondered if they truly liked him.

She ran her hand down his chest and lingered just below his navel. He waited for the other shoe to fall, but, instead, she circled around his belly, back up to his chest and around the back of his neck, pulling him toward her. They kissed—she much more passionately than he.

She leaned back, thrusting her chest toward him more insistently. He didn’t react so she brought his right hand up to her left breast and pressed it against her firmly. It was more than a handful with a nice, yielding cushiness.

He felt a bow knot in the bra between her breasts. He pulled a loose end and the bra fell away revealing two large breasts that sagged more than a young woman’s should. Their proportions were a mismatch with her narrow chest.

As she grasped his face to pull it down to her breasts, he got a good look into her eyes. They were dull and empty like the eyes of the Crotalmin, Sliktooth.

This so startled Don that he was instantly sober, beginning to think coherently.
This is a setup. Either they’ll do the old “you screwed her, now you marry her” routine, or worse: “no one screws around with our women, so now you die, scum!”

Not this puppy.

Don pushed her back firmly while avoiding being rough.

“
I don’t know if someone put you up to this or you like older guys, but I can’t do it.”

Her dull eyes went fiery, but not with sexual passion. “You bastard!” she spat. “Think you’re too good to screw me?”

“
That’s not what I meant. I just think you’re too young for me, I’m too drunk, and I don’t want any trouble with your father or the chief.”

She laughed in that same bawdy way except this time it had a derisive edge. “You stupid shithead. They
told
me to screw you.”

“
Why?”

“
I don’t know—it’s not my business. Maybe because they want to make you happy, so you would stay a while. I don’t even know where you came from, or why you’re so important, except that you’ve been teaching the priests.”

“
It could be they’re trying to get me into trouble—”

“
You idiot. If they wanted to get you, they would just whack you up side the head and cut off your dick. Why would they give me new clothes and jewelry to screw you if they didn’t want to persuade you to stay? I could have shown you a good time and not just this one night.”

She paused, settling down. “You still could have a good time with me, but you’d have to start being nice.”

All Don could think about was Raquela’s beauty and innocence, and how this young woman was manipulative. A lot like his soon-to-be ex-wife. In fact, that was the first time he’d thought about Bess since watching her drive away after dropping him off from jail.

“
Sorry, it’s not you,” he said, trying to placate her. “I don’t like being used. If you’re interested in me, fine. But right now, I’m not in the mood.”

She smirked and started putting her bra back on. “Can’t get it up, old man?”

“
I’m not old; it’s just that I’m too drunk to appreciate what a good time you could show me. Another time, but not tonight.”

She looked at him skeptically. “Yeah, well find some other place to spend the night because you’re not sharing my sleeping pad tonight.”

“
Fair enough.” He stood, teetered slightly. Maybe he wasn’t as sober as he thought. “I have something to do anyway. Good night.”

She looked like she might try to entice him with a sexy look, and then placed her hand firmly on his thigh. “You get discouraged too easily—”

“
Perhaps, but that’s just the way I am. Maybe another night, I wouldn’t want you to lose the nice things they gave you to get me in bed.”

She frowned, not having considered she might have to give up her “payment.” Don left her at that, wondering what there was about prostitutes that always turned him
off
rather than
on.

Walking between huts in the bright moonlight, he couldn’t get his mind off Raquela, Nersite, and the clanspeople.
How could I have considered turning my back on them?

Picking up his pace, his movements became stealthy. Were they watching him now, or had someone outside the woman’s hut been listening? If not, he had a chance to escape. He should be able to make it undetected across Seared Meadow in the moonlight, even from someone watching in the Tower.

Bending low and darting erratically, he headed southwest across the Meadow, fearing a spear between his shoulder blades at any moment.

seventy two

Loping along, Don felt he was running swiftly with an unusual agility. Glancing at his silhouette in the moonlight, he saw a graceful young stag including his little antlers.

Curious, he tried to feel them, but his front legs galloping along the meadow would not allow it.

No hands, mom. God, this is weird—but amazing! No better way to travel.

In spite of his transformation, he became tired about two miles northwest of Lunatik Peak. Realizing he was safe from a Soreye spear, he slowed to a gradual stop, searching for a place to curl up. Finding a nice rounded out depression under a lone piñon tree, he settled down and slept free of dreams and doubt.

The sun eased up a fraction over the round top of Lunatik Peak and stabbed at Don’s closed eyes. Barely opening them, he squinted as bright rays seared through to the back of his head.

When his pupils had adjusted, he looked around seeing sand, scraggy bushes, and dried tumbleweeds fresh in the crisp morning air. He rose, stretched luxuriously. Nothing for breakfast or any water available, so he headed south again, hoping to find something tasty at the clans’ encampment.

He trotted around the western foothills of Lunatik, and down the slope to Pot Hills to find the clans—

Gone.

It had only been two days.
What the hell happened to counting the damned five rocks for each day before they took off?

Don was pissed and mystified. He should have talked to Raquela even though she didn’t want to talk to him. She would have understood what to do. She was smarter than Nersite.
Stupid little bastard either forgot about the rocks or forgot what to do by the second morning.

Don wandered around aimlessly ending up on the top of the ridge where three of his five rocks still sat undisturbed.
They had already left before this morning, probably yesterday. Why am I not surprised?

He found tracks made by different animals or clans—
whatever
—pocking the sand for dozens of square yards. Then, they seemed to narrow and concentrate in a northeasterly direction. No tracks of smaller groups went off in different directions as if going their own way. So they were all together.