Ontogeny

Chapter 8b

 
"I wonder what kind of reptile he was raised from," mused Harper, nodding a head towards their guide, who was riding a strange, local breed of horse at the head of their column.

"A crocodile," said Spencer confidently. "Have you seen his teeth? Looks like he could tear an antelope apart with those teeth."

"A crocodile would eat its parents before they could form a parent bond with it," pointed out Cotton. "I would think it was something a little smaller. A monitor lizard, perhaps. I've heard they live in places like this."

"His arms are completely human," said Quill. "I saw him with his shirt off last night. His body's rough and scaly, but his arms are completely smooth and pink, with hair, as if they've never been reptilian. I think he was some kind of snake."

"Why would someone adopt a snake?" asked Spencer.

"Why would someone adopt any kind of reptile?"

"What do you think, Spoon?" asked Harper. "Got any theories?"

"No," replied Spooner without looking around.

"Okay," said Harper with a raised eyebrow towards the others.

"Spoon! Stop talking!" cried Spencer in mock exasperation. "You never shut up! Rabbit rabbit rabbit! I've never heard anyone go on like you do!" The others chuckled to themselves.

"If you've got nothing to say, then best to say nothing," replied Spooner unflappably. "Empty vessels make the most noise."

"He's a full vessel, all right," agreed Harper. "I'm not going to say what he's full of." Spencer laughed out loud, and the other rangers all smiled. Spooner's face revealed nothing of what he was thinking.

"All right, cut it out," warned the Brigadier. "Remember that we're representing Helberion. These people will judge our country by our example, so let's set a good one."

The banter ceased, except for the occasional snigger, but Malone wondered who they were supposed to be impressing. They were alone in the forest except for Sherren Harle, who didn't seem particularly concerned with what his employers were saying to each other. He was currently holding his nose in the air and sniffing, as if he could smell the way to Barag Tull. He reached into a pocket of his jacket, pulled out a dead mouse, stared at it for a few moments, then popped it into his mouth and swallowed it whole. Malone stared in astonishment and shared a glance with Cotton, who'd also seen it. They shrugged at each other, then stared at their guide in case he did something else interesting.

Sherren Harle led them through the forest by a winding circuitous route, and Malone wondered whether he was deliberately taking them the long way round to maximise the duration of his employment and, consequently, his pay. It turned out that he was merely obeying the dictates of his religion though, as they found out when they came across a beaten down path through the woods that led the way they wanted to go. The rangers went to follow it, but Sherren Harle spoke loudly in Pennygab and gestured for them to go further north.

"What's the problem, Crane?" asked the Brigadier.

The tracker spoke to their guide in the merchant's tongue for a few moments, then turned back to the others. "It's what I told you yesterday," he explained. "They don't make roads. When a road starts to form, like it is here, they stay away from it and take another path until the ground heals. He says we'll anger the Gods if we follow the path."

"Well, we certainly don't want to anger the Gods," replied the Brigadier. "Tell him to lead on."

It took them about twice as long to reach Barag Tull than if they'd taken the direct route, therefore, but reach it they eventually did and three days later the trees thinned ahead of them and they saw the city sitting amongst the foothills of the Uttermost Range. Behind it, the mountains reared tall and terrible, their peaks jutting upward like jagged arrowheads, the boundaries between faces looking sharp enough to shave with. Above the snowline, the contrast between black stone and blindingly white ice hurt the eyes to look at.