The Plains of Abraham

Chapter 15

A breeze descended from the north and brought relief from the heat. The breeze seemed eager to pull us southwards, to assure us we had chosen the right direction. A message floated from tree to tree until it swirled in airy song about our heads: your destiny lies ahead.

We hid Wilbur in the bushes, off the path, and packed our belongings for the hike. There was no telling how long it would take to reach Ellanoy country, but Malcolm was sure it wouldn't be far from the lake. The Ellanoyans would want access to the large freshwater reservoir for fishing and travel.

We hiked down the path footloose and chipper. Malcolm even struck up the Lourdes Hymn:

          Immaculate Mary,
          thy praises we sing,
          thou reignst now in Heaven
          with Jesus our king.

He nudged me and I joined in:

          Ave, ave, ave Maria!
          Ave, ave Maria.

We all but skipped down the path. I had never seen Malcolm in such a good mood. He had dreamed all his life of this day. He sniffed the air repeatedly, and when I asked why he said, "Salt water. I'm trying to detect a salt water body. If Ellanoy is around the corner, the ocean can't be much farther away."

"Just think of it," I said, carried away by his exuberance, "we're a stone's throw from Japan!"

          In Heaven the blessed
          thy glory proclaim,
          on Earth we thy children
          invoke thy fair name.

"Sing it, brother!" I shouted.

          Ave, ave, ave Maria!
          Ave, ave Maria.

Malcolm stopped in his tracks, and I almost collided with him from behind. Human figures blocked the path ahead of us.

The figures didn't resemble the Ellanoyans Malcolm had described, the fair-haired and alabaster-skinned Venuses and Adonises who worshipped pagan gods. These figures had severely stooped shoulders and lumps on their faces. They wore skirts made of hides, sported nose rings, and were hairless as mole rats.

More were behind us; we were surrounded. My musket was at the ready, but there were a dozen of them. Malcolm whispered over his shoulder, "Stay calm."

They advanced cautiously. As they drew near I could smell them. The sour smell of men who never bathed. The rancid stench of the not-quite-dead.

The apparent leader stepped up to Malcolm. Like other mutants we'd encountered, his forehead was steeply slanted. Eyebrows sprouted from sharp ridges. A jaw jutted out hideously. A pair of eyes wandered too far apart, suggesting not so much predator as prey.

Up close I could see little tufts of hair growing on the lumps that distorted his face. His bald skin was the color and texture of animal hide, like that of a shaved dog. And the smell.

He looked Malcolm up and down and said, "You're not Ellanoyan."

We both perked up. He spoke English!

"No," Malcolm said. "And I take it neither are you."

The leader chuckled. The chuckle evolved into a laugh. Soon he was bent over, clutching his gut and convulsing in giggles. He straightened up, lifted his face to the sky, and roared in laughter.

The other mutants took the cue. They howled and shrieked and jumped around possessed. The leader caught his breath and pointed at us, giving his men a signal. They took my musket and Malcolm's ax. They emptied our packs on the ground and rummaged through the contents, grumbling in dissatisfaction. They tied our hands behind our backs.