Ardalia: The Breath of Aoles

Chapter Eight - IN THE STEPPES

The plains of short, dry grass extended on forever. Contemplating them, Pelmen felt dizzy. For the first time in his life nothing stood in his way. It would be so easy to get lost in the vastness, with only a few stunted trees to provide reference points...

"Better pick up your bow," said Xuven.

Pelmen jumped, startled. More by virtue of reflex than will, he obeyed. His hand settled on the curve of slender wood, and his sense of smell went in search of the familiar aroma of thorny cactus, separating them from the unfamiliar odors floating in the air. With great effort, he was able to quash panic which was threatening to engulf him. His uncle had not asked him to pick up his weapon on a whim—they were no longer sheltered from predators going forward.

With such a clear field of vision, I'll see the danger a long way off. I just need to remain vigilant.

He had just begun to draw up a list of the wild beasts of which he had heard mention when Xuven interrupted his train of thought. "We came through the Gate too easily," he said. "Did you notice they didn't search our carts?"

Fekkar agreed with a guttural syllable. The krongos took the lead, using brief sonorous injunctions to guide his melepeks through the grass. The path they took must have been an ancient road, for most of the ochreonces and ortalies were growing along its sides. The stinging or prickly plants that had dared to invade it were remorselessly trampled down by the melepeks. The path only curved to avoid a rock or a dip in the ground.

When night fell, Xuven instructed Pelmen to set up camp before disappearing behind some dead trees.

Fekkar had not chosen the place at random. A half-buried rock surged from the ground, isolated on the plain. He set his back to it and rapidly became no more than an inert mass, a sculpture with an unrecognizable face. Pelmen wondered whether he might not have passed close by a rock of that kind in the Canyons in the past without guessing its true nature.

The melepeks closed their eyelids in their turn. They were easily detectable, not being in contact with the rock.

Xuven came back after a brief interval. He picked up two calabashes and led Pelmen to a good-sized cactus growing at the bottom of a slope. Although its appearance differed from those in the Canyons, it nevertheless possessed similar thorns. "You see these swellings," said Xuven, pointing out various bulges in the lower part of the trunk. "They contain reserves of water in an almost pure state. It's sufficient to get rid of these thorns and then cut into it to collect it."

They set themselves to the task, and Pelmen put the thorns he cut off with his flint to one side.

"The cuts don't need to be very deep," Xuven advised. "Stop at this level." He used his index finger to show Pelmen what he meant.

"Why?"

"Even in the Steppes, there are rules. To extract water from above that level would be fatal to the cactus in short order. If we killed it, the next travelers would have to make a detour, and so would we if we came this way again."

The water began to run into the containers. Pelmen made several trips in order to water the nidepoux. In the meantime, Xuven occupied himself with the gourds and prepared the meal. It was frugal. Cereal seemed to be a prime ingredient, and it reminded him of the unpleasantly drab everyday fare in Durepeaux. It made Pelmen miss the food in Alveg.

An oppressive silence hung in the air. Pelmen ate without saying a word, and lay down in the soft, warm fur Dryna had given him.

In the light of Tinmal and Hamal the gigantic silhouette of the Uncrossable Mountains was outlined. Pelmen imagined himself in the place of Relven Panjurub, leaving his people behind, braving danger to follow the algam in search of a hypothetical way through the mountains. His despair must have been great to have resorted to such an extreme measure! And yet, he had succeeded. Alone, he had given his people back their faith in the future.