Ardalia: The Breath of Aoles

Chapter Twelve - THE MARKED

An orange sheet extended like an oil slick over the surface of the water. Pelmen would not have noticed it in the green and misty expanse if Xuven had not pointed it out to him. The sheet stirred, and a few bubbles burst amid the eddies at its center. Pelmen suppressed a shudder. According to Xuven, what could be seen of amebas was scarcely the tenth part of their actual size. This one, a submerged formless gelatinous mass, must then be big enough to swallow a hevelen whole. Pelmen did not know how it could be possible, but it was said that an ameba's prey remained alive for a considerable part of the digestion process, which required days, or even weeks.

He wrinkled his nose, a futile reflex, trying to get rid of the reek of decomposition permeating everything. That was the most disquieting thing. Since they had entered the Deadroot marsh, it had become impossible to rely on one's sense of smell. In order to detect an eventual danger, Pelmen was reduced to trying to pierce the mist with his gaze.

Silhouettes of giants with thick and fibrous hair hanging down to the ground sometimes loomed up. Guided by Fekkar, the carts soon approached one of the broad-bole willows, whose translucent pale brown bark was traversed by a network of veins as dark as a starless night.

The willows were the only vegetation growing here. Their leaves were sometimes toxic, with the result that it was necessary to dip into the reserves to feed the nidepoux. The beasts advanced with their customary stubbornness, but Pelmen could feel their reluctance with every step they took. He felt all the more oppressed because his options were reduced to staying in the cart or marching behind the convoy. In fact, outside the path followed by Fekkar, the ground was unstable, and might swallow up an imprudent traveler at any moment—not to mention the danger of the amebas.

"It's the rapidest and safest route, in spite of appearances," Xuven had replied, when Pelmen had asked him why they were going this way.

With an impatient gesture, Pelmen swatted away the mosquitoes ceaselessly harassing him. Immune to the linguilis grease, they had been a nuisance since the three companions had intruded into this world of brackish green water. They had separated from Laneth and her brothers two days before, and Pelmen was already keenly aware of how much he missed their company, especially that of the young female.

After Beran's departure, Pelmen had put his arms round Laneth's shoulders and she had rested her head against him. He had felt relieved and happy as he had not been for a long time, detached from all cares. Symen had caught up with them, fearing the worst, amazed by the fact that they were making no attempt to disguise their intimacy. They had reassured him, laughing, and then had returned to the carts.

Xuven and Fekkar had also wanted to know what had happened, because Beran had bid them goodbye and had gone to pack up his equipment in a hurry. The only explanation the warrior had offered was he had completed his duty of protection since they would cross the limits of the Windy Steppes the following day.

Pelmen had related the facts in a few words.

"The impetuosity of youth!" Xuven had sighed. "What's done is done, but don't forget in the future that the Steppes aren't a playground—for games of any kind."

Afterward, Laneth and Pelmen had not dared to flaunt their budding relationship any longer, limiting themselves to exchanging glances and furtive touches—until the separation. Then, they had reached hungrily for each other under the shade of a resinian. Laneth's full lips had tasted like honey, and their hearts had beat in unison. She had shown him the camp sites where he would be able to find her in future months, and he had promised her their parting kiss would not be the last.

Pelmen wondered why he had not told her about the mission that had led him to accompany his uncle. She believed Xuven and Fekkar were going to carry out trade, and nothing more. Her father, Fregan, and the chiefs of the Rameaux clan knew their true motive, but had received orders not to talk about it.