a spider stretching out from a black, venomous body.
Now Luskag stared at the expanding cloud, and he felt glimmerings of deep fear seize his soul. For the first time, he felt the true, awe-inspiring might of the Sunstone, and his fear quickly blossomed into stark terror.
The smoky limbs became solid tentacles, grasping upward, threatening to seize him and drag him down into darkness. Never before had the images of the Sunstone been so tangible, so ultimately terrifying. The dark tendrils twisted into a circle, and suddenly they framed a place in the vision-a place that he knew.
The City of the Gods! He saw the great pyramid rising from the sands, impossibly beautiful. Around it sprawled the other ruins, rows and rows of columns, massive portals with no buildings, and tall mounds of sand that betokened mysterious shapes beneath,
Like smoky limbs of pure, unadulterated devastation, the tentacles wrapped around the ruins in a doleful embrace. Luskag’s chest tightened in pain as he saw the blackness creep toward the pyramid, slowing masking its piercing beauty. At the center of that bright swirl of color, Luskag saw a brilliant flower of light, a blossom so heartbreakingly beautiful that it cried out for his protection.
And shelter it required, for now the encircling tendrils of darkness threatened to smother it, forever blotting its beauty from the face of the earth.
Luskag did not see a nearby chieftain, overcome by terror, leap to his feet and try to turn away None of the desert dwarves heard him cry out in despair. Even had they watched, they would not have seen the tentacles wrap his body in an iron-hard grip, for there was no thing of substance in the air.
But they were nonetheless real in the mind. The unfortunate chieftain, his face wracked by horror, toppled inward, rolling and scraping down the steep inner surface of the crater. He did not stop until he reached the great silver lake.
Still unseen by the others, his body struck the liquid metal and instantly disappeared. No ripples spread outward from the scene of his vanishing.
Luskag remained transfixed. He saw the darkness more clearly now, as a black blanket of doom that seeped into the House of Tezca and spread across his desert home like an all-consuming plague. Finally the last gleaming brightness from the City of the Gods darkened and then vanished.
He stared into a vast, limitless expanse of blackness.
Finally the vision broke as the sun climbed higher into the morning sky The chiefs awakened from the thrall of the gods, frightened and dismayed. They did not talk of their vision, yet by looking into each other’s eyes, they knew that they had shared a common experience. Even the absence of one of their number went, for the time being, unremarked. They had all come perilously close to such a fate.
Yet now, at least, they knew what they had to do.
Halloran watched them carefully as they walked. He was relieved to see that her gait was steady, her spirits high. Indeed, she paid heed to little else than the great eagle that soared lazily before and high above them.
“Remember,” he finally offered, “you can ride if you start to get tired.”
“Really, I’m fine. The walking feels good.” She smiled patiently at him. Her humor remained even as Xatli caught up with them. The priest puffed slightly mopping his brow.
“This sun is enough to broil me!” he groaned. “But I guess that’s why they call it a desert.”
Erixitl laughed, then looked upward, making sure that the great eagle remained in view. Poshtli wheeled majestically just to the south.
“His return is a miracle, don’t you think?” inquired Xatli.
“A miracle, perhaps. A just reward for his courage. Is it the magic of pluma?” she queried in turn.
“Or the blessing of Qotal. Can you not admit, sister, that his goodness could have brought Poshtli back to us?”
For once, Erixitl seemed to ponder his question. “Perhaps. I know that it is the most joyous news I can imagine.”
“It is a sign to you of the Plumed One’s pleasure,” observed the cleric quietly.
“How do you know that?” asked Erix in good-humored skepticism.
Xatli shrugged, grinning. “I don’t. But it could be, couldn’t it?”
Erixitl looked at him curiously, without replying, so the puffing priest continued. “1 only mean to suggest that you need not fight the will of the god. You are his chosen daughter; that much we all know. He spared your life on the Night of Wailing, and you have led your people away from the horrors behind us. He has a great purpose in mind for you, Erixitl of Palul!”
She turned back to the trail before her, her expression serious. “1 have fought against that will-that purpose.” Once again she looked at the great eagle, wheeling lazily above. Her joy at Poshtli’s return remained, and she admitted to herself that his presence seemed miraculous.
“I shall try to accept his wishes, to do as he wills,” she finally promised, almost inaudibly.
Jhatli hurried toward the rise in the undulating desert terrain, panic urging him forward. How could he lose a thousand people? He asked himself the question angrily, but then his body weakened with relief as he reached the crest and looked into the shallow, windswept vale beyond.
Quickly the youth tensed again, mindful that he would let no one know that he had been lost. Already the hours of fright faded, and he began to look upon his daylong trek as a sort of grand exploration.
That, in fact, is how he had gotten separated from the column of refugees in the first place. In the valley before him trudged a small part of the survivors of Nexal, trailing the vast mass by several days. These included some of the weaker and injured folk, many of whom had already perished on the trek through the desert.
They followed the wide valley on the well-trodden trail blazed by the main body. For most of its length, that pathway wound through parched desert valleys, surrounded by bleak, rocky heights or vast expanses of rolling dunes. But every so often-two to three days’ march apart-the trail descended into a deeper valley, and here water had somehow burst from the ground. In these valleys, the procession remained for a few days, resting and preparing for the next march before the food was totally exhausted. Thus the straggling groups such as Jhatli’s still found sustenance as they moved along after the rest.
Jhatli and several other youths approaching the age of warriorhood served as the scouts and runners for the band. In this constant, wearing routine he had begun to find solace from the nightmare he had left behind in Nexal. The images of his mother, swallowed by the steaming crack opening in the ground, or his older brother, torn asunder by a monstrous green beast even as he bought time for Jhatli to flee, still lived in his mind. He had not seen his father die, but Jhatli knew he could never have escaped the crumbled house alive.
These visions remained with Jhatli throughout each long night, and so he filled the hours of light with hard work and complete vigilance. At dawn of this day, the young man had taken up his bow and obsidian-tipped arrows and his flint dagger, setting out to explore a shallow canyon that seemed to parallel the course of the valley
But the canyon had deepened and diverged in course from the valley followed by the rest of the group. Finally forced to scale a rough, cactus-studded cliff, Jhatli had hurried in order to rejoin his family by sunset.
Or at least, what remained of his family He had fled with his father’s brother and the man’s two surviving wives. In a wide, straggling column a mile long, the folk of that family
and a hundred others marched steadily southward, along the trail of the Nexala. Weary, but determined not to let his exhaustion show, Jhatli strutted toward the distant group.
Then he froze, suddenly alarmed. He hadn’t noticed the clouds of dust roiling along the opposite side of the vale. Now, however, he saw creatures-huge creatures!- trundling from the rocks. Vaguely manlike in shape, they loomed over the humans before them. Hundreds of others followed these monstrous forms, merely human-sized but just as beastlike of aspect.
Even at this distance, he could tell that they were armed and that they were attacking! Wave by wave, the creatures burst from concealment. Jhatli heard snarls and howls, mingled with the terrified screams of women and children.
“No!” Jhatli howled his anger and sprinted forward, watching the people reel backward from the surprise attack.
The initial slaughter quickly gave way to full massacre as the mostly defenseless Mazticans tried to flee, but quickly fell to the talons of the attackers. The few warriors and armed youths leaped bravely to the defense, but the
