Midnight at the Well of Souls

He gave a mirthless chuckle. “Bat, you mean? He let his guard down more there than I’d expected. It’s the most personal thing we’ve gotten in all these days. But, no, strange is not the correct word for him. Unusual, perhaps, even uncommon. If he was telling the complete truth there, he’s also a good friend, a particularly nasty enemy—and, quite possibly, one of the most potentially dangerous men I’ve yet met on this planet.”

She didn’t understand what he was talking about but didn’t pursue it, either. Something much more important was on her mind.

“Nathan,” she asked softly, “are we going to die?”

“I hope not,” he replied lightly, trying to break the mood. “With luck—”

“The truth, Nathan!” she interrupted. “What are our chances?”

“Not good,” he responded truthfully. “But I’ve been in spots as bad or worse in my long life. I survive, Wuju. I—” His voice broke off abruptly, and he averted his eyes from hers. She understood, and there were small tears in her eyes.

“But the people around you don’t,” she finished. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s your cross. How many times have you been a lone survivor?”

He looked out into the darkness for a minute. Then, without turning, he said, “I can’t count that high, Wuju.”

* * *

Cousin Bat returned in a little over an hour. Brazil and Wuju were doing something just inside the shelter, and he was curious.

They looked up from their work as be approached, and Brazil asked the simple but all-important question: “Well?”

“Five kilometers, give or take,” the bat replied evenly. “Before you get any farther there’s a steep drop to a river valley, mud sides with slow, shallow water. It’s barely flowing.”

Brazil seemed to brighten at the news, particularly of the river’s speed and shallowness. “Can we get a straight run, more or less?” he asked.

The bat nodded. “Once we get down, I’ll position you and point you in the right direction. I’ll stay over you once you get started to keep you on the right track.”

“Good! Good!” Brazil enthused. “Now, what about the antelope?”

“Tens of thousands of them,” the other replied. “Together in big groups. Nothing too near us, though.”

“Excellent! Excellent!” Brazil seemed to get more excited with every word. “And now the clincher—did you get some of that grass?”

Cousin Bat turned and walked back to where he had landed, picking up a clump of straw with one foot. Holding it, he hobbled back to them and dropped the grass at Brazil’s feet.

The man picked it up expectantly, feeling it, even biting it. It was somewhat brittle, and gave a slight snap when it was bent too far.

“Just out of curiosity, what are you doing?” the bat asked.

Brazil reached down into a pouch and removed a small handful of the tiny sticks inside.

“Safety matches,” he explained. “Haven’t you noticed it, or thought about it, you two? Haven’t you seen out there on the plain?”

They both looked at him with blank expressions. “I haven’t seen anything except antelope, Murnies, and grass,” said Wuju, trying to think.

“No! No!” Brazil responded, shaking his head animatedly. “Not what you see! What you don’t see! Look out there into the darkness! Tell me what you see.”

“Nothing but pitch darkness,” Wuju said.

“Nothing but sleeping antelope, Murnies, and grass,” Bat said.

“Exactly!” Brazil said excitedly. “But what you don’t see, anywhere out there, is something we’ve seen in every Murnie camp we’ve passed up to this point.”

They still didn’t see it, and he continued after a pause. “Look, why do the Murnies build campfires? Not to cook their food—they eat it raw, even live. It’s because they think this is cold! And to protect themselves from the dog packs at night, of course. It must be very important to them or we wouldn’t have seen the campfires so consistently. But there are no fires out there on the plains! No dots of light, no sparks of any kind! And the riverbed’s wide but slow and shallow is it flowing. You see what it means?”

“I think I do,” Wuju replied hesitantly. “It’s the dry season. Out there on the grasslands, the danger of a brushfire exceeds their fears of the dogs or their desire for warmth.”

“It must be like a tinderbox out there,” Brazil pointed out. “If they are afraid of any fire at all, it must be so dry that anything will set it off. If the wind’s right, we can make things so hot for them down there that the least thing they’ll be concerned about is us.”

* * *

“Wind’s about as right as you can get,” the bat said quietly.

“Okay, then,” Brazil responded. He removed all his clothes, and jumped, stark naked, up on Wuju’s back, his back against hers. He pulled the shirt around his chest just under his armpits. “Take the ends on both sides, Wuju, and tie them tight around you. No! Pull it tight, damn it! As tight as you can! Yes, that’s better.” Next the stretchy pants were pulled around his waist and tied in front of her. It was several minutes before he was satisfied that he was solidly attached to her, riding backward. Tied just in front of him were the packs, the two pouches full of safety matches within easy reach. Then he applied the rest of the Slongornian cooking fat to as much of his exposed parts as he could. It was a sloppy job, but it would do in the dark.

Cousin Bat nodded approvingly. The two men looked at each other wordlessly, and the bat turned and started down the rocky ledge. Wuju followed, Brazil cursing to himself at his inability to see anything ahead of them, thinking he forgot something, and feeling with every step that he was slipping off even though the knots remained secure.

“Stop!” he yelled suddenly, and everyone froze. “Your hair, Wuju! Tie it down. Use the scabbard—you have to hold the sword anyway. I don’t want to set it on fire or have it blowing in my face.”

She did what he asked silently, draping her hair forward and over her left breast so it wouldn’t interfere with the sword in her right hand. Now Brazil was roped in three ways, and he felt as if he were cut in pieces. Which was just the way he wanted it.

They had gone over the plan many times, but he was still nervous. Wuju could sprint at more than thirty-five kilometers per hour, but that was just for short distances. She would have to go all out for over five kilometers, then down into a ditch, and keep running as long as she could.

Cousin Bat took off and circled for what was only a minute but seemed to be an hour. Finally they heard him come up behind them. “Now!” the flying creature ordered. “Go!”

Wuju took off across the plains at full speed.

Brazil watched the grasses disappear behind her and held onto the pack for dear life. He was sitting on a bony place and being bounced around for all he was worth. Although it was a clear night and he had excellent night vision, Brazil already could not see the rocky hills they had left.

Come on, Wuju! he thought tensely to himself. Keep going!

“Turn slightly right.” Bat’s voice came from somewhere above, and she did as instructed. “Too much!” She heard the bat’s voice, probably just two or three meters above her head: “That’s it! Now straight!”

Brazil panicked as he felt the upper bindings loosen, and he grabbed all the harder on the pack sides. And still she roared ahead at top speed! He could hear her take sobbing breaths and feel her horselike half inhale and exhale mightily, but still they went on.

We’re going to make it! he thought excitedly. If I can only hold on to this goddamn pack for a few more minutes, we’ll be through them before they realize what happened!

Suddenly the knots from the top two bands broke, sending the elastic clothing into the night and propelling him forward, headfirst, into the pack.