the two Dillians unhitched the wagon.
Various supplies were unpacked, food and water cartridges were checked and changed if necessary. The rebreathers continued working normally; their action was primarily chemical, but the apparatus also had small power-storage cells that somehow worked within the semitech limitations.
Trelig and Burodir did little to help in the operation; they sat patiently and seemed to accept being waited upon as their due. Though this irritated the others more than a little, they could do nothing but grumble. Trelig was in the driver’s seat and he knew it.
They didn’t have long to wait for contact.
The Masjenadans were definitely unusual. Several were soon seen flying nearby; then a small number circled around, finally approaching slowly and circuitously. Resembling the kind of swan a master glass blower would create, but three meters long and of a transparent material that caught and reflected the predominant colors like small starbursts, the creatures appeared to have no functional neck or head, nor legs. They were stylized crystalline forms flying effortlessly on nearly invisible wings.
The team watched them in fascination. Renard gasped as two of the creatures headed right at each other. “They’re going to crash!” he yelled, and stood up.
But the Masjenadans didn’t crash. They met and seemed to pass right through each other as if neither were aware of the other’s existence—as if both were made of air.
“How the hell…?” Trelig managed.
“I’m afraid they exist in a few planes more than we do,” the Ghiskind explained. “I’m not certain I understand it. But they fly through each other all the time with no ill effect—and they can combine, too.”
“What are they? Gas bubbles?” Vistaru shook her head.
“We’re not sure what they are,” the Ghiskind admitted. “One thing is for sure—they have mass, and all that implies.”
The Masjenadans who’d flown through each other settled a few centimeters above the ground just before their visitors.
The Ghiskind approached to within a few meters of them. “The Lata hate snakes,” it said mysteriously.
A bright yellow light suddenly glowed inside one of the creatures. “Unless the snake is a Lata,” responded the creature, in a voice thin, high-pitched, and somewhat reverberant.
The sign and countersign properly given, the group relaxed. “I am the Ghiskind of Yugash,” the crystal form resonated. “These are Antor Trelig and Burodir of Makiem, Makorix and Faal of Dillia, Vistaru of Lata, and Roget of Agitar,” it introduced, using Renard’s alias, “all of the South.”
The Masjenadans’ bodies turned slightly, apparently to survey the others.
“We have just signaled others,” the one glowing yellow said. “In a few minutes we’ll have everything we need here. It is possible that we can transport you across in a day, a bit more at the most.”
That was good news to all of them.
“What about the other party?” Burodir asked them. “Any word?”
The light went out for a moment, then returned. “They crossed well north of here,” the Masjenadan replied. “They, too, are using friends to fly them. We would think we will maintain about the same distance, about a half- day’s walking.”
“Anything more about Pugeesh?” Renard asked worriedly.
“You will receive better information in Oyakot,” the swan replied. “We know little.”
They paused for a few moments. Suddenly the air was filled with glittering Masjenadans. The strange creatures began to fly into one another, weaving back and forth, into, through, and between one another in an intricate pattern. As they did, things started to happen.
First, each pass-through seemed to generate a long strand of glassy rope. The patterns became more intricate, and they wove the stiff substance into a single fabric, like a great net.
“Where does all that stuff come from?” Vistaru wondered aloud.
“From them, I think,” the Ghiskind responded. “Parts of their bodies. Remember, in the North things, might be totally different from one hex to another. Not merely different varieties of life, but different kinds entirely—one totally alien to the other. Yugash has bordered here since Midnight at the Well of Souls, yet we have no better notion of what they do, why they do it, or how they do it than at the start.”
The eerie aerial ballet was completed now and a great woven structure that seemed to have real flex was the result. The Ghiskind was right: the construction seemed actually to be a part of the creatures, attached to them.
Now swans not connected to the net looped and flew and crashed into each other—only this time they did not reappear on the other side, rather they merged into each other, into single Masjenadans twice the bulk of the original. These then repeated the process with other combined creatures, until eight huge swans perhaps twelve meters in length almost covered the group. These fanned out and paired on either side of the netting, flowing a bit into the webbing but not into the still normal-size creatures attached, and lowered the whole thing to the ground.
. The travelers were a bit awed by all this, and it took the Ghiskind to snap them out of it.
“Let’s get the equipment onto the net!” it ordered, and after a few moments they started, first rolling the cart on, then the loose packs. Finally they spread a huge skin rug to the rear and another forward, with the freight between. Some experiments with balancing freight and people were needed, but after a few false starts they had it.
Vistaru was nervous about the spartan accommodations. “Shouldn’t we all have seat belts or something?” she asked uncertainly.
“Just relax,” the Ghiskind said. “You will see that this is not as bad as it looks. Just keep from the edges and maintain the balance.”
Before any of them could reply, the assembly took off. It was an odd sensation—no jerk, no sense of acceleration, as if they had suddenly become weightless and floated off. Only the eight huge Masjenadans, whose wings overshadowed them all, and the dozens of smaller ones expended any energy, their wings moving slightly up and down in graceful unison.
They were over a thousand meters off the ground before they knew it, and the land opened up beneath them.
Masjenada from the air looked like a rough, rocky canvas on which millions of gallons of luminescent paint had been spilled. It was a stunning vista, particularly when contrasted with the drab darkness of Yugash behind them or the sickly yellow atmosphere and dark-blue carpet of the nontech Zidur to their right.
Although there was an uncanny lack of any sense of motion, the ground below had changed every time they looked.
Hours passed, vistas changed, a low mountain range was crossed effortlessly, and their only problem was arranging the slight shifts in load necessary when one or another of the passengers moved.
The sun dipped below the horizon and slowly faded, but their mysterious and enigmatic transporters carried on. By night the countryside was even more aglow in eerie beauty, and the swans added a ghostly radiance.
Renard looked around at them in wonder. “Don’t they ever get tired?” he wondered.
“Or hungry?” Faal joined in, chomping on a thick material that oozed from a thick tube.
But there was no answer.
“What do they trade with the South?” Vistaru asked the Ghiskind, looking for a clue as to the mysterious swans’ lives.
“Copper and coral, mostly,” the Yugash answered. “What they do with it is anybody’s guess. There is no oxygen here for combustion. Maybe they eat it.”
The Masjenadans provided no information, so it was the best guess that could be made.
They slept, more from boredom than fatigue. Dawn broke again, flooding the landscape with new light.
Ahead was a hex border, that was clear. They had been paralleling it for some time, but now before them a three-point junction appeared.
“That should be Avigloa on our left.” The Ghiskind pointed. “Oyakot ahead and to the right. We should be landing soon.”
High mountains filled the skies in both hexes and even below them in Masjenada; indicators in the suits
