neetha Napew - The Paths Of The Perambulator

“And?” Jon-Tom prompted him anxiously, by now thoroughly engrossed in the koala’s tale.

“The pattern signified an imminent world change. But not an immediate one. The change indicated was the kind that takes place in stages, each one more severe than the next. It was also clear that if these gradual changes were not stopped, they were going to culminate in a final change of apocalyptic proportions.”

“The pattern did not by any chance happen to suggest the nature of this final change?” Clothahump asked him.

“I’m not sure. Patterns are precise, but reading is not an exact science. As near as I could tell, though, it had something to do with the size of the sun.”

“Size?” Mudge squeaked.

Colin nodded somberly. “The pattern suggested intensifying local changes, ending in an abrupt expansion of the sun to many times its present size. I think a change like that would make us long to stand above something as chilly as the savage’s fire.”

“Nova.” Jon-Tom squinted through the branches at the placid midday sun above. “A perturbation strong enough to affect the helium-fusion cycle. It would make the sun go nova. I wonder if the sun in my own world would be affected?”

“Wot’s all this rot?” Mudge muttered. “Wot’s a bloomin’ nova and wot’s it ‘ave to do with the sun, and wotever it is, we’ve only this chap’s word for it, anyways. And wot’s it got to do with the question?”

“That’s why I’m here. To see if I can’t prevent that cataclysmic change. The runes didn’t tell me how it could be done, but they showed me where it would have to be accomplished. I’m on my way there.” He mistook their silence for disbelief. “I told you you wouldn’t believe me.”

“On the contrary,” Clothahump told him quietly, “we believe you more man you believe yourself. Because, you see, the answer to our question is also the answer to yours. We are bent on the same task. By different methods we come to this place, intent upon achieving the same end.”

Colin regarded each of them in turn, silently, seeing the truth in their faces. “So that’s it. The runes were more thorough than I thought. I did not expect the help they predicted to appear so soon.”

“Now ‘old on a minimum, mate,” Mudge urged him. “If anyone’s goin’ to ‘elp anyone ‘ere, ‘tis you who are bound to ‘elp us.”

“It doesn’t matter, Mudge,” Jon-Tom told him irritably. “We’re all here for the same reason.”

“True.” The koala sounded disappointed. “The runes were thorough but not accurate. As I read them they spoke of aid in the form of an army of several thousand seasoned warriors.” He shook off his disappointment. “But if I’m to have the company of a quintet of oddities instead, so be it.”

Mudge made a sound low in his throat. “Just who are you callin’ an oddity, fat face?”

“Quiet, river rat.” Clothahump turned back to Colin. “Then your reading of the runes is not always precise?”

“I’m afraid not. It’s the nature of runes. You can’t make perfect predictions with imperfect materials, and there’s no such thing as a perfect rune. Half a year back I lost two months traveling in the wrong direction before I knew I was off on the wrong track.”

“That’s all right.” Jon-Tom was naturally sympathetic. “I’m a spellsinger myself, and there’ve been one or two occasions when the results of my spellsinging were other than what I intended.” He immediately turned a warning look on Mudge, but the otter’s thoughts were elsewhere, and he missed the opportunity to insert the expected sarcastic comment.

“We shall help one another,” Clothahump announced firmly. “Your company and what assistance you can provide will be welcome. I know what is causing these changes and approximately where it is located. By cooperating we may define our approach more accurately.”

It was clear that Colin was impressed. He glanced up at Jon-Tom. “Tell me, tall man, does he speak the truth?”

“Most of the time. This time.”

“Casting is something I have never practiced,” the wizard was saying, “because of its notorious inaccuracy. But it may be that you will have the chance to supplement our collective abilities when such aid is needed most. In any event, a strong sword arm is always welcome in such an enterprise as this. We will seek to resolve this danger together.”

“I’ll be glad of the company. We koalas are sociable types. Traveling solo hasn’t been easy.” He hesitated. “Not appearing to contradict you, old one, but by the reading, we haven’t much time left. We may not get there in time.”

“We may not get there at all,” Clothahump admitted, “but it is a waste of time to wonder about time. With due respect to your talent, where a perambulator is involved, time itself is mutable. We may have more time left to us than your reading would lead you to believe.”

“I hope you’re right and I’m wrong.”

Clothahump lifted his gaze past them, toward the lower slopes of the mountains that defined the northern horizon. “My greatest fear at this moment is that despite his madness, whoever has trapped the perambulator in this world is beginning to learn how to manipulate those perturbations.”

“That might not be all bad,” Jon-Tom commented. “If he learns how to do that, maybe he can keep the sun from going nova.”

“Should he want to.”

“But if that happens, then he’ll be killed along with everyone else. That’s—”

“Crazy. Precisely, my boy. If the imprisoner is both mad and unhappy, what better solution than suicide on a grandiose scale? My immediate concern is that we may see perturbations directed at us specifically. It seems incredible but it cannot be ruled out.”

“You’re not bein’ very reassurin, Your Masterness.”

“The truth rarely is, Mudge.”

“Truth. Bleedin’ slippery stuff. We still ain’t ‘ad no proof that you’re anything more than a sack o’ ‘ot air, big-ears.”

Colin’s eyes narrowed, and he put his hand on his sword. “You calling me a liar, pilgrim?”

“Don’t try that shit on me, mate. I believe you can ‘andle that sword. That ain’t wot we need proof of.” He eyed his companions. “Listen, you gulliable lot, don’t you want some proof this bloke ain’t workin’ for the one whose arse we’re after before we invite ‘im to share our camp?”

“Mudge, sometimes you—” Jon-Tom started to say, but Colin raised a hand to cut him off.

“No. The otter’s right. Impolite, but right. You deserve more conclusive proof than fast talk.” He placed the leather sack on the ground in front of him and knelt. Jon-Tom paid close attention but for the life of him couldn’t discern how the koala unfastened the incredibly complex series of knots so quickly. Making certain the drawstrings were stretched out straight, Colin carefully unfolded the leathern square.

The resultant revelation was something of a disappointment. Jon-Tom didn’t know what to expect: brilliantly faceted gemstones perhaps or eerily glowing bits of metal. What the pouch contained was a few pieces of wood, some colored stones and old bones, and a few strips of dyed cloth.

“That’s it?” Mudge wanted to know.

“Have you ever seen a set of runes before, otter? Not imitations or fakes, but the real things? Some of these have been handed down from caster to caster.” He leaned forward to nudge a few of the pieces with a finger. “These here are hundreds of years old.”

“I can smell the power.” Clothahump waddled over and asked Colin to identify each rune in detail. Meanwhile Mudge eased over next to Jon-Tom.

“You know, mate, this ‘ere meetin’ may turn out to ‘ave beneficial consequences after all.”