Foster, Dean - Spellsinger 03 - The Day of the Dissonance

the trail.

"Must 'ave took off right after the last o' us fell

asleep," the otter commented that afternoon. "I guess

them to be at least six hours ahead of us, probably more."

"We'll catch them." Jon-Tom was covering the ground

easily with long, practiced strides.

"Maybe that ferret weren't so old as 'e made 'imself out

to be," Mudge suggested.

"We'll still catch them."

But the day went with no sign of girl and ferret. They

THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE

207

let Roseroar lead them on through the darkness, until

accumulating bumps and bruises forced Jon-Tom to call a

halt for the night. They slept fitfully and were up again

before the dawn.

By afternoon the last trees had surrendered to scrub

brush and bare rock. Ahead of them a broad, hilly plain of

yellow and brown mixed with the pure white of gypsum

stretched from horizon to horizon. It was high desert, and

as such, the heat was not as oppressive as it might have

been. It was merely dauntingly hot. The air was still and

windless, and the shallow sand clearly showed the tracks

of Jalwar and Folly.

It was a good thing, because the sand did not hold their

quarry's spoor as well as damp soil, and Mudge had

increasing difficulty distinguishing it from the tracks of

desert dwellers as they started out across the plain.

"I 'ope you remember that map well, mate."

"This is the Timeful Desert, as I remember it."

Mudge frowned. "I thought deserts were supposed to be

timeless, not timeful."

"Don't look at me. I didn't name it." He pointed

toward a low dune. "The only sure source of water is a

town in the middle of the desert called Redrock. The

desert's not extensive, but it's plenty big enough to kill us

if we lose our way.''

"That's a comfortin' thought to be settin' out with."

The otter looked up at Roseroar. "Any sign o' our friends,

tall tail?"

Roseroar's extraordinary eyesight scanned the horizon.

"Nothing but sand. Nothing moves."

"Can't say as 'ow I blame it." He kicked sand from his

boots.

By the morning of the next day the mountains had

receded far behind them. Jon-Tom busied himself by

searching for a suggestion of green, a hint of moisture. It

seemed impossible that the land could be utterly barren.

208

Alan Dean Foster

Even a stubby, tired cactus would have been a welcome

sight.

They saw nothing, which did not mean nothing existed

in the Timeful Desert. Only that if any life did survive, it

did not make itself known to the trio of travelers.

He felt sure they would overtake Jalwar and Folly, but

they did not. Not all that day nor the next.

It was on that third day that Mudge had them halt while

he knelt in the sand.

" 'Ere now, 'ave either of you two noticed this?"

"Noticed what?" The sweat was pouring down Jon-

Tom's face, as much in frustration at finding no sign of

their quarry as from the heat.

Mudge put a paw fiat on the ground. "This 'ere sand.

'Ave a close look."

Jon-Tom knelt and stared. At first he saw nothing. Then

one grain crept from beneath Mudge's fingers. A second, a

third, moving from west to east. Mudge's paw hadn't

moved them, nor had the wind. There was no wind.

At the same time as loose grains were shifting from

beneath the otter's paw, a small rampart of sand was

building up against the other side of his thumb. The sand

was moving, without aid of wind, from east to west.

Jon-Tom put his own hand against the hot sand, watched

as the phenomenon repeated itself. All around them, the

sand was shifting from east to west. He felt the small hairs

on the back of his neck stiffen.

4' Tis bloody creepy,' * the otter muttered as he rose and

brushed sand from his paws.

"Some underground disturbance," Jon-Tom suggested.

"Or something alive under the surface." That was not a

pleasant thought, and he hastened to discard it. They had

no proof that anything lived in this land, anyway.

"That's not all." Mudge gestured back the way they'd

come. "There's somethin' else mighty funny. See that 'ill

we passed the other day?" Jon-Tom and Mudge strained to

THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE

2O9

see the distant relative of a Serengeti kopje. " Tis lower

than it were."

"Nothing unnatural about that, Mudge. It's just shrink-

ing into the distance as we walk."

The otter shook his head insistently. " 'Tis shrinkin' too

bloomin' fast, mate." He shouldered his pack and resumed

the march. "One more thing. Don't it seem to either o'

you that we're walkin' downhill?"

Jon-Tom didn't try to hide his confusion. He gestured at

the western horizon. "We're on level ground. What are

you talking about?"

"I dunno." The otter strained to put his feelings into

words. "Tis just that somethin' don't feel right 'ere,

mate. It just don't feel right."

That night the otter's nose proved of more help than his

sense of balance. They dug a hole through a dark stain in

the sand and were rewarded with a trickle of surprisingly

clear water. Patience enabled them to top off their water

skins and relieve their major anxiety. It was decided

unanimously to spend the night by the moisture seep.

Jon-Tom felt someone shaking him awake, peered sleep-

ily into still solid darkness. Mudge stared anxiously down

at him.

"Got somethin' for you to 'ave a looksee at, mate."

"At this hour? Are you nuts?"

"I 'ope so, mate," the otter whispered. "I sincerely

'ope so."

Jon-Tom sighed and unrolled himself. As he did so he

found himself spitting out sand. The full moon gleamed

brightly on their campsite, to reveal packs, weapons, and

Roseroar's feet partially buried in sand.

"The wind came up during the night, that's all." He

found he was whispering, too, though there seemed no

reason for it.

"Feel any wind now, mate?"

Jon-Tom wet a finger, stuck it into the air. "No. Not a

breeze."

"Then 'ave a look at your own feet, mate."

210

Alan Dean Foster

THE DAY OF THE DISSOJVAJVCE

211

Jon-Tom did so. As he stared he saw sand flowing over

his toes. There was no wind at all, and now the sand was

moving much faster. He drew his feet up as if the pulver-

ized silica might bite him.

"Look all around, lad."

The sand was crawling westward at an ever more rapid

pace. It seemed to accelerate even as he watched. In

addition to the steady movement there came the first

murmurs of a dry, slithery, rasping sound as grains tumbled

over one another.

The discussion finally woke Roseroar. "What's goin' on

heah?"

"I don't know," Jon-Tom muttered, eyeing the crawling

ground. "The sand is moving, and much faster now than it

was yesterday. I'm not sure I want to know what's making

it move."

"Should we go back?" The tigress was slipping on her

sandals, shaking the grains from the leather.

"We can't go back." He pulled on his boots. "If we go

back now, we lose Jalwar, Folly, and likely as not,

Clothahump's medicine. But I won't force either of you to

stay with me. Roseroar, are you listening to me?"

She wasn't. Instead, she was pointing southward. "Ah

think we might get ourselves a second opinion. We have

company, y'all."

The line of camels the tigress had spotted was slightly

behind them but moving in the same direction. Hastily

gathering their equipment, the trio hurried to intercept the