No one liked the darkness. It reminded them too much of
sleep, and that reminded them of the now distant but never to
be forgotten sight of the Massawrath. More importantly, their
lamp oil was running out. Bribbens had prepared well, but he
hadn't expected to journey for long in total darkness. The
now sorely missed bioluminescents were all that had kept
them from traveling in black. Soon it appeared they might
have to do so, relying on Pog's abilities to guide them, unless
the light-producing vegetation reappeared.
A hand was shaking him. It was too small to be part of the
Massawrath, too solid to be one of its children. Nevertheless
he had an instant of terror before coming awake.
"Get up, Jon-Tom. Move your ass!" It was the urgent
voice of Talea.
"What?" But before he could say anything more she'd
moved on to the next sleeping form. He heard her banging on
an echoing surface.
"Wake up, wizard. You lazy old wizard, wake up!" She
sounded worried.
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"I still admit to 'old' but not the other." A grumbling
Clothahump clambered to his feet.
Jon-Tom blinked, fought to dig sleep from his eyes. It was
hard to see anything in the reduced light from the lamps.
Bribbens was trying to conserve their dwindling supply of oil.
Then he saw the cause of her anxiety. In the blackness
ahead was a writhing sheet of flame, completely blocking the
river. It hung in the air there, a dull, thick orange-silver that
did not move. The others awoke and moved to the bow to
examine it. All agreed it was a most peculiar kind of fire.
As they cruised closer no rise in temperature or indeed any
heat at all could be felt. The orange-silver hue did not
change.
"Can it be another structure like the Heart-of-the-Wbrld
building of the little folk?" Flor licked her lower lip and
stared anxiously forward.
"No, no. The color is all wrong, supple shadow, and there
is no sign of separation; levels, floors, or windows." Caz
faced the wizard. "What is your opinion of it, sir?"
"Just a moment, will you?" Clothahump sounded irritable.
"I'm not fully awake yet. Do you children think I have your
physical resiliency simply because my brain is so much more
active? Now then, this surely cannot be dangerous." He
called back to Bribbens. "Steady ahead, my good boatman."
"Don't have much choice." The frog snapped off his reply
as he tightened his grip on the steering sweep. "Tunnel's
become too narrow for us to turn 'round in. Some of the
rocks hereabouts look sharp. I don't want to chance 'em, so
it's steady ahead unless it turns desperate."
The boatman was forced to raise his voice to a near shout
to make himself understood. The rush of air in the pipe of a
cave argued noisily with the increased force of me current.
They watched silently while mat cold flame came nearer.
Then there was another, dimmer light haloing it, and the
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orange-silver no longer blocked their progress. The new light
came from tiny shining points that flickered unevenly, but not
like gneechees. These were both visible and motionless.
"Well, shit." Mudge put hands on hips and sounded
thoroughly disgusted with himself. " 'Tis a prize pack o'
idiots we be, mates."
Jon-Tom didn't understand immediately, but it didn't take
long until he knew the reason for the otter's embarrassment.
When he did so he felt equally ashamed of his own fear.
The orange-silvery color was familiar enough. Then they
emerged from the cavern. The great rising orb of moon no
longer shone directly down into the Earth's Throat.
"We made it." He hugged a startled Talea. "Damned if
we didn't!"
The character of the land they had emerged into was very
different from that of the Swordsward and the river country of
Bribbens' home. It was evident they had climbed a consider-
able distance.
Behind them towering crags reached for the stars. Clouds
capped them, though they were not as thick as those on the
eastern flanks of the range. No open plains or low scrub
bordered the river here. There was no fragrant coniferous
forest or high desert.
Mountains rose all around the little river valley in which
they found themselves. Despite the altitude the country dis-
played the aspect of more tropical climes. It was warm but
not hot, nor was it particularly humid. Jon-Tom thought of a
temperate-zone climax forest.
Vines and creepers leaped from tree to tree. A thick
undergrowth prevented them from seeing more than a few
yards inland on either shore.
It was with relief that Jon-Tom inhaled the fresh air,
fragrant with the aroma of flowers and green things. Though
hardly tropical, the climate was more pleasant despite the
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altitude than any place he'd yet been. Compared to the
bone-rattling winds of the Swordsward it was positively
Edenic.
"Fine country," he said enthusiastically. "I'm surprised
none of the warmlanders have tried to migrate here."
"Even if they knew this land existed they could not get
over the mountains," Clothahump reminded him. "Only a
very few in memory have ever made that journey. Even if
would-be settlers could survive the trip, kindly keep in mind
that this land is already occupied. Legend says the Weavers
dislike any strangers. Consider what their opinion would be
of potential colonists."
"And these are the people we're trying to make allies of?"
Flor wondered.
"They are not overt enemies," Clothahump told her,
shaking his head slowly. "Legend says they are content
enough here in their land. Yet I admit legend also insists they
hold no love for any but their own kind. It is said they like
most to keep to themselves and maintain their privacy.
"As near as I know we are the first folk to journey past the
mountain barrier in hundreds of years. Perhaps the legends no
longer hold true. It may be that in all that time the inhabitants
of the Scuttleteau have mellowed."
"They sure sound charming," said Flor apprehensively. "I
can't wait to meet them." Her voice rose in tone, and she
mimed a sardonic greeting. "Buenos dias, Sefior Weaver.
Como esta usted, and please don't eat me, I'm only a
tourist." She sighed and grimaced at me wizard. "I wish I
were as confident of success as you are."
"I'm 'ardly an optimist, meself," Mudge commented,
surveying the near shore and considering a warm swim.
"Oh well. Surely they will see the need," said Caz
hopefully, "to stand together against a common threat."
"That is to be hoped," the wizard agreed. "But we cannot
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be certain. We can only pray for a friendly welcome. Should
we ac
tually achieve anything more than that, it would exceed
my wildest hopes."
There were some shocked looks in response to that. Jon-
Tom spoke for all of them. "You mean... you're not sure
you can persuade them?"
"My dear boy, I never made any such claim."
"But you gave me the impression..."
Clothahump held up a hand. "I made no promises. I
merely stated that there was little we could do if we remained
in Polastrindu and that we might have some chance of
securing another strong ally were we to successfully complete
this journey. I never said that reaching the Scuttleteau was a
guarantee we could do that. Nor did I ever display any
optimism about striking such an alliance. I simply declared
that I thought it would be a good idea to try."
"You stiff-backed, bone-brained old fart, you led us on!"
Talea was nearly too furious for words. "You cajoled us
through all that," and she pointed back toward the mouth of
the tunnel they'd recently emerged from, "through every-
thing we've suffered since leaving Polastrindu, without think-
ing we had any chance to succeed?"
"I did not say we did not have a chance." Clothahump
patiently corrected her. "I said our chances were slim. That is
different from nonexistent. When I say achieving such an
alliance would exceed my wildest hopes, I am merely being
realistic, not fatalistic. The chance is there."
"Why the fuck couldn't you have been 'realistic' back in
Polastrindu?" she growled softly. "Couldn't you have told us
how slight you thought our chances of success were?"
"I could have, but no one thought to ask me. As to the
first, if I had been more, shall we say, explicit in my
opinions, none of you would have come with me. Those who
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might have would not have done so with as much confidence
and determination as you have all displayed thus far."
Since this logic was irrefutable, no one chose to argue.
There was some spirited name-calling, however. The wizard
ignored it as one would have the excited chatter of children.
Pog found the situation unbearably amusing.
"Now ya see what I have ta deal wid, don'tcha?" He
giggled in gravely bat-barks as he swung gleefully from the
spreader. "Maybe now ya all'll sympathize wid poor Pog a
little bit more!"
"Shut your ugly face." Talea heaved a hunk of torchwood
at him. He dodged it nimbly.
"Now, now, Talea-tail. Late for recriminations, don'tcha
tink?" Again the rich laughter. "His Bosship has ya all
where he wants ya." A series of rapid-fire squeeks seeped out
as he delightedly lapped up their discomfort.
"It does seem you've been somewhat less than truthful
with us, sir," said Caz reprovingly.
"Not at all. I have not once lied to any of you. And the
odds do not lessen the importance of our trying to conclude
this alliance. The more so now that we have actually com-
pleted the arduous journey through the Earth's Throat and
have reached the Scuttleteau.
"Admittedly our chances of persuading the Weavers to join
with us are slight, but the chance is real so long as we are
real. We must reach for every advantage and assistance we
can."
"And if we die on the failure of this slight chance?" Flor
wanted to know.
"That is a risk I have resigned myself to accepting," he
replied blandly.
"I see." Talea's fingers dug into the wood of the railing.
She stared at the river as she spoke. "If we all die, that's a
risk you're prepared to take. Well, I'm not."
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THE HOUR Of THE GATE
"As you wish." Clothahump gestured magnanimously at
me water. "I herewith release you from any obligation to
assist me further. You may commence your swim homeward."
"Like hell." She peered back at Bribbens. "Turn this
deadwood around."
The boatman threw her a goggle-eyed and mournful look.
"How much can you pay me?"
l&T >»
"I see." He turned his attention back to the river ahead. "I
take orders only from those who can pay me." He indicated
Clothahump. "He paid me. He tells my boat where it is to
go. I do not renege on my business agreements."
"Screw your business agreements, don't you care about
your own life?" she asked him.
"I honor my commitments. My honor is my life." This
last was uttered with such finality that Talea subsided.
"Commitments my ass." She turned to sit glumly on the
deck, glaring morosely at the wooden planking.
"I repeat, I have not lied to any of you." Clothahump
spoke with dignity, then added by way of an afterthought, "I
should have thought that all of you were ready to take any
risk necessary in this time of crisis. I see that I was mistaken,"
It was quiet on the boat for several hours. Then Talea
looked up irritably and said, "I'm sorry. Bribbens is right.
We all made a commitment to see this business through. I'll
Stick to mine." She glanced back at the wizard. "My fault. I
apol... I apologize." The unfamiliar word came hard to her.
There were murmurs of agreement from the others.
"That's better," Clothahump observed. "I'm glad that
you've all made up your minds. Again. It was time to do so
because," and he pointed over the bow, "soon there will be
no chance of turning back."
was a soaring network of thick cables. They made a silvery
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shadow on the water, a domed superstructure of glistening
filaments in the intensifying morning light.
Waiting and watching with considerable interest from their
resting places high up in the cables were half a dozen of the
Weavers.
Clothahump knew what to expect. Caz, Mudge, Talea,
Pog, and Bribbens had some idea, if through no other means
than the stories passed down among generations of travelers.
But Jon-Tom and Flor possessed no such mental buffering.
Primeval fear sent a shudder through both of them. It was
instinctive and unreasoning and cold. Only the fact that their
companions showed no sign of panic prevented the two
otherworlders from doing precisely that.
The six Weavers might comprise a hunting party, an official
patrol, or simply a group of interested river gazers out for a
day's relaxation. Now they gathered near the leading edge of
the cablework.
One of them shinnied down a single strand when the boat
began to pass beneath. Under Bribbens' directions and at
Clothahump's insistence, Mudge and Caz were taking down
.the single sail.
"No point in making a show of resistance or attempting to
pass uncontested," the wizard murmured. "After all, our
purpose in coming here is to meet with them."
Unable to override their instincts, Jon-Tom and Flor moved
to the rear of the boat, as far away fro
m their new visitor as
they could get.
That individual secured the bottom of his cable to the bow
of the little boat. The craft swung around, tethered to the
overhead network, until its stem was pointing upstream.
Having detached the cable from the end of his abdomen,
the Weaver rested on four legs, quietly studying the crew of
the peculiar boat with unblinking, lidless multiple eyes. Four
arms were folded across his cephalothorax. His body was
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bright yellow with concentric triangles decorating the under-
side of the sternum. His head was a beautiful ocher. The slim
abdomen had blue stripes running down both the dorsal and
ventral sides.
Complementing this barrage of natural coloration was a
swirling, airy attire of scarves and cloth. The material was
readily recognizable as pure silk. It was twisted and wrapped
sari-style around the neck, cephalothorax, abdomen, and
upper portions of the legs and arms. Somehow it did not
entangle the Weaver's limbs as he moved.
It was impossible to tell how many pieces of silk the visitor
was wearing. Jon-Tom followed one feathery kelly-green
scarf for several yards around legs and abdomen until it
vanished among blue and pink veils near the head. A series of
bright pink bows knotted several of the scarves together and
decorated the spinneret area. Mandibles moved idly, and
occasionally they could see the twin fangs that flanked the
other mouth-parts. The Weaver was a nightmare out of a Max
Ernst painting, clad in Technicolor.
The nightmare spoke. At first Jon-Tom had trouble under-
_ standing the breathy, faint voice. Gradually curiosity over-
threw his initial ten-or, and he joined his companions in the
bow. He began to make sense of the whispery speech, which
reminded him of papers blowing across stepping-stones.
As the Weaver talked, he tested the cable he'd spun himself
from bridge to boat. Then he sat down, having concluded his
prayer or invocation or whatever it had been, by folding his
four legs beneath him. His jaw rested on the upper tarsals and
claws. The body was three feet long and the legs almost
doubled that.
"it has been a long time," said the veiled spider, "fa-
beyond my lifetime, beyond i think the memory of any
currently alive, since any of the wamuand people have visiteo
the scuttleteau."
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