Chapter-3-4

⁠—⁠—⁠— IV ⁠—⁠—⁠—

A low growl spilled from Guin’s mouth. “White rocks…”

“Where the white stones dance upon the black mountain…”

In a flash, the words of Rinda’s prediction filled his mind. “The white rocks, the black mountain. She spoke of this place!”

Here beneath the towering night-shadow of the Dog’s Head, the fall of salty boulders was spread along the narrow valley, each white mass gleaming in stark contrast with the ash-dark ground on which it rested.

The Wolf King seemed to have completely forgotten about his leopard-headed companion. He darted around, snorting like an excited wolf cub, licking eagerly at the rocks. With his white fur he looked like a large slab of rock salt himself, come to life in the shape of a wolf.

Guin took a chunk of the white rock in his hand and thrust it into his pocket. Then he picked up another, slightly smaller piece and allowed himself to indulge in the salt. Rock salt was a rare prize in the Nospherus desert. The Sem went to great lengths to obtain the large quantities of salt that they needed to survive in the exhausting climate, getting what they could from what meat they could find and culling the rest from their own fur when their sweat evaporated. He imagined how they would rejoice if they could see the natural wealth that now lay before him, but the thought distracted him for no more than an instant. He was not here to find salt; he was here for the Lagon.

“There you will find the soul of the Lagon,” she said. Where are they?

Guin looked around. The night was already deep, and Aeris cast her pale light down from the star-spattered vault of the sky. The valley of rock salt glowed softly in the moonlight, like a northern vale dusted with a layer of fine snow.

With this amount of salt on the ground, and so little rain, this valley must be particularly unsuited for vegetation, Guin thought. His eyes searched for and did not find a single blade of grass or patch of moss. Nor could the leopard-man see any desert lizards flitting fleetly from rock to rock, nor any stone-mimics on their rocky perches. It seemed that no life of any kind inhabited the valley—certainly not the legendary giants whom he sought.

Yet Rinda prophesied that I would find the Lagon “over the Dog’s Head, where the white stones dance upon the black mountain.” This must be the place! But what did she mean by “soul of the Lagon”? And the death-wind?

Guin believed the truth of Rinda Farseer’s prediction. Here were the white stones over the Dog’s Head to prove it. Yet, even the best visions had a way of misleading even the best seers.

Wait. She said, “Beyond the white rock.” I must have to pass through this valley first to find this Lagon-soul.

His path was clear, then. He must walk straight through the rock salt valley. Thankfully, it did not seem to go on for too great a distance.

Guin bit once more at the chunk of salt in his hand, but restrained himself from eating all of it. If he gave in to his desire for salt now, he would earn himself painful thirst later. He threw the chunk down upon the ground. It struck another of the salt rock boulders and split in two with a crack.

Hmm? Guin’s sharp eyes fell upon something shiny. The chunk he threw had knocked a corner off one of the bigger rocks, and where it was broken he could see something buried in the stone. It glinted in the moonlight more brightly than the salt.

Swiftly he crouched and rubbed at the crumbling boulder until more of the surface fell away beneath his hand. His fingers found something hard there, something cold and metallic to the touch. It was buried deeper than he had thought, and no matter how hard he tugged at it he couldn’t get it to budge.

Driven by an impulse he did not fully understand, Guin began scraping furiously at the boulder that held the object.

Whatever he had found, it was certainly peculiar. The portion protruding from the rock was silver-colored and smooth, with an unfamiliar shape. Again he tugged at it firmly but it still held fast. Scrabbling furiously at the boulder, he dug away enough of the salt until he could grab onto the object with both hands; then he pulled with all his strength, and finally it lifted out of the white rock and into his hand.

The thing was much smaller than he had imagined. He brushed the dust from it, and tilted his head as he held it up to the moonlight. He had seen nothing like it, and had no idea what it might be used for. He could tell, however, that it was some sort of tool, an object made for some purpose. It looked like a long silver whistle, or a prayer stick; perhaps it was a collapsible cane. Strange small nodules like the bumps on the back of a desert lizard ran along one side of it, glinting faintly.

Guin examined the object for a while longer, but further study revealed nothing more about it than he had initially observed. The lurking knowledge that hid in his wayward memory, which so often seemed to help him out of fixes and answer obscure questions did not aid him now. Yet the impulse that had told him to dig the object from the boulder now led him to thrust it into his belt.

I’ll figure out later what this is for.

He looked around. “In any case,” he muttered, “I need to cross this valley while Aeris still shines. If I intend to make my appointment with the Sem, I need to be heading back over the Dog’s Head by noon tomorrow.”

He looked over at the Wolf King, but the great beast remained utterly unconcerned with Guin. He had finished his wild frolicking in the salt, and now sat between two of the larger white stones, his tongue lolling out and a dazed look on his face, like that of a man who had been too long in his cups. His sharp eyes were half-closed, and his mouth was twisted into a grimace that, were he human, would have made him look much like a grinning fool. Despite the impatience he had shown as he led Guin over the mountain, following some unspoken schedule that needed to be kept, he now seemed to have completely lost interest in their journey.

Or perhaps Guin had been wrong to hope that the wolf, as clever as he might be, had been sent on a mission, divinely inspired or otherwise, to lead him. It was possible that the Wolf King had just wanted to come to this rock salt valley, which to him held the same magic as catnip holds for a eat or wine for a thirsty man, and had only stayed with Guin until they reached it.

Still, the leopard-man felt that it was too early for them to part ways just yet. He felt a spiritual link with this wolf, his stalwart companion for a day and a night. Yet when he called out, the Wolf King only turned his lazy eyes toward him, shooting him an annoyed look. He clearly had no intention of going any further.

“I see,” sighed Guin after trying a few more times to rouse the wolf’s attention. “It is here that we part, then. I won’t forget your help. If I do bring back the Lagon, I will be crossing back over this mountain, and passing through your kingdom again. But I do not think we will meet if I come leading an army of giants, will we?”

He spoke as though the wolf could understand him. There was indeed a deep connection between the giant white wolf-lord of Dog’s Head Mountain and the leopard-headed warrior who bore a great burden of destiny. It was a deeper tie than that of friendship or even kinship. Guin was reluctant to leave his savior behind.

Shooting a last farewell glance at the lupine king who sat complacently on his throne of salt, the leopard-man strode out into the middle of the valley. The moonlight made the rock salt stones appear to float above the valley floor, and the reflected light from the salt crystals lit his path as though it were day.

Guin moved with long sure strides. He turned around only once to look back toward his companion, but the Wolf King, having had his fill of salt, had apparently slipped away to find some water to drink—or perhaps his ancient fur, pale as the high Ashgarn glaciers, hid him among the white of the rock salt boulders. In any case he was nowhere to be seen.

Guin was alone once more.

Even though the great wolf was far from human and had been unable to share words with the leopard-warrior, a companion was a companion, and now Guin felt his absence. Without the great wolf by his side, the road seemed mirthless to him, and longer than it really was. For a while he feared that the trek through the valley of rock salt would never end. Yet soon that thought, too, was gone.

Guin quickened his pace and marched on. The scenery around him grew increasingly bizarre. Where he first entered the valley, the black soil of the ground beneath the salt had been revealed in many places, like a dark sea between the floating white bergs of salt. Now it was concealed entirely, lost under a solid sheet of white. Here and there, the salt had crystallized into beautiful, strangely shaped spires and mounds. Guin passed through a salt formation that appeared to be formed over and around the bones of some huge animal, thrusting up from the ground into the sky. Then, he strode between strange glowing trees of salt. He did not think the salt capable of killing outright, so he surmised that whatever had owned the bones had first died, then been covered with salt crystals. The resulting sculpture was as chilling as it was beautiful. The trees were equally arresting. There was no less than a small copse of dead trees, all completely overgrown and consumed by the salt. It was a phantasmagorical sight, and unsettling when he thought on it too long.

The ground crunched softly underneath Guin’s feet. The layer of salt was growing deeper as he neared the middle of the valley. Then his boot came down upon a perfectly formed sphere; it crushed beneath his weight and he saw something shine like a ruby from the shards. For a moment, he thought the salt ball was bleeding. Curiously he picked up the bright shape that his footfall had revealed.

Guin gasped. It was the pure red fruit of some plant. It had probably fallen from one of the salt-imprisoned trees and had become perfectly preserved. It was shiny like a gemstone. Given the encrustation on the trees he thought that it must be quite old, but encased as it was he doubted that it could have rotted. He took a tentative bite, but quickly spit it out. It tasted like pure salt; no trace of the fruit’s flavor remained.

Suddenly this landscape, which had at first appeared beautiful and exotic to the leopard-man, began to seem threatening, and a subtle fear crept into his heart. It was as if he had wandered into a painting of some faraway, unseen world, pleasing to the eye but hostile to life. There were no springs or rivers here, nor would any water here ever be drinkable. No fish or bigmouth from the Kes could ever come to these dry gullies; no moss would ever grow from these barren stones.

The salt sucked all the moisture out of the air. For a moment the delusion gripped Guin that if he were to misstep, twist his foot, and fall, the salt would flow into his mouth and rob the water from his body, transforming him in moments into a desiccated mummy. Then he would lie forever preserved in this snowfield of salt, a statue to be covered in time with beautiful white powder. This was a valley of death.

This, too, is Nospherus, a cursed land.

Guin growled. His throat was dry, perhaps because of the salt he had licked, perhaps because the insidious valley had steadily sucked the water from his body even as he walked across it.

I think I actually prefer the harsh sands of the open desert to this dead place.

After a time Guin noticed the air around him getting lighter, and he lifted his head and surveyed his surroundings. He realized with surprise that he had walked through the night in the strange white valley. At some point the dim light of Aeris had given way to the first ruddy light foretelling the arrival of Ruah’s fiery chariot.

The third morning had dawned.

Two days left—and those two days begin now. I wonder if Istavan is carrying out his part of the plan. I hope the Sem haven’t split up and fallen to fighting amongst themselves. Are the twins waiting as I told them to? How far have the Mongauli advanced?

All these things he could not know. Guin looked up to the sky for answers as the first rays of Ruah’s burning orb reached the dead valley. He jerked back as though he had been stricken. Hurriedly, he lifted a hand to ward off the furiously bright, prismatic light that assailed him from every direction.

The sun hit the salt and shone brighter than the brightest snow. The salt trees and rocks, the jagged bones and even the footprints that Guin had left behind caught the sun’s light in untold thousands of tiny crystals, and like a morning ceremony at the Crystal Palace echoing with holy dirges, they blazed in a symphony of rainbow light. Only, unlike the ceremonies of Parros, this display blazed so intensely that it seared.

It was excruciatingly beautiful, this dance of fearful brightness, but its beauty gave the leopard-man no joy, for had he gazed upon it for more than an instant, it might have scorched the very eyes from his head. He found that he was unable to proceed even with his eyes tightly shut, feeling his way with outstretched hands; for even when his eyes were closed the terrible light beat against his lids and slowly burned into his brain. Guin stopped, uncertain of what to do. If the fierce blaze blinded him, he would be stranded. Finally he covered both eyes with his hands and pressed onward, feeling his way with his booted feet. He knew that if he just kept going straight he would soon be out of the salt-encrusted valley.

His pace acquired a new urgency now. He had to escape the unexpected menace of the burning light. Repeatedly he tripped over rocks that lay in his path and felt the salt sting in cuts on his knees and elbows, but each time he simply clambered to his feet again and kept on walking, heedless of the pain. He walked faster and faster, until he was almost running. Even with his eyes shut tightly there was one thing he could sense around him; it was a disembodied hatred, as palpable as the sun’s light was blinding.

He ran.

He would have run right past the valley patrol, had a thick voice not sounded right in front of him.

“Stop!”

The voice sounded both alarmed and threatening. It was joined by other voices coming out of the white blindness.

“Stop. What are you doing?”

“Where are you going?”

“Who are you?”

Guin opened his eyes, braving the burning light. As soon as he lowered his hands he noticed that the reflected rays were much dimmer here; he was nearing the edge of the valley. Blinking and squinting, he peered ahead, and he saw them: four hulking shapes, towering in his path. He had found the Lagon at last.

The creatures had to be Lagon. What else could they be, but the giants of Nospherus? They stood blocking Guin’s path, pointing great spears at him, the broad stone spearheads aimed straight at his chest. Though Guin himself was a good six taar high, the shortest of them was at least a finger taller, and the tallest stood a head above Guin.

The giants were proportionally broad, though they carried themselves with an ease that made them seem relatively light for their huge frames, and therefore swift and agile. They were all muscle and bone, lacking any excess weight. Judging from the quickness with which they handled their giant stone-tipped spears, they had considerable strength.

Those spears all remained pointed at Guin. Not one of the Lagon risked glancing away. Their wary eyes were filled with mistrust and bewilderment.

At first he thought they were all male, but then he noticed that the shortest of them was slightly different. She had to be a female. She was more lightly built, and had long hair that flowed down over her shoulders and across her chest. While the other three wore only leather loincloths, she wore a skin tunic that was tied at one shoulder and covered her torso and her legs down to the knee.

Aside from these details, however, she seemed little different from the others. All wore the same leather sandals, and all were hairy, though not so hairy as the Sem, at least on the front of their bodies. They seemed to have spread some sort of animal grease upon themselves, and their exposed skin was largely covered with gleaming smears of the stuff. Where their natural skin did show it was a deep coppery color. Their faces were entirely unlike those of the smaller residents of Nospherus; their foreheads were rather wide, and their jaws jutted out slightly, giving their heads an unbalanced look like wine jugs turned upside down. But their eyes were unmistakably intelligent, and they shone with violence. At their waists hung stone short swords, and they each seemed to carry a set of strange implements: a small bowl that looked like a rock with a hollow carved out of it, and a long-handled spoon.

“Who are you?” the tallest of the Lagon spoke again. “You have the head of a beast, but the body of a Lagon. I have not seen your kind. Who are you?”

Guin wondered how he should answer. Then amazement flashed through him as he realized that the miracles had not ceased, for he could understand the language of the Lagon. Its thick and deep tones were markedly different from the high-pitched squeaking of the Sem tongue, but the words were quite similar. Perhaps there was something to the legend that the Sem and the Lagon were both descendants of the people of Kanan and shared the same ancestral language and customs.

“I…” Guin coughed, still unsure of how he should introduce himself. He liked the way the language felt, though. His throat and chest were much better suited to its low tones.

“It speaks!” said one of the Lagon, spear still raised. “Is it Lagon?”

“No,” said another, “no Lagon has the head of a beast!”

“But beasts do not talk,” the first rejoined.

“And what manner of beast is it?” mused the third Lagon male. “It is not a wolf, or a lizard.”

“If he can speak, he must be Lagon,” said the first with finality. Having come to an agreement about the nature of the strange warrior, they thrust out their spears.

The one that had spoken first challenged Guin now, his voice threatening. “Lagon with the head of a beast, where did you come from?”

“My name is Guin,” the leopard-man replied slowly. “I came through the valley of salt, from across the Dog’s Head.”

“Across the Dog’s Head is the land of the dead,” the Lagon answered. He seemed to be the leader of this party.

“But I am alive,” said Guin. “Beyond the Dog’s Head is not the land of the dead. I came here from over the mountain.”

“Over the mountain is death!” the leader repeated obstinately. “That is why you have the head of a beast. You are an evil spirit, and you stole that head to walk among the living.”

“No, it is my own head, and I am no spirit,” the leopard-man insisted, exasperated at his inability to explain something that he did not understand himself. He changed his tack. “I have a request. I must meet your king.”

His words seemed to have an odd effect on the Lagon. They looked at one another, and for a moment he thought they might not have understood him.

“Or do the Lagon have no king?” Guin asked.

“We have no king,” replied the leader. “The sage Kah and the warrior Dodok decide all things for the Lagon.”

“Then let me meet this sage Kah and this warrior Dodok.”

“We will bring you before them,” said the leader curtly, “as our prisoner. They will judge your punishment. You are a fiend from the land of the dead, and you have tread upon the sacred white sand.”

Then he started, noticing the lump of salt in Guin’s pocket. “What is this?” he demanded loudly, fishing the salt out with a swift hand. The white crystals crumbled onto the ground. “The white sand belongs to Lagon only. It is sacred to Lagon. Thieves must be punished. Come.” He emphasized his words by stepping back and prodding Guin’s chest with the tip of his spear.

Guin had no intention of quarreling. He was here to meet the leaders of the Lagon, even if that meeting had to happen on such unfavorable terms. The four Lagon formed a watchful circle around him and urged him back the way that they had come, along the black earth of a gentle slope that led down and away from the rock salt valley. Silently the leopard-man followed their lead.

Guin was a prisoner of the Lagon.