Fall; or, Dodge in Hell - Neal Stephenson Page 0,380

a breather and, at the moment when all had decided to run away, found the pole rotted half through and the pack lashed in place by vines. But Fern had been insisting all along that important supplies be distributed evenly among all of the baggage. Thanks to that, the loss was not so damaging to the Quest’s prospects as it might have been.

They ate a meal, since the day was only half through. A storm moved across higher land a mile away. This made Pick nervous and he insisted they cut their rest short and move on. By the time they had grudgingly repacked and got to their feet, the stream they had easily forded had risen to a torrent that would have swept all but Edda away, had they dared set foot in it.

They made for higher ground. For a little while it seemed that they were being pursued by the river. They could have made themselves perfectly safe from rising water by scrambling a little distance up one of the low ridges that divided its tributary creeks, but above a certain level they began to notice a lot of lightning-blasted snags that reminded them of the one they had been gawking at shortly before Weaver had been killed. Mard and Lyne—who, free of their big pack, had resumed their old habit of scrambling ahead—made a hasty descent from one such ridge and reported that something strange had happened to them as they approached its top: their hair had stood on end, their fingers had tingled, and—

“A glowing fringe could be seen around the branches of trees,” Fern said.

“Yes!” the Bufrect lads said in unison.

Fern had adopted the mildly stunned expression that came over her when she was dumbfounded by the foolishness of landlubbers. “It is Thingor’s Aura and it is known to mariners,” she announced. “You were wise to descend.”

Fortunately they did not have to choose between escaping the river’s rise and tangling with Thingor’s Aura. They found a place in between where Pick could squat on his haunches and watch the torrent until he was certain it was beginning to recede. But another day was spent.

The next morning they moved along the slope of a ridge that was getting in their way until the sky brightened and Corvus descended from it and said he judged it safe to cross over the high ground, provided they stayed well apart and avoided clearings. So they devoted an hour to doing just that. Prim, walking alone as per instructions, took the small risk of going a little higher than she needed to and looking around. Far ahead of them, the ground surged up out of a plateau of dark evergreen forest. It rose like a rampart, and as it did, it shouldered off the cover of the trees and was nothing but brown rock for a while until that was glazed, then frosted, then, above a certain altitude, completely buried in snow. This continued up into the storm’s lower reaches, which obscured its heights. It looked impossible. But map and myth agreed that the Fastness could only be approached along the route that she was surveying now.

Corvus came flying in from the north. He must have spied Prim on her high perch, for his broad wings narrowed to blades as he banked toward her. “Don’t dillydally,” he said, “this break in the weather won’t last.” He touched down and skipped to a stop on open ground near her.

“Who’s dillydallying?” she retorted. “I thought you would be scouting the way ahead.”

This stopped him for a few moments. “It is also wise,” he said finally, “to be mindful of what might be behind. Come on, let’s get moving!” And he took to the air and went careering back and forth along the Quest’s line of advance, flapping and squawking at any stragglers.

That day neither sky nor forest nor river attempted to kill them. But they had now left the bright colors of the deciduous fall behind and entered into that more elevated stretch of evergreen-forested territory. In some places the trees stood well apart, shooting arrow-straight from a fragrant carpet of needles that was soft beneath sore feet.

They had come to a pass where because of victuals consumed, victuals spoiled by damp, and victuals abandoned while running away, they needed more victuals, and so a day was set aside for hunting and, should the hunt succeed, butchering and dressing of meat. Prim was pressed into service as an archer, and played along