So as they raced through the night, Orick lay beside her, keeping her warm, singing to her.
Everyone was silent. Since Maggie and Gallen had been hiking all across the countryside, when they tired the giant Fenorah took the reins and Ceravanne sat hunched beside him with her cloak draped tightly about, to keep out the cold. Gallen and Maggie lay in the back of the wagon.
Gallen stretched out beside Orick under a blanket, with Maggie beside him, and Orick could feel a certain tenseness in Gallen’s muscles.
Orick took a moment to consider, trying to remember how far a kilometer was. He was still not accustomed to measuring things as the starfarers did. When he was satisfied that Zell’a Cree was far away, he breathed deeply, quietly, trying to get back to sleep, but it wasn’t much use. They traveled under the clouds for a while, and then the stars came out-a vast panoply far brighter than the dim stars back on Tihrglas.
Maggie was looking up at the sky, too, and she whispered, “Ah, Gallen, look at all of the stars.”
“We must be close to the galactic center here, closer than we are back on Tihrglas-”
“Not much closer,” Maggie said. “We’re on the far side from Tihrglas, closer to the Dronon worlds. They’re out on the rim, but we’re halfway to the galactic center here, a little above the spiral. See that bright band-how wide it is?”
And Orick saw. Indeed the Milky Way was but a dim river of stars back on Tihrglas, but here it took up the whole night sky. The starlight alone was enough to see by, fairly well.
“Gallen,” Maggie whispered, changing the subject, worry in her voice, “what was that hand signal you gave Zell’a Cree?” Orick could barely hear the question over the sounds of running feet, the creak of wagon wheels, the jostling of springs.
“I don’t know,” Gallen whispered.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? Is it something you learned from the Inhuman?”
“I really don’t know,” Gallen said. “I was just standing there, and it came to me. It seemed the right thing to do.”
Maggie seemed to take this in, and Orick realized that they were discussing something private, something dangerous. What would Gallen have learned from the Inhuman? Orick wondered. They were whispering, and with the way the backboard for the driver’s seat leaned, it would baffle the sound for Ceravanne and Fenorah.
Maggie sat up and readjusted her pack, using it for a pillow. “I wish we were underground this night, Gallen,” she said. She looked at Orick.
“Orick, are you still awake?” Maggie asked.
“Huh, ah, yes.” Orick yawned.
“Oh, good night, then,” she said; she rolled over.
Orick saw his mistake. If he’d feigned sleep, then Maggie and Gallen would have kept talking. Instead, Maggie drifted into a light sleep. But Gallen lay for a long time, his muscles rigid, until the rumble of the wagon lulled even him to sleep. Orick roused enough to look over the backboard, and a hundred yards back, the giants were running three abreast behind the wagon, a strong, comforting presence.
Orick lay watching the sky, and the marvelous wagon moved so gently over the road, he felt that he was floating under the stars. They passed through several small towns, and each time, dogs would bark and geese would honk, and then they’d be left behind. But then the trees closed over them, and for a long time there were no houses to pass. They were moving deeper and deeper into the wilderness.
A few hours before dawn, they came to the sea and clattered over a long bridge, then at some woods along an empty beach the giants stopped for the night. Two of them stayed up as sentries, watching the road, and the others built a small fire and napped. Ceravanne and Fenorah camped under a tree, while Orick slept in the wagon with the others. At dawn Orick got up, while the giants fixed breakfast-salty corn cakes covered with peaches, dried apricots, and cream.
Orick walked along the road, and quickly realized that they were on a small island between two branches of a river. And on the island two enormous cliff faces, each over two hundred feet tall, were carved with the images of eagles. One eagle, with its wings raised, faced the north sea. The other, with its wings folded, looked upriver, its beak wide as if it were screeching.
And the bridge they had crossed was a marvel-nearly a mile of vast granite pylons held stonework that was intricately carved along the side with a massive frieze that displayed images of grotesque gargoyles, squatting and grunting as they shoved handcarts over the bridge. The images were somehow both comic and beautiful. And the bridge was enormously wide, enough so that four or five carts could have gone abreast.
On the far side of the island was a shorter bridge, just as intricately decorated, and Orick suddenly saw why the giants chose to camp here: the island could be easily defended.
Orick climbed a steep, pine-covered ridge until he reached the top of the eagle that gazed out to sea. There, on the head between the eagle’s wings, he found Gallen sitting, dangling his feet as if unaware that he was perched above a deadly drop. Gallen wore the black gloves and boots of a Lord Protector, along with his robe that would stay black unless he willed it to change some other color or let it blend into whatever background he happened to be standing in.
Orick climbed beside him, sat gazing out to sea, resting his muzzle on his paws. The double suns had just risen, and the sea was flat, smooth, a deep, pristine blue. Orick could see salmon finning in lazy circles out in the water, and cormorants were flying out to sea, shooting just above the waves.
Orick said, “Did you see the bridges?”
“Indeed.” Gallen sighed. “This place is called Profundis, and those unbreakable bridges were carved long ago by a race called the Thworn. If you look west, on that bluff over there, you will see the walls to an ancient city, Tywee.” Orick looked over to a dome-shaped bluff beside the sea and noticed for the first time some crumbling walls among the trees. “Eight hundred years ago, a young man named Omad fell in love with a beautiful princess, and she agreed to marry him if he took her armies and unified this region. He did so-by making pacts and trade agreements, so that never a drop of blood was spilled. And after their wedding he wisely built the bridges-not only to facilitate travel in his own lands, but to keep enemy ships from sailing upriver into the heart of his realm.
“You see, this river accepts drainage from all the land within a thousand kilometers in any direction, and so it is the major artery leading south into the heartland.”
“Did the king build these statues, too?” Orick asked.
“Yes. A bloody, barbaric race called the Dwinideen were great seamen, and they had often raided deep into the fertile inland. As the bridge was being built, the Dwinideen harried the craftsmen, slaughtering many people, much to the dismay of Omad. But the Dwinideen were superstitious, and they feared Capul, the sky god who appears in the shape of a fish eagle. They believed that if one dies, and the fish eagle gets at the body, the eagle will carry off the dead person’s spirit to be eaten so that the dead can never be reborn. So the King of Tywee carved this statue, and when next the Dwinideen attacked, Omad took thirty of the Dwinideen captive. With his own hand he hurled them from the eagle’s head to the rocks below, crying, ‘Thus shall my enemies die!’ There were many fish eagles living here then, as there are now, and they fed on the carcasses. Afterward, the Dwinideen feared this place and never returned. For the rest of his days, Omad regretted that he was forced to shed blood to protect his kingdom.”
Gallen fell silent. His voice seemed grim. Almost, Orick thought, as if he were grieving for the long-dead king, and there was pain in his eyes, a quiet wisdom that seemed out of place on Gallen’s features.