At last the three straightened up, and Old Kahl stared at Kenda and said, “Please state the reason for your change of mind, Kenda.”
Kenda swallowed, and flung out an arm to gesture behind him, indicating Nohma and myself. “I… I think that Par and Nohma have made a brave decision. Who knows what wonders they will find up there, wonders which might be to the benefit of our people. But… but I think it will be safer if three people were to make the ascent.”
I lowered my head. I could have wept.
“I wish to accompany Par and Nohma to the mountaintop.”
The crowd erupted. The Elders called for silence while they conferred again, and I willed them to find against Kenda, to rule against his spiteful change of mind.
I wanted the glory of the ascent to myself and Nohma; I wanted generations of our people to talk of our exploits around the glow-coals for many hundreds of winters to come. And I did not want the insufferable Kenda to share in that glory.
Then Old Kahl looked up, straight at Kenda. “So be it,” he said. “There is wisdom in your words. You will join Par and Nohma on their ascent.”
I wanted to cry out in disgust, but restrained my protest. Much to my comfort, Nohma squeezed my hand again.
As Kenda turned and walked back towards us, he found my gaze and smiled.
We set off at twilight.
A procession of our people, mainly children, followed us to the upper plain, cheering us on our way. Their enthusiasm had not been matched by the reaction of the adults: some had shunned me in the hours of preparation before we embarked; others had called me a fool to my face, and questioned the wisdom of endangering others besides myself. I declined from stating the obvious: that it was not my decision, but Nohma and Kenda’s.
We each carried a giant crab shell, scraped thin to make it lighter; these would protect us from the worst of the sun if we failed to find adequate cover during the daylight hours. We also carried three gourds of water each, no more and no less than the quota allowed those Initiates descending Below. I had protested to Old Tan when he had doled out the water. “But those who go Below do not have the heat to fear, and at journey’s end they might find water.”
He had merely smiled and said, “Argue with Old Old Old Old Old Tenka, who made the rules hundreds of winters ago.”
In my backpack fashioned from dried cactus skin I carried three chunks of sun-dried crabmeat, dried app and pearlys and some strips of cactus flesh. We would be away for fourteen nights, and I knew that these rations would not last that long. We would be forced to find food on our travels.
We trudged through the sand of the upper plain, and one by one our followers fell away. Kenda forged ahead, the fool, expending energy in trying to impress Nohma. With the broad shell of the crab on his back, and his thick legs pumping away through the sand drifts, he looked like a crab that had taught itself to walk upright.
Nohma and I walked side by side, conserving our energy, the edges of our crab shells occasionally clanking together.
At one point, no longer hearing the chatter of our followers, I stopped and turned.
The moon-silvered sandy plain was quite deserted. The stars were out in their millions, and along with the gibbous moon they were our only witnesses. I thought of our people back in the caves, enjoying the warmth of the glow-coals and Old Tan’s stories.
I shivered and felt suddenly lonely.
As if sensing my mood, Nohma reached out and took my hand.
We left the upper plain and climbed the slope of the eastern valley, following a path worn over countless winters by first crab-hunters and then by our own crab-farmers. Mountains loomed close on either side, shutting out the starlight. Many hours passed as we climbed steadily. Ahead, limned against the first light of morning, I made out the distant mountain peaks. According to Old Tan, Old Old Old Marla had found a track that led from the eastern valley and zigzagged up to an escarpment beyond the central mountain. It was here, so the story went, that she had stumbled across the ancient dwelling places and the blackened people.
The light in the east intensified, gold at first and then white. The heat increased, the humidity making the air as thick as broth. We slowed, despite having to reach the foothills that reared a thousand man-lengths before us. We were panting, Nohma and I, and the shell was a dead weight on my back.
At one point Kenda turned and shouted, “Hurry up! Do you want to burn to death when the sun comes up!”
I ignored him and glanced at Nohma. Sweat coursed down her face. She gave a brave smiled and we trudged on.
The rim of the sun showed itself over the mountainous horizon, glowing as red as an old coal and spanning the escarpment for what looked like a million man-lengths. As I stared, before I could take the glare no more and had to look away, I made out strange tendrils and loops that rose from the hemisphere and whipped about like the antennae of a dying crab.
The valley narrowed. The sandy path inclined and climbed. The sun rose, and with it the punishing temperature. We faced the prospect of walking the last few hundred man-lengths under the full glare of the sun. The shell felt like two men upon my back. I wanted nothing more than to stop and take a long, long drink of water.
What seemed like an age later we came among tumbled rock, and I said to Nohma, “I can’t take another step. I know what — let’s place our shells across two of these rocks and shelter until nightfall.”
She looked about her, then shook her head. “And roast to death? Not me.” She pointed ahead. “Look, the hillside climbs. A short walk and I’m sure there’ll be caves.”
I looked, and said, “Where’s Kenda?”
There was no sign of our companion on the path before us. “I’m not bothered where he is,” Nohma said. “Come on.”
We trudged on, climbing the rocky, twisting path between boulders taller than a man. The sun was beating down upon us now without mercy, and I felt my exposed skin burn beneath its glare. “It’s no good,” I panted. “We must stop. There, look, between those rocks.” I pointed to a likely fissure which would afford — with our crab shell canopies — a small measure of cover.
Nohma paused to look, and shook her head in disgust.
“Then what do you suggest!” I cried out in frustration.
At that very moment, a call from high above prevented Nohma’s angry reply.
“You down there! Look up!”
We did so, and beheld Kenda standing in what looked like the mouth of a cave high above. He was leaning against the arched rock, as if he owned the place, and he seemed to be laughing at our discomfort.
Gratefully we struggled up through the tumbled rocks and joined him.
“We thought we’d never get out of the burning sun!” Nohma greeted him, and looked into the dark, cool shade of the cave. “You’ve found a fine retreat here, Kenda!”
“I wonder if Old Old Old Marla made use of it,” he said, throwing a glance my way.
I ignored him. I dropped my crab shell, my backpack and gourds, panting hard.
We retreated further into the cave and unpacked our evening meal of cactus flesh and flavoured water. I ate slowly and in silence, relishing every juicy mouthful. Later we watched the sun climb, magnificent in its fiery entirety — before the heat drove us further into the cave’s shadows.
That day, in the darkness of the cave, I made love to Nohma with greater passion than ever before, making her shout and squeal and hoping that Kenda could hear everything.
At one point during the night I woke, in need of emptying my bladder. I moved to the entrance of the cave. The sun was on the other side of the sky now, and soon twilight would be descending. I was surprised to find Kenda crouching in the natural arch of the rock, staring down the long valley.