joined by the descending shape of the stronger jumper.
Jon-Tom had grown dizzy watching the up-and-down pur-
suit. His brain was more confused than his eyes. The new
optical information did not match up with stored information.
"The origin of the name's obvious," he said to the
boatman, "but I still don't understand how it came to be."
Bribbens proceeded to relate the story of the Sloomaz-ayor-
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THE HOUR Or THE GATE
le-WeentIi, of the great witch Wutz and her spilled cauldron
of magic and the effect this had had upon the river forevermore.
When he'd finished the tale Plor shook her head in disbe-
lief. "'Grande, fantastico. A schizoid stream."
"What makes the world go 'round, after all, Flor?" said
Jon-Tom merrily.
"Gravitation and other natural laws."
"I thought it was love."
"As a matter of fact," said Clothahump, inserting himself
into the conversation, "the gravitational properties of love are
well known. I suppose you believe its attractive properties
wholly psychological? Well let me tell you, my boy, that
there are certain formulae which..." and he rambled off into
a learned discussion, half balderdash and half science: which
is to say, fine magic. Jon-Tom and Flor tried to follow, largely
in vain.
Talea leaned on the bow railing, her gaze fixed on the
blackness ahead and around them. The cool wind continued,
ruffling her hair and making her wonder what lay ahead,
concealed by the screen of night.
For days they drifted downstream in darkness; water above,
water below, floating through an aqueous tube toward an
uncertain destination. Jon-Tom was reminded of a corpuscle
in the bloodstream. After all the talk of Zaryt's "Teeth" and
of traveling into the "belly" bf the mountain, he found the
analogy disquieting.
From time to time they would anchor in midstream and
supplement their supplies from the river's ample piscean
population. Occasionally Bribbens and Mudge would make
exploratory forays into the upper river. They would climb the
mast, Mudge helping the less adapted boatman. A small float
attached to an arrow was shot into the underside of the current
overhead. The float was inflated until it held securely. Then
the cord trailing from it would be tied to the mast. Bribbens
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Alan Dean Foster
and the otter would then shinny up it, to disappear into the
liquid ceiling.
With them went small sealed oil lamps fitted with handles.
These provided light in the darkness, a necessity since even
such agile swimmers as the two explorers could become lost
in the deep waters.
On the twelfth day, when the monotony of the trip had
become dangerously settled, Bribbens slid down the line in a
state of uncharacteristic excitement.
"I think we're through," he announced cheerily.
"Through? Through where? Surely not the mountains."
Clothahump frowned. "It could not be. The range is too
massive to be so narrow. And the legends..."
"No, no, sir. Not through the mountains. But the airspace
above the upper river has suddenly expanded from but a few
inches to one many feet high. There is a substantial cave, far
more interesting to look at than this homogeneous tunnel. We
can travel above now, and there's some light as well."
"What kind of light?" Flor wanted to know.
"You'll see."
Preparations were made. Buoyant material did not have to
be dragged or shoved downward this time. Instead, they
simply had to raise it to the upper stream and insert it,
whereupon it would instantly bob to the second surface.
Mudge was waiting to slip a line on such packages and drag
them to shore.
When all their stores had been transferred, the nonaquatics
climbed the mast rope and pushed themselves into the upper
river. It was far easier to ascend than that first uncertain dive
had been.
Jon-Tom broke the surface with wind to spare. He remained
there a while, treading water as he inspected the cavern into
which the river emerged.
The boatman had understated its size in his usual phlegmat-
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THE HOUR Or THE GATE
ic fashion. The cave was enormous. Off to his left Jon-Tom
could see the abrupt cessation of the solid stone wall that had
formed a tight lid on the upper stream for so many days.
Little debris drifted this far on the river, and what few pieces
and bits of wood tumbled by were worn almost smooth from
the continual buffeting against that unyielding overhang.
More amazing were the cavern walls. They appeared to be
coated with millions of tiny lights. He swam lazily toward the
nearby beach, crawled out and selected a towel with which to
dry himself, and moved to inspect the nearest glowing rocks.
The lights were predominantly gold in hue, though a few
odd bursts and patches of red, blue, green, and yellow were
visible. The bioluminescents were lichens and fungi of many
species, ranging from mere colored smears against the rock to
elaborate mushrooms and step fungi. Individually their lumen
output was insignificant, but in the millions they illuminated
the cavern as thoroughly as an evening sun.
He was kneeling to examine a cluster of bright blue
toadstools when a vast rush and burble sounded behind him.
He turned, instinctively expecting to see some unmentionable
river monster rising from the depths. It was only their boat.
The first days on board he'd wondered at the purpose of
great collapsed intestines, carefully scraped and dried, that
lined the little craft's hold. Now he knew. Having been
inflated in turn they'd given the boat sufficient lifting power
to rise like a balloon from the lower river right up to the
surface of its twin.
Now it bobbed uncertainly as Bribbens rushed to open the
valves sealing each inflated stomach before they could lift the
ship from its second surface to the ceiling of the cavern.
Water ran off the decks and out the seacocks. Mudge pumped
furiously to purge the remaining water from the hold.
Dry and dressed, the passengers were soon traveling once
more eastward. The scenery had improved greatly. Jon-Tom
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Alan Dean Foster
hoped the cavern would not shrink around them and force
them again down to the dull surface of the understream.
He needn't have worried. Instead of compacting, the cav-
ern grew larger. It seemed endless, stretching vast and fluo-
rescent ahead of them.
Phosphorescent growths made the river an artist's palette,
oils of many colors all run together and anarchically brilliant.
Gigantic stalactites drooped like teeth from the distant ceil-
ing. Some were far larger than the boat. They drifted past
huge panels of flowstone, frozen rivers of stained calcite.
Helictites curled and twisted from the walls, twitching at
gravity like so many crystalline whiskers. Fungi flashed from
diem all.
On both sides they could see passages branching from the
main cavern. Jon-Tom had a powerful urge to grab a lamp
and do some casual spelunking. But Clothahump reminded hiru
there would be ample exploring to do without deviating frori
their course. So long as the river continued to run eastward
they would keep to the boat.
The size and magnificence of the cavern kept him fror.i
thinking about the composition of the Sloomaz-ayor-le-Weenti:
It was disconcerting to sail along a river that flowed not o.-
rock or sand but on air.
"How do you know it even has a solid bottom?" Plor onc,-
asked their boatman. "Maybe it's a triple—or quadruple--