On one descent, they plunged into a mass of cloud. The mist around them got darker and darker. Marko wondered what that pattering noise was, until he realized that rain was striking the gas bag. The cooling effect of the rain made the balloon drop faster than ever, until they broke out of the bottom of the layer of cloud.
Marko was” astonished to see the ground a mere seventy-five feet below, shooting past at a dizzy speed. Below them, plants bent in the wind, which roared as it poured over the ground. The rain was coming down hard, but the bag of the balloon acted as an umbrella. Marko could not tell which way they were going, because the whole balloon was spinning round and round, so that the landscape spun in the opposite direction below. He glimpsed an Anglonian cowboy in a broad-brimmed hat, chivying a small herd of cattle into an enclosure.
Halran yelled at him, then pulled the drop strings on three bags of ballast. Up they went again, this time so fast that Marko was conscious of the wind’s downward rush. After an endless time of seeing nothing but lurid lightning flashes and being deafened by thunder, they broke out the top again, not far below the upper overcast. Below them, Marko saw a solid mass of blackish clouds boiling like one of the volcanic hot swamps of northern Vizantia.
“We had better remain up here,” said Halran. “Curse it, if I only knew my direction …”
By rapid stoking, they stayed safely above the storm for the next few hours. They ate. Marko shivered with cold. Halran checked his remaining supplies of fuel and sand. He clucked apprehensively, glanced over the side, and squawked like a marsh tersor.
“Look!” he yelled, pointing downward.
Marko saw, through a rift in the clouds, the crawling, wrinkled surface of the Medranian Sea.
8
Hours passed. The clouds began to break up, both above and below the balloon. The setting Muphrid shot golden lances through the gaps, gliding the bag of the balloon as well as the underside of the overcast. Marko, looking down upon the leaden sea, cried:
“Dr. Halran! An island!”
Halran looked. In the crawling waste of waters, half hidden by fracted scud clouds, a darker mass appeared ahead.
Halran, frowning over his homemade chart, said: “A large one, Marko. I think the wind will carry us over it.”
“Shall we land there?”
“We shall have to. Otherwise this storm will carry us far over the sea, and when we run out of peat we shall have to descend willy-nilly. The only thing that concerns me is the reception we shall receive.”
“Why,” said Marko, “there’s nothing to fear from a handful of fishermen.”
“If I am not in error, that is the Isle of Mnaenn.”
“You mean the one with the witches?”
“That is what they are called, though what they really are like I cannot say. The only visitors they allow are those who come to practice oneiromancy in their Temple of Einstein and to purchase spells and potions.”
“What is oneiromancy?”
“Divination by dreams. You sleep in the temple and next day tell the witches your dream to interpret.”
“Do you believe in that sort of thing, Doctor?”
“I think it is superstitious nonsense, but I could be mistaken. There is much about which we cannot issue definitive dicta. Of course, some of the witches’ customers are attracted less by the witches’ alleged magical powers than by the fact that they include as part of their fee that the visitor shall be ultimate with them.”
“Why do the witches want visitors to be intimate with them?”
“Because it is an all-female society, and that is their only method of maintaining their numbers.”
Marko said: “I shouldn’t think many visitors would mind. At least, those who weren’t from my country, where moral standards are stricter. But why hasn’t some neighboring ruler annexed the island? A handful of women couldn’t stop a conqueror, even if the girls were armed.”
“Ah, but they can. The island is surrounded by tall cliffs, with only one or two landing places. The girls would have ample time to drop boulders on the heads of any invaders.”
Marko shaded his eyes and peered towards the land they were nearing. “That’s funny.”
“What is so risible?”
“I see no cliffs. This islandif it be an islandhas broad beaches.”
“Oh!” said Halran, peering in his turn. “You are correct, as nearly as my cursed eyesight can make it out. Besides, this island is much too large for Mnaenn.”
“What is it, then?”
“Afka, I suppose, unless there are other islands in this part of the Medranian that I know not of. Afka lies south and east of Mnaenn. Good gods, we must have flown right over Mnaenn without seeing it!”
“I’ve heard of Afka but don’t know much about it. What’s it like? We never go there, because the Afkans are said to be unfriendly to strangers.”
Halran shrugged. “Not much more is known in Anglonia. The populace is said to be dark of skin and too proud to mingle with the lesser breeds. Well, we shall soon learn. Get ready to bring us down. I say, what’s that?”
“What?”
“It looks like a stupa forest. But we could not possibly have been blown clear to the Borsja Peninsula!”
“Are you sure that is the only place where those big trees grow, Doctor?”
“No one is ever certain, but we shall soon find out. Valve some more air, please.”
The balloon settled gently to the mossy ground, between the curving beach and the looming forest. The trees were unmistakable stupas, although but a fraction of the size of those on the Borsja Peninsula. The latter reached a height of a thousand feet. On the other hand, these trees were far larger than the dwarf stupas of the civilized lands.
Marko and Halran were still folding and tying up the bag, when men approached and surrounded them. These were big men, with skins of so dark a brown as to look black. Their kinky black hair was trimmed into fanciful shapes. They carried spears and crossbows. The leader, in a kind of scarlet toga, gestured and spoke threateningly.
After Marko and Hakan had tried several languages between them, it was found that one of the spearmen spoke a little Vizantian. With this man as interpreter, the leader conveyed the word that the foreigners were to come with him.
“What about my balloon?” asked Halran.
“You will not long care what happens to it,” said he of the toga. “Now march!”
The other black men formed a hollow square around the travelers. They marched in step, keeping rigid formation, to the leader’s chant of “Moja, mbili, tatu, ine, moja, mbili, tatu, ine. …” -
“What have you gotten us into now?” grumbled Marko.
“Oh, dear, oh, dear! Do not blame me; blame the storm. But I admit I was a fool, not to have landed as soon as the weather got thick. We may be doomed for all I know; these beggars have a bad reputation.”
“Well, let’s keep our eyes and ears open. Something may come up.”
Halran sighed gustily and shook his head. “Ah, me, never to see my dear ones again!” Then he jerked up his head. “By Newton, that’s curious!”
“What is?”
They had entered the forest and marched along a straight path. Among the trunks of the stupa trees, on all sides, ran a system of pipes, supported at eye level by posts. From the joints of these pipes, a gentle spray of water moistened the forest floor.
“So that is how they keep their woods from burning up!” said Hakan.
“How do you mean?”
“You know, Marko, that the Borsja Peninsula is the only place, so far explored, that produces decent hardwood in quantity. The reason is the extreme dampness, with constant rain and fog. Since forest fires cannot get started, the trees can grow undisturbed for thousands of yearsunless some greedy enterpreneur, like your Sokrati Popu, cuts them all down. So these people, finding that they had a good stand of hardwood, have taken measures to protect it, making Afka into a kind of artificial Borsja.”