Imogen paused, looking ahead. She contemplated the landscape for several minutes.
“It doesn’t look passable,” said Gideon.
“Manuel?” Imogen asked. “You see a way through?”
Garza shook his head.
She turned to the left and they followed the cliff’s edge. There seemed to be no way down, and—even if they could descend—no apparent way up the far side. A mile finally brought them to a scree slope plunging down the depths. Imogen paused at its top. It offered a perilous, but not impossible, route.
“Do we?” she asked.
“I don’t see any other way,” Gideon replied.
Imogen started down, picking her way among the razor-sharp rocks. Gideon’s cracked hands started to bleed again. His arms trembled uncontrollably, and waves of dizziness swept over him.
The canyon bottom was hot as an oven and filled with split boulders that had fallen from above. They rock-scrambled their way up the ravine on the far side, making only a few hundred yards over the next hour. At last they came to a pour-over, a lip of stone fifteen feet overhead that they could neither see beyond nor apparently get over.
There was a silence. Imogen finally said, “We have to backtrack.”
Wearily they descended the few hundred yards they had spent the past hour climbing. From there they ascended another scree slope to traverse a narrow layer of rock above the ravine, forming a kind of shelf. Around a turn in the canyon, the shelf led toward the upper part of the ravine, forming what almost looked like a natural trail. The canyon tightened dramatically at the far end, narrowing to a crack from which a dim green light came.
They inched forward on the trail, the canyon so narrow they could brace themselves against both sides with their arms. Imogen went through the narrow crack and Gideon followed, suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of water. The valley opened up into a belly-like hollow of stone, a hundred yards long and perhaps fifty wide. A mass of vines hung down a section of cliff.
“Water!” he croaked.
A dark rivulet came running out of the greenery and into a pool no bigger than a sink, which itself overflowed and disappeared into the valley floor. A thin layer of mist lingered at the surface of the water.
They fell upon the pool in silent desperation, cupping their hands and sucking up the clear liquid. After the initial scramble, they took turns with the cup. As Gideon felt his thirst begin to dissipate, an irresistible exhaustion fell upon him. Clearly, Garza and Imogen felt the same. They stretched out upon the shady ground and fell into a deep sleep.
Gideon woke and sat up in darkness. At first, he thought evening had fallen, but then he realized that they had all slept straight through the night and that dawn was just breaking. Imogen was awake as well and looking at the map, hair hanging down in a tangle. Garza was still sleeping. The upper rim of the canyon glowed gold with the rising sun, and a cool, delicious flow of air was washing over them. He looked around, taking in their surroundings for the first time. While there was water, he had to admit the valley itself was a disappointment. The single rivulet ran just a dozen feet from the watering hole before sinking into the sand. Except for the hanging greenery, a few mounds of moss, a group of overgrown thornbushes, and an ancient tamarisk with a screw-like trunk were the only signs of life.
He seated himself next to Imogen. “So this is the mist oasis?” she asked.
“It isn’t quite what it was stacked up to be.”
Garza now woke, sitting up. He looked around, not bothering to conceal the expression of disappointment on his face.
“Maybe there’s more canyon farther on,” said Gideon. Anticipation was overcoming his hunger.
Garza held out his hand. “Be my guest. Looks like a dead end to me.”
Gideon set off along the sandy bottom of the little valley, still cloaked in the shade of dawn. Imogen jumped up to walk with him. Garza watched them wordlessly. He made no complaint about Imogen exploring further. Guess he’s given up, Gideon thought.
The upper end of the valley narrowed once again, then made a turn. They came around it only to be blocked by a blank face of stone.
Imogen gazed up at it. “Looks like this is as far as we go. This miserable little watering hole must’ve gotten talked about and talked about until it grew into the legend of the mist oases.”
Gideon looked around. There was no apparent way out of the dead-end valley. They would have to backtrack through all that awful terrain. He gazed around at the basalt cliffs rising on all sides. The rising sun was gilding the mountaintops.
“Wait. Is that a trail?”
Imogen squinted up. “Probably made by Barbary sheep coming down to the watering hole.”
“Don’t waste your time,” said Garza, coming up behind.
Ignoring him, Imogen started climbing, and after a hesitation Gideon followed.
“If you find the gold mines of the pharaohs, let me know,” Garza called up in a sarcastic voice.
“Is he always this pissy?” Imogen muttered.
“You’re not exactly seeing him at his best.”
They clambered up the rocky slope until the animal track skirted a precarious boulder and came out above the pour-over that had stopped their progress before. Now they found themselves looking into another dry ravine that cut steeply up a great volcanic ridge. The ravine narrowed at its far end to a mere crack in the earth. They climbed toward the crack, through which—as they approached—a strange orange glow emerged. Imogen, reaching the crack first, stopped abruptly. Gideon came up behind her, then did the same. They walked into it.
The crevice was like a doorway into another world. It suddenly opened up, and below them lay a valley, sunken in a deep mist that glowed gold in the early-morning sun. Gideon saw mysterious plants hanging from the walls and flower-dotted grasslands punctuated by mounds of deep moss. Ancient fig trees graced the landscape, mingled with sycamores and clusters of date palms. He could hear, coming from somewhere, the echo of burbling water. As the sun cleared the rim of encircling mountains, the glow brightened, and as the shadows grew shorter he saw ruins take shape on the far side of the valley. A row of toppled stone columns led to a pair of gigantic statues, shattered and broken. Only the feet remained on pedestals of stone.
“Oh my God,” breathed Imogen. “A real mist oasis.”
Then she fell silent and the two stared wordlessly at the ruins, wreathed in swirling mists.
“Jesus,” said a voice from behind as Garza came up. “I take back what I said.”
Now they walked down a trail that led into the center of the valley, where it fell in alongside the embankment of a stream. A trickle of water ran across a bed of fine sand, overhung with convolvuluses. The air smelled of damp earth and flowers. Larks, butterflies, and swallows flitted about.
They walked alongside the stream, the mist collecting on their clothes. Not far ahead a massive fig tree jutted out of the ground like a muscled torso, its branches heavy with fruit. They stepped up to it and Gideon picked a fig from the nearest branch, soft and round and still warm from the previous day. He bit into it, the juice gushing. Imogen and Garza followed his example. They were all ravenous.
Suddenly Imogen stopped eating and froze. For a moment, Gideon didn’t understand. But then, catching movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned to see a dozen figures materialize out of the mist, surrounding them with daggers drawn.
24
THE MEN SILENTLY closed in on them. They were bareheaded, with long, unkempt black hair falling to their shoulders in curls. One of them, evidently the leader, was gigantic: well over six and a half feet tall, with a broad black beard and a massive neck and chest. They were dressed alike, in a long piece of deep-orange cloth wound around their waists with one end draped over the shoulder. The orange dye had come off in places, giving their skin a bronze appearance. The huge barbarian had an elaborate bracelet of what looked like human molars fastened to one of his wrists. Each man wore a leather belt around the middle, with the sheath of a copper-bladed dagger snugged tight against the stomach. Those daggers were all out, in their hands.