He heard laughter and looked at Iraj. A glowing blanket of particles swirled around him and his features seemed comically twisted like a pot collapsing in a kiln. He was pointing at Safar, laughing, and the young man knew he must look the same. Then the particles vanished and all was normal again. For some reason Safar was left feeling somber, moody, while Iraj was still chortling.
"You are lucky for me, Safar, he said. I tell you my deepest secrets and immediately we are blessed by a sign from the heavens."
"But a sign of what, Iraj? Safar asked. How do we know it has to do with us?"
"It was too wonderful to be anything but a blessing, Iraj replied.
That night, while Iraj slept peacefully, Safar remained awake, wondering what the heavenly display had meant. Was it a sign? If so, what did it portend? His senses were acute and every sound stood out clearly from the usual night muddle of chirps and frantic scurrying. He heard a cricket sing and at first he thought it was a spring song to its mate.
Then he heard, It's coming! It's coming!"
Another cricket said, What's coming? What's coming?"
And the first answered, Better hide! Better hide!"
Then a soft wind blew up and the crickets fell silent. The silence came so abruptly it seemed to have substance, an object Safar could feel and turn about and examine if only he could touch it. In his mind he made a bucket of fresh clay. The silence, he thought, was in that bucket and he began to clean the clay, washing out twigs and pebbles. And then he found it. He fumbled it upa broad, unusually shaped pebble. Blood red.
His spirit self looked into the stone's polished surface, saw his eye reflected back, and then he was falling… falling…
He stretched his arms and let the spirit winds carry him. At first he thought he was returning to the conquered city he'd seen before. But the winds bore him up and he was speeding across plains and deserts and then seas. He flew for what seemed an eternity, shooting from dark horizon to dark horizon until those horizons became gray and then startling blue as night turned to day and emerald seas churned beneath him.
Surely, he thought, I must have flown far enough to be on the other side of the world. The place Gubadan's books called World's End. Just as he wondered when he'd stop he came to a mountainous isle in the middle of a vast ocean.
He heard chanting and drums and strange horns bellowing mournful notes that drew at him like a great tide washing to shore. Safar let the tide of notes carry him to a great grove of towering trees all heavy with ripe fruit.
Among those trees handsome people danced to the beat of big drums with skins made of thin bark. Several men blew through huge shell horns, making the mournful sound that had drawn him here. The people were naked and their sun bronzed bodies were painted in glorious colors. A tall woman danced in the center, high breasts bobbing to the wild, joyous rhythm. Her shapely hips churned and thrust in the ancient act of mating. Safar's young body reacted and he became powerfully aroused.
Suddenly she stopped, eyes widening in such terror that Safar's lust vanished, to be replaced by a feeling of immense dread.
The woman shouted in a language Safar didn't understandpointing fearfully into the distance. The other dancers froze, their eyes seeking out whatever it was that had frightened her.
Safar looked with them and saw smoke puffing out of a coned mountain top. The people began to shriek and run about in mad confusion, like ants caught in a sudden thunder shower. Safar felt their terror as if it were his own. His heart pounded and his limbs twitching with an hysterical desire to take flight.
There was a blinding flash, followed by an explosion that hammered at his ears. Huge rocks and trees were ripped from the ground by the force of the blast and he instinctively ducked, although he knew he couldn't be harmed. Boiling smoke obscured his view.
Then his vision cleared and he saw a pile of dead, including the dancing woman, crumpled among the uprooted fruit trees. He saw the survivors stagger up and run toward the shore where a line of canoes waited.
There was another explosion, more forceful than the first. Fiery debris crushed the runners and Safar saw the canoes burst into flames from the intensity of the heat.
Molten rock poured out of the mountain, which was split nearly in two. It reached the sea and the waters began to boil. Thousands of dead fish bobbed on the surface, mingled with the blackened corpses of the few people who had made it that far. A yellow acrid smoke streamed from the mountain, filling the sky until the sun was obscured.
And there was a taste of ashes in his mouth.
The vision ended and Safar jolted up and found that he was weeping. He wiped his eyes, then glanced over at Iraj and saw he was still asleep.
Safar wished his friend would awaken. He felt lonely and a tremendous sense of loss had wormed a hole in his gut. There was also dread crouched there. Dread for the future, although he couldn't make out what he ought to fear. He tried to imagine himself ten years from now, a mature potter crouched at the wheel, hands forming wet clay into a perfect vessel. But each time a vague image formed he couldn't hold on to it and it would vanish. Safar struggled to imagine any sort of future at all. Not for himself, but the world. What would it be like if he lived a full span? But his mind seemed to become clouded with a yellow, biting mist.
Miserable, he gave up. He was cold and pulled his blankets close and stretched out on his leafy bower. As he waited for sleep to come he saw the first rays of the rising sun spilling over the ridges. They were the color of blood and so powerful that a distant promontory pushed out from that portion of the range as if it were alive.
Safar closed his eyes, whispering prayers for the souls of all the people who had died in his visionthe handsome people who'd once danced under fruited trees on an island at world's end.
And then he slept a dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
When Safar opened his eyes again the sun was higher, casting a peaceful glow on the morning scene. Iraj was bustling about, poking the fire into life and getting things out for breakfast. But when he saw Safar's face he spotted the misery there and asked what was wrong. Still shaken by the vision, Safar blurted out the whole tale.
Iraj made no sign of surprise the whole time Safar spoke and when the story was done he said, Don't trouble yourself, Safar. It was only a bad dream. Some of those almonds we ate were probably green."
"It was no dream, Safar protested. But a vision of something that actually happened. It was the cause of the fiery shower we saw last night."
Iraj gave his friend an odd look. Why do you think that? Have you had visions before?"
"Yes, Safar said in a low voice. Sometimes about things that are going to happen. Sometimes about things that are happening."
"Do they always come true?"
Safar shrugged, miserable. Mostly."
Iraj squatted down beside Safar. I've thought since we met you were keeping something from me, he said. Is that all of it?"
Safar shook his head. No."
"Do you want to tell me the rest?"
"Not yet."
Iraj nodded. We have time."
Safar sat numbly as Iraj did all the necessary work, packing their things, gathering up the animals, and loading the llama. When it was time to go Safar's mood had improved. Everything seemed so normal in the light of day. Visions and sorcery had no place amid such brightness. The morning air was cool and soul cleansing. The birds were out, pecking among the dewdrops for breakfast. Butterflies perched on broad leaves, drying their wings in the warming sun. Fat sleepy bumblebees peeped from the blossoms.