A Triumph of Souls Read online

  The blue-green corridor was not straight. It changed direction several times, winding through unburned brush and grass, down gullies, and up over small hills. After an hour of this, Simna was moved to comment.

  “It’s not for me to question how you saved us, bruther, but we’re well away from that range fire and the creatures that keep it going. Why can’t we just step back out into the real world?” Behind him, Hunkapa Aub was having to advance bent double. The ceiling of the passageway was not much higher than the corridor was wide.

  “You can try,” Ehomba informed him without looking back, “but I do not think you will have much luck.”

  Taking this as a challenge, the swordsman pushed against the pellucid barrier. Beyond, unburned brush pressed right up against it, and a pair of small yellow and black birds were courting only inches from his questing fingers. Ordinarily, they would have fled in panic, chirping wildly. But they did not seem to see or smell him and did not react to his near presence at all.

  He pushed harder, then leaned all his weight against the boundary.

  “Here. Let me try.” Stepping up beside him, the black litah lifted a paw to expose five-inch-long talons, pointed like knives and sharp as razors. Claw and dig as he might, they made absolutely no impact on the wall. The litah could not even leave scratches. It was the same with the dark blue-green floor underfoot.

  Having stood patiently by while his friends satisfied their curiosity, Ehomba now turned and once again headed off westward. A thoughtful, somewhat chastened Simna followed. He was not upset or uneasy: only curious.

  It was delightfully cool within the corridor, with even the sun having acquired a blue-green tinge. The surface underfoot was smoother than the ground outside but not slippery: ideal for running. Only the absence of water concerned him. Their water bags were more than half full, but despite the containers he toted on his back, Ahlitah needed to carry drink for Hunkapa Aub as well. That portable source would begin to run out in less than a couple of weeks.

  In response to his query, Ehomba assured him that he had no intention of keeping to the corridor for anywhere near that length of time. His sole intention in disappearing into it was to find a means of escape and a temporary refuge from the fire.

  “What is this place, bruther?” Within the passageway, voices acquired a deeper cast, reverberant and slightly echoing.

  “I told you when I was looking for one.” The herdsman angled to his right. “Careful, there is a bend here. We are in a tomuwog burrow.”

  “Hoy, this is a burrow?” Looking to right and left, Simna could see clearly in every direction. The only difference from what he would have accounted as normal was that everything he saw was tinted varying degrees of blue-green. “By Geletharpa, what is a tomuwog? I’ve never heard of such a creature, much less seen one.”

  “You will not see one,” Ehomba told him. “Unless you know how to look for them. They are difficult to track, even for the Naumkib. I am considered one of the best trackers in my tribe. There is no reason to hunt them, since they make poor eating. But in times of difficulty, their burrows can provide a place to hide. We were lucky.” He started to slow. “Ah, this is what I was looking for. We can rest here awhile.”

  A baffled Simna slowed his own pace to a walk. Try as he might, he could discern no difference in their surroundings, and said so.

  As he took a seat and began to unburden himself of his weapons and pack, Ehomba smiled patiently. “Stretch out your hands. Walk around a little.”

  The swordsman proceeded to do so. To his surprise, he discovered that they had entered a blue-green chamber some twenty feet in diameter. The ceiling had also expanded, allowing poor Hunkapa Aub to straighten up at last. He stretched gratefully.

  Simna found himself drawn to a seven-foot-wide zone of glistening aquamarine-tinted light. It formed a translucent mound that reached perhaps a fourth of the way to the ceiling. Extending a hand, he found that his fingers passed completely through the phenomenon, as would be expected of something that was composed entirely of colored light.

  “What’s this? Some distortion in the corridor?”

  “Not at all.” Taking his ease, Ehomba was unpacking some dried fruit from his pack. “That is a tomuwog nest.” When the swordsman drew his hand back sharply, his lanky friend laughed softly. “Do not worry. It is empty. It is the wrong time of the year.”

  While Hunkapa Aub sighed heavily and stretched out on the floor, trying to work the accumulated cricks and contractions out of his neck and back, the black litah explored the far side of the enclosure. Realizing that he was hungry too, Simna rejoined his friend. Outside, beyond the walls of the enchanted chamber, blue-green antelope were methodically cropping blue-green grass, entirely oblivious to the presence of the four travelers conversing and eating not more than a few feet away.

  “These tomuwogs,” the swordsman began, “what do they look like?”

  “Not much.” Ehomba gnawed contentedly on dried pears and apples. “The tomuwog live in the spaces between colors.” Mouth half full, he gestured with his food. “That’s where we are. In one of the spaces between blue and green.”

  “Excuse me, bruther? That doesn’t make any sense. There is no space between colors.” The swordsman’s brow furrowed as he struggled with a concept for which he had no reference points. “There’s blue, and then there’s green. Where and when they meet, they melt together.” He made clapping motions with his hands. “There’s no ‘space’ between them.”

  “Ordinarily there is not,” Ehomba readily agreed. “Except where the tomuwog dig their burrows. It is just a tiny space, so small you and I cannot see it. Cats can.” He nodded to where the litah was still exploring the far reaches of the chamber, poking his head into bulges and side corridors. “Ask Ahlitah about it sometime.”

  “But this is not a tiny space we have been running through, and are sitting in now,” Simna pointed out.

  “Quite true. That is because it has been enlarged by one or more tomuwog to make a burrow.” He gestured with his free hand. “As I have already told you, this is one of their nesting chambers. Tomuwog burrows are hard to see and harder to find, as you would expect of something that only occupies the space between colors. I was hunting for one while the fire was closing in around us. As I said, we were lucky to find it.” Finishing the pear, he started on a dehydrated peach.

  “The walls of their burrows are very tough. They would have to be, or people would stumble into and break through them all the time.”

  “And we’ve passed these things before?” Simna made stirring motions in the air with one downward-pointing finger.

  “Of course. They are not common, but are widespread. I remember a particularly large burrow from the mountains near Netherbrae, and one in the desert where we encountered the mirage of the houris. And there were a number of others.”

  “By Guoit, why didn’t you ever point one out to me, bruther?”

  Ehomba shrugged. “There was no need to. You would not have enjoyed entering them anyway. Most were warm burrows.”

  The swordsman’s expression twisted. “There are different kinds of burrows?”

  “Certainly. It depends which colors the tomuwogs are burrowing between. If red and yellow, which are hot colors and seem to be more common, then the burrow will be warm, or even scalding. If the blue is separated by black instead of green, then conditions inside the burrow can be extremely cold.” He smiled appreciatively. “Blue-green is best, though it is still a little warm for running. A darker blue, more indigo, would have made for an even more comfortable refuge.”

  Simna sat shaking his head in amazement and disbelief. “To think that such wonders exist all around us, in every time and place, and want only the knowing of them to be seen and utilized.”

  “Oh, there is much more, my friend. Much more.” The herdsman bit into a large, crunchy piece of preserved apple. “The world is awash in marvels that most men never see. Usually it is because they are too busy, too hurried,
to look. Looking takes time. One does not become a good tracker overnight.”

  Simna nodded slowly. “Or a good hand with a sword. In the learning of that, I bled a lot. It took me many years, many curses, and many cuts before I became proficient.”

  “As does the accumulation of any worthwhile knowledge,” Ehomba agreed.

  Tilting and turning his head, Simna took in more of the remarkable chamber. “The corridor we came through was not large for a person, but pretty big for a burrowing animal. These tomuwogs must be of good size.”

  “See for yourself.” Putting the remainder of his food down slowly and carefully, Ehomba nodded to his right. “Here comes one now.”

  XIII

  Simna paused with food halfway to his mouth. Sensing the approach of the burrow’s owner, the black litah growled a warning as it moved off to one side. Eyes shining, Hunkapa Aub put both hands together and murmured delightedly.

  “Pretty, pretty.”

  The adult tomuwog was bigger than any of the travelers, but it was only partially there. A glittering, roughly cylindrical shape, it entered the nesting chamber on noiseless feet of aquamarine light. One moment it stood out in sharp relief, the next it was reduced to a drifting cloud composed of splintered sapphires. With each step, portions of its supple, streamlined body slipped in and out of sight. Half solid, half illusion, it inspected them warily out of eyes that were pale blue mother-of-pearl.

  It had a short tail that struck blue-green sparks from the air as it flicked nervously from side to side, and a narrow snout of a face that glittered as if faceted. Huge sparkling pads front and rear resembled flippers more than feet. The edges of these appendages caught the ambient light and bounced it back in clipped, prismatic jolts to the retinas of onlookers. The shimmering claws had to be sharp, Simna reflected, to slice a path between two colors.

  Filtered blue-green light danced off the creature’s flanks, so bright that from time to time the entranced intruders were forced to turn their faces away from so much brilliance and blink away tears. Simna found himself wondering what a tomuwog that inhabited the space between red and orange might look like, or between purple and red. Certainly they would be no less colorful than the singular slow-moving one before them.

  That the tomuwog was aware of their presence there could be no doubt. Twinkling eyes examined each of them in turn. Upset at their presence but apparently convinced they posed no immediate threat, it proceeded to haul itself over to the glittering, glimmering nest and settle itself atop the pile of carefully scavenged color.

  Resuming eating, but slowly so as not to startle the placid creature, Simna leaned over to whisper to the herdsman. “Where do they come from, bruther? Eggs?”

  “I am not sure.” Observing the remarkable beast, Ehomba wore a satisfied smile. “I believe they lay light. This light then matures according to the predominating colors within which it is brought up, and becomes a full-grown tomuwog. As I have said, they are shy creatures and difficult to see. They almost never wander outside their burrows.”

  A sudden thought caused the swordsman to put down the remainder of his food. “Hoy, what do they eat? Doesn’t look like it has any teeth.”

  “That is a real mystery, Simna.” In contrast to his hesitant companion, Ehomba had no trouble finishing his food. “No one has ever seen a tomuwog eating. I would not think there was much to eat between blue and green, but if my elders had not explained it to me I would not have thought there was much space there, either. Perhaps they forage on little bits of wandering moonlight, or the motes we see dancing in a shaft of afternoon sunshine. Since no one knows what they eat with, it is understandable that nobody knows what they eat.” Seeing the look on his friend’s face, he added, “Whatever it is, I do not think that people are a part of its diet.”

  “Hoy, I certainly don’t see any blue-green teeth.” Cautiously, the swordsman resumed feeding.

  They were soon finished with their meal. When Ehomba decided they had rested long enough, he led his companions out of the chamber. Choosing a corridor that led west, they left the tomuwog sitting serenely on its twinkling nest. It made no move to interfere with their departure. From the time it had arrived until the moment they departed, it had uttered not a sound.

  The passageway provided a smooth-floored, controlled-climate means of making progress. As they jogged along, they passed other herds of grazing animals, and flocks of birds large and small. As far as these active inhabitants of the prairie were concerned, the travelers were invisible. And so long as they kept to the tomuwog tunnel, they effectively were.

  The extent of the corridor did not surprise Ehomba. Tomuwogs, he explained to his friends, dug very elaborate, very complex systems of burrows that boasted but few entrances. After a number of days, however, he decided it was time to sacrifice concealment and convenience for the world that lay beyond the tunneled realm of blue and green. For one thing, the corridor was devoid of anything except cool air and blue-green light. They would soon need to find food and fresh water.

  Simna fingered the transparent, unyielding wall that enclosed them. “So how do we get out, bruther? Cut ourselves a hole?”

  “Only a tomuwog can do that, Simna.” As they trotted down the corridor, the herdsman was scanning the ceiling. “We must find a natural entrance.”

  “You said there weren’t many.”

  Ehomba nodded. “That is so. It is why I want to find one before our food or water begins to run any lower.” With his spear, he gestured behind them. “I would hate to have to retrace our steps all the way back to the place where the firemakers nearly entrapped us.”

  Simna grunted his agreement and thought little more of it. But by the evening of the following day he was starting to grow concerned. The thought of starving to death in plain view of rolling fields of edible plants and herds of plentiful game, pinned like an ornamental butterfly between layers of blue and green, was singularly unappealing.

  It was therefore with considerable relief, and not a little confusion, that he slowed to a halt behind Ehomba. The herdsman had raised a hand and was staring off to his left. Squinting in the same direction, Simna could see nothing. Or rather, nothing that differed from the rest of their surroundings.

  “There is our exit.” Though he did not manifest it outwardly, Ehomba was greatly relieved. Entrances and exits to tomuwog burrows were even more scattered than he had led Simna and the others to believe. Knowing that if he appeared worried it would have weighed heavily on them, he had maintained an air of quiet confidence ever since they had left the nesting chamber. He had also eschewed mentioning that tomuwog burrows were subject to a variety of external strains and pressures, and therefore prone to collapse. What would happen to anyone who found him- or herself caught in a tomuwog cave-in he could not imagine, except to be certain it would not be pleasant.

  “I don’t see anything,” Simna murmured.

  “There’s nothing there.” The black litah snorted.

  “Exactly.” Ehomba started forward, toward something only he could see. Or rather, toward nothing only he could see.

  When Simna emerged from the burrow, the return of multihued light together with the sounds and smells of the world outside threatened to overwhelm his senses. Hunkapa Aub took to running about in little circles, grabbing at grasshoppers and beetles, while Ahlitah promptly lay down in the yellowed grass and rolled, immersing himself in the delicious convocation of aromas.

  Looking back the way they had come, Simna could see only ground and growth, rock and soil. There was nothing to indicate to his eyes that they had just exited a corridor that tunneled between the color blue and the color green.

  “It’s really there?” he found himself asking his tall companion.

  “Yes, Simna. It is really there.”

  The swordsman nodded somberly. “Wizardry. I’ve grown used to your denying it, Etjole, but that doesn’t mean I accept it. We both know what you are.”

  “How can we both know what I am when I do not
even know myself what I am?” Ehomba was not smiling. “I am a good tracker, friend Simna. Good at finding things.”

  “Things that no one else can find, or even suspect exist.” Together, they resumed the trek westward. “If that’s not sorcery, I don’t know what is.” Idly, the swordsman plucked a striking blue wildflower. He did not hold on to it for long, though, having had enough blue to last him for a while.

  “Not true, Simna.” Once again, Ehomba was using his spear as a walking stick. “Many of the Naumkib could have done what I just did.” He grinned. “I am just a little better at such things than most of the villagers. I think it is because I am always questioning my surroundings that I have become good at seeing what others overlook.” With his free hand he pointed slightly to their right. “For example, standing right there is a Gogloyyik, a fantastic animal with four eyes, purple wings, a tail three times the length of its body, and a head that is a mass of absurd-looking horns.”

  Following his friend’s lead, Simna strained to locate this phantasmagoric creature. All he saw were insects whizzing back and forth above the tops of the grass, and something like a chartreuse bunny that scampered frantically out of sight on all fours.

  “I don’t see anything, Etjole. Is it only semi-invisible, like the tomuwog?”

  “It’s right there, right before your eyes, Simna! What’s the matter with you?” The herdsman’s irritation was palpable.

  Simna’s forehead was beginning to throb. Breaking away from the others, he jogged off in the direction Ehomba had indicated. Halting at what he thought was an excessive distance from his companions, the swordsman turned a slow circle.

  “By Githwhent, bruther—there’s nothing here! Where is this…?” He stopped. Hunkapa Aub was chortling softly, his enormous chest heaving with muted laughter. Even the black litah was grinning, insofar as a cat is capable of such an expression. And the herdsman—Etjole Ehomba had a hand over his mouth and was shaking his head slowly as he strode along.