Amber and Blood - Margaret Weis [53]
Zeboim bent swiftly down to whisper something in Mina’s ear.
Mina listened, frowning, at first, and then her eyes widened. “I can do that?”
“Of course you can, child.” Zeboim patted her on the head. “You can do anything. Have a safe journey, friends.”
Zeboim laughed and, spreading her arms, she became a whipping wind, which then dwindled to a teasing breeze and, still laughing, wafted away.
The road was empty. Rhys sighed in relief and lowered his staff.
“Why did that silly-looking man want me to come with him?” Mina asked.
“He made a mistake,” said Rhys. “He thought you were someone else. Someone he used to know.”
The time was only midafternoon, but Rhys, worn out from the strain of the encounter with the gods and a day of putting up with Mina, decided to make camp early. They spread out their blankets near a stream that wound like a snake through the tall grass. A small grove of trees provided shelter.
Nightshade soon recovered his spirits and began to badger Mina into telling him what the goddess had said to her. Mina shook her head. She was pondering deeply over something. Her brow was creased, her lips pursed. Eventually she shook off whatever was bothering her and, taking off her shoes and stockings, went to play in the creek. They ate a frugal meal of dried peas and smoked meat, then sat around the fire.
“I want to see the map you drew,” Mina said suddenly.
“Why?” Nightshade asked suspiciously, and he clapped his hand protectively over his pouch.
“I just want to look at it,” Mina returned. “Everyone keeps telling me Godshome is such a long way away. I want to see for myself.”
“I showed you once,” Nightshade said.
“Yes, but I want to see it again.”
“Oh, all right. But go wash your hands,” Nightshade ordered as he removed the map from its pouch and spread it out on top of his blanket. “I don’t want greasy finger marks on it.”
Mina ran down to the stream to wash her hands and face.
Rhys had stretched out full-length on the ground, resting after the meal. Atta lay beside him, her chin on his chest. He stroked her fur and gazed into the heavens. The sun stood balanced precariously on the rim of the world. The sky was a blend of soft twilight hues, pinks and golds, purples and oranges. Beyond the sunset, he could feel immortal eyes watching.
Mina came running back, to exhibit moderately clean hands. Nightshade anchored the map with rocks and then showed Mina the route they were going to be taking.
“This is where we are now,” he said.
“And where is Flotsam where we started?” Mina asked.
Nightshade pointed about a whisker’s width away.
“All this walking and we’ve only come that far!” Mina cried, shocked and dismayed.
She squatted beside the map and studied it, her lower lip thrust out. “Why do we have to go all over the place—up and down and round about? Why can’t we just go straight from here to here.”
Nightshade explained that climbing extremely tall mountains was quite difficult and dangerous, and it was much better to go around them.
“Too bad there are so many mountains,” he added. “Otherwise we could go straight as the dragon flies and it wouldn’t take long at all.”
Mina gazed thoughtfully at the dot that was Flotsam and the dot that Nightshade said was Solace, where they would find his great friend, Gerard, and the monks of Majere who would tell them where to look for Godshome.
Rhys was drifting off in a pleasant haze of twilight forgetfulness when he was jolted wide away. Nightshade let out a screech.
Rhys jumped up so fast he startled Atta, who yelped in aggravation.
“What is it?”
Nightshade pointed a quivering finger.
The map was no longer lines and squiggles drawn on the back of the kender’s old shirt. The map was a world in miniature, with real mountains and real bodies of water that shimmered in the dying light, and real windswept deserts and boggy swamps.
Thus the gods might see the world, Rhys thought to himself.
Nightshade screeched again and suddenly the kender was floating up into the air, light as thistledown. Rhys felt himself grow buoyant,