Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [160]
When Ehomba finally managed to extricate himself from Hunkapa’s smothering grasp, Simna confronted him with the question that had been bothering him ever since they had first caught sight of the herdsman standing alone on the pier.
“I am half convinced that you are what you claim to be, Etjole: nothing more than a humble herder of cattle and sheep.” He gestured back toward the section of river that was falling far behind. “However, the other half of me wonders not only how you escaped the Gate Masters and their minions, but how you managed to appear in the middle of the Eynharrowk ahead of us. I know you can play the flute and spew forth heavenly winds and white sharks from your weapons, but I didn’t know that you could fly.”
“I cannot, friend Simna.” With a smile and nod in the Captain’s direction, the herdsman began to walk forward, seemingly little the worse for his experience. “No more than a bird without wings. But I can swim.”
As had happened to him more times than he cared to remember in the herdsman’s presence, Simna ibn Sind did not understand.
“Time is harder to tread than water, my friend, but it can be done. We of the Naumkib are taught how to swim at an early age. It is a necessary thing when one lives so near to the sea, and to other great emptinesses.” Reaching into a pocket, he began to roll the remaining beach pebbles in the little cloth sack fondly through his fingers. Whereas before he had never paid any attention to the activity, now, each time he heard them grind together, Simna winced.
“I swam hard, my friend, determined never to give up.” Ehomba smiled. “Giving up would have meant renouncing my pledge to Tarin Beckwith, and never seeing my home or family again. I vowed that would not happen. After treading Time for a while I tried to swim back out a little ways from where I had entered the river of Time.” A shrug rippled his shoulders.
“But the current was powerful. Time is like that, always moving forward, always flowing strongly. So I did not come out where I wanted to.” He looked back over his shoulder. “Emerging several weeks before I entered, I found myself on this little island. I built a small shelter of reeds, and the clumsy pier you saw, and caught fish and mussels and clams. And I waited for you. A month after a few minutes ago, the Grömsketter came through the Narrows.” Reaching out, he put a comradely arm around the swordsman’s shoulders. “And now, here you are.”
The explanation did nothing to mitigate the look of utter bewilderment that had commandeered the swordsman’s countenance. “Wait now, bruther. We just saw you off the ship and in the surly company of those Gate Masters not more than—”
“A few minutes ago. I know.” They were approaching the bow. “But I have been waiting for you nearly a month. Time is a river most strange, my friend. Strange as only those who swim in it can know.”
“But if you were there, and now you are here . . .” Simna’s brows furrowed so deeply they threatened to pinch off his nose.
“Do not ponder on such things too long,” Ehomba advised him. “That was the Logicians’ problem. Overthinking can snarl the most elegant logic.” Raising a hand, he gestured forward. “Ahead lies the great delta of the Eynharrowk. Soon we will leave behind the land for the Semordria. The eternal ocean that I have fished in, swam in, and played in all my life. If the shore is so amazing, what wonders must lie hidden beneath its outer depths?”
“Some that bite, I’ve no doubt.” Inhaling deeply of the still steamy air, the swordsman leaned against the bow rail and gazed westward.
Feeling something bump him firmly from behind, Ehomba turned to see the black litah standing at his back. Typically, he had neither heard nor sensed the big cat’s approach.
“So you’re back.” The long-legged carnivore yawned, revealing a gape that extended from the herdsman’s head to his belly. “Pity. I was looking forward to returning home.”
“No one is restraining you,” Ehomba reminded him.
“Yes someone is. I am.” As he addressed