Pathways - Jeri Taylor [224]
In the first blush of morning light and in the waning hours of the day—the only time he saw light on the desert— he noticed that the color of the sands was beginning to change. What had once been a rust-red had paled gradually, and was now the shade of a weak tea, a light brown flecked occasionally with umber. He knew that meant he was beginning to move into the vast white sands that surrounded Seleya, and his heart quickened to realize it. He began to think of his journey as nearly over, when actually it was just beginning, and his greatest trials were yet to come.
Eventually, he lost track of how long he had been marching through the blistering wastes. There was only the vastness, the great expanse of sand, growing whiter with each day, and the broad horizon; time ceased to have meaning as he plodded in his steady pace, eyes straining to find the first sign of Seleya in the distance. He dozed fitfully during the day, then rose before the sun fell and started out once more.
T’Khut was an occasional escort, waxing and waning, staring down at him, the “watcher” of ancient yore. He continued to search its immutable face for some indication of the motivation behind his quest, but then one day he questioned why he thought he would find what he was seeking in the face of T’Khut and he realized he couldn’t answer that, either.
His journey was not proving satisfying; it gave him no answers, only more questions.
Still he moved forward. Hunger and thirst were constant companions, so much so that he thought of his condition now as the natural state, and the absence of those sensations as abnormal. He found it more and more difficult to find meraks, and seemed to remember that they preferred the dark sand habitats; now he was moving into the territory of the sehlats and lematyas, and must be wary. They were a danger to him, but he also needed to hunt them, for they would be his only source of nourishment.
His first encounter with a sehlat came in the middle of one night, as he was marching steadily toward the sacred mountain, whose peak had yet to be seen on the horizon. He heard an aberrant sound, a rustling in the sand, and stopped instantly, ears tuned for the shuffling noise, his fingers already gripping the handle of his knife.
T’Khut was a slim crescent, and gave off only slight illumination, but it was enough to reflect in two red eyes some ten meters distant. A low growl told Tuvok he had encountered his first sehlat, but not what the result of that encounter would be.
They stood like that, watching each other, for a quarter of an hour. The sehlat was tensed, ready to spring, long claws digging into the desert floor, dark fur standing in an agitated ruff along his back. Tuvok acknowledged that he didn’t have a clear idea of what to do. If he moved off, turning his back on the animal, it would surely attack from the rear. On the other hand, he could not stand like this indefinitely, waiting for the sehlat to retreat; he must keep moving toward the mountain.
“We must come to terms, sehlat,” said Tuvok aloud, and the sound of his voice was strange in his ears, like the vaguely familiar sound of an alien musical instrument; it was the first such sound he’d heard since he left his home weeks ago.
The sehlat cocked its head at the utterance, fierce teeth bared, wicked canines glistening in T’Khut’s reflected light, and didn’t move.
“I must keep moving toward Seleya,” Tuvok continued, “and I do not care to think of you attacking from behind.”
The sehlat snorted briefly, and pawed the ground with one massive claw. Then it turned in the direction of the sacred mountain and began trotting toward it, not looking back. Tuvok watched it for a moment, and then followed. He didn’t believe the animal was going to Seleya; rather, the sound of his voice had broken whatever animal tension