Quest for the Well of Souls - Jack L. Chalker [76]
Before any of them could reply, the assembly took off. It was an odd sensation—no jerk, no sense of acceleration, as if they had suddenly become weightless and floated off. Only the eight huge Masjenadans, whose wings overshadowed them all, and the dozens of smaller ones expended any energy, their wings moving slightly up and down in graceful unison.
They were over a thousand meters off the ground before they knew it, and the land opened up beneath them.
Masjenada from the air looked like a rough, rocky canvas on which millions of gallons of luminescent paint had been spilled. It was a stunning vista, particularly when contrasted with the drab darkness of Yugash behind them or the sickly yellow atmosphere and dark-blue carpet of the nontech Zidur to their right.
Although there was an uncanny lack of any sense of motion, the ground below had changed every time they looked.
Hours passed, vistas changed, a low mountain range was crossed effortlessly, and their only problem was arranging the slight shifts in load necessary when one or another of the passengers moved.
The sun dipped below the horizon and slowly faded, but their mysterious and enigmatic transporters carried on. By night the countryside was even more aglow in eerie beauty, and the swans added a ghostly radiance.
Renard looked around at them in wonder. "Don't they ever get tired?" he wondered.
"Or hungry?" Faal joined in, chomping on a thick material that oozed from a thick tube.
But there was no answer.
"What do they trade with the South?" Vistaru asked the Ghiskind, looking for a clue as to the mysterious swans' lives.
"Copper and coral, mostly," the Yugash answered. "What they do with it is anybody's guess. There is no oxygen here for combustion. Maybe they eat it."
The Masjenadans provided no information, so it was the best guess that could be made.
They slept, more from boredom than fatigue. Dawn broke again, flooding the landscape with new light.
* * *
Ahead was a hex border, that was clear. They had been paralleling it for some time, but now before them a three-point junction appeared.
"That should be Avigloa on our left." The Ghiskind pointed. "Oyakot ahead and to the right. We should be landing soon."
High mountains filled the skies in both hexes and even below them in Masjenada; indicators in the suits showed the temperature to be extremely low, as cold as eighty below, Celsius. Only the internal heaters of the suits kept the travelers comfortable.
They descended a little to land on a small plateau. Opposite, Oyakot presented a chilling vista: the snow was oddly colored and definitely not water of any sort, the rocks eroded into strange shapes.
The set-down was gentle, the unloading easy and quick. They watched them as a new ballet was performed; reversing the original dance the large Masjenadans produced smaller creatures, gathering up the net into their bodies.
All but two of the creatures immediately flew in the direction from which they had come.
The remaining swans floated near, and one turned its internal yellow light on again.
"We wish you good fortune. Oyakot borders the far edge of this small plateau. Someone should meet you there in a few hours."
The group thanked the strange creatures, and watched them take off and turn, flying back into the colorful glow to the east.
Suddenly they felt terribly alone.
Oyakot, Nearing the Pugeesh Border
The Oyakot continued the relatively swift and comfortable passage the group had thus far experienced. The creatures resembled olive-green canvas bags with small, sharp spikes all over. They had hundreds of tiny legs beneath and a central network of long tentacles atop. The location of their eyes, ears, nose, or mouth was not apparent, and the mountainous landscape with its strong cold winds didn't seem to faze them.
But they had roads, and vehicles that traveled swiftly along single lines of light. The hex was crisscrossed with a tremendous transportation network, and the journey