Guin gasped. It was the pure red fruit of some plant. It had probably fallen from one of the salt-imprisoned trees and had become perfectly preserved. It was shiny like a gemstone. Given the encrustation on the trees he thought that it must be quite old, but encased as it was he doubted that it could have rotted. He took a tentative bite, but quickly spit it out. It tasted like pure salt; no trace of the fruit’s flavor remained.
Suddenly this landscape, which had at first appeared beautiful and exotic to the leopard-man, began to seem threatening, and a subtle fear crept into his heart. It was as if he had wandered into a painting of some faraway, unseen world, pleasing to the eye but hostile to life. There were no springs or rivers here, nor would any water here ever be drinkable. No fish or bigmouth from the Kes could ever come to these dry gullies; no moss would ever grow from these barren stones.
The salt sucked all the moisture out of the air. For a moment the delusion gripped Guin that if he were to misstep, twist his foot, and fall, the salt would flow into his mouth and rob the water from his body, transforming him in moments into a desiccated mummy. Then he would lie forever preserved in this snowfield of salt, a statue to be covered in time with beautiful white powder. This was a valley of death.
This, too, is Nospherus, a cursed land.
Guin growled. His throat was dry, perhaps because of the salt he had licked, perhaps because the insidious valley had steadily sucked the water from his body even as he walked across it.
I think I actually prefer the harsh sands of the open desert to this dead place.
After a time Guin noticed the air around him getting lighter, and he lifted his head and surveyed his surroundings. He realized with surprise that he had walked through the night in the strange white valley. At some point the dim light of Aeris had given way to the first ruddy light foretelling the arrival of Ruah’s fiery chariot.
The third morning had dawned.
Two days left—and those two days begin now. I wonder if Istavan is carrying out his part of the plan. I hope the Sem haven’t split up and fallen to fighting amongst themselves. Are the twins waiting as I told them to? How far have the Mongauli advanced?
All these things he could not know. Guin looked up to the sky for answers as the first rays of Ruah’s burning orb reached the dead valley. He jerked back as though he had been stricken. Hurriedly, he lifted a hand to ward off the furiously bright, prismatic light that assailed him from every direction.
The sun hit the salt and shone brighter than the brightest snow. The salt trees and rocks, the jagged bones and even the footprints that Guin had left behind caught the sun’s light in untold thousands of tiny crystals, and like a morning ceremony at the Crystal Palace echoing with holy dirges, they blazed in a symphony of rainbow light. Only, unlike the ceremonies of Parros, this display blazed so intensely that it seared.
It was excruciatingly beautiful, this dance of fearful brightness, but its beauty gave the leopard-man no joy, for had he gazed upon it for more than an instant, it might have scorched the very eyes from his head. He found that he was unable to proceed even with his eyes tightly shut, feeling his way with outstretched hands; for even when his eyes were closed the terrible light beat against his lids and slowly burned into his brain. Guin stopped, uncertain of what to do. If the fierce blaze blinded him, he would be stranded. Finally he covered both eyes with his hands and pressed onward, feeling his way with his booted feet. He knew that if he just kept going straight he would soon be out of the salt-encrusted valley.
His pace acquired a new urgency now. He had to escape the unexpected menace of the burning light. Repeatedly he tripped over rocks that lay in his path and felt the salt sting in cuts on his knees and elbows, but each time he simply clambered to his feet again and kept on walking, heedless of the pain. He walked faster and faster, until he was almost running. Even with his eyes shut tightly there was one thing he could sense around him; it was a disembodied hatred, as palpable as the sun’s light was blinding.
He ran.
He would have run right past the valley patrol, had a thick voice not sounded right in front of him.
“Stop!”
The voice sounded both alarmed and threatening. It was joined by other voices coming out of the white blindness.
“Stop. What are you doing?”
“Where are you going?”
“Who are you?”
Guin opened his eyes, braving the burning light. As soon as he lowered his hands he noticed that the reflected rays were much dimmer here; he was nearing the edge of the valley. Blinking and squinting, he peered ahead, and he saw them: four hulking shapes, towering in his path. He had found the Lagon at last.
The creatures had to be Lagon. What else could they be, but the giants of Nospherus? They stood blocking Guin’s path, pointing great spears at him, the broad stone spearheads aimed straight at his chest. Though Guin himself was a good six taar high, the shortest of them was at least a finger taller, and the tallest stood a head above Guin.
The giants were proportionally broad, though they carried themselves with an ease that made them seem relatively light for their huge frames, and therefore swift and agile. They were all muscle and bone, lacking any excess weight. Judging from the quickness with which they handled their giant stone-tipped spears, they had considerable strength.
Those spears all remained pointed at Guin. Not one of the Lagon risked glancing away. Their wary eyes were filled with mistrust and bewilderment.
At first he thought they were all male, but then he noticed that the shortest of them was slightly different. She had to be a female. She was more lightly built, and had long hair that flowed down over her shoulders and across her chest. While the other three wore only leather loincloths, she wore a skin tunic that was tied at one shoulder and covered her torso and her legs down to the knee.
Aside from these details, however, she seemed little different from the others. All wore the same leather sandals, and all were hairy, though not so hairy as the Sem, at least on the front of their bodies. They seemed to have spread some sort of animal grease upon themselves, and their exposed skin was largely covered with gleaming smears of the stuff. Where their natural skin did show it was a deep coppery color. Their faces were entirely unlike those of the smaller residents of Nospherus; their foreheads were rather wide, and their jaws jutted out slightly, giving their heads an unbalanced look like wine jugs turned upside down. But their eyes were unmistakably intelligent, and they shone with violence. At their waists hung stone short swords, and they each seemed to carry a set of strange implements: a small bowl that looked like a rock with a hollow carved out of it, and a long-handled spoon.
“Who are you?” the tallest of the Lagon spoke again. “You have the head of a beast, but the body of a Lagon. I have not seen your kind. Who are you?”
Guin wondered how he should answer. Then amazement flashed through him as he realized that the miracles had not ceased, for he could understand the language of the Lagon. Its thick and deep tones were markedly different from the high-pitched squeaking of the Sem tongue, but the words were quite similar. Perhaps there was something to the legend that the Sem and the Lagon were both descendants of the people of Kanan and shared the same ancestral language and customs.
“I…” Guin coughed, still unsure of how he should introduce himself. He liked the way the language felt, though. His throat and chest were much better suited to its low tones.
“It speaks!” said one of the Lagon, spear still raised. “Is it Lagon?”
“No,” said another, “no Lagon has the head of a beast!”
“But beasts do not talk,” the first rejoined.
“And what manner of beast is it?” mused the third Lagon male. “It is not a wolf, or a lizard.”
“If he can speak, he must be Lagon,” said the first with finality. Having come to an agreement about the nature of the strange warrior, they thrust out their spears.
The one that had spoken first challenged Guin now, his voice threatening. “Lagon with the head of a beast, where did you come from?”
“My name is Guin,” the leopard-man replied slowly. “I came through the valley of salt, from across the Dog’s Head.”
“Across the Dog’s Head is the land of the dead,” the Lagon answered. He seemed to be the leader of this party.
“But I am alive,” said Guin. “Beyond the Dog’s Head is not the land of the dead. I came here from over the mountain.”
“Over the mountain is death!” the leader repeated obstinately. “That is why you have the head of a beast. You are an evil spirit, and you stole that head to walk among the living.”
“No, it is my own head, and I am no spirit,” the leopard-man insisted, exasperated at his inability to explain something that he did not understand himself. He changed his tack. “I have a request. I must meet your king.”
His words seemed to have an odd effect on the Lagon. They looked at one another, and for a moment he thought they might not have understood him.
“Or do the Lagon have no king?” Guin asked.
“We have no king,” replied the leader. “The sage Kah and the warrior Dodok decide all things for the Lagon.”
“Then let me meet this sage Kah and this warrior Dodok.”
“We will bring you before them,” said the leader curtly, “as our prisoner. They will judge your punishment. You are a fiend from the land of the dead, and you have tread upon the sacred white sand.”
Then he started, noticing the lump of salt in Guin’s pocket. “What is this?” he demanded loudly, fishing the salt out with a swift hand. The white crystals crumbled onto the ground. “The white sand belongs to Lagon only. It is sacred to Lagon. Thieves must be punished. Come.” He emphasized his words by stepping back and prodding Guin’s chest with the tip of his spear.
Guin had no intention of quarreling. He was here to meet the leaders of the Lagon, even if that meeting had to happen on such unfavorable terms. The four Lagon formed a watchful circle around him and urged him back the way that they had come, along the black earth of a gentle slope that led down and away from the rock salt valley. Silently the leopard-man followed their lead.
Guin was a prisoner of the Lagon.