Barker, Clive – Imajica 01 – The Fifth Dominion. Part 7

“Remember what I said when we left Beatrix?” Gentle said.

“No, to be honest, I don’t.”

“I said we wouldn’t die, and I meant it. We’ll find a way through.”

“I’m not sure I like this messianic conviction,” Pie said. “People with the best intentions die, Gentle. Come to think of it, they’re often the first to go.”

“What are you saying? That you won’t come with me?”

“I said I’d go wherever you go, and I will. But good intentions won’t impress the cold.”

“How much money have we got?”

“Not much.”

“Enough to buy some goatskins off these men? And maybe some meat?”

A complex exchange ensued in three languages—with Pie translating Gentle’s words into the language Kuthuss understood and Kuthuss in turn translating for his fellow herders. A deal was rapidly struck; the herders seemed much persuaded by the prospect of hard cash. Rather than give over their own coats, however, two of them got about the business of slaughtering and skinning four of the animals. The meat, they cooked and shared among the group. It was fatty and underdone, but neither Gentle nor Pie declined, and it was washed down .with a beverage they brewed from boiled snow, dried leaves, and a dash of liquor which Pie understood Kuthuss to have called the piss of the goat. They tasted it in spite of this. It was potent, and after a shot of it—downed like vodka—Gentle remarked that if this made him a piss-drinker, so be it.

The neirt day, having been supplied with skins, meat, and the makings of several pots of the herders’ beverage, plus a pan and two glasses, they made their inarticulate farewells and parted company. The weather closed in soon after, and once again they were lost in a white wilderness. But their spirits had been buoyed up by the meeting, and they made steady progress for the next two and a half days, until, as twilight approached on the third, the animal Gentle was riding started to show signs of exhaustion, its head drooping, its hooves barely able to clear the snow they were trudging through.

“I think we’d better rest him,” Gentle said.

They found a niche between boulders so large they were almost hills in themselves, and lit a fire to brew up some of the herders’ liquor. It, more than the meat, was what had sustained them through the most demanding portions of the journey so far, but try as they might to use it sparingly, they had almost consumed their modest supply. As they drank they talked about what lay ahead. Kuthuss’ predictions were proving correct. The weather was worsening all the time, and the chances of encountering another living soul up here if they were to get into difficulty were surely zero. Pie took a moment to remind Gentle of his conviction that they weren’t going to die; come blizzard, come hurricane, come the echo of Hapexamendios Himself, down from the mountain.

“And 1 meant what I said,” Gentle replied. “But I can still fret about it, can’t I?” He put his hands closer to the fire. “Any more in the piss pot?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I tell you, when we come back this way”—Pie made a wry face—“we will, we will. When we come back this way we’ve got to get the recipe. Then we can brew it back on earth.”

They’d left the doeki a little distance away and heard now a lowing sound.

“Chester!” Gentle said, and went to the beasts.

Chester was lying on its side, its flank heaving. Blood streamed from its mouth and nose, melting the snow it poured upon.

“Oh, shit, Chester,” Gentle implored, “don’t die.”

But he’d no sooner put what he hoped was a comforting hand on the doeki’s flank than it turned its glossy brown eye towards him, let out one final moan, and stopped breathing.

“We just lost fifty percent of our transport,” he said to Pie.

“Look on the bright side. We gained ourselves a week of meat.”

Gentle glanced back towards the dead animal, wishing he’d taken Pie’s advice and never named the beast. Now when he sucked its bones he’d be thinking of Klein.

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