“It looks as if something doesn’t want us to go on.” He glanced towards the tree-tops, but the hill was no longer visible.
Niall said: “It’s the trees.”
Doggins stared with surprise. “Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.” Niall could sense that the will-pressure was somehow being exerted by the tangled branches.
Doggins looked at them curiously. “They must be using some form of MRI.” He picked up his Reaper. “It should be easy enough to find out.”
This time Niall made no attempt to stop him. The opposing will-force had aroused in him a feeling of furious resentment. Doggins set the power lever to its lowest level. Then he trained the weapon on the nearest trees, and pulled the trigger. The thin beam sliced through the trunks as if they had been as insubstantial as air; as the barrel moved sideways, half a dozen were severed at ground level. Yet the trees remained upright, held by their interlocked branches. Doggins raised the weapon higher, and turned up the power. This time, the central part of the trunks was blasted away, with a smell of charred wood. Some of them crashed down; others, held by their branches, hung suspended. A fine yellow dust descended from the tree-tops like pollen. But the resistance was as strong as ever; if anything, it had increased.
Doggins turned to Niall. “Are you sure you’re right about the trees?”
“I think so.” Even as he spoke, Niall could sense the power emanating from the twisted branches.
“All right. Let’s try this.” Doggins increased the power again, and this time fired close to the ground. The blue beam roared like a flame, and the tree-trunks dissolved away; suddenly, a path was open through the wood. Then, quite abruptly, the resistance ceased. It was so unexpected that they were both thrown forward, and slipped several feet down the slope. Doggins looked at Niall; his face was shiny with sweat.
“Yes, you were right.”
Some of the trees had burst into flame; the smoke smelled of sap and living wood. The yellow pollen was descending like rain, covering the blackened ground. The sight of the charred alleyway between the trunks aroused in Niall a curious feeling of pity and regret. There was something about the power of the Reaper that worried him; it was too absolute.
Doggins stood up, and made a gesture of invitation.
“Shall we go on?”
But Niall hesitated. “I’m worried about that yellow stuff. Let’s wait until it stops falling.”
Doggins walked forward to the edge of the trees, and sniffed. “It’s just pollen dust.” He began to sneeze violently, and continued for several minutes. “My God, you’re right. It’s like pepper.” His eyes were streaming.
They sat and waited; periodically, Doggins sneezed again. As the smoke cleared, they could see that the Reaper had opened a pathway through to the far side of the trees. At the far end of the tunnel of overhanging branches, water gleamed in the sunlight.
Doggins opened his pack, and took a long drink of wine; he sighed with satisfaction.
“I’ll be glad when we’re back home. There’s something evil about this place.”
“Evil?” The idea struck Niall as strange. “No, I don’t think it’s evil. It just doesn’t care about human beings.”
“Same thing.” He took another drink, then put the flask back into his pack. “Let’s get started. We’ll never get home if we sit here all day.”
Niall stood up reluctantly. “Don’t forget what Simeon told us — never hurry in the Delta.”
They advanced to the edge of the wood. The path cleared by the Reaper was about eight feet wide. As he looked down the tunnel-like opening through the trees, Niall became suddenly aware of the terrifying power that had cut this road through the forest. Some trunks had been divided lengthwise, as if cloven by an axe; others hung suspended above their heads, held in place by interlocking branches. Underfoot, the Reaper had scored a furrow in the earth, and this was as flat as a man-made road. The ground, like the blackened tree-trunks, was covered with a thick yellow layer of pollen.
But as soon as they began to walk on this yellow dust, they discovered that it was as slippery as mud; Niall almost lost his footing, and had to clutch at a tree-trunk to keep upright. The dust made his nose and eyes sting. A moment later, they were both sneezing. Where the pollen settled on his damp flesh, it produced a sharp irritation that made him want to scratch.
Niall retreated back up the slope, and sat down again.
“I think we ought to look for another way through.”
“Another way? There’s no other way.” Doggins gestured at the line of trees stretching in both directions.
“If we went north, we’d reach the marshland.”
Doggins shook his head stubbornly. “I’m not going to be beaten by a bit of pollen.” He scratched furiously at his cheek. “Even if it does give me hay fever.”
Niall took his spare tunic from his pack, and tore a strip off the bottom; it was made of a very thin cotton. He soaked it in water from his flask, and washed the pollen off his hands.
Doggins said: “I know the answer.” He also tore a wide strip from his spare tunic, and soaked it in water. Then he tied it round his face, forming a mask that left only his eyes visible. “That should keep it out.”
Niall did the same; the mask felt pleasantly cool against his face. Then, as an afterthought, he took from his pocket the tube containing the metallic garment. As he unrolled this, Doggins looked at it with mild astonishment.
“What’s that for?”
“To keep the pollen off my skin.”
Doggins pointed. “There’s water down there. You can wash it off in five minutes.”
“I’d rather keep it off my skin. It stings.”
He pulled the slide fastener, and clambered into it. As a garment it was cumbersome and voluminous. The rolls at the wrists and ankles proved to be rudimentary arms and legs, but they were less than a foot long. When the garment was fastened at the neck, Niall looked like a silver-coloured bat. It was unpleasantly warm, and his perspiration made the thin material stick to his skin.
Doggins said ironically: “Ready?”
He nodded, pulling up the hood. It was impossible to put his arms through the straps of the haversack, and he was forced to carry it in one hand, with the Reaper in the other. He asked Doggins:
“Why don’t you wear your cloak? It would cover your arms and legs.”
Doggins said shortly: “I’ll risk it.”
It was not easy to walk, with the folds of the garment flapping between his legs; he was forced to move with a kind of crablike shuffle. Doggins watched him with an amused sideways glance but said nothing.
As they walked between the trees, their feet stirred up clouds of the yellow dust. In spite of his mask, Doggins began to cough. He turned to Niall. “I’m going ahead. See you at the other end.” He walked on with quick strides, the dust rising in clouds round his feet. Using his gloved hands, Niall tucked the wet linen more firmly under his chin; but the dust made his eyes sting, and caused a prickling sensation on his damp forehead. He tried tugging mask upward so that it covered his eyes and forehead, and discovered, to his relief, that he could still see through it; the water made the cotton semi-transparent. He breathed through his open mouth, aware that it was safer than breathing through the nose, since each intake of breath drew the material tight against his lips and prevented the yellow dust from entering. The heat in the garment was stifling, rising in waves to his neck, but he resisted the temptation to hurry, even when the stinging made his eyes water so that he was unable to see. Then, suddenly, he was in the sunlight again.
Doggins said: “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Are you?”
“I shall be when I’ve washed this damn stuff off me.”
Niall pulled down the mask, and found that the outside was covered with a thick layer of pollen dust. It was hard to resist the temptation to rub his streaming eyes with his gloved fingers, but he could see they were also thick with pollen. Coughing and sneezing, he unzipped the garment and struggled out of it. His cheeks and forehead glowed with a prickling heat.
They were standing on an expanse of hardened mud that sloped down to the river, which was brown and slow-moving. On its far side, a mass of rich vegetation extended up the lower slopes of the hill, with lianas so thick that they looked like pythons. The hill itself rose out of the ground like an immense boulder; in the flat surrounding terrain, it looked as if it had fallen out of the sky.