For a moment his head cleared the surface, and he sucked in air. Then he was plunged downward and something struck his head.
CHAPTER SIX
KICKAHA AWOKE ON his back. The sky was beginning to take on horizontal bands of alternating dark-red and fiery-red. It was “dawn.”
He was lying in water which rose halfway up his body. He rolled over and got to all-fours. His head hurt abominably, and his ribs felt as if he’d gone twelve rounds in a boxing match. He stood up, weaving somewhat, and looked around. He was on shore, of course. The roaring wave had carried him up and over the end of the channel and then retreated, leaving him here with other bodies. These were a dozen or so animals that had not gotten out of the channel in time.
Nearby was a boulder, a round-shaped granite rock the size of a house. It reminded him of the one in the clearing in Anana’s world. In this world there were no rock strata such as on Earth. But here were any number of small stones and occasionally boulders, courtesy of the Lord of the lavalite planet, Urthona.
He remembered Anana’s speculation that some of these could conceal “gates.” With the proper verbal or tactile code, these might be opened to give entrance into Urthona’s castle somewhere on this world. Or to other pocket universes. Urthona, of course, would neither verify nor deny this speculation.
If he had the Horn of Shambarimen, he could sound the sequence of seven notes to determine if the rock did contain a gate. He didn’t have it. It was either lost in the flood or Anana had gotten up the bank with it. If the latter had happened, Urthona now had the Horn.
A mile beyond the boulder was a mountain. It was conical, the side nearest him lower than the other, revealing a hollow. It would not be a volcano, since these did not exist here. At the moment, it did not seem to be changing shape.
There were tall hills in the distance, all lining the channel. Most of the plain was gone, which meant that the mutations had taken place at an accelerating speed.
His bow and quiver were gone, torn from him while he was being scraped against the channel bottom. He still had his belt and hunting knife, however.
His shirt was missing. The undershirt was only a rag. His trousers had holes and rips, and his shoes had departed.
Woozily, he went to the edge of the water and searched for other bodies. He found none. That was good, since it gave him hope, however slight, that Anana had survived. It wasn’t likely, but if he could survive, she might.
Though he felt better, he was in no mood to whistle while he worked. He cut a leg off an antelope and skinned it. Hordes of large black green-headed flies settled on the carcass and him and began working. The bite of one fly was endurable, but a hundred at once made him feel as if he were being sandpapered all over. However, as long as he kept moving he wasn’t covered by them. Every time he moved an arm or turned his head or shifted his position, he was relieved of their attack. But they zoomed back at once and began crawling, buzzing, and biting.
Finally, he was able to walk off with the antelope leg over one shoulder. Half of the flies stayed behind to nibble on the carcass. The others decided after a while that the leg he carried was more edible and also not as active. Still, he had to bat at his face to keep them from crawling over his eyes or up his nose.
Kickaha vented some of his irritation by cursing the Lord of this world. When he’d made this world and decreed its ecosystems, did he have to include flies?
It was a question that had occurred more than once to the people of Earth.
Despite feeling that he’d had enough water to last him a lifetime, he soon got thirsty. He knelt down on the channelbank and scooped up the liquid. It was fresh. According to Urthona, even the oceans here were drinkable. He ate some meat, wishing that he could get hold of fruit or vegetables to balance his diet.