He went on to describe the capital, the palace, and the ogre guards. Then dropped back to tell how he’d left the Balkans with Nils. He told briefly of Achikh and the Mongols. And that the emperor was a telepath, with, according to Kaidu, a dream of conquering the world.
When he was done, he felt surprisingly good, even hopeful. He did wish, though, that he had his recorder and cubes; he’d have copied the cubes to the computer, so they’d have them even if he never got back.
He wondered again what had been wrong with his radio. He recalled it getting wet, soaked actually, at least twice in his saddlebag, the first couple of days. But supposedly it was waterproof. Matthew could probably explain it to him, if he ever got out of there.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Farmer Wu had told his son to come home that night, and had said nothing about bringing the barbarian with him. But the boy wasn’t willing to abandon the giant, even though he suspected the man had failed them. The moon had risen by the time he got back to Pine Point, and the overcast seemed to have thinned a bit; he’d had no real trouble finding his way to Nils’s things. He’d raked up a pile of needles there as insulation from the ground, wrapped himself in his blanket, the one the barbarian had worn the day before, and gone to sleep. With the fixed intention of waking up well before dawn.
Actually, he expected his stomach to waken him. He’d had no supper, unless one counted the snack his mother had packed.
It was much lighter when he awoke, and he sprang to his feet. But it wasn’t dawn breaking. Rather, the half moon was high, and the overcast had given way to clear sky. Stars glittered between the treetops, and he was cold, blanket or no.
The barbarian was there too, getting up from a needle pile of his own, as if Jik’s wakening had wakened him.
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He now wore the shirt he’d left behind, which with his breeches and boots was all he had against the chill. And seemed none the worse for it.
They didn’t speak; there was neither point nor need. They simply gathered their things and left.
On the road, the night took on a special clarity for Jik, a rare beauty, the feel of a spiritual experience. His normal life consisted very largely of work and sleep. In summer he was usually in bed by dark, and it was getting light when his father wakened him to do his chores. His experience of night was very largely the occasional thirty-meter walk, sleepy-eyed and thick-headed to the odorous privy.
He wasn’t sure how near it was to dawn, but decided they should jog. His father had emphasized the importance of getting home and out of sight before daylight. This would be doubly important with the barbarian along; it wouldn’t do to be seen by some farmer walking early to his field, and there were the ravens to consider.
After a bit, Jik could see the wash of early dawn paling the sky. He speeded slightly; they still had perhaps three kilometers to go before leaving the last hamlet behind, and to detour through the forest would slow them. Also he was eager to reach home and breakfast. The reach and drive of his loping legs in the cool dawn air made him feel full-chested and strong, indomitable. He wondered if the barbarian felt the same. Perhaps the man often ran in the night; perhaps his strange eyes could see in the dark. That would explain some things. And it had been the barbarian’s hand that kept him from falling in the irrigation ditch, earlier that night.
The dawn strengthened. Birds awoke in the trees, and with preparatory chirps warmed up for their dawn chorus. It would be awhile, though, before they were out and flying. He and the barbarian were almost beyond the clearing, and not far from home, when Jik’s mood changed, suddenly and inexplicably. Fear struck him, fear without threat, followed as quickly by black despair. The ground began to tremble, or seemed to, and his vision