“This way,” he said, turning, and I followed him.
He led me a course back and to the left, tangent to the route I had taken on entering the valley. The footing grew steadier as we hurried that way, mounting at last a low hill that seemed completely out of range in the disturbance. Here we paused to look back.
“Come no farther!” a great voice boomed from that direction.
“Thanks, Luke,” I panted. “I don’t know how you’re here or why but-“ He raised a hand.
“Right now I just want to know one thing,” he said, rubbing at a short beard he seemed to have grown in an amazingly brief time, and causing me to note that he was wearing the ring with the blue stone.
“Name it,” I told him.
“How come whatever it was that just spoke has your voice?” he asked.
“Uh-oh. I knew it sounded familiar.”
“Come on!” he said. “You must know. Every time you’re threatened and it warns you back it’s your voice that I hear doing it-echolike.”
“How long have you been following me, anyhow?”
“Quite a distance.”
“Those dead creatures outside the cleft where I’ d camped-“
“I took them out for you. Where are you going, and what is that thing?”
“Right now I have only suspicions as to exactly what’s going on, and it’s a long story. But the answer should lie beyond that next range of hills.”
I gestured toward the aurora.
He stared off in that direction, then nodded.
“Let’s get going,” he said.
“There is an earthquake in progress,” I observed . . .
“It seems pretty much confined to this valley,” he stated. “We can cut around it and proceed.”
“And quite possibly encounter its continuance.”
He shook his head.
“It seems to me,” he said, “that whatever it is that’s trying to bar your way exhausts itself after each effort and takes quite a while to recover sufficiently to make another attempt.”
“But the attempts are getting closer together,” I noted, “and more spectacular each time.”
“Is it because we’re getting closer to their source?” he asked.
“Possibly.”
“Then let’s hurry.”
We descended the far side of the hill, then went up and down another.
The tremors, by that time, had already subsided to an occasional shuddering of the ground and shortly these, too, ceased.
We made our way into and along another valley, which for a while headed us far to the right of our goal, then curved gently back in the proper direction, toward the final range of barren hills, lights flickering beyond them against the low, unmoving base of a cloudlike line of white under a mauve to violet sky. No fresh perils were presented.
“Luke,” I asked after a time, “what happened on the mountain, that night in New Mexico?”
“I had to go away – fast,” he answered.
“What about Dan Martinez’s body?”
“Took it with me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t like leaving evidence lying about.”
“That doesn’t really explain much.”
“I know,” he said, and he broke into a jog. I paced him.
“And you know who I am,” I continued.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Not now,” he said. “Not now.”
He increased his pace. I matched it. “And why were you following me?”
“I saved your ass, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, and I’m grateful. But it still doesn’t answer the question.”
“Race you to that leaning stone,” he said, and he put on a burst of speed.
I did, too, and I caught him. Try as I could I couldn’t pass him, though. And we were breathing too hard by then to ask or answer questions.
I pushed myself, ran faster. He did, too, keeping up. The leaning stone was still a good distance off. We stayed side by side and I saved my reserve for the final sprint. It was crazy, but I’d run against him too many times. It was almost a matter of habit by now. That, and the old curiosity. Had he gotten a little faster? Had I? Or a little slower?
My arms pumped, my feet thudded. I got control of my breathing, maintained it in an appropriate rhythm. I edged a little ahead of him and he did nothing about it. The stone was suddenly a lot nearer.