Foster, Alan Dean Catechist 3 A Triumph of Souls

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they ll have cold beer.
After a last, speculative glance, Ehomba followed and caught up to him. Do you really believe that?
No, Simna confessed, but here lately I find that I prefer refreshing delusions to the reality of our actual
surroundings.
Skawpane turned out to be less appalling from a distance. From the disgusting state of the dirt streets
that ran with dull green putrescence to the sewer grates designed to carry off flash floods of mucus, the
act of merely walking quickly degenerated into a detestable activity. No edifice rose to a height of more
than three stories, perhaps because of the lack of suitable building materials. Storefronts were fashioned
of skin tanned to woody toughness by the repeated application of hot blood and salt water. The origin of
these skins was a question the travelers by mutual unspoken consent decided not to ask.
Sidewalks rose a foot or more above the abominable streets. Instead of wooden slats, their planks were
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fashioned of split bones with the rounded side facing downward. Larger bones such as scapulae had
been made into gleaming white shutters that flanked windows of thinly stretched corneas. Occasionally a
poorly fashioned pane would blink desperately, reflecting its organic origin.
There were tall, narrow chimneys made of interlocking vertebrae, though what a home or shop would
need with a chimney and fireplace in such a hellish climate Ehomba could not imagine. Troughs of liquid
sulfur stood outside several of the establishments. Standing patiently at their hitching rails and nuzzling the
noxious, toxic brew they contained were a diversity of infernal steeds. The herdsman saw desiccated
horses whose pointed ribs protruded from their sides and whose lower incisors pierced their upper jaws
like the tusks of bastard babirusas. All had prominent, protuberant eyes that shone with the madness that
resided within.
Nor were they the only mounts secured or occasionally spiked to the railings. One storefront they
passed had a pair of enormous, hirsute hogs roped to a trough at which they rooted ferociously. When
these glanced up to espy the travelers, they strove hard to break their bonds. In so doing they exposed
mouthfuls of long, sharp teeth that seemed to belong to some other animal. The saddles fastened to their
backs were small and narrow, with disproportionately high pommels. What their riders looked like the
visitors could only imagine.
Across the street three elephantine orange-green slugs lay melting in the sun. Their glutinous bodies
renewed themselves as they liquefied and they emitted an odor so foul that it rose above all the other
myriad stinks that afflicted the noisome concourse. In place of saddles they wore simple handgrips that
were buried deep within the slimy flesh itself. Once more, their riders were thankfully conspicuous by
their absence.
That did not mean that the streets were devoid of denizens. While Skawpane would never pass for a
bustling metropolis, neither was it a ghost town though ghosts shared the streets and fronting
establishments with the rest of their fellow citizens. In addition to reddish demons who might have been
related to the prospector they had encountered out in the layered hills, there were demonic folk of every
stripe and color. Some were dressed in styles that would have been considered shocking in cities as far
apart as Lybondai or Askaskos, but which in their current surroundings seemed perfectly appropriate.
Others were content with plainer attire.
The population was a m�lange of all that was disturbing and horrific, a veritable melting pot of the
diabolical. Besides demons and ghosts there were less familiar phantasms, from towering, spindly brown
creatures with bulging pop eyes to winged horrors boasting circular mouths that covered their entire
black faces. The crows that haunted the tops of buildings and pecked at offal in the streets had
membranous wings like bats, and sickly toothed beaks that looked fragile enough to crumble at a touch.
A flower-crowned, tentacled horror lazing in a rocking chair made of human bones tracked their
progress down this boulevard of horrors with organs that were not eyes. Next to where its feet would
have been if it had had feet, a dog-sized lump of multilegged one-eyed phlegm lifted its rostrum and
sniveled threateningly.
Wherever they went and whatever they passed, they attracted attention. Exactly as the prospector had
predicted, the arrival of mortals in town was cause for comment. When a tubby yellow blob whose
midsection was lined with gaping multiple mouths came bumbling off the sidewalk toward them with
self-evident mayhem on whatever it possessed for a mind and both Ehomba and Simna drew swords and
proceeded to cut it to pieces, none of the fiendish onlookers voiced a warning or raised an objection. In
fact, several evinced what appeared to be evidence of macabre amusement. A few interested horrors
that had been considering participating in the anticipated butchery changed their minds at this exhibition of
formidable resistance on the part of the visiting quartet.
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I need to stop and clean myself. Repeatedly licking one forepaw, the black litah applied it to his eyes
and snout. I don t think I ve ever felt so filthy.
It is not the street here that makes one feel unclean. Striding along, the always curious Ehomba tried to
identify the composition of the slimed, slaglike substance beneath his sandals. It is the atmosphere.
Hunkapa no like, declared the hairy mass that lumbered along in his wake.
We agree on something. Holding his sword like a long gray flag of warning, Simna put all the
confidence and cockiness he could muster into his stride. At the first sign of weakness here, he
suspected, the four of them would go down beneath a horde of horrors, torn apart for a midday
snack and that was if they were lucky. It was vital to maintain an appearance of invincibility.
In this Ehomba was of no help. Ever since they had entered the town, the soft-voiced herdsman had
altered nothing. His expression, his posture, the loose, casual manner in which he held his spear: all were
unchanged. Whether this seeming indifference was perceived by the ghastly inhabitants of Skawpane as
an invitation to feast or supreme confidence in powers they could not descry remained to be seen.
At least they were not immune to the effects of a well-honed blade, skillfully wielded, the swordsman
reflected. He gripped his sword a little tighter.
Hoy, bruther, where s the water you promised us?
Promised? Ehomba glanced down at his friend. If you would put food in my mouth with as much ease
as you do words, I would never grow hungry again. Simna might think him detached, but his cool dark
eyes missed nothing. We need to ask someone.
Don t you mean something? The swordsman skipped agilely to one side as a crow soaring past
overhead relieved itself. The dark red dropping sizzled where it struck the moist, mephitic street.
I wonder why someone or something chose to put a town here, in the worst place imaginable?
Ehomba mused as they walked on. The buildings were moving slightly apart as the street widened. They
were coming to some kind of central square or plaza.
Simna s retort was tense and edgy. Maybe it s a summer resort, where the residents can come to
escape the heat of their customary surroundings. Who knows what monstrosities like these consider
attractive in the way of climate or countryside? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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