A Triumph of Souls (25 page)

“Of course. They are not common, but are widespread. I remember a particularly large burrow from the mountains near Netherbrae,
and one in the desert where we encountered the mirage of the houris. And there were a number of others.”

“By Guoit, why didn’t you ever point one out to me, bruther?”

Ehomba shrugged. “There was no need to. You would not have enjoyed entering them anyway. Most were warm burrows.”

The swordsman’s expression twisted. “There are different kinds of burrows?”

“Certainly. It depends which colors the tomuwogs are burrowing between. If red and yellow, which are hot colors and seem to
be more common, then the burrow will be warm, or even scalding. If the blue is separated by black instead of green, then conditions
inside the burrow can be extremely cold.” He smiled appreciatively. “Blue-green is best, though it is still a little warm
for running. A darker blue, more indigo, would have made for an even more comfortable refuge.”

Simna sat shaking his head in amazement and disbelief. “To think that such wonders exist all around us, in every time and
place, and want only the knowing of them to be seen and utilized.”

“Oh, there is much more, my friend. Much more.” The herdsman bit into a large, crunchy piece of preserved apple. “The world
is awash in marvels that most men never see. Usually it is because they are too busy, too hurried, to look. Looking takes
time. One does not become a good tracker overnight.”

Simna nodded slowly. “Or a good hand with a sword. In the learning of that, I bled a lot. It took me many years, many curses,
and many cuts before I became proficient.”

“As does the accumulation of any worthwhile knowledge,” Ehomba agreed.

Tilting and turning his head, Simna took in more of the
remarkable chamber. “The corridor we came through was not large for a person, but pretty big for a burrowing animal. These
tomuwogs must be of good size.”

“See for yourself.” Putting the remainder of his food down slowly and carefully, Ehomba nodded to his right. “Here comes one
now.”

S
imna paused with food halfway to his mouth. Sensing the approach of the burrow’s owner, the black litah growled a warning
as it moved off to one side. Eyes shining, Hunkapa Aub put both hands together and murmured delightedly.

“Pretty, pretty.”

The adult tomuwog was bigger than any of the travelers, but it was only partially there. A glittering, roughly cylindrical
shape, it entered the nesting chamber on noiseless feet of aquamarine light. One moment it stood out in sharp relief, the
next it was reduced to a drifting cloud composed of splintered sapphires. With each step, portions of its supple, streamlined
body slipped in and out of sight. Half solid, half illusion, it inspected them warily out of eyes that were pale blue mother-of-pearl.

It had a short tail that struck blue-green sparks from the air as it flicked nervously from side to side, and a narrow snout
of a face that glittered as if faceted. Huge sparkling pads front and rear resembled flippers more than feet. The edges of
these appendages caught the ambient light and bounced it back in clipped, prismatic jolts to the retinas of
onlookers. The shimmering claws had to be sharp, Simna reflected, to slice a path between two colors.

Filtered blue-green light danced off the creature’s flanks, so bright that from time to time the entranced intruders were
forced to turn their faces away from so much brilliance and blink away tears. Simna found himself wondering what a tomuwog
that inhabited the space between red and orange might look like, or between purple and red. Certainly they would be no less
colorful than the singular slow-moving one before them.

That the tomuwog was aware of their presence there could be no doubt. Twinkling eyes examined each of them in turn. Upset
at their presence but apparently convinced they posed no immediate threat, it proceeded to haul itself over to the glittering,
glimmering nest and settle itself atop the pile of carefully scavenged color.

Resuming eating, but slowly so as not to startle the placid creature, Simna leaned over to whisper to the herdsman. “Where
do they come from, bruther? Eggs?”

“I am not sure.” Observing the remarkable beast, Ehomba wore a satisfied smile. “I believe they lay light. This light then
matures according to the predominating colors within which it is brought up, and becomes a full-grown tomuwog. As I have said,
they are shy creatures and difficult to see. They almost never wander outside their burrows.”

A sudden thought caused the swordsman to put down the remainder of his food. “Hoy, what do they eat? Doesn’t look like it
has any teeth.”

“That is a real mystery, Simna.” In contrast to his hesitant companion, Ehomba had no trouble finishing his food. “No one
has ever seen a tomuwog eating. I would not
think there was much to eat between blue and green, but if my elders had not explained it to me I would not have thought there
was much space there, either. Perhaps they forage on little bits of wandering moonlight, or the motes we see dancing in a
shaft of afternoon sunshine. Since no one knows what they eat
with
, it is understandable that nobody knows what they eat.” Seeing the look on his friend’s face, he added, “Whatever it is,
I do not think that people are a part of its diet.”

“Hoy, I certainly don’t see any blue-green teeth.” Cautiously, the swordsman resumed feeding.

They were soon finished with their meal. When Ehomba decided they had rested long enough, he led his companions out of the
chamber. Choosing a corridor that led west, they left the tomuwog sitting serenely on its twinkling nest. It made no move
to interfere with their departure. From the time it had arrived until the moment they departed, it had uttered not a sound.

The passageway provided a smooth-floored, controlled-climate means of making progress. As they jogged along, they passed other
herds of grazing animals, and flocks of birds large and small. As far as these active inhabitants of the prairie were concerned,
the travelers were invisible. And so long as they kept to the tomuwog tunnel, they effectively were.

The extent of the corridor did not surprise Ehomba. Tomuwogs, he explained to his friends, dug very elaborate, very complex
systems of burrows that boasted but few entrances. After a number of days, however, he decided it was time to sacrifice concealment
and convenience for the world that lay beyond the tunneled realm of blue and green. For one thing, the corridor was devoid
of anything
except cool air and blue-green light. They would soon need to find food and fresh water.

Simna fingered the transparent, unyielding wall that enclosed them. “So how do we get out, bruther? Cut ourselves a hole?”

“Only a tomuwog can do that, Simna.” As they trotted down the corridor, the herdsman was scanning the ceiling. “We must find
a natural entrance.”

“You said there weren’t many.”

Ehomba nodded. “That is so. It is why I want to find one before our food or water begins to run any lower.” With his spear,
he gestured behind them. “I would hate to have to retrace our steps all the way back to the place where the firemakers nearly
entrapped us.”

Simna grunted his agreement and thought little more of it. But by the evening of the following day he was starting to grow
concerned. The thought of starving to death in plain view of rolling fields of edible plants and herds of plentiful game,
pinned like an ornamental butterfly between layers of blue and green, was singularly unappealing.

It was therefore with considerable relief, and not a little confusion, that he slowed to a halt behind Ehomba. The herdsman
had raised a hand and was staring off to his left. Squinting in the same direction, Simna could see nothing. Or rather, nothing
that differed from the rest of their surroundings.

“There is our exit.” Though he did not manifest it outwardly, Ehomba was greatly relieved. Entrances and exits to tomuwog
burrows were even more scattered than he had led Simna and the others to believe. Knowing that if he appeared worried it would
have weighed heavily on them, he
had maintained an air of quiet confidence ever since they had left the nesting chamber. He had also eschewed mentioning that
tomuwog burrows were subject to a variety of external strains and pressures, and therefore prone to collapse. What would happen
to anyone who found him- or herself caught in a tomuwog cave-in he could not imagine, except to be certain it would not be
pleasant.

“I don’t see anything,” Simna murmured.

“There’s nothing there.” The black litah snorted.

“Exactly.” Ehomba started forward, toward something only he could see. Or rather, toward nothing only he could see.

When Simna emerged from the burrow, the return of multihued light together with the sounds and smells of the world outside
threatened to overwhelm his senses. Hunkapa Aub took to running about in little circles, grabbing at grasshoppers and beetles,
while Ahlitah promptly lay down in the yellowed grass and rolled, immersing himself in the delicious convocation of aromas.

Looking back the way they had come, Simna could see only ground and growth, rock and soil. There was nothing to indicate to
his eyes that they had just exited a corridor that tunneled between the color blue and the color green.

“It’s really there?” he found himself asking his tall companion.

“Yes, Simna. It is really there.”

The swordsman nodded somberly. “Wizardry. I’ve grown used to your denying it, Etjole, but that doesn’t mean I accept it. We
both know what you are.”

“How can we both know what I am when I do not even know myself what I am?” Ehomba was not smiling. “I am a good tracker, friend
Simna. Good at finding things.”

“Things that no one else can find, or even suspect exist.” Together, they resumed the trek westward. “If that’s not sorcery,
I don’t know what is.” Idly, the swordsman plucked a striking blue wildflower. He did not hold on to it for long, though,
having had enough blue to last him for a while.

“Not true, Simna.” Once again, Ehomba was using his spear as a walking stick. “Many of the Naumkib could have done what I
just did.” He grinned. “I am just a little better at such things than most of the villagers. I think it is because I am always
questioning my surroundings that I have become good at seeing what others overlook.” With his free hand he pointed slightly
to their right. “For example, standing right there is a Gogloyyik, a fantastic animal with four eyes, purple wings, a tail
three times the length of its body, and a head that is a mass of absurd-looking horns.”

Following his friend’s lead, Simna strained to locate this phantasmagoric creature. All he saw were insects whizzing back
and forth above the tops of the grass, and something like a chartreuse bunny that scampered frantically out of sight on all
fours.

“I don’t see anything, Etjole. Is it only semi-invisible, like the tomuwog?”

“It’s right there, right before your eyes, Simna! What’s the matter with you?” The herdsman’s irritation was palpable.

Simna’s forehead was beginning to throb. Breaking away from the others, he jogged off in the direction Ehomba had indicated.
Halting at what he thought was an excessive distance from his companions, the swordsman turned a slow circle.

“By Githwhent, bruther—there’s nothing here! Where is this…?” He stopped. Hunkapa Aub was chortling softly, his enormous chest
heaving with muted laughter. Even the black litah was grinning, insofar as a cat is capable of such an expression. And the
herdsman—Etjole Ehomba had a hand over his mouth and was shaking his head slowly as he strode along.

Simna’s expression darkened. “Very funny, long bruther. Oh, vastly amusing, yes! Scare the insides out of a man one minute
and make him the butt of jokes the next! How clever you are, how witty! How droll.” Rejoining the group, he fell in step behind
the herdsman, forswearing his company.

Padding up alongside him, Ahlitah was uncharacteristically sympathetic. “I understand, little man. Don’t take it to heart.
If it’s any consolation, I don’t agree with what your mentor just did.”

Simna eyed the big cat warily. “You don’t?”

“No. He can’t make you the butt of jokes one minute, because to me you have been and will always be nothing more than a butt.”
With that the cat sauntered off, choosing to parallel rather than follow the herdsman’s lead.

Will I ever figure him out?
the swordsman mused as he gazed broodingly at the back of the tall southerner. “If you are a sorcerer, Etjole—and I still
hold to that belief as strongly as ever—you will be the first one I ever met that had a sense of humor. Such as it is,” he
hastened to add.

Still grinning, the herdsman looked back at his friend. “I come from a simple village, friend Simna. You should expect my
sense of humor to be simple as well.”

“Hoy—that I won’t argue.” After a while he increased his pace to move back up alongside his companion. There
followed an exchange of jokes that caused laughter to ring out across the plain. The guffawing was wholly human. It did not
matter whether the jape was told by Ehomba or Simna. Strive as he might, Hunkapa Aub never got it, and the black litah did
not want to.

As the resolute propounders of intermittent jocularity strode onward toward the beckoning sunset, accompanied by a hulking
and perplexed mass of hair that lumbered after them on legs like hispid tree trunks, and one brooding black cat of striking
size and grace, the Gogloyyik lifted its outlandish cranium and watched them go, not overlooking a chance to fenegrate the
sookstrum that unexpectedly darted between its legs.

P
eregriff wondered if he dared knock. The south castle aerie was but one of many that his master used for his regular rendezvous
with the costly courtesans he imported from the city. Despite the many wild and scurrilous rumors that attended to his master,
the chief of staff knew that Hymneth the Possessed was indeed a man, with all the needs and desires that implied. He was,
however, glad that it was the job of others to select and escort the often reluctant women into his master’s presence. What
happened subsequently comprised scenarios he preferred not to speculate upon.