The Tower of Il Serrohe (8 page)

“
Now here’s another screwy thing,” Don told the gnats swarming lazily around his head, “El Cerro of
my
valley is on the east side of the river, not the west. Same thing for Peralta: east side, not west. Maybe some things
are
reversed here!”

He sighed, turning back to the steep slope as he worked his way up to the mesa. It did seem odd the Nohmin had no trail he could detect. Even if they didn’t often travel up and down the slope, it was still odd. That or he was too stupid to find it.

At last he reached the flat mesa and headed into the cool shade of a lone mountain cottonwood whose leaves were turning a brilliant yellow. The bat’s directions were good and he soon reached a plateau studded with more cottonwoods: the Place of Homes.

Beyond sight and sound of his incautious approach, Nersite, young Nohmin warrior-in-training, was pulling guard duty, pacing around the tunnel entrance to his root home. When he became aware of the ground vibrations signaling the approach of a strange creature, Nersite called out, “Hey! Hey! Hey!”

His fellow Nohmin, trained from birth to react quickly to the sharp call of “Hey!” scurried from their tasks to disappear deep into their tunnels. Those below ground hearing the muffled call stopped what they were doing to listen without breathing.

Nersite jumped into the tunnel leading to his root home and frantically pulled the flagstone cover over it.

After a few moments, he heard the scrunching sound of feet as Don wandered trying to find the Nohmin. Immobile in their small, dark cave homes, they waited for a Soreye torch, heavy with tar, to be thrown down to flush them out to a quick demise or, worse yet, a slow death of slavery.

Instead, nothing happened: just a lot of scrunching around. Then came a booming voice, penetrating the one yard of dirt covering Nersite’s root house.

“
Is this the Place of Homes? If you are the Nohmin, I am sent by the bat. I am supposed to be here to help fight the Soreyes, whoever the hell they are! Come on, dammit, I don’t have all day! I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing here, and if you don’t come out, I’ll know I’m crazy and will have to voluntarily commit myself to the nut house!”

There was a long pause—no sound or movement. Then, mumbling to himself, Don mused, “Shit. I knew it! I’ve lost it, and now I don’t know how to get out of this place or this dream. Bat, where the hell are you? This is the wrong place.”

Curiosity is an uncommon characteristic of a Nohmin, but Nersite had enough for the whole race. He crept up his tunnel and slowly pushed back the flagstone covering its entrance. A scent of fermented flowers, leather, and an oily burnt “yuck” flooded his tunnel, but before he could replace the flagstone, it flew away, and a massive hairy face filled his vision.

“
Oh—” was all Nersite could manage before the huge face sprouted an arm and yanked him out so fast every joint in his body felt pulled apart.

“
Aha! A Nohmin. That or you’re some damned punk screwing around in a hole in the ground. Don’t you know this tunnel could collapse and suffocate you?”

His breath was heavy with overcooked beans and stale chile, and his manner of speech was not only rude but also primitive according to Nohmin standards. Nersite, up on his feet, could see Don was taller than him but wasn’t some kind of Soreye dwarf because he was two-thirds the average Soreye height, and way too fat. Actually not fat, but only in comparison to the Soreyes who looked like they were built of young saplings weighing little more than two or three Nohmin adults.

However, on closer inspection, he looked a lot like a Pirallt.

“
Well?” Don bellowed, adding the unfamiliar smell of soured barley beer to the menu.

“
I’m not a child, and that’s no hole, it’s my root house. And further, this
is
the Place of Homes; we who live here are Nohmin. And just who does Nightwing think he is sending? Some undersized Soreye to burn us to cinders in our homes?”

“
Nightwing may be a butthead, but he’s trying to help you by sending me on this hallucination to keep you from ending up a bunch of stinking ‘crispy critters’ in these holes you call homes!”

“
Holes? You haven’t seen inside one and
you’re
being critical—”

It was now obvious that this wasn’t an auspicious beginning to the relationship between Don and the Nohmin.

Just as he was ready to pull Nersite apart like a cruel child pulls the legs off a grasshopper, a shrill cry reverberated across the mesa.

“
Soreyes! Soreyes! Nohmin to your holes!”

Don stood up, trying to find the source of the warnings which, unknown to him, were the Sianox, a clan who spent much of their time in the trees and who called out warnings when Soreyes were slithering about.

That was Nersite’s chance. He motioned for assistance to Notherbroh, a neighbor who had been peeking from his own hole nearby. Swiftly approaching Don from behind, Notherbroh crouched on his hands and knees behind Don. Nersite stood up and pushed Don over Notherbroh’s back.

Before he could react, the Nohmin each grasped an ankle and drug him down into Nersite’s hole.

“
No, no, you little sonuvabitches, I’m claustrophobic! Don’t drag me into your stinking little holes. Oh God, I’m going to suffocate.”

They could barely get him through the narrow entryway and into the wider landing. His kicking and fighting made it impossible to pull him into Nersite’s living room where there was more room.

Nersite quickly shoved his censer under Don’s nose. “Calm down.” He grabbed Don’s face with both hands, forcing their eyes to meet in the dim light. “Look at me! You’re OK, nothing’s going to happen to you if you stay still and quiet. We’re under attack; you must keep quiet until it’s safe. Just breathe deeply, and the incense will calm your temper.”

Over his shoulder through clenched teeth, Nersite hissed at Notherbroh. “Get cloves and Manzanilla for my censer! They will calm him more quickly. Hurry!”

However, Notherbroh didn’t need to hurry after all, for Don had passed out cold.

sixteen

“
How in the Demons of the Desert did they know to come here when the Place of Homes is supposed to be deserted?” Notherbroh asked Nersite as they struggled to get Don’s big body into the Nohmin’s living chamber.

All Nersite could do was shake his head and mutter. “Why ask me? They’re the ones who cleared
us
all out of here! Why would they bother putting someone on watch unless they feared one of us had been away from the Place when everyone else was carted off?”

“
But they would have seen us approach at noon and moved in on us. It’s almost sunset. Why now?”

“
Maybe we slipped in under their noses,” Nersite grunted as he placed a feather pillow under Don’s boulder-sized head. “But when our noisy friend arrived they couldn’t help but know
someone
was here. Quit asking me for explanation; go up and ask the Soreyes yourself.”

As if he were following that advice, Notherbroh climbed back up through the entry way. Nersite almost expected him to pop his head out and yell, “Well? Why are you goat turds here, anyway?”

Fortunately, although he was young, he was not that stupid.

“
Do you hear anything?” Nersite asked.

Notherbroh carefully slid the flagstone cover over the hole just as Nersite was lighting the censer and a beeswax candle in the living room. Coming back down, he whispered loudly, “No, not even the scratchy sound of slithering.”

“
I didn’t expect you would since that’s another insulting remark about the Soreyes. I don’t think they really make any sound as they move about other than the footfalls and bells you should hear if they’re out there.”

Notherbroh went back up for several long moments and then back down again. “Nope. Nothing. Should I look?”

“
No! They could be waiting for you to do exactly that. We’ll wait till dark before we even think about leaving. It’ll be too cold for them to simply wait us out without building a fire at the very least. Their scaly skin, even with fur wraps, is no match for the cold of the evening.”

Notherbroh came and inspected Don carefully. “Amazing. He looks a little like the Soreyes, only smaller and not scaly. How can he be someone we’re supposed to trust and rely on? What are—”

“
Because he is
not
a Soreye! Look at his size! He is too small, and he’s from another place according to Raquela of Piralltah. Remember Teresa the Tall One from the Other Valley? Well, this is Don, also of the Other Valley… at least that’s what Nightwing told Raquela.”

“
I know. I know. You think I don’t listen to anything? Still… when you look at him… well, he doesn’t look too promising.”

Nersite looked at Don carefully again. “In fact, he does kind of look like those from Piralltah, but he smells like sour bread. He’s tired and worn out though I think his health is OK.” Then Nersite smelled a complex of other odors. “Fascinating. Smell him carefully and see if you can tell me every odor.”

Notherbroh took his time circulating around Don twice before speaking. “He eats beans, rice, chile, and some kind of meat. I’d rather not think about exactly what kind of meat. Also potatoes and a bitter juice, but I can’t tell what. Certainly not tea or grapes. He has been working and did clean up, but not the way we do. Something very flowery, but not natural. Repulsive! Also the dyes of the clothes he has worn don’t smell like vegetable or fruit dyes. Very foul odors! Of course, the clothes he has on now are some old Nohmin ones…”

“
Anything else?” Hoping Notherbroh’s nose was sharp enough to pick up one last oddity.

“
Well, yes, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s strong, kind of acrid… I think… yes, now I remember! One time when Nightwing returned from a nocturnal visit to the Other Valley. He had had an accident. Those people had tried to kill him by burning him. They had thrown this oily stuff on him before trying to light him up. He escaped but the oily stuff was still there. He knew we had fine cleansers and aromatic potions that could clean him and leave him with his natural scent again. It was that smell.”

“
Very good. Your nose is getting finer. No one we know of here uses or has created any kind of liquid or solid made from those oily things. According to Nightwing, many things in the Other Valley are made from some foul, black oil they pump out of the ground. That smell pervades Don. It will take many soakings and sweatings to get it out of his system.”

At that point, Don stirred and began to wake. “Where am I?”

“
It’s OK. You are safe here, Don of the Other Valley. I am Nersite and this is my young apprentice, Notherbroh. We are Nohmin. Once the Soreyes are out of the area, we’ll show you around, maybe even take you to our traditional home—Nohome.”

“
Oh yeah, I remember now. A couple of you knocked me down and drug me into a damned hole. What the hell is your problem?”

“
Actually, there are several problems. We had to get you out of sight before you were captured by the Soreyes, our enemies.”

Don looked around frantically. “Oh God, get me out of this hole!”

“
It’s OK. We gave you scents to help you relax. Do you need more?”

“
Anything, dammit! I want out of here.”

Nersite placed the censer next to him. “Breathe deeply. I will tell you a story to distract your worries and give you some idea of why we need your help.”

He sat up abruptly. “I never said anything about help—”

“
Just relax and don’t worry about that. No one’s keeping you prisoner. It’s a matter of your safety right now.”

He put his head back down on the pillow
and tried to breathe deeply and slowly. “OK, go ahead. Tell your story.”

Nersite smiled. Turning to Notherbroh, he said, “Put some mint tea on to brew; I’ll need it to keep my throat moist and in tune for this story.”

This was a narrative he had practiced many times. “Please forgive me if it is too polished and flowery because of all the tellings it has suffered.”

seventeen

Nersite’s Account of Recent Battles with the Soreyes

“
Angry dust flew into my eyes and nostrils attacking me more violently than the Soreyes’ swords. Even behind the main line of battle, thrown stones kept me hypersensitive. The scented heat of the Seared Meadow coursing through the piñons blew the dust against my damp face to create a thin film of mud on my skin.

“‘
Prepare to part company with your head, you little worm!’ A dry, roaring voice shot from my left as the odor of pickled cactus washed over me.

“
I turned in time to see a hardwood staff cut through the dust cloud hungrily reaching for my head. I raised my aspenbark shield and squatted, bracing myself. The blow threw me back into a thorny bush ripping at my flesh.