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“NOW WHAT DO WE DO WITH it?” Padg said.
“Try to study it now, I guess,” Dun said. “Compare it to what we know on our charts and check if there’s any comparison.”
“Then close it up and keep quiet,” Tali said. “The less Myrch knows, the better, I suspect.”
And so they studied and pored over Dun's recent marks and the ones his father had made before them. All to no avail. There did not seem to be any similarity at all.
“Maybe it's not a map?” Padg said.
“Definitely a map,” Tali said finally.
“No wait, Padg might be right, or partly right. Maybe its a picture of a map.”
“Now you are talking nonsense. A picture is a map,” Tali said.
“Yeah, friend, I hate to disagree with you when you’re standing on my bank here, but what are you on about?”
“A map is meant to be an exact representation of what’s there, right?”
“Yeah...” Tali said.
“Well, maybe this one isn’t meant to be.”
“What would be the point of that then?” Padg said.
“Art maybe? Just to show how clever they were. I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s a map you’re meant to follow.”
“Okay. We’re none the wiser then.”
“No, I didn’t say that. I think it’s got a meaning. It’s just not a step for step map.”
“Close it up we’ve got company,” Tali said.
They could all hear approaching footsteps.
“Ah, good,” Myrch said. “I wondered where you’d gotten to. Now, what exactly did you do with my raft?”
“Well,” Padg said, “I’m going to guess if you didn’t already know you wouldn’t be asking us.”
Myrch laughed, a deep genuine laugh. “How perceptive you are, young pup. Shall we go?”
“Which way now, if we haven’t got a raft?” Dun said.
“I’d have hoped you’d have thought of that before you let those dreary River-folk thugs take it off you. Luckily, I have thought about it. I have hired the services of a guide. We will travel through the realm of the Fire-folk.”
Myrch paused, as if expecting questions. There were none.
“In order to get there, we need to travel through a place called the Disputed Zone. It has no jurisdiction to speak of, although the Lake-folk and the River-folk have fought over it for years. It is said that the Disputed Zone has its own people too. A lost feral folk, long since turned to barbarism and savagery. Folktales and travelers fancies, I’d guess, but you can never be too sure. And the Disputed Zone has no one to maintain it so it’s very fabric is dangerous.”
“Isn’t it full of collectors then?” Tali said.
“Although there may be a wealth of found things waiting in the Disputed Zone, collectors have enough to contend with the things they find, without risking an area they know stands a good chance of killing them. Collectors do come here, but mostly the desperate and the foolhardy. And all with a guide, like my friend here. Meet Jarn.”
The friends murmured assent and Jarn grunted in return.
“We go?” he said.
“Shall we?” Myrch said.
“Sounds great, I can’t wait,” Padg said.
***
THEY CROSSED THE LAST border post, a ramshackle affair of piled boxes and spars of wood and metal. Two folk stood guard, in that alert way guards who occasionally meet action do. Dun could tell by their clipped speech and manners that these folk were professional soldiery as opposed to lackaday militia. Their guide, Jarn, handed something over to the guards. Some kind of permit, Dun guessed, that seemed to be acceptable and the guards grunted their assent for the party to pass.
“We go, eh?” Jarn said. He was as strange to the nose, as he was to the ear.
They moved beyond the barrier. Dun felt a large space. Under his feet, the floor was metallic and smooth, but old. It had none of the usual clutter of places at home or lakeside. Even the relatively organized Stone-folk had the odd box of this or the odd unswept pile of that around. This place was empty. Truly empty.
“This has been cleared,” Padg said.
“For a good spearthrow, I’ll bet,” Tali said.
“Silence!” Jarn hissed.
When quiet fell across the area, it took a moment for Dun’s ears to readjust. After days in the hubbub of Riverside, the silence was unnerving. They walked slowly and carefully, following Jarn with Myrch bringing up the rear. They reached another barrier ahead, more makeshift than the one they had left.
“Stay,” Jarn said. He shuffled off ahead. There was some clunking and scraping, then he said, “Come!”
They did. Forcing their way through a tight doorway between a smooth, flat, vertical plate and something spongy and stale smelling. They followed into a crazy, chaotic, twisted pile of all the possible things any folk in the vicinity had ever left behind in their lives.
“What is this place?” Tali said.
“Borderland,” Jarn said.
“Why all the stuff?” Dun said, panting and feeling for a new foothold above his head.
“Blocks the Disputed Zone off from... unwanted visitors,” Myrch said.
“Does it work?” Padg said.
“It makes everyone feel better,” Myrch replied.
Their route changed from being steep upward over rough and sharp metal pieces, to the interior of a massive rusty pipe that seemed to be sloping slowly down. As they fell into silence again, Dun noticed something new. The whole place around him was making noise. Distant clanging, nearby but quiet creaking; sighing of air slowly let out. The whole place seemed alive. Padg gave voice to Dun’s fears.
“This place gives me the creeps.”
“Creepy noises are the least of our worries,” Myrch said.
“Worry about things you don’t hear,” Jarn said.
That was enough to settle the party back into quiet brooding again. Fatigue started to set in as, with every step, there was something new to process or circumvent. Dun never really liked the word chaos, it was too easily bandied about, but this place? That was the only word to describe it. They walked on, carefully, listening to the clipped, almost hissed instructions and warnings given by Jarn. Sidestepping gaping holes and razor-sharp edges in just enough time was enough for them to diligently follow and begin to trust their taciturn guide.
“Wait,” he said. Everyone stopped. “Give me hand,” he said to Padg, still out in front. “Walk here. There, is nasty.
Padg walked as directed, needing the help of Jarn’s calloused hand, as the floor sloped alarmingly underfoot and apparently whatever was nasty was downslope. Once he had made the few steps required on the slope, he reached back and relayed to Tali the same instructions, and then she to Dun. Myrch crossed last.
“Now we camp,” Jarn said. “Wait.”
They heard Jarn strain slightly ahead and above them, to shift something metallic that squeaked when it moved. Then a faint hiss.
“Up here. There are two steps.”
They all followed. The two steps turned out to be a short ladder that took them up to a small, clean room with a level metal floor. Jarn ushered them all in. There were slightly more sounds of straining as the door closed and then the hissing noise, this time accompanied by the worrying feeling of the pressure rising, just slightly, in the room.
“We are safe here,” Jarn said. “Rest. The door secures from inside. No one hears from outside.”
They broke out rations, with the special treat of spiced lake fish from the market. Tali had had the sense to visit before they left. Tali, Dun, and Padg ate with a companionable murmur between them, Myrch and Jarn in silence. When they had finished they brought out bedrolls, a market purchase of Padg’s.
“So do you really believe that there are some kind of lost people out here?” Padg said.
“I don’t know,” Jarn said. “Is easy to let ears play tricks on you, eh? No good for a guide. Deal with what you know.”
“Why does anyone think there are folk here at all then?” Tali asked.
“Old travelers tales. Traders looking for an audience in the cantinas of Lakeside.” Myrch’s tone held an edge of scorn.
“Not all traveler tales untrue,” Jarn said.
Myrch made a non-committal grunt.
“There are many tales, Lakeside folk superstitious, but some tales woven from the same thread maybe, eh?” There was silence from the rest of the group, Jarn had his audience.
“The tales all tell of a folk, not lost, but here before us, before Lakeside. Ancient folk. But things here change. Something becomes different, some say a Gods punishment. The folk here become warped, altered, decaying but still live. Some tales tell of travelers go missing, that’s true enough. Dangerous here, eh? Some tales have folk who hear strange noises in these caverns. That’s true too, you can hear. But many tales tell of a noise that travelers hear before they go missing. A chattering. Like teeth. Quiet at first, then louder and more. Stories say if you hear that noise, you never reappear.”
There was no noise now, inside the room until Padg spoke, “Charming though that tale is,” he said. “If no one ever returns, how does anyone know about the noise?”
For the first time in their journey, they heard Myrch laugh. Not his usual sarcastic bark, but genuine laughter. They all joined in.
“Hey!” Jarn said, with a faintly hurt tone. “You ask. I tell. Those are the tales.”
In a better mood than Dun had felt for days, he slept.
