Through the predawn mists of the upland valley slipped Jimjoy, his long and even strides silent as he moved through the parklike forests west of the Institute.
His quick steps took him toward the taller hill he had noted earlier, and as he progressed, he glanced overhead. The mist, swirling and green-gray, was already thinning as if anticipating the sun.
Before him, the ground changed from spongy green turf into a sparser grass barely covering the rocky and dark red clay that slanted upward in a progressively steeper incline.
Terwhit…terwhitttt…
The gentle call whispered from the woods behind him. He halted for a moment to pinpoint the direction, but the call was not repeated.
Sccrrrttt…
The scraping sound was distant, but clear in the muted time before sunrise. Jimjoy shook his head and continued the climb. Let whoever it was follow as they wished. He hoped that his followers would be more careful, and this time he would not run.
He stepped up his pace again, to a walk that bordered upon the speed of a trot. His breathing quickened, yet remained regular at an effort that would have prostrated most others.
Crunnch…
This time the sound paralleled his course.
He nodded without breaking stride. As he had suspected, there was a trail up to the hilltop. He hoped that the view from the overlook shown on the contours map was as good as the map indicted. Still…the hike was good exercise, if nothing more.
He grinned and broke into a trot. That shouldn’t push anyone into a careless mistake. Trail or no trail, he intended to be there before his shadow. Either of his shadows, the one that presently trailed him or the one that would arrive with the sunrise.
The faint sounds dropped back, although he knew his own progress was certainly no longer silent. But that was usually the case. Difficult as hades to be both quick and quiet, whether on foot or in a courier or a scout.
Jimjoy could feel the hillside steepen further, then after fifty meters flatten out as he neared the clump of trees that seemed to begin just short of the hill crest.
He was now panting slightly as he entered the copse of trees with the blue-black trunks, irregular and heavy branches, and needle-pointed green leaves. Then, all the trees on Accord had blue-green or yellow-green leaves—never just plain green—except for the obvious Terran imports, which didn’t seem to be that widespread.
His shoulder itched, and he absentmindedly rubbed it. The trees.
The hard clay of the lower slope had become a softer humus under the trees, easier on his booted feet. A stickiness seemed to ooze from the branches, like a fine mist parted by his passage.
Ahead, he could see where the trees ended, and between the gaps at the edges of the grove before him, the swirling mist. Through the mist he could see the outlines of the lower hills on the eastern side of the Institute. The gap of the Grand Highway was partly visible to the right.
Terwhit…
He looked for the source of the soft call, nearer than the earlier one, but saw nothing, not that he expected to.
As he stepped out from under the last trees, he nodded. In front of him, the turf inclined gently to the drop-off. In spite of himself, he frowned and bent down to check the grass. Another piece of the puzzle.
With slow steps he ambled toward the drop-off, toward the rustic but sturdy black-wood rails and posts planted securely short of the rocky cliff edge. The trail he had surmised was indeed present, but approached the overlook from his right, as if it wound around the crest of the hill, avoiding the trees.
His shoulder itched, and he absentmindedly rubbed it. The fabric parted under his touch. He checked the skin under the disintegrating greens and saw no redness or irritation, then laughed softly.
Live and learn. He checked the rest of his tunic and trousers. Whatever the trees exuded hadn’t seemed to hurt his skin, but the greens he wore wouldn’t be good for much besides rags.
The sky brightened as he looked eastward, watching yellow streaks fan from the horizon above the mist, then fade into green. Directly above the horizon the purple-misted sky lightened toward its normal green-blue. But the mists in the valleys swirled like golden flames above the tree-cloaked hills as the sun reached them.
He looked down at the low and spread-out buildings of the Institute, still shrouded and shadowed, then back at the flame-dance on the horizon.
Light footsteps crinkled toward him from the trail, but he did not turn. Before long the sunrise glory would fade into day, and he wanted to remember it without interruption, without conversation.
The flames faded from the mists, which, ghostlike, dropped back into the distant trees like druids seeking refuge from the light. Slowly, the rising sun bleached the gold from the horizon, and the skies lightened into full dawn.
Finally, the first shafts of sunlight began to fall across the Institute below, striking the lake, casting long shadows from even the single-story buildings.
With a deep breath, he turned.
“Good morning, Ecolitan Andruz.”
Thelina studied his face without saying a word, then looked toward the white-gold orb that hung just above the eastern hills. She glanced back at him, but said nothing.
In turn, he only nodded, then turned and began to walk down the trail and back toward the Institute and the day ahead.
Thelina walked beside him. Both were silent, even as the querles began their soft morning calls from the meadow grass.
Again his long strides were noiseless, despite the heavy boots on his feet.