“I do not know.” Homat gazed at the intimidating trail.
Lyra’s dreams of returning to tranquil Turput were slipping away. “Assuming we could find enough animals to do the job, could we hire enough? Would their owners consent to such an undertaking?”
“If they were promised enough money, certainly,” Homat replied, looking at her as if she’d just disputed a fundamental law of nature.
“What would we pay them with?”
“Our trade goods,” Etienne said. “We have some left.”
“If we use up our remaining supplies we won’t have anything to give any natives we meet beyond this point.”
“If we don’t get beyond this point the question becomes moot.” She had no comeback for that. Etienne turned to Homat. “Would these vroqupii be able to climb as high as Jakaie?” He translated the relevant measurements into Mai terms.
Homat looked uneasy. “We go that much higher than the home of these Tsla who accompany us?” Etienne nodded. “I am not sure. But these Upriver tribes are. proud. They might see such a proposal as a challenge.”
“They wouldn’t freeze. It’s not that high,” Etienne said.
Tyl agreed. “Many Mai hunters hike beyond Turput in search of prey, and their blood continues to flow.”
“How many vroqupii might we need?” Homat wondered. An intense discussion of weight versus capabilities ensued, before the Mai felt comfortable in announcing a figure.
“Thirty at least. Forty would be better, fifty best, and sixty delightful, but I do not think we can find that many willing to try, not even for a share of off-world treasure.”
“We must try,” Etienne told him.
“Then I will do my best to convince the Brul, as they who handle the vroqupii are called.” His bald skull glistened in the reflected cloud-glare of afternoon and he smiled ingenuously. “That is my job, is it not?”
Etienne nodded once. “Let’s get started. Lyra, are you sure you’re willing to go along with this?”
She shrugged. “If you’re determined I couldn’t stop you anyway, Etienne. I think it’s a mistake to sacrifice the rest of our trade goods on a scheme that has a good chance of failing, but I can’t argue that it’s your last chance to go on. Our last chance,” she added with a faint smile.
“I promise,” he told her, “if it looks like we’re not going to make it, we’ll turn back and return to Turput. I know that’s what you want.”
She almost said, “I want what you want, Etienne,” but did not. Their relationship was based on more powerful bonds than artificial acquiescence. They did not give in to each other; they agreed on things. She agreed now and having agreed, considered how best to help.
“Tyl, do you think it can be done with thirty vroqupii?”
“I have watched them pull heavily laden ships Upriver,” the Tsla replied thoughtfully. “They are very strong. But it will require more than mere strength to achieve this thing. It will take cooperation among the Mai who are involved. The vroqupii can, I think, pull thy spirit boat up to Jakaie, but not if the Brul fall to quarreling among themselves.”
“They’ll cooperate!” Homat declared angrily. “I’ll see to it that they do.”
“And why should they listen to thee?” Tyl replied without malice. “Thee are a runaway from one of the far city-states that border the Groalamasan. The river folk do not trust those who come from the lands that lie against the Sea.”
“I am not of the city-states,” Homat said proudly. “Not anymore. I am of,” he hesitated to glance sideways at Etienne and Lyra, “I am of these folk.” Etienne suddenly felt very good.
“Don’t include me in that mental family,” Lyra said sardonically. “I’m going along with this insanity but I don’t believe in it. If Homat wants to consider himself as one with Etienne, that’s fine. Idiocy knows no species boundaries.” Everyone smiled.
“We’ll do it, Lyra,” Etienne told her, putting an arm around her shoulders. “You’ll see. We’ll do it! We’ll get the hydrofoil up to Jakaie, around the Topapasirut, and down to the river on the far side. Then we’ll be on our way again.”
“Sure we will,” she said softly. She inhaled deeply. “Well, I guess we’d better get on with it. The sooner this is begun, the sooner it will end.”
“That’s right,” he replied with a grin, “but not the way you think it will.”
Word was passed down the river, the call going out for the bravest of Brul mahouting only the strongest of mounts. Meanwhile the carpenters of the village of Taranau, which was the last sizable town near the narrowing of the Barshajagad, set about under Etienne’s and Lyra’s instructions building a platform to hold the hydrofoil. It was to be light and strong, with double-wheeled axles fore and aft. These could be bound to the platform which in turn could be attached to the two hydrofoils. Not only would the skeleton frame provide a maximum of support with a minimum of weight, the open woodwork also would not block the downward exhausts of the repellers.
Though they talked as rapidly as their brethren, the Brul turned out to be less loquacious and argumentative than their urbanized relatives. They formed a tightly knit society with rules all their own and wore their pride on their faces. It was not quite group arrogance.
Lyra learned from Homat that most of the Brul lived outside the villages in isolated clusters or in single dwellings with only the immediate family for company. Their lives were devoted to the care and handling of their vroqupii.
As it turned out the Redowls did not have to exhaust their store of trade goods. Once the nature of the enterprise became widely known, Brul arrived from distant locations not to serve for pay but simply to pit the strength and endurance of their animals against those of their competitors.
Still, the expedition was fortunate in engaging forty of the massive animals and their owners. After some discussion among the Brul the vroqupii were yoked to the boat in ten ranks of four abreast. They walked on pile-driver legs and their bellies scraped the earth. The vroqupii was all traction and muscle, its short square head set on a bull neck. A line of horny plates ran along the upper jaw and swept back to form a low ridge above each eye, downcurving to shield the throat.
It was a startling assembly, not the least because with a few faintly yellow exceptions, the vroqupii were clad in short, bristly, rose-hued fur. They grunted and heaved against their harnesses, anxious to get moving. The Brul sat on the soft saddle behind the neck frill, alternately joking with and taunting his fellow drovers.
With the rushing roar of the Skar for counterpoint, the expedition finally got under way. At first there was nothing but good-natured jostling for position as each Brul strove to prove that his animal was the strongest. Eventually the drovers settled down to work, conversation fading as each concentrated on the task at hand.
The vroqupii plodded onward in comparative silence, even when they reached the branch canyon and the way turned steep and difficult. They were used to pulling against the constant pressure of the river, and the incline did not seem to cause them any unusual problems. Etienne knew the real test would come during the final thousand meters, when the air turned cold and thin.
Days passed and their speed slowed only slightly. What did drop off considerably was the amount of joking among the Brul, as the difficulty of what they were attempting began to sink in. Etienne had Homat weaving in and out among the Mai every night, listening for talk of discouragement or dissent.
The tension was hard on everyone, and when they finally passed the four-thousand-meter mark, four-fifths of the way to the top, humans, Tsla, and Mai were as tired as the patient vroqupii. It had been days since any joking had passed among the Brul, and the increasingly cold air was beginning to bother them if not their animals.
A few quit under the strain. One was killed when, shivering from the chill, he fell from his mount and was crushed under the heavy feet of the team behind him before it could be halted. But even those Brul who gave up left their animals in the care of friends, admonished them to return the precious creatures in good condition when the final goal was achieved—if it ever was. Forlorn and disappointed, they straggled back down the trail by ones and twos.
It was the cold that discouraged them more than anything else. By the time the temperature had fallen to sixty degrees the Brul were so wrapped up in heavy clothing it was all they could do to cling to their saddles. A steady breeze tumbled from the flanks of nearby Aracunga, and soon even Etienne and Lyra had to bundle up.
“Do you think we’ll make it?” Lyra asked her husband one day as she finished the latest count of the remaining Brul. “It looks like we just might, if we don’t lose too many more drovers.”
“Don’t you go getting confident on me just when I’m starting to have doubts,” he told her. He blew into his hands. If the temperature fell much further they would have to dig jackets out of the hydrofoil’s storage lockers. The Tsla also looked uncomfortable. It was chillier than it had been during their climb to the Topapasirut.
As Tyl had explained, Jakaie lay at the uppermost limit of Tsla habitation. Above that level even the hardiest Tsla crops withered and died, though one could survive by foraging and hunting. Or so it was said.
Forty-five hundred meters, forty-six, and as Etienne’s nervousness increased, Lyra’s spirits rose.
“We’re going to make it, Etienne. You were right all the time. We’re going to make it.”
“I’ll believe it when the boat’s sitting in Jakaie’s central square,” he told her. “I wish I knew why you get more enthusiastic the closer we come to a crisis point, while I get more and more worried.”
“We complement each other, remember? When I’m down, you’re up, and vice versa.”
“I thought all you wanted was to get back to Turput.”
“I never thought we’d get this far. Now that we have, I’m dying to see how the Tsla of Jakaie have adapted to their harsh environment. There should be different architecture, methods of farming, cooking, everything. Society as a function of altitude. There’s a whole paper in that.”
“Must be a very close-knit population.”
“I agree, but what makes you think so? You usually don’t speculate in my field.”
