Bright of the Sky by Kay Kenyon Page B

time she glanced up irritably at him, muttering.
    This woman had saved his life. Where would he have found water in this barren place? But where was she taking him? He was not ready to face others in this state: weak, disoriented, confused. And now he appeared to be a less-than-welcome guest. If he could just remember . Whatever had transpired the last time he was here, it was an unclaimed territory: deep inside of him yet out of reach.
    At last the woman rose and, coming close, scrutinized his face. She nodded, pursing her lips, as though she’d just swallowed something distasteful. She turned to the pack beast and retrieved a length of cloth. By her gestures, he realized she wanted to drape his head. He kneeled as she wound the cloth and tucked it in.
    This accomplished, she brought out a small box, opening it to reveal a remarkable thing: two small golden lenses. With gestures she showed him how to wear them.
    He hesitated to put them on.
    Her mouth formed a sneer of impatience. She gripped her neck and made a choking gesture. Evidently there was danger in being blue-eyed. He had little choice but to trust her, and he knelt down to cradle the box and insert the lenses into his eyes. Annoyingly, his vision clouded, but he was not uncomfortable.
    The woman nodded with satisfaction. “Nahil,” she said.
    He decided to trust her for now. She had revealed that he was in danger, and that she would help him. Even so little information was priceless.
    They set out again, his guide insisting that he ride. Quinn felt a new energy, even an exultation. His strength was returning. He had survived. So far, he had survived.
    At length they and their pack beast emerged from the narrow valley down which they had been traveling for hours. Before them lay a sight that both thrilled and sobered him: a colossal plain, relentlessly flat. Spanning it all, the heavens sparkled, forming an endless bright cloud to the limits of vision. In the sky’s soft folds he perceived just the slightest dimming into lavender.
    As they descended onto the plains, he saw that at the edge of the flatlands was a towering wall of blue-black that stretched to the limit of sight. The valley they had just come down—perhaps five miles wide—pierced that wall like a tributary. They had been in a minor valley. Now they were in the heart of things.
    The wall was a dark escarpment, appearing to form the boundary of the world itself. At an awful height, it bore down on them, bringing a feeling of chaos restrained. It raced toward them over the dry mud pans. . . . But even as his eyes told him this, he knew the wall didn’t move.
    Later. He would understand it later.
    Several people with pack beasts passed them on their route. The road was little more than a dusty track. If they knew how to make eye lenses, he thought it strange they used no mechanized transport.
    One man turned around to take a second look at Quinn, but otherwise he did not draw attention. His skin was slightly darker than most others here, but there were variations in skin tone, and he thought he might pass as long as he didn’t have to speak.
    The clouds overhead were cooling toward a time that might be dusk. It seemed that the day had been many hours too long already, yet still the sky-bright churned. They were approaching an inhabited place.
    They came upon a corral of pack beasts like his own. Beyond this, a dusty but clean settlement—little more than three dozen or so huts, made of an irregular, molded material of an indescribable color somewhere between black and gold.
    The people here conveyed an impression of lean physicality, precise of movement with little wasted on gestures. He would have said fighters, though he saw no arms. By their behavior they appeared more like traders— ones who knew a fair price and meant to fetch it. He had difficulty distinguishing men from women at a casual glance, for their dress had no obvious gender markers.
    Into one of the huts his companion went