Journey - Book II of the Five Worlds Trilogy by Al Sarrantonio

cleared hollow and onto the newer snow plains of the recent storm; and Shatz Abel, whooping from his position in the center of the sled, maneuvered the sail and turned them north.
    “Away we go, my king! Away we go!”
    Dalin shouted into the wind and looked back at the rapidly disappearing hill that had, up until a few moments ago, imprisoned him.
    No wonder I feel nothing for it.
    “Yes! Away!” he shouted.
    “Ha ha!” the pirate answered, as they sped on. Soon even their hill was lost to sight behind them, and Dalin knew that he had seen it for the last time.
     
    T hey covered ten kilos by sled the first day, then tented a camp and covered the final twelve by midday the second. SunOne was high overhead, washing out stars to either side of it yet leaving a black corona of night sky at the horizon, when Shatz Abel lowered the sail and they coasted to a stop at the far edge of a level plain.
    Before them, the land changed radically. What had been smooth snow became jagged gullies and sharp hillocks; but the far mountains seemed noticeably closer.
    “Foothills of the Plutoman Apennines,” Shatz Abel explained. “From now on it’s rough and rougher, till we get to the mountains themselves. Luckily we get to pass between two of ‘em across a valley. The others would surely kill us.”
    Dalin studied them with their single pair of ancient binoculars; they looked much as they had when he had dropped into the atmosphere courtesy of Wrath-Pei: like jagged teeth waiting to bite him.
    “I suppose we’ll see,” Dalin said.
    “That we will. If …”
    He stopped himself and said, “Time to secure whatever gear we can’t bring, and get ready for our trek tomorrow.”
    Overhead a moving dot of light caught Dalin’s eye; it seemed to detach itself from SunOne and move off toward the distant mountains.
    Shatz Abel said, “You’ve seen your first transport heading for Tombaugh City, my king. We’re now close enough to pick them up as they drop. A good sign, no?”
    Dalin nodded. “A good sign.”
    They worked, securing and camouflaging their gear, pitched camp again, and waiting for the next morning.
     
    “N ow we walk!” Shatz Abel said.
    Dalin’s pack felt as if he were carrying himself on his own back; but he said nothing, noting that the pirate’s pack was twice the size of his own. The snow boots he wore seemed oversized, but he soon came to see their advantages, when they hit the first deep pool of drifted snow and the boots kept him from sinking as their webbed soles automatically widened.
    “Look back!” Shatz Abel ordered, when they stopped to rest briefly an hour later.
    Dalin looked behind them and was surprised to see that nothing looked familiar. It was as if they had dropped onto another planet; for the moment, at least, gone were the snow plains and familiar hills; the landscape in all directions looked more like ancient Mars after an infrequent snowfall, pocked with glazed boulders and rusty rocks.
    “It gets even stranger ahead,” Shatz Abel promised. “Ready?”
    Dalin adjusted his pack and breathed deep. “Ready,” he said.
    They trudged on, snow dust gradually giving way to stretches of black, interspersed with lengthy patches of ice. Dalin’s boots adjusted as well as they were able; on the ice, tiny spikes were activated, keeping him from falling; but once or twice, in the middle of black-red sand, his boots mistook this substance for snow and widened, nearly pitching Dalin over. He learned to trudge carefully.
    But soon there was more ice than anything: a bluish plain swept with snow devils that twirled like dervishes around them. Cracks in the surface appeared, sometimes forming strange pictures; some looked like spider webs, or a Screen’s interference patterns, or the tendrilous heart of a nebula’s star-forming region. One looked like an Earth cow; another like a distorted human face.
    “Dalin! Look out!”
    The king was so absorbed in finding pictures that he nearly stepped