There was no mistaking it: this was the place where they had left their offspring and agreed to rendezvous. What had happened? It was unthinkable for a young tyrannosaur to willfully disobey its parents. Nor was there any reason to abandon the glade. There was food aplenty in the immediate vicinity and fresh water in a nearby stream. No Rainy Basin carnosaur would bother a juvenile Tyrannosaurus for fear of incurring the wrath of its parents.
The adults were frustrated and baffled. Even more puzzling was the presence near the glade of multiple human spoor. What were humans doing in this part of the Rainy Basin? It was far from the routes they usually used when crossing. And why was their scent mixed with that of many struthies?
The familiar convoy smell of armored sauropods and ceratopsians was absent. Was there a group of humans so foolish as to think they could move freely about the Rainy Basin without the protection of other dinosaurs? Unbelievable as it seemed, such appeared to be the case.
Crookeye’s mate growled at him and he lumbered over to join her. The strong integrated odor she had located was unmistakable: human and young tyrannosaur, moving out of the clearing and off into the forest in intimate contact with each other. Both knew that their offspring would not accept human company voluntarily. Though neither was a philosopher or teacher in the manner of certain of the civilized dinosaurs, neither were they especially dense. What the implausible confluence of scents suggested was something too infuriating to be believed.
Their confusion was only compounded by the lingering smell of Strutbiomimus.
The multiple scents trailed away to the east. That, too, made no sense. Nothing lay in that direction; no human trade routes, no Places of Passing, nothing but empty forest. Yet that was unquestionably the direction the unprecedented group of travelers had taken.
Snout to snout, the parents conversed in low grunts and growls. Their progeny would never voluntarily have abandoned the glade. Had the unthinkable happened and the unknown humans resorted to coercion? Would they dare? Or had something else occurred, something they had no knowledge of?
The human scent smelled strongly of the sea. Humans who traveled the Rainy Basin always brought fish with which to appease the carnosaurs they encountered. Had these travelers taken to eating their own tribute? There were too many questions. Grimly, the two adults strode off in search of some answers.
They found the humans’ first camp quickly enough, and soon after that the palisade of bone. This peculiar and unprecedented structure both angered and perplexed them. Civilized constructions did not belong in the Rainy Basin.
Using their heads and feet, it took the angry tyrannosaurs only a few minutes to demolish the entire edifice.
This accomplished, they resumed tracking those who had raised the structure in defiance of all previous understandings and common sense. Advancing with long, patient strides, snouts dipping occasionally to the ground to reconfirm the presence of the scent trail, they tracked the departed. No matter how fast the humans moved, they could not outpace the adult tyrannosaurs.
But as the rain continued to fall, the trail grew progressively fainter. Frustration mounted. Instead of stepping over a tree that had fallen in their path, Shethorn grabbed it in her jaws and snapped it in two, slinging one section twenty feet into the woods as easily as a dog would toss a piece of chicken bone. Their fury was palpable, and those creatures who happened to be passing nearby gave the marauding giants an even a wider berth than usual.
The tyrannosaurs would find these humans who had dared to enter their territory unannounced and without proper tribute, and who had somehow induced their only offspring into traveling with them. When that meeting occurred, there would be no silken translator talk of treaties and compacts. Words would be set aside and it would be tyrannosaur tradition that would be honored.
Many Confucians had settled in Dinotopia, and it was one of their number who had propounded this sound maxim: “When encountering a tyrannosaur in a bad mood, the wise man prefers strong legs to a facile voice.”
XI
keelk couldn't remember how many days she’d been on the move, alternately walking and running from the sound or smell of anything larger than herself, before she found the way up.
It was an ancient walkway, much overgrown with weeds, bushes, and flowers. It scaled the otherwise sheer cliff face in a series of dramatic switchbacks that were barely discernible from below. Who had hacked the path from the solid rock, when, and for what reason, she did not know. She knew only that it offered salvation in the form of a way out of the frightful Rainy Basin.
As she started forward she thought she could see signs of human handiwork. How wonderful it must be, she mused, to have an opposable thumb. So narrow and treacherous was the crumbling pathway that not even a small carnosaur could have made use of it.
But a Strutbiomimus could, especially one as young, agile, and resolute as Keelk.
Drinking her fill from a pool of pure rainwater that had collected at the base of the cliff, she steeled herself and started up. As she did so, she looked longingly at the scattered fruit trees she was leaving behind. There was plenty to eat in the Rainy Basin, but gathering food took time and energy. Ignorance of her siblings’ and parents’ current condition drove her onward. Somehow she would have to derive nourishment from desperation.
Primitive and unmaintained, the path promised death to the unwary. She was careful to spy out the condition of the surface before placing her weight on any section. This slowed her progress, but a long fall would slow her far more. In this fashion she ascended, until she was able to turn her neck and look out across much of the Rainy Basin, a vast sea of undulating green capped this morning by a thick froth of low clouds and mist. Resignedly, she returned her attention to the route ahead.
Once, she came to a place where the path had eroded away entirely, leaving a gap equal to several strides. A misstep would result in a fatal plunge of several hundred feet. Try as she might, she could see no way around.
Retracing her steps all the way back down to the Rainy Basin and beginning her search for a way out all over again was out of the question. She was too tired and had expended too much effort in coming this far. Backing up carefully, she settled herself on her haunches and gauged the distance. In the trials she had been accounted a good leaper, but this was not the long jump at the Junior Dinosaurian Olympics. If she missed here . . .
She thought of Hisaulk and Shremaza, always close by when she needed them, and of querulous Tryll and irritating but loyal Arimat. What obstacles were they being forced to confront? What dangers besides mad humans threatened them?
Exploding forward from her preparatory stance, she strained to increase her stride on the absurdly narrow runway formed by the path, keeping her head and body low. Planting her right foot on what must surely be the last solid bit of trail, she pushed off into the air. She dared not look down until she felt herself starting to descend.
Her landing was awkward but not injurious as she slammed hard into the rocky surface on the far side of the gap, having cleared the missing section by several feet. She stumbled once, sending gravel spinning off into space, and then steadied herself. Her heart was pounding like an agitated pteranodon’s and her lower legs throbbed from absorbing the impact of her landing . . . but she was across!
She resumed climbing without looking back.
That was the worst place. There were no more gaps in the trail, and the switchbacks began to grow wider as sheer cliff finally gave way to a more gradual slope. The ascent was still steep, but the slope below her no longer was precipitous. She estimated she had climbed nearly a thousand feet from the floor of the Rainy Basin.
Now a new conundrum presented itself. Having guided her clear of the basin, the ancient trail soon petered out, losing itself among scrub and grass in a dry creek bed. Higher up she could make out deciduous trees, mostly oaks and a few sycamores. Higher still she knew she was likely to encounter pines, firs, redwoods, and ginkgoes.
Following th
e dry tributary led her to a rushing stream from which she drank deeply and gratefully. From here on she was unlikely to lack for water. Food was another matter. She was painfully aware of the void in her belly. The cooler temperature helped.
Though her knowledge of stellar navigation was woefully deficient, she tried to guide herself as best she could by using the stars. In this fashion she pressed on in what she hoped was the general direction of Bent Root, pausing only to eat whatever looked edible while praying it would stay down. Though dry and tasteless, most of it did.
The Backbone Mountains were not accommodating, cliffs and gullies and impassable lakes forcing her farther to the west than she would have liked. She had no choice but to go on and hope to find a way that would allow her to double back. If she missed Bent Root entirely, she might easily wander around in the mountains until she dropped from exhaustion.
Remembering the bounty of fruit available for the picking down in the Rainy Basin, her stomach growled constantly, unsatisfied by her meager diet of tubers, roots, insects, and seed cones. Above the four-thousand-foot mark food became scarcer than ever, and she had to rely on eating insects more than she would have liked. They took time and energy to catch, and she had neither to spare.
Somehow she kept on, driven by the thought of what the odious humans might be doing to her family. She would find her way to Bent Root! She had to.
She wasn’t sure how high she’d climbed, but it didn’t really matter. She was weakening rapidly now. Insects had become difficult to find at all, and the few nuts she was able to reach were harder to digest and more difficult to reach than the fruit she was accustomed to gathering on family or group outings. Foraging was an art in which she was not especially skilled.
Ever since she’d fled her captivity she’d been walking a fine line between pressing onward and stopping to find food. As she began to stagger instead of pace smoothly, a part of her was aware that she’d stepped dangerously far over that line. She was no longer walking normally, her long smooth strides having given way to short steps marred by a distinct wobble. Instead of carrying her head high, she allowed it to sway from side to side. As strength seeped out of her, so did any semblance of grace. Though she did not know it, she was in the last stages of physical exhaustion.
Topping a saddle between two peaks, she determined to follow the stream that flowed down the other side. That was when she saw the smoke.
Her first thought was that it was a natural fire, perhaps started by lightning. There was a lot of that high up in the Backbones. Blinking, she found she could separate the smoke into a dozen distinct plumes, each regular of shape and of similar density and color. Not a forest fire, then. The cook-fires of a settlement. Bent Root!
Heedlessly plunging downward, she fairly flew between the boles of the towering trees that clung to the northern slope of the mountain. Firs and sequoias swollen to astonishing proportions became blurs on either side as she lengthened her stride recklessly.
The creek that paralleled her flight might contain freshwater crawfish, or mussels, or tasty snails. She knew she should stop to eat, but with help so near at hand she raced onward. At this point she felt it would take almost as much energy to gather food as to run, and she had nothing left in reserve. She chose to run.
The stream leveled off and widened out to form a small mountain lake. Water fell in a shaft of silver over a rock precipice. Slowing, she was astonished to see spread out below her an entire community. It was not Bent Root, but it was known to her through story and traveler’s tale if not from personal experience. Those unique arboreal dwellings, the special sauropod barns, the aerial walkways ... she knew this place.
Everyone had heard of Treetown.
Humans bustled about in the treetops like bees in a hive, while on the ground more humans picked their way between or worked alongside dozens of dinosaurs. Dinosaurs of every shape and description, from genial duckbills to waddling ankylosaurs. Petite coelurosaurs darted swiftly through the crowds, often ducking beneath the bellies of their larger cousins to save time.
So vibrant with life and energy, with good feelings and doings, was the panorama that she was nearly overcome with relief. Opening her mouth, she found that she lacked the strength to shout. She was simply too tired. Not that she was likely to be heard at such a distance anyway, she told herself.
She really had wandered far to the west.
As she started down the steep but easily negotiated slope, she saw that the main north road was crowded with heavily laden dinosaurs and carts. Household goods bobbed on anky-losaurian backs, while big clay jars of milled rice jostled with amphoras of wine on the flanks of frilled ceratopsians.
The Northern Plains evacuation, she reminded herself as she staggered and stumbled down the slope. It must be well under way. It was the same evacuation her father had alluded to and that had precipitated the family’s departure from the foothills of that same region.
Thinking of the evacuation, she did not look where she was going and so never saw the rock. It slid out from beneath her left foot. Too exhausted to regain her balance, she felt herself falling.
Maybe, she thought as she hit the ground, I should have stopped and looked for some crawfish.
This was silly. She was almost there, almost to Treetown. She would walk in and tell her story to the first person, human or dinosaur, that she saw. They would take her to the authorities, who would send a rescue party to free her family. All she had to do was attract someone’s—anyone’s—attention. Then she could relax. Why, the road was just ahead.
She half rose before collapsing, too spent even to exhale a final sigh. Her legs had never betrayed her before. She argued with them, but they refused to listen. Was this, she wondered, what her teachers called irony? Lying there unable to move, she felt she could hear the distant hootings and rumblings of
other dinosaurs, the entertaining babble of humans. It made her feel sleepy, so sleepy....
Everything made her feel sleepy now.
It was a very peculiar bird indeed that dropped down next to her motionless, recumbent form. Cocking its head to one side, it peered curiously at her face. Fluttering its bright red wings, it landed on her back and began to pace back and forth, using its clawed feet to maintain its perch. Occasionally it would open and close its beak, the tiny teeth within making a distinctive clicking sound.
Hopping down to the ground, it plucked gently but insistently at her forearm with its toothy jaws and the claws on each wing. When she still didn’t respond, the Archaeopteryx spread brilliant wings, flashing streaks of iridescent gold amid the crimson. Hooting mournfully in a manner somewhat like a cross between an owl and a pigeon, it launched itself skyward, swooping low before accumulating enough air beneath its flashy but primitive wings to begin flapping. Still hooting, it soared off into the trees, leaving the unconscious struthie behind.
“DOES!” SHOUTED ONE OF THE BOYS.
“Does not!” insisted the girl next to him.
She had just turned seventeen, as had her three friends. Hiking south, they had left Treetown as much to get away from the noise and dust of the many arriving evacuees as to avoid being roped into work they thought none of their business.
Presently they were arguing as to whether or not a mutual good friend was too much under the thumb of his parents or simply doing the right thing. The young woman who’d just objected continued to do so energetically, because to admit that what their absent friend was doing was right would be to confess that what they were presently doing by avoiding their work responsibilities was wrong.
“They don’t need us down there,” her boyfriend claimed. “Look.” He waved loosely in the direction of town. “We’d just be in the way. We don’t have any experience at this sort of thing.”
“But that’s how you get experience,” argued the other boy. “By doing. Don’t you think so, Mei-tin?”
The girl next to him brushed dark hair out of her eyes. “I don’t know, Ahmed. I think in all the conf
usion you might get stepped on, but at the same time I think we probably ought to be helping.”
“Come on.” The other girl made a face. “Have you ever heard of a dinosaur stepping on someone?”
“Well, there are stories—”
The first girl cut her off. “There are always ‘stories.’ You need facts, not stories. Have you forgotten your schooling along with your responsibilities?”
The shorter teen halted and wagged a warning finger at her friend. “Don’t lecture me, Tina! You’re here, too, don’t forget.” “That’s right,” added her boyfriend. “Don’t forget that. . . hey, there’s Redwing! I wondered where she’d gone off to.”
He extended his right arm and the Archaeopteryx glided to a landing, touching down on the leather patch sewn onto the shoulder of the boy’s jersey. Instead of settling down as usual, the bird continued to flap its wings and hoot excitedly. Before its owner could reach up to calm it, Redwing rose again into the air and*soared away southward. Landing on a branch, it continued to hoot and flap energetically.
“Now, what do you suppose that’s all about?” Her owner’s expression reflected the puzzlement he felt at her unusual behavior.
“Mating display?” quipped the other boy.
The bird’s owner sniffed. “Very funny. Look at her, jumping up and down. What’s wrong with her?”
“Can’t you tell?” Mei-tin had already started forward. “She wants us to follow her. Just like in the stories.”
“More stories.” The owner shook his head wryly. “You read too many stories, Mei. Nothing ever happens in Dinotopia, and especially here in Treetown. It’s a dull, boring country hamlet. Nothing like Sauropolis.” His eyes glittered. “Now, there’s a town!”
Once more the Archaeopteryx rose, flew southward a few yards, and landed on another branch, whereupon the active sound and sight display was promptly repeated.