Bones on Mars - A paranormal, sci-fi, fantasy romance

Bridges

"Huh?" Floyd caught his jaw dropping, so he snapped it shut.

The city was still there. A living city, where lights now winked into being, and little dark shapes moved over an endless array of bridges, criss-crossing a void that must have been deeper than the Mariana Trench.

It sure looked that way—turquoise mists around the edges and a deepening blue below, as if a black hole had fallen into the ocean.

Muffled noises drifted across from afar, laughing and the shuffling of many feet. What looked like a caravan of people carrying packs on their backs was on the move, headed for the glittering maze of buildings.

"Huh," said Mul. It sounded satisfied, even slightly amused.

The big man stomped past the dying fire to the cave's ledge and waved at Floyd to follow. He swung around. Leela was still sleeping, her head on her smooth arms, a slight smile curving her lips.

Was she dreaming of protocols and life on Mars?

What's there to smile about?

"I can't leave her." Floyd pointed at the snoozing Mars mission commander. He bent over and picked up the last remaining log, which he then dumped onto the fire. Embers sparked and smoke puffed up.

Mul stomped back to Floyd's side and issued what sounded like a string of throaty consonants chasing each other's tails.

"Sorry?" Floyd asked.

On the bed of furs, Leela stretched, mumbled something, and turned her back on the fire.

Despite his apparent age, Mul crouched without effort, looking like a hairy boulder. He might have been rolling his eyes, but with the shadow thrown by his brow ridge, it was hard to tell what was going on in the wizened face underneath.

He pressed his hands together just like El had done.

Floyd tensed.

Uh, oh.

From between the old man's hairy paws rose a delicate tendril of opal smoke, gyrating like a translucent dancer. The smoke swirled and curled into a ball made of moving mists that threw a gentle glow on Mul's face.

The old man stood, opened his hands, and tossed the ball at the ceiling of the rock shelter. There it stuck, pulsating gently.

Mul then returned to the lip of the shelter, where the golden city still filled the view in Escher-like confusion. Bridges and stairs everywhere, crossing each other, leading to—that wasn't a city. That was a monstrous cliff dotted with glittery openings and slashed by horizontal ledges.

A bit like a super upmarket version of the Anasazi cliff dwellings laced with a hefty dose of surrealism. Some of the square structures slotted into the ledges looked like pastel-tainted Bauhaus mansions. Others bore rounded domes, like Greek churches in the Aegean sea. They weren't blue, though.

A seagull screeched past the shelter. So, presumably there was some sea around here somewhere.

A throaty hum filled the shelter, and it took Floyd a moment to suss that Mul was singing.

The seagull returned. This time, it shot straight into the cave.

At least, that must have been the intention. The bird rammed into an invisible obstacle and flumped to the floor.

There it sat, blinking in avine confusion.

Yeah, pal. You and me both.

Mul grinned. He pointed first at the bird, then at the ball.