Free John Carter by Stuart Moore Page B

beneath him, and he struggled to right it.
    â€œThey will not reach the Gates,” Matai said. “Wherever they are, I am already there.”
    By the time they reached the River Iss, the thoats were parched. Carter led his mount down to the black water and left it to drink. He stood taking in the scene as Sola and Dejah Thoris rode up behind him and dismounted. Faithful Woola had found them again too and galloped up to join them at river’s edge.
    Carter had expected to see signs of life around the river—bodies of water were very rare on Barsoom. But the shore held no people, red or green. Only canoes, some wrecked and some whole, all littered with abandoned food and offerings. A fatal stillness hung over the landscape.
    Sola gestured at the offerings. “Here, pilgrims must leave behind all they have, all they know. Never to return.” She lowered her head, spoke more softly. “May the Goddess find me worthy.”
    Carter glanced briefly at her. Sola had been very quiet for the past day. Carter wished, not for the first time, that he understood the Tharks better.
    He knelt down, scooped up a handful of water—and pitched over as Woola slammed into him, whimpering and licking his face.
    â€œWoola!”
    Then Dejah gasped. Carter looked up, followed her gaze, and saw his thoat lying dead on the riverbank a few feet away. Foam oozed out of its muzzle.
    â€œThe water is poisonous.” Thoroughly, Carter shook the water off his hands and wiped them clean. He turned to Woola, who sat panting next to him. “Good boy!”
    Then he spied Sola, beginning a solemn march down to the river.
    â€œWait!”
    Carter leaped up and landed on the riverbank between Sola and the water. She reached out to push him aside, but he stood firm. “What do you think you’re doing?”
    â€œIt is my way, Dotar Sojat. Not yours.” Her voice was flat. “I must honor my Jeddak, and redeem my unworthiness.”
    â€œYou want to honor your father? Then stay alive and help me.”
    â€œMy father ?”
    Too late, Carter realized what he’d just said.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” she continued.
    â€œSola…that’s what drives your compassion. The blood of your father, of Tars Tarkas. Of all the Tharks, you’re the only one worthy of him.”
    Carter watched her for a moment, saw her struggle with this new knowledge. He felt the urge to reach out to her and realized something very strange. As inhuman—as alien—as she was, Sola was the closest thing to a mother he’d known for a long, long time.
    He turned away and crossed to one of the intact canoes.
    â€œAnd your duty to your father demands that you see me through.” He held out an oar, gesturing to the canoe. “Just help me find the Gates. Then you can decide what your honor requires.”
    Sola stared at the oar. Dejah Thoris walked up behind Carter and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.
    â€œJust to the Gates, then.” Sola took the oar and climbed into the canoe.
    When Carter looked over at Dejah, she was smiling at him. The most tender, human smile he’d yet seen on this world.
    They left poor Woola on the riverbank, whimpering and fidgeting, to guard the remaining thoats. The water was thick but flowing with a strong current that pushed them downstream toward their destination.
    Sola kept watch, eyeing the water carefully for omens. Once she gestured, and Carter paddled the canoe over to the bank. A flatboat glided by bearing three gaunt, unmoving Tharks. Two of them knelt in the bow, chanting low, while the third stood aft, poling the boat like some eerie gondolier of death.
    â€œOther pilgrims,” Sola said.
    They paddled for the better part of a day, past broken piers and abandoned boats. Finally they drifted around a sharp bend, and Carter reached for Dejah with sudden excitement.
    The Gates of Iss loomed before them, an inverted pyramid that seemed to grow up out of