"I am not familiar with your settlements, Badrae."

The older man held his gaze. "There are several," he said. "The ones best able to fulfill our needs are to be found close to the area of the mines." His expression became slightly calculating. "Will that suit your purpose, Sandon Yl Aris?"

The use of his full name caught Sandon slightly off guard. "Yes, yes. Of course. And I am immensely grateful for all you've done for me, all you continue to do for me."

"It is no more than we would do for anyone." Badrae turned back to look over the camp. "You are welcome to stay with us as long as you need." There was an air of finality about the last statement.

"Um, Badrae..."

"What more, Sandon?"

"Was that a member of the Church of the Prophet I saw with you earlier?"

"That is none of your concern."

"But isn't it -- ?"

Badrae swung then, his eyes full of sudden fire. "None of your concern!"

Sandon swallowed the rest of his question. "Yes, of course," he said, gave a brief tilt of his head and turned away. He could feel Badrae watching him all the way as he walked back across the camp, heading for Alise's wagon.

The noise of breaking camp drew him to consciousness. He stumbled out of the small tent and looked around himself. During the course of the night, much of the campsite had already been cleared down, the remaining items being bundled and packed away in wagons and carts. The camp was much barer now, and only a few of the tents remained in place. Sandon's was one of the last. Without a word, two of the Atavist family, having noticed him emerge, headed toward his tent.

"Hold a minute," he said to them, and they waited patiently while he ducked inside and retrieved the book. It would be likely that they'd have weeks of travel, rather than days, and he preferred to have something else to do other than bombarding Alise with further questions. Eventually she'd get bored with his constant chatter, and he didn't want that at all. As soon as he reappeared, the pair of Atavists started breaking down the tent and folding it away. Within moments, it had been carted off for stowing in one of the wagon beds that seemed to carry more than half of all the camp's equipment. It was all remarkably efficient. Sandon ran his fingers through his hair and looked around for the communal wash facilities, but there was no sign. He wrinkled his nose in distaste at the thought, but it was clear he'd have to make do with being unwashed and unkempt, at least for today. Hopefully Alise could put up with him. Perhaps she might have some sort of herbal scent he could apply to mask the odor of his body. That brought another thought. He'd made the a.s.sumption that he would travel with her. He'd better check that it was an acceptable arrangement. Despite the amount of time they'd already spent together, he didn't want to presume, and he wasn't sure about how their whole a.s.sociation was being viewed by the rest of the family. No, he'd better check. He headed for her wagon to do exactly that.

He needn't have worried. Alise was inside, making the final preparations, making sure everything was secured and stowed in its proper place. Bunches of herbs, the results of their gathering exercise, hung upside down from the wagon's ceiling, and a faint vegetable smell permeated the atmosphere inside. Alise looked up from what she was doing as Sandon poked his head through the rear flap.

"Sandon. I wondered when you might appear," she said.

He flashed her a brief smile. "Well, I'm here," he said.

"And not before time. Are you ready to leave? I presume you are coming with us."

"Well, yes. That's my plan. I have nowhere else to go right now."

"Good. Though you should think about a better reason for being here, don't you think?"

He felt slightly chastened by the remark. "No, I didn't mean -- "

"It is all right, Sandon," she said. "You are coming with us, and that's what matters. If you can help me with the last of these things, then we too shall be ready to leave."

He placed the book down on one of the internal side benches, and she glanced at it, then gave a look of approval. With a brief nod, she beckoned him over. "Here, I need to tie this. Hold it in place for me?"

He crouched beside her and held the bundle in place while she secured it with coa.r.s.e twine. He watched her as she concentrated on her task, the clear blue eyes, the healthy skin, her hair swept behind and tied behind her head. This close, there was the scent of her again, clean, fresh. She looked up from what she was doing and caught him watching her. An almost imperceptible twitch of her lips, and she looked away again, and then crossed to secure one last bundle.

"There we are," she said without turning around. "That is the last of them. If you come up front with me, we can join the rest of the group."

He moved through the wagon, and pushing through the front flaps, positioned himself on the hard board up front. No cushions, no padding, nothing. Hours of traveling like this, days even, and he was going to have hardwood impressed forever on his backside. He refrained from commenting, and turned his attention to the various wagons and carts drawing together in an ordered line in the center of what had, until this morning, been a bustling campsite. There was no confusion, no real noise. It all happened in the unhurried, uncomplicated manner that most of the things undertaken by the Atavists had occurred since he had been here.

"So, you found Badrae?" she asked, as she steered the padders toward their place in the line.

"Yes," said Sandon.

"And did he satisfy your curiosity?"

"More or less. He gave me some idea where we might be heading. Which reminds me. Do you often have dealings with the Church of the Prophet, Alise?"

She looked at him with an almost frown. "I don't know what you mean," she said.

"Well, do you have much to do with them?"

"Our beliefs are based upon the same teachings, but other than that, I still do not know what you are asking, Sandon."

"It doesn't matter," he said. She gave him a curious look, held it for a moment, and then let it pa.s.s.

Theirs was one of the last wagons to draw into place. A few moments more, while everything got settled, and then the front wagons drew out, leading the rest of the line. For such a large group, the departure was as ordered as the preparations. The wagons creaked forward in a long column. A few Atavists rode up and down the sides on their padders keeping pace with the general progress, and others walked, either carrying packs, or with the aid of long ajura wood staves. The sound of the wheels turning and the occasional snort from one or other of the padders was interspersed with the clanking of metal pots and containers against the wagon sides. The start of the column moved unhurriedly forward, up the slope and away from the clearing.

"Alise?"

"Yes, Sandon."

"Where are we going?"

"Where we are meant to go. Where the Prophet wills."

"But we're heading the wrong way." Sandon peered around the side of the wagon and looked behind them, then turned back. "The path down is there, behind us."

"So it is," she said. "One of them. But we have something to do first."

"What do you mean?"

She smiled at him. "Wait and see, Sandon. Learn patience."

He clamped his jaw tightly shut and willed himself to calm. Sometimes she spoke to him as if she were indulging a small child. All right. He would wait. He turned to watch the pa.s.sing landscape, occasionally focusing his attention on one or another of the pa.s.sing Atavists who rode or marched alongside their wagon. There was still little to distinguish one from the other. He'd have to spend a lot more time with them if he wanted to really know them and be able to tell them apart.

Two hours, they took to get where they were going. It was a long march up and behind the city of Yarik, obscured by intervening rises and inhospitable scrubland, the landscape broken intermittently by a solitary gnarled and stunted spiny-leafed tree or profusion of boulders. This was a direction that the city's population rarely ventured in, up and away into the mountainous wasteland. There was nothing really there for them. Perhaps as kids, they had come this way, exploring out beyond the city's edges, but not for years. He scanned the area around them as they traveled, looking for anything unusual, which might prompt them to come this way rather than down from the plateau. Just a continuous stretch of rock, bare sandy ground and vegetation struggling against the landscape.

Finally, when he had decided there was no reason at all for their direction, the lead wagons drew to a halt. One by one, the rest of the line pulled up beside them, forming a wide arc halfway up the low rise. Individually and in pairs, the Atavists climbed down from their wagons and carts, from their padders, or strode up to join the broad semi-circle upon the hillside. Alise beckoned for him to climb down, and she led him forward to join the rest of them. The entire family grouping was here, now, arrayed before their vehicles and animals. They waited a few moments more, while one or another tethered their beasts to a wagon side, or moved quietly into position. Sandon frowned. He had absolutely no idea what was happening.

"Alise?" She put a finger to her lips and gently gripped his arm to still him. They stood there, unmoving, silent, the breeze blowing around them, stirring their robes, until from the arc's center, a five strong group of elders stepped forward and turned to face their brethren. One of them spoke, an elder that Sandon did not recognize.

"One more season, and we return to learn the lesson of our forebears," he said in a loud, clear voice. "One more season, and we see the legacy left to us by the First Families." He turned and headed up toward the crest. The other four elders fell in behind him and walked, slowly, solemnly up the rise. When they reached the top, they turned, and together, they gestured the rest of the large group forward. Sandon glanced at Alise, but she seemed to be totally absorbed in the proceedings. As she too stepped forward, he took his lead from her, falling in beside her slow, measured step.

As they reached the top of the rise, moving as one, the entire group knelt and clasped their hands in front of themselves. Sandon was left standing, staring down in front of him, his mouth open, barely comprehending what lay before him. Broad arced shapes stuck up from the dip in the landscape below. Curved like vast, rusted claws, they reached up to the yellowing sky. A flat area of wide flat metallic surface ran between these spars, clumped here and there with vegetation as it had pushed through in places, fighting against all resistance. Mounds of indefinable objects lay scattered across this surface, either below, or attached to the ribcage of the huge metallic beast that lay spread out before him. Halfway up one of the ribs, a vast sheet angled to the ground, forming an inclined plane to the sky. A ball of old dried vegetation rolled across the lower surface as the wind rose and plucked at his hair and clothes. He kept staring, unable to do anything else, finally remembering to close his mouth as Alise reached up and dragged him down to kneel beside her.

He could barely drag his eyes from the sight in front of him as finally understanding came to him. This was one of the landing craft that had come from the enormous colony ship that had carried their ancestors across the reaches. This was all that remained of one of the vessels that had made it down in that disastrous landing so many seasons ago. Here lay the skeletal remains of his heritage, of their history, of all of their history. Of course he knew that there were still remains of these craft, but he had forgotten about them, pushing the memory to the back of his mind. He hadn't really thought about them since he was a child. It was the sort of reminder of the Return that most of the population preferred to forget.

The elder was speaking again, but Sandon barely heard what he was saying. "Let us give thanks to the Words of the Prophet, that he has shown us the way. Let us spend a few moments in reflection, understanding what it is we have been shown. Let us thank the Prophet for these reminders of the goodness and rightness of our lives." He raised his hands and closed his eyes.

Beside Sandon, Alise bowed her head and closed her eyes. All along the line, the other Atavists did the same. Sandon stared at the picture in front of him, the decaying remnants of the vision that had brought them here and thrown them helpless against the whims of the twin suns above.

Thirteen.

"Yosset, I don't care about that at all. You know what we have to do, but you're always so afraid of upsetting anyone."

The portly Guildmaster sat across from his wife, feeling hara.s.sed, looking everywhere but at her.

"By the Prophet, Yosset! Are you listening to me?"

"Of course I am," he said, staring down at his hands. He sniffed, tasting the scent of ozone in the air. More storms. More storms coming.

"Well, pay attention to me. I will not have him coming here trying to disturb our plans."

Yosset sighed and finally looked up at her. "But this used to be his place," he said simply.

"It used to be one of his places," she snapped. "He gave up the rights to most of his holdings when he pa.s.sed the t.i.tle to Roge. He hasn't personally lived in this house for years. He hasn't lived in any of our holdings for years. You tell me where he's been. Tell me. Either at that little farmstead out in the middle of nowhere, or at the Princ.i.p.ate itself. Not here. Not at the place up at Yarik. Not anywhere. For all those years, he could have had virtually anything he wanted, but could he have cared less? No, not in the slightest. No, I don't want him here. I don't want him at any of our residences. And, I might add, it's because of him that we don't have enough room to deal with him and his cursed entourage." She sliced her hand through the air with finality.

Yosset sighed again. For all her wit, for all her intelligence, for all the support she gave him, sometimes his lovely wife just made him feel tired.

"But he's your father, Karin," he said pleadingly.

"I don't care if he's the Prophet himself. He is not staying here." She spun back to face him. "Do you understand me?"

He nodded mutely.

"And as for you, get this through your fat round head," she said turning away and starting to pace again. "Leannis Men Darnak is no longer Princ.i.p.al. You do not have to cower and fawn at his every breath. Remember who your position depends on now, Yosset, and remember it well. It is certainly not my father. Who controls the Guilds now, my dear, sweet husband?"

He rubbed his lips one over the other, moistening them. "Why no one controls the -- "

She cut him off with another impatient wave of her hand. "Who is Princ.i.p.al?"

He hated it when she got like this, speaking to him like a child, no, rather speaking at him -- he was not her idiot brother -- but he kept his mouth shut.

"Well?"

"You know as well as I do."

"Fine. And who owns Roge?"

He stared at her for several seconds. She actually believed that...

Finally, he buckled under the intensity of her stare, the confidence in her stance, and he looked away. She was right. Just in the same way that she owned their landholding, that she owned her husband and she owned their servants, she also owned her brother. And through him, she now owned the Princ.i.p.ate. Yosset turned back to face her, and slowly he smiled. By the Prophet, he loved this woman. What had he ever done to deserve her?

"Karin, I still think you are worrying unnecessarily," he said. "We have no guarantee that your father will turn up here. Last time we saw him, he was off to the mines, and that was before we did the move. He could go anywhere from there."

She rolled her eyes and paced behind the chairs. "Whose holdings are closest? Do you think he doesn't know that we're here? Use that fat head of yours for once, Yosset."

"I cannot see why it is such a problem."

She sat opposite him again. "Because I don't want him here. Because he will only get in the way. I don't want his presence confusing anything else."

He nodded, reconciled to playing along. "My love, what do you think we should do?"

"Go and talk to the staff. Make sure that it's clear he isn't welcome. Let them behave accordingly. And if he asks for me, or you, we're nowhere to be found. That's it. I have too much to think about without having to deal with him face to face again."

"Karin, I don't see what -- "

"I don't care what you see or don't see, Yosset. Just do as I tell you."

He bit off any further reply, and pushing his chair back, stood to do exactly that. He looked at her sitting there for a few moments, but she was off in her own thoughts again. Such determination, such focus, such innate power. There was just so much to admire in her.

Images of the skeletal ship rode with Sandon for days after they'd left the crash site. He spent lengthy periods musing about how their history had shaped them, shaped the structure of their society and the existence of others, such as the Atavists themselves. The Atavist family used the ship as a reminder. All of their people used it as a reminder. Were they right? He glanced across at Alise riding beside him. She believed it. He knew there was no point questioning her about it. Every time their conversation strayed to areas of belief, she fell back on her standard phrases and responses. Could she be right, and he be so wrong? He fingered the burgeoning beard on his chin and turned back to watch the pa.s.sing landscape. As much as he wanted to test her beliefs, he knew there was little to be gained from the exercise. Perhaps some day, but not now. Not for a long time. There were other things he might like to test too, while he was about it... He turned to look at her again, but she was off in her own place.

Three weeks they'd been traveling now. Three weeks of interminable hours on a hard wooden seat on the front of the wagon, and gathered in temporary campsites at night. The time had given him many opportunities to watch and learn. He was at last really starting to understand the Atavist way of life, their routines, their ways of interacting with each other. Alise was always ready to explain when he had questions, and she did so without preconception, allowing his explorations, but yet never stepping over her own personal line. Over the days, he had learned where her boundaries lay, and knew where and when to avoid them.

The wagon train took its time getting down from the high Yarik plateau. After moving on from the crash site, they wound inland and then tracked a wide arc before heading down a rugged track that led down to the plains in a desolate unpopulated area with scant sign that any had even ventured that way. The only thing that told Sandon otherwise was the well-traveled path itself, barely marked by the instability of the area, or encroaching brush. As they creaked and rumbled their way down the mountainside, Sandon wondered how much else he didn't know. The Atavist community seemed to survive conveniently un.o.bserved by the rest of the world.

The surroundings had changed over the last few hours. They'd pa.s.sed through farmland, through open undeveloped countryside and through forested areas, deep with ajura trees, broad-based and shiny with their armored bark. Every few days, they'd seen one or two small groups of Atavists pa.s.sing in other directions, but no party as large as their own. They exchanged brief greetings, and then went their own ways. If anything, their interactions had seemed almost perfunctory. What it was that held these people together? It had to be more than faith, didn't it? All these questions were acc.u.mulating in the back of his head. He needed to understand, to put it in a place where he could appreciate what made it work. One day, when he had the s.p.a.ce, it would make sense, and then he'd be far better equipped to do what he needed to do. For now, he just needed to understand enough to be able to carry out the start of his formative plan.

Small squat plants dotted the surrounding fields, their broad, flat, fleshy leaves spread out from a central spine. Between the plants, dead gra.s.ses made a browning carpet, starting to rot and blacken with the ever-present moisture and soaking rain. He knew this landscape; they were nearing the mines, and somewhere close by sat a large Atavist community, a permanent community, from what he had been led to believe. It was a good base to start from, but then? The problem was, he had no idea how he was going to link up with Men Darnak and his party. If he even believed in the Prophet, he might consider some benevolent guiding hand. No, if there was going to be a guiding hand, it was the guiding hand of Sandon Yl Aris.

"Alise, are we getting close?"

She turned and gave him a half smile. "How did you know that?"

"Well, when I spoke to Badrae, he said we were headed for somewhere close to the mines. I recognize this area. If I'm not wrong, that's where we are, or close to it."

"Yes, there is not far to travel. But what then, Sandon? What will you do?"

"What will I do? That's the question all right."

She looked vaguely disappointed. "You are leaving us, aren't you?"