He gave a short half laugh. "If the Prophet wills it." He caught himself and responded to her frown. "I'm sorry," he said, lifting one hand. "I don't mean to mock. The truth is, I really don't know. All I know is that I have to find the Princ.i.p.al and his party. There is something that doesn't sit right, and for some reason, I have a duty to see if I can do something about it. I don't expect you to understand."

Instead of protesting, she nodded. "I will be sorry to see you go."

He met her gaze, and was surprised to see that she really meant it.

"You know," he said thoughtfully. "I really will be sorry to leave. I do enjoy spending time with you."

She held his gaze, searching his face. "With me, or with us, Sandon?"

"With you, with all of you, I suppose. But particularly with you."

"I am glad," she said. She turned her face away again, but her slight half smile didn't escape his notice.

An hour later, the marks of settlement appeared ahead. Traces of smoke rose to haze the sky, and the road upon which they traveled became rutted and grooved with the pa.s.sage of many wagons. Proper buildings huddled together across gently rolling fields. A large barn dominated, and beside it, another barn-like building. For a few moments, Sandon couldn't tell what it was that felt wrong about the structures in front of him, and then he realized. They were all made of a kind of mud brick, rather than the characteristic stone he was used to seeing, all except for the barn-like structures, which were built from wood. What advantage could they have from building out of such materials? It must be far more vulnerable to the vagaries of the shifting landscape. A profusion of wagons and carts sat between and beside the buildings, and between it all, in and out walked people, all decked in the traditional Atavist garb. He looked down at his own homespun. He could be at home here, just as much as any of them, except for a few fundamental problems that would be easily dealt with in time. He pushed the thought aside; he couldn't allow himself to forget why it was he was here.

The wagons fanned out, finding places out of the central roadway and the family members dismounted, moving to see to their animals and their equipment. Sandon sat where he was, watching, observing the greetings and keeping an eye out for Badrae and the other elders. They seemed to have moved to another area of the town, or they had pulled in somewhere that Sandon couldn't see. Alise disappeared into the wagon itself. He heard her moving about inside.

"What now, Alise?" he said back behind his shoulder.

"Well, we make ready. There will be a service, and then we will all get together for the evening meal."

"Uh-huh. And what can I do?"

"That depends what you want to do, Sandon."

"Hmm. I don't know. I'd really like to find Badrae, or at least someone who can give me some directions."

"But you said you were familiar with the area." She poked her head outside again.

"Yes, generally. But I don't know where we are now."

She shook her head and sighed. "Sometimes you are like a small child, Sandon."

She lowered herself from the front of the wagon, and then reached up a hand to him. "Come down. Come with me. We will find you what you need."

He looked at her blankly. "But...?"

"But what? You need directions, and no doubt some mode of transport. If you are determined to leave us here, there is very little I can do but help you in whatever way I am able. So, come."

He clambered down and stood before her as she pursed her lips, looking at him. Now she really was making him feel like a child.

"This way," she said.

Sandon tagged along behind her as she walked quickly in and out of parked carts and wagons, and between buildings. He barely had time to take in his surroundings as she led him to the front of a small mud brick cottage and knocked.

The door opened, and a grizzled old man stepped out.

"Alise, welcome," he said. "May the Prophet be with you."

"And with you, Manais. This is Sandon. He is in need of our help."

The old man looked at him appraisingly. "So, Sandon, if the Prophet wills it, I might be able to help you. What is it you need?"

"Um," Sandon said, not really prepared for this unexpected turn of events. Again, he was struck by the openness, the unquestioning acceptance. Alise had spoken, and the old man had simply accepted.

The old man, Manias, tilted his head to one side, waiting.

"I need to know how to get to Bortruz," Sandon said finally.

Manias looked at him speculatively, and Sandon instantly knew why. Somehow, what he had said had marked him as an outsider. After a pause, Manias scratched his head, then peered about himself. "Bortruz, eh? That is not difficult. It lies in, oh, that direction." He pointed off to his right. "It's about five days by foot. Less by padder."

"That is the other thing," said Alise. "Would you have an animal he could use?"

The old man looked from one to the other. "Yes, of course. I have one stabled in the community barn. If you wait a moment, we can go and fetch it." He disappeared back inside the cottage.

"Alise. I cannot ask that," said Sandon.

"You have not asked," said Alise flatly. "But you will receive."

Manais reappeared before Sandon had the opportunity to say anything else. The old man beckoned them to follow. A few minutes later, and they were standing inside the larger of the two wooden structures Sandon had seen from the road, Manais walking down between a line of stalls. The building's vast interior seemed to serve many purposes. Piles of wood lined one wall. Feed lay stacked in bales in an upper platform, and there were sacks and barrels spread throughout the building's length. The air was thick with the smell of animals, and dust and hay. The tang of wood undercut it all, overlaid by the damp smell of wet earth. A couple of other Atavists attended to their business within the barn, but paid the newcomers little mind.

After a while, Manais returned, leading an animal behind him. The padder had seen better days, but was still trailworthy, or so Sandon thought.

"Beware," said Manais. "He is a stubborn beast, but he will get you to where you need to go, if the Prophet wills it."

Sandon took the proffered harness, and thanked him.

"Come back to the house. You will need some supplies for your trip."

"But -- " Sandon started. Alise raised two fingers to her lips to still his protest. He followed mutely as they led the way back to the cottage.

Outside the barn, Sandon beckoned Alise closer and leaned in to speak in a low voice.

"Alise, I don't know how I can accept all this ... this generosity. You've already done far too much for me."

She gave him a slightly reproving look. "It is what we must do. The Prophet dictates it. Do you not know that already?"

The padder pulled against him, and he stumbled. Grunting, he pulled on the harness to bring the animal under control. "I know," he said. "But I don't expect it. When I talked about leaving, I didn't mean immediately. I ... well, everything is just so sudden."

"You need to follow what path you must, Sandon. I am just trying to help you on your road."

He sighed. "I know that, and believe me, I'm grateful."

She looked at his face for a few moments before speaking again. "You are a strange man, Sandon."

They reached the small dwelling and Manais disappeared inside, bidding them wait while he got a few things together. Sandon, left outside with Alise, the activity of the Atavist settlement all around them, suddenly felt awkward.

He reached up and stroked his chin, absent-mindedly toying with the beard while he watched her, suddenly realizing that he really was going to miss this woman. Somehow, she had taken the decision of his departure completely out of his hands, as she had seemed to be able to take many decisions out of his hands over the past few weeks. How was it that he had unconsciously allowed her such control? To break the awkward silence, he sought for something to ask her.

"Alise, so who is Manais?"

"Manais lives here. He is one of our family."

"Yes, of course. But why him? You came straight here."

She nodded. "Yes. It is hard to explain. Among your own people, I suppose you would call Manais my father. He is still my father, but all the elders are our parents, in the same way that the Prophet is our ultimate father."

He lapsed into silence. Her father? Yet she called him by name. There was so much still he did not understand.

Manais interrupted any opportunity for further questions by reappearing with a bundle in his hands. He strapped it firmly to the rear of Sandon's beast. Meanwhile, Sandon looked from father to daughter, searching for similarities.

"So, Sandon, remember what I said. Go that way," said Manais, pointing. "The road is not clearly marked, and what little there is may have been disturbed, but it is that general direction. You will either reach Bortruz, or the mines. Both lie that way. If your reach the Bodrum River, you will have gone too far." He turned to the pack. "There is some food there, some bread, some cheese, and a little to drink. It should keep you until you get to where you are going. And I hope the Prophet wills you success in whatever it is you seek."

Sandon nodded, thanked him once more, then turned to Alise.

"Again, thank you for everything you've done, Alise. And give my thanks to Badrae too. If it wasn't for him..."

She said nothing, merely fixed him with that steady gaze. Feeling even more awkward, he stepped forward and reached for her hand.

"I hope to see you again soon," he said.

She gave his hand a slight squeeze and returned his look with a gentle smile. "Oh, I am sure you will, Sandon...if the Prophet wills it. Now go. Do what you have to do."

Just before mounting, he turned back to Manais. "But what about the padder?"

"What about it?" said the old man. "It is yours."

He glanced over at Alise, but she shooed him on. Without another word, he mounted and headed the padder out of the Atavist settlement and away in the direction Manais had given him.

Ideally, Sandon would have liked to spend more time getting to know the Atavist community, how it operated, to understand the way they worked together. Alise was right, though, he had things to do. He thought on this as the padder rocked beneath him across the dull ground, picking between the tall spines of the Storm Season plants. The animal grunted and snorted, flicking its tail back and forth, though there were few insects to trouble it. He looked back over his shoulder, but already the details of the Atavist township were becoming indistinct.

"Do what you have to do," she had told him. So, what exactly was it that he had to do? Though he had the skeleton of a plan, he had no details. More than three weeks had pa.s.sed since Men Darnak had dismissed him from service, and in that time, he had no idea what had happened to the Princ.i.p.al and his party. He looked the part of an Atavist now, he could almost be an Atavist, but that didn't really get him closer to the Princ.i.p.al. For a start, he had no idea where Men Darnak might be. Heading toward Bortruz was merely the first logical step. There was a small office of the Princ.i.p.ate there, and he could use that to find...

But no, he couldn't. In his current guise, he could barely gain access to Princ.i.p.ate buildings, let alone access any information. None of the Princ.i.p.ate functionaries in residence was likely to give him the time of day. In fact, most of the population was just as likely to shun him as an outsider. Wonderful. His perfect disguise was going to be the perfect barrier to letting him accomplish what he needed. He shook his head. What precisely had he been thinking?

Up ahead, two figures were heading toward him. Both were men, Atavists. One carried a pack, and the other had a staff. Sandon watched them as they neared. They barely glanced at him as he pa.s.sed. One of them, the one bearing the staff, looked up as they came alongside and gave him a brief nod, then they continued on their way in silence. Sandon returned the nod and looked back over his shoulder to watch them. As far as he could tell, not a word pa.s.sed between them as they headed on down the poorly marked track into the distance. Sandon felt a sense of relief. Clearly, they had taken him for another of their own number. So that much was good -- at least he looked the part. Alise's constant words rang inside his head. "If the Prophet wills it." But it wasn't some long-dead Prophet that was going to make this happen for him. If the stellar alignment was right, if the heavenly influences were in his favor, then perhaps... No, this was nothing to do with planetary positioning. What he really needed now was a healthy dose of luck.

Fourteen.

Tarlain huddled shivering in his burrow. Well, it was more like a cave really, a cold damp cave, but it felt like a burrow. Outside, yet another storm raged. The wind moaned through the tunnel complex and streams of water trickled through the vent holes dotted the length of the pa.s.sageways that honeycombed the area. Despite the weeks of being here, he was still no closer to understanding the layout of the place. One tunnel looked just the same as any other and he had no idea how the Kallathik managed to find their way unerringly from one place to the next. At least he a.s.sumed they did. For all he knew they could be blundering around from chamber to chamber oblivious. It was not beyond belief, because despite his time here, here in the very heart of their lives, he was still no nearer to a true appreciation of how their minds worked. Either way, they seemed to have a faultless sense of where they were going in the confusing network of pa.s.sages and tunnels, ambling slowly along with their customary unhurried pace, sc.r.a.ping along the metallic floors and walls. But then, he didn't know how they told each other apart either. There was quite a lot he didn't seem to understand.

He stifled a sneeze and pulled the blanket tighter around himself. Oh what he'd give for a warm room and a proper bed right at this moment. It hadn't been so bad before the storms had really set in, and they were nowhere near the worst of it yet. Curse his own impetuosity. It was all well and good to have ideals, but it was easier to have them when you were warm and comfortably dry. He stood and shuffled over to the shelves on the other side of the room, the blanket still draped around him. At least there was no vent hole above this particular room, so it didn't collect the run-off water directly. The damp still made its way in though, seeping into every crack and s.p.a.ce within the entire colony. The Kallathik didn't seem to mind slopping through puddle after puddle, dragging trails of greasy moisture along the tunnel floors behind them. Muttering to himself, he reached for the small oil stove that sat on one of the shelves, set it down in the middle of the table, and pumped it a few times to get the oil flowing through the system. When he thought he'd primed it enough, he pressed the ignition b.u.t.ton and the acrid, sharp smell of burning ajura oil filled the chamber as the pale yellow-green flame blossomed into life.

Tarlain wrinkled his nose, not that he was all that sensitive to smells any more. His own smell had ceased to bother him a couple of weeks ago. It was one of the hazards of being buried away here in the heart of the Kallathik tunnels. The Kallathik appeared to have no need of bathing. At least he'd seen no evidence of it so far. In the meantime, Tarlain had made a few brief trips to the nearby mining facilities to wash and clean up a little, pick up supplies and seek some word of his family. Now, with the weather, and the land's growing instability, he was forced to keep to the tunnels for days at a time, going out of his mind with boredom. And all the while, he'd heard nothing. Nothing. Not from Karnav Din Baltir, not from Karin nor his father. Nothing.

He would have expected lack of contact from Roge, but he had had some hope that at least Karnav might have made some effort to contact him. After all their long discussions and the plans they had constructed late into the night, after everything they had spoken about, it was unbelievable that the Guildmaster had made no attempt. That lack suddenly made him wonder about Din Baltir and his motivations. What was it that had changed so quickly?

Shaking his head, Tarlain reached for the large water jug and filled a pot that he placed on top of the stove to heat. A strong, hot mug of tea might make him feel a little better, bring back some semblance of humanity. As he placed the jug back down, he noted that the water was getting low -- he must remember to refill it. He glanced up at the shelves. The food containers were dwindling too. Whether he liked it or not, he'd have to make another expedition to restock supplies before long. Another trip to the mining facilities, about half a day's travel from here would be a welcome relief from the claustrophobic oppression of the tunnels, but he would have to wait for the weather to lift and that was another thing over which he had absolutely no control.

As he sipped his tea, he thought over the past few weeks, the litany of failure. For the first few days after he'd arrived, Tarlain had started to try and build the vision that he and Karnav Din Baltir had spoken of together. The fire of that vision burning inside him, he had wandered the endless tunnels and pa.s.sageways, seeking an audience for his impa.s.sioned words among the Kallathik. That had been the idea. And instead, he had met disappointment. Slowly, the fire had dwindled, fading to a guttering flame. Once or twice, he had become hopelessly lost and spent hours, even whole days trying to find his way back to his meager cubby hole. The Kallathik had been unhelpful at best, either ignoring him completely, shoving him aside with their large bulk as they ambled up the pa.s.sageways, or failing to understand what he wanted when he finally managed to attract their attention for a moment or two. There were times he could have cursed the d.a.m.ned aliens for their stupid incomprehension. He caught himself and frowned at the strength of the thought -- his people were the aliens here, not the Kallathik. Hundreds of years, hundreds of Seasons, but they were still the aliens. And still this cursed world tried to reject them.

A creak and groan came from further down the corridor as something within the surrounding landscape shifted. He sat where he was, waiting to see if it was the herald of something new. They had had a brief quake about ten days ago, and the noise had almost deafened him, metallic booming noises pulsing through the entire complex, loud creaks and the sound of metal under stress. How the Kallathik lived with it Storm Season after Storm Season, he had no idea. He swallowed the last few drops of tea and placed the mug carefully back down. After a few more seconds had pa.s.sed, he sighed and relaxed a little, feeling the tension go out of his shoulders. It looked like they were clear for now. He glanced around the chamber. This was no place for a person to live. No place at all. The Kallathik could have it.

Standing again, he shrugged off the blanket and bundled it onto the bed. He had either to achieve something here, or leave, find some other way to do what he needed to. Enough. Curse his father anyway. Sufficient time had pa.s.sed. He could spend the rest of his life down here moping, but it would achieve absolutely nothing. And dammit, he would achieve something here. He had to.

Resolved, he moved to the high, roughly shaped doorway leading out from the chamber. He felt around the edge, searching for the scratched star shape he had scored into the metal on the other side. He didn't need to check that it was there, but it gave him a sense of comfort knowing that it was. He stepped out into the corridor's gloom and headed deeper into the complex. It was hard in the semi-dark avoiding the pools of water, and before long, his boots were damp, squelching with every step he took. At each intersection, he felt for his mark, tracing his fingers across the metallic surface, confirming that he was traveling in a direction he knew would actually lead him somewhere rather than around and around, retracing his own steps. It would do no good to get lost yet again and spend the rest of the day wandering aimlessly through the pa.s.sageways trying to find his way. Somewhere down in this direction, he knew the central meeting chambers lay. He'd been there once or twice, and if anywhere, that was where he was going to find his proper audience.

He found another mark at the entrance to a tunnel, and headed down that way. He'd not gone a dozen steps, when a vast shape loomed out of the darkness ahead of him, and he was forced to press himself flat against the wall or risk being sc.r.a.ped along beside the shuffling Kallathik. He stifled a curse and when he was sure the beast had no companion trailing along behind, peeled himself off the wall and stepped out into the pa.s.sageway once more. He shook his head at the thought. Even he was starting to refer to the Kallathik as beasts in his own mind. That was not good. It was not good at all.

He sloshed down the corridor, heading toward a patch of light that he knew to be another randomly placed vent hole to the surface. There seemed to be no pattern to the s.p.a.cing, but the murky shafts of light gave welcome relief from the gloomy dampness of the corridor's depths.

He reached the end of one pa.s.sageway, and feeling around for the mark on each wall of the connecting branches, located his direction. This far in, the tunnels were slightly warmer, the atmosphere thick with humidity, and over it all lay the tang of damp metal. He hadn't believed before coming here, that metal would have such a distinctive smell, but it was everywhere around him, different from the smell of damp earth, or of wet wood. At least it didn't have the sharp unpleasantness of burning ajura oil, but it wasn't a smell he'd look forward to ever again if he finally got out of here. He had a sudden vision of a much older Tarlain, dressed in tatters and wandering through the darkened corridors muttering to himself. He grimaced and shook the thought away.

A sc.r.a.ping sound further down the tunnel alerted him to the approach of another Kallathik. Forewarned this time, he was flat against the wall before the creature was upon him. As it drew closer, it slowed. It took one more step, and then stopped completely. The vast head swiveled to face him directly. Several moments pa.s.sed, and though Tarlain couldn't make out its features in the dim light, it was apparently regarding him. A moment more, and it seemed to make up its mind. It took another step closer, then stopped. Tarlain waited. To have been noticed at all was one thing, but to be worthy of such sudden attention was another thing entirely.

The Kallathik drew close to him. It tilted its head to look down on him. "You are lost," it said. It was a question.

"No, I'm just..."

"You are lost," repeated the Kallathik. This time it was not a question. "You should be with the others."

"Others? But--" Tarlain bit off the rest of what he had been going to say. Others? Who else could be here? Perhaps finally Din Baltir had come looking for him, or perhaps someone from his father. "Yes, of course," he said quickly.

"What are you doing here?" The Kallathik stared at him with its impenetrable gaze.

"I... I just needed a breath of fresh air. I went for a walk. I guess I lost my directions."

The Kallathik said nothing for several long moments, just standing there, peering down at him. Tarlain's unease grew. He cleared his throat. The Kallathik turned its head to look up the pa.s.sage down which Tarlain had just traveled, then turned back to peer down at him again.

"Go back down this pa.s.sage," it said. "Continue to the end. Turn. Walk more. It will lead you to the chamber with the others." It looked at him for several moments more, as if determining what it had just said had sunk in, then turned to face back up the pa.s.sage and continued on its way.

Tarlain, still pressed flat against the tunnel wall, could barely believe what he had just heard. The sound of the Kallathik sc.r.a.ping up the pa.s.sageway faded to dull, distorted echoes, then drifted away entirely. Tarlain was left alone once more in the gloom. He could not remember ever hearing a Kallathik utter such an extended group of clear, meaningful sentences. And it was about something apparently unimportant. He frowned. Strange. But still not as strange as there being someone else here. And the Kallathik had a.s.sumed he had been part of a group. What group? What group could possibly be here? Perhaps it was something to do with Roge, or maybe Din Baltir really had finally sent someone. But if that were the case, they would have surely come looking for him. He pushed himself from the wall and headed in the direction that the Kallathik had indicated.

At the junction, he found one of his marks on the adjoining wall. Thinking about it, he pulled out his knife and scored another, just below the first and parallel to it. This was a tunnel he needed to remember. He ran his fingers over the twin marks, making sure they were deep enough, the returned his knife to his belt. There. On the way back, he would make other, similar marks at all of the intersections leading to this particular part of the complex. He'd had quite enough of wandering aimlessly through this warren.

As he neared the chamber at the end of the last pa.s.sage, the sound of voices drifted vaguely through the heavy air. He couldn't make out individual words, but he could tell there was more than one voice. A man's voice, followed by a different man's voice, and a Kallathik followed that. Then the second man's voice came again. Tarlain slowed, drawing closer to the wall, his sudden caution prompted by memories of the last time he and his father had spoken. He didn't know who these people were or what they were doing here, deep in the Kallathik network. His senses singing, he crept toward the yellowish glow issuing from the pa.s.sageway's end.