CHAPTER TEN.

LEONA.

Year 1165 For some seasons, Leona wandered the broken lands between the Jaggers and Fenlees. She spent two winters time-lost in sleep in a snow-buried cave warmed by subterranean steams which boiled in the deeps. She spent a summer along the shores of the Fenlees among the reedy hummocks where stilt-legged birds piped endlessly beside grey seas which broke on the fangs of the Shambles to send icy spray far inland. With no more knowledge of the world than a blind kitten, she had searched among the ghost cities of the Jaggers and found a ruined library in a language she could spell out. She had devoured pictures and words and pages which told of the world as it was and had been and was thought to be. Always she sought for references to that Vessel of Healing which the man at Stony croft had spoken of, but she found them seldom and vaguely written. At times she came away to seek food or to rest eyes wearied by faded print on stained pages. She seemed not to feel the cold. Even the summers here were chill, for the frigid northern seas swept down from the icelands along the shores of Anisfale to strike upon the Scruff before turning at the Scut to flow westward into Vastnesse, called by some Wasnost.

She stood long hours upon the dunes, legs rasped by blades of bitter grass, watching the small ships of the Shambles tack to and fro across the swollen seas, beating against the endless winds only to fly before them once more, indomitable and detached. She began to think of herself as like them, endlessly fighting against the wind or fleeing before the wind to an unkown place. The people of the Shambles came to know her form, if not her name. From guard towers she was seen, striking westward to the sea or eastward to the mountains, sometimes carrying fish she had caught, or mussels stripped from the weed-grown rocks weighing down her bundled shirt. Several times men from the villages of the Shambles or Tharsh skulked away after her, thinking to enliven a dull time with a bit of stranger-rape and murder. Only one such group ever came close to her hiding place, and no member of it ever returned. After a time they gave it up. The woman in white was said to be surrounded by glamour and witchery. All decided it was healthier not to see her, and thenceforward they did not. Leona had read all the books and had tired of the Shambles. She had decided to explore the Jaggers and east to the Abyss of Souls and then to go on to Seathe and the eastern lands.

Thus it was that she came to the banks of the Lazentium in the spring, to the croft of a shepherd there, to find the man busy at the drowning of pups. There were three, and the man had left one for the bitch and was about to drown the others when Leona came out of the mist to his side, silent, white, and chill. She reached out her hands and the shepherd put the sack into them without a word. Something in her eyes spoke, and he answered as best he could, touching his forelock and bending his knees in a curiously ancient gesture of combined distress and honour. She laid her fingers on his forehead in a complex motion which burned him joyously and then turned away. An hour later he was standing there still, eyes unseeing yet watching the way she had gone.

She named the male dog Silence, and the female, Sorrow. In Leona there was something which passed for amusement in calling into the icy winds of the Northlands, 'Come, Silence; come, Sorrow' 'Nai, Mimo; nai, Werem' in the tongue of the Fales. Since both had attended her for endless days, not having been summoned, and now departed to make way for some new intention, she felt it was well to be reminded of them.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

LITHOS.

Year 1165 Some way south of the Fenlees, among the scarps above Owbel Bay, the hamlets of the Thanys lay like beads scattered from a broken wristlet. The Thanys were a tight-knit people, suspicious of strangers, made so by the proximity of the Bay and those who held their rites there. The Thanys considered all of themselves, and only themselves, close kin; not outsiders. All children, they said, were savages at birth, but all could be won by love and firmness to an understanding of the duties owed by kin to kin. All, they whispered, except perhaps for the son of the widow at Bald Knob.

Him they regarded with disquiet. He had a face brown and closed as a nut. He had odd, light eyes of so steely a grey as to be almost no colour at all. It says much for the people that they never gave him harsh words. The children avoided him, true, believing him to be responsible for certain injuries to themselves. There was Jerym, once loud and mocking, who spoke only in stuttering whispers. And Willum, whose strong right arm had withered. And Verila, who sat staring endlessly at nothing. These young ones thought the widow's son had been fathered by a ghost. Indeed, he had been born in a night of howling storm, ten long months after the widow's husband had died, and none had known her to be generous with her favours. The young ones said the widow's man had risen from the grave to couple with her; summoned by a spell she wove, some said. Sent by the devil, said others.

When they tried to explain their suspicions to the adults, they met with no belief. The oldsters were unable to believe ill of any Tanyan. All their fears were reserved for those who dwelt below, those who anointed the stones near Owbel Bay.

The boy at Bald Knob was nearly grown. His name was Lithos, and he well knew he was suspected of much ill. He could feel in his own body every cramp and twist in others, could reach into their heads to twist thoughts into an endless, nauseating tangle from which the thinker might emerge hours later, sweating and sick. He had not done this often. Only enough to know that he could.

The widow loved him, helplessly and too well. She never thought of his begetting or his birth, only of his being, her only child, her only company. She forgave him everything, and herself everything in the getting of him. She ignored every insolence, every pang until the day he told her he intended to leave the scarp.

'There are things I want to know,' Lithos said, gesturing indolently at the huddled village beside the fair meadows. 'You people here are boring.'

'Where will you go?' The words came like nuggets of iron, heavy, choking and her heart seemed to stop.

'Down there. I want to see what they do there, at the Bay.'

'Oh, my son, my love, no. No, you don't want to see what it is they do there.

Lithos shrugged her words away indifferently. 'So you all say. But none of you say why.' His voice filled the room with a horrid chill which she did not feel, which she had spent his young life learning not to feel.

Instead she struggled to breathe, afraid for him, for herself, tried to put into words what had only been whispered, hinted at of the horrors of Owbel Bay. 'You could not do that,' she said. 'You would be sickened by it. You could not bear it!'

'What is it again that they do?' Head cocked, he listened and questioned as she told him again, bile burning in her throat.

'I think I could do that.' Lithos smiled. The smile was terrible, lit by gleaming metallic eyes. She fell into that smile as into a maelstrom. He whispered, 'Let me try...

A neighbour found her later. Those who were summoned buried the remains quickly, surreptitiously. Men of the villages took weapons and went to search for the boy. They did not find him. He had gone to learn what he could at Owbel Bay before going on ... to other things.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

JASMINE.

Year 1167 Jasmine, a woman of a certain reputation, had borne a daughter in the Year of the Owl. In honour of the year, or perhaps in honour of certain night flying habits of her own, Jasmine named the child Hu'ao, which was the name used by the Lakland people for a particularly tiny, insect-earing owl with an ingenuous stare and a habit of blinking sleepily in the light. The child did not eat insects, though it was not for want of trying, as she, like most babies, put anything she could catch into her mouth. In other respects, she was as owl-like as her name implied.

As soon as the child was weaned, Jasmine put Hu'ao in the care of the Sisters of the Temple of the Goddess, Lady of the Perpetual Seas, Daughter of the Eternal Waters, and suchlike nomenclature. The Lakland people said 'Goddess' and meant all of that. From those austere surroundings, Hu'ao was taken by Jasmine at intervals for a day's outing or a two-day holiday to the herb farm where Jasmine had grown up and where her sister now lived with stout, red-faced Uncle Hahd, or to the parks, or to the theatre to sit wide-eyed among the scene shifters and dancers who were Jasmine's friends. Between these times, Jasmine plied her trade as sometime dancer, sometime actress, sometime companion, well liked and not ill thought of by those who knew her. Jasmine and Hu'ao lovea one another, were happy with one another, drew great satisfaction from their times together with which to endure those times they were apart. It should be noted that the good Sisters did not care for Hu'ao out of charity. Jasmine paid them well for their trouble, and during the four years that Hu'ao stayed with the Sisters, the money was never late, never diminished, never refused.

Ill fortune fell, however, as it must. Jasmine fell ill of a disease, not serious but enervating. Her usual activities were greatly curtailed, both from want of vigour and want of custom. She was at first late in the payment to the Sisters; then she ceased to pay at all. The matter was brought to the attention of the Eldest Sister, a title denoting responsibility rather than age, who asked that Hu'ao be brought before her. The child was pretty, with Jasmine's slight darkness, her tilted eyes, and flowing, smoke-coloured hair. Something woke in the Eldest Sister which had been long repressed. As a holy virgin, dedicated to the Goddess, she did not regret her virginity, but she found herself much regretting her childlessness. She determined upon that moment that Jasmine could not be a fit mother for the child and that Hu'ao should be adopted by the Sisters and raised to become one of their Order.

Thus it was that Jasmine, when she was recovered and went to the Temple with a partial back payment and a longing to have Hu'ao in her arms, was met by a stern-faced, stick-dry old woman who told her she was not to see Hu'ao again. The woman told her this after taking the money, and Jasmine pleaded with her in vain.

Jasmine had friends among the people of Lak City. There was the tall watchman who knew the plump tavern-keeper, Linn-oh, and Linn-oh had introduced her to the music master of the Theater Phenomenal, who in turn had taken her to dinner with the dark young clerk of the Bureau of Boats, whose sisters, both giggly and pretty, had slightly crossed eyes. It was the younger one, Zillba (was it Zillba? Or Thilna? Well, one or the other) who had invited her to the Water Festival where they met the magistrate. He had become a good friend. They were all good friends, and they all rallied, cooing or thundering, in accordance with their natures, at the injustice and monstrous arrogance of the Eldest Sister. The magistrate was quick, privately, to assure Jasmine that he would soon set the matter right.

So it was arranged that Jasmine should have a hearing before the Magistrate Official (in robes, in chambers) to test whether the sisters or Jasmine had the right to Hu'ao. When the Eldest Sister was informed of this development, she spent long hours in thought and other long hours in the library. The night before the hearing she spent in the Temple proper, and it was said that she lay on the floor of the sanctuary beside the holy pool waiting the Goddess's guidance.

At the hearing, after Jasmine had made her plea and had brought tears to the magistrate's eyes and to the eyes of those in the court, the Eldest Sister rose to make her statement.

'Sir Official,' she said, 'you know as do we all that the black-robed ones, the acolytes of Gahl, have built a temple to their foul doctrines in Tiles which was called by the ancients Labat Ochor. South, on the River Del, they are building. Here in Lakland we are still at peace with one another, but the armies of darkness surround us. Even on Lak Island, even in the Temple garth, I have seen their black-robed spies and scouts. Long have I been troubled over this.

'And, Sir Official, when the child, Hu'ao, was brought to me that I might see that she was well cared for, well fed and clothed, I looked into her eyes. When I looked into the child's eyes, Sir Magistrate, I saw the Goddess peering at me from within. For is it not written that the purposes of the Holy shall appear in the eyes of children?'

There was a general murmur in the court, and the magistrate threw a quick, embarrassed glance at Jasmine. Visions were notoriously tricky things to prove or disprove. The magistrate had a premonition that he would be outmanoeuvred.

Eldest Sister went on unperturbed. 'Later, when I was alone, the Goddess came to me again. She told me that the child's mother had sinned against Her...

'I never did,' said Jasmine, indignantly, only to be shushed by the magistrate.

'... had sinned against Her in Her attribute as Divine Virgin ...'

'That's not the attribute I worship,' cried Jasmine, stung.

'... and that the mother's love for the child should be her sanctification, for she should be sent upon a quest for the Girdle of Chu-Namu, the Girdle of Binding, that Lak Island and all of Lakland may be bound safe from the darkness. The Goddess told me that the woman, Jasmine, would do this for the love of her child, and the child will remain with us until that sanctification is complete.'

'This doesn't make sense!' interjected Jasmine.

'In what way?' asked the magistrate, biting his underlip.

'Oh, for heaven's sake. If I were chaste as these old sticks I'd sin against the Goddess in her attribute as Divine Wanton. If I'm not chaste, I sin against her attribute as Divine Virgin. If I never get pregnant, I sin against her as Divine Mother. I mean, you can't be a woman in Lakland and not sin against the Goddess some way. For heaven's sake, that's why we pay Temple fees....'

The Eldest Sister went on calmly, 'This is the mystery of the Goddess upon which we in the Order meditate each day. It has nothing to do with the command of the Goddess that we take the child Hu'ao and that I tell the mother of that child of a quest which the Goddess commands. There is only one issue here. Shall the mother of Hu'ao obey the Goddess? We in the Order will obey the Goddess. What will the Magistrate Official do?'

The magistrate knew at that moment that there was no way out. If it were nosed about town that a male official had ruled against a command of the Goddess, there would be a general uproar. The High Administrators did not appreciate uproar. There would soon be a new magistrate in Lak Island. He waited only long enough to let it appear that he had weighed the arguments and to plead with Jasmine to understand his position, then he ruled. Jasmine, bereft, went among her friends. They were all her friends, still her friends, but helpless. She reached for them, and they melted between her fingers, running out of her hands in chill drops. 'The Goddess, Jasmine. If it is the will of the Goddess...' Jasmine went home and wept for hours. Then in the evening there was a knock on the door. The person standing on the doorstep was wearing the long, blue robes of the Order, and out of the sheltering hood peered a round, rather frightened face. There was something furtive about the half-crouched figure, and Jasmine stood aside to let her enter.

There was much nervous hand twisting. 'We didn't want you to think we were all well, we wanted you to know that many of us are sympathetic. Eldest Sister is responsible for recruitment, you know. It isn't everyone who wants to be a Sister. Lots of us didn't. We get sold into it, or we get convinced when we're too young to know any better. Well, we wanted you to know that some of us want you to go on the quest very quickly and find the silly thing and get back here to Hu'ao. She's such a little love....' The robed woman rubbed at her eyes with a crumpled kerchief.

'You mean Eldest Sister is doing this in order, to get Hu'ao as a candidate? She wants Hu'ao to be a Sister?'

The woman wiped at the tears which were making unattractive runnels down the sides of her nose. 'And we think you should go on the quest. If you stay here, she'll say you're defying the Goddess, and you'll never get Hu'ao back.'

'Please stop crying,' Jasmine was torn between fury and pity. 'I know you want to help, but you're just making me very angry. I don't have any idea how to go on a quest. I don't even know what the Girdle of Chu-Namu is. I never heard of it until this morning.'

'We know. We're trying to help. The Library Sister is finding out everything about the Girdle. We're putting it all in a book. With maps. And some things for you that you'll need. If you'll come to the little gate in the east wall of the Temple Garden tomorrow, at sunset, we'll have it ready for you. That's what they want me to tell you. And now I have to get back before Eldest Sister finds out I'm gone.' She turned to flee into the night, leaving Jasmine's door swinging slowly to and fro.

The next day Jasmine went to the gate in the Temple wall, though she had decided nothing. It seemed rude not to go if there were some trying to help her still, she had not decided. Not at all. She was met with conspiratorial whispers, led through the gate and swiftly across the dusky garden into a half-hidden doorway burrowed through a swollen buttress to a flight of stone stairs cupped deeply by centuries of footfall. They went down into darkness broken only by dim lanterns between walls incredibly massive, walls a giant might have built in a forgotten age. Above her the ceilings vanished in vaulted gloom, and the sound of their feet echoed away into troubled silences. At last she was drawn into a tiny chamber crowded with robed, whispering forms.

There Jasmine was petted, patted, kissed and passed around the circle of blue-gowned nuns, as though she were a kind of sad dessert to be licked up. At length the commiseration stopped, and one of the nuns came forward to give her a book. It was Library Sister. This is everything I could find about the Girdle of Binding, the Girdle of Chu-Namu,' she said. 'I've written very small, and the notebook will fit in your pocket. There are some references even Eldest Sister didn't find. You do read, don't you?' Jasmine nodded, and Library Sister embraced her, blessing her in the name of the Goddess.

'I've given you medicine for swamp fever,' said Sister Herbal. 'Library Sister says you could end up almost anywhere, which would include swamps. There's herb mix for travellers' trots, and wound dressing to stop bleeding. There's bandage, and insect balm, and a few things for womanly troubles. You do have womanly troubles?' Jasmine nodded, to spare the kindly one either disappointment or embarrassment, and the Sister Herbal blessed her in the name of the Goddess.

'I've made you a cloak with lots of pockets,' said Seamstress Sister. Two on each side, and two secret ones hidden at the back, inside, and one in the hood. The eyeholes are double stitched. I've put a housewife in the left pocket, buttoned in, with some good needles and thread and extra buttons and ties. You do sew, don't you?' Jasmine nodded, and Sister Seamstress embraced her, blessing her in the name of the Goddess.

'This cordial,' said Sister Steward, 'is very rare and very old. It restores the will to live, warms the cold, keeps away night dragons. It will get you drunk once or save your life many times over. I found this old flask in the undercellar-the Goddess alone knows how long it has been there. It's a good size for carrying, and not ugly. I won't ask you if you drink, for that would be a foolish question. I bless you though, child, in the name of the Goddess. Eldest Sister can be an absolute bitch.'

Jasmine was led back through the Temple gardens, the various gifts stored in the pockets of the orbansa, resolving as she walked that she might as well go on the quest for the Girdle of Chu-Namu. That night she packed a few things, wrote a few brief good-byes, including one to the magistrate in which the words dripped venom onto the pale pages. In the morning, she left early, lingering near the gates to the play yard at the Temple, hoping to see Hu'ao For even one moment. Other children came into the yard, but not Hu'ao, who was being fed candies in the anteroom of the office of the Eldest Sister.

That night the Eldest Sister had a vision of the Goddess from which she woke trembling and sick. Words spoken in that vision would not leave her mind. The Goddess herself had said, 'Who invokes my name must live by that invocation. As you have said I have done, I have done.' Thereafter, Eldest Sister did not have Hu'ao brought to her. Hu'ao stayed in the care of Sister Herbal, or Sister Steward, or Library Sister or Seamstress Sister, or any one of a dozen others. Though she was much loved, the Sisters never for one moment let her forget Jasmine.

FROM THE NOTES OF LIBRARY SISTER:.

During the early Second Cycle, a people came into the settled lands from the east, a people who called themselves 'The Thousand,' or the 'Thiene' This long-lived race was said by some to be descended from the wizards who had left the earth at the end of the First Cycle. Whatever their origin, the Thiene began the numbering of the years, sought out the reclusive archivists in Tchent and sent them among the people as teachers, and preached the eternal unity of the four Powers, these named as Earthsoul, Our Lady of the Waters, Firelord, and the High Spirit, sometimes called Skysoul.

Each of these Powers was said to be embodied in an artifact created 'outside of time' and dedicated to the Power in question. That of Our Lady of the Waters was said to be a Girdle or belt which 'bound all life together as the waters bind the earth.' It was known as the Girdle of Binding. Some early Second Cycle sources refer to this Girdle as the 'maintainer of earth' and state that it was put in the care of a religious group in the far east, possibly at the Temple in the City of the Mists. Since the Concealment, we have no clear idea of the location of this City, but it was certainly beside the eastern sea. The area was known to the Akwithian kings, for the City of the Mists was conquered by them near the end of the Second Cycle.

Among the spoils taken from the City was the Girdle of Binding, and this Girdle was brought to Tchent to be kept in the treasure house there. Though none of the Thiene remained in the world at that time, the line of Tar-Akwith was said to have Thienese ancestry, and his son, the father of Sud-Akwith, married a woman from Tchent. P'Vey, a chronicler attached to the High House of Akwith, writes that Sud-Akwith was displeased that a military force had been brought against the City of Mists and prayed publicly that no evil should befall the line of Akwith because of this dishonour done to Our Lady. In any case, the Girdle was put into safekeeping in Tchent.

It was shortly after this time that the Lord of the Northlands attempted the rebuilding of Tharliezalor on the hundredth anniversary of the founding of the Akwith realm. He thus aroused that which dwelt beneath the ruins of the city and was almost defeated by demon forces. Through the use of one of the holy artifacts, the Sword of Fire or, as it came to be called, the Sword of Sud-Akwith the demons were driven back, but events were set into motion which culminated in the end of the Second Cycle.

Nothing more is written of the Girdle until the time of the Chronicles of D'Zunalor, the sagas of the Axe King. Here it is written that a 'wondrous belt' was taken at the fall of Tchent as part of the plunder. This plunder was taken from Tchent to the Rochagam D'Zunabat, the high plain of the Axe King, where it was distributed among the axe lords and the minor lords. The 'wondrous belt' fell to the lot of Zunochon, a very highly placed courtier, perhaps a prince of the Axe King's line.

The next record is found in the Bagur Namu, the Song of Namu, in which it is recorded that Zunachon gave the Girdle to Chu-Namu, a princess, perhaps priestess, from one of the captive cities, before setting off into the Northlands at the Axe King's command. He was not seen again. The Bagur Namu says that the Girdle had the power to bind time and that Chu-Namu sought her lover for over five hundred years, not aging during all that time. The Song ends with the end of the search, with Chu-Namu finding her lover at last, 'beyond the Gate.' Before entering the Gate with him, she gave the Girdle to her maid, the twelfth generation daughter of the maidservant who had accompanied her mistress on the search five hundred years before. The Song says, 'She (the maidservant) came back into the west to bring the Girdle of Chu-Namu to that place which waited to receive it.'

The 'place which waited to receive if could have been a Temple or religious foundation dedicated to Our Lady. This seems likely inasmuch as Chu-Namu was, in some accounts, alleged to be in the service of the Lady at the time of her capture. Since the reign of the Axe King ended in about 164 TC, and the search was said to have lasted for 500 years, the Girdle would have reached its destination sometime in the seventh century TC. Some of the most reliable accounts of that period and the following century mention that something of the kind may have been kept in Howbin, in a shrine or museum of antiquities there.

Since there is no modern mention of this shrine, it must be presumed lost. Perhaps its contents passed into the keeping of one of the Drossynian Lords of Howbin. If the Girdle does, indeed, 'bind all time, love, and devotion,' it is likely that it still exists somewhere in those western lands. Certainly Howbin is a likely place to begin to look for it.

There followed in the notes some general observations about the geo-politics of the region to the west of the Sorgian Sea with particular reference to the duchies of Howbin, Sisedge, and Rheesmarch, and generously quoted material from original sources, much of it in the ancient languages of D'Zunalor, Akwith, or the Drossynian Kings. There was also a detailed map of Howbin a weary and impossible journey to the west from the familiar bounds of Lakland.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THEWSON.

Year 1167 In his travels across the mountains and valleys and seas of the world, Thewson often found himself remembering for no reason he could name the spear round he had made when he reached puberty. It was the custom in the Lion Courts. It was hoped that each young man who returned from the round would have received a message, or failing that, a mark of favour from one or more of the gods. The round was strenuous, but no longer overly dangerous. One of the Chieftains several generations back had ruled that there was no advantage to the tribe in killing off too many of its young men, and the mantraps and deadfalls were removed from the trail of the round. In still later generations the cliff climbs were notched somewhat to afford hand-holds, and by Thewson's time, the way was almost tame.

Of course, a boy ha^ been killed the previous year by a tiger. Thewson had been told of that several times, in order that he be properly respectful and apprehensive. Actually, no one knew whether it had been a tiger or not. All that had been found were the bones. It could as well have been a snake, striking from beneath a sun-warmed stone.

So, when Thewson began to sprout hair in new places and bulge his loin leathers in an interesting manner, he was taken to the house of the Chieftain, to the very room of the Chair, and there the great chest which was bound in iron and studded with ivory and bloodstones was, opened before him. Inside were the spear blades of the tribe. When a warrior died, the shaft of his spear was broken, but the blades came down from generation to generation, long and narrow as blades of grass, sharp as the sting of scorpions. Thewson was left alone with the blades to listen to them, to hope that one would speak to him. One of the blades was green, with a curled guard and a long tang. It spoke to Thewson the moment he took it from the chest, saying his name three times. Thewson spent an hour in the room, as was proper, but the blade did not speak again. He carried it out proudly into the sunlight and lifted it above his head to show the people his choice. His uncle, the great craftsman, helped him form the shaft and pierce it, to rivet the blade and bind it with strips and tassels of basilisk hide which does not stretch when wet. The spear was too heavy for him, and too tall, much too tall, but that was proper. A boy should grow to his spear, and he should struggle to carry it upon the round.

He was told to watch out for the Great Beast, was given the usual small pouch of food and told to seek drink where he might. The first night was to be spent in the cave of the jewelled bird god, beneath the skull shelf. There would be two stops during the day, one at the tree of the tailed god, and one at the well of the One-Of-Frogs.

Thewson received no message in either place. The tree, aside from the carved image at its foot, was insignificant. The well smelled of stagnant rot. The cave of the jewelled bird was warm, dry, and smelled pleasantly of the spice flowers which grew at the entrance. Thewson scratched himself out a level space on the floor and built a small fire, and lay curled beside it staring into the shadow dance the flames made. He had not expected to receive a message from the tailed god. The tailed god was mostly a god of thieves or messengers, a god for getting out of tight places, a god for the small hours of the morning. The One-Of-Frogs was a god of wet places, a god who would cure diseases of the skin, most particularly the flaking disease. Thewson had conducted himself with proper respect in both places. He had been told what could happen to young men who failed in respect to even the least of the gods. The gods could get even in ways never suspected by men until they found those unmentionable things actually happening to them.

The jewelled god was a god for warriors because it did not rest. It did not perch, nor was it seen nesting. Its wings moved always like the shadow dance of flames, and it was tireless. Small boys, always in motion, were called by the jewelled bird god's name. Warriors, tireless in battle, were given the name of the jewelled bird god in addition to their battle names. The image of the god flickered in the shadows of the cave, suspended by ancient art and nearly invisible strings, as restless as the bird itself. The nervous glitter threw scraps of light across the walls and floor, across Thewson's dusty arms and chest, up and across and pause and back and down and pause and up and across and pause and back and ...

The god spoke to him, in a voice like the whirr of wings, a dry, quiet buzzing. 'Another message seeker, eh, eh? Stupid. Silly. I'll give you a message, young killer. Fly. That's the message. Disappear. Vanish. Go like the breath of wind and the sound of lost wings. Eh, you get that? That's my message to you. When faced by danger, flee.'

Thewson tried to open his eyes and could not. He raised his head with enormous and concentrated dignity. 'I couldn't do that. No warrior could do that.'

'So die, then,' whispered the god. 'So die with your blood all around you and your pretty skin in tatters. Eh? I don't know why I bother. I tell them all. They never listen.'

There was a feeling of vacating, as though someone long in residence had gone away to an unimaginable distance, and Thewson opened his eyes. There had been a finality about that last phrase, 'They never listen.' Deep inside him, something snapped to attention, and Thewson heard. 'I'm listening,' he whispered into the silence. 'Really.'

At the end of the distance, at the place where distance ends, an opening happened and the dry whirr came through, softly. 'Well, think about it, eh? Think about it.'

Thewson slept well. The next day's trip took him through the little clearing where the Tree of Forever stood, the stone god house at its base dwarfed by the towering trunk, the xoxaauwal, the sky gatherer. Nearby was the house of the old shaman, and Thewson paid his respects to both the Tree and the office. He went then to the place of the giver of law, the ledge of ending where the god of things forgotten lived, then to the falls, streams, pools, and marshes of the woman gods. He slept nearby, expecting no message. Indeed, it would be exceedingly inappropriate to receive a message from a woman god. He wakened, blushing, but could not remember why.

That day he went through forest and over cliff and by chasm past the whole pantheon of weather gods. He bowed before lightning and thunder and rain and mist and wind and the god-brothers little-wind and great-wind, who were quite different from the God-Of-Wind-Alone. He gave obeisance to dawn and morning and to the Ulum nur wavar somu'nah'aluxufus, the God-Of-When-Trees-Eat-Their-Shadows, that is, the noonday god who sat with his big hat and staff in the sun of the cliffside above the desert. In the desert he burned incense to the god of the sun, to the god of drought, to the god of heat (who brought fevers and could be propitiated with beer and the juice of limes) and to the thorn god, That-One-Who-Prickles.

At the edge of the desert way was the place of flowers and the holy garden where the gods of planted things lived; the blossom goddess and the pollen god and the fruit goddess and the grain god and the Blind-One-Who-Lives-Below responsible for the roots of things, especially potatoes. It was a neat and carefully tended place, full of old men and old women and orphan children and warriors who had been blinded or crippled plus a few young men and women who had taken the flower way. The jewelled birds hung in the air before the massed flowers, the whirr of their wings saying 'think, think' as they crossed the sightless gaze of the blind warriors or the limping steps of the lame. Thewson shook his head and compressed his lips, thinking. Then he went into the forest again.

It was growing dark when he came to the grove of the Mysterious-One-Who-Will-Not-Answer. He felt it would be better to sleep there than to go on to the gods of war and death and battle and blood. He feared no message from the Mysterious One, who was not known to give messages at all. The grove stood on a talus slope part way up the high cliffs which he would climb in the morning, the tilted blocks of the cliff looming one above the other, face on face uplifted to the westering sun. The cliff faces were sheeted with water-rock, that kind of rock which could be split into thin, transparent sheets and used in windows or lanterns. Even in the grove, as the boughs moved and tossed in the evening wind, the light flashed from the tilted rock faces, blinking on and off, and on and off, and on and off, and on, and on, and ...'

'_____________________?'