 
### The Line of Eyes

Clayton Spann

Copyright 2007 Clayton Spann

Smashwords Edition

Discover other titles by Clayton Spann at Smashwords.com:

Exchange Rate

Lord Protector*

Restorer of the World*

Expelled*

Day Nine

Two Timed

*Roger Ward Trilogy

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons (except for historical figures), living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

To Dad

For whom Duty, Honor, Country

Was not an empty slogan

And to Thomas,

Who now carries the standard

### Part One

# In The Beginning

## Son of Great

Son did not like his posting. On this barren rise he was completely exposed.

Leader had sternly instructed he could flee only if a Raala directly charged his position. But then it would be too late. Son was swift, though not swift enough to reach the nearest tree.

The old, shameful fear numbed his muscles. Soon he wouldn't be able to abandon this spot even if Raala did head his way. How strange if he held firm in the face of death only because of fright. He wondered if anyone would be fooled.

Son knew everyone in the stand of oaks could see him. They were probably enjoying his predicament and wagering how long his nerve would hold. They all despised him, and some really hated. Five rains had passed but few had forgotten the death of Red Thumb.

The midday sun beat down. Though the wind blew strongly, sweat still trickled from his brow. Adding to his discomfort were the bite ants, which he had to continually brush from his feet. He brushed slowly, for the poorly sighted Raala that loved the flesh of man were still adept at spotting movement.

Why didn't Leader order the lurers out? It was hot enough certainly; the Raala weren't going to get anymore sluggish. Perhaps the lurers—save Fast as Wind—needed a few more moments to talk up their courage.

Or should he say talk up their madness? Everyone praised the great heart of those who lured, but lurers were more crazed than brave. They had a sickness that lusted danger.

The sun continued to pound. He was getting light headed. If they didn't begin soon, he might pass out. And then where would they be, with their best lookout unable to warn?

Son did not indulge such thought long, for he knew his fate if he did fall unconscious. The camp would demand banishment despite any defense Leader might offer. They would cast Son out to survive the Raala on his own. Deep down, Leader would probably be relieved to have him gone.

Son of Great surveyed the brush and grass before him. The dun land sloped away for several hundred paces, then rose gently again. His eyes tried to penetrate each clump of brush. The Raala loved to hide within any scrap of dense foliage, except of course where the thorns grew. He looked hard, but he could say neither yes or no if Raala lurked.

His eyes turned to the peka trees. He counted ten and four of the slender, broad limbed trees scattered about the valley. The limbs on each held an abundance of the black shelled nuts that were unmatched for providing sustenance. If the lurers lured, this gathering should be the best since the rains.

His attention returned to the oak stand, where the men had spent the prior night. He detected no movement. The men had to be anxious, but they were displaying good discipline. The only stirring in the heat was the occasional dart of a bird.

Would that men were birds. Or the turtle in its shell, the one creature that could cross the ground without fear of Raala. Life would be so much easier if men were either.

Suddenly the lurers emerged from the stand. The seven naked men strode forth as if they had not a care. As they advanced into the wind, the streamers tied around their waists unfurled.

The lurers remained silent the first fifty paces. Then they began to chant as they broke into a slow run. Their footfalls raised puffs of dust, and they quickly spread so their line extended halfway up both sides of the valley. Each man would have plenty of room. Each man would need it.

In the center of the line ran Fast as Wind. He was the best of the lurers and the most crazy. Son did not hate Wind, or even dislike him, but it pained Son to watch this man succeed so brilliantly. Wind—born only days behind Son—had gained the stature everyone predicted would go to Son of Great.

Wind was chanting the loudest, daring the Raala to come after him. The others, though certainly fearless, didn't edge their voices with quite the same defiance. If the Raala preferred to chase Wind, Son knew that would be fine with them. Raala however would settle for the flesh of any man.

The first Raala charged from the bushes in front of Fast as Wind. The long snouted beast bellowed the savage grunts that usually foretold the doom of whoever a Raala had caught in its dim sights. The mud brown body lumbered hard at Wind, who had stopped completely. About the area other grunts resounded. The Raala lay in sloth no more.

Son had seen Wind dodge a hundred times before. Anyone not an elder could dodge, really. All one needed was vast nerve. One must wait until the beast's tusks—tusks that could rip a man from crotch to throat—closed to less than a pace. If a man moved sooner, the Raala could change direction in time. If a man moved late, the Raala trampled him.

A lurer's nerve was his life. He needed that nerve reliable each time the men gathered. A lurer could not just one time leave his nerve in camp, for then he would never return to camp. Unfortunately every man had a bad day, and that was why few lurers survived beyond five rains. Wind had lasted eight.

The beast before Wind closed until only that one pace remained. Then Wind deftly skipped aside. The Raala tumbled as it turned too quickly, and Wind bent over the beast shouting taunts. As the Raala righted its grunts rumbled fiercely.

Son watched without breathing as Wind led the Raala off. Raala could run twice as fast as men, so this one had little trouble catching up to Wind. But it could not close the final pace. Time after time Wind left the beast rolling in the dust. Once Wind even crashed the Raala into a tree. The Raala still pursued, though Son thought the beast would die first of rage.

Five other Raala had joined in chasing the lurers. The nerve of all lurers held, and the beasts caught only air. Quickly the land around the peka trees was cleared of Raala. The lurers ran until each had reached a sturdy tree far beyond the pekas, where they leapt into the limbs. Their furious chasers jumped and clawed at the trunks, but the lurers for the moment were quite safe. To keep the attention of the beasts the lurers shouted and snapped their streamers.

The lurer's shouts and the Raala grunts made quite a racket from even five hundred paces away. Son forced his eyes from the distant trees and again inspected the nearby brush. The other lookouts were doing the same. One by one they raised an arm to indicate they saw no Raala. Son took a last, careful look, then raised his arm.

Now the gatherers came forward. They walked without haste, though each certainly desired a quick return to the oak stand. Nor did anyone speak. It was imperative they not attract notice of any Raala besieging the lurers. These men were untrained in evading Raala; a Raala loose among them would kill many.

The gatherers arrived at the peka trees unharmed. There they worked by threes. One man stood on another's shoulders and knocked loose the nuts, while the third man scooped the harvest raining to the ground into baskets. The gathering was going smoothly, and Son thought they erred only in not bringing enough baskets. The nuts seemed without end.

Son returned his strong vision to the lurers. They were leaning from the limbs, barely out of tusk reach of the clumsily leaping beasts. Lurers were crazy. Who knew the strength of the limbs from which they so brazenly hung? A sudden snap and they were a Raala meal.

Had his father, the greatest lurer of all, acted as foolishly as these men? Son doubted it. Men still spoke in awe of Great Lurer's devotion to duty, and duty and rashness did not mix. Wind and his dangling companions were but deranged children compared to Son's father.

A panicked shout halted his thoughts. To his horror he saw a Raala charging from the opposite slope toward the peka trees. This Raala did not grunt as it approached.

Nuts and baskets were thrown aside as gatherers ran for their lives. The man nearest the Raala escaped only because he dove into a thorn bush. The Raala paused to nip at his exposed feet, and the pause allowed the other men to start climbing.

After the man in the thorns yanked in his feet, the Raala turned toward the pekas. Only half the men were up into the limbs.

The Raala charged an unfortunate whose desperately thrusting feet and hands had barely lifted him off the ground. The unfortunate was Strong Foot, a man well past his prime. Leader had reluctantly allowed him on the gathering.

The Raala knocked Strong Foot from the trunk of the peka, then thrust tusks into the man's belly. The Raala was grunting now, but Strong Foot's shrieks were louder. Bile rose in Son's throat as he saw entrails spill on the grass. The mortifying shrieks went on until the Raala finally savaged the man's throat. Strong Foot stopped flopping.

A crescendo of grunts and the pounding of hooves told that the other Raala had abandoned the lurers. These beasts unerringly surged toward the bloodied body of Strong Foot. Son grew more nauseous as the Raala huddled snout to snout around the corpse. The beasts ate ravenously, and they shortly exposed bone.

Strong Foot's unwilling sacrifice had allowed the rest of the gatherers to climb to safety. The other lookouts had also found a tree.

Only Son, farthest from refuge, had not moved. He lay prone in the thin, brown grass that barely grew higher than his head. Son told himself he would live as long as he kept still. The bite ants were biting, but their jaws were not Raala tusks.

When the Raala finished devouring Strong Foot, they turned attention to the men in the peka trees. Pekas were smaller and less stout than the spring watered oaks of the stand. The pekas shivered as the Raala rose on their haunches to push against the trunks. The limbs above shook, nuts showered free, and the clinging men began to wail. They cried to the spirits that lived in each tree to deliver them.

Son resolved that when a man fell—as one soon must—he would break for the oak stand, two hundred paces away. Hopefully the Raala would be too busy ripping apart that man to notice Son's dash. Even if they did, flesh directly at hand should stop immediate pursuit. Once in the stand Son would certainly survive.

The gatherers were in a bad way. The lurers could run back through the pekas, but Raala rarely left a man trapped in a small tree. The beasts knew they could shake loose their meal. The gatherers had only one chance, to drop from the pekas all at once and run for the stand. The six Raala would catch at least six men, but the majority would reach the oaks.

Son could hear the men in the pekas shouting. Panic edged many voices. Leader was telling everyone to keep their heads—and their grips. Men retorted they were all doomed. For a delicious moment Son welcomed that prospect.

Then a screaming madman raced into the peka trees. Fast as Wind ran with his arms waving and streamers flying. His eyes bugged and foam frothed his lips. Son watched astonished as the man darted from Raala to Raala. Never were viler insults hurled at any creature. Where insult didn't induce chase, a kick in the side did.

It was a sight Son would forever remember: six furious Raala chasing a single berserk man. Wind was actually gloating as he led the beasts about. Son waited for the inevitable. When the Raala caught this very brave and very stupid man, Son would bolt for the stand.

But the beasts the color of dung didn't catch him. Instead the Raala caught trees, and brush, and each other. With incredible agility Wind repeatedly avoided the six pairs of tusks. A plan emerged amid Wind's insanity, for bit by bit he and the Raala coursed up the opposite slope. Then they were over the rise and gone. Swirling dust hung in their wake.

Leader's voice broke the stunned silence.

"Everyone for the stand! Now!"

Son had never seen such a scurrying. Even the man in the thorn bush, Long Jaw, tore himself loose and sprinted for the oaks. Leader did not have to tell anyone to ignore the nuts and baskets. Everyone—including Son and the remaining lurers reached the stand and began climbing high. Men laughed in their relief and all praised the courage of Fast as Wind.

The laughter faded as men looked at Long Jaw. Blood dripped from his torn skin and he pressed a hand tightly over an eye. It was obvious he was in great pain, but discipline kept him quiet. Son wondered if his own tongue could have remained silent against a hundred rips of flesh.

Men also began to mourn Wind. All agreed he could not survive. Six Raala must win that chase; even Wind's skill could not overcome such numbers. With great sadness everyone realized they had seen the last of this remarkable man. They pledged all generations to come would know his sacrifice.

Leader told them they could grieve later. The Raala would be back, and the men had to fetch what they could. He asked for volunteers to go back to the pekas. Just gather what's already on the ground, he ordered. And do it quickly.

Twelve baskets were filled before a Raala was sighted. Fortunately this beast was many hundred paces away when it charged, and the volunteers made the stand safely with all baskets. The Raala rooted around the oaks and tried to shake men loose. The thick trunked trees barely moved. When the Raala realized no meal waited in the stand, it ambled away to chew on what was left of Strong Foot.

The other Raala did not return. Ears strained but even the sharpest could hear no distant grunting. Which indicated the Raala over the slope were now sated, likely having fed on Fast as Wind.

As dusk approached and the excitement of the day faded, hunger began to torment. Everyone longingly eyed the filled baskets. Men however turned to the stale and meager rations carried from camp, because all knew wives and children and parents also hungered this evening.

Son could scarcely remember a time since puberty when his stomach did not rumble. No matter the size of a single harvest, only children were allowed to eat to contentment. Everyone else was given enough to carry on without collapse, and any surplus of nuts, roots, fruits or whatever was put aside for when baskets returned empty.

Son wedged himself between the trunk and a high limb and slowly chewed his dried root. It tasted more of dirt than anything else. Only hunger kept his teeth moving. Cool water gathered from the spring did help wash the meal down.

About Son men talked quietly, though no one included him in a conversation. The nearest men were but paces away, at the same height as he, but they kept their faces from him. It didn't bother Son; after six rains he was used to the aloneness.

Eventually he did notice one person sought eye contact. It was Thorn Nose. The man sat alongside Leader in a limb many trees away. Despite the fading light Son could clearly see hostility, and Leader was obviously trying to soothe the man both ugly and well muscled. Thorn Nose abruptly shut his mouth, but the baleful eyes continued to fix Son.

What was the matter with Thorn Nose? The man of course had never given him respect, but they never had a dispute. Then Son remembered that Strong Foot was—or had been—the nephew of Thorn Nose.

Son stopped eating. Did Nose blame him for Strong Foot's death? That was ridiculous. A lookout could not at every moment inspect every pace of ground. Son was one lookout of six, anyway. If Nose wanted to blame, let him blame Leader. Leader should have kept in camp a man who had grandchildren.

Night fell and the air cooled rapidly. The men who had muttered about the heat of day now mumbled about the evening chill. Fortunately, the wind had slackened, or men would have really suffered. Their beds of bark contained no warming covers—or warming wives.

Men were stiff with cold anyway when dawn broke. Though many nuts still waited at the pekas, no one challenged Leader's decision to return to camp. Memory of the seven Raala was too vivid. The men waited until light had fully reclaimed the land, then the lurers descended from the oaks. These men chanted without enthusiasm as they walked over pebble strewn ground toward the next clump of trees. They covered the five hundred paces without incident.

Sixty other men followed their path. Son carried a basket that someone had angrily shoved into his hands. Son barely kept from pushing the basket back. Instead he silently swore to throw aside the nuts if a Raala appeared. Let others prove their devotion to the camp, let others slow themselves a fatal step and give the Raala another meal.

While on open ground men were tense, even though the lurers had drawn no Raala. Son however relaxed. He could run faster than the sixty about him, and he had not forgotten his lurer training. He knew he could dodge any Raala. The trick for a lone lurer was to continue to dodge, but here the many fleeing figures would confuse a Raala. Son would make the trees even if behind him ten other men fell to tusks.

Through the morning they proceeded in like manner from stand to stand. Only one Raala charged and the lurers successfully led it off. By midday they had completed half the journey to camp, and Leader called for a rest at a stand that sat atop a commanding hill. He gave permission for each man to eat three nuts.

Rocks were quickly cracking shells. Son broke apart his nuts, but only after moving to a well shaded spot apart from the other men. They had kept an obvious distance from him, so he would keep distance from them.

After he ate—and savored—the soft chewy meat inside the shells, he rested. He did not bother to climb like so many others did, but instead sat on the ground with his back against a trunk. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the momentary respite from hunger.

"Taking a chance, aren't you?"

Son's eyes flew open. Leader loomed above him. The squat man with the thick chest smiled tightly.

Those words from anyone would have been mockery. But Leader rarely derided anyone, even those he held in low opinion.

"This close to a tree there is no danger."

Leader knelt beside him. "Perhaps."

Son found no hostility in the red rimmed eyes that lay too close together. They may have contained a little warmth. At one time—after Great's death—Leader had treated Son as a son. Most of that affection died when Red Thumb died.

"You better stay away from Thorn Nose," Leader warned.

Son had maintained distance all morning. But the hateful eyes always followed.

"I did not cause the end of Strong Foot."

"He believes you did."

"Do you?"

Leader drew a deep breath. "All the lookouts are responsible. Not you alone."

"How can it be any lookout's fault? That Raala made no noise."

Now Leader's eyes flashed. "Lookouts look as well as hear."

"I—"

"You have the best eyes of all. And the Raala came from brush directly across from you."

The air about Son grew hot, though moments before the deep shade had cooled.

"My eyes can't be everywhere."

"Thorn Nose says they were looking for a nearby tree."

"They weren't!"

"Tell me, Son of Great, where did you look?" Leader spoke gently, but his tone said Son must speak the truth.

Son dropped his shoulders. "I was watching the lurers."

"You weren't the only lookout doing so. But Strong Foot died because of that.

Son bit back a denial. He did not accuse Leader of bad judgement in bringing along Strong Foot. He told himself to be thankful Leader was spreading the blame. Six lookouts were harder to loathe than one.

"I am sorry he died," said Son. Not that sorry, but Foot's death had been horrible to watch.

"Better someone old than young."

Leader's words surprised Son. Leader always treated elders with utmost respect.

"Wind is our real loss," said Leader. "His skill let us take many harvests."

Son knew what Leader left unsaid, that with a firmer heart Son could have been the full equal of Wind. Yes, and just as equally dead.

Leader rose. "Stay away from Thorn Nose."

"I will."

"I should tell you—Thorn Nose wanted to take you to a high place. He wanted to do it right there in the stand."

Son shuddered.

"I talked him out of it...for now."

"He's crazy!" Son tried to snarl defiance, but fear thickened his tongue. He saw Leader's distaste.

Leader wouldn't meet his eye. "If he taunts you, don't respond. No matter what he says. I need you alive." Leader walked off.

Son drew knees to his head. A man was permanently shamed if he refused a demand to climb to a high limb. Sooner or later, Thorn Nose would demand. Two rains ago Thorn Nose had shoved another man to his death. And that man had merely insulted Nose's wife, not helped kill his uncle.

Son groaned. People half tolerated him now. After the refusal he would face only scorn. It would also end whatever bond remained between himself and Sun Hair. She would be free to again marry, and his children would become another man's. He would not be banished, but would be the difference?

They arrived at camp in late afternoon. Wives and children poured from the trees and ran in joy to greet their mates and fathers. Son eagerly clasped his two daughters. But the joy subsided as other cries, those of grief, arose from two women. The widows of Fast as Wind and Strong Foot shrilled on their knees, and other women rushed to console.

Son searched for Sun Hair among the throng. His heart sank when he finally spotted her. She had remained in the trees with the elderly and all she could manage for him was a weak smile. He looked upon her beauty with longing and sadness. Once his wife had beamed at his very presence and freely offered affection.

At least he could find comfort in his two little girls. They alone in camp truly loved him, and did not judge. Without reluctance they pressed tight.

Then Leader's voice boomed over all the others. Up to camp, he shouted. Let us not tempt the Raala any longer.

Everyone started toward the ladders, though many made light of his concern. Raala rarely ventured near camp. They heavy rocks stored in every tree deterred that. Hurled rocks had crippled enough of the beasts so they stayed well away despite the abundance of the flesh they coveted so much.

But Leader refrained from unnecessary risk. Son respected that. This camp suffered less loss of life than other camps. The men trusted Leader's judgement even through their jibes about his excessive caution. The men would keep him as leader until his legs could no longer take him on gatherings.

Son put his daughters on their ladder and he started to follow. A heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him. The hand belonged to Thorn Nose. Behind Nose stood several other grim men.

Two eyes of venom made an ugly face even uglier. Son's knees turned to water and he waited for the dread words of challenge.

"Two men have died because of your cowardice. By the spirits, I promise a third will not."

Son's tongue refused to move. Not that any babbled explanation would have mattered. The hulking man before had already decided his guilt.

"You cannot be the son of Great Lurer." Thorn Nose's voice sneered. The men behind Thorn Nose nodded.

Son could not draw breath. In a moment Nose would call him to a high place. These men would be witnesses to the demand—and refusal—and by nightfall all would know Son of Great's disgrace.

"Speak—Daughter of Great."

The men snickered. Son put all his energy into not stepping back from the face less than a hand span away. How badly he wanted to shove this hulk. That of course would bring an instant demand.

"So Daughter has no voice today—just as she didn't yesterday when the Raala charged Strong Foot."

Son's mouth finally moved. "I am sorry for his death," he croaked.

"Thorn Nose!"

Son turned to see Leader advancing, fury on his face.

Thorn Nose edged back from Son. "We're just talking," he said.

"I told you to leave him alone."

"I am leaving him alone. I did not ask him—her—to climb."

"Trouble him again, you and I will climb."

Thorn Nose stared in disbelief. Then he shook his head and he and his friends walked away.

Leader's tone did not soften as he addressed Son.

"Get up. And keep away from him."

Son got up. Eyes averted as he climbed into the tree. He wondered how many had heard Thorn Nose call him Daughter. It would take only one with long ears to have the insult already spreading through the trees.

When he reached the platform where Sun Hair and their children waited, he received a hurried embrace from his wife. Her first words inquired not his welfare but of the harvest. She grimaced when he told her how many nuts had been left at the pekas.

Before the sun set nuts were distributed. Son's family received twenty-two—no more, no less than others with the same number of mouths to feed. Sun Hair gave each daughter four nuts, and she and Son ate two. A few stems and berries were added to the meal. The children of course bolted down their food, while he and Sun Hair chewed each fragment at length. The two did not speak as they ate.

As the last light of day faded shrieks erupted from the far side of camp. Sun Hair instinctively clutched their daughters, and Son thought someone had fallen or Raala had appeared. Or both.

Then voices hysterically shouted that Fast as Wind was alive. He had made it back to camp unharmed. Which Son knew was impossible, no man survived six Raala. Such a feat would have been beyond even Great Lurer. In the growing darkness someone must have seen what he wanted to see, and in his mind returned to life the brave but reckless man who died yesterday.

Despite the poor light, and the difficulty of spotting Raala, men and women dropped to the ground like ripened fruit in a high wind. All were shouting, crying, screaming. Son had never heard such a din. How foolish everyone would shortly feel when they realized they rushed to greet an apparition.

With a cold voice Sun Hair told him to get down, so see if it was really Wind. Son said they would know soon enough. Why risk when risk was unnecessary? Raala knew men did not see well in the dark, and night was when they approached closest to camp. Sun Hair scowled.

The tumult only increased. Into the center of camp surged a group of men followed by everyone else. The ecstatic men carried on their shoulders a grinning if obviously exhausted Wind, and the cries of thanksgiving were loud enough to pain Son's ears.

Son did not believe his eyes. The man on those shoulders should be dead. In a way Wind's supposed death had been a relief for Son, not that he ever wished Wind ill. During the past six rains people had always compared Son and Wind, wondering how the two blessed with equal talent had turned out so differently. Until a moment ago Son thought that comparison at an end.

The camp danced around Wind. People were yelling themselves hoarse and faces fairly glowed in the near darkness. The feeble light revealed only one man not joyous, Leader. Leader peered anxiously about and motioned that people should return to the trees.

The camp had seen little joy these past rains, so people were reluctant to give up their exultation. Women shooed their children back into the limbs, but the celebration around Wind continued. Son wondered if even Raala grunts would have disrupted their jubilation.

Finally people did heed Leader and returned to their platforms. The hum of chatter though persisted far into the night as the details of Wind's escape were carried from tree to tree. All agreed the tale would live as long as the camp lived, and that hence this man would be known as Wind the Great.

Everyone slept late the next day. Around noon Leader met with his best men to plan for the next gathering. A successful harvest would have permitted men to avoid the brush several days more, but of course no one would call the last gathering a success. It had added little to the camp store. The past scoredays the store had been running ever lower, and now held enough to feed the camp only six days.

Leader went from tree to tree to tell men they would depart tomorrow at dawn. They would return to the same peka trees and try to recover the wealth of nuts that should still await. Men grimly agreed. Raala often lingered in the area of a kill, but if this camp didn't get the nuts another eventually would.

Son worried about the seven Raala who might lurk, but he shortly learned he needn't fear. Leader took him up several limbs, out of ear reach of others, and told Son he would not be going on this gathering. Son must remain at camp. He would join the other lookouts here, and his sharp eyes would greatly increase the safety of those who stepped to ground. Be especially alert, Leader urged, if women take children along when they fetch water.

For a moment Son said nothing, so great was his shock. Then, as Leader turned to go, Son of Great found his tongue. A voice half sob, half whine demanded why he could not go.

They both knew the answer, but Leader gently explained anyway.

"It is the will of the men. I know it is not fair, but they still blame you for Strong Foot's death. They tell me they can not feel safe with you as lookout." Leader put a hand on Son's shoulder. "I still have confidence in your eyes."

"Then tell them they are wrong!"

"You will be back before too long. There will be deaths, perhaps during this gathering. You will be needed. Until then keep calm, and serve well here."

A horrible shame filled Son. Only elderly and maimed served as camp lookouts. It was unheard of for a healthy adult male to remain behind during a gathering. He would never live down this humiliation.

"Let me at least go as a gatherer. No one could mind that."

Leader shook his head. "You must wait."

Son slumped against the upward reaching limb that bore the two men. He despaired, and for the briefest moment considered leaping to his death. But he was too afraid of death for that, and they said the spirit of a suicide remained in his body and became trapped in the beasts and birds that ate him.

Son noticed many eyes upon him, eyes peering from his tree and from the others. Most eyes held scorn. The remainder held pity. It was obvious everyone already knew what Leader had climbed to tell him.

"Look at me, Son of Great."

Son looked at Leader, though the start of tears blurred his vision.

"Maybe this stay in camp will be good for you. It will give you a chance to look inside yourself. I still believe you are your father's son, and that you can give as much to the camp as he. We both know your rightful place is as a lurer. Your skills are as good as Wind's. So look hard inside, and become the man your blood has promised."

Son spent the rest of the day high in the tree. He did not look inside himself, but instead cursed that he had been born of a man whose accomplishments put such impossible expectation on those he sired.

Three sons had been born of Great Lurer, and Son was the only one still alive. He had been very young when his two brothers, lurers both, fell to Raala tusks. Son could still remember his mother's grief and the bitter words she had hurled at his father. She swore Son would never enter the lurer ranks, and his father just as vehemently insisted Son would. At the time Son—who as a child thought courage an easily acquired virtue—sided with his father. Of course he would lure, and leave many tripped Raala in his wake.

While a child he didn't mind at all his father's fame. Men constantly praised Great Lurer, who they said was the best ever. When Son reached puberty, Great was past his fortieth rain and still dodging Raala. Great refused to step down to gatherer or lookout, which he could have done with honor and as many urged. Great said the younger lurers needed his leadership and example.

Devoted to duty, that was how people described his father. Son remembered a man always serious. Unlike Wind, Great never flaunted his skill. Great risked greatly when the need required, but he never chanced beyond that need. His father lured because he was good at it, and the camp could not survive without good lurers. The prestige and adulation accompanying that dangerous task did not seem to matter to him.

His father should have quit when he could. The Raala killed him soon after Son married Sun Hair. The camp mourned a full scoreday. Men and women ceaselessly offered Son condolences, along with their assurance he would find the same glory as his father. By then however Son was more interested in survival than glory.

Son's lurer training had begun a rain before Great died. Twelve eager youths had competed in the first tests, and Great had dismissed eight before half a rain was out. Great consoled each disappointed youth by telling him he lacked neither nerve nor determination, only the essential agility. His duty would lie in gathering well, which of course was what kept the camp alive.

Son at that time believed himself very special. Not even Wind had exceeded him at the tests. As word of Son's promise spread through the camp, even veterans of twenty rains of gathering deferred to him. Men were ready to add Great to his name before he had faced a single Raala.

The camp did not permit a youth to actually lure until he had sired at least two children. Such assured that his good blood would pass on even if he died his first time on the lurer line. Many lurers died before experience could teach them the ways of survival.

All the maidens in camp had wanted to marry Son. Sun Hair was the loveliest of the maidens. Even as a boy his eyes were drawn to her, and as the pangs of lust birthed by puberty seized him he would have no other. She accepted his proposal instantly.

He had mated with her constantly early in their marriage. As he mated he hoped with all his heart she would prove barren. No children meant he could for several rains avoid the lurer line. Barrenness usually annulled a marriage, but every rain Son could escape the line shortened the interval to honorable retirement as gatherer.

Even when he married Sun Hair, he knew luring was not for him. Youths were allowed to join gatherings that strayed not too far from camp. On Son's third outing he saw a lurer die. Before this he had suffered an occasional spasm of fear, and shrugged it off. Watching the evisceration of a screaming man brought Son his first dose of pure terror.

Son tried to tell himself the lurer died because of indecision, because of faulty maneuver, because of trying to show off. But he knew that the man, highly skilled, had ended horribly because what he did was very dangerous.

The death of Great had shaken Son even more. If Son had not loved this stern, remote man, he had certainly revered him. Furthermore, his father's example had summoned what little true courage Son did possess. That courage died with Great.

It took courage for any lurer to return to the line after Great was gone. If Raala could fell their best what hope then remained for the others? That they were doomed was of course not true, as more than a third of lurers lived till retirement. But Great's death forced the last reserve of nerve from each of those who dodged the Raala.

Sun Hair quickly bore him two daughters. During the second pregnancy Son slept with increasing difficulty. He did not eat well, always looked haggard, and people thought him sick. He did little to discourage this line of belief. Nothing would have pleased him more to be declared invalid, and allowed to honorably stay in camp the rest of his days.

But realistically he could not avoid the line. The whole camp was waiting for the day when he and Wind would confound the Raala. Men joked Raala would leave the land of hills in frustration after futilely chasing those two. So Son maintained his outward bluster and spoke how much he looked forward to thwarting his first pair of tusks.

Unfortunately he twisted an ankle during his final training. The joint turned blue black and swelled to twice normal size. After a scoreday the ankle healed, but Son slipped alighting from a tree and injured it again. This time he was laid up two scoreday.

When the ankle finally restored itself, Son—and everyone else—was dismayed to find he could no longer run fast. In fact his speed was no better than that of the average gatherer. Nor could he dodge with his former skill. The ankle hurt whenever he abruptly changed direction.

People told him not to get discouraged. He was still quite young, he would mend, and eventually he would regain his abilities. Son told them he hoped so. Meanwhile he served as gatherer, and enjoyed many nights of restful sleep.

But the camp was also suspicious. People would be talking, then the talking ceased as he neared. People treated him cordially enough, though their eyes often seemed to probe his. And men and women, even children, never stopped asking when he would be ready to join the line. Son began to hate them for their asking.

One day he was tricked as a gathering party returned to camp. The harvest that day had been good with not a single Raala encountered. Morale was high. A man engaged Son in joshing, and Son let himself relax as camp came into view.

They passed a small clump of brush. Son did eye the growth, but he had seen a lurer shake the clump when trotting by. Only a Raala near death would not have responded.

Three steps past the brush Son heard a rustle followed by the deep bellied grunt of a Raala. Without looking back, Son sprinted for the nearest tree. He beat everyone there, and reached the first limb with a single bound. When he at last turned his head he saw everyone staring silently.

People were cool after that, but not overtly hostile. They still let him serve as gatherer. People were willing to be patient. Wind had begun to make a name for himself and people knew they had no less a talent in Son of Great. Surely his father's fine blood would overcome this momentary loss of nerve. They left him alone, so he could arrive at the proper decision himself.

Only one person pressed to know the actual day he would turn lurer. Whenever he told Sun Hair that day would be soon, within one or two scoreday, she treated him well. When for some reason the scoreday passed with him still a gatherer, she hardened. She never went so far as to refuse to mate, but a cold woman poorly satisfied. And somehow their mating no longer led to pregnancy.

Often during their marriage Sun Hair had professed her great love for him. Son could not understand if she cared for him so deeply, why would she want him in danger? Son's mother had suffered every time Great went on the line. She had begged him to retire. Sun Hair should have begged Son to avoid the line, not relentlessly urge he join.

A rain passed and still he had not joined the line. People began to openly complain, and once he heard "coward" muttered. But to serve as a lurer was entirely voluntary. A man was not obligated to put himself at such risk, however fleet of foot. The camp couldn't throw him out because he refused to follow his father's path.

Later the next rain he almost did meet banishment. Only Leader's intervention saved him. Son went numb as a Raala charged a group of gatherers taking water from a spring. The Raala cut down one man, then turned for Son. He was a dead man.

Then Red Thumb, father of six, tried to act as lurer. In his youth the man was denied entry into the lurer ranks because he lacked agility. Red Thumb ever after wearied ears with how he had been cheated of his due. Son often wished the two of them could have traded bodies. It was strange how fate mismatched desire and skill.

Shrieking the cries of a lurer, Red Thumb darted before the Raala. The Raala halted to look back and forth between Son and Red Thumb. Son moved not a muscle while Red Thumb continued to shriek and prance. Son lived ten rains before the stinking beast chose. The Raala lunged for Red Thumb.

Red Thumb tripped the Raala twice, but he had no real chance to escape the infuriated beast. Mercifully Red Thumb died with the first thrust of tusks. Meanwhile Son's dreadfully heavy legs carried him to a tree, where the men already up cursed his name.

For awhile Son thought they would toss him to the ground. They did vow between their curses that he was finished with the camp. By this time tomorrow he would be in the brush on his own. They told him wouldn't last half a scoreday; the Raala ate the flesh of cowards along with the brave.

Only Leader defended Son, but that was enough. Leader reminded everyone that Son's inaction had placed only himself in danger. In fact Son's paralysis bettered the odds of everyone else reaching a tree. Though Son had not intended to sacrifice himself for the group, that would have been the effect.

They all knew Red Thumb, said Leader. Sooner or later the man would have died trying to act as lurer. No one could deny his great heart, but his obsession to be lurer had left behind a widow and six fatherless children. There was a lesson for everyone in this man's act, which was really selfishness.

Leader's argument didn't go down easily, but it was accepted. Son however lost the last remnants of respect Great's legacy had given him. Thereafter he was merely tolerated. His few friends drifted away, and Sun Hair grew ever more difficult. These reverses only partially sorrowed Son, for at last no one asked when he would turn lurer.

He served as gatherer the next two rains without further disgrace. Then Leader moved him to lookout. Many in camp objected, although everyone knew of his splendid eyesight. Lives depended on a lookout and the men didn't trust him. Leader said each man deserved a chance to redeem himself. Remember that all men improved as they matured and gained experience.

Son served well as lookout. Lookouts usually lived a long time, because they mostly observed from high in trees. Occasionally they were posted in the open when a bare hill or crest offered the best vantage point. It had taken all of Son's will to remain when Leader first stationed him so, but the certain knowledge the camp would this time banish helped mightily to keep him in place.

Son could have served the rest of his days as lookout, and gradually gained some stature. He could have, except for the death of Strong Foot. The man's advancing age had killed him, not any mistake of Son's. But the men would never forgive Son for not becoming a lurer. Foot's death just gave them the excuse to punish him. For so long they must have ached to punish.

The camp was surprised when the men returned at dusk the same day they left. They came back with empty baskets and long faces. In the early afternoon they had encountered the men of another camp. These men had arrived the day before at the same peka trees where Strong Foot was lost. The Raala had been waiting for them.

These gatherers lost ten—ten men—to the tusks. Their faces still bore the shock of what had happened, and they more stumbled than walked. Their leader had despaired, for their camp had failed to harvest much for a scoreday. Their foodless return to camp would mean starvation for some.

Leader had turned his own men around. He got no argument, though everyone could taste those hundreds of nuts waiting at the pekas. After such a triumph the Raala would not quit that area for many days. Even Wind showed no eagerness to test his skills against what would be roused and ready beasts.

Back in camp Leader told the men they would head in the opposite direction at dawn. He knew everyone was tired, but they had to find nuts and roots quickly or they would face the same privation as the other camp. The exhausted men just nodded, and climbed into the trees to get what sleep they could.

In the chill of dawn the men prepared to depart. Son watched them from his high position that overlooked the northern and western approaches to camp. Someone angrily shouted up to him, telling him to turn his eyes to the approaches. Son wanted to snap that the gatherers were heading south, so what did it matter if he watched his approaches or not.

Then Thorn Nose darted from the men to stand directly beneath Son. Malice filled his voice.

"If anyone dies because you weren't looking, we go to the high place. I'll haul you up there whether you accept my demand or not. Understand, Daughter?"

The man's voice had to have carried to every ear in camp. Son felt heat on his face, and the distance between the two men gave him some courage. Not enough though, to land spit on Thorn Nose's brow like he wanted.

After the men departed Son chewed on his rage. He vowed that he would be the one to demand when Thorn Nose returned. He could topple Nose from a high limb, he knew it. Thorn Nose was big and strong, but not quick. Quickness Son had in plenty. Once on the limb Son would insult the man, make him lunge, and miss. It would take but the slightest push to send the ugly one screaming down.

Son would of course not demand. Thorn Nose had been to the high place before. Nose knew how to survive there, and he would expect Son to rely on his agility. If Thorn Nose were patient, Son had no chance. Once one of those powerful hands gripped hold, it would be Son who screamed as he fell.

Son brooded at his post until midday, when he was surprised to see Sun Hair climbing toward him. The past two days she had refused her body and wore a look as if he were dung.

She reached his limb. Her lovely face was very grave, but at least today it wore no distaste. She handed him a nut.

Son broke the shell and gulped down the meat. Suddenly he was hungry, although he had lacked appetite all yesterday.

"Thank you," he said.

He wanted badly to hug, to kiss his wife. It had been so long since they embraced with passion. Would they ever again?

"You must turn lurer," she said abruptly.

Son stared as if she were mad. She must know by now he never would. Then he wondered if Leader had asked she put in a plea.

He asked the question he so long ached to ask: "Do you want me dead? Because that's what I'll be within a half rain."

Her eyes were devoid of sympathy. "You'd rather serve out your days as camp lookout?"

"That's Leader's choice. Not mine."

"Death is better than the shame you have brought us."

Anything was better than Raala tusks tearing open a belly, he wanted to shout. But she didn't care about his belly.

"I am taunted," snarled Sun Hair. "The other women call me Wife of Daughter. Our children are taunted, and no one will play with them. Is this what you want for us?"

Son matched her hard eyes. "I've brought no shame. I have done nothing wrong."

"You are the Son of Great Lurer. You are supposed to lure. That is what you've done wrong. You know it along with everyone else."

Son clasped hands over his ears. Why wouldn't they leave him alone? He was not a brave man, it should be obvious to all. And a lurer without courage was dead even before he joined the line.

She yanked his hands. "You will listen! Turn lurer or I will ask our marriage be renounced."

Her words knocked the breath from him. Short of banishment, he could suffer no worse humiliation. The camp contained many young, eager widows, but not even the most desperate would marry a renounced man.

The camp did not grant renouncement easily. Only death was supposed to end the bond between a man and wife, otherwise chaos between the sexes would result. A mate could cast off another if he or she could prove adultery. A mate become insane or feeble minded could also be renounced, but mere hate for a mate did not suffice to break the bond.

Son had committed no crime. Yet he knew the camp in its present mood would honor Sun Hair's request. They would find an excuse. When they allowed the renouncement they would both punish Son and show what happened to those who shirked expected duty.

Son almost begged Sun Hair she reconsider. Almost. The pitiless set of her face—a face he once so adored—stiffened him. He was pleased with the harshness in his own voice as he told her to get from his sight.

They exchanged glares of hate, and in that moment he knew she was no longer his wife. Sun Hair swiftly descended the tree.

For awhile anger kept Son strong. When the anger ebbed, foreboding settled upon him. Within a scoreday he would be renounced, there was no doubt. Then he would have no wife or children in addition to no friends. He would be alone as a man could be without banishment.

Once he was renounced, they would never let him return to gathering. He would remain in this tree. They would give just enough food to keep him going. All the while everyone would wait for him to say enough, and head into the brush.

In the brush his prospects would be grim. Son's best hope was for another camp to take him in, but that rarely happened. Men wandering the brush alone were most suspect. Leader had no use for such men, even if they volunteered to lure. Maybe another camp would let Son serve as lurer, but that was what he had tried to escape in the first place.

The camp that had lost ten men at the pekas, they might take him in. They needed anyone able bodied and likely would not care whether a newcomer served as lurer or gatherer or lookout. The many widows there would also want healthy young men, and they too would not closely question a newcomer about his past.

That camp was ten or so hills northeast of the pekas. Son roughly knew the lay of the land in that direction; stands were few and brush often thick. Son likely wouldn't get two hills beyond the pekas before a Raala caught him.

If but he could get to that camp on vines. When a child, Son had looked at the vine walk between two trees of camp and made a suggestion. Why couldn't men string vine between stands? That way men would never have to touch ground and face the Raala.

People had laughed kindly. A good idea, if only vine could hold that far. Rains later, when his lack of nerve became known, men laughed differently. Yes, they derided, we should have seen. It was not cleverness but cowardice that made Son think of vine walks between the stands.

Perhaps Son could get there in the same manner Wind made his way back to camp: run the Raala to collapse. One after one the enraged beasts had dropped chasing Wind over the hills. Only Wind could have dodged that long, though men had always said Son could match Wind if he tried.

Son didn't want to try. Maybe he could dodge Raala a hill or two, but not the fifteen between the two camps. Wind had practiced his skills many rains; Son could rely only on unused training. The Raala would win the race from stand to stand.

He might instead run and dodge from thorn bush to thorn bush. There were far more of them than stands. A mad thought? Long Jaw had not been the first man to find refuge in such bushes. It was not refuge sought willingly, of course. The thorns left skin in shreds and blood loss was sometimes enough to kill.

Son supposed a man could prepare for the thorns. He could wrap from neck to toe in weaving or matting. On his head he could put a tight basket, with holes cut for seeing. With such protection he could stand many plunges into the thorns.

He sighed. That was not a mad thought, it was a stupid one. How fast could a wrapped man run? And even if he could get from bush to bush, who said a Raala would agree to leave? Why could not a Raala plop his snout down outside the thorns and wait? A man must then decide whether to starve to death or make a futile run.

He might as well face it, he was trapped. He would not reach the needy camp or any other. He would remain in this camp which loathed him. His life might as well be over.

In the afternoon heat Son grew drowsy. The day before he had pressed his back against sharp bark to keep awake. Today he didn't bother. What did it matter if he slept while lookout? What worse punishment could he get than what they were doing to him anyway?

Son dosed and when he awoke it was dark. The height of the stars told that a quarter of the night had passed. He heard a few voices but most of the camp was asleep.

For a moment he wondered if he were really awake because an additional star had joined the Turtle. The back foot now had five stars. But the new star was dim, so perhaps it had been there all along. His eyes were the best in the camp at distance and had actually gotten better over the past rains. He saw many stars others could not.

The air had chilled. Right now he should be lying under covers beside Sun Hair. His throat tightened as he realized he would never again feel the warmth of her body. He might never feel any woman's body again.

A strong breeze, blowing from the east, intensified the chill. But Son found hunger tormented him more. Today he had eaten only that one nut today and almost nothing the day before. Even if he went to Sun Hair and demanded more, she would have little to give. Leader had put the camp on half rations pending a successful harvest.

His stomach rumbled and Son almost let hunger drive him from the tree. For insane moments he considered trying to reach the pekas on his own, in the night. Men did not travel at night and perhaps he could catch the Raala unaware.

Unfortunately Raala also hunted when the stars were out. At night the camp often heard distant grunts and the final cries of other creatures the stinking ones liked to eat. The Raala might not expect his passage, but they would hardly refuse his flesh just because the sun had set.

Son salivated. He could taste the meat of the nuts. So many nuts waited, enough to feed a single man at least a rain. What would a rain or more be like without hunger? By the spirits, he would love to find out.

By the spirits. Son laughed without mirth. Before each gathering the elders begged the spirits give a good harvest and bring back all men safely. Well, the spirits heard poorly. All Son's life they had been rather deaf.

Son supposed he never really believed in the spirits after his father's death. If spirits had existed they would have protected this one man. Son had since decided spirits were for calming anxious wives and for soothing the almost dead. Reliance on spirits only hindered men who had to pit their lives against the Raala. Planning and discipline spared men and fed the camp, nothing else.

Spirits who dwelled in the trunks of trees would not spare or feed Son. He would live or perish by his own hand. It was a chilling thought to know nothing beyond life would aid him, but that would also keep his head clear. His head was his only helper now. Son fought off hunger and went back to sleep.

Son of Great awoke before dawn, greatly excited. In a dream he had seen how he would cross the land unharmed. He was aware dreaming and waking were quite two different worlds, and what made sense in one was often madness in the other. But he believed his dream would work.

He waited until the sun rose and the camp was fully alive before he descended. He walked to the center tree of camp, where the women wove and matted. The women sneered when they saw him standing below and several harshly asked why he had left his post. Son hid his own scorn and meekly asked for a cutter, a roll of vine, and some matting. He explaining he was going to build a platform at his post, since he no longer bedded with Sun Hair.

Distasteful eyes studied him. One crone urged they refuse his request. "Let the coward sleep on bark the rest of his days."

For a crazy moment Son saw himself climbing to grab the crone and toss her withered body from the tree. That however would get him bound, taken to the high place, and dropped like a stone. Let her live to suffer—the rest of her days—on half or quarter rations.

The women threw down what he wanted. Derision followed as he carried them away.

He stopped beneath his former tree. There Sun Hair would not look at him as he asked for some nuts. His two daughters faced him, but they said nothing even when he called endearments. They gazed as if he were a stranger.

Red ran behind Son's eyes. This was the doing of Sun Hair—and of the camp. They had turned the last two with any love for him. That was an offense for which the entire camp should banish itself.

With a strangled voice he again called for nuts. Finally two were dropped down.

Son returned to his tree, but climbed only three limbs high. When he detected eyes no longer on him, he returned to ground. He made for the nearest thorn bush from behind which he could work unseen.

He toiled all day. Despite strips of weaving wrapped around his hands, his palms and fingers took many punctures. His hands remained in a frenzy of movement despite the pain and fatigue. By evening he had nearly completed what at dawn existed only in his mind.

He slept the night through and well into the morning. When he awoke he heard the voices of women and children cluttering the air. The voices yearned. Everyone wanted the men to return laden with a full harvest. Everyone licked their lips in anticipation of the hearty nuts, juicy fruits, and filling roots that might be in their mouths before sunset.

Son heard no talk about the men returning empty handed. Yet half the time that happened. Another failed gathering could mean the camp going on quarter rations. People would begin to sicken, and some die.

By midday he finished his work. He stared at the combination of vine, matting, and thorn branches. It stood as high as his chest. The outside bristled with spikes; matting protected the inside. A stick through the middle would let him lift the thorns as he walked.

In his dream it had been so simple. Instead of going from thorn bush to thorn bush, he would become one. He would cross the land like a turtle in his shell of thorns.

Son had never seen a Raala charge into a thorn bush, no matter what creature had scurried inside. But what would they do with a bush that moved and smelled of man? A hungry Raala might indeed attack. The bush without roots would topple easily, and Son within would shortly find tusks at his belly.

Dreaming and waking were so different. It was easy to be brave when asleep. Now he was awake, and he feared.

Son knew all the days of his life had come to this one. Fear had ruined so many of those days and brought him to near nothingness. He could let fear now return him to the tree, where he could try hard to strengthen his nerve, and tell himself on the morrow he would venture forth in the thorn shell.

When he stepped to ground tomorrow he would fear the same. He would always fear, no matter how long he prepared himself. The Raala would always wait.

If he did not go forth today, with memory of the dream still fresh, he would never go. The risk would never lessen, but his nerve—what there was of it—surely would. He must go today.

Again he saw the nuts on the ground below the peka trees. They waited for who ever had the nerve and means to get them. He was tired of fear and tired of hunger. If he could get to the pekas he would be rid of both.

Son got into his thorn shell. His heart beat fast and breathing was difficult, but he lifted the stick and stepped forth.

He walked toward the pekas, five hills distant. At first he believed he still dreamed, because it all seemed so unreal. For twenty generations men had not trod alone over open ground. Neither had they ignored the safety of stands nor dared walk so close to brush.

It did not take long to hear a grunt. The grunt was muffled, curious. Son stopped instantly and crouched so the thorns completely hid him. He peered through the spikes to see a Raala trotting his way.

Son wondered how a Raala tusk would feel. Men surviving such wounds said the tusks didn't hurt at first. The pain came later, sometimes within moments, sometimes not for a good while. When it did come men writhed in their agony. If this Raala attacked Son wanted no pain and a quick death.

The Raala trotted to the false bush. The haired snout sniffed loudly, though Son wondered how the creature could smell anything over its own stench. The black eyes of the Raala also probed the thorns.

The old numbing fear told Son to remain absolutely still and hope. When he suddenly gripped the center stick and pushed the act went against his every instinct. But those horrible eyes were too invitingly close, and he pushed directly at them.

He did not know if he got one eye, or both. The Raala bellowed and ran off with blood hiding its face. The stinking one obviously could not see, for it soon ran into a real thorn bush. The Raala became entangled in the branches and Son was sure these heartier bellows could be heard back at camp.

He waited for other Raala to appear. None came.

Son of Great forced his trembling legs to walk. He strode fast and soon a hill separated him from the still screaming Raala. Then another hill passed and he was halfway to the pekas.

He marveled how swiftly he covered ground. He moved at two or three times the pace of gatherers. As he advanced Son thought men must have traveled this freely in the time before the Raala. What a joy life must have been then.

Son reached the peka trees by mid afternoon. Several times more Raala had approached the bush. They grunted uncertainly as they sniffed around the moving thorns, but they grudgingly gave ground as Son plodded on. Son's heart began to come out of his throat.

At the peka trees the nuts lay on the ground by the hundreds. Also scattered about were the picked bones of eleven men. Son avoided the bones and instead fetched several of the baskets men had dropped in their panic. These he filled to the brim with the black shelled peka nuts and he started back to camp.

He was not quite sure why he headed that way. It made more sense to turn northeast, toward the camp that had lost so many men here. That camp would welcome him and his baskets of nuts.

Something drew him back to the people among whom he had spent his whole life. They had only contempt for him, and he for them, but he could not leave just yet. He could not disappear without their knowing the third son of Great Lurer had outdone them all.

When Son returned near dusk the gatherers were still away. Son listened from his lookout post as worry drifted through the camp. Some women wailed that a great disaster had befallen the men; others in their desperation hoped the men were slowed because they carried an unusually large harvest.

Son knew hunger made the wait ten times longer. He also knew the men's absence meant only they were absent. Other gatherings had taken up to eight days, and the length of time away told nothing about the amount of harvest.

Son did not hunger. All the way back from the pekas he had eaten nuts. He downed a last five before leaving his thorn shell, and now as he sat contentedly watching light fade from the eastern sky, he wanted no more. Twelve rains had passed since he wanted no more.

He took satisfaction that the others in the trees about him hungered. Some probably hungered so much they would risk Raala to reach his four baskets that lay but a hundred fifty paces away.

The next day Son rested. He sat alone in the tree from sunrise to sunset. No one came to inquire to his well being. No one brought nuts, water, or solace. As far as the camp cared Son was already gone.

By sunset the men still had not returned. The gatherers had been away four days now, and Son wondered if they really had run into difficulty. But Leader was a wise leader. A good harvest would not bring him back any faster than a poor one. While Leader knew hunger wracked the camp, he would never let haste endanger his men.

Son could almost hear the rumbling stomachs of camp. Half rations could torment more than no food at all, although they killed a lot less quickly. Son gave thanks half rations were now part of his past; from now on hunger would be a stranger.

The men would return soon, no matter their success or failure. If they came back with empty baskets, Son could give the camp four full ones. Perhaps the men would hoist him to their shoulders and acclaim his feat. They would cry he had exceeded even Wind. Leader would embrace him warmly and Sun Hair would beg forgiveness.

Son laughed a bitter laugh. They camp would not acclaim him, the many rains of resentment would prevent that. He would receive only modest praise. Behind his back—or to his face—they would say about thorns that moved what they had said about vines between the stands: only a coward could have thought of that. Such ideas did not come to those with the heart of a lurer.

The camp would not be completely ungrateful. There would be more talk of high places, banishment, or renouncement. Scorn would vanish, and some people might greet him with a smile. Leader would certainly return him to the gatherings, which would now use the cowardly thorn bush that moved. Within half a rain Son would be treated like everyone else, neither rejected nor acclaimed.

The camp would let him live a normal life. That would be his reward for ending hunger and keeping men from tusks. They would never treat him as one of the honored. They would think themselves generous by giving him ordinary courtesy.

The camp was slowly dying. It was there for anyone to see. Each rain there was one or two less of their number. The Raala killed men and hunger killed too many of the infants that would replace them. It might take a score or two of rains, but the camp would loose to the Raala.

His thorn bush could save the camp. It was the only thing that could. The man who had thought of the moving thorns—and tested them against the Raala—should get more than a pat on the shoulder. Such a man deserved the adoration of all.

The camp should hold such a man in awe. Fast as Wind had saved lives, but not those of every man, woman and child. Even Great Lurer had not saved everyone. Only Son, of all the men born since the Raala appeared in the hills, had found a way to escape the slow dying. Only Son...and they would let him live a normal life.

As the stars began to twinkle in the western sky Son realized what he had done this day made him a worthy successor to his father. Son too had achieved greatness, although by a different path. That path had been hard and lonely. He had kept to the path all through the humiliation other men had forced on him. Their determination to shame had slowed but not stopped his journey to greatness.

Those who would not acknowledge his greatness would not share in its benefits. Those so stupid and spiteful and unforgiving deserved to perish. Let them fall one by one to the Raala or to starvation. Let them despair and wail to their spirits. Let them cling to lurers and gatherers and lookouts, while far away the turtle in its shell thrived upon the land.

Son slept more easily this night, but he did awake once with a start because something shone in his eyes. He knew dawn could not be near because the light came from the south. The light shined from the Turtle, from the back foot. The light actually cast shadows on the ground.

For a moment Son considered this the work of the spirits. By making a brilliant new star, the most brilliant in the sky, they were telling all men that they had shown Son of Great in a dream how to defeat the Raala.

But there were no spirits. For some other reason a new star had been born in the Turtle. That had nothing to do with him. He had beaten the Raala because of his own cleverness—and yes, his own courage. The credit for this mighty feat belonged to him.

The men returned the next day. They brought with them only six baskets of nuts and roots. They also brought back six less men. Among those whose bones lay among blood splattered grass and whose flesh rested in Raala bellies was Fast as Wind.

It had been much like the debacle at the peka trees, except this time the Raala caught many in their first charge. The men had been digging up roots near thick brush, and the lurers had swept the area without drawing one grunt. Perhaps the silence should have warned. But the tubers were plentiful and almost bursting out the ground, so Leader gave the signal to gather.

The Raala waited until the men were well dispersed. Then they attacked as one. So sudden was their charge that men were cut down only paces from where they dug.

With the survivors treed, Wind led the lurers to draw off the Raala. They succeeded and all lurers safely reached trees. But the limb Wind bounded onto was rotted; it broke and hurled him to waiting tusks.

The camp would not have believed this vile tale except their eyes said, yes, six men were missing. Cries of grief rose from all the trees. Each family had lost a husband, a father, a brother, an uncle, a son.

Son wondered if these Raala were the same ones that had killed the ten men of the other camp. Those too had attacked as a group. Those too had ignored the initial pass of the lurers. If so, it meant intelligence rather than luck had guided these Raala. Before only single Raala had acted with such foresight.

Such a group of Raala would prosper. They would undoubtedly teach their young this better way to trap man, and their young teach their young. Such Raala would grow more numerous compared to Raala less successful, and eventually they would make up most of their kind. And men not in a turtle shell would have no chance.

A haggard Leader came to Son the following day. The man had aged ten rains.

"I'm bringing you back. You will gather again."

Son said nothing.

"Unless...you now chose to lure." Leader's voice lowered, and almost pleaded. "We need you as lurer. You're the only man in camp who can replace Wind."

"I? The Daughter?"

Leader's jaw tightened. "Don't play words with me...Son of Great. Do now your duty, in the time of our greatest need. Make proud your father."

I already have, thought Son.

"I'm pleased you want me to lure," said Son. "For now lurers will live longer than gatherers; that is, wherever the Raala have learned to watch and wait."

Leader's face puzzled, as the man obviously did not know how to take his words. Son made them clear.

"I will not gather or lure. I will stay in camp."

Leader flushed. "You cannot!"

"I will—unless you bind and drag me out."

Leader glared. Only days before such fierce demeanor from the leader of the camp would have set Son's knees knocking. But he had seen Raala eyes even fiercer, and given those eyes harm. Leader's wrath scarcely bothered him.

Leader glared some more, then spit. The spit landed between Son's feet.

Son just smiled. It felt so good to no longer fear.

Leader's voice rasped. "Tomorrow I take the men back out. Be gone from camp when we return. If you aren't, I will give Thorn Nose free hand with you."

Leader turned on his heel. Son's smile did not fade.

The gatherers left at dawn. They had ten new members. Four were old men, six were boys not past their twelfth rain. All were volunteers. All were either slow or inexperienced. Son knew Leader had included the ten only because grief and desperation had numbed his usual good judgement.

Son wondered what loss the gatherers would suffer this time. Not that it mattered. Hopefully he had seen the last of that wretched group of men. All he wanted from them now was two, preferably three, days of absence.

On the hidden side of the first hill from camp Son toiled most of the day. He toiled with cutter and vine and wood and thorn until late afternoon. Then he fetched two baskets brimming with peka nuts and strode to camp. He also carried with him a sharp stone.

As he walked to the center tree, he saw the multitude of wide eyes and heard the jabber of incredulous voices.

Son shouted. "Everyone! See what the Son of Great has gathered with his own hands."

The trees creaked as women, children, and elders moved to closer limbs. The jabbering grew louder.

"And this is not all my store."

People stared greedily at the laden baskets. They licked their lips and moved their throats.

"Where did you steal them, Daughter?" shrilled a woman's voice.

Son looked up into the malevolent eyes of the old woman that had told him to sleep on bark. She had never treated him well, even in the days of his childhood. It was said in her youth she yearned to wed his father, and turned her love to hate when Great Lurer chose another.

"At the peka trees, crone. I have done alone what all the men together have not."

"You took them from our store."

"Two baskets of nuts?" Son forced an easy laugh, though he ached to batter her ragged face with the stone he tightly gripped. "Took them unnoticed?" The store was guarded continuously, and a count of its contents made daily.

"You are a coward, the worst ever of camp. You could not have gone to the pekas."

Voices joined in agreement. Cries of "Liar!" and "Coward!" rang out.

"How could you keep nuts from us?" bellowed an old man. It was Broad Shoulder, who in his day equaled the strength of Thorn Nose. "You know our hunger. Pass up the baskets now, or I'll come down and get them."

Son brandished the rock. "Come, Shoulders. So I can empty your head of its brains. Not that anyone could tell the difference."

Broad Shoulders made to climb down, but several women restrained him. They knew even a young coward could defeat a brave elder.

"Now listen, you fools!" Son pointed in the direction of the peka trees. "I have gone to the pekas. You can cry 'liar', but my words are as true as if spoken by my father. I have gone and gathered, and I stand here before you unharmed."

Son spoke with conviction, and uncertainty crossed many faces. People murmured among themselves. Then one woman wailed: "How?"

He drew a deep breath. Now he must speak his most crucial words.

"I can go anywhere I please in the land. So can anyone I favor. Those I favor will every day eat until their stomachs burst. My favored will never again fear Raala tusks, and those born of my favored will never know hunger or fear at all."

The crone shrieked something about Son's being born of a hyena, not a woman.

Son kept his voice calm. "Tomorrow I leave camp. Forever. I will let come with me any woman able to birth. They may also bring their daughters, if they have any."

At first his words drew no reaction. Words that had to either outrage or dumbfound. Then there were whisperings, which grew into the buzz of a bee swarm.

Son cut off the buzz. His voice, now authoritative without effort, filled the warm afternoon air.

"Women of the camp! You have this night to decide. It will be the most important night of your lives. So decide well. Stay and starve, or prosper with me."

"No one will go with you, dung man." Broad Shoulders followed his insult with the toss of a mashing dowel. Son dodged it easily.

Then Son heard the voice of Sun Hair. Her words pained to the bone, though he had told himself she now meant nothing to him.

"He is worse than dung. He has brought me only shame and bitterness. Does anyone think he will bring you better—even if he could feed you, which he won't?"

Son looked up at that beautiful face, which bore both loathing and sorrow. He had vowed she would not go with him even if she begged. Now he wasn't so certain. He had once been so happy with her. To know that joy again...

One of the new widows spoke, but not in derision.

"Tell me how you escape the Raala," said the red eyed woman whose daughter clutched to her bosom, "and I'll go with you."

Voices instantly rebuked her. The buzzing swelled again.

"You will see tomorrow, Thin One. So will any other woman smart enough to leave."

"I need more then words, Son...of Great. I had rather die slowly here than quickly by a Raala."

Son fixed Thin One with steady eyes. "I do not lie. The Raala will not harm you or your child." Then his eyes swept them all. "You know this camp is doomed. Many of you say no, but how many truly believe this or any camp will have great grandchildren? What happened on the last gathering will become commonplace."

It was fortunate Son was quick, for he had more dowels to dodge. The hail of invective he could not avoid. He had to hide a smile, for their frenzied reaction told they knew he had looked accurately into the future.

"I will return to tomorrow at dawn," he shouted above the tumult. "I take with me those who are ready, and I won't linger."

Son grabbed his baskets and departed.

Making sure no one followed, Son walked to his thorns.

There he endured his own anxieties. Who knew how many women would join him? Tomorrow he could stand beneath the trees and find not one woman willing to climb down. Not even Thin One.

These women rarely traveled the land. Four times in Son's life the camp had moved, but then the women had all the men's protection. Whoever left tomorrow would have just Son. That could hardly inspire, however confidently Son had spoken.

Son knew quite well how fear could paralyze. The women had no experience whatsoever in dodging the Raala, the vicious beasts that had killed even Wind. For a woman to descend from the trees and put herself in reach of such beasts would take supreme courage—or desperation.

The widows were Son's best hope. With the shortage of men in this and every camp, widows had little chance of remarriage. Without a mate they often received less in rations. Such women also suffered heavily in their hearts; it was said a woman needed the embrace of a man even more than nourishment.

To such women putting their lives in Son's care might not seem so mad. They knew exactly what they faced in the trees of the camp: hunger and no companion. With Son they had a chance at something better. That they believed Son a coward might work in his favor; surely one so without nerve would not go forth into the land unless certain of survival.

Son needed at least one woman. He didn't care whether courage or desperation brought her, but his own camp could not begin otherwise. Prospering well alone would mean nothing. For the new way of living he had found to continue he must father many children.

The more women the better, of course. Camps with good reason did not permit marriage between brothers and sisters; with one woman all his children would be of such blood. Even just two women would save Son's camp much travail.

Son barely slept that night. During the long periods of wakefulness he watched the brilliant new star dim. Slightly at first, then ever more so the night wore on. He did not believe in the spirits, of course, but he wondered if they were killing the star. Killing it to signal Son of Great that he would fail in this venture.

It took forever before the first faint light of day appeared in the western sky. With trepidation he walked toward the trees of camp.

As he approached he heard wailing. He stopped, fearing the men had returned—with word of more dead. If the men were back everything was ruined. He would have no chance of getting away with a woman. And if the men caught him before his own escape, they would force him to reveal both where he hid the baskets and how he got to the pekas.

He crept closer. The growing light revealed that the gatherers were not back. He was relieved but puzzled. Why were the women grieving?

Son straightened and put confidence in his step he did not feel. Upon his arrival the wailing ceased. A hundred and more pair eyes bore down upon him.

He swallowed, then cried out. Somehow his voice did not falter.

"Whoever goes with me, come down. Come down now!"

For a long moment no one moved. Then Thin One slid from her limb with her daughter, and Son's heart soared. There were his two women!

Then astoundingly a score of bodies were descending. As women and children dropped to the ground clutching bed mats and cutters and bowls and dowels, the wailing above resumed. Screams of "don't go!", "he'll get you killed!", "climb back!" shattered the cool air of dawn.

Son could believe his ears, but not his eyes. He counted eleven women and sixteen children huddling around him. Apprehension gripped them, but not one moved to climb back despite the hysterical urging.

He saw several boys on the ground. They were quite young, and clung to the legs of their mothers.

Son had told himself he would take no males, regardless of age. With the thorns to give protection he had no present or future need of these boys. The one male he would need, to father children from his many daughters, would be born of his own loins.

"You'll have to send your sons back," he told the mothers.

That brought a torrent of tears from each of the four women with a son. The women pleaded pitifully, and two dropped on their knees. He doubted these women would come unless he let their sons come.

Son almost relented. But these little ones would one day grow to full manhood. Then Son would be well past his prime, perhaps even in poor health. What would keep these men from eventually challenging his authority? Women, even a score, would always obey him. Men without his own blood would not.

"Send them back," he repeated.

The sun had poked its red rim above the horizon. Son wanted to get going.

The women begged harder.

"I'm leaving. Either come or stay. But send your sons up."

Son turned and began walking—slowly. He did not look back at first to see who followed. Footfalls in the grass behind him told at least some were coming.

Broad Shoulder's voice boomed. "We will find you, Daughter! When we do we'll tie you to a tree for the Raala. Hear me, Daughter? Hear me?"

Son shivered and walked faster.

Just past the edge of camp he stopped. Two hundred paces away rose the low hill behind which waited his baskets and moveable thorns. Between the crest and camp lay a scattering of stunted oaks and several tangles of brush.

To cover that distance alone was no problem. If a Raala emerged from the relatively few clumps of brush he could easily reach a tree. If he had to, he could probably dodge Raala all the way to his thorns.

These women and children were another matter. A single Raala could kill them all before any found safety.

Son had checked the brush on his way to camp. But one never knew. He turned to the nine women and twelve children who remained. The two women who had abandoned sons would not meet his eyes.

Son forced his voice to absolute calmness.

"We're going up that hill. Just past the top waits the food and protection I promised. If a Raala should attack"—gasps arose—"fall to the ground. Lie flat and unmoving no matter your fear. I will lure the Raala away."

Doubtful faces greeted that statement.

He smiled. "I've been trained to lure, remember. I know how to do it and I can trip any Raala alive. So lie flat and still and let me lead the Raala away. Then get to the nearest tree. Do you understand?"

Everyone was trembling. Several women looked longingly at the trees of camp, still only paces away.

"Decide now," he commanded. "For good. Once we are out there is no turning back. So return to camp now, or stay with me."

One woman snatched her child and ran into the stand. Son waited for others to bolt. They stood fast, despite their continued trembling. Son silently praised their courage.

"You will live," he said. "She will die."

He stepped forward into the openness of grass and pebble. "Stay close to me. We'll be up the hill sooner than you think."

The women and their children followed. Many whimpered, but they kept moving. Son reassured them as he swept eyes front, side and rear for any sign of Raala. Thankfully the Raala of the land were elsewhere this morning.

All except Son were breathing hard when they reached the crest. He knew they would lack endurance, but a short walk shouldn't wind them so. That did not bode well for the thousands of paces to go. Son prodded them over the crest, then took a long look back at camp. He could see heads in the trees watching them. That he didn't mind, as long as no one followed on foot. He had half expected Broad Shoulders to trail them. Son had been ready to kill if the man tried. Son turned to see the women looking around for the baskets of food. Suspicion now vied with their fear.

"Where are the nuts?" Thin One demanded, in a tone lacking respect.

Son stepped forward and slapped her. She reeled back.

"You—none of you—are ever to question my word. Or my commands. If you do, I will put you out into the land to feed yourselves."

Son then took some weaving and covered his hands. He pulled on what appeared a thorn bush. It parted, and the women gasped as four baskets of nuts were revealed. Son took one basket out and set it before the women. Even Thin One stopped rubbing her reddened cheek to gape.

"Eat three nuts each. No more. Otherwise your stomachs will become too heavy, and we have far to go."

Hands dug into the peka nuts. The nuts were frantically cracked, and the contents rammed into mouths.

Son passed out gourds of water. "Drink well. It will be getting hot soon and we can't stop every five paces to quench thirst."

After the nuts were devoured, Son instructed the women on the use of the thorn barriers he had built the past two days. They looked bewildered. He laughed softly and savored their lack of comprehension. Soon they would understood, and praise his great cleverness. He would stand higher in their eyes than Wind and Leader combined.

He had first gathered dead wood to make framing for four separate platforms. These frames however did not go into trees. To each frame he bound lengths of thorn branches, and at the ends he added grips covered with matting. When completed each barrier stood a pace high and two paces long.

"When we travel two women will carry each barrier. We will walk with one in front, two on the sides, and one in the rear. Everyone else stays in the middle. When Raala come—and they will—bring the barriers together to make a square. Practice this now."

The women looked at him as if he had said they should stand on their heads. When he repeated his command more sharply they took hold of the barriers.

Half the morning passed before the women could perform what he thought a simple task. They found the barriers heavy, though Son could lift one with little effort. Each pair of women had trouble coordinating movements, and to get all four pairs acting together took time and patience.

Son might have patience, but not the time. By sunset he wanted to be at least five hills away. He constantly peered over the crest, his fear growing that he would see the men charging from camp.

When at last the women could form the square without tripping over each other, he let them rest briefly. Then he commanded everyone forward. He pointed to the gap between two hills five hundred paces away. The gap lay west of north.

"I will lead. Stay close and don't separate."

One of the maidens frowned. "I thought we were going to the peka tree." The pekas were due east.

After what he had done to Thin One he was surprised to hear challenge in the maiden's voice. Then he remembered that Green Eyes argued with everyone. Such women made miserable wives.

Son raised his hand. "What did I say about questioning?"

"I—"

"What did I say?"

The green eyes in the comely face held his for a moment, then dropped. She mumbled she was sorry.

Son nodded. He couldn't be too angry with her, or Thin One. This journey required women with spirit. Just so they obeyed him.

He didn't mind either that Green Eyes was pretty, with hair almost as yellow as Sun Hair's. She had high, firm breasts and slender legs. Excitement rippled in his gut as he realized she was untouched, and he would be the first man to unclothe her.

Son got into his thorn shell and led his camp forward.

They put only two hills behind them by sunset. In the full heat of the day the women and children had faltered badly. The women were weeping from exhaustion—and bleeding feet—when the camp stopped for the night by a spring feeding a small oak stand.

Son was disputed once again when he ordered the women not to climb the trees. He explained such need was gone, and for the rest of their lives they would sleep on the ground—as had their ancestors.

Both women and children protested vehemently. Where this burst of energy came from, Son did not know. He had to shout himself hoarse to restore order, and even then he had to contend with Green Eyes. The maiden shrilled he was mad and hoisted herself onto a limb.

Son grabbed an ankle and pulled. He broke her fall, but only partly, and he let her land heavily. She lay with wind knocked out of her. Son refused to let anyone go to her aid.

"Everyone sleeps inside the square," he roared at them. "If I find anyone in the trees, they stay in the trees."

Son then allowed each of them four nuts and some berries he had gathered from nearby bushes. He also told them to drink until they were bloated.

As the light died Son knew the group had to make better distance on the morrow. Even the slowest gathering party could overtake them if his camp did not improve its speed.

The men would be enraged when they returned. They would waste no time trying to find the great coward who had stolen their women. Son had to hope in their rage the men immediately struck for the peka trees. It made sense Son in his escape would first go there for more food.

Of course men seeking him could not chase recklessly. Raala would care little about their righteous anger. For once the Raala were Son's ally. It was so strange, that these beasts that had killed his father and brother and shamed him might now save his life.

Raala did not approach this night. Despite their fear of the Raala the women and children quickly fell into slumber. Son, the least tired, probably found sleep the most difficult. His ear bent to every sound in the windless night. He listened not for Raala, but for men enraged enough to venture into the night.

Son roused everyone before dawn. The camp must make distance while the air still held coolness. The women moved stiffly as they struggled with the thorns. Their raw feet hurt badly even though cloth was now bound over them. But three bountiful meals had given them strength, and no one lagged in the early going.

During the morning Son permitted only the briefest of rests. Two more hills were passed and some of Son's anxiety faded. He should not have relaxed, even slightly, for a rustle of brush and a Raala grunt broke the false calm.

The women panicked. Instead of forming a square, they grabbed their children and ran. Son cursed savagely, but he knew his own nerve had failed on his first encounter with Raala.

With so many figures fleeing in so many directions, the Raala paused. The black eyes above the hairy brown snout flicked about while the beast decided upon the most succulent prey. Son used the delay to cut in front of the Raala. He lowered the thorns so his head and chest were revealed to the drooling bulk and he screamed vile insults.

The Raala charged Son. Son's heart leapt into his throat, but he no longer knew paralysis in the face of death. As the Raala closed Son hoisted the thorns and thrust needles into the head of the beast.

The Raala had been too close to build much speed, but the impact knocked Son to the ground anyway. Spikes thrust through matting to tear his back and left shoulder. But amid his own pain he heard the now familiar bellow of a Raala in agony. Son raised his head to see blood streaming from the Raala's eyes. The Raala thrashed about aimlessly.

Blood ran from Son, too. His shoulder was slick was red. Both blood and pain were forgotten as he screamed at the women, some already in trees, to return. He threatened instant banishment to any who did not obey. The women hesitated, then as the howling beast stumbled further away they started back.

They gathered around the man who had saved them. Several women attended to his wounds, wiping away blood and washing the wounds with water. Everyone looked at him with new eyes.

Son kept harshness from his voice. "I told you that the thorns would protect. To us the Raala are harmless—if you next time keep your heads and form a square. Do you now believe?"

They nodded, and begged forgiveness. Some broke into tears.

"Stop your sniffling. We don't have time for it. Take hold of the barriers and walk."

"But you're injured," said Green Eyes. Surprisingly she seemed the most distressed about his wounds. "You need to rest."

Son's knees did feel weak. And his head wanted to float away. But thought of pursuers banished thought of stopping.

He shook his head. "We must go fast. Remember as you tire that my pain will be worse than yours. Make me proud this day. Defeat your fear with stout travel."

Another Raala charged at midday. Despite shrieks that could stir the dead the women formed a square, and Son drove off the Raala with a now routine thrust of thorns that took out one eye. Afterward Son basked as the women joyously chanted: "Son of Great! Son of Great!"

Six hills were passed this day. The camp stopped at a spring beside a small peka stand and Son gratefully slumped to the ground. His back hurt terribly but the women said the wounds had scabbed over.

Everyone was utterly exhausted. Son debated remaining all next day at this stand. He could use the rest, the women and children even more. A day here would also give them a chance to replace peka nuts; they had emptied two baskets during travel. He decided to sleep on the question.

After refilling one basket Son had them moving at dawn. His father, bravest of the brave, told Son and his brothers that fear was a man's best guide. Fear overcame the arrogance and pride and foolishness that got men killed. Fear kept men alive.

Son had never lacked fear, and his fear of men like Thorn Nose chased him from the comfort of the spring. The women complained, though only a little. They too knew the men of camp would be searching. They knew now they didn't want to go back.

That day three more Raala were driven off. The women actually laughed as the last bloodied Raala fled into the brush. Each failed attack seemed to strengthen the women and children, and their step quickened. Son's own heart soared, both from the women's cheer and no sign of the men. He began to believe they would escape.

That evening, before Son could curl in his thorn shell, Green Eyes came to him. She pressed close. In the fast fading light Son could see the secret little smile that women gave those they desired. Son kissed the smile.

Son mated with her through the night. He would not have thought himself capable—mating was furthest from his mind this day—but a scoreday had passed since he last coupled with Sun Hair. He had stored much lust.

The next day other women baited Green Eyes. She gave as good as she got, but Son didn't want dissension. How his camp could avoid it he didn't know. Women were even more jealous than men, and Son intended to mate with every female he had. Perhaps once he coupled with everyone none would feel slighted.

Son decided that Green Eyes would bear his male child. She was the best of the women, both in attractiveness and in spirit. During the first Raala attack she had been last to drop the thorns and first back to them. A son born of her and him would be worthy to lead the camp once Son passed on.

That son would have no brothers. Brothers would only contest for both women and leadership. Any other males born to Son he would leave out in the open. They would be taken away soon as they emerged, and before the mother could grow attached.

Two days passed without harm. They did encounter Raala, but these backed off after an initial approach. Beware the people with the thorns the stinking ones must have told their fellows.

The next afternoon they heard the shrill cries of men—and the grunts of Raala. Everyone tensed, but Son did not think these men were from their camp. The sounds came from the northwest, not south behind them.

Son had the women form a square, then he went with his thorns up a hill. The cries grew louder as he approached the top. When his head poked above the crest, his breath stopped. What he saw would ever remain with him.

As he had suspected, the cries came not from the men of his old camp. The men yelling were lurers. They were running at and between the Raala, Raala who had surrounded a stand. The Raala grunted at the lurers but did not chase. At one oak three Raala pushed on the trunk and the big tree swayed.

At first Son thought the Raala had treed an entire gathering party. Then he saw women and children and platforms in the trees and he realized the Raala were attacking an entire camp.

The lurers raged at the half score beasts. The Raala ignored every provocation, even dirt tossed in their faces. The Raala had to be hungry and he marveled at their discipline. If their discipline held, this camp was doomed. The Raala would shake people from the trees one by one.

Son envisioned charging down the hill and wounding every Raala. That camp would eagerly take in his women and probably proclaim him leader. They might even call him great. But he was already leader and already great.

This camp would not have taken him in after banishment. They would have sneered and taunted, as had the people of his old camp. Like the old camp, these people were too stupid to see how thorns could save them. Let the stupid die, while the clever lived on.

Son returned to his camp. He told them the lurers of a gathering party were luring Raala. The Raala fortunately weren't headed their way—fortunately for the Raala. The women laughed at that and Green Eyes awarded him another secret smile.

After five more days of journey, Son halted the camp. The spring where they bedded was surrounded by land far more laden with thorn bushes than peka trees. But he wanted that.

The women were relieved when he told them the camp would stay at the spring. They had traveled far. Only by the foulest luck could the men find them now, and many Raala lurked on the path taken.

Son rested his women a couple days, then set everyone to work. Within half a scoreday they had enlarged the thorn square to forty paces a side. While the women were cutting and binding thorn branches Son roamed the nearby hills gathering. Despite voracious appetites he brought in twice as much food as was consumed.

A scoreday passed into another and that into another. By now almost all the women were with child. Son began to worry about the additional mouths to feed. He berated himself for not having more restraint—but the temptation to mate with every woman had been too great. Anyway, the camp would have to feed only half those born.

Then one night the wind raged and the thorn square was blown down. While the women cowered in the darkness Son stood guard in his thorn shell. Only late into the next day did the wind slacken enough to let them reform the square.

Spirits, so high for so long, fell to earth. Everyone knew they had been lucky the Raala were not close that night and they knew violent winds struck several times each rain. Next time many of the camp could die. The old fear—thought gone forever—returned to torment.

But no one spoke of returning to the old camp. They looked to Son, the wisest of all men, to again rescue. He would not fail them or the children growing in their bellies.

Son thought hard but not long. As before the answer stood in plain view, but only he could see it: A thorn bush could not blow over.

Near the spring five bushes grew in a rough ring. He would have the woman place thorn bindings in the gaps and tie them to the bushes. The space within would be enough for the camp to bed.

For the future he saw something much bolder. The camp was going to need ever more space. Why not plant thorn seedlings in a large ring about the spring? Thorn bushes grew rapidly as compared to trees. Three or four rains from now a firmly rooted ring would firmly protect the growing camp.

With a laugh Son finally realized he could make the protection as big as he wanted. It was all so obvious. Within a generation—when his son was ready to father his own son—a thorn ring could enclose all the hills in sight.

Then his people—his women—could roam freely inside those thorns. Without fear they could gather from tree and bush and vine. His people would forever live without want or anxiety. Truly, he was the wisest of men to bring these joys to all his blood that would follow.

The first new child was a male, born of Green Eyes. The second child was also male, born to Thick Lips. Son took the first born to his bosom and proclaimed him heir to all he would create. The second born died where he left it, two hills away.

Matthew and Mark

The snow had melted enough to expose the bodies. Mathew gazed on the corpses of the aged and he silently cursed the Words of God. He vowed he would not end like this. A man should die well before he could barely walk and lost control of his bowls.

He watched as the initiates, in groups of four, came to fetch the dozens of frozen bodies. Each of the young hopefuls took a limb in his mouth and they lifted as one to carry the body toward the cliff face. Their master barked for the groups to hurry, the day was growing short.

The Word, the fat Word, shouted at Mathew. "What are you looking at? Get back to your tasks."

Mathew stiffened. If a man of his pack had so addressed him, Mathew would already be bounding toward him. Such speech was tantamount to challenge.

The fool of course did not know whom he insulted. Nor did he care. To the Words all men were the same, little better than the cattle.

Mathew let his eyes glare a moment, then he turned away. He trotted back to the line of his men, who were carrying fresh wood toward the cliff. They looked none too happy, but a log in each snout effectively stopped complaint. He had reminded them about complaint, anyway.

The Words would tolerate some grumbling. They always had, especially at the end of the long winter. Everyone was edgy after the infinity of cold and dark. Words knew cheer would come soon when the packs and herds returned to the grasses. The Words however listened carefully for dissent beyond mere griping. They listened for what might necessitate the example.

Mathew had been but a pup when he witnessed the example. Once was enough for a lifetime. The elders said they had watched an example in their own youths, and they heard one occurred in their grandmother's time. Mathew supposed each generation had endured an example since the coming of the Words.

Many lines of men were carrying wood to the cliff face. Mathew supposed men hated this task above any other the Words imposed. He certainly had. No matter how the Words sanctified the task he found it degrading, and physically exhausting. Carrying a log a thousand or more bounds brought ache to every muscle of head and neck. The ache lasted days.

Mathew had told his men he sympathized with them. He also reminded them the more wood for the Breath brought in now the less they would have to fetch in the fall. So work hard, he had said, and think how shortly we will be running free in the vast green grasses.

They would also be free of this slushy ground. Slush was a welcome sign, it meant winter was ending. But it made miserable the days before their release.

He didn't like continually stepping in squishy cow shit either. In the depths of winter their excrement was only another hard rock, and without smell. In the thaw the excrement also melted, and tramping feet and hooves spread the foul stickiness everywhere.

Mathew chided himself. He was whining like a pup. Though he complained only to himself, he should not complain at all. The one who guided the pack must yield last to adversity, of either mind or body. Mathew straightened and held his head high.

He was pleased to see that even this late in the day sunlight still fell on the upper reaches of the gray cliff face. Only fifteen days ago shadow had claimed the entire face by mid afternoon. In the depths of winter only at noon did the sun illuminate the heights.

Soon, very soon, he and the eighty of his pack would see no shadow at all. The whole day they would bathe in brilliant sunlight. The companion to shadow, cold, would also become a distant memory. Mathew smiled, knowing some would grumble in midsummer about the heat. Not many though.

Shadow was now moving fast toward the top of the cliff. He turned to face the teeth of the world. To the north the sun had dropped behind the teeth, but great shafts of soft yellow poured through the gaps. Quickly even that light would be gone and only the light of the Words would remain.

His gaze returned to the ground around him, and his heart skipped. A hundred bounds away stood Mark, who he had avoided these past days. Mark stared back unyieldingly. Mathew shivered, but not from the cold.

Mathew knew his puphood friend, and now his most trusted advisor, awaited a simple nod. A nod that could lead to execution of the entire pack.

Mathew did not nod.

When the sky turned black the burning began. All the people of all the packs crowded before the cliff face, onto ground forbidden them all winter. Only now, thought Mathew, were men—created in God's image—allowed to stand where cattle had stood.

Mathew wondered how many men and women in the five thousand assembled swallowed anger like he. How many instead accepted the favoring of cattle over men as the natural order, willed by God? Mathew nor anyone else would ever know, for the right or wrong of such things had not been spoken of since the last example.

The Breath of God threw up great flames. Mathew, as one of the pack leaders, was privileged to sit close enough to feel heat on his face. The coolness on his hind told that the great mass of people further back would be warmed slightly at best. Again his anger churned.

As the Words moved about the mounds of Breath, they cast giant shadows against the cliff face. The Words tried to walk with dignity but how could the fat ones amble in a way that did not invite ridicule? The still lean initiates moved better, though it was hard to move with grace while lugging bodies.

At each mound the initiates committed bodies to the flames one at a time. The Words did have the decency to let the Breath entirely claim a man or woman before ordering the next body on. The dead, still only partially thawed, produced much smoke. Mathew's nostrils recoiled at the stench of burning hair and flesh.

The Words intoned their cryptic chants over each corpse. The Words claimed these were of the same tongue that the Lord spoke to the souls with Him in the afterlife. Because of their particular holiness, God had revealed this tongue to His Words while they still lived in this world. They however were permitted to use the tongue only when performing His sacraments.

When a pup, Mathew had listened with awe to the tongue. Everything about these men had awed him then. He had truly believed the Words were the appointed representatives of God, sent to the world to deliver mankind from the growing cold that steadily reduced its numbers.

Why shouldn't he have believed? That they alone could call the Breath proved God favored the Words. The Breath, which brought heat amid the bitterest cold and light amid the blackest night, which had no weight or substance, which could take as well as preserve life, obviously was a divine gift. The Lord would entrust such a gift only to those most worthy and reverent.

As a pup Mathew could not understand the ill will some held against these blessed Words. Certainly as men served God, should they not also serve His most favored? Yes, the Words enjoyed special comforts. Yes, men toiled at unpleasant tasks to provide these comforts. But would men deny these saviors, these guiders of their souls, their just due?

As a pup Mathew pledged he would always respond cheerfully to whatever the Words asked of him. Mathew loved and honored the Lord; the Words deserved the same. Mathew defended the Words when others belittled them. He got into many fights. His devotion did not go unnoticed and the Words urged he become an initiate when he reached adulthood.

He had just come to adulthood when the Words took belittlement no more. They had friends in every pack, and these friends had for a long time kept the Words informed as to whom spoke most harshly of them. The Words tolerated much. For a generation they had not reacted to sullenness or complaint or even ridicule. They did react to outright disobedience.

Mathew had been shocked to hear that a pack, as winter approached, actually refused to gather grass. Let the initiates do it, the pack leader had told the Words. His people would still bring wood to the Breath, for that was of God. But his people would no longer break their backs for cows.

The pack would have been wiser to disobey at the start of spring. The Words had the least old over men then. But with the days shortening and the first frosts forming, uneasiness had already gripped men.

The Words of God convened all mankind. They told the masses that the Lord God had told them of His great anger. God was a merciful and just God, but no longer would He endure the disrespect and sacrilege that greeted His Words everyday. When men blasphemed the Words they blasphemed Him. Many in the gathered cringed and moaned.

With their voices pure wrath the Words declared the Lord intended to punish mankind by this winter withholding the Breath. Mathew could still hear the roar of horror that ran through the packs. Dread twisted every face. A winter with no Breath would kill all the cattle, and spare only the hardiest of men.

In each pack shouts arose condemning the blasphemers. Those who had most often criticized the Words were bitten and jostled. These men—and women—tried to disavow the invective they had so casually spoken. Some bolted to the Words and begged forgiveness.

The Words did not forgive. They declared the packs must suffer the example.

Ten summers, a third of a lifetime had passed, and still Mathew jolted awake from nightmares of that day. All knew the Breath served to send men's souls to the afterlife. It also serve to drive out the underone from possessed men. To regain the favor of God, the Words said each pack must rid five of its people—the worst offenders—of the underone. If the packs did this, and prayed for forgiveness with all their hearts, the Lord God would not withhold His Breath.

Packs had no trouble finding five offenders when half their number qualified. Mathew was one of the few to have never besmirched the Words. At first he agreed with the need for the example. After the Breath had chased the underone from the first offender he no longer agreed.

The Words said God ordered pack members must assist with the example. Worse, those born of the same litter were required to hold the limbs of an offender as he or she was stretched over low burning Breath. Sisters and brothers had to hold writhing kin; they had to hold until the one they loved writhed no more.

The screams had emptied Mathew's bowels. By the time it finished he was shaking. He was a grown man, tough and proud, but he found himself crying uncontrollably. In the end he just wanted to run.

The Words revealed themselves that day. The barely repressed smiles, the smirks, the delighted eyes told Mathew whom they really served. And it was not the Lord. The Words served he who lived in the depths of the world.

Mathew never told anyone, even Mark, of what he believed. He continued for a while to praise the Words. He was ashamed to admit fear made him praise; he did not want to burn. He did however decline invitations to join the initiates.

Before the cliff face the burning of those felled by sickness and old age continued. Mathew shuddered, despite knowing the already dead felt nothing. Mathew was certain everyone his age and older remembered that day of horror while witnessing this supposed sacrament. He was as certain that the Words in their corrupt cleverness intended they remember.

The Words were indeed clever, he had to give them that. A hundred generations had passed since the first Word and in that time they had reduced once proud mankind to a passel of suckling pups. How God must weep at their triumph.

Eventually the last body yielded to the flames. The Words ceased their intonations and turned to the living of mankind. They pronounced that God had promised to receive the souls into the afterlife. A cry of thanksgiving arose from the masses. Mathew knew the eyes of the Words were especially upon the pack leaders and he forced his voice to shout gratitude.

Now the Words raised their heads toward God and howled. Everyone else followed. This was the holiest moment of mankind, when all men as one acknowledged the power and glory of God. Each men howled from the bottom of his lungs. Each man swore submission to the Lord and vowed to obey His commandments.

The massed howling always sent chills down Mathew's backbone, despite his disdain for the Words. The howling had honored God long before the Words appeared in the world. Oh, to have lived in the time when each man faced God directly, without the Words in between.

When the howls subsided, men began to disperse. Mathew lingered a moment to stare at the Words still hovering around the leaping flames. Many things he did not understand about the world, but that God allowed the Words to call the Breath he understood the least. Why had God let these followers of the underone possess this power instead of His true believers? The Lord must have known what would happen to mankind

Mathew shook his head. He might as well question why God allowed pain or disease. They existed by His will, as did the Words . Men had to deal with these travails as best they could. Mathew though hoped one day in the afterlife to sit with the Lord and ask His reasoning on these matters. The Lord was stern but fair, and certainly He would give a devoted son an audience.

Two days later the Words allocated the cattle. Each pack received a herd of four hundred of the animals Mathew had come to despise. These would be their summer companions—these slow, clumsy, ridiculous looking creatures that could not survive without man's care. No matter the deliciousness of their meat, that cattle fed mankind showed how far mankind had fallen.

Mathew of course kept his distaste private as he and two Words conferred. The pack had assumed responsibility for one hundred ninety cows, fifty steers—and two hundred five calves, half freshly born. As usual the pack received no bulls.

The Words reminded Mathew that in the fall the pack must return with at least nine of ten calves and half the cows. Any shortage would come out of the pack's winter rations. The pack was free to eat the rest of the herd. The cattle that returned were expected to be in good condition, ready for the rigors of winter.

Mathew fought back a sneer. What rigor? During the winter the cattle were berthed close enough to the Breath roaring along the cliff face so none endured much cold. These animals were fed and watered every day, no matter how brutal the weather. It was the mass of men behind the cattle that knew rigor.

By afternoon packs were joyously leading their herds to the boulder strewn meadows bordering the long cliff. Mathew's own people sang and joked and frolicked. Mathew spoke gruffly several times to assure the cattle were properly tended, but his own heart had lightened. The days of winter had run out.

The afternoon was delightfully warm. The last patches of hated snow were shrinking to nothingness. Sunlight brightened every boulder, every blade of grass, every knotty pine. Birds soared, bees darted, chipmunks scampered. The ground, so long without scent, now spewed forth the invigorating odors of awaking life.

As the sun dropped behind the snow capped teeth to the north, Mathew assigned sentry watches for the herd. This task fell to the male adolescents of the pack. Mathew knew they ached to play and spar the night away, and his order brought sour faces. Too bad. These boys had been indulged by their mothers since birth, but their indulgence was at an end. They, as did all his young men, would quickly learn that their wants were of no consequence. The need of the pack, that would become their first concern.

Jonathan came to him after dinner. Mathew had been expecting the old man, and was surprised Jonathan had waited this long. Even the dimming light could not hide the ravages that age had inflicted on this once the quickest of men in both mind and body. The hair on his face had turned whiter than the snow, and gray brown lumps pushed through the white. A cataract clouded his left eye and a quarter of his teeth were missing. The man walked more awkwardly than a new born calf, and his whole being seemed to have shrunk.

One thing had not withered, though. The man's voice still carried that deep authority that immediately won the confidence of his listeners. Jonathan had served well as pack leader, and as counsel to the leaders that followed. Mathew had found his advice second in soundness only to that of Mark.

This was a noble man. In Mathew's youth Jonathan had taught him, and the other adolescents, many things about becoming upright men. Jonathan believed that while a man must always show courage, it was useless unless bonded to God's demand a man act responsibly. Live bravely and honorably, Jonathan always said, and when you die God will be eager to receive you.

Now Jonathan's time had come to die. Mathew knew this elder would not survive a summer on the plains. At some point Jonathan would have to be left behind. Jonathan had savored every summer among the grasses, and undoubtedly he hungered for more. That was where Jonathan—and all men—would prefer to die.

As Jonathan told of his decision to return to the cliff, Mathew again silently cursed the Words. In the time before the Words and the Breath, men were accepted into the afterlife depending on the goodness of their life. Now the passage also required the commitment of a man's body to the Breath. Or so said the Words.

Like most men Jonathan fervently believed in the necessity for commitment. Few wanted to chance dying on the plains, so far from the Breath. If some died within several days travel of the cliff, a pack would try to get the body back before putrefaction made transport impossible. Otherwise the soul of the dead was trapped forever in this world.

So Jonathan would stay with the Words, and become one of the aged under their care. That would probably allow Jonathan to survive this summer. The next winter was another matter. Jonathan would surely expire during the dark days of bitter cold when a man's breath nearly froze before his face

In the old days men died where they were supposed to die, where they had since the creation. When the time came to leave behind the aged and the mortally ill or injured they could ask another to tear their throat. This let them escape starvation, or worse, death by the jaws of jackals and by the beaks of buzzards. A quickly torn throat was how Jonathan should end life. The Words had however condemned the practice as suicide, which the commandments strictly forbade.

The cunning of the Words assured that each man would cleave to them as his day of death neared. The Words seemingly offered comfort to the aged and dying, but in truth they reduced once proud men to pups. It was sad to see, and Mathew swore he would never yield to their false mercy.

He did not fault Jonathan for leaving the pack. Jonathan was a devout man and he believed the Words spoke God's word. Jonathan had lived as God wished every man would live. God would take him into the afterlife, with or without the sanction of the Words.

"I'll go in the morning," said Jonathan.

Mathew's throat tightened. This man had guided and inspired him his whole life. Jonathan had been part of every wonderful summer. Even last summer Jonathan could join the hunts. He lagged a bit, but they still relied on his knowledge to trap their prey. Through Mathew's life their hunts had been among his happiest days.

As all things began, Mathew reminded himself, all things ended. He would not let Jonathan see his sorrow. The man deserved a parting with dignity.

Mathew forced a smile. "I will miss your counsel."

The elder smiled in return. "You have less and less need of it. You lead well."

"Thank you." Mathew longed to spill out his admiration and gratitude, but again to preserve dignity he held his tongue.

Jonathan's voice lowered. "I leave you with one last word of advice."

Mathew cocked his ear.

"Watch for Samuel. The talk is he will challenge you this summer."

"Indeed?" The man was not ready. Or better said, Mathew was not yet slowed.

"Don't underestimate him. He defeats everyone he spars."

"Sparing is different than a fight to the death."

"Yes...but he is skilled."

Mathew grinned. "Well, let him come."

Jonathan chuckled. "I have always loved you for that. You face everything head on, and with spirit."

"I learned from the best."

It was Jonathan who marred the dignity of moment as his eyes misted. Mathew immediately stepped forward and rubbed their noses.

"I'll see you in the fall, old friend. Now let's get some sleep."

As the old man shuffled away, Mathew half hoped he would see Jonathan again.

The herds remained in the meadows the next three days, to give the newly born calves time to develop more strength and coordination. In the interim flowers began to bloom all about and the sun at midday crept ever higher into the hard blue sky. Not a man or woman or pup wore a frown as all anticipated their return to the land where God first placed his chosen.

For Mathew it was a busy time. He checked the health of each cow and calf. Several were obviously unfit but he had to argue hard to get the Words to replace them. They in turn promised to especially scrutinize the cattle he brought back in the fall.

Rambunctious youth also spared him idle moments. He was once young too, and knew how the blood of pups and adolescents rushed when free of the confines of winter. That didn't make their carousing any less disruptive. He yelled himself hoarse slowing them down.

Mathew admitted he didn't mind being kept busy. It excused him from giving Mark the nod; so much for Jonathan's praise he faced matters head on. Yet Mathew did not judge himself too harshly. If he decided hastily, and wrongly, he and Mark would face the example. And surely the entire pack as well.

Mark had not pressed the matter. Mathew did not expect him to. Mark could outwait any man. Mark would wait all summer if necessary. If Mathew never nodded, Mark would say nothing...and they would both know that the leader of this pack, while prudent, was a coward.

A light rain fell the day the herds departed the meadows for the southern plains. The Words were out in force, despite the wet weather, to intone blessing upon both man and beast. Mathew knew how God must shudder to hear the pups of the underone bless in His name.

The sun came out in the afternoon. Above patches of dripping pines the great arc of a rainbow appeared in the northern sky. Everyone rejoiced at the multihued band, God's most favored sign. The Lord was well pleased with mankind this day.

The slow pace of the cattle did not diminish morale. Youngsters raced yipping about the herds, while those of most advanced age were content to amble along and chat. Friends joked and gossiped and even enemies exchanged pleasant words. Mathew wished all days would be so free of dispute.

When they stopped that evening the herds were still in sight of each other on the rolling foothills before the teeth. The teeth along the northern horizon had scarcely receded. It would be ten days or more before the teeth dropped from view.

That night the pack dined on the last of their cooked meat. Few looked forward to the chewing of raw flesh, the only drawback to summer. Mathew regretted his own love of roasted meat. That weakness was just another means by which the Words held men.

The next morning Samuel came to challenge him. The man snarled the challenge shortly after Mathew awoke. Samuel stood tensed with a dozen of his pals glowering behind him. They would not have glowered at their pack leader unless they were certain of his defeat.

Mathew smiled and asked Samuel for leave while he relived himself of night water. Samuel's jaw dropped at Mathew's calm. Mathew ducked behind a pine and took his time. Let the fool and his muscles tighten to the point of snapping.

Samuel had come two summers early. But the man had always thought more with his brawn than his brain. A wiser man would have waited. Two summers hence Mathew would be in his eighteenth summer and safely past his physical peak.

Knowing when to challenge was more important than strength or quickness. The challenge really tested judgement, which served a leader—and a pack—far better than mere fighting prowess. Samuel was about to learn the hard way about patience and judgement; that is, if Mathew chose to spare him.

Even if he let him live, Samuel's hope for the leadership would be gone. Defeat showed a challenger as forever unworthy to guide a pack. It did not necessarily mark him as a lessor in other regards. If he avoided bitterness, the defeated could still serve the pack and retain the respect of his fellows.

When Mathew returned he found the entire pack had gathered. They had formed the traditional circle, and in the middle waited Samuel. The circle signaled that the challenge was closed to other packs. What happened within was the concern of this pack only; not even the Words could intervene.

Mathew entered the circle still smiling. Samuel rightly took Mathew's casualness as insult and the sinewy man bared his teeth. Saliva dripped from the long fangs. Mathew caught sight of Mark. Mark was smiling too, the only other person in a merry mood. Mark also knew Samuel had come too early.

Mathew would not be smiling if Mark were the challenger. Mark lacked Samuel's size and ferocity, but he studied men. With relentless observation he learned each man's strength and weakness better than the man himself. In any challenge between Mark and Mathew, it would be Mathew at the disadvantage.

Once they stood face to face, Samuel formally announced the challenge. Mathew formally accepted. Occasionally a pack leader would yield his position without a fight. This was not held disgraceful, although Mathew thought it irresponsible. Earning the leadership through combat brought the challenger much of the respect and authority he needed to lead effectively.

Samuel lunged. Mathew easily sidestepped the charge, and whirled about to meet the next one. Samuel attacked again and again, his rage growing each time he missed his opponent. Instead of pausing and evaluating, the man was letting frustration guide him. A bad sign for anyone aspiring to lead a pack.

The challenger growled mightily and his muscles rippled as he readied for another charge. However the first glint of doubt had entered his eyes. Mathew was sure Samuel's friends were getting uneasy, too.

Samuel sprang, and his teeth aimed right at Mathew's throat. Mathew waited until the last instant, then ducked and flipped the heavier man onto his back. Everyone gasped at their leader's quickness as he leapt upon the upturned body and put teeth on Samuel's throat.

"Do you yield?" Mathew asked calmly.

Samuel squirmed beneath him, but said nothing. To his credit the defeated man neither whimpered nor begged.

"Do you yield?" Mathew repeated, now with a lethal edge to his voice.

Still Samuel remained silent. Mathew didn't want to kill him. Samuel was basically a good man. Despite his strength, he was not a bully. He had never been a trouble maker, and he worked hard at whatever tasks Mathew assigned. Mathew could not resent that Samuel coveted the leadership; had not Mathew himself?

Nonetheless Mathew would kill the man if he did not yield. The young bloods would see reluctance to throat as weakness, and Mathew would soon find himself challenged again. We all have need of an example, he thought.

"I ask one last time: do you yield?"

Samuel croaked something. Mathew knew it was difficult for such a fighter to ask for quarter. Neither could Samuel want to face all those who thought his victory certain. Death might seem preferable.

Mathew lessened pressure on Samuel's throat. "Speak clearly."

Samuel's body finally went limp. Forlornly he said that he yielded. Mathew stepped from the challenger

Samuel rose but his head hung low. Mathew could see disdain several faces of his "friends".

Mathew moved beside Samuel. "Let no one decry the name of Samuel," he shouted. "If any of you doubt his ability or courage, fight him now."

Samuel's head lifted. He was staring at Mathew with appreciation and with some surprise. The defeated in a challenge rarely receive kind words from the victor.Mathew went on: "I want Samuel with me when we hunt the antelope. He is welcome at my side then, or at any time. I wish we had a dozen men as strong and brave as he."

Samuel's eyes thanked him. Mathew knew he had pulled out the hate that often lingered in the defeated. Samuel would remain a reliable man.

Mathew turned about. "This is over. Get your breakfast. Then we go."

The pack members dispersed, chatting excitedly about the fight they had just seen and the continuing prowess of their leader.

The next day the pack crested one of the last foothills and stopped abruptly. They set their eyes again on the vista which awed all men to silence, no matter how many times viewed.

Before the pack, to the south, east and west, lay the vastness of the grasses. Beneath a cloudless sky the waving green stretched unbroken to the distant horizons. Mathew's own breath caught at the majesty spread before him. If any man doubted the good and glory of God, let that man stand here and dare to deny.

The Lord God had placed man on these great plains at the time of creation. God had given man dominion over all the creatures of this land, even the long toothed cat. Man belonged here, man thrived here. Man was a stranger in the pines, meadows and hills before the teeth. Someday God would allow man to again live all the seasons in his birthplace.

Spirits rose higher as Mathew led the pack onto the grasses. Even the cattle seemed to low happiness, doubtless elated at the prospect of so much fine grass to eat. Mathew could not let discipline slacken, though, for lurking jackals could easily fell an unguarded calf. Blessedly people were obeying his commands more promptly since the challenge.

He took the pack and herd due south, instead of east like Mark had wanted. Mark however did not appear concerned. He knew the pack could go only so far south before the ice stopped them, and plenty of summer would remain to reach the far meadow. Mark's calm greatly irritated Mathew.

After six days the pack could see the teeth no more. They had also lost sight of the other herds. It was easy to believe they were alone in the world, just this pack and God. Winter and the Words did not exist. Men remarked the afterlife must be like this.

The days kept growing longer and warmer. All pleasured in the sun drenched balminess of day and the refreshing cool of the star speckled nights. A thousand different scents tickled their nostrils. Men raised their heads and voices many times a day to God.

It was always like this at the start of summer, thought Mathew, when even the sourest of the pack were agreeable. The pack hardly needed a leader in these days. Oh, why did the days later have to shorten? Why would the sun have to drop back to the teeth after rising so high in the brilliant blue sky? Why did autumn have to appear at all, with its dreadful reminder of winter? These questions too he would respectfully ask of the Lord when they met.

Three days later the pack sighted the first herd of bison. Everyone licked their lips. Bison flesh tasted the equal of beef; it tasted better when neither was cooked. Everyone wanted different meat anyway. The pack had eaten only beef since last fall.

The hunt, such as it was, went well. Only one man suffered slight injury when the bison at last stampeded, after the men had cut down a dozen of the massive beasts. Bison were almost as stupid as cattle. If man could survive the cold of winter out here—which the bison could—he would not lack for meat.

Later in the summer Matthew and his best men would hunt the antelope. That prey took great skill to bring down. Many times hunters had to give up after days of stalking these fleet and suspicious animals. It saddened Mathew to know that as the generations had passed fewer packs attempted hunting the antelope.

In the days before the Words the exploits of hunters were celebrated. A man did not aspire to lead a pack unless he was a good fighter "and hunter. Now days hunters could bring back the hard won meat of an antelope or jackrabbit, and they would hear complaint the flesh had dried or tasted strange. The staybehinds would then reach for more beef.

There were many staybehinds these days. This kind did not mind the easy kills of bison, but balked at anything more difficult. Why expend more than minimal effort hunting when a meal of beef awaited no matter what? Why bother with the skills that admittedly required many summers to master?

One day—hopefully when Mathew was long dead—the victory of the Words would be complete. Everyone would have forgotten how to hunt. Man would depend totally on cattle to feed him, regardless of the season. Oh, rueful day!

Mathew did not seek out Mark until the pack neared the ice. The pack was twenty-two days away from the cliff and the Breath. Mathew had avoided Mark as long as conscience could stand. Now, here, near the end of the grasses and as far from the Words as they could get, he would at last speak to his friend. He would speak, even though his heart still battled with his head.

"We will talk by the ice," said Mark when Mathew approached.

So Mathew told the others that he and Mark were going on a hunt of their own. This raised no suspicion, for hunters often went out in small groups. Mathew's conscience did suffer in that he had not told the whole truth, as the commandments required.

Their first day alone they caught two rabbits and ate them leisurely with little talk. Little talk with Mark was hardly unusual; Mark spoke less than anyone in the pack. He had been like that from puphood. That was partly why Mathew often sought out his company, for respite from petitioners and complainers.

Mathew could not remember Mark ever petitioning or complaining. Perhaps that should have fostered unease instead of trust in Mathew. If a leader did not know what a man wanted, how could a leader control him? Mark did not ask for anything. Through the seasons he was just there, ready with flawless advice whenever Mathew sought his counsel.

They had never discussed the Words. Earlier in life Mathew had assumed Mark hated them, but now he wasn't so sure. Mark had been one of those forced to hold a loved one during the example. Mark never mentioned that day, or his burned brother.

For a long time Mathew thought Mark silenced his rage for the same reason others did: mortal fear of the Words. But the man was emotionless in all matters. Mark didn't anger, he didn't rejoice, he didn't argue, he didn't jest. As the summers passed Mathew wondered if the brother's death had moved Mark at all. Did anything move him?

The second day out they sighted the ice. Its brilliant whiteness ran all along the southern horizon. In front of the ice lay a lake well over a thousand bounds wide. In the middle of the lake stood a line of huge boulders, some as tall as twenty bison. At the lake's edge grew a band of stunted trees, the first they had seen since the pines.

They trotted to the sodden shore of the lake. Mathew poked a foot in the water and found it stunningly cold, despite the heavy warmth in the air. The two men stared across the quiet blue waters at the cliff of ice that rose almost as high as the cliff of rock far behind them. The glare off the ice hurt their eyes.

Mathew had first seen the ice when a pup. It had awed him and still did. Men said the ice extended all the way to the bottom of the world, although of course only God had ever been there. To Mathew the ice was just as impressive as the teeth as proof of God's omnipotence.

"Look," said Mark. His nose pointed to the tree trunks over which water lapped. The trees close to shore were still alive, while those further out had died. Some were almost completely submerged.

Mathew nodded. Everyone knew but rarely talked about it, that the ice continued to crawl northward. The Words said God would halt the advance within a few generations. Mathew himself was not concerned, for just as much grassland appeared to exist as had in his youth.

"One day the ice will reach to the teeth," said Mark.

Mathew eyed him. Did Mark think the advancing ice would aid in persuasion? Mathew hoped not. The ice might indeed one day reach the teeth, and the cliff, but a hundred or thousand generations could pass before then. That threat would barely trouble anyone alive now.

"The ice is unimportant," he said.

"Fifty generations ago a pack and herd took forty days to reach the ice. Now we arrive in twenty-four. Fifty generations more and the grasses will be gone."

Mathew snorted. "We are not here to discuss the ice."

Mark smiled wryly. "We are not."

"I am frightened, my old friend."

"That is understandable."

"There is much, much risk if we do as you want."

"As _I_ want?"

"Mark, we both hate the Words. We both know their power is false. But many in our pack truly believe the Words speak for God. The believers will return to the cliff regardless of what we show with the sticks. And that means doom for everyone else."

Mark shook his head. "Many pretend they believe. You pretended well, but I could tell fear instead of faith motivated you. So it is with most of the others. The few fanatics we can deal with."

As Mark had dealt with the Word?

It had been in the waning days of winter when Mark led Mathew into the pines and revealed how he had tortured the secret of the Breath out of the Word.

For a hundred generations the Words had called the Breath out of view of mankind. The Words brought the Breath from the sacred cave whose mouth in the cliff wall stood five bounds up. Initiates piled their bodies so the Words could climb to the cave. No one else could reach the cave, for the Words guarded the mouth at all times, in all seasons.

The prior autumn Mark had lain in wait many nights near the latrines of the Words. The Words usually went in groups of two or three. They apparently feared aloneness in the dark, despite their claim to be God's chosen. But one night a Word hurried to the latrines alone.

Mathew's blood had chilled as Mark spoke his dry, dispassionate words. Matthew recalled, yes, a Word had disappeared in the autumn. The Words sent out searchers, but they found no trace. Everyone assumed the Word had fallen to a long tooth or a bear.

Mark told how he attacked the heavy, clumsy man as the Word emptied his bowels. Mark was quickly able to strangle the man unconscious. Then he dragged the Word far away, where—as Mark put it—"even the sharpest ears at the cliff could not hear his screams."

The Word gladly told the secret after a foreleg was chewed to shreds. Mark did not immediately throat the Word, because the secret seemed too simple. As it had to Mathew, when Mark showed how to call the Breath of God.

All men needed do was rub two sticks together. Then touch one of the rubbed spots to dry pine needles, and gently blow. A whiff of smoke would appear, followed shortly by the orange red of the Breath as it flared from a needle or two. Keep blowing, add needles and twigs, and the Breath would grow.

Prior to that moment, Mathew had believed only the Words could call. It had been the biggest shock of his life when the Breath appeared in that little clearing in the pines—many bounds away from any Word.

When he got over his shock, fury seized him. Now He knew with certainty what he always suspected, that the Words were frauds. The Words had deceived and exploited mankind for a hundred generations. He wanted revenge and he wanted it immediately. He would charge to the cliff and show all mankind the falseness of the Words.

Mark had to argue long and hard to convince his pack leader of the futility of contesting the Words. The Words would say the underone had given them the secret. The Words would proclaim them blasphemers and heretics and demand the example.

"When the Word told me how to call," Mark had said grimly," my first reaction was like yours. I would use the knowledge to throat the Words. All I would have to do is show men how to rub sticks. The packs would of course turn on these defilers and tear apart their overfed bodies. Mankind would be free of them.

"I hate the Words. I curse them. I damn them. I would like nothing better than to see each scream his life away over low flame. But I know that will not happen. Their hold on the packs is too strong."

But Mark told Mathew not to despair. "If knowing the secret of the Breath cannot free all the packs, it can at least free ours."

Mark had proposed the pack leave the cliff forever. With the ability to call the Breath, they could survive winter elsewhere. And he had an elsewhere in mind. He asked if Mathew remembered the high meadow where they had cornered an elk six summers ago. They, Jonathan, and several others had chased the elk through the foothills and far up a valley leading into the teeth.

"A stream runs through the valley, which will give us steady water. There is good grass for the cattle. The pines will provide plenty of wood for the Breath, and the ridges above the valley will shelter us from the worst of winter winds. Best of all, the Words will never find us there—if they should bother to look."

Mark went on to say it would be easy to convince the pack the Words were false, as long they were far from the cliff. No Words would be around to denounce and spread fear. There would only be the truth of the Breath, and each man and woman could clearly see how they had been tricked. It will work, Mark had sworn, it will work.

Mathew had not been able to decide if his truest friend spoke wisdom or foolishness. Not the day he learned of the Breath, or all the days thereafter. One of which had now brought him to the end of the grasses and the beginning of the ice.

Mathew sighed. "Even if no one opposes us, we still have the winter to face. The Words are skilled at keeping the Breath alive even during the worst storms. Can we?"

"Yes."

"Next spring we could all be frozen corpses. Do I have the right to put the pack in that danger?"

"Return then to the Words."

Mathew could hear the unspoken "if you are of little heart and less spine".

Mathew did not reply for a long time. When he did he leveled hard eyes at Mark.

"I will take the pack northeast until we reach the foothills. There I will decide if we seek the meadow in the teeth or return west to the cliff. You will be free at that point to go where you wish. But I want your vow you will keep what the sticks can do between us. I also want your word you will not challenge my decision, whatever it is."

Mark laughed softly. "I already know your decision."

"Don't mock me!"

"Never, my friend. But you and I have seen the last of the Words."

"Give me your vow."

"You have my loyalty as long as I breathe. I will never challenge you. Though I could have—and won."

Mark's air of utter confidence, close to insolence, angered Mathew. For a crazy moment he wanted to say, let's fight and see whose teeth end on whose throat.

The anger passed. "Perhaps. I am glad we never faced in the circle.

"As am I. You are the only man in the pack I truly respect."

Mark had never flattered him before. But this was not flattery, only statement of what this quiet man hid so well in his heart.

Mathew gave thanks to the Lord, that whatever joys or travails lay ahead, he would always have Mark at his side.

Thirty days later, at the height of summer, the pack arrived at the foothills. Some had questioned why they traveled so far east, but Mathew said not to worry. The pack could tarry thirty days here and still easily return to the cliff by early autumn.

Spirits remained high. They had lost few cattle to disease or injury, the calves were growing nicely, and hunting remained good. Men were also enjoying the mating time. As always in high summer the women were coming to heat, and Mathew allowed unrestricted coupling.

Earlier in his days as pack leader he had jealously kept those privileges to himself. Now he had sired so many pups it mattered little to him if the other men did. This gained him popularity and eased tensions. He didn't seek the former; the latter he had wisely learned to welcome.

Mathew and Mark decided they would first reveal the secret of the Breath to Samuel and Jeremiah. These two were the strongest men of the pack. If these two could be turned against the Words, it would go a long way in turning the entire pack.

Mathew and Mark took the two men up into the pines, ostensively to hunt elk. In a secluded spot they had Samuel and Jeremiah rub sticks. The two men protested this foolishness, but they obeyed their pack leader. When at Mark's direction they applied one smoldering stick to pine needles, the Breath appeared. As had been Mathew, they were stunned.

Mathew told them not to fear. What they had done, any man could do. A hundred generations ago a man had discovered, likely by accident, how to call the Breath. Instead of sharing this knowledge, he used the Breath to sinful advantage. His follower, the Words, still took sinful advantage.

Samuel and Jeremiah were in great distress. Mathew worried the distress would burst to rage, and that he and Mark would be fighting for their lives. In the end the two men did rage—but against the Words. It took considerable calming to keep Samuel from immediately charging west to claim revenge.

As he had with Mathew, Mark convinced the two men it was hopeless to challenge the Words. Their power at the cliff was too great. The pack must be satisfied knowing it no longer needed serve the deceivers. With the ability to call the pack could dwell and prosper wherever it desired. Freedom was their victory over the Words. Mark spoke well, for both men pledged to follow the pack wherever Mathew led.

In pairs other men were brought into the pines to learn the secret of the Breath. Mathew became quite used to the astonishment, and the more slowly formed anger at the Words. Only three men defended the Words. Only these three demanded they be allowed to return to the cliff.

Mathew kept the three under close guard while he decided their disposition. He was inclined to let them flee westward and live out their lives under the paw of the Words. Samuel wanted to kill them outright; he volunteered for the task. He was incensed anyone could side with those who in God's name had acted so wickedly.

Mark also counseled death. He however argued with his usual dispassion—and unfailing logic. To let these men reach the Words will guarantee our own deaths. The Words will send a thousand frenzied men to slay the stealers of the Breath. They will track us wherever we go. Let these three live and you condemn eighty others to die by flame.

You will not murder, said the first commandment. Mathew knew to kill these three was murder. Their crime was only belief that the Words truly did represent God in the fleshy world. These three were wrong to so believe, but they believed because of their faith in God. To kill such men would greatly offend the Lord.

Mathew did not know what to do. When Mark and Samuel pressed the matter, he demanded more time to decide. When after days of vacillation one of the three attempted escape, Mathew still could not order their end. Finally Mark said he would take care of it—unless Mathew expressly forbade him. Mathew's tongue struggled, but the long red muscle could say neither yes or no. Mark left to take care of it.

The next day the pack headed into the foothills. Scouts had located the meadow, several days climb away. The pack moved slowly as the cattle found the uphill going difficult. Rocks and fallen trees requiring only a single bound for men required what seemed a quarter day for the clumsy animals to cross. The herd burdened pack reached the meadow after nine days.

By the sixth day of the climb men could look back and see the plains spread behind them. The yellowing grasses of late summer abruptly ended well before the horizon, halted by the white of the ice. It took no great leap of the imagination to see the ice crawling closer winter by winter.

Men noticed the air cooled as they climbed. The sun did not burn so fiercely at noon and the nights carried an autumn like chill. Men of course did not worry, for they knew how to call the Breath. Little worried them as they approached the high meadow. The meadow, which everyone said, lay closer toward God.

The scouts had not exaggerated the grandeur of their new grounds. The meadow stretched over a thousand bounds long where the valley widened. Stately pines bounded the meadow, and a swiftly flowing stream ran through intensely green, sweet smelling grasses. Flowers of every color grew among the thick grass and the sky overhead was almost purple.

Mathew sent his scouts ahead. The meadow would do well for now, but they needed better shelter for winter. The scouts reported the valley curved sharply westward a day's travel away. The ridge reached far higher into the sky than did the cliff of the Words. It should easily hold the winter winds at bay.

Mathew immediately sent groups to the ridge to begin storing wood and grass. Even though some summer remained he did not want to wait. These were unknown grounds and it was best to be well prepared. Not everyone shared his sense of urgency, and complaint arose that not even the Words put men to work before autumn. But true animosity was difficult in this delightful land that men said was halfway to the afterlife.

At night men felt especially near the Lord. The stars seemed but a paw length away. The stars—which the ancients said held the souls of the most holy—blazed very brightly over the high meadow. Men could sense the presence the holy ones, as well as their Creator. Many nights the pack was so inspired it spontaneously howled.

Over several nights a star to the north grew steadily brighter. On the third night men could actually see their shadows so strong was the light it cast. All agreed the star was God's sign He favored how this pack had broken free of the Words. All agreed, that is, except Matthew.

The nights turned increasingly cold, though heat still filled the days. Mathew ordered the Breath called, to warm the cattle. Each time men rubbed sticks, Mathew feared the Lord would withhold the Breath. He did not let his fear show, but he believed the Lord would eventually exact retribution for the murder of the three men.

Their deaths gnawed at his innards. The deaths weighed on him, awake or asleep. He could find little joy in this place of beauty and tranquility. He had wanted to ask questions of the Lord when they met; now the Lord would have questions for him. Mathew could already hear the roar of His voice.

Why, Mathew, did you break the most hallowed of my commandments? You plead self defense in the name of the pack, but you were aware the first commandment is absolute. The killing of anyone not trying to kill is murder. From the first days of mankind I have so told those created in my image, so they could live without fear among each other. Do you truly expect me to allow you into the afterlife after this transgression?

Mathew begged understanding. He as pack leader was responsible for the lives of eighty people. Would he not be guilty of eighty murders if he had let the three men reach the Words—who after all were the pups of the underone? Surely the Lord must see the difficulty of his position.

You will not murder. You will not murder. You will not murder. So said the Lord, once for each time Mathew violated the prime commandment. The Lord would not be deceived. Mathew with one word could have stopped Mark from tearing throats. With one word he could have honored God, and saved the lives of decent men.

As Mathew suffered his anguish, he came to resent Mark. The man who had done the actual killing showed not the slightest remorse. Mark saw the three men as friends of the underone and probably believed the Lord praised his act. Mark certainly wasn't losing any sleep over the destruction of those men. Men who had previously served the pack and God well.

There had always been a hardness to Mark. Deaths in the pack, whether of revered elders or fledgling pups, rarely moved him. The old died because it was their time—and the young died because they were weak. Mark was contemptuous of weakness. He valued courage, loyalty, and will

Mathew believed men were born to certain natures, though undoubtedly the Words had driven any gentleness out of Mark. Being forced to burn one's brother would lead a man away from notions of mercy. The Words had fed Mark hate, hate that had not weakened over ten summers.

Yet Mark would have to face the Lord, just like Mathew or any man. Mark would not go without judgement. In that regard Mathew felt sorry for his friend, because of the shock Mark would feel when the Lord insisted Mark had sinned. They had both sinned, and would both answer to their creator.

Autumn arrived early in the high meadow, early by thirty days. Mathew feared winter would come too soon also. He ordered the pack spend every waking moment in forage. With the air now cool even at midday, no one grumbled at the heavy toil.

The first snow fell forty days sooner in the meadow than it usually did at the cliff. This snow merely dusted the still green grass of the meadow, but Mathew immediately moved the pack and herd up the valley. Everyone sorrowed to leave the lush meadow and prayed for a swift passage of winter.Four days after the pack reached the winter refuge, heavy snow fell. The snow continued to descend until every trace of green on the ground was gone. When the snow stopped, the sun did not reappear. Instead clouds—gray, low, and cold—remained above the valley. The clouds swallowed the upper half of the teeth.

The Breath kept the pack and cattle warm. Everyone luxuriated in the closeness of the flames, the heat of which kept them comfortable despite increasing cold. Men praised the Lord, and they praised Mathew and Mark who had delivered them from the jaws of the Words. Freedom was so good.

Snow returned every third or fourth day. It of course melted near the Breath—where it turned the ground to mud—but beyond the reach of the flames the snow continued to pile. This worried Mathew, for already men struggled in the white while fetching wood. And grass everywhere was covered under snow, snow that lay taller than the height of a man.

Finally the snow grew so high that no man could penetrate the whiteness. All the while the temperature dropped. The pack and herd now huddled ever closer to stay warm, huddled in mud mixed with cow excrement. Despite unpleasantness, neither man nor beast truly suffered. The cattle lacked not for grass and the pack lacked not for cooked meat.

But tempers did grow short. Even at the cliff men did not live in such proximity. Here there was no space to even walk, and men's restlessness found release in snarls and bites. Mathew feared massive fighting would erupt.Mathew misplaced his concern. A howling snowstorm brought him true fear. The storm swept down the valley one black night and destroyed the Breath. Raging wind and snow overcame the flames despite frantic effort to keep them alive. Brutal gusts snuffed out each attempt to call new Breath.

The storm lasted well into the following day. Men and women and pups pressed together as never before; and the pack shivered as one. When the winds at last died men could hardly move so stiff were they with cold. But move they did because everyone knew another night without the Breath would bring deaths.

Incredibly no one had frozen. Men praised God for giving them heavy coats of hair. The cattle, however, were not so blessed and the storm's end found fifty dead. Many others were badly weakened. They fortunately revived when the Breath was called and the flames rose high.

The fifty dead cattle did not cause worry. The pack would eat over two hundred of the beasts during the winter, so those felled were merely butchered and their meat stored in the snow. Men said the storm was actually a gain, for dead cows did not eat grass. More would remain for the surviving cattle.

Mathew was not so pleased. He believed the storm showed God intended to punish the pack, not just its leader. The Lord evidently held the entire pack responsible for the murders of the three men. All had known the men faced execution and none opposed it. Perhaps some feared for their own lives if they did oppose, but the Lord expected men to keep his commandments no matter the worldly penalty.

Mathew was right, for even worse storms followed. Once three days passed before the pack could recall the Breath, and four people froze solid in the piercing cold. Those dead were the older members and they would have passed on anyway within two summers. But their end depressed everybody. For the first time men wondered if they had chosen correctly in abandoning the cliff.

Cattle died in great number. For awhile Mathew wondered if any would survive. Most calves were lost, but the young cows and steers proved amazingly hardy. The older cattle fared little better than the calves. Men continued to butcher and store meat.

The sun finally returned. The pack howled at its appearance. It didn't matter that the low sun delivered feeble heat; the mere presence of the yellow orb in a blue sky warmed all souls. God was still with them.

Men had vigilantly counted the days since the onset of winter and they calculated but thirty days remained until spring. Mathew could count as well as any, but he feared spring would be late—just as autumn had ended early. The pack was here in the teeth, not at the cliff. He doubted snow would recede until sixty days hence.

They endured one more vicious storm. It struck on the day spring would have begun at the cliff, and the storm shattered men's spirits. The torrent of cold and snow killed two men, three women, and six pups. The cattle were reduced to a herd of less than fifty. Men wailed to the Lord, asking why had he inflicted such wounds on His devoted. But Mathew suspected they suspected.

Warmth finally crept into the stinging air and water began to trickle from the snow that had piled move than five men high. Everyone gave thanksgiving. Anxiety, however, still worked on every brow. Thoughts slipped past the delightful summer that waited and instead fixed on the winter inevitably to follow. No one believed the pack could endure another such season in the teeth.

Men talked of returning to the plains. Surely there, or in the foothills, they could find some sort of shelter. Mathew was inclined to agree. The pack could travel far, far to the east, beyond the reach of the Words. The winter there surely could not exceed the bitterness of the one endured here.

Mark said no. Mark gathered the men of the pack and spoke with quiet certitude. To return to the grasses was to die, he said. However far east we go, a pack will someday stumble upon us. The encounter may come in one generation or in ten, but it will come. "The Words will then condemn this pack to death."

Mark pointed his nose toward the soaring teeth of the north. "There we will go. Where no pack or Word will ever follow."

Everyone conceded Mark was the wisest of the pack. But men gasped at his proposition nonetheless. We have barely survived one winter here, men countered. How can you say we should climb higher into the teeth? Is not that also certain death?

Mark said that as the ice ended and as the grasses ended, so would the teeth. A land waited on the other side where mankind could begin anew, out of the reach of the Words. Why else would the Lord have given this pack the secret of the Breath? "Do not let fear make you weak. The Lord has set us on this path. We must show our faith by going forward."

Men continued to doubt and Mark hardened his voice. "If you doubt we can get beyond the teeth before winter, you doubt God. Do you think he will betray those to whom He has given the Breath? We are his true chosen. This winter He has tested us. He wants to see if we will still seek our freedom regardless of danger and hardship. Or will we turn craven, and slink back to the Words?"

Mathew wondered whether Mark's words were born of faith or calculation. Mark rarely spoke of the Lord. He had scrupulously observed the commandments—excepting the murders, which Mark did not believe murder—but Mathew could not remember seeing the man pray.

"I go north," said Mark. "The Lord will be with me. Those who have faith are welcome to join me. Those who do not may stay here to freeze, or return to where the enemy of God rules. Let every man search his heart, and decide."

The pack stood silent as Mark's certain and authoritative words swept over them. Mathew could see they believed they faced a man possessed of faith. In these few moments Mathew could feel leadership of the pack pass from himself to Mark.

There would be no formal challenge, of course. Mathew was sure that in public Mark would still defer to him. But it would now be to Mark that men looked in time of difficulty or crisis.

In a way Mathew did not mind. The burden of leadership had grown very heavy since he let those three good men die. He increasingly believed himself unworthy to lead. The disasters of this winter had further diminished his confidence, and he feared even greater loss of life lay ahead.

The pack waited until the cattle regained strength before starting north. During the wait Mathew sent scouts up the valley to see how far it reached between the teeth. The rest of the men he sent hunting, both to sharpen their skills and to bring in meat. From now on the pack would eat beef only as the last resort; the herd needed several summers respite to return to full size.

The scouts said the valley continued unbroken—at least as far as they got, when stopped by a wall of melting snow. The valley narrowed as it climbed and the ground became more rocky. The scouts also warned that the stream ran swiftly. Misstep near the banks could sweep away man or beast.

The pack and herd started up the valley on a warm, lovely day. The snow had receded up the sides of the teeth and green flourished everywhere. The birds sang, the bees buzzed, and the frothy stream roared. The sun reached high in the sky at midday. The world again held promise, and joy returned to the hearts of men. All praised the Lord.

The cattle fared better than Mathew expected. They moved slowly as the ground became more rock strewn, but they plodded onward and upward with almost manlike determination. Perhaps they too did not want another winter in the teeth. The six male calves that remained—upon which survival of the herd depended—grew steadily. By next spring they should be siring.

The pack and herd climbed higher and higher. They were well into the teeth by now, with a mass of peaks behind as well as before them. Men peered eagerly northward, but through the gaps in the teeth they could detect only sky. Mark told men not to worry. They would see new land when they began to descend. Which would not be much longer.

True to Mark's word, eight days later scouts raced into the midst shouting that the valley—now devoid of water and wide enough for the cattle to pass only single file—began to drop just beyond the next peak. Though clouds had obscured what lay on the horizon, it did not appear the valley rose again. The pack broke into howling. They were delivered, as the Lord—and Mark—had promised.

When the pack reached the top of the valley, wedged between two dizzyingly high peaks, clouds were gone from the horizon. Men could see a solid line of deep green on the northern rim of the world. Everyone cried out relief, though all could see many peaks remained between the pack and the green.

The pack and herd descended. They found the going trickier than the climb, for now missteps led to a tumble. Every day someone turned a paw or bruised a shoulder. The cattle did worse, and several ruined limbs so badly they were slaughtered.

On the twelfth day of the descent the pack suffered its first death. A trio of hunters stumbled upon a great bear that had made a fresh kill. Usually bears did not charge men, but this one inexplicably leapt from its kill and struck down Jacob, a young man Mathew had sired.

The second death came when ground loosened beneath a scout and he fell into a ravine. They couldn't reach the man because of the steepness of the slope. Mercifully the man died after a night of pitiful cries and moans. Men sorrowed, but no one took alarm for similar deaths occurred most summers.

The two deaths unsettled only Mathew. He feared this was the first of the Lord's punishment. Again he beseeched the Lord to stay His wrath.

People noticed the air warmed as the pack descended. The warmth was of a heavy sort, and exertion changed the warmth to unpleasant heat. Few complained, as memory of the long winter had not faded.

Shortly the pack entered a meadow. This one, however, provided little comfort. Here dull green grass grew higher than the cattle. The grass was tough and sharp edged, and the cattle struggled to eat it. In this meadow no flowers bloomed and no butterflies fluttered. The only life men saw were loathsome little creatures that scurried between hooves and paws.

The meadow did not end. It instead widened, and the ground grew more level. The pack and herd pushed many days through the hot, thick grass. Even when men climbed atop a cow they could see nothing but more grass. In this meadow a stream did not run and only at tepid pools could thirst be slaked.

Despite its monotony and discomfort Mathew did not disdain the meadow. He took as a providential sign that no deaths—or injury—had occurred since entering. He gave thanks the Lord had heard his prayers.

Mathew thanked too soon.

On the morning of the fourteenth day in the meadow Mathew heard the cattle bellow in fright. Then men and women were screaming too.

Mathew dashed the best he could through the heavy grass. He also had to dodge bolting cattle and people to reach the scene of trouble. Then terror seized him as he watched the unwatchable.

At first his eyes refused to believe that a great snake had wrapped around a young woman. The two were writhing in flattened grass. The women's eyes were nearly out of their sockets as she cried a fear Mathew had never heard, even from those the Words burned. The snake worked silently, its muscles rippling beneath skin striped green and black.

Finally life passed from the woman. The great snake uncoiled from the body and slithered to the ground. The snake's mouth opened impossibly wide, then slipped over her head. With a numbed horror Mathew watched as the serpent bit by bit swallowed the fortunately dead woman. Eventually she disappeared and a huge lump distorted the body of the snake.

The old teachings, ignored by the Words, said the underone sometimes took the form of a snake. Mathew believed it was the evil one that the pack had encountered here. The snake with those hateful, lidless eyes just stared at Mathew. Mathew could not move, and if the snake had come for him he would have died.

After awhile Mark fetched him away. Mark said he had already sent out men to soothe and gather the cattle. Mark attempted to soothe him. In his fear and shock Mathew did not recoil from the man he now despised. Instead he wanted to plead Mark tell him this was not a portent of impending doom.

For the rest of the day Mark gave the orders concerning the pack and herd. Mathew was preoccupied commanding himself. With each step through the grass he awaited attack of a great snake. Mathew prayed hard. The Lord might well punish him, yes, but let his fate be other than the underone swallowing him alive

By the next morning Mathew had regained his composure. He very much feared the snake, but he acknowledged it was up to the Lord how Mathew's life ended. All he could do was continue in his duties as pack leader, and continue to beg the Lord's forgiveness.

Finally the grasses thinned. Trees and bushes appeared with increasing frequency. The trees were all hardwoods, with broad limbs and leaves. Along their stretching limbs scurried strange hooting creatures.

The warmth had turned to permanent heat. Men suffered even though they had shed winter coats. At the height of summer on the plains men had never experienced this type of heat, which wrapped the body. People panted day and night.

Soon the pack and herd left the tall grasses altogether. They entered a land of total green. The trees had thickened so the limbs and leaves high above filled the sky. On the ground spread a bewildering array of plants. The cattle eagerly feasted on the soft leafed foliage.

From the trees and undergrowth many creatures watched them. Men had never seen stranger animals or birds. None fortunately appeared dangerous. More fortunately, many were easy prey. When men killed, the entire sweep of green erupted with hundreds of hoots, chirps, and squeals. The tumult lasted a long time.

Everyone was surprised how much foliage could grow in such an apparently dry land. It had not rained once this side of the teeth. But here the plants remained green, with little trace of yellow. The few streams ran less than a bound wide and barely a forelimb in depth. Men found no pools or ponds.

There was, however, enough water for the pack and herd. The pack wondered if it should journey any further. The cattle seemed content. As were most of the pack, though the press of green and lack of blue sky uneased some. Prey was abundant. The heat was bad, but perhaps they would grow used to it. All certainly preferred heat to cold.

The herd needed rest after the descent, so it was decided to stay awhile in the land of green. Mathew sent scouts east, west and north to determine how far the green stretched. Men meanwhile daily inspected the male calves. Two were close to bullhood; siring could begin soon.

The scouts could see no end to the enclosing green. One pair of scouts, sent northeast, had its search cut short by a black skinned predator. The predator bore a shape similar to the long toothed cat that prowled the foothills on the other side of the teeth.

The black skin had leapt at them from a tree. God was with the scouts, for the cat caught a foot in a vine as it leapt. The men thought for sure the cat would catch them, but its speed faded after the first hundred bounds. The cat's horrible roar did still ring in their ears.

The days passed without harm. The pack stood on guard but black cats avoided them. The cattle continued to idly feed and grow fat. Men caught and roasted all sorts of prey, and began again to frolic and spar. The pack rejoiced when one male calf sought out his first cow, and heartily mated.

Shortly past mid summer rain finally fell in the land of green. The rain fell gently, not in a fury as on the grasslands across the teeth. The rain eased the heat, which men now better abided anyway. Streams filled and ran more swiftly. Their contents tasted much better than before, when only thirst prodded men to drink the brackish water.

The rains continued. Five days, ten, then fifteen. Day and night the drip drip went on from every leaf and branch and vine. It was impossible to call the Breath. Men dripped too, and dryness was something remotely remembered. Spirits soured.

Twenty days, thirty, forty. Vegetation around them flourished and the cattle got even fatter, but the rain was closet to maddening men. Mathew wondered if endless wetness were to be the Lord's punishment. Men prayed for relief. It didn't come.

Insects added to the general misery. Few before the rain, the insects now swarmed. They stung and bit. Men savagely cursed the tiny tormentors, crushing them by the hundred. But a hundred of the six legs survived for each singly destroyed.

Both men and cattle sickened. The cattle fell into deep stupor, while raging fevers seized the men. Chills alternated with the fevers, and delirious men thought themselves back in the snow. Men came out of the fever only to succumb again. Cattle did not come out of stupor.

The pack began to die. One dawn found a pup dead, the next two women. Each day thereafter at least one of the pack passed on, hopefully to the afterlife. People grieved and feared, their distress heightened because bodies could not be committed to the Breath. Mark tore off the ears of the dead, and said the ears would be put to the flames when the rains ended. The Lord would accept that in place of a whole body.

Some in the pack turned against Mathew and Mark. Led by Jeremiah they openly cursed the two men who had brought them to this vile land of death. The Lord does not favor you, they cried. Jeremiah accused Mathew and Mark of having stolen the Breath. He proclaimed it was Mathew and Mark who served the underone, not the Words.

Mathew did not contest Jeremiah and his half dozen followers. He said nothing to defend himself and would not have resisted if the pack demanded his throat. He knew he was responsible for each death in this place of ceaseless green and wet. The guilt weighed on him like a great boulder.

Mark was not deterred from confrontation. He challenged Jeremiah; the foolish man accepted and died after the briefest of fights. Mark's swift victory in the circle and the continued loyalty of Luke and Samuel broke the spirit of Jeremiad's followers. Upon Mark's demand they publicly recanted their blasphemy.

Mark now commanded all that were able to get moving—north. This was obviously not the land of life, he said. That men died here in the land of green, as they had in the teeth, merely told men the Lord wanted them elsewhere. The pack would know it had found the land of life when the dying stopped.

People were torn. They wanted desperately to escape the sickness, but few could bear to abandon ill mothers, brothers, sisters. Men and women felt duty bound to care for their loved ones until the last breath. Mark solved their quandary by having Samuel and Luke throat the ill. Ears were taken, and the shaken survivors started northward.

Only three cows remained alive. None were pregnant and all the males calves were gone. The cattle were left behind, as the pack had to move swiftly. Any delay in this land of foul green would mean certain death. Still, loss of the beasts that had fed mankind for a hundred generations disheartened everyone

Mark pushed the pack hard. The going was tough. Foliage grew densely in many spots and men exhausted themselves pushing through. The sodden ground was everywhere slippery, forcing two steps for a normal one. When rest was allowed, everyone fell into quick but troubled sleep.

Despite the pace men could not evade the sickness. The ill at first pushed on, no matter their chill or fever. When they invariably faltered, Samuel or Luke dispatched them and took an ear. By now nearly all survivors carried a rotting ear in their mouths. The rain and slimy green went on. Men despaired and some just stopped, though without disease. Mark did not waste words on them, or take an ear. To those still with will he told this was God's final test, to separate the worthy from the unworthy. Those with faith would live to dwell in the land the Lord had set aside for His chosen. So have faith, and live.

Though weary to the bone, men and women and pups responded. Despite himself, Mathew was impressed how Mark could strengthen souls under such horrible circumstances. Mathew had to admit it was well men now looked to Mark for guidance. Mathew had none left to give.

The pack pressed on, and crossed several more of the streams that ran from east to north. Twice creatures that looked like logs closed great jaws on swimming men; the men were dragged under with no hope the others could take an ear. Don't grieve, said Mark. Those men obviously carried evil in their hearts, and that was why these friends of the underone claimed them.

On the sixty-third day of rain the pack came upon a stream much wider than the others. It ran slightly west of north. Everyone gave thanks when Mark said they would not have to cross; the pack would instead follow beside the waters. Mark promised the Lord would use these waters to lead His chosen to the land of life.

The green went on, but one wonderful day the rain stopped. The same day Mathew felt the first of sickness. He was used to heat and fatigue, but he couldn't deny what coursed through his body was born of the disease. His illness didn't surprise. He only wondered why the Lord had taken so long to strike him, the one responsible for so many other deaths.

His strength did not fade immediately. For two days he kept pace with the pack. The third day he slowed as chills took him back to the winters of the north. Usually at this point Samuel or Luke appeared beside the stricken. The sick one made a last prayer, then offered a throat. Few minded this quick death, far preferable to the long agony imposed by the disease.

Mathew was astounded to find Mark at his side. Mark actually looked worried. Mark, who for so many of these grim days had successfully kept his countenance clear of anxiety and fear.

"Go back, Mark. To your post. I'm dying and we both know it."

"Some have recovered. As will you."

"Leave me." Mathew wanted to add the salutation "my old friend". He did not. "And do not send Samuel. I wish to die on my own."

"We will see the land of life together."

"You'll see it. The Lord calls me away here and now."

Mathew stopped and dropped to his belly. It felt so good to stop

"Then the Lord calls both of us. I go no farther forward than this."

Mathew stared at the man he had once trusted so much. Did Mark really care whether Mathew moved another bound? Mathew's demise would give Mark uncontested command of the pack. Not that he didn't have it anyway.

"Go. The pack won't get to the land of life—let us pray there is one—without you. And once there they will need a strong leader. You have amply proved you are one."

Mark gave him that maddeningly certain smile of old. "You will lead in the land of life. I can only lead when men are desperate. My manner is harsh and unyielding, which is not suited for gentler times. I have always known that, which was why I never challenged for the leadership. When we reach the land of life, the pack is again yours."

Mathew shook his head. "Perhaps you mean what you say. I would like to believe it. But I am dying. Your duty is with what remains of the pack."

Mark settled beside him.

"Go! I am a dead man."

"We are but days from the land of life. I know it. You can surely will yourself that far."

Perhaps this land of the six legs—the true friends of the underones—did end soon. The past few days the trees had thinned.

Then the two men heard the faintest creak, from the limb of an overhanging tree. Their heads raised to see a black cat staring back at them. Mathew had never seen such hateful eyes, even in the great snake.

The cat, perhaps three bounds away, had halted on the branch. Mathew could see its tensed muscles.

"Back away slowly," he whispered to Mark. "When he jumps he'll go for me rather than one who can take flight."

Mark whispered a laugh back. "We both see the land of life, or neither of us does. From the start that is what I intended. You have hated me these many days, I know. But I have loved you as always."

Mathew shuddered, as chill again gripped his innards. But Mark's words, now obviously pure truth, gave him some warmth.

"I accept what you say. Perhaps I even accept you may save mankind. But go. That is the last order as pack leader I give you."

The cat crept forward. Its mouth opened, baring horrible teeth, to emit a low and evil growl.

Mark stood up. He bared his own teeth and growled his own growl at the cat perched above.

"Let the evil one come down if he dares," hissed Mark. "He may be strong, but I am quick. He may kill me, but I will wound enough to ruin him."

The cat growled louder and Mathew struggled to his feet. With his heart pounding in his ears he stepped beside Mark and showed his own teeth. If he and Mark were to die, then let this be the way. In battle, and together.

The cat snarled—then backed up the limb. Its malevolent eyes did not leave the two men, but the cat kept retreating. Until it disappeared into the green.

Mark immediately turned in the direction of the pack. "Come with me now, to the land of life."

Mathew's heart still beat in his ears. Strangely he felt stronger, although chill continued to grip his innards.

"I will go as far as I can."

Two days later the pack emerged from the land of the six legs into the land of life. They knew it was the land of life because before them stretched sunlit grassland as far as they could see. The great stream split the waving yellow grasses, and along both banks watered massive herds of beasts.

Mathew staggered the last few bounds to the rise from which the pack—now reduced to fifteen in number—viewed the land of life. The disease still held him at its mercy. He did not know if he would live into the morrow.

Mark assured he would. Who could doubt Mark now, who had been right about so much? Mathew would never completely trust this strange man again, but he would tolerate him well.

Would that the Lord tolerated Mathew. . Blessed be the Lord.

Part II

Man is Wolf to Man

This Favored Land

Year 5056

I was just into puberty, five scoreday past my twenty-second birthday, when I first saw the land beyond the western Holdings. Usually a Terminal Son did not journey to New Songreat before attending the Academy, but my great grandfather insisted I accompany him. The Holder of our Holding did not insist because I was his favorite, though I was; he believed my civic education should begin by witnessing that which he said no amount classroom instruction could match.

I was young then, so very young, and the prospective wonders of New Songreat excited me far more than the looming trial of Pink Foot. From my earliest memory men of the neighboring Holdings had spoken warmly of New Songreat, the pride and delight of our mighty civilization.

So I did not walk in a somber mood to the docks that fine hot morning. Although he could still step sprightly at the age of ninety-six, the Holder—as befit his station—rode the mile from the manor in a canopied litter. Anticipation of the journey so enthused me I wanted to sprint the distance, but I dutifully shuffled behind the litter. Nor did I shout for the watcher to prod the humming girlys that bore the litter to move faster.

Ragged hedges lined both sides of the dusty path, and it was only through an occasional gap that we could see our lush fields beyond. From the rise and fall of song I knew several hundred girlys were at work, watering and weeding, but all were hidden by the runner beans that had climbed full height on the lattices. The occasional rebuke of a watcher also filtered through the mass of plants.

After an eternity we arrived at the docks. Counter Four and her six watchers stood at attention on the middle pier. Behind them, on the deck of the galley, the girly crew tried their best to stand rigid as we approached. These squat little beings of course failed and they soon babbled among themselves.

A very grim Counter Four helped the Holder from the litter, then escorted him up the ramp to his flower festooned galley. I was too obtuse then to ponder the mood of females. But even I should have sympathized how tightly Counter Four clamped her jaws. Any Counter would have dreaded this journey.

Happily oblivious I followed the Holder up the ramp. I thrilled to the slight roll of the deck, as I always did when stepping onto a boat. A boat meant escape from the tedium of the Holding. Even if the skiff or galley went no further down the canal than to the Hand Holding, the respite was hugely welcome.

I joined the Holder on the raised aft deck, and sat with him underneath the cool shade provided by awning. A watcher brought us cups of plum wine. We sipped and savored the pungent brew as the girlys began rowing from their station beneath deck. The galley glided away from the pier and I leaned to see stubby oars churn the thick brown waters of the canal.

We sipped more wine, then the Holder smiled. The Holder's mouth now held only half his teeth, and those that remained were very brown.

I shivered at sight of those teeth, teeth I had complacently observed many times before. I shivered because for the first time I realized my Holder would die.

Yes, I knew that he—and all men—would die. All men died someday. But on this morning of excitement and joy I at last understood that this one man would likely expire within the next score years.

I do not know why it had taken me so long to face that truth. For some years now his hands had trembled, as they did now while cradling the wine cup. I had seen the deep lines upon his face, and I had noticed he could no longer run with me in play. Perhaps I had dwelled too long in childhood.

I forced a smile to match that of my Holder, yet unease still slithered through my abdomen. When Stone Eyes returned to the dirt my childhood would pass forever. I was no favorite of the Prime Son, and my father—who treated me well enough—could hardly wait to award his duties to me. The day the Holder died I would die half myself.

Live long, Stone Eyes, live long.

"I have a surprise for you," the Holder announced in his voice that still rang strong.

"You do?"

Stone Eyes delighted in giving me gifts. But he usually presented them after return from travel, not at their start.

"I will show you later, Calm Eyes. After the noon."

The Holder motioned for another two cups of wine, and the sweaty watcher standing in the sun moved instantly. Our wine appeared moments later.

The Holder began to tell me of his own first journey to New Songreat. I had heard the tale before, at least a half score times. The heads of my father and grandfather began to bob after fifteen minutes of listening to this or any other of the Holder's monologues. My head always remained steadfast, and I was able to mask wandering thoughts. I could catch enough words to comment at the appropriate time. The Prime Son in particular chafed when so trapped, but it never bothered me. I occasionally even gleaned knowledge from our Holder's ramblings.

Today excitement kept my face animated as the Holder droned on. My thoughts kept leaping ahead to New Songreat, which we would reach in twelve days. I also looked forward to our docking at the Hand Holding later today, where I would again see Long Hand. Long Hand had visited our Holding shortly after my eighteenth birthday and we two Terminal Sons had become friends. Everyone in the family had liked him, this cheerful boy who could make even the Prime Son laugh.

The Holder drifted into sleep after his fourth cup of wine. I had stopped at two cups and so did not feel drowsy, despite the steady increase of the day's heat.

I rose and instructed the watcher to make sure the Holder did not slip from his chair. As I spoke slowly and distinctly I disdained the plain face and lumpy body of the watcher. Even half a year ago, I would not have noticed or cared. But since my first beauty I appraised the form of every female.

The watcher acknowledged my command, then I strolled to midboat. I leaned on the garlanded railing where the scent of phlox and vinca filled my nostrils. Directly beneath me a score oars were slapping rhythmically at the muddy waters. It appeared we were making good speed, in spite of the narrow confines of the canal. The hedged bank passed swiftly only a couple yards away.

I silently commended the watcher at the helm for her flawless steering. Watchers might not rouse desire and they might learn slowly, but what they learned they performed well. No Holding could have functioned long without these taciturn, efficient and, yes, loyal beings.

The galley glided on. We had been underway at least two hours now. We had double that and more before we left the western boundary of our Holding. If the Holder stood beside me now he would be bragging how it took longer to exit our Holding than any other. I smiled as I remembered how Stone Eyes let no one forget the extent of our land.

The Prime Son did not share his father's pride. Soft Eyes and Stone Eyes shared little but enmity. Our fifteen thousand acres—awarded eighty years ago during the last advance of the thorn wall—he saw only as burden.

I myself was impressed with the vastness of our Holding. When I went to the Academy I could stand tall, despite the newness of our Line. Our great Holding provided a full eighth of bean meal for the Civilization

Periodically the galley passed whirling irrigation wheels on the banks. The galley oars slapped, slapped, slapped and the water wheels creaked, creaked, creaked. Singing girlys relentlessly powered both. It amazes me still, the endurance and strength of these gentle creatures who stood half our height and lived half our years.

We should have valued them more, much more, these the sinews of our civilization. The girlys had built New Songreat brick by brick, column by column. They had dug the canals that linked and nourished our lands. They sowed the seed, lovingly tended the crops, and gathered the produce. They fed us, clothed us, sheltered us. Yet we would have laughed if anyone suggested we hold them in any particular regard. They were just there, like the air we breathed.

Our line certainly owed much to these little creatures. The Council had given the Holder's father a thousand girlys when he agreed to confront this then barren land. The father and son—along with three Counters, forty watchers, and the horde of girlys—cleared the Holding of the strongly rooted grasses that grew to a man's waist. It took the girlys forty years of brutal toil to fully cultivate the Holding. Stone Eyes said members of the Assembly still congratulated him on the achievement; no one had congratulated the girlys.

When the Holder awoke after the noon, he took me below decks. I had to watch my step as my eyes were still full of daylight. We went through the lounge, then down another level of stairs. He opened a door and I ventured into cool and clammy darkness

.I heard a female giggle.

The Holder said nothing and my adjusting eyes searched the low room for the girly within. I wondered what an unsupervised girly was doing here, especially where only a narrow slit in the hull kept the confines from complete darkness. Then I saw I faced a female of an entirely different ilk. Before me stood a beauty.

I have never understood how my body can so mingle heat and chill. But the response has not failed me in all the years since I first saw a naked beauty. Only a month then separated me from that first time.

The red haired beauty smiled—and smiled—as I gazed upon her fully exposed flesh. The flesh glowed even in the half dark.

The Holder patted my shoulder, and whispered in my ear.

"She is yours. Till you desire her no more."

I could not even babble my thanks as the Holder left. I could only gape at the pale skinned wonder before me. My first beauty had been lovely, but this female easily surpassed her in both form and face.

I could hardly believe the Holder had given her to me. Why not keep this beauty, and just give me the least of his foursome at the Holding? I knew he loved me greatly, but I—an unproven lad—certainly did not merit such a prize.

The Prime Son would not think so either. Soft Eyes had resented that I bedded my first time with one of the Holder's beautys. In his youth he, as did most Terminal Sons, bedded first time with a beauty whose beauty had faded and who would soon be retired to the Motherhold.

My thoughts however did not linger long on the Prime Son. My hands eagerly reached for the beauty. The redhair pressed close. My lips sealed to hers, and the beauty scraped nails across my chest.

After that the room was no longer cool and sweat flowed freely. Soon the bed we stumbled to shook violently and the beauty's cries outdid mine. At the end I lay quivering helplessly upon the beauty—who had fallen asleep.

I heard panting. It took a moment before I realized the sound did not arise from either of us. I strained to turn my head. I saw the door cracked and from the crack peered an eyeball. Below the eyeball a half toothed mouth hung open.

The door eased shut.

We docked at the Hand Holding as the sun hovered above the eastern horizon. Stone Eyes and I had donned our formal wear, replete with copper ringed belt and broad hat. The tunic was hot.

On the dock rigidly stood the entire Hand line, also attired formally. My eyes immediately caught those of Long Hand and we exchanged a twitch of a smile. I noticed the two Holders—old, old comrades—also had difficulty concealing joy. To this day I do not know why we considered stern solemnity the epitome of social grace.

Stone Eyes stepped onto the dock and gravely hailed his white haired counterpart. Firm Hand, who looked much closer to the grave than my Holder, responded in kind. Stone Eyes then introduced me to the family—including Long Hand, even though we two were already aquatinted. How quaint these protocols seem now. Yet I miss them.

Then all eyes snapped to the galley. The Holder's two beautys—or rather his and mine—were being escorted onto the dock by Counter Four.

Both beautys wore full length silk robes. My beauty was stunning in soft blue and the Holder's black haired lovely resplendent in crimson. The two females with the long tresses smiled dazzlingly and I believe everyone's breath shortened. The thrift of Stone Eyes was legendary, but he spent what it took to get the best in beautys.

We strode to waiting litters. Everyone was permitted to ride, including the Terminal Sons. The two beauties rode with the Holders while I and Long Hand brought up the rear. In our momentary privacy we cheerfully learned that both of us were no longer virgin.

The girlys bearing the litters stepped briskly and the Hand manor soon came into view. Envy and some shame pricked as I beheld the three story structure of polished purple granite. Our manor was half the size and built of bricks made from mud and chaff.

Then I reminded myself that the Hand Holding had existed four hundred years. No doubt early on the Hand Line had dwelled in whitewashed brick as we did now. Still I pledged that when I held the Holdership the Eyes would dwell within fine stone.

We rode down a path paved with flat stone and lined with oaks. When the litters reached the manor a Counter hurried from the arched entrance trailed by a half score watchers. All wore tunics of finer quality than our females. The Counter spoke with Counter Four and quickly the watchers carried our luggage into the manor.

Firm Hand did not take us inside, but led us to a pavilion about a hundred yards behind the manor. The pavilion stood on a rise and we could see the canal. In the last light of day the muddy water cut straight through the dark green of vast fields. The Holder pulled aside the sheer insect nets, then directed us to the dinning table.

The beautys, now numbering eight, sat at one end of the table and we at the other. I had not believed Long Hand when he told me this was the proper etiquette, because our Holder dined with his beautys flanking him. At our manor the Sons ate at the other end. I have learned since Stone Eyes did many things his way.

We sat. Behind each chair stood a watcher, and two more waited by the serving table. I could see vapor rising from several bowls. My mouth watered at the sight—and scent—of the hot food. The past few years our Holder's stomach could not tolerate food heated in a sun oven, so we all did without. But I remembered how delicious cooked meals tasted. I hoped I would enjoy such table fare the balance of this journey.

Firm Hand gestured and the watchers handed us each a tall cup of wine. Firm Hand raised his cup and saluted Stone Eyes, conqueror of the wilderness. He welcomed him and his Terminal Son to the Hand Holding. In turn Stone Eyes saluted Firm Hand and his progeny, great growers of peanuts. All then drank deeply from their cups. The beautys smiled on the scene.

I could barely keep my hands at my side as the watchers ladled food onto my plate. Sweet beans, peppered rice, pickled squash, honeyed cornbread. I had not eaten since morning. But no one could lift his spoon until the Holders raised theirs. I suffered exquisitely as Firm Hand and Stone Eyes bantered and sipped a second cup of the dry grape wine.

Firm Hand finally ate. I maintained decorum the best I could; still my plate emptied first. Long Hand cleared his plate shortly thereafter. Protocol did not forbid us additional helpings and we stuffed in more food as we happily discussed our joint trip to New Songreat. Firm Hand and his Terminal Son would be our guests on the galley.

The Holders carried on boisterously, Long Hand and I continued to speak animatedly, and the beautys chatted pleasantly among themselves. The Prime and Second Sons however ate silently. Their eyes fixed on their plates and I could see tension on their faces.

I had lately witnessed the same tension in my grandfather and father. They had fidgeted ever since the day a month ago when the postal boat brought word of the crime of Pink Foot. I wondered if tonight throughout the land all Prime and Second Sons looked so uneasy.

My initial reaction, like the rest of my Line, had been one of pure shock. No greater—or rarer—evil befell us than the murder of a Holder by his Prime Son. In the four thousand nine hundred twenty-one years since the Son of Great founded our Civilization such an act had occurred but eleven times.

When the shock wore off I had indulged in rage. I loved my Holder and to think anyone would do him harm...that was the first time thought of killing entered my head. An ugly, ugly thought, but I feasted on it. I saw myself shoving Pink Foot into the thorn circle; I would then camp outside to hear his wails as he slowly expired.

I pledged to zealously guard my Holder. Of course I knew our Prime Son would never lift his voice, much less his hand, against Stone Eyes. The ruthless legacy of deference, drilled into us Sons from the time we could understand speech, guaranteed the safety of every Holder.

Nonetheless I almost wished Soft Eyes would attempt some harm. I could demonstrate my devotion to the Holder and at the same time rid my future of this weakling who waited so impatiently to impose crushing duty upon me.

I had never been fond of the Prime Son, and after word of the murder no longer did I consider him Grandfather. No longer did I feel required to respect this humorless complainer. Loathing and contempt replaced whatever strand of kinship tied him to me.

Now of course I can more sympathetically view this man who never attained the Holdership. Stone Eyes did demean him. When Stone Eyes assumed the Holdership our Holding was only half under cultivation, and he drove the Prime Son mercilessly to bring the land to full production. Hard and faithfully as the Prime Son toiled he could never satisfy Stone Eyes. Something in his son brought out the worst in the Holder.

I loved Stone Eyes, and still do, but his behavior that night in my tenth year will always diminish him. That afternoon the Prime Son had displayed either cowardice or wisdom. I first voted cowardice, later believed his actions wisdom, and now realize a mixture of the two kept Soft Eyes immobile.

He and the Second Son were watching from the docks as a transport approached with a cargo of one hundred eighty young girlys. The watchers on the boat lost control of the mindless ones as the girlys in their curiosity to see their new home surged to one side of the deck. The long narrow boat promptly capsized.

Shrieking and flailing girlys filled the canal, but the Prime Son forbade anyone to go to their rescue. He knew how to swim, as did the Second Son and the two attending Counters. The faces of the normally impassive Counters twisted with anguish and they pleaded to jump in after the girlys—who were disappearing into the murky waters one by one. Even the Second Son begged.

Soft Eyes repeated his prohibition and all obeyed, matter how desperately he or she wanted to save the playful little creatures. Their obedience speaks to the grip of our Code, at which center stands the tenet that son always heeds father, and female heeds male.

I had heard the commotion all the way from the manor and came running fast. I arrived on the scene to witness the last girlys drown. Bodies bobbed everywhere under the blazing afternoon sun, and I stood aghast at the sight of mass death. In my distress I could not understand the seeming indifference on the Prime Son's face.

The Holder arrived somewhat later, when watchers in rowboats were pulling out bodies. (A beauty had occupied Stone Eyes at the time of the catastrophe.) His listened with lips that grew tauter and whiter as the Prime Son explained his inaction. Soft Eyes said anyone diving in the waters or even offering an extended arm would also have perished. Little might girlys be, but everyone knew their strength. In their panic they would have taken under anyone attempting rescue.

The loss of the girlys was regrettable, intoned Soft Eyes, but better they died than Sons or Counters. When the postal boat arrived three days hence, he would order replacements.

Surprisingly the Holder said nothing. Stone Eyes just turned and strode back to the manor. We three Sons expected a torrent of rage; girlys were not cheap, but more critical than their expense was the harvest looming in the northern quarter of fields. Stone Eyes had brought too much new land under cultivation and our girlys were badly over worked.

Stone Eyes insisted that each year's harvest exceed the last. He boasted at Assembly the prowess of his Holding and how it outproduced any other. Now his compulsion makes little sense to me, and I doubt the other Holders really cared how many runner beans sprouted from our soil. As a child I did salute our great crop, and I knew those nine score bodies in the canal meant many bushels of beans would rot on the vine.

That evening Stone Eyes did not join us at the dinning table. He remained in quarters. We could occasionally hear him shouting for more wine. We should have taken as an ominous sign the appearance of a crying beauty with bloody nose. The Holder however had before drunk too much and slapped a beauty; the next day he was always agreeable.

We heard nothing more before we all retired to our rooms on the second floor. I don't know how much of the night passed before the Holder's screaming jolted me awake. Strangely the furor pouring from his mouth seemed to originate from outside the manor. I rushed to my window and stood puzzled until I realized the raving voice was directly above me. I twisted my neck to see the naked Holder teetering on the edge of the roof.

On the ground stood the Prime Son with several Counters and beautys. Then I saw the Second Son and more of the household rushing to join them. The Counters and Second Son implored Stone Eyes to step back and not use the vines to descend; they would get a ladder to help him down. The beautys, even the one he socked, wailed for Stone Eyes to come down. Only the Prime Son watched silently.

The Holder was cursing his son with a bitterness I had never heard. The words coward, woman, and dung rained on the Prime Son—who twitched not a muscle. The lack of response must have further enraged Stone Eyes, for the Holder then urinated at his son. The stream fell short, though close enough for splatter to reach the feet of Soft Eyes. The tall, thin Son did not move.

In the darkness I could not discern the hue of the Holder's face, yet I feared it was scarlet. The Holder stamped his feet and shrieked the words that sicken me still.

"Soft Eyes, come up to the high place! Come up! We shall see who falls to his grave."

We Sons knew what the Holder cried, and the Counters must have also for they likewise fell deadly silent. It stunned us that Stone Eyes wanted his son dead, and by his own hand. We knew no affection existed between the two. But for Stone Eyes to wish the Son of his seed under the dirt, that I could not comprehend.

It probably shocked us more that Stone Eyes spoke of the high place. From the time I could understand speech the Holder and Sons had told how Son of Great delivered us from the murderous Raala. They also made sure I understood Son of Great had delivered us from the barbarous ways of his tree dwelling ancestors. We were civilized, growing ever more so, and evils like the high place were permanently behind us.

Now I understand that blood of even distant generations still runs strongly in us. We were born of Son of Great, and he of the barbarians. The high place never left mankind.

In the years since I have never told anyone of that dreadful confrontation. As I sat with men of other Lines I was certain only ours hid such a dark secret. But men—and women—can mask much. I remember that when in the presence of guests Stone Eyes and his son interacted with absolute correctness. They masked well, these two who had so wished each other dead.

I wondered if Firm Hand and his son so masked. On each Holding, including the one where Stone Eyes and I dined this evening, considerable strain had to exist between Holder and Prime Son. Holders knew how much Prime Sons coveted their position; every Holder had served as Prime Son.

A Prime Son might love his father (though I wondered if such numbered above a score), but even the most devoted Son had to weary of his duties. Blessed with a healthy father, a Prime Son could toil at his post three to four decades. As during those decades the Prime Son slipped further past his prime, he would watch with growing impatience and resentment as his father freely indulged in wine, travel, and beautys. Perhaps we should find it remarkable that through our history only twelve Holders died by the hand of their Prime Sons.

As the final streaks of rose and amber twilight departed the eastern sky, watchers brought flylamps into the pavilion. Our mood under the canopy further lightened, as it did for all men when exposed to the soothing glow of these lamps. Now of course we regard these lamps filled with winking sunflies as next to useless, but the soft, caressing light undid formality even better than many cups of wine.

Dinner proceeded agreeably and a hint of the comradeship I would later learn to relish developed among my table mates. At the time I did not know the nature of this invisible communion, and I thought the subtle warmth all due to wine and the beguiling beautys.

After the stars had speckled the sky a breeze came up, out of the south, and the insect nets fluttered. The coolness of the breeze refreshed me. I welcomed the delicious chill after the hot day on the canal. The food, the wine, the prospect of the beautys—and my youth—kept me from sensing the true chill that was growing in the evening air. A Counter brought in linen cloaks, which everyone accepted except Long Hand and I.

I had sipped too much wine by the time we left the pavilion. I walked unsteadily down the rise, as the stars above swirled in the deep black sky. Fortunately I had my beauty to aid my step and her close body to ward off the evening cold. Everyone, including both the Prime and Second Sons, laughed and giggled as we approached the manor where Counters waited with fly lamps. Whose heart would not sing, knowing that the beautys—masters of pleasure—would soon start their work.

We men milled in the central hall of the manor while the beautys fled upstairs to our bedrooms. We would give them time to again perfume themselves, then to slip between the covers and assure we entered a warm bed. At the moment though I could have cared less about the temperature of the bed. Despite many cups of wine, my desire heated like the midday sun.

Presently Counters escorted us up the long stairway. Our faint but massive shadows glided over walls hung with Mother woven tapestries. My heart pounded in my ears; I was still new to bedding beautys and my excitement swelled to nearly choke me. Long Hand and I had bet we could each perform four times before dawn. As our troop turned into a wide corridor where bedroom doors lay open I was certain I could perform ten couplings.

The Counter showed me into a huge bedroom adorned with a half score fly lamps. Before the Counter departed she asked if I desired the lamps be removed. I took one look at my smiling beauty, whose shapely form I could discern quite well through the covers, and said no. I wanted my eyes as well as hands to fully enjoy the red hair.

Long Hand and I easily met our quota that night.

The galley departed shortly after breakfast. As the vessel pulled away the middle Sons without enthusiasm bade us farewell. A hammering headache, born of too much wine, kept my own enthusiasm within bounds. But beside me Long Hand joyfully gave thanks we were at last on the way to New Songreat.

By midday we had left behind the eastern edge of the Hand Holding. An hour afterward the canal merged with a larger one and we began to see other vessels. On the muddy waters we passed several lumbering barges and were passed in turn by a postal boat.

Lush green countryside continued to sweep by until interrupted by fields whose plants bore fluffy white. Long Hand and I stared in puzzlement until Stone Eyes explained we were now entering the current cotton region of the Civilization. He said thirty Holdings devoted their acreage to this crop. He also said not to let crop that produced so much wealth tempt us; cotton ruined soil, and within two score years these Holdings would produce a tenth their current income. He didn't need to add by then the present Holders would be dead, and the Prime Sons who succeeded would live in relative poverty.

That afternoon I retired below decks to couple with the beauty assigned Long hand while he coupled with mine. On the whole the red hair was lovelier than the sun hair, and in the scoredays ahead she would give me much pleasure. But I came to realize whether I lay with her or another really mattered no more than whether I drank plum or grape wine. Beautys were quite interchangeable.

Four days later we reached the locks that would carry our galley over Center Ridge. More than a score other boats—including five Holder galleys—lay berthed at the docks before the first lock. My eyes fairly bugged at the massive wooden gates of the lock, which rose higher than the three stories of the Hand manor.

The lock cut deeply into the Ridge, and a second lock rose several hundred yards beyond, near the crest. Stone Eyes said two other locks waited on the other side. He explained that up to fifty boats could be raised or lowered between a pair of locks, and that transport over the Ridge required two full days.

He told me construction of this passage had taken over a hundred years and was probably the greatest engineering feat of the Civilization. Even though I had yet to see New Songreat I could only agree with my Holder as I stared in awe at the long slash through the Ridge. A slash which cut through much solid rock.

A millennium ago, said Stone Eyes, the Assembly had debated whether to extend the canals beyond the Ridge. Many wanted to accept the Ridge—two hundred miles long—as a natural boundary, like the Civilization had the Life River to the east, the sands to the south, and the jungles to the north. Yes, the grassland westward of the Ridge would likely prove as fertile as that on the other side. But to bring water to those lands would require ruinous levels of taxation. The Civilization had attained unprecedented prosperity; why set every Holding back a hundred years?

Stone Eyes curled his lips. "Many women disguised as men sat in the Assembly—as they do today. But then less of them existed, and the Assembly voted to build the locks even though the Peers knew they would not live to see completion."

He thrust out his bony arm to the east. "All the land you have traveled through would remain wilderness if not for those wise and selfless men. The lands beyond the Ridge feed and clothe three quarters of the Civilization and provide the revenue to support the Professions.

"If the women-men had won, Calm Eyes, you would not see the splendors you will find in the days to come. A thousand years ago New Songreat numbered only two hundred buildings—all crude stone or mud brick. The canals throughout the land were little more than drainage ditches, instead of the near rivers of today. Men wore rough linen then, not cool cotton. Holdings then were lucky to house one beauty, not the dozen of today.

"A thousand years ago we did not have to fear the Raala, but other beasts—invisible beasts—killed us. You know little of disease today, Calm Eyes, but in those days half the Sons and Mothers born died before age four. The survivors faced other sickness, and few men lived to seventy. Doctors then often harmed more than helped. Our population grew very slowly.

"A thousand years ago the Civilization contained but a twentieth our present numbers. A twentieth! We were an infant of our present self. We would still be an infant if we had heeded the women-men."

As I listened I was much impressed with this rapid growth of our population. But the increase was deceptive. Later I learned most of the gain had occurred with females, particularly girlys. The last census listed a million and a half of the little ones, while a thousand years ago they numbered eighty thousand. By contrast the number of Holders and Sons had barely doubled. Today the civilization counted 437 Holdings (though individually of much greater acreage) compared to 211 then.

My Holder drew his frail frame to full height and his eyes narrowed to stave points. "We have lived five thousand years, but it is these locks so much more recently built that have led to our present greatness. This Ridge nearly remained a barrier because of the women-men. Beware the women-men. You will hear them at the trial. That is the bad thing about prosperity, it breeds them."

As he railed, I realized he considered his own Prime Son a woman-man. Now I do not share that opinion—nor probably did Stone Eyes before he died. As a stupid youth I heartily agreed. I pledged on the deck of the galley that no one would ever have cause to so think of me.

Stone Eyes swept his arms around the horizons. "I will not live to see it, nor will you, but in another thousand years—or a thousand beyond that—the thorn wall will have advanced into the sands, into the jungles, and beyond the Life River. It is our destiny. The first Holding in the hill country was but the seed to the mighty oak that will someday have root in all the lands."

The Holder's voice lowered. "When you are Holder of our Holding, and sit in the Assembly, you must remember my words. Always vote with those who propose to move forward the thorn wall. Remember that all we are, is because we dared moved the wall. Do not worry about the expense; a hundred-fold gain in wealth will result to reward the Civilization."

I nodded fervently, though I really didn't understand what my Holder urged. I just knew I wanted to see more of the world than the bean fields of my own Holding.

After the galley docked, the men and beautys disembarked. The girlys, watchers, and the two Counters would remain aboard to help the galley proceed from lock to lock. We would rejoin our crew in two days; we would not think of them at all as they toiled through hot days and chill nights.

We stepped into waiting litters and were borne up an inclined road. The road rose to a large two story building, constructed of pinkish white marble, that sat near the summit of the Ridge. Stone Eyes said the building was not a manor, but a "hotel". The Assembly owned it, as they did the locks. He said I would find the accommodations suitably plush.

Those two days at the hotel flew. I must have met more than fifty Holders and Terminal Sons. Between greetings I sampled many beautys and too much wine. What spare and lucid time I possessed I watched with fascination the operation of the locks below.

Early on the morning we were to return to our galley Stone Eyes took me to the top of the Ridge. There stood a tall wooden tower. He led me up the spiral stairway, huffing and puffing as he stepped. I bade him slow down, but he would not.

"I will probably not be able to climb this tower again, even by next year. I want to stand once with you up here. There is no place higher in our lands."

When we reached the top I gaped. It seemed the entire world was revealed from here. Stone Eyes said we could see seventy miles in all directions, a somewhat lessor scope, but my head still spun. On either side of the Ridge stretched countless fields, fields of every hue green save the swath of white to the immediate west. Everywhere shimmering lines of canals crisscrossed the green and white. Everywhere manors, girly houses, warehouses, and silos dotted the landscape.

Our Line has been blessed with superior eyesight—hence our surname—and I am most blessed of the existing Sons. Never before though had my eyes been given such challenge and how they welcomed the vistas before me. I could pick out barges in canals halfway to the horizon and girlys picking cotton in fields ten miles away. For a foolish moment I thought the clarity of my vision entitled me to command all I surveyed.

My eyes strained to the east, down the great broad canal leading from the locks, but I could not see New Songreat. Stone Eyes smiled and reminded me it lay two hundred miles beyond my sight. He pointed to the Southeast, where my eyes did make out something brownish stretching along that horizon. He told me I saw the overgrown thorn wall that encircled the hill country. Four thousand years ago that barrier enclosed all of mankind. Now the hill country—and the original Holding of Songreat near the center—was mostly abandoned due to the poor soil and difficulty of irrigation. But he said I was to revere the land behind that wall because it was our birthplace. "Always revere the past even as you look forward."

I could have spent all morning on the tower but the litters were waiting to take us to the galley. Little did I know I would only once more stand atop this tower. We might wish we could sight the future, but it is well we cannot.

Halfway between the locks and New Songreat lay the Motherhold. From the canal we could see the high walls—topped with sharp shards of flint—that bounded the six square mile area where all Sons and Mothers were birthed. Except for Matchers we Sons never got beyond the mating rooms, but I had heard the Motherhold comprised a Civilization of its own.

To the Mothers those confines certainly were the world. From the time the Hold was constructed thirty centuries ago no Mother had stepped outside. It was said the Mothers lived quite comfortably in the Hold, probably better than everyone else in the Civilization. Mothers were served by several thousand watchers and Counters, and all the overage beautys of the land.

A Son visited the Motherhold just once in his life, then to sire a Son for his Line. Traditionally that visit occurred shortly after the Son graduated from the Academy. Coupling was supposedly an enjoyable act—I certainly found it so—but I had seen too many men wrinkle their noses when talk strayed to the Motherhold. I must admit the union between Son and Mother sounded unappealing.

It was deemed that these unions should be as anonymous and devoid of passion as possible. A Son was ushered into a mating room where he drew up his tunic, dropped his shortcloth, and somehow aroused himself. He then entered the Mother. But all he could see of the Mother were her exposed buttocks, which protruded through a wall hole. Each Son mated with four different Mothers selected by the Matchers.

I of course would do my duty when the time came, but the prospect filled me with distaste. Imagine bedding a beauty like that. Such a method would reduce the glory of coupling to nothingness. And I did wonder how I would arouse myself once in that room.

The only direct benefit a Son received from this chore was delivery two years later of his son. That was always a great and joyous moment for the Holding. From Holder to watcher, all then knew the Line would continue.

A Son never saw the other produce of his seed. The Mothers born of course lived out their lives in the Hold. Any additional males sired the Matchers quickly smothered and buried.

Save the few retained as breeders, the male counterparts of girlys, watchers and Counters were also dispatched by this method. We took pride that male infants were no longer left to starve to death. We excused Son of Great because of the barbarous times from which he came; the rise of Civilization had gentled the Sons that followed.

The flatness of the land kept the Motherhold long in our view. I for one did not mind when the forbidding walls finally dropped beneath the horizon. Stone Eyes said once in that place had been enough for him, but he did praise the work of the Mothers within. Besides birthing Sons, their studies had greatly advanced the quality of the Lines.

For nine centuries Mothers had by test and observation determined their own mental and physical capabilities. These records allowed them to recommend to the Matchers which of their number to send to the mating rooms. Stone Eyes said their efforts had succeeded brilliantly. During those nine hundred years both the intelligence and longevity of Sons had increased by one third.

It is truly remarkable, said Stone Eyes, what men can accomplish by disciplined will. I the youth agreed.

The girlys rowed well and we reached New Songreat a day ahead of schedule. Fallen clouds—which Stone Eyes called "fog"—hid the city from me as we arrived shortly before noon. The clouds were so thick we could scarcely see the canal banks. Stone Eyes explained that the Life River sweated heavily into the air, and in the coolness of morning this sweat often thickened into fog.

By the time we docked, however, the sun had heated enough to push away the gloomy gray. Within minutes New Songreat emerged. The Holders I spoke with the past week had prepared me for the grandeur I now faced—or so I had thought.

I did not know so many buildings could exist. They filled whole fields of space. Many loomed four stories high, and easily outsized the hotel at the locks. Though the lifting fog shafts of sunlight illuminated them. Their marble walls and columns, pink and white and gray and purple, fairly glowed.

I gawked at the wonder before me like the raw country lad I was. Beside me Stone Eyes grinned, obviously enjoying my breathless amazement.

His declaration that the buildings in view were but a fraction of the total I scarcely could believe. He reminded me New Songreat held a fifth of the population of the entire Civilization. Still, it seemed impossible hundreds more of the gleaming structures waited behind these already overwhelming me.

Soon we stepped onto docks built of stone, not wood. An immaculately groomed Counter quickly came to Stone Eyes and asked if she could be of assistance. A dark green sash ran across her blue tunic and she held a open ledger.

The Counter possessed a pleasant face despite her grim demeanor. The tunic fitted tightly enough to reveal a modest swell of breast, and hips definitely flared underneath the cotton cloth. I suppose she could stir a sex starved man. Yet with superbly trained beautys available I could not conceive how any man could prefer the likes of a Counter.

Stone Eyes identified himself and Firm Hand, and the Counter—whose hips did rouse me some, I had to admit—checked her ledger.

"We have provided you Sires lodging on the seventieth way. It is only a quarter mile from the Assemblage. These litters are assigned to you for the length of your stay." The Counter turned and snapped an order to the watchers in charge of waiting litters.

After we freshened at our lodging—in a small but lavishly furnished manor—Stone Eyes walked with Long Hand and me to the Assemblage. The trial of Pink Foot would begin there in two days. As we strolled along the seventieth way, tree lined and stone paved like all other ways of the city, the heat in the air grew. I began to sweat beneath my tunic.

The Assemblage stood at the end of the way. The building was round, built of dull granite instead of shining marble. This structure had stood for three millennia. Though not possessing the refinement of other buildings in the city, I nonetheless stared in awe. The Assemblage linked me to the Peers of three thousand years ago and to all who had lived since.

Stone Eyes spoke sternly. "You both are young now and six decades may pass before you become Holders. A Holding is important, yes, but here at the Assemblage is where you determine your true worth. Here you will decide the future of the Civilization. When you someday speak and listen and vote within these walls, you must summon all your strength and wisdom. Always remember that. Always."

The face of my Holder had indeed turned to stone, and his pale blue eyes thrust like sharpened staves at a pesting. Then the lined skin softened. With a smile he told us no matter how grave the matters debated inside the Assemblage, he always enjoyed himself while outside the walls. He had visited New Songreat scores of times, and had yet to weary of it.

Stone Eyes lead us up a short flight of stairs to a squared entrance. Two Counters there greeted us and asked if we cared for wine. Stone Eyes hesitated, then said no. I wouldn't have minded a cup, but the full heat of the day would soon be upon us. One thing I had already learned on this journey, wine and heat mixed poorly.

From the entryway we stepped into the chamber of the Assemblage. Small holes in the domed ceiling allowed in generous if diffuse light. The interior was delightedly cool, seemingly free of the dampness heavy in the air outside.

Stone Eyes pointed to the tiers of stone benches above us. Long Hand and I, and all the Terminal Sons would observe the trial from there. We were to maintain utter silence no matter how sensational the testimony. Below us, where I could not sit until an old man, descended the tiers of the Holders. At the bottom of the chamber lay a circular floor of white marble; the circle was bare except for a wooden cage the height of a man. We did not have to ask who would reside there.

"Ponder well what you see and hear here," intoned Stone Eyes. "For we will decide more than the fate of a murderer. In a way we will decide our own fate. This case is fraught with danger."

Long Hand and I nodded gravely, although I could not see any "danger" involved. For me and the other Terminal Sons this trial would provide great entertainment. The only anxiety I suffered was worry Stone Eyes would not let me view the execution of Pink Foot. Not a noble sentiment, certainly, but since I am now renown for speaking hard truth I must acknowledge that truth.

Stone Eye's mood immediately lifted when we departed the Assemblage. Stone Eyes ushered us into a litter and ordered we be carried down to the Life River.

Stately buildings, marble all, lined the way we took. Stone Eyes described the function of each. Most served as residences for the Professionals, though some housed their offices and workshops. Stone Eyes said that tomorrow he would show us the manufacturing districts.

At an intersection a long column of girlys parted to allow our litter through. These girlys looked very young. Stone Eyes explained this group was being brought in from one of the nurseries south of the city. He said he hoped after the trial to convince the other Peers to establish several more nurseries. Many Holders and Professionals would moan about the cost, but the Civilization needed ten of thousands more of the little women to properly expand.

"I fear you will still debate this issue in your time."

Our litter passed few others along the way. We saw an occasional fast striding Counter or a cluster of sack toting girlys, but the long straight avenue was largely devoid of activity. I had thought New Songreat would bustle. Stone Eyes assured me it was, behind the walls of the buildings.

Soon we arrived at the banks of the Life River. Long Hand and I stared disbelieving at the expanse of liquid. I had thought the canal that brought us into the city extravagantly wide, but here I faced a waterway two miles across. Moreover the waters glimmered sky blue, instead of the muddy sheen of the canals.

On the River scores of large barges, piled with sacks and crates, rowed both toward and away from the city. Stone Eyes said those outward bound were destined for other networks of canals. Some barges would travel over a thousand miles through one labyrinth in the course of their deliveries.

We gazed some minutes upon the northward flowing waters and Stone Eyes finally did call for a flask of wine. We sat beneath a lovely if strangely shaped tree—called a "willow"—and sipped the brew. A breeze blew off the River to keep the soggy midday heat at bay.

Stone Eyes soon fell asleep. I told the watcher to watch him carefully, then Long Hand and I walked along the grassy bank. We marveled at where we were, with the Life River on one side of us and New Songreat on the other. We talked of the splendors seen today and of the Grand Reception we would attend tonight, then we spoke at greater length of our favorite subject: beautys.

When we returned to the willow Stone Eyes was still asleep. Long Hand and I had another cup of wine.

The Grand Reception began with great formality. It did not end that way.

Six hundred forty-two Terminal Sons lined either side of the walkway outside. Six hundred forty-two Peers filed between us as they shuffled into the Basilica; Counters assisted many. Behind the Peers trooped a mass of beautys. Everyone, man and woman, was clad in their best apparel.

I had to stand at stiff attention, though clammy skin chaffed beneath my ankle length tunic. The sun had set an hour before but coolness had not yet appeared. Sweat from the Life River permeated the air. River sweat was the one drawback to this magnificent city.

My jaw dropped when we Terminal Sons finally stepped inside the Basilica. I had never seen so much space bounded by walls. Two levels of giant columns, separated by an overhanging balcony, supported a beamed roof impossibly high overhead. The columns themselves marched distantly toward semicircular coves at either end. The confines dwarfed the three thousand of our number within. A surge of pride followed my awe, that we the Sons of Son of Great had erected such a glorious structure.

Thousands of flylamps lit the interior. I could clearly see the faces of the beautys massed now at one cove, and I delighted how their silk gowns shimmered in the pale light. The beautys looked lovely beyond loveliness as I for a moment regarded them without lust. I admired their physical perfection in the same manner I did the perfection of the architecture about me.

In the center of the rectangular expanse stood members of the Council, to which Stone Eyes belonged. Supported by two Counters, the oldest living Peer raised a hand and silence prevailed.

In a high, thin voice that I could barely hear the withered Peer—a hundred thirty-two years old, I later learned—welcomed his fellow Peers to this reception. He said nothing about us Terminal Sons. He bade Holders and Masters to marshal their wisdom for the onerous task before them. Tonight, though, let all renew the ties of friendship.

Two hundred words drained the eldest Peer of strength, and he sagged against the two Counters. They half carried him to the bank of sofas lining the far wall. Another member of the Council took his place, and harangued us for many minutes. But just as my mind began to stray, he closed and motioned for all to take their ease.

Instantly the rigid formations broke and all three groups mingled. Watchers distributed wine cups, which other watchers filled and never let stay empty. On the balcony appeared a group of Counters—the Orchestra—and soon flute and banjo music enlivened the air.

I welcomed the wine and music, but I welcomed more the beautiful beautys. Almost every beauty wore her hair up, enhancing her elegance. Their gowns rose barely high enough to cover the swell of breast and revealed the glowing skin of shoulders, arms and backs. The beautys smiled their dazzling smiles and batted their black lashes as we men milled about them.

Six hundred Peers, six hundred Terminal Sons, two thousand beautys. I could find no fault with these numbers. Especially since we youths knew the Peers could perform once if at all this evening, and then would sleep till dawn. We Terminal Sons planned much performance and little sleep.

I and the other Sons were new to the joys of bedding. Certainly only a handful had sampled more than three or four beautys. Our beautys were usually hand downs, women past their peak of perfection. Attractive females, yes, but they did not stop your breath or race your heart.

Here in the warm thick air of the Basilica were deployed the finest womanhood of the land. Each beauty I inspected appeared more alluring than the last. We Sons knew an opportunity like this might not pass our way again for decades. Our loins ached in anticipation.

Stone Eyes constantly interrupted my leering with introductions to this or that of his old friends. It required all my breeding to act greatly pleased to meet the half toothed, tottering wrecks he drew before me. I of course would never look like they.

I did not have to feign interest in one of his compatriots, however. Even in the backwater of our Holding I had heard of Quick Tongue. This short, straight man, Secretary of the Assembly, would serve as Prosecutor during the trial. Even if I had not known his identity the man would have compelled my attention. He smiled pleasantly enough—with a full set of teeth—but the dark eyes in the lightly lined face coolly probed mine. I resented the invasion.

Happily my Holder soon took Quick Tongue away. A watcher refilled my cup, and I was free to resume lusting the beautys. Several smiled demurely at me and I could not wait to get one alone.

Beautys everywhere now swayed to the slow beat of the music. Their hips rotated in rhythm and their bosoms strained against the tight wrap of their gowns. Beads of sweat formed on brows and chests—theirs and ours. Everyone, male and female, downed more wine.

Suddenly the Orchestra broke into a faster tempo. The beautys responded with more vigor. One beauty, tall with white blond hair that reached to her waist, jerked her hips very hard. Her wrenching proved too much for the gown and her breast popped free.

She stood—or rather, gyrated—less than twenty feet from me. She made no move to cover herself. Instead she poured the contents of her wine cup on her quivering breast. Then she advanced upon two bug eyed Peers and pulled their heads to the exposed mounds of flesh.

I watched amazed as the two old men knocked heads in their eagerness to lick wine. The beauty groaned in delight. I could clearly hear her groans because much of the crowd had fallen silent while they observed the trio.

As if on cue other beautys bared their breasts and adorned them with wine. Right before me one incredibly lovely brunette rolled her gown to the waist and motioned me forward. I did not hesitate.

Everywhere in that great hall gowns and tunics were discarded. Men and women grappled on the purple marble floor, whose coolness provided the only respite from the steamy heat. Everyone in their exertions soon bathed in sweat, and the cries of male and female climaxes vied with the frenzied music of the Orchestra.

Eventually I found myself on the outer balcony. There beneath a starry sky I nestled with two beautys who worked me hard through the night. In those days I possessed a wondrous stamina, and I was able to satisfy their passions. A soft, refreshing breeze helped me with my duties. As did the hovering watchers who kept us supplied with wine and fruit, and occasionally mopped our bodies with fragrant cloth.

I awoke in the gray light of false dawn. My two beautys still slept. They lay on their backs fully exposed, but their shapely forms did not rouse me now. All about on the balcony the naked slumbered and snored. Only Counters and watchers remained awake.

I rose, and instantly a Counter brought me a chamber pot. I emptied my bladder while I shivered in the cool humid air, then asked for some water. Although I suffered a parched throat I was pleased that my head did not throb. In the space of a scoreday I had accustomed myself to drinking a pitcher or more of wine a day.

The Counter brought me a tumbler of spiced water. In the growing light I could see lines under the eyes of the weary Counter. She also handed me a fresh white tunic and I put it on despite my appalling need for a bath. I could smell myself and I can now imagine how I stunk to her. Though she stood close she kept her nostrils from twitching.

By a curving stairway I exited the balcony to reach the plaza below. I was the only person present on that vastness of limestone brick. The only sounds to strike my ears were the chirps of birds greeting dawn.

From the plaza I walked through the guarding circle of trees. I emerged from the circle to stand at the edge of the gentle rise upon which the Basilica had been built. To the east flowed the Life River, upon whose dull waters only a few vessels now moved. To the north and south spread hundreds of equally dull buildings. A heavy silence hung over it all.

I sat in cool, wet clover and sighed. I did not sigh because of the grayness or quiet of the city. New Songreat asleep still overwhelmed me. My spirits drooped because I realized I had less than ten days left here.

Whereas excitement consumed me on the journey up the canal, depression would be my companion going back. Every oar stroke would take me further from this wondrous place and closer to the backwater of our Holding. Stone Eyes would rage if he heard me so describe his cherished acres, but how else could I now view them? Certainly no other Holding lay more distant—or boasted less amenity.

It cheered me some to know that within two years I would return to New Songreat to attend the Academy. For three years I would actually reside in the city. I had heard the curriculum demanded much, but also that our professors allowed us time for enjoyment. While festivities would not match those of a Grand Reception, Peers had assured me I would remember academy days fondly.

The Academy waited, yes. Unfortunately upon graduation each student—save a lucky few—must return to his Holding or Profession. At that time he would officially assume the onerous duties the Second Son had longed to yield. At a Holding the freshly educated Terminal Son would now oversee such delights as the gathering and spreading of manure. It also fell to him to organize the gory pest hunts, in which hordes of rodents were flushed against a line of stave thrusting watchers.

If only I had been born a twin. Or more exactly, been the second out the womb. The first twin—whether fraternal or identical—was considered the true Terminal Son. In the old days the second was left to die. Ever since we left the hill country, though, the second twin lived—with the understanding he forfeited any claim to the Holding of his birth.

The father of Stone Eyes had been such a twin. Vast Eyes could have spent all his days in New Songreat, provided he met the entrance requirements of a Profession. Which he could have; his ranking at the Academy entitled him to join even the Physicians.

Vast Eyes chose otherwise. A century before his birth the western thorn wall was advanced along a front of three hundred miles, creating the potential for many new Holdings. In that century a hundred sixty twins were born, and only eight of the second born accepted the Assembly's pleading to found new Holdings.

Vast Eyes needed no persuasion; he eagerly joined those worthy few that established Holdership in that wasteland. I had seen a stretch of the parched, still untilled land adjacent our Holding and could only admire his fortitude. I gave thanks I was born after Stone Eyes and his father had endured the worst of transforming the land.

If born a second twin, I would never opt to found a Holding—no matter how many acres and girlys were promised, no matter that the Assembly would deem me an instant Holder. I also would not select a Profession that tied me solely to New Songreat. I already loved this city, yet I sensed I needed larger confines in which to roam.

As I sat on that knoll of clover and gazed at the boats easing upriver and down, I knew I wanted access to the entire extent of the Civilization. I suppose such desire had festered since I could first understand the tales my Holder told of travel. As a member of the Council his duties took him everywhere.

Professions were open that allowed journey. A Physician might be summoned anywhere. I however wanted no part of a Profession that saw so much suffering and death. Engineers were respected and traveled widely, but their tasks kept them too long from New Songreat. As did those of the Agrarians, the Shippers, the Merchants.

Surveying seemed the perfect Profession. The duties of Surveyors led them to every square foot inside the thorns and required they return to New Songreat to convert data to maps. They managed a nearly equal split of time between field and city. Surveyors were not held in the same esteem as Physicians or Professors (or even Agrarians), but that would hardly trouble me.

The sun had poked above the western horizon, transforming the gray about me to lush green. Yet I did not brighten with the sun's appearance.

I could wish with all my might that I had been born a twin. But I was sole born, my life's path irrevocably decreed the moment I left the womb: Terminal Son, Second Son, Prime Son, then in my dotage, finally the Holder. Only then would I regain the freedom I enjoyed now.

I cursed my fate, as a multitude of Terminal Sons must have done before me. Yet I like they would find solace in wine and beautys, and I like they would conscientiously perform my duties.

I would do my duty, as I must. From the time I could understand speech my elders never ceased to remind me that the Holding ranked above any one Son, as the Civilization ranked above any one Holding. Obedience to those dictates had lifted the world founded by Son of Great to its present magnificent state.

We stared down the tiers at Pink Feet. He sat quietly in his cage, arms folded in his lap. Though I sat high in the Assemblage, my good eyes let me see his face clearly. He did not show fear. He instead appeared indifferent to the opening words of the Chairman of the Council.

Again two Counters had to help the Chairman stand. The voice of the stooped man rose barely above a whisper, but no one strained to hear. Sound carried very well inside this building.

Pink Feet should have registered concern, for the Chairman quickly revealed his bias. While not directly urging the death penalty, this highly regarded elder left little doubt he saw no room for mitigation. The frail voice issued surprisingly harsh.

In the lowest of the semi circular benches sat the Council and their aides. The Council members wore dark green tunics, indicative of their office. All of them were Holders, none from the Professions, and their hostile countenances warned Pink Feet he should not expect them either to urge clemency.

Fortunately for Pink Feet the Council numbered only thirty out of the six hundred and more Peers of the Assembly. Last night Stone Eyes had sternly informed me that the votes were not there yet to pass the death penalty, despite the enormity of the crime. My Holder worried Pink Feet would escape the fate that had met every other murderer in our history—whether the murderer stuck down Holder or Terminal Son.

A trio of Counters sat at the end of the Council bench. The Counters were recording every word spoken. I watched fascinated as their pens kept pace with the Chairman's tongue. I could read adequately, but my own unpracticed hands could barely write faster than an ant crawled.

The Chairman concluded his remarks with admonition the Peers consider and judge the coming testimony with heads instead of hearts. I saw many among the Peers nod gravely. Counters assisted the now wheezing elder back to his padded seat on the front bench.

Quick Tongue, the prosecutor, rose under his own power. He stated the charges his committee had brought against Pink Feet. As I raptly listened, I did not see why Stone Eyes felt Pink Feet might avoid what the Code required as penalty.

The Prosecutor said this Prime Son freely admitted the heinousness of his act. A blow struck in drunken anger had not accidentally killed the Holder. No, Pink Feet had intentionally and methodically bludgeoned his ninety year old father to death. Quick Tongue added the beating had left the man with only the lower third of his head intact.

Bile rose in my throat and Long Hand and I traded horrified looks. Physical violence was not part of our heritage. Even the people before Song of Great, flawed as they were, did not batter one another.

I stared down at Pink Feet, who I now considered a Raala in human form. He still sat calmly on his stool. Shame did not cause his head to hang; indeed, no flicker of remorse crossed his face. How could any Peer now doubt he must vote to execute this man?

The Prosecutor called the first witness. He was the Second Son, the man the Assembly would likely declare the new Holder of the Feet Holding. I had to suppress envy that he would attain the title while still in the prime of life. Broad Feet, tall and robust, surprised us all as he gazed mournfully at his father in the cage.

In a deep, strong voice that resounded like a shout in the coolness of the domed confines, Broad Feet described what witnessed on the fateful day.

"It was late afternoon. I was in my office—actually on the veranda, to catch the breeze. Counter One and Two were with me, we were going over planting schedules. The wind was blowing toward the bath house so we didn't hear anything. Others windward did hear shouts, those of the Holder and Prime Son.

"Counter One noticed watchers and girlys gathering around the bath house. We could barely see it from the veranda, the trees block a good view. Then suddenly my father appeared."

I could see Broad Feet swallow hard. His voice lost force as he continued.

"The watchers and girlys about the bathhouse drew back. He walked quickly past them toward the manor. I was puzzled because his tunic was spotted with red. He had almost reached the manor before I realized the red was blood.

"I rushed downstairs, thinking he had badly hurt himself. But I also saw how firmly he walked. That gave me hope. When I reached him he told me the Holder was dead. And Counter Six also."

The prosecutor's smooth voice interrupted. Right there, for no logical reason, I distrusted the man. I would learn in later years that my intuition had not erred.

"Did your father say he killed the Holder?"

Broad Feet must have felt similarly about Quick Tongue. He sneered at him a long moment. When he spoke, Broad Feet turned from the Prosecutor and addressed the Assembly.

"My father took me to the bath house. I was still stunned by what he had told me; I couldn't believe it. At first I thought the Holder was dead because of something like a collapsed roof.

"Then I saw the bath house standing without damage. I did not want to enter; blood was thick on the floor by the door. Even at the end of a pesting I have never seen so much blood. But I obeyed my father and followed him in."

Broad Foot paused, his face supremely grim. Silence ruled the Assemblage as everyone leaned forward.

"I saw the Holder—he was undressed, but not in the tub. Counter Six was also undressed."

Twelve hundred murmuring tongues dissolved the silence. We had all heard fifth or sixth hand the general circumstances surrounding this crime. The Second Son's simple but explicit description however confirmed that the unthinkable, the unimaginable had actually occurred.

The Prosecutor's voice cut through the hubbub.

"I ask you again. Did the Prime Son say he had killed his Holder?"

Eyes I would never want turned on me bore into the Prosecutor. Broad Feet spit out a single word.

"Yes."

"Thank you. You are dismissed."

"But there's more to it. The Holder—"

"You are dismissed."

The quiet, seemingly polite command conveyed massive insult. Blood rose in the neck of Broad Feet.

"I'll have my say!"

The Chairman's raspy voice interceded. "Return to your seat, Second Son. You may speak again if the Defense calls you. But now you are done."

Broad Feet tensed in the witness chair and I thought they would have to drag him off. Then the Defender was at his side, whispering. After a moment's consideration of whatever advice given, the Second Son slammed to his feet and headed toward his place in the second row.

"I now call Counter One of the Feet Holding," said the Prosecutor.

From the second row stepped a tall, thin woman—the usual form for a Counter—whose plain face was set grimly. She walked uncertainly to the witness chair. I can now sympathize with the trepidation she must have felt, as she readied to testify before all the Holders of the land.

The Prosecutor did not offer her even back handed politeness. He curtly directed her to relate what she witnessed that day.

A quavering voice betrayed the Counter's stern demeanor as she spoke. Her words differed very little from the Second Son's. Unlike the Second Son, she accepted her dismissal with relief.

Counter Two, an equally unappetizing creature, was called next. I became bored as this woman repeated the testimony of the previous two witnesses. I hoped the Prosecutor would not now bring on the watchers at the bathhouse that day.

Quick Tongue fooled us all. Silence again fell over the Assemblage as he called Pink Feet.

They of course did not let the Prime Son out of his cage. The Prosecutor approached the cube of lashed staves as if it did contain a Raala .

Quick Tongue's voice rose dramatically. "Pink Feet! Did you strike down your Holder on the two hundred eighteenth day of the present year? Yes or no?"

Pink Feet answered calmly—though I detected an undercurrent of rage in his firm voice.

"I acted as a true descendant of Son of Great."

"Yes or no?"

"Yes—I killed the defiler."

Upon those words shouting erupted from the Peers. Dozens slapped the air before them as their mouths spewed fury at the one in the cage, the one they considered the true defiler. Other Peers roared for the slappers to sit down and shut up. Council members vainly demanded order.

I must admit we Terminal Sons enjoyed the spectacle. To see the Holders, the paragons of authority, in such disarray was marvelous entertainment. Long Hand and I grinned excitedly. Of course, if the Peers had noticed our delight it would have been our faces instead of air getting slapped.

Passions ebbed and the Prosecutor was able to resume. He did call four watchers, who with their limited vocabulary confirmed what the Second Son and Counters had said. He then rested his case.

We broke for an early lunch. The temperature inside the dome had scarcely risen, but outside fierce heat had replaced the coolness present at dawn. We all sweated beneath pavilions where a light meal of fruit and greens was served. I longed for a tall tumbler of cool wine, but no one would partake that until after the execution—if there was an execution.

My tunic was soaked by the time we returned to the Assemblage. If this soggy heat were the norm—and Stone Eyes assured me it was—would I still yearn to live in New Songreat? One could stay cool here behind thick stone walls, but I was an outside person. I missed the coolness present even at mid afternoon underneath a shade tree in the Western Holdings.

The Defender was a surprisingly young man, who did not look many years beyond my age. I would venture he was just out of the Academy and apprentice to his profession. His Masters had probably ordered him to take this case; much ill will would attach to he who tried to save Pink Feet, win or lose.

Though of course I wanted the Defender to fail, it was good to watch someone youthful and vigorous on the floor of the Assemblage. Someone with bright blond hair, smooth skin and all his teeth. A refreshing contrast to the Peers—who moved at a snail's pace, who relentlessly passed gas, who were a welter of wrinkles, brown spots and white hair.

The Defender promptly called Pink Feet. Everyone leaned forward. Now at long last, after all the rumor mongering, we would hear from the beast himself of his dastardly crime.

The Defender stepped to the cage.

"Rise," he brashly urged Pink Feet, "and tell the gathered Holders and Masters why you rightly slew your Holder."

Pink Feet stood, revealing a frame as husky as his son's. He did not hesitate to speak and again his confident voice resonated everywhere in the Assemblage. All knew they heard a man not troubled by guilt or regret; indeed, he spoke as if he were the Prosecutor.

"I will not pretend I blindly loved my father. We always argued much, though that lessened after he became Holder. From that time on he interfered little in my duties. The production of our land rose accordingly."

I saw many jaws clench among the Peers. Long Hand and I looked at each other in wonder. Why did Pink Feet provoke those who would soon decide his fate? Why remind them of the tension that existed on every Holding, particularly of the jealousy each Holder faced from his Prime Son?

"But I did not hate him either. I always obeyed his commands. I served him and the Holding faithfully, and I gave him the respect he was due as Holder...and as my father. Never in my thoughts did I wish him harm. If a year ago you had foretold I would kill my Holder I would have thought you insane.

"I was blind to what was happening between my Holder and the Counter. I should have suspected sooner. But how can you suspect what you can't imagine? Now it is all clear. Then it wasn't."

"When did you first begin to question?"

"It's hard to say. Certainly not until several scoreday after the Counter arrived." Pink Feet lifted his eyes to challenge the Peers. "I would advise the Counter Hold to never again send out Counters that young. She had just started her bleeding."

Consenting murmurs arose among the Peers. This time it was Stone Eyes in the Council who demanded order. I was proud his voice could still boom.

Pink Feet went on to explain that the Counter attending the Holder had died after forty years' service. His father, never a cheerful person, had been despondent over the loss and at first he did not take kindly to this untrained youngster fresh off the Counter Hold. Pink Feet himself had given little thought to her. Counters were bright—as females went—and she would learn how to attend quickly enough.

"I suppose I should have suspected something when the Holder abruptly stopped complaining. He even smiled some, which hadn't happened for years. I was glad to see this. But I gave it little thought. We were in the middle of the citrus harvest, and getting little sleep."

"What about the beautys? Did not they stop going to his bed within a scoreday after Counter Six arrived?"

Pink Feet pursed his lips. "I missed that too. I mean, he had used them less anyway the past few years. I just thought he had reached the time in life where he couldn't bed anymore."

"What did finally alert you?"

"I saw the Counter pat his hand when they were coming down the stairway. The Holder brushed the hand away, but she had a smile I have only seen on the lips of a beckoning beauty. It shocked me to my core."

"And what did you do?"

"Nothing. I mean, I couldn't believe it. My eyes must have lied. Or misunderstood what they saw. I tried to forget it."

"You didn't confront the Holder?"

"No. He was the Holder. We are taught, are we not, to never question their orders—or behavior?"

"What, then, led you to believe the unbelievable?"

"When—in the depths of the night—I heard the cries of a woman in climax. I went into the hall and found it coming from the Holders bedroom."

A great gasp arose in the Assemblage.

"Yes! I was standing beside the Holder's door. I—I tried to convince myself he had a beauty in there. But in my innards I knew he lay with the Counter. I just stood there until the sounds came no more.

"I returned to my room. Needless to say, I didn't sleep the rest of the night. At breakfast the Holder asked about the fatigue on my face." Pink Feet laughed mirthlessly. "He never cared before if I were tired or not. I tell you, he was a changed man after the Counter arrived."

"Did you confront him then?"

"I first questioned every beauty. None had lain with him that night—or anytime recently. Later that day I got him into my office—and away from the Counter who now shadowed his every movement—under the pretext of needing his sign on bills of lading. I then told him what I heard in the night and what I suspected.

"He didn't answer for a long time. Then he said: 'It doesn't concern you.' He got up to leave. I couldn't believe my ears. He acted as if I had merely accused him of sleeping in unwashed sheets.

"I barred his way. I—I began to get very angry. Perhaps I should have killed him then. But my thoughts were jumbled. It was so unreal. He had committed a capital offense and wasn't in the least worried."

"What did you do then?"

"I told him I would have to go to the Council. I had no choice, my Holder or not. The Code is very explicit." Color rose in Pink Feet's neck. "The Holder smiled. Smiled, can you believe it? He said no one would believe me. He would deny everything and claim my lies were a plot to seize the Holdership. My efforts would gain me only loss of my position as Prime Son. The Council might even seek to have the Assembly proclaim me Outcast."

"So you did not go to the Council?"

"No!" All of Pink Feet's reserve was gone now. He shouted up at the Peers. "Who would you have believed? One of your own—or one of the Prime Sons you believe lust so for your Holderships? Tell me! Who would you have believed?"

None of the Peers answered. What could they say? For the first time I felt sympathy for this Prime Son. They were not all alike. Not like my own.

So I thought then. Later I would realize how unfairly I judged Soft Eyes. My grandfather had many flaws but shirking duty was not among them. However much he hated Stone Eyes, he could never kill his father. His inner code even more than the outer Code would not permit that. Till his last breath, our Prime Son honored both codes. I am proud his blood is mine.

The Defender eased Pink Feet away from his anger.

"You could not go to the Council. That would have ruined you. Why then did you not just let the matter rest? Would not that have been wiser?"

"I will admit I did consider it. But not long. I could not abide the defilement taking place on our Holding, within the walls of our manor. My Holder spoke of Outcast, yet he was the one who had polluted our blood. We are an honored Line, we of the Feet. Five of us have sat on the Council, and one of our twins founded the Weavers. From the time of the first Assembly we have revered the Code and served the Civilization. No—I could not abide the defilement."

I saw heads nodding among the Peers. Some heads belonged to those who earlier slapped the air.

The Defender too saw that minds were changing. He started to ask Pink Feet another question, then hesitated. He whispered something to Pink Feet, who looked puzzled. The Defender announced to the Peers he reserved the right to recall the Prime Son, but he was through with him for the moment.

The Defender must have concluded further testimony would only detract from the favorable impression Pink Feet had made so far. Going onto the description of the actual killing would return attention to the bloody deed that so sickened everyone. Let the Holder's deeds in the bedroom—and the bathhouse—remain foremost in the Peers' minds.

The Defender called the Second Son. The Second Son, now able to talk freely, stoutly defended his father. He swore he would have done the same. He wouldn't even have delayed killing. Such an outrage, such dishonor on the Line demanded immediate action. The Second Son urged the Peers to fully acquit his father. "He more than any man alive deserves to hold our Holdership."

I doubt anyone else in the Assembly agreed with that, but I wondered how many now would vote for execution.

The Defender called the Terminal Son, who echoed the Second Son's sentiments. As did even Counters One through Five of the Feet Holding. My attention drifted, aided by the mid afternoon heat that was seeping into the Assemblage.

Our attention was instantly regained when the Defender called his final witness: Counter Six. As the woman Pink Feet had only injured shuffled onto the Assemblage floor we all involuntarily stood.

Four burly Terminal Sons armed with pest staves flanked the hunched woman front and back. I wondered who had ordered such a guard; the Counter was obviously crippled from the blows of the Prime Son. She could hardly flee. And where would she flee?

A hum similar to a swarm of angry bees filled the Assemblage. Fury worked on many faces, revulsion on others. I in my backwater ignorance thought the Counter's crime caused the approbation. I did, that is, until Long Hand nudged me and hissed: "She is with child."

I had thought her merely fat. I had never seen a pregnant woman before. I knew all people, from Holder to girly, came from the bodies of females. I also knew a female could not give birth unless she had lain with a male. But I had no idea a female swelled so when she carried the unborn. I thought babies arrived in the world not much larger than an apple.

So I gaped at the Counter's disfigurement. It took a moment longer before I realized the extent of the deformity before us on the Assemblage floor. This Counter carried the Holder's child.

Even a naive adolescent like me understood the threat the abomination in her belly posed to the Civilization. I had heard how a speck on the arm of Stone Eye's father grew into a cancer that ravaged him. That is how I, all of us, viewed the growth inside Counter Six.

I am known for control of my emotions, especially in stressful situations. I try to deal with difficulty and danger in an ordered, thoughtful manner. Fortunately my reputation did not depend on my behavior at that moment. I screamed with everyone else at the cowering form in gray burlap. Death to her, death to her. Let the birds of carrion pick her bones clean.

I suppose we raged so viciously at the young woman because Pink Feet had deprived us of striking at his Holder. Even if Counter Six had instigated the crime—and we could not be sure of that—the Holder was the one ultimately responsible. On his Holding he was the embodiment of the Code. By his willful disregard of the most essential tenets of our Civilization, he had endangered us all.

What shook us more than anything else was the Holder's knowledge he would impregnate the Counter; he couldn't avoid it. Beautys came to a Holding only after undergoing ligation. The procedure was not used on other females, because the possibility of bedding with a male did not exist once they left their Hold. Or so we thought.

We all wondered how the Holder expected to hide the Counter's condition. Perhaps once she reached her present size he would have kept her confined to her room on the pretext she was sick. But when the time came for birth, what would she and he do? Only at the Holds did they know how to bring out babies. And if the baby survived birth, how would the Holder raise the child without anyone else learning of its existence?

None of this horrible affair made sense.

The Defender queried the Counter brutally. The brown haired female with the very pale skin tried to be brave, but her voice revealed her terror. She fully knew her fate. Unlike with Pink Feet, there was no doubt she would face execution.

The Counter did not deny she had lain with the Holder. She evoked a storm of hoots when she protested that their coupling had "just happened". We found that statement idiotic. Counters were schooled about the Code; she like her Holder knew what "happened" was absolutely forbidden. She also knew the penalty.

The Defender contemptuously dismissed her. She hobbled from the floor under another hail of invective. All looked forward to witnessing her execution. Myself included, I regret to recall.

The Defender rested his case. The afternoon was late and we were tired and hungry. The Council however decided we would recess only an hour before hearing the Arguments. They wanted the Peers to have a full night to ponder their decisions. The vote as to whether Pink Feet lived or died would take place tomorrow morning.

We stretched our legs about the colonnade surrounding the Assemblage. Not for long, though, because the stifling heat forced us back inside. We ate an abbreviated meal of nuts and melon, washed down with tepid tea. Many relieved themselves in the cellar latrines, which fortunately like all those I encountered in New Songreat, ran water continuously to carry the waste away.

Somewhat refreshed, we took our seats. The Defender strode to the center of the floor. He spoke confidently, his young voice filling the Assemblage. He had reason for optimism; he had performed excellently. I wondered if his Masters regretted avoiding the case. In retrospect the case had not at all proved beyond salvage. To this untested youth, not them, would go the glory if Pink Feet were saved.

The Defender nodded encouragingly to Pink Feet, who had spent the entire day in the cage. Pink Feet sat still, though I could see skin drawn taut over his knuckles. Now he knew he had a chance to live. But not a guarantee. Regardless how well the Defender argued, Pink Feet would have a long night ahead.

The Defender argued well. "Peers of the Civilization, we are gathered here because of two capital violations of the Code. On your journey to New Songreat all of you would have agreed the killing of Holder by Prime Son was the greater of the offenses. Who would not? Adherence to the Lineage provides the basis for stability of the Civilization. Allow usurpation to occur, and chaos will result.

"That is why we so thoroughly investigate the death of every Holder, no matter how natural his passing appears. That is why, if reasonable doubt arises over the circumstances of death, the Prime Son can be denied the Holdership. This vigilance lets every Holder sleep sounder, and lessens temptation for every Prime Son. The Code is strong and wise on these matters. It protects us all.

"Yes, usurpation deserves death. The accused does not challenge that. But who in his honored dome would claim Pink Feet attempted usurpation? The Holdership was furthest from his mind when he went down to the bathhouse that fateful day.

"I intend no insult to Pink Feet, but a more clever man would have turned the Holder's crime to his advantage. A more clever—and less honorable—Prime Son would have not said a word to the Holder. Instead he could have by stealth brought in witnesses from other Holdings or the Council itself. They would have caught the Holder coupling with the Counter. You would not be trying him, and would have already awarded Pink Feet the Holdership.

"Pink Feet did not kill to gain the Holdership. He killed because, as he said, he 'could not abide the defilement'. Pink Feet has confided to me he knew his actions would cost him the Holding, and perhaps his life. He felt—wrongly, of course, but with utter sincerity—that because the Holder was his blood and because the Holder had polluted that blood, it was his right and his duty to strike down the polluter."

The Defender paused and swept his eyes over the Peers. "I submit to you, honored elders, that Pink Feet acted as the instrument of this body. The Holder was a dead man the first time he lay with the Counter. He was doubly dead once he impregnated her. He was dead beyond any count when upon confrontation he smiled in his son's face. For then he laughed at us and all we hold dear.

"I will not argue that Pink Feet should go totally unpunished—though I would vote so if I were a Peer—but I do not see how we can put this man to death. He acted on behalf of the Civilization. We should spare him alone for his refusal to ignore the crime. Can you imagine if he had? The Holder and Counter would still lie together, and the monster in her belly would exit in less than five scoreday."

I saw many in the Assemblage shudder. I gulped hard myself at the prospect. Oh, this vile Holder had died too easily. If only he could have joined Counter Ten on the morrow for execution.

"Tonight you will decide the fate of Pink Feet. As you undertake this most grave responsibility I ask you to consider the full set of circumstances surrounding this tragic case. Ask most importantly did Pink Feet violate the Code—or did he uphold it? Is the Civilization worse for what he did—or safer?"

The Defender dropped his now outstretched arms. He turned, said a word to Pink Feet, then took his seat on the first row.

The Prosecutor hardly leaped to follow him. His face set grimly as he faced the ranks of Peers above him. This man, so skilled with his tongue, could not have enjoyed being bested by the equivalent of a Terminal Son. For bested he had obviously been.

The Prosecutor did address the Peers forcefully, but I know he now believed he could not win an execution. However smoothly logical his words, they couldn't blot out the memory every Peer retained of the Counter's swollen belly. Quick Tongue argued hard point by point on the Code. I could see a score of heads nodding with him. Too many other heads remained motionless.

A booming voice cut off the Prosecutor. My eyes widened as Stone Eyes demanded the Chairman let him take up the Argument. The Prosecutor flushed and protested, but after a quick huddle of the Council Stone Eyes was permitted to intercede.

I had seen my Holder resolute before. But never with this intensity. He strode onto the stage like a man who would club anything in his path. My Holder held everyone silent as he surveyed his Peers.

Finally he spoke. His voice _was_ a club. "My congratulations to the Defender. He is able—dangerously able. For he has succeeded in making us forget why we are here. We rowed to New Songreat to judge a murderer. We came here to judge Pink Feet—and no one else!"

Stone Eyes paced the floor like a man in his fifties, not one near a hundred.

"We are here to judge a man who deliberately killed his father. That, I believe, is still a capital offense. Yes, circumstance and mitigation surround the act. What part of life do they not? Yet a capital crime remains a capital crime.

"My Peers, why do we have the Code? Is it suggestion, mere guideline—or is it law? Do the tenets of the Code lend themselves to various interpretation—or are they rocks upon which our Civilization is built? Do we bend the Code to the passion of the moment or does the Code stand beyond passion? Does or does not the Code of the First Assembly stand inviolate before the skillful rhetoric of a defender or our empathy for an accused?"

The Assemblage was so quiet I could hear the padding of Stone Eye's sandals on the white marble floor. Light was fading in the recesses of the dome, but ample shown on the center circle. The contrast illuminated Stone Eyes in his stiff green tunic, so he loomed double his normal size.

Not that he needed trick of light to enhance his stature. Before my journey here I had not known of the esteem in which he was held. My father and grandfather told me he served on the Council, but what did that mean to a backwater youth? I knew him only as my Holder, who I loved because he loved me. I revered him for no other reason than that.

At every stage of our journey Holders had pulled me aside to praise Stone Eyes. They recalled his subduing of the wasteland, his energetic service on Assembly committees, and his imaginative advice in the Council. They would pat my shoulder and encourage me to follow in his footsteps. I of course was awed—and greatly doubted I could ever measure up to the likes of this man I was in many ways just discovering.

Stone Eyes thrust out a fist. He stood before the Peers straight as a fence post; there was no hunch in this elder.

"My Peers, the Code decrees who will decide matter of life and death. It vests this power and responsibility with the Assembly—and the Assembly alone. The Code grants no one else this prerogative. No one else! A Holder cannot kill anyone—from Prime Son to girly. A Prime Son cannot kill anyone. A Second Son cannot kill, a Terminal Son cannot kill. The Code permits no exception. None!"

Stone Eyes dropped the fist, then softened his voice.

"Tomorrow we will decide if we truly live by the Code. We will decide whether the Assembly alone can take life—or whether this right has now passed to individuals. If it has, then none of us are safe. We all get angry, we all hate, we all envy. Remove the absolute stricture of the Code and the temptation to kill gains a great friend. My Peers, our lives are secure in this land only if the Code and its tenets are held as absolute."

Stone Eyes walked up to the cage. His voice stayed soft as he addressed Pink Feet.

"When I first heard of your crime, I thirsted for your death. Today I do not—though tomorrow I must vote for execution. I today understand your provocation. No man in our history may have suffered greater provocation. Your Holder deserved the death I regret that you will now have to endure."

Pink Feet flinched at that.

Stone Eyes returned to his seat. The Prosecutor, now wearing a wisp of a smile, said he had nothing to add. The Chairman adjourned the Assembly. We would gather in the dome again an hour past dawn on the morrow.

I slept fitfully that night. I did not have a vote to cast, but my mind labored as it debated a decision. I did not think Pink Feet warranted execution. In this one case, I felt the Assembly should make the exception Stone Eyes so decried.

Yet I could fully appreciate what Stone Eyes had said about the inviolability of the Code. I could not disagree that the Code alone set the limits of our behavior. In the absolute—the terrible unforgiving absolute—no man could be allowed to override it. Excuse a great provocation now, and eventually we would excuse lesser ones.

I did not partake of a beauty that night, nor wine. I doubt many in New Songreat did. I suspect everyone was as relieved as I to see dawn—and as undecided on whether to spare Pink Feet. Oh, if the man had just used his brain a little more.

It was a taciturn throng of Peers that emerged from the fog to converge upon the Assemblage. Stone Eyes himself said little, though he appeared to have slept better than I. Peers greeted each other grimly as they entered the thick walled building where much of the progress of our Civilization had been charted. I wondered how many of the Peers would not actually decide until the Chairman called for the votes.

Pink Feet waited in his cage. The Defender was talking quietly with him, although there was no more help that man could give him. Pink Feet wore great dark circles under his eyes. Apprehension knotted my own stomach; I could only imagine what extreme of anxiety the accused endured.

The wizened Chairman called the Assembly to order. He deferred to the Prosecutor, who reread the charges against Pink Feet. Then the recording Counters stepped into the center circle and faced the Peers. The Chairman asked the Counters if they were ready. They answered yes.

The Chairman's raspy voice now carried quite well in the utterly silent chamber. I don't think I even breathed. Within the space of a few minutes we and Pink Feet would learn if he would live more than three or four days more.

"Peers voting for commutation of capital punishment—stand!"

About a hundred of the Peers rose. As the Counters counted an involuntary groan escaped from the Terminal Sons—which evoked wrathful looks from the elders below. Beside me Long Hand sadly shook his head and whispered, "he dies".

When the Counters finished their tally, the Chairman motioned the Peers down. Then he announced: "One hundred sixteen Peers vote for commutation. Peers voting for capital punishment—stand!"

Stone Eyes and the Prosecutor were first on their feet. To my astonishment less than three score Peers joined them. Excited chattering broke out everywhere and the Chairman yelled himself near apoplexy to restore order. The Chairman repeated the call for capital punishment—in an almost pleading voice—but no one else joined the sixty-four standing.

I will never forget the contemptuous glare my Holder bestowed upon his fellow Peers. Few would meet his eyes.

The Chairman displayed equal disdain as he ordered those abstaining to stand. The tunics of the remaining five hundred Peers rustled as they got to their feet. It took awhile for the Counters to tally, but what did accuracy matter here? Plain sight told that Pink Feet would escape the Thorn Circle.

Pink Feet strangely showed little reaction. The Defender was fighting hard to keep joy from his face, but Pink Feet did truly not appear relieved. Perhaps he had already calculated which way the vote would go. Or I should say the first vote.

I had not looked beyond the vote for capital punishment. But Pink Feet knew the Assembly could substitute other punishments. These could range from relieving him as Holder (he could still reside on the Holding) to banishment in the Hill Country (a difficult life waited on one of the abandoned farms, but a watcher and fifty girlys and perhaps a beauty would be provided) to declaring Pink Feet Outcast. The latter was not an unlikely alternative; by such action the Peers could substantially remedy their affront to the purity of the Code.

No wonder animation did not play on the face of Pink Feet. I might almost—almost—prefer the Thorn Circle to Outcast. The Outcast was rowed upriver and deposited alone on marshy banks. He was left with a six scoreday supply of food, a hoe and pick, and a bag of seed. Hard work and good fortune would be required to harvest a crop before his food ran out.

Poisonous snakes, fever insects, and large reptiles inhabited that land. The water logged soil produced poorly and the sun shone through air even more humid than that of New Songreat. A vigorous youth would struggle to survive there. Pink Feet bore a strong frame and appeared in excellent health, but he was a man near seventy. Anyone venturing into the area a year later would likely find his bones.

The Assembly rejected declaring the Prime Son Outcast. Stone Eyes went white with repressed rage and the Prosecutor bolted from the building. The Defender now did not hide a smile, and even Pink Feet relaxed. Beside me Long Hand was genuinely happy. I myself was glad Pink Feet—a good man—would live, but I knew the Code had suffered a wound. Let everyone hope the wound healed instead of festered.

Stone Eyes voted no more as lesser punishments were considered. In the end Pink Feet was denied his Holdership. He was not allowed to return to the Holding, but instead he must operate the sewage farm southeast of the city—famous for its stench and flies. He must keep to the farm the remainder of his life. To show their toughness, the Peers would allow the visit of a beauty only twice a year. That restriction did not at all seem to discomfit Pink Foot as he clasped hands with the Defender through the bars of his cage.

With a bitter voice the Chairman dismissed the Assembly.

A considerably more cheerful group of Peers and Terminal Sons exited the Assemblage than had arrived four hours earlier. A great burden had been lifted and the delights of the Grand Farewell waited on the evening morrow. In addition this afternoon they could witness execution of Counter Six, the one who had precipitated this whole mess.

I did not see Stone Eyes as we gathered for the execution on a slope that ran toward the Life River. When we returned to our quarters after the vote he had only said: "I warned you about the women-men. I just did not know there were already so many." He disappeared into his room and would not come out.

On the slope waited almost everyone else. Joining us were the Counters from the city and surrounding Holdings, several thousand in all. The Council had ordered the Counters attend, to make certain they appreciated the penalty such a transgression would bring.

None of the women appeared to grieve for Counter Six. I don't know if they hid their true thoughts but all the Counters I questioned considered Counter Six Outcast. They seemingly found her crime vile as we did. I doubted the Civilization needed fear a recurrence.

Where the slope ended the grass and weeds ran flat for a hundred yards to the water's edge. In the middle of the flat stood two semi circles of thornbrush. Gaps of a yard separated the halves. The interior was paved with white brick. A single pot lay on the brick. A chamber pot, I was told. I don't know why they bothered with such a trite amenity.

The four stave bearing Sons escorted Counter Six onto the flat. The burlap clad woman was crying unashamedly as she half staggered toward the thorns. Hooting met her wails, the hoots perhaps issuing with more vehemence from the Counters than from us.

Ten yards from the thorns two of the sons ripped the burlap off the woman. Her monstrous belly was bared to all; I gagged at the sight. The Counter sought to cover her breast and pubis, but the Sons exposed them as they seized her arms. With a mightily swing they hurled her onto the white brick. Donning long gloves they then wrestled one of the semicircles to close the gaps.

Inside the sealed circle the naked Counter was now free to cover herself. She bent on her knees, with her head buried in her thighs and crossed arms gripping her back. She sobbed on.

We waited. We grew hot even beneath the shelter of umbrellas. The white skinned Counter had no protection, from either the sun still high above or from the reflecting bricks below. We grew thirsty and drank tea. The Counter sweated far more but she would not slake thirst again. I am ashamed to say that did not trouble me then.

Eventually Peers and Sons became bored and our numbers dwindled. The Counters would stay until dismissed. I watched a long time, until the sun was just short of setting. By then the Counter's skin was no longer white but red. She no longer kneeled, but lay curled on her side. Low moans had replaced the wails. I hoped she would not be alive when the sun rose on the morrow. I later learned she lasted three days.

I did not attend the Grand Farewell. Stone Eyes commanded we leave the city early the next day. As we boarded his galley a terrible anger still churned in his eyes.

He remained angry until the galley exited the locks of the Central Ridge. Then anger became of little consequence, as did all the proceedings in New Songreat. We were at the west docks, waiting as the galley approached, when we spotted a postal boat rowing hard. A man, who appeared by age a Second Son, was shouting something more in the voice of a woman than a man.

On his face was hysteria such as I had not seen before. I would see it often again. His high pitched words also became clear. The man was obviously deranged, because this Second Son spoke the impossible.

He shrieked of Raala.

### Field of Honor

Excitement mixed with rage makes for a heady brew. Terror can quickly turn the brew acrid. I tasted acrid bile in plenty once the watching watchers in the towers screamed they neared. I knew then with certainty I would die this day.

I could have run. I surely wanted to. My legs fairly demanded I flee, fast as I could from this trap we had set for ourselves by the thorn wall. If I were lucky I could reach a tree before the Raala reached me.

The watchers around me also wanted to run, though they all bore long and sharpened staves. Their desperate eyes searched for the slightest signal they had my leave to bolt. Even if the watchers in the towers reported that the approaching Raala numbered less than a third our strength, the watchers on the ground did not view those odds favorably. Nor did I.

If not for the nearness of Stone Eyes, I would likely have scurried from this spot so close to the tunnel through the thorns. I could not see my Holder amid the rows of runner beans, but I heard his voice crack above the babble of watchers. He shouted for silence, and not the slightest hint of fright leavened the harshness of his tongue. I wondered if a man that old could properly fear. Fear like me, who still had a century of life left.

How eagerly these past scoreday I had awaited arrival of the Raala. I had hoped with all my heart these murderers would return. In my thoughts I constantly plunged a stave into their vile bodies. They writhed more horribly than any skewered pest. In the days after I returned to our Holding I longed to wield that stave.

Stone Eyes had ordered our galley homeward when we heard word of Raala. He dismissed the report—a third hand one at that—as the ravings of a watcher who had seen girlys bloodied by diseased raccoons. Pests with foamed mouths had been known to attack workers in the fields.

The next day we began to learn the truth. Boats of all sizes rowed past us at high speed. Prime Sons and Second Sons warned us not to go westward. The Raala are killing everyone, they cried. And eating them, too. Stone Eyes kept his course, but grew grimmer with each vessel's passage.

Only once did I suggest we turn around. We could wait back at the locks until we found out what really happened. If Raala were loose inside the thorn wall, we would meet certain death if we went on. Scarcely had the last word left my mouth before my Holder was regarding me as he did the Prime Son. Pure contempt poured from his eyes.

The eyes relented over the next hour. I would always be his favorite, and while my counsel sprang from fear, he must have realized it made some sense. He promised we would turn back at first sight of the Raala. He reminded me, despite the general hysteria, we had yet to hear from anyone who actually witnessed the creatures.

That evening we did not bank the galley. As a precaution we anchored in mid canal. I was to stay awake the first half of the night, he the second. We equipped ourselves, Counter Ten, and the six watchers with oars. Stone Eyes instructed we strike any Raala trying to board hard in the head.

The next morning we learned it was in the Holdings along the far western canal where the Raala had appeared. The canal served seven Holdings and ours lay at the terminus. Stone Eyes and I traded grimaces; there could be little doubt now the Raala had set foot on our soil. I wondered immediately if the Prime Son and my father had escaped. Hopefully we would sight them on a boat today.

That afternoon our hopes were partially answered. A galley from the Hand Holding carried my father. The Hand Prime and Second Sons accompanied him, and both wore anguished faces. My father's wore something worse. In the days and years since I have seen many such faces, but then that countenance shocked me.

With a voice that struggled for composure, my father told us of the horrors that had befallen our Holding. I did not believe at first when he said the Prime Son was dead. Nor could I really comprehend his tale of creatures tearing apart girlys and then eating them. I put down to pure raving his description of a flickering orange light that had blackened the severed limbs of our females.

My father cried as he finished his recounting. Stone Eyes did not rebuke him, and with amazement I saw tears well from him. I found myself sniffling.

I wasn't exactly sure what I mourned. I had never loved the Prime Son. The sacrifice of his life to save the Second Son would shine in the records of our Line, and was more than any of us expected of him. But I really didn't grieve for him I am ashamed to say.

I certainly didn't grieve for the slain girlys or watchers. They lived, they died, they were replaced. I suppose without knowing it I mourned for the Civilization, which had been forced from its comfortable slumber. Suddenly—and most unfairly—we were thrust back five thousand years, to face again the same deadly creatures who had brought us so close to extinction.

Stone Eye's tears were gone when he asked the Hand Prime Son if the Raala had attacked their Holding.

"They must have," answered the Prime Son.

"You don't know?"

The Prime Son was taken aback by the severity of my Holder's voice. Then he understood, and his head lowered.

The Hand Second Son tried to explain that if they had waited, they would be dead. Stone Eyes cut him off.

"You both have shamed your Line. You should have stayed, led a pesting line, and sent a Counter in your place to spread the warning. By fleeing you have given the Raala an open path."

The Prime Son shook his head. "Pesters cannot stop them! Listen to what your own blood tells you."

Stone Eyes had balled his fists. I thought he would strike the Prime Son. I thought also the Prime Son was right, that these creatures who had killed so many of our stave bearing watchers could not be overcome.

"You will accompany us up the canal," my Holder announced.

After they blanched both Hand men protested vigorously.

"By my order, as representative of the Council, your galley will follow mine. Do you understand?"

The Hand men stammered, yes, of course they would obey, but hadn't we better talk it over? The canal was narrow, and from what Bright Eyes says, the Raala can easily leap from bank to boat.

Stone Eyes smashed an oar against the railing. The Hand men flinched as the railing splintered.

"Then they will die."

I never relaxed grip on my oar as we traveled up the canal. Along the banks squealing girlys, watchers, and Counters would appear, greatly frightened but otherwise unharmed. Stone Eye's booming voice told the Counters to take charge of their females. Return them to their tasks on the Holdings. The Holders and Sons would return shortly.

The women were relieved, although neither Stone Eyes nor anyone else could guarantee swift return of the men. My Holder grumbled constantly how Prime and Second Sons had everywhere run from duty. He would seek some sort of punishment from the Assembly.

At the Hand Holding we found the fields and manor untouched. Not a single female had lost their life. Stone Eyes sneered mightily as he told the Hand men to restore order to their land. Upon pain of being declared Outcast, they were not to flee again.

A day later we of the Eyes Holding reached the docks from which I had departed so joyously twenty-eight days before. The interval seemed far longer. Normally the entire manorhold greeted Stone Eyes at the docks when he returned, but today no one waited.

Though I had never smelled rotting bodies, I did not need to be told they were the source of the ghastly stench that had filled the air the past hours. That odor could only have death as a partner. Nor did I have to guess why the black birds that feed on pest remains filled the sky.

I hesitated setting foot on the docks. But how could I not follow my Holder, who was first off the galley? He strode directly forward with an oar in hand. We took Counter Ten and four watchers with us as we trod warily up the path toward our manor.

After two hundred yards we encountered the first bodies. Or more precisely, skeletons from which the Raala and birds had eaten everything except hair and cloth. Even Stone Eyes had never seen such a sight, and even he gagged. My knees actually knocked. At any instant I expected Raala to leap from the beans and make a skeleton of me.

None of this prepared me for what awaited on the grounds about the manor. There I learned a skeleton was preferable to a half eaten, putrefied body. We stared stunned for long moments while hundreds of black birds fled hundreds of bodies. The fouled air became difficult to breathe.

My hate began then. I carried the oar in my hands now to kill, not defend. At that moment I would have been very brave if the Raala had returned. All of us seethed at this defilement of our Holding.

The following days we rounded up the surviving females. About one third had escaped the Raala. We put them immediately to work digging huge graves and burying the thousands of dead. Slowly the suffocating stench left the air.

Stone Eyes did not brood long over the devastation our Holding had suffered. He instructed my father, now Prime Son, to get the girlys back in the fields. Tend only half the fields, abandon the other crops. To me he assigned the task of building towers along the thorn wall. Once built I would be responsible for keeping watchers in them day and night.

Stone Eyes himself toured the surrounding Holdings. Only on the Hand Holding were males present. Elsewhere Stone Eyes designated the senior Counter acting Holder—a decision the Council later backed but which would earn the bitter criticism of many Peers.

At each Holding Stone Eyes requisitioned one quarter of the watchers and sent them to our Holding. These he intended to train to fight the Raala. He was certain the Raala would return, and again enter through the tunnel we had found in the thorn wall.

Within a scoreday six hundred watchers camped around our manor. Stone Eyes performed with the energy of a man half his age as he tried to turn these basically benign females into fighters eager to kill. His patience was greatly tried.

Tests have proved that watchers average about half a Son's intelligence. But the new watchers were smart enough to comprehend what our watchers told them about the Raala. How easily the Raala had overcome staves must have particularly dulled their enthusiasm.

But Stone Eyes was not a man to be resisted. I could hear the sting of his voice hundreds of yards away as he continued to drill his charges. Of course neither he nor anyone else could then conceive the complexities involved when large groups battled to the death. We had only our experience in pesting to guide us. And that was a feeble guide.

We expected the Raala to reappear at any moment. The days passed into scoredays and the Raala did not return. During this time Holders and Sons began to slip back to their manors. Some were even brave enough to travel to the Eyes Holding, and see for themselves the site of the attack.

Stone Eyes welcomed them, but also drove home the peril this section of the Civilization faced. He had a mass grave dug up. That along with his resolution convinced the horrified visitors they must train their own watchers to fight, no matter how much it hindered tending the crops. The ancient enemy was busy elsewhere, said Stone Eyes. But do not believe the eaters of flesh are finished with us.

Five scoreday after the Raala had breached the thorn wall they were sighted again. At dawn a tower watcher spotted five or six silhouetted on a rise only a mile from the tunnel. The Raala came to the wall, then began to run alongside it. They stopped when they located the tunnel.

The awaited day was finally here. For three scoreday I had slept near the tunnel along with a guard of a hundred watchers. I scrambled up the nearest tower to view those I hoped soon to kill. At that moment I knew no fear, only exhilaration. I was certain of our ability to triumph over these few of the foe.

My father had described the Raala well, but only sight can convey the extent of their repugnance. Twenty yards from me these loathsome creatures, uglier than even canal rats, prowled about the tunnel opening. When these Raala dared emerge on the other side I would be first to greet them. I was not armed with a stave, which I found cumbersome, but with a sawed off oar. I could swing it now with great force. I wanted to kill all five Raala myself.

Regretfully the Raala did not come through the tunnel—which we regularly trimmed to assure their easy passage. They instead loped across the grass to disappear behind the rise. I cursed their cowardice. Though they had not lifted their eyes to me, they must have sensed our presence.

When the Raala were sighted I had sent runners to inform Stone Eyes. He arrived shortly after the Raala disappeared. He joined me in the tower and I pointed to where the Raala had gone. He scoffed when I told him they had become frightened and run away.

"The Raala do not frighten."

He did not halt the practiced response taking place. Already the bulk of the trained watchers were filing along a path from their encampment. They were a sight to behold, striding briskly two by two with their staves pointing skyward. The west wind quickly blew away the dust they stirred.

While Stone Eyes and I observed, Counter Ten led them to their positions. The watchers divided into three groups, one directly facing the thorn wall, the other two groups on the sides. We had cleared a square a hundred yards deep around the tunnel to permit unobstructed view of emerging Raala. The bordering bean plants would hide us until ready to strike.

Stone Eyes would command the center group. I would direct the left side, Counter Ten the right. My father had wanted to join in any battle, but Stone Eyes said he could not put all three of us at risk. One of our Line must survive.

I was still in the tower when an hour later the Raala came back. Five Raala, then ten, then scores of the gray brown creatures swept over the horizon. Confidently they trotted toward me across windswept grass. As Stone Eyes said, fear did not possess them.

I called out what I saw and Stone Eyes ordered me to descend and join my watchers. I am sure I inspired no one when I tripped entering the bean plants. Already fear was hampering my coordination. Soon it encumbered all my muscles, even my tongue.

We had practiced often, and bravely. When we had faced only the air before the tunnel we had always triumphed. I had fearlessly shouted commands, and the watchers had thrust their staves without mercy. Afterward everyone rejoiced.

As the Raala approached we all knew we would not now face air. We would be fighting the same creatures that had left dead in heaps about our Holding. Staves had not saved anyone then; why should they now? The Raala were natural killers and we were not. Their teeth would again find many throats. We drew false comfort from the tight press of our bodies.

When the first Raala stepped from the tunnel my breath stopped. I think that of everyone did. I remember hearing only the bean leaves as they rustled in the wind. Raala after Raala followed, and soon I could smell their stink—and see the long mouths full of jagged teeth.

How I pitied myself as the number of Raala grew and grew. I was as surely trapped as if tied to a post. I could not flee—that would bring disgrace on the Line and lose me Stone Eye's love. If I stayed—as I must—the Raala would kill me. I asked why, of all the Sons of the Civilization, had this fate fallen on me? The unfairness! I had hardly begun life, and now I would leave it.

The Raala were filling the square. Their noses poked the air, and they growled constantly. Their black eyes peered hard at the bean plants, which I felt no longer hid us. Their attack could be only moments away.

"Forward! Forward!"

I stood paralyzed as Stone Eye's command rang out. About me none of my watchers moved. My tongue futilely tried to second my Holder's order. I could only whisper.

The Raala also did not move. Their heads tossed as they sought the source of the command. Then they snarled as Stone Eye's watchers advanced with staves lowered. One Raala's growl lifted above the others, then the creatures charged.

As if from a great distance I observed the furor before me. I could not accept as real what I witnessed. All my life I had lived with tranquility and gentleness. They sometimes bored me numb, but they were true and constant. Not this.

"Calm Eyes! Counter Ten! Forward!"

I did now detect great anxiety in my Holder's voice. He had reason for it. Not one of my or Counter Ten's watchers had moved into the clearing. Meanwhile the center group had drawn the bulk of the Raala. These watchers were not doing well despite the scoredays of drill.

The Raala refused to agreeably impale themselves. Instead they dodged the stave thrusts. When a watcher thrust too far, a Raala would seize the stave with its jaws and jerk. One by one watchers lost their weapon and their balance.

Wherever several watchers were disarmed the Raala rushed in. I soon saw for myself the tearing of female throats. Within minutes Stone Eye's front rank began to crumble. The rank behind did not step up as they should have, and many watchers were slinking back.

I could see my Holder's head whip from side to side, in vain search of his side groups. Again he screamed for our advance. Then his attention was snatched away by a wedge of Raala who had broken the center of his line. More Raala poured in behind them and I saw my Holder no more.

Neither did I hear his voice. Indeed I heard nothing but my own bellowed shouts as I insanely leapt from the beans. I took no notice whether any watchers joined me. I only knew my oar was striking Raala hard on the head, as Stone Eyes had advised. Once struck they did not get up.

I swung and swung. Beside me my watchers had appeared. Their staves found flesh and spilled blood. Raala shrieks began to compete with those of our own maimed. And across the clearing Counter Ten's watchers had at last joined the fray

All of a sudden it was over. Those Raala who could were scurrying into the tunnel. Behind them they left many dead and many quivering.

None of this mattered to me until I could find Stone Eyes. I feared he lay dead until I saw him kneeling amid a clump of prostrate watchers. His face was beet red, but I did not see the crimson of blood upon him.

I cried out exultantly.

His face lit as our eyes met. I don't know if he really expected victory, especially such an easy one. I am sure he had readied for death when I and Counter Ten failed to advance. But obviously that was forgotten as he rose and fiercely embraced me.

The watchers in the towers reported the Raala were running westward. Stone Eyes told the watchers to stay at their posts, then he ordered all of the wounded Raala killed. A final count revealed seventy-four Raala dead.

Our own losses were equivalent. We brought in girlys to carry our wounded back to quarters and to bury the dead. Raala carcasses were dragged through the tunnel and left for the black birds. The tunnel was then sealed.

That night I slept in the manor for the first time in a long time. I drank much wine, and bedded several beautys. I was very proud of myself and told the beautys how I single handedly turned the battle. My drunken tongue neglected to mention my delay nearly lost that battle.

The next day I was not quite so full of myself. Stone Eyes reviewed the battle, and he asked hard questions. I did not try to deny my initial cowardice. Counter Ten admitted to the same. Stone Eyes surprised us by smiling, and explaining he too had difficulty functioning. Then the graveness returned.

"Once is all we can let fear better us."

Once was all I hoped to fight the Raala. I knew how close we had come to defeat and myself to death. If my watchers hadn't followed me from the beans, I would now reside in the belly of a Raala

We did not get long to savor our victory. The next day word reached us that other Raala at the same time had attacked the Holding ten miles north of us. There had been a fearful slaughter. Stone Eyes ordered me to take four hundred of the watchers to confront the Raala.

"Leave not one alive," he instructed as I marched off the next morning.

After three days we caught these Raala near a tributary canal. The Raala had rampaged through three Holdings, killing two Holders, four Sons, and many hundred females. Everywhere we ran into hysterical survivors who urged us to flee. I told them to head toward our Holding, where they would find protection.

Fear played no part in my second battle. I lived up to my given name, and let logic alone fashion my orders. We again formed in three groups and this time by plan the center went forward alone. These Raala were foolhardily, charging directly into the staves. Half their number went down at first contact. It was a simple matter then for the flanks to surround the remainder, and leave not one alive.

Alas, that did not end the trouble. Further north more Raala had breached the wall. This group did not bother with a tunnel, but used the orange destroyer to open a huge gap in the thorns. The destroyer swept on to blacken fields and quarters all the way to the middle north canal. The loss of life involved was unknown.

In a field of tall okra we battled these Raala. This time we did not get off lightly as the determined Raala twice broke our lines. Again I had to wield my oar. We won in the end, but a third of my watchers lay dead or wounded. After this battle, as I strode about the field filled with torn bodies, pride did not accompany me.

As we marched back to the Eyes Holding, it became clear the Western lands faced a general crisis. Stone Eyes possessed the only battle able watchers and where we were not present the Raala plundered with ease. At least twenty groups of these malignant creatures had penetrated the wall. They had driven Holding after Holding out of production, and slain or scattered their inhabitants.

The Civilization owed much to Stone Eyes in those days. Stone Eyes kept me continuously on the march. He gave me the authority to confiscate watchers wherever I found them and add them to my forces. The main training these newcomers received was actual battle. All considered they fought well. We never lost to the Raala, even if many watchers had to fall due to their inexperience.

Meanwhile Stone Eyes took command of the region. Nothing in the Code gave him that power, but few contested during those days when he turned chaos into order. Prime in thwarting the Raala was his evacuation of all Holdings—including our own—within fifty miles of the thorn wall. Stone Eyes reasoned the Raala needed our flesh to survive, and without it they must return to the grasslands.

He arranged for other Holdings to provide food and quarters for the fifty thousand females displaced. He also convinced the Council to order a Civilization wide levy, with every tenth watcher to report to training grounds near the locks. If worse came to worse, he planned a mass withdrawal behind Central Ridge. He would fight any penetration there with the freshly gathered watchers.

But that did not prove necessary. After the evacuation the Raala found only my watchers, now over a thousand in strength. Fortunately they never combined to confront us. In every battle we outnumbered them three or four to one, and from every battle they were the ones who fled. That, and the lack of food, at last caused them to depart.

It was an exhausted but triumphant group of watchers I brought to the Belly Holding, where the Council had summoned us. Three scoreday had passed since Stone Eyes and I had first faced the Raala. To me it seemed three years.

I had no idea how revered I had become. The Holders and Sons and Counters present cheered themselves hoarse as I marched with my watchers onto the manor grounds. I think I suffered rougher treatment from their frenzied embraces than I had in any battle. I was half carried into the manor, and placed at the head of a long table beside Stone Eyes. A huge tumbler of wine was forced upon me and the adulation continued.

Beside me Stone Eyes beamed. Never had I seen so much love on his face. That warmed me greatly, but to tell the truth the past scoredays I had not considered myself the one accomplishing extraordinary feats. It was not I who had bled or died. My watchers had.

The tumult eventually subsided. Around the table sat members of the Council, save the Chairman who was too ill to leave New Songreat. The ancient faces continued to fix on mine. Perhaps they wished my glory was theirs; certainly they wished they were my age again.

After several toasts Stone Eyes turned the gathering to business. It soon became apparent my arrival had interrupted a debate concerning disposition of the levied watchers, which were now gathering at the locks a hundred miles east of us.

It was also apparent Stone Eyes had assumed the Council Chair—acting Chair, of course, since the Chairmanship could be awarded only by Assembly vote. I wondered how much resentment that assumption had caused, no matter how much its necessity. I had but to look on several faces to find an answer.

Standing around the table were a considerable number of Sons. Many I recognized from the trial. They were staff to the Council, positions much sought after, and usually awarded to Second Sons in the Professions who had distinguished themselves. My eye however caught one Son who was incongruously youthful

It was the Defender of Pink Foot. That puzzled me, for I would have thought his blond head the last the Council wanted in its presence. This apprentice a quarter their age had humiliated them. I was astounded when I saw him bend to whisper in the ear of Quick Tongue, who nodded without enmity.

The debate resumed. Some members wanted the entire levy immediately returned to Holdings. Others, including Quick Tongue, thought it prudent to retain several thousand as a permanent guard. Only Stone Eyes argued that training of the entire body should proceed.

Though Stone Eyes may have saved the Civilization, he still had only one vote on the Council. I know he ached to order the full levy completed. But he could order and be obeyed only on the Eyes Holding. He was a great man and I do not say that because my blood is his. Unfortunately he lessened his effectiveness by refusing to deal tactfully with Peers whose will and foresight he considered deficient.

The exasperation in his voice was evident as he explained why the Civilization would need every one of the twenty thousand watchers. Three or four thousand Raala had invaded the lands; no man knew how many more lived beyond the thorns. Their total number could even exceed the levy.

"We cannot have too many watchers bearing staves. We can have too few."

Others vehemently disagreed. The Raala would be idiots to return. Your Terminal Son—sorry, your Second Son—has beaten them in every meeting. Yes, they are cruel and murderous but they have left many of their dead in our land. They will look elsewhere for safer food.

Stone Eyes muttered something about who were the idiots, and tempers rose about the table. I of course agreed with the need for a full levy and felt the dissenters were most unwise. But I was aware none of these men had seen a Raala face to face. They had no idea of the determined ferocity with which these creatures attacked. Lack of such witness easily explained their preoccupation with disturbing as little as possible the production of the Civilization.

Quick Tongue, as was his want, counseled the middle course. I have never known this man to sound unreasonable. Many welcomed his ability to fashion compromise, but neither I nor Stone Eyes ever really trusted the man. His influence derived from calculated flexibility; taking and holding an unpopular stand was not in him.

"The Civilization can spare five thousand watchers," that carefully moderate, carefully earnest voice advised. "Each Holding need donate one watcher in twenty, instead of one in five. I doubt that will much affect the harvest on any Holding. True, each Holding will have to donate food and supplies to maintain the guard. But I—like Stone Eyes, who has served the Civilization so well these past days—believe a sizeable guard is absolutely necessary."

The discussion continued in a more temperate manner. Members conceded that perhaps it would be prudent to establish a permanent guard. However most members regarded five thousand as an upper limit. One member even suggested that my group, a thousand strong, was sufficient. Why incur expense beyond that?

Stone Eyes shook his head but said nothing. I am sure he believed the member a woman-man. I am sure he feared the Council was succumbing to the same disease of blindness and weakness seen at the trial.

Quick Tongue allowed the merit of the member's suggestion. Yes, the Civilization fortunately did possess a thousand proven defenders. Was it not wise though to match one for one each Raala who had crossed the thorns? Anything less could court disaster, and then concern about expense would be moot.

Quick Tongue then turned to me and asked if I agreed. I was surprised, to say the least. The Council did not consult the youngest born of Holdings. I had been flattered merely to sit among these the most able men of the Civilization.

I was encouraged when I saw everyone looking kindly on me. Even those members who were obviously not fond of Stone Eyes smiled. So I cleared my throat and spoke to the matter the best I could.

I told the members I did not think we had seen the last of the Raala. I said the slaughter we found everywhere they went had convinced me madness existed in these creatures. They killed and they enjoyed killing. And they did not seem to mind risking their own lives in pursuit of killing. They would be back.

The members now regarded me grimly. Undoubtedly they had expected me to boast of my triumphs over the Raala, then pronounce them a threat no more.

"The Raala we fought at our Holding almost beat us. They tried to pull the staves out of the watchers' hands. These Raala were likely the ones who first crossed the thorn wall. They encountered the staves then, and they were prepared to deal with them when they returned. It was our great good fortune none of the other Raala knew how to fight the staves.

"My watchers killed many Raala, but many also escaped. When they return, these survivors too will have prepared for the staves. Our victories will be much harder."

I now spoke with the utmost gravity. "I fought many battles these past scoreday. Not once did the Raala match our numbers. If even a quarter of the Raala had joined together, they would have killed all my watchers. And if that had happened, the Raala would at this moment be well beyond the locks—and nearing New Songreat."

The members did not think I exaggerated, for I saw the throats of many tighten. Throats that perhaps could feel the bite of Raala teeth. I leaned forward on the table.

"I must tell you, honored members of the Council, that I cannot beat prepared Raala with equal numbers. Five thousand Raala will overcome five thousand trained watchers. If five thousand watchers is all you will levy, then you may as well levy none. We are doomed either way."

Many members looked like they had swallowed vinegar. But not one disputed me.

Quick Tongue suggested the Council break for an early dinner. The members agreed, although I doubt I had improved anyone's appetite.

As we got up, Stone Eye's face revealed nothing but he nodded at me ever so slightly. That gesture meant more than an hour of effusive praise. I hoped my words had helped his cause, though I hadn't said them as ally of my Holder. I said them because they were the truth.

I was not invited to discussions after dinner. That was just as well since I was very tired. I hoped that I and my watchers could rest several days. Then we must march back west, and set up station near the thorns. No matter how many the Council finally levied, for some time my watchers would comprise the Civilization's only guard.

Fatigue so weighted me I did not accept the beautys offered. I slept very long, and the sun was high in the sky when I awoke. I was surprised to find many of the members gone, on their way back to New Songreat. Evidently a decision had been reached the evening before, but Stone Eyes would not immediately inform me. He said first eat and bathe, then we would hold our own council. Again his face divulged nothing.

In the early afternoon Stone Eyes took me into a garden behind the manor where many roses grew. It was a beautiful spot, with yellow and red and pink roses climbing high on cedar lattices. We strolled on a path of crushed white stone.

Without preamble he said: "The Council has decided to levy twenty-five thousand watchers."

He smiled at my astonishment.

"Come now. Did you think they could do otherwise after you so filled them with fright?"

"I—"

He clasped my shoulder. "You made then see what I could not."

"I fear some may have considered my manner insulting."

Another smile. "You did posture as an equal. But you are more than their equal."

I know that was a great grandfather's pride talking. Yet I treasured his words.

A strong breeze only partially countered the afternoon heat. I, in short shirt and half pants, wiped sweat from my brow. My Holder, in full tunic, perspired not at all.

"The Council has decided to appoint you Deputy Commander of the levy. I and Quick Tongue argued hard you receive the command, but it was not to be."

Stone Eyes watched carefully for my reaction. I didn't give him much of one. I could not feel disappointed, for I had not considered who should command the levy. Certainly I would not have expected the Council to appoint a youth who had yet to attend the Academy. Yes, I had led one thousand watchers. But twenty-five thousand was a different matter.

Stone Eyes took my reticence as stoicism. "I am sorry, Calm Eyes."

"Deputy Commander is an honor itself."

"No one is better qualified to command than you. But the Council was wary. Not of your ability, which all trust. They cannot stomach a Chairman—even if an acting one—and a Commander of the same blood."

"Who did they appoint?"

Stone Eyes grunted. "The Prime Son of the Tall Holding."

I knew him not. "What is he like?"

"Oh, he is a capable man. But he fled his Holding—which lies eighty miles from the thorns."

In my eyes that did not dishonor him. Anyone sane would have fled after hearing what the Raala did at our Holding. I of course did not say that to Stone Eyes.

Neither would I say I welcomed any appointment, because that might lead to my serving the Council on a permanent basis. Even if the Raala did not return, the threat would always remain. Training watchers would let me escape my Holding.

It gained me little that I had become Second Son twenty years before my time. I would still have to wait as long for the Holdership. It was the Prime Son, not my father, whose years had been cut short. And since no Terminal Son followed me, I would have to assume those duties too. When I had time to think about it while chasing Raala the prospect depressed me.

We strolled on, and I again expressed surprise at the size of the levy.

"The most I expected was ten thousand."

"If I had the power, I would levy three of five watchers."

That would be sixty thousand. Which seemed excessive even to one who had faced the Raala.

"Why?"

"Because I intend to destroy the Raala."

I didn't understand. "We can beat them with half that number."

"Inside the wall, yes. Outside the wall will require more."

I stopped on the path. What was my Holder talking about?

His pale blue eyes leveled with mine. "Five thousand years ago the Raala almost killed mankind. Now they have come again. This time they bring the orange destroyer that consumes all it touches—including the thorns that saved Son of Great and his Holding. We are in vast danger."

"But we have the destroyer ourselves now." My father had seen how the Raala made this strange flickering heat, and we had found it easy to duplicate the feat.

"It is useless for defense. The destroyer aids only the attacker."

I was not accustomed to contesting my Holder. But go outside the thorns? We knew nothing of the lands beyond, except they were the Raala's domain. That was where we would find vast danger and I said so.

Stone Eyes did not rebuke me. He merely said, "I know it cannot be me who proposes this to the Council. They will think I advocate the Raala's destruction for the sake of personal revenge." A thin smile. "I am aware of my reputation as a hothead. No, I will first approach Quick Tongue. Once I convince him this course is the only rational one, I will let him advance it as his own idea. I have great confidence in his ability to ultimately convince the Council and the Assembly."

I certainly didn't think this was a rational course. It qualified as near madness. Quick Tongue would think so too. My Holder indeed had a temper, but he was an eminently sane man. I could not believe he was serious about sending watchers beyond the thorns.

Now my Holder was grinning. "You think I'm deranged as the Raala, don't you? But I'm not. Quick Tongue will seize upon this—partly because it is correct, partly because I shall pledge to back him for Chairman when Green Thumb dies. Which won't be long."

This was all very difficult to take in. Either my Holder was mad, or he could see far beyond where my own good eyes reached.

"Do not doubt, Calm Eyes."

Stone Eyes valued honesty and detested flattery. So I spoke honestly.

"I think it will be hard to convince the Secretary to help you. You said yourself he avoids risk. I can't think of anything more risk laden than going into the wilderness where the Raala wait in who knows what number."

"Staying on our side of the thorns risks more."

I could not see how.

Stone Eyes dropped his voice low, but he spoke with absolute confidence.

"I know how to kill them all."

The Doomed

Many, many eyes were turned to me. All awaited my signal and I awaited the wind. Now, three hours after sunrise, the air had finally begun to stir.

Beside me Long Hand laughed. "Everyone must have farted at once."

I smiled. No matter the hardships, frustrations, and dangers of the past year in the wilderness, Long Hand's humor had never faltered. He provided a better tonic than wine.

"Let us hope they keep farting—westward."

The breeze was growing stronger. We had waited sixteen days for the wind to shift. If we were fortunate the wind would blow to the west through the morrow. More likely it would diminish soon after sunset.

"We should start," said Long Hand.

Undoubtedly so thought the many others who were arrayed on a line that stretched to both horizons, and beyond. But I wanted to wait some more to confirm the strength and direction of the emerging wind.

They said the young lacked patience. Certainly Long Hand and the other Terminal Sons here in the wilderness did. I as a Second Son of course possessed patience in abundance. Whether I ordered the destroyer applied now or in an hour, the extent of devastation would not differ appreciably. We still had years of this work ahead of us.

Voices rose behind us and I turned to see the Commander approaching—in his litter. Even from a quarter mile away I could see he was not a happy man. He had expected smoke to already stain the western sky. Too Tall had the least patience of anyone in the Guard.

His eyes fixed testily on me. From the day Too Tall took command I had never been able to please him. Not that I worried if I pleased him; my position as Deputy was secure. Word of my continuing worth—some said indispensability—had gotten back to the Council.

I could understand the Commander's hostility. I had youth and fame. The Commander had age, and he would gain infamy. The watchers cheered wherever I appeared; they were merely respectful when Too Tall strutted before them. Even the Sons in the Guard came to me for counsel instead of him.

All that rankled the Commander, but what he could not clear from his spleen was how I had saved the Guard in our only full battle beyond the thorns. In spite of all the training, he had not known what to do when the Raala attacked. It was I that day that acted the steady elder, and he the frightened boy.

The Raala had hurled themselves at us by the thousands. We had little warning. Before that day, a half year ago, our mighty host had encountered them only two or three hundred at a time. These small groups were fools to fight us at all. They perished, though they always took an equal number of watchers with them.

That day the watchers of the right flank ran, casting aside their staves and filing the sky with their shrieks. The Raala were soon in our rear. Too Tall actually trembled as runners brought report of disaster and I must say we did come close to defeat. The Commander retained enough of his wits to yield control of the battle to me.

I hurried the left flank over to greet the Raala, and everyone did their duty—though afterward Sons and females alike found they had fouled their garments. We fought bitterly for hours, but by late afternoon the Guard had won. The Raala lay in heaps. Their blood—and ours—soaked the torn ground.

After that the Raala avoided open battle. They instead struck in small numbers under cover of darkness. Every night we lost several females, despite great vigilance. Few in the Guard enjoyed decent sleep anymore.

But three, four, or five years from now the entire Civilization could sleep untroubled. For Stone Eyes had been right, we could kill all the Raala. Our mortal foe would not escape destruction. We would live, they would die; so what did an hour or even a scoreday's delay matter compared with that?

The Commander's litter arrived beside us. The flabby cheeked elder did not bother to dismount. I am certain the sweating girlys bearing the load wished he would.

"Start the destroyer," he bellowed

I did not feel like arguing. I raised my arm and dropped it.

Every fifty yards along the line that ran north-south watchers knelt and began rubbing sticks. Other watchers stood ready with kindling, although the awaiting grass was dry enough to flame without its aid.

Such a trivial manipulation, rubbing together two pieces of wood. Not such a trivial result. Why, in all our history, had we failed to discover the destroyer? We who were so proud of our Civilization, the glory of the world, were hard pressed to find a comforting reply.

Man had not needed the destroyer was the excuse I most often heard. Well, the destroyer banished the chill of night, greatly improved the taste of food, brightly lit the recesses of buildings. The Professions daily found new uses for this dancing wonder that possessed no material form.

We needed it. And we should not have had to obtain the wonder from the likes of the Raala.

The first flicker of flame rose a couple hundred yards away. Under the hand of the wind the destroyer spread rapidly into the parched brown grass. To my right and left more flame began its destruction. By nightfall we should have added greatly to the scorched expanse that now extended four hundred miles westward from the thorns.

The Raala—and the animals they fed upon—were already well away. For the past two nights they had not tried to slip into our camp. The Raala had used the two days to scurry far to the west, where they hoped the destroyer would not reach before the wind died.

The hairy, stinking ones could scurry all they wanted. It did not matter. At least once every scoreday we deprived their prey of another thousand or two square miles of grass. Girlys sowing salt made sure the grass did not grow back, and we poisoned every water source we found. Even the black birds of carrion abandoned the land where the Guard passed.

Too Tall muttered approval as the separate fires grew and merged toward one. We could feel the heat even as the wind carried the wall of destroyer away. Too Tall now had all the smoke he wanted, and the rising black shortly blotted out half the sky.

Too Tall curtly told me to send scouts forward once the land cooled. As if I didn't know the procedure. I resisted answering in kind, for it was important those about me observe that any subordinate in the Guard must at least appear to respect their commander.

This Commander ordered his litter returned to camp. The girlys carried him away without song.

Long Hand nudged me and winked. We both knew what awaited Too Tall at camp, in his portable manor that had been carted across all the miles of wilderness. It certainly wasn't the pressing correspondence he often claimed.

When the Guard had departed the Civilization every Son brought along at least one beauty. I, as Deputy, thought it not overdone to bring three. Just because we were killing Raala did not mean our desire would also die. We were leaving behind all other comforts of home, so we were certainly entitled to this one.

The rigors of the wilderness soon told on the beautys. All the Guard suffered, but these delicate creatures fared the worst. Girlys and watchers were breed for physical exertion. Counters were not as hardy, nor were we Sons, but a year of hard training had toughened us both.

Beautys owned not a fiber of toughness. During the first scoredays beyond the thorns none of the Sons had wanted to admit the beautys were weakening. If we had been kind we would have sent them all back where they belonged, to the gentle confines of manors.

But when had a Holder or Son denied his needs for the welfare of a beauty—or any other female? So the beautys continued to journey with us. They grew more feeble, yet none died until the rains came. Then we lost nearly half as sickness breed by the wet and chill and knee deep mud struck the entire Guard. Many other females perished, although not in such ghastly proportion.

When the denuded ground dried, I ordered the surviving beautys escorted home. The Sons barely complained; everyone realized keeping them amounted to murder. The gaunt and miserable women no longer stimulated anyway, the Sons lied to themselves. Their absence really wouldn't matter.

I however could not order the Commander to relinquish his four beautys. These did live in far greater comfort than the others, and had retained their attractiveness and health. Still, I would not have done as he. A commander needed the devotion of those he asked to battle to the death, and sharing sacrifice fostered that devotion.

At first I did not miss my beautys. The shortage of sleep and excess of toil had extinguished desire. That somewhat surprised me, for I was still a young man. But for a time I barely thought of a bare female.

No matter the fatigue, that state of course could not last. My desire returned full force, and for the first time in my life I found myself lusting a female other than a beauty. In the wilderness I had before observed Counters bathing in streams; then that meant no more to me than seeing Sons wash.

Now my eyes lingered on the naked Counters. These females lacked the voluptuousness of beautys, yet enough curve and softness remained to excite a deprived man. If the Assembly had ruled the Code did not apply beyond the thorns, I would have eagerly coupled with the slender young Counter whose eyes locked for an instant with mine.

But the Code applied wherever man trod, and the penalty was still death for both Son and Counter who bedded. I am sure nothing would have more pleased Too Tall than to bring such a charge against me.

So I swallowed my desire and avoided bathing Counters. Neither did any other Son need reminding of Pink Foot's crime and its consequences. Everyone became resigned to abstinence. If anything the deprivation increased determination to kill every last Raala and be done with the wilderness.

I actually heard Sons proclaiming they could not wait to get back to their Holdings. When we had raised the Guard almost every Terminal Son vied to join, eager for adventure and more eager to escape the monotony of their Holdings. Those accepted (a quarter of the applicants) were overjoyed. It is well none could foresee life beyond the thorns involved its own of type of monotony, in addition to danger and deprivation.

Yet even after a year in the wilderness only a few Sons had sought release from their pledge. Most intended to finish the task no matter how long it took. Stone Eyes need not have despaired that the Civilization no longer produced men of substance. I was proud of my companions. I hoped that for all the centuries to come the Civilization would honor their great service.

The longer we were away from the Civilization, we strangely missed less and less the comforts of the manor. Memory of them faded. But memory of our kin only intensified. I missed my father and I ached to again embrace Stone Eyes. I could tolerate everything else in the wasteland we had created except the absence of those I loved.

In particular I missed one person, the one who in the days of training I scarcely gave a thought. Stone Eyes had insisted I sire my link in the Eyes Line before the Guard left the Civilization. After so many battles won I considered myself invulnerable, but he knew I could die in the wilderness.

So I fathered a son, this our new Terminal Son, who would remain nameless for many years. I had spent only five days with the tiny, smiling lump of flesh when I took leave near the end of training. In those five days he entered my heart.

I thought often too of Stone Eyes. How I wished he were Commander of the Guard. We would not necessarily destroy the Raala any faster, but I would see him every day. The past two years we had been together only a score of days, and that was difficult after a lifetime of his presence.

When our task was done, I would return to our Holding and stay while Stone Eyes lived. Within ten years he might be dead, though he swore he had some thirty to go. This separation was painful for me, and it must be for him. During the final years of his life I owed him my daily presence. Most certainly I did not want to receive word of his death hundreds of miles from the manor. I pledged I would be at his side when he breathed his last.

After that terrible day, after the rock of our Line and our Civilization was buried, I would leave the Holding. As one of the victorious Sons, I would be entitled to one of the new Holdings planned when the thorns were pushed forward a hundred miles. Stone Eyes had won the Assembly's approval for the expansion, and surveying teams were already establishing boundary lines. Reclaiming the salted land would take years, but now I knew I needed hard challenge to thrive. As Stone Eyes and his father had made the wilderness bloom, so would my Son and I.

Long Hand returned my attention to the flames, which were well on their way to the horizon.

"The wind is picking up."

I nodded. Wind out of the east did not usually match the strength of the prevailing westerlies. Maybe we would get more than a day of destruction out of this one.

I said so, and added: "Let us hope the Raala have misjudged its endurance." Twice before the hairy ones had stopped too soon, and we found the charred remains of many Raala and their prey.

One day, perhaps within a thousand days, we would light the flames one last time. For then the Raala would have run out of room. A wind like today's would carry the destroyer into them, and those so eager to murder and eat us would be gone forever.

And I could go home.

Allegiance

I was recalled from the killing boats for the meeting with Defender, who had come out from New Songreat. I attended at his request. Normally the Commander did not summon me when dignitaries visited; Too Tall wanted me far from his sight. The death of Stone Eyes had allowed him to treat me as he wanted, just so I remained Deputy. The Council still insisted on that.

I hated the boats. They performed important tasks, but these cramped tubs that rarely touched shore strained the nerves of all on board. Even the girly rowers became grumpy. The Sons and Counters assigned to the river—usually on a rotating basis—liked the duty no better than I. They at least returned to the Guard after thirty days.

Too Tall had kept me on the river ten scoreday now. Each day of it crawled, and I began to consider resigning my position. The long campaign against the Raala would likely end before the next rains, and many other Sons had enough experience to serve as Deputy. I just wanted to return to my Holding, speak to Stone Eye's grave, and see my son and father.

I supposed I should remain for the final push against the Raala. After all, we had endured much privation over the past seven years to reach this point. I had also formed a friendship with the other Sons that would last the rest of our lives. We should share the victory together.

After we met with Defender I would decide whether to resign. This was his fourth inspection of the Guard. Each time he had observed our operations in detail, so the Council could judge the campaign based on information besides that provided by the Commander's florid dispatches. Each time Defender had queried me much more than Too Tall, which just increased the man's animosity.

I wondered if Defender would stay for the final advance. It would be rather long to forfeit the comforts of New Songreat, but we were on the verge of a triumph that men would speak of forever. He should want to witness final victory instead of learning of it through dispatches.

Despite Too Tall's great frown the other Sons greeted me with booming cheers. Before I could clasp with very many, the Commander harshly ordered me into his camp manor. I left the brilliance of a rare sunny day and entered the clutter of his quarters. Seven years in the wilderness had turned the wooden structure to near ramshackle.

Inside the murky confines the three subcommanders and their deputies awaited along with Defender. These comrades too greeted me with warmth, though they kept from revealing outright joy. Defender just smiled at me. I had never known how he really regarded me. Nor had I really cared.

In the center room we sat on cushioned chairs around a low table. The cushions were almost an annoyance after the hard wood I was used to. Empty wine cups and a full pitcher waited on the red tablecloth. Only then did I note no watchers waited in the recesses of the poorly lit room to serve us.

We filled the cups. The Commander immediately drained his and poured more. I also drank the wonderful liquid in several swallows, as did the subcommanders and deputies. Only Defender left his wine alone. I remembered him not reluctant to raise a cup, though he did usually wait until mealtime. No matter. I took another cup.

Defender inquired of the plans for the last advance. The Commander took great satisfaction that I could not participate in the briefing, since he had kept me entirely ignorant of the plans. Not that much planning was required. We had the remnants of the Raala—and the prey brought with them—trapped in a large triangle bounded by the Western River, the salt waters, and the burned out land. The Raala now held a mere twenty thousand square miles.

True, the terrain and climate presented some difficulties. Here in the northern reaches of the world rain did not fall in a single season, but intermittently and hard. Under oft clouded skies temperatures ranged from stiflingly hot to painfully cold. The thick, high grass and scattered scrub burned slowly. The limp winds of the region did not fan flames forward.

The Raala were not cooperating either. They had learned to create firebreaks that now stopped the flames after a couple miles. Where the sudden rains did not douse fires, mass urination on the grass could as effectively halt slowly moving flames.

Yet the Raala were merely delaying the inevitable. These grasses did burn and each mile burned the Raala could not reclaim. Since the direction of the weak winds did not matter, we could light fires whenever the grass was dry enough. Which some periods meant every day.

In their desperation the Raala might attack in mass, but they had not been able to defeat us when the watchers wielded only long staves. Now charging Raala would have to contend with a shower of the little staves. The newest bows could throw these staves—poison tipped—over three hundred yards. From the boats we had killed many Raala thusly.

I masked my disdain as the Commander grandly told how he would soon destroy the remaining Raala. He made it sound as if he would stand at the forefront of all action, instead of naked in his bed with his beautys. Defender of course was not deceived though he listened politely. He didn't even blanch when Too Tall hinted the Council should place him among their members as reward for his great service to the Civilization.

Self glorification completed, the Commander idly asked how things were going in New Songreat. Defender now took wine. He then leaned forward on the table, and politeness left his voice.

"The Assembly has issued a proclamation congratulating you on the impending victory. The entire Civilization is proud of your accomplishments. All the Sons who have served with the Guard are held in the highest esteem." As Defender spoke, the absolute flatness of his voice belied the salutation of his words.

Defender drank more from his cup. Then the voice dropped very low, so it could not carry beyond the table.

"The Council has charged me with delivering a command which may unsettle you. Regardless, it must be obeyed. The Assembly has voted this Law by near unanimity. I am here to secure your pledge it will be carried out."

Everyone sat up straight. We all exchanged concerned if puzzled looks. What did the Assembly wish of us that might be so distasteful? At any rate what could prove more trying than seven years of creating wasteland? Wasteland either dust blown or mud smeared.

"The Guard will obey the Assembly to the letter," Too Tall unctuously assured.

"When the campaign ends," Defender continued as if Too Tall had not opened his mouth, "you will march the Guard to the thorn wall sixty miles south of the Edge Holding. We have breached the wall there. You will bring the Guard in and also all the females now in the boats." With mention of the boats Defender's eyes, now flat as his voice, went to mine.

I didn't know why he was speaking in such an apprehensive manner. Did he think we would balk at walking back across the barren plains instead of being allowed the speedier alternative of water? There weren't enough boats anyway to ferry back the entire Guard.

"Why enter the Civilization there?" asked Big Nose, the left flank commander. "It's a hundred fifty miles out of the way."

"Because no Holdings are there," said Defender.

Now I was really confused. South of the Edge Holding lay only uncultivated wilderness. Perhaps Holders didn't want such a multitude tramping across their pristine lands. But it would have been far simpler to march to a terminus of one of the larger canals, then use barges to transport the disbanding Guard to their homes.

Defender's voice tightened. "Once you have brought in all the females, the Sons will return outside. We will have other Sons on hand to close the breech."

"You are talking nonsense," said the center commander.

"You may wish I were." Another cup of wine. "The females you leave behind will find themselves surrounded by thorns. We have grown a great thorn circle there. As with the thorn wall, water ducts are in place to prevent breaching by fire. The females will not be able to get out."

I think we all, even the Commander, gaped at Defender.

"Are you mad?" asked Too Tall.

"The Assembly has debated this matter with the utmost gravity. It feels we have no other choice. We cannot escape the Raala, only to lose all we cherish to forty thousand females now quite able to impose their will. It cannot be allowed and will not be allowed."

"Is everyone back there in a continual state of drunkenness?" I asked.

Defender reached into a pouch at his side. He withdrew a sheet of paper. He passed the sheet to the Commander, who after reading in the flickering torchlight handed it to me. As Defender said, the Assembly directed placing all females of the Guard in a giant thorn circle. On the sheet were the signatures of the entire Council. Quick Tongue, now Chairman, headed the list of signatures.

I passed the document to the sub commanders. They read, pursed their lips, and poured more wine.

One of the deputies broke the silence. "Why condemn the Counters? They are harmless without the watchers."

"That was argued. But others argued since the Counters have experience in fighting—even if they don't actually handle weapons—they could train other watchers to give battle. No Son or Holder would be safe anywhere. The Assembly decided these Counters are really the most dangerous of all."

A great pressure built in my chest. I almost screamed. But I kept my tongue from lashing the Council and Assembly. Surely this was all a great misunderstanding.

The Commander sat back in his chair with palms pressed. "I have often wondered how they would behave when we returned," he pronounced. "Perhaps the Assembly is wise."

I could not believe my ears. The filthy pest! The watchers and Counters had died in great numbers to save his fat behind and everyone else's in the Civilization. Any standing he had gained was due to these females' courage, loyalty, and perseverance. How could he so easily dismiss these heroes to whom we owed all? I have never been able to penetrate such minds as his.

The right flank commander cleared his throat. "This does not seem the proper way to reward the females. They have done very well through many difficulties."

Did not "seem proper"? The man should be on his feet, pounding the table, shouting that the Assembly had ordered a terrible crime.

I did not stand or shout. Maybe no one else did for the same reason as I, because they feared to say they would not obey the Assembly. The penalty for that was being declared Outcast.

"I agree the females have served well," said Defender. "The Assembly does not dispute that. If we could remove from their minds the dangerous skills they have learned, we would. We cannot, so we must reluctantly remove their lives. No man in the Civilization takes joy in this."

Defender still had his gift of tongue. He made this horror sound almost reasonable.

"You are certain they cannot break the circle?" asked the Commander. "We will face an angry swarm of hornets if they do."

"We have grown the thorns very thick. And these thorns are of the sharpest variety. Since fire will be useless, there will be no way to make a breech. As a precaution, though, we will station Sons with bows around the outside. We will also observe their activity from towers."

The Commander nodded.

No, Too Tall certainly wasn't going to disobey this call to murder. Defender turned his eyes to me. Since I had been with the watchers from the beginning, he—and the Council—undoubtedly expected the most serious opposition to arise from me. Any real defiance would likely have gotten me arrested on the spot.

"I do not think the decision wise. But I have pledged to obey the Assembly in all matters concerning the Guard."

Defender's eyes did not linger on me. In turn each of the other men in the room restated their fealty.

A discussion followed on the specifics of the operation. The directive was to be concealed from the other Sons until the campaign was over. Then pledges of obedience would be obtained from each. Those who could not comply were not to be charged with any offense, but they would be sent by boat back to the Civilization.

The watchers were to discard all weapons before the march to the thorns. Counters would be separated from watchers and travel in their own group. All females were to be told they would assume positions of seniority upon return to their Holdings. They must at no time gain any suspicion of their fate. Let everyone do their part with care, Defender counseled, and we can put this unfortunate matter behind us.

After the meeting Too Tall ordered me immediately back to the boats. He did not want me in camp even one night. But this pettiness did not prick me; it was nothing compared to the crime we planned.

Surprisingly Defender announced he would accompany me to the boats. The Council had asked he inspect their activities. He would spend several days with us, then return to camp. He assured Too Tall he would be on hand for the opening of the advance.

I didn't want any part of the man. Once at the piers I would turn him over to my own deputy, a thoroughly efficient Son whose inert demeanor would perhaps bore Defender to death. I would go far upriver on my boat, taking a minimal crew. I needed as much aloneness as I could create.

Not much distance separated camp from the piers, so I wouldn't have to be in company of Defender very long. He was an insect, as were all in the Assembly who had voted this Law.

Thankfully Defender did not attempt conversation as we rode away from camp in my litter. Two hundred watchers with bows accompanied us, as protection against any foray by the Raala. If the watchers and commanding Counter knew of the document in his pouch, it would be us they filled with short staves.

The Western River shortly came into view. Clouds had returned, but they did not completely obscure the sun. Its light shimmered off the slow moving gray waters. Marsh lined much of the broad river here in its lower course and odors of stagnancy permeated the still air.

The piers extended from dry land through the reeds of the marsh to open water. A mixture of killing boats and supply boats crowded the piers, with hordes of girlys sweating cargo up and down gangplanks. As from times ancient, watchers called orders to girlys and Counters quietly and ably supervised the watchers. I asked Defender if these harmless dock workers were included in the Law, and Defender mimicked sadness as he said yes.

Defender asked how many killing boats we had on the river. I replied three hundred. Since protocol required I speak some, I told him how these boats had done much to further the campaign over the past three years. The Raala had learned to stay out of bow range, but their prey lacked such intelligence. Raala drank from the river only at night, while thirst driven prey did not discriminate between light and dark. Along the banks their whitened bones were everywhere.

The supply boats had also speeded up the campaign. Once we reached the Western River we found it easier to provision the Guard by water than by land. Supply boats could row and sail all the way from New Songreat. To journey down the Life River, across the salt waters, then up the Western River involved over a fifteen hundred miles, but it still proved quicker than land passage. It also required many less girlys.

Despite my vigorous protest Defender insisted on joining me in my boat. He would not demure even after I abandoned all civility, and told him his presence turned my stomach. He politely said he understood.

Did a heart beat at all in this man? Why did such as he always seem to hold the advantage over those of us with some trace of honor? Stone Eyes hated this sort and I, his true blood, did also.

The girlys rowed to the center of the two mile wide river, and we headed downstream instead of up. I would show him boats patrolling along Raala held land, then return to the piers before sunset. Then he would leave my boat if I had to throw him out.

I battled to restrain my hate as we stood on the bow. In a very hard voice I pointed out this and that, while I deliciously entertained pushing him overboard. See if the silk tongued one could swim his way to shore. If he could swim, he would still have to dodge the saw mouthed creatures that dwelled in these waters.

A watcher hovered near us, with cups of wine. Abruptly Defender told her to get to the other end of the boat. She was startled, and I was startled, at his sudden change in demeanor. She left.

I was about to rebuke him but his voice beat mine out.

"Calm Eyes," he said gravely, "I fully understand your pain. That is why I have forced myself upon you here, far from other ears."

I involuntarily looked around. We were alone in the front of the boat, the girlys with oars in the center well and watchers with bows aft. We carried no Counters or other Sons.

I said nothing. How could he know anything I felt?

"The Assembly has erred terribly with this Law," Defender continued. "And not just in terms of betrayal. From a purely practical standpoint, it could ruin us. The females of the Civilization have always given us blind devotion. How devoted do you think they will remain when they learn of the unjustified execution of forty thousand of their kind? As they must learn, no matter our best tries at secrecy."

My eyes locked with his. I smelled a trap, an attempt to have me denounce the Assembly and declare I would not obey. This was a slippery man.

"The Assembly has spoken," I said.

"Then they must be deposed."

I gaped as badly as I had at the meeting. In our entire history I doubt anyone had uttered such words.

I drew a long breath. "Why did you not argue before the Assembly the peril of this Law? Why express such sentiments just to me?"

Defender smiled wanly. "I know your little respect for me. But I do have talent to gauge the strength of men's wants—and their fears. The Holders fear the Guard. Rationally or irrationally, they believe these females with staves and bows will throw them from their manors."

They should now, I thought.

"Will you help me depose?" Defender asked.

In the thick, sticky air I grew chilled. The man had just condemned himself to death—if I reported his proposal.

"Do you have a wish to die in the circle, Secretary?"

"Hardly."

"Do you think me addled from too long away from beautys?"

"I suspect that would addle. But no, I have always considered you wise beyond your years."

Indeed. "We will together sail to New Songreat, and call the Assembly back into session. With my stature as fighter, and your skill as orator, we can convince them to revoke this Law."

Defender shook his head. "Only force will revoke it."

"I know you are neither a brave nor stupid man. Why are you risking your life so?"

"To save the Civilization—" He saw me frown "and to head a Council of our own making."

"Our making?"

"Why not? With forty thousand fighters, we can name whoever we want."

"This boat is going back to the piers. There you will board the boat that brought you—and leave immediately. If you say nothing, I say nothing. If you stay and try to turn some other Son to your madness, I will personally ferry you to the Raala. They like our flesh, you know."

Defender did not bridle. Again he just smiled thinly.

"Which is the greater madness, Calm Eyes?"

After I discarded him at the piers, my boat rowed upstream. The sun fell soon after. I returned to the bow and did not refuse the wine offered. The stars came out and I lay on my back to stare at them.

I wished the wine would numb my mind. I wished I were not in the Guard. I wished I were back at our Holding, a youth and in the company of Stone Eyes. I wished I were anywhere but on the Eastern River with such a horrible decision to make.

I could do nothing. Allow the shameful death of those who had so valiantly defended the Civilization. I could join with Defender, arrest the entire Assembly, and in so doing destroy the supremacy of the Code. I must admit I feared the latter course more. If obedience could be forced by stave and bow instead of law our future boded ill.

Even if I joined with the Secretary, control of the Guard was not guaranteed. The other Sons might not believe the Assembly voted this treachery, and if they did believe they still might not go against the Code. It could be risky to bypass the Sons and rely on the Counters; they might even more reflexively adhere to the Code. From their birth submission to it was all they heard.

The watchers would follow me unquestioned, that I did know. I was the great Holder to them, and they had only a vague notion of the Code. It would be difficult however to direct so large a number without the command support provided by Sons and Counters.

I could still go back to the Assembly and plead. Do not condemn these loyal servants, instead heap praise when they return. Make true the lie you are going to tell them, that they will occupy senior positions at their Holdings. They will be abjectly grateful. All they want, like us Sons, is to go home and have their sacrifice appreciated.

How I wished Stone Eyes were beside me. My Holder would know what to do. How I missed him, this great pillar of my life, and indeed, of the Civilization.

I could not conceive of Stone Eyes voting for this Law. He valued honor and duty above all things. He understood loyalty was a reciprocal obligation. He would have railed against those advocating this crime. His outraged voice would have shaken the ancient stone of the Assemblage.

But, if the vote carried, would he have tolerated any move outside the Code? He had swallowed the verdict on Pink Foot, however bitterly. Stone Eyes too believed the Code was the foundation of the Civilization, its absolute bedrock. Would he feel forty thousand murders were enough to negate its authority?

I truly knew not what to do. Whatever action or inaction I took would result in the direst consequences. Perhaps I should just take this boat beyond the cataracts, to where the river emerged from the edge of the jungle. The land at the edge appeared fertile. Perhaps I could found my own civilization.

I returned to the piers six days later. I learned the final advance had begun. The Secretary had stayed on a few days, but he was already well on his way back to New Songreat. He was probably downcast, his dreams for greatness quashed by one unable to determine what or whom he must ultimately honor.

We took on supplies, and rowed swiftly downstream to join the hundreds of boats on station to prevent Raala from escaping across the river. At least this was one mass killing I could partake of with enthusiasm.

Part III

Wolf is Man to Wolf

The Prophet

When James approached, other males moved aside. His bulk had deterred the challenge ever since he claimed leadership of the pack. Even the former leader had declined to fight. Luke just offered his throat and thanked James for not killing him.

Sparing Luke had proved wise, though no one ever accused James of wisdom. Luke had advised him well those first two rains and kept him from many mistakes. Leading a pack was a much more difficult task than he had imagined. James guided the pack poorly after Luke broke foreleg that would not heal and had to be left behind. If James had lacked the size and strength of two males he would have been challenged a dozen times.

The Lord God had not wanted James to stumble, of course. Why else would He have given him such prowess? God intended for James to lead a pack. The Lord sent the pack difficulties to force James to learn. And learn he did. Trial and error had taught James to deal adequately with routine matters.

James admitted his judgement fell short when the pack faced an unfamiliar problem. Try as he might, pray as he might, he rarely picked the best course of action. Which invariably evoked a howl of complaint. He was not a ruthless man and he would allow a certain amount of dissent as long as people obeyed. But he preferred a content pack to a resentful one.

God had seen him struggle, and finally He sent him Peter. Peter was the smartest and wisest man James had ever known. Thankfully, for James' sake, when God made Peter He made him small. Peter the runt could never hope to challenge for leadership of the pack.

Peter could size up almost any situation and offer a solution that everyone praised. Peter could resolve disputes and end feuds in an almost miraculous manner. The paw of God was on this little man.

Many pack leaders were too proud to accept advice. But pride was a sin. Pride tricked a man into believing even his weaknesses were strengths. Pride hobbled a man, then crippled him. James knew he could not think as fast as others, but he also knew enough to seek help.

Still, James had to wonder about the ways of the Lord. Why had God made him so lacking in wisdom? Why give him all that brawn, which assured pack leadership, then limit his ability to guide the pack? Or why make Peter so slight, so he could never lead a pack? Peter could have led a dozen packs and kept them all content.

James knew he should not question. The creed said all men were but pups before the Lord. God's ways were unknowable. He had created the world, and all of its creatures, for a divine purpose. Plenty or famine, health or plague, the Lord had His reasons. Praised be the Lord.

Every day James praised God for giving him Peter. James had known other bright men, and most did not revere the Lord like Peter. They were careful not to blaspheme, but what praise they did offer lacked enthusiasm. Peter however had shown piety from puphood. No one in the pack prayed more than Peter; more importantly no one tried harder to live within the spirit of the creed.

God surely favored Peter.

In the morning James had led the attack. Peter's suggestion they trap the herd against the thorn forest proved very successful. The pack ran forward in a shrinking semicircle with gaps left to let the fleetest prey—the young adults—escape. When the circle closed the pack had sixty cowering gazelles cornered. Ten were killed immediately, and the rest hobbled. The hobbles should keep the pack well fed another fifteen days

The afternoon was devoted to feasting. Choice hindquarters were roasted over low fires and everyone ate the delicious meat until bellies filled to hurting. The pack had not dined so well since leaving the great river ninety days before. The pack had not gone hungry, but the quality of the kills was usually poor. Too often the hunt yielded only elderly prey, whose stringy and flavorless meat men had to force down.

James lay contently on the north slope of a small rise. The slope cast enough shadow to cover him. Before James the dun grasslands stretched away forever under a deep blue sky. The grasses rippled from the force of the east wind. The grasslands were empty, save for the presence of the pack and the hobbled prey. Of course even in this emptiness God stood watch. The thought comforted James.

On the other side of the water hole several men guarded the hobbles, whose eyes showed terror. The Lord had fortunately not created gazelle, or any of their prey with more than a tenth the intelligence of men, but He had given them that tenth. The surviving gazelle had seen the throats of their kin torn out, their bodies dismembered, their meat cooked and devoured. They had to know the same awaited them.

But men had to eat. The Lord God made men eaters of meat, not grass. He intended men to hunt and kill. Prey lived to nourish man. The creed was not clear whether prey reached the afterlife, but James felt they did. It was only fair they should, in return for the food they provided men, who were God's own pups.

James became aware of Peter's presence. Peter stood outside the wedge of shadow, although there was room for two men now that the sun had lowered. This speck of shadow was the only available, and James had claimed it by his right as pack leader.

He would not have begrudged sharing the shadow with Peter. James would even have yielded the spot to this man he owed so much. Peter though had never taken advantage of James' dependency. Peter did not take advantage of anyone, which was as the creed instructed. James was awed by his devotion to the creed.

Peter, like any man in the presence of his pack leader, did not speak first. When they were alone like this, James wished Peter would.

"We have dined well today," James finally said.

"The Lord willed it."

"That He did."

Peter looked intently eastward, toward the dull green tangle of the thorn forest.

"What catches your eye, Peter?"

"I wonder why God stops us here."

"What do you mean?"

"Why does he stop us with the thorn forest?"

James repressed a smile. Peter had asked the like when they hunted near the salt waters, far to the north. "Why does God end the land?" Peter wanted to know. Peter also asked why He created the disease filled jungle in the south and the waterless sands beyond the great river to the west.

Peter questioned everything, from the profound to the commonplace. Why were men evil as well as good, why did the birds fly, why did the rains come only a tenth of all days, why did men desire women so helplessly another tenth of the days then not at all during the rest, why was the night black? Why, why, why.

The creed did not forbid men to question why God created things as they were, as long as men accepted the righteousness of the Creation. James had never doubted the righteousness. James stopped asking why a long time ago, and just accepted. Peter far outdid him in intelligence, but James suspected Peter would get no closer to the answers than himself.

"God brought us here for a reason," Peter announced.

"So we could eat these gazelle."

"Yes. But He could have let us catch them many thousand bounds back. He had them lead us to the edge of the forest."

James shook his head with more exasperation than he intended. This was the first time he had seen the thorn forest, but other packs had chased prey this far. This and other packs would have chased prey further if the forest hadn't been in the way. That was all there was to it.

Peter tried to see purpose in everything. James believed God had made the world, then left His creatures free to behave either for good or evil. The creed said men were responsible for their acts. God might or might not occasionally intervene in events, but James doubted God told man and beast which footfall to make next.

Peter kept eyeing the forest. He was making James uneasy.

"I have never been more sure of anything," said Peter. "God wants us here."

Let the Peter think whatever he wanted. The pack would stay here a couple more days, then go. Everyone should be well rested by then. For himself, he would gladly leave this remote end of the grasslands.

The hobbled prey would slow the pace of course, but that was good. It would give him an additional excuse to move the pack without speed. Most of the elderly would be able to keep up—and live to see one last howling.

Since James took the leadership, the pack had left very few on the grasses. Usually he lost only one or two people between howlings. The loss in other packs often ran to a dozen. The creed was silent on the abandoning of the crippled or elderly while a pack was on the hunt. James remembered his anguish—and nightmares—when his mother was left behind. They helped her to a spring, and gave her some meat, but she still likely starved to death. They should have torn her throat.

The false Words, in the frozen land beyond the jungles, had been evil men. But they did not preach evil in one matter: they demanded the packs care for the old and the hurt. James had never praised the Words for this, not even to Peter, and he never would. Yet in his heart he knew such care was as God wanted.

Since the time man escaped the false Words and arrived on these plains, three hundred generations ago, the packs let those who could not keep up fall behind. James understood it was necessary for the pack to move swiftly when chasing prey. The chase could cover thousands and thousands of bounds—as it had with these gazelle. The welfare of a hungry pack could not be endangered by concern for the frail, who anyway were past their productive days.

In their chase of the gazelle, four elderly had fallen behind. Instead of abandoning them James had ordered a healthy woman to stay with each. The women did not like this duty; they knew no one aided the fall behinds in other packs. But they obeyed James (he would have torn their throats otherwise). Today one of the elderly had rejoined the pack, and tomorrow the others should arrive.

James took Peter's advice on most matters, but not this one. Peter believed God aged men to prepare them for the afterlife. Otherwise God would keep them healthy. Peter felt aiding the frail interfered with God. It also worked hardship on the pack, arousing unnecessary resentment. Peter urged James leave the elderly behind.

He refused. God tested men, and James in his bones knew the elderly were a test. Peter was so smart and James was not. But some things went beyond mere reason. The creed said God visited every man, and God had visited James in this matter. James could only question why God did not so visit other men, especially Peter.

Peter wandered away with his eyes still fixed on the thorn forest.

The thorns held no fascination for James. He did not want to linger here. His longings were westward, toward the rapids above the south bend of the great river. God willing in fifty days the pack would stand on stony banks where fish were easy to pluck from the rushing white waters. Shortly afterward the howling would begin.

All men grew excited at thought of the howling, especially pack leaders. Man then desired woman, and woman desired man even more. The packs exchanged their maidens, and pack leaders had first choice which to hump. The pack leader alone decided the distribution of these maidens.

During the howling James was second to no man in his desire, but he restricted himself to four maidens. The rest of the young women he gave to the worthiest men in the pack. Those men who had tracked well, killed well, and counseled well he rewarded. The lessor men were disappointed, but these lessors often tried doubly hard to prove themselves after the howling.

Such had been the custom in the pack before he took the leadership, and he hoped it would remain after his death. Peter had pronounced this custom wise (though Peter rarely accepted offer of a maiden). Men were motivated to improve themselves, and in their effort they improved the lot of the pack.

Wise though this way might be, no pack could force another to accept it. In some packs the leader refused to share the maidens. In these packs the men seethed. Desire sometimes pushed a man past caution and the leader would find himself challenged when the eighteen days of the howling ended.

A pack leader, unless age had begun to slow him, usually won the fight. But the challenge cost the lives of good young men who would have served the pack well for rains to come. Even when the leader spared a challenger, his selfishness injured the pack. Bitter men did not cooperate very well.

From the moment he won his own challenge, James vowed he would be a good leader. He had tried hard to rule in the spirit of the creed. It was difficult for him—as it must be for any man—to not first satisfy his own wants. For the most part he did not give in to the temptation. He hoped God would forgive his occasional lapses.

James wondered if anyone besides Peter realized how much he wanted to rule in the best interest of the pack. He knew everyone thought him not capable of wise decision without Peter's aid. The pack saw him only as a big, dumb man who could kill them if they did not obey. Every pack must obey a big, strong man, and he was theirs. When his strength failed, another of his kind would replace him.

James supposed it really didn't matter if anyone appreciated his efforts. God knew his intention. All men were tested by Him, and in the end all men answered to Him. The pack obeyed James, and James the pack leader obeyed God. God in His wisdom had decreed this from the time He created man.

Blessed was the Lord God, and may He bless all men.

James ate heartily that evening and slept late the next morning. When he awoke he saw Peter and several of the more worthy hunters standing before him. They looked agitated.

He instantly roused to full consciousness.

"What is it?"

Even as he asked, he became aware of strange odors. Thick in the air hung a mix of animal and plant scents, scents his memory could not recall.

"Do you smell, leader?" Jacob tossed his head toward the thorn forest.

James rose, and found wind on in his face from the east, from the thorn forest. Most days on the grasses, nineteen days out of twenty, the wind swept out of the west.

His nostrils twitched. The air contained more odors than he had ever smelled in one place—or perhaps all places combined. When they were at the thorns yesterday he had detected nothing like this.

Out of habit James turned to Peter. But Peter would know no more of these scents than he. He should call over a couple of the elders. Paul had lived double the rains of James, and had even once seen the jungles. Surely some of these odors were familiar.

James was about to send for Paul when Peter said: "We must burn a path through the thorns."

James blinked. He could hardly believe his ears, but the other men were nodding.

Peter went on. "The forest is not thick, leader. While you slept we went to the thorns. We could hear the sounds of prey not far beyond. The smell of plants other than the thorns was also close. I would say the forest is no more than five bounds deep."

James stared at his wisest counselor, who now spoke nonsense. Everyone knew the thorn forest, like the dread jungles, ran many thousands of bounds deep. If Peter had heard prey they lived among the tangle of the thorns. The thorn forest was vast and impenetrable.

"Come to the thorns, leader. There your nose and ears will show the truth of what I say."

James shook his head. "The forest is God's barrier."

"The creed does not say that," Peter said gently.

The creed said the grasses were the land of life. On them man had the protection of the Lord. In all other lands man had fared poorly. But, yes, the creed did not forbid entering other lands.

"God has summoned us here", said Peter. "And on this day He has turned the wind. To this pack He has chosen to reveal that another land lies beyond the thorns. Let us give Him thanks."

Peter flattened on the grass. The other men also dropped, and James automatically followed.

Had God truly brought the pack here?

The tantalizing scents streaming from the thorns could be a sign from the Lord—or just happenstance of the wind.

Peter rose. "Let us go to the thorns."

No harm in that, thought James.

As the men trotted away from the pack, and into the soft wind, James decided he must trust Peter. Peter was both wise and pious, and if the Lord had revealed a new land, it made sense He would do so through Peter. James admitted the odors bewildered him. Always before, Peter had guided him out of bewilderment.

The odors strengthened as they approached the dense bramble that stood at least five men high. James found himself licking his lips. Whatever prey did live in—or beyond—the thorns, they did smell delicious.

He kept his distance from the thorn spikes while the other men pushed noses within a paw length of the bramble. The odors were overpowering now.

James stepped back and surveyed the thorns, which ran to both horizons.

He addressed Peter: "How can the forest be so long, yet only five bounds deep? The jungles are not like that, or the sands—or the grasses. How could the thorns grow so much in one direction and so little in the other?"

"I have thought on that." Peter twitched his nostrils. "Can you smell the water, leader?"

James sniffed. Nearly hidden in the torrent of pungent odors was scent of moisture.

He nodded. "You think there is a stream nearby?"

"The stream runs within the thorns, leader. It runs weakly, but with water enough to let the thorns grow. The thorns cannot reach beyond the stream and that is why forest is only several bounds deep."

James sat on his haunches and pondered. No one said anything while he tried to order his thoughts.

"So you think we can burn a path?" he asked Peter.

Peter nodded. "We of course must be careful. If the wind dies after sunset, tonight will be the safest time."

James agreed. The west wind would likely return tomorrow.

They must indeed be careful. One of a pack leader's greatest responsibilities was to keep flame under control. During the early days on these plains men had accidentally caused great fires in which many thousands of prey perished. Occasionally men also died.

Since those days very few fires had escaped, because the packs used great caution when calling forth the Breath of God. Prior to a calling grass was flattened twenty bounds in all directions. Sentinels were posted around the perimeter. Near the firemen women formed a lee by lying a top each other. When winds rose too strongly the fire was immediately extinguished.

James had never seen a fire escape. He never wanted to. Such a fire had almost killed his mother's mother on the other side of the great river. Grasses grew thinly there, in that rocky land that later became sand, and the pack stupidly abandoned the precautions. Fire escaped during the night, and half the pack lost their lives. His mother's mother lived only because she stumbled through choking smoke to a rock outcropping.

The wind died after sunset, and the pack went to work. The women formed their lee, then men with full bladders wet the bramble. The firemen deftly wielded their torches of dried dung, and branch by branch they burned away the thorns. By dawn a path the height and width of two grown men was almost through the forest.

During the night the scent of prey had vanished. Men looked questioningly at each other, wondering if the prey had fled far away. The pack of course would pick up their track quickly, but no one knew how fleet were these creatures. Any animal smelling that delicious must be nimble or else it would have perished long ago.

The last of the thorns vanished by mid morning. The firemen backed out the path so James would have the honor of first setting foot into the new land. Pride swelled within him, even as he told himself to suppress the pride.

James stepped cautiously into the path. Many thorns still protruded and a stumble could easily wound. Over his shoulder he ordered that no pups or elderly be allowed forward, and that the women remain behind to look after them. The command evoked groans, but his throaty growl silenced objectors.

He could see only thick foliage beyond the path. He had no idea what kind of plants he observed. He was struck however by the intensity of their greenness; only at the banks of the great river had he seen growth of that hue. The plants smelled water laden. But he saw no water.

James exited the path. He faced a line of green that ran endlessly in both directions. The plants stood the height of three men. The leafy plants grew over strangle little trees, trees which had no limbs and grew perfectly straight.

He pushed between two trees and immediately found himself staring at another long line of the same greenery. Between the lines was short gap of flat dirt. Beyond the second line of plants he found a third.

Peter came beside him.

"This is very strange," said James.

"When you were a pup, was not all strange? We are pups in this land."

"This may be the start of a great forest of these plants. We could get lost in here."

"The Lord will guide us."

James repressed a sharp reply. The pack was his responsibility, not the Lord's. The Lord didn't keep fools out of tar pits and He wouldn't warn this pack to keep out of an endless thicket.

Then his ears raised. In the becalmed air James heard the faint cries of a herd. His heartbeat quickened. Were the cries from the prey smelled yesterday?

Several other men had stepped beside them. They too strained to hear the distant herd, and more importantly, to determine the location of the cries. James' eyes fell on Daniel.

"Where are they, Daniel?" he forced himself to ask.

He did not like this insolent young man who valued his skills too highly.

Daniel listened a moment, then pointed his nose due south.

"I say three thousand bounds."

James noted the absence of "leader".

"What direction are they moving?"

"Toward us. Slowly."

The other men nodded agreeably, and looked with admiration upon the man who all agreed was their best tracker and slayer of prey.

James knew the younger man would someday challenge him. Daniel's arrogance had not yet overcome caution, but when James slowed a little it would. Daniel was preparing himself by sparing often. He was already quicker than James, and quickness could beat fading strength.

Yes, the day would come. As it did for all pack leaders. And Daniel was not the sort of man to spare the defeated.

He dismissed thought of Daniel. He faced a more pressing worry, whether to allow the men to advance. Two or three thousand bounds into the green thicket and they might never find their way back. They had no knowledge either of what type of animal moved toward them. What if they ran into the likes of the cat or boar? Men did not win fights with them.

The group of men between the second and third lines of plants had grown to thirty. They were all looking at him. He hated this, having to make a decision on the spot.

He turned to Peter. "We can't lose our way."

Peter this time advised other than reliance on God. James need merely have a couple fellows tear leaves from the plants as they advanced. At any point they could follow the leaves back to the hole through the thorns.

How Peter found this solution—or his many others—so quickly James did not know. It would have taken him a day of thought.

James led the men forward.

The men had covered about a hundred bounds when they reached a narrow stream. The steam ran crossways to the lines of plants, and just as straight. The water was very muddy.

James called the youngest man forward. The youth didn't need to be told what to do. Simon drank several mouthfuls and his face twisted as he did so. The men waited. When after the proper time Simon showed no ill effect, James let the others drink.

The water tasted vile compared to that of the water hole, but it still took care of thirst. James peered down the stream whose waters did not appear to move, and all he could see were more lines of the plants. He wondered how far they went.

The cries—high pitched and massed—of the unknown animals grew louder. James was not a coward, but his instinct told him to order retreat. Get back beyond the thorns. The grasslands were the domain of man; the green thicket belonged to these advancing creatures who might number in the hundreds.

While he debated Daniel splashed across the stream. Before James could call him back, Peter had followed. Then all the men were crossing and James was threatened with being last. Growling his men aside, James hurried to retake the lead. He swore he would punish Daniel for his impertinence before sunset.

They crossed more of these motionless, straight streams. James could not comprehend why everything ran straight in this strange land. Nowhere else had he observed this.

Five more streams brought them close to the animals. James halted the troop, posted sentinels flank and rear, then went forward with Peter and Jacob. Daniel he commanded not move on pain of death.

The odor of the animals now overpowered. Their massed cries rose and fell, and he could also hear their approaching footfalls. Strong and certain footfalls, those of creatures not afraid of anything.

James prayed he had not led the pack into disaster.

The three men crept to the edge of the plant line. James braced himself. The animals sounded only bounds away, but he saw nothing along the stream.

Then he stiffened—and gasped. All at once a multitude of beasts emerged from plants lines further away. The beasts halted at the stream. His eyes took in everything, but his mind could not explain what he saw.

What he did see were animals the height of two men who balanced on their hindlegs. Their forelegs—grotesquely joined into a huge hump—dipped in the stream. The beasts then moved on hindlegs to disappear behind the plants, while more beasts replaced them at the stream. Their cries, made in frightening unionism, filled the air.

What creature had God created? James had seen at least two hundred different land animals, and none resembled these.

Their faces were flat and hairless. Nor did they have hair on their bare brown limbs. Where hair did grow, it was of different colors. Gray hair covered the torso and black hair the top of the head.

This was not the coat of a prey. Prey presented a color or colors that blended with its background. This creature stood out easily amid the greenery. James also noticed that the eyes of the creatures faced directly forward, not to the sides. All predators stared straight ahead.

James swallowed hard. Now the men were in the midst of hundreds of these beasts who probably killed with ease.

The nearest beast, a bound away, lifted its hideous forelimbs from the stream. On hindlimbs the beast moved to a plant. Then astonishingly the beast lost part of its body, the large hump on the forelimbs. The hump lay in the dirt.

The beast did not scream, but kept crying what all the other beasts were crying. James saw no blood either. Then even more amazingly the beast lowered its forelimbs, and the hump returned to place. The beast brought the hump back to the stream.

James' head spun. He must be dreaming. He was still asleep outside the thorns, and these sights and sounds and smells were all false. He would hopefully wake soon back in the grasslands. Where men belonged.

Peter whispered in his ear. "It sees us."

Yes, the beast now squarely fixed its eyes where the heads of James, Peter and Jacob protruded from the leaves. James cursed himself. Their coats too stood out against the brilliant greenery.

The beast's hump dropped to the ground. Its cries ceased and the beast barked something to the others along the stream. Then it bared teeth and advanced.

The three men backed up. The beast kept advancing and rounded the plant line. James heard the men behind him gasp, then growl. James too growled, but he was very frightened. He would however stand and fight if he must, to allow as many as possible to escape.

As he expected, more beasts quickly appeared. Five, ten, then twenty and more of them were swarming into the gap between the plant lines. Humpless beasts, teeth gleaming, emitting a strange tangle of sound. Not words, of course; only men could speak. But they were signaling each other, organizing for the attack.

He wondered if any of the men would get out alive.

Someone darted past him. It was Daniel. Daniel leapt and James saw teeth sink into a beast's throat. Daniel jerked his head and tore out the throat. Blood spurted.

James waited for the other beasts to fall on Daniel. He silently praised Daniel's bravery, and hoped the suicidal attack would distract enough to allow a retreat. He would stay behind with any volunteers and delay the chase.

But it was the beasts that fled.

James watched stunned as the beasts turned and ran. Shrill cries, cries unmistakably terror, arose from the multitude that had confronted them. Before James could say anything Daniel with his bloody maw had risen and brought down other creature.

Peter was again whispering in his ear. "Order an attack," he missed. "Now!"

James hesitated just enough so half the men were past before he issued the command. Then he bounded forward only to stumble over one of the discarded humps. He was surprised to find the hump wood, not flesh. After struggling up he found himself the last man in the chase.

Ahead of him the terrified screams continued. Many screams ended abruptly. The confounding foliage blocked his view, but James knew none of the screams and shrieks came from his men. As he advanced he found the body of beast after beast. Eyes bulged from their sockets.

He saw that the beasts, when prone, were no bigger than a man. Truly, they were nearer in size to Peter or a woman. Closer inspection revealed teeth with little length or sharpness.

James pushed through another of the endless plant lines. Immediately he saw one of the beasts, about fifty bounds away. The beast saw James at the same instant and scampered into the leaves.

He charged. He ran to the spot where the beast vanished, sniffed carefully, then shoved through the foliage. Now only twenty bounds away, the beast was running—still only on two legs—down the dirt gap. Terrified eyes stared back at James.

A burst of speed brought James to leaping distance. The beast shrieked as James hurtled into the air. His teeth landed on the back of the neck and he was surprised how easily they penetrated the prey's hide.

Two jerks on the neck and the creature stopped screaming. Then James bit into the hindlimb. He liked his meat cooked, but curiosity drove him to tear off some raw flesh. Yes, the meat tasted delicious as it smelled. Roasting would improve it more. Tonight the pack was in for the feast of a lifetime.

James looked down at the prey and shook his head. How did this creature survive? He had never seen a prey so slow. Every other animal they hunted was faster or quicker than man. This one he could have caught at a trot. Hunting this strange creature was ridiculously easy.

He heard men calling him. He left the prey and hurried in the direction of the voices. Whoever was shouting for him sounded more excited than alarmed. Had they found another herd of the beasts?

James fought through twenty lines of plants before he reached the men. They were perched on the bank of a stream wider than the others, about two bounds across. In the dirty waters floated the bodies of many, many creatures. James could have walked to the other side on the bodies.

Men were pulling out creatures and dragging them to an open area further up the stream. There the firemen were trying to start a blaze. Beside them stood Daniel, who appeared to be overseeing the butchering of the beasts.

James watched the activity about him uneasily. The men had hunted very well, and were now doing exactly what he would have ordered. Except he hadn't ordered any of it.

Peter came up to him.

"You look troubled, leader."

James stepped back from the laboring men until they were out of earshot.

"It's Daniel who has acted like a leader today. Not me."

"He acted rashly."

"He was brave when I stood trembling."

"I was also afraid. And rightly so. Who was to know these animals are more rabbit than boar?" Peter turned to stare at the lean, quick man who was so confidently directing the others. "Bravery did not make Daniel charge. He is laden with pride and ambition. Since puphood he has coveted the leadership. Everything he does, rash or not rash, intends to that end.

"He is not rash enough to challenge me."

Peter said nothing, but the reply—"yet"—hung in the air.

"I should kill him," James growled. "I have the right. He disobeyed my command not to move."

"Yes, you will have to throat him. But not today, for he has awed everyone. Kill him now and you will get only unforgiving hate."

James took pause. Leaders had died in their sleep, killed by a mass of outraged men. It took much, a great much, to bring men to that. But it had happened.

"Be patient, James."

James cast sharp eyes at the use of his given name. But Peter used it to show he spoke as friend as well as advisor.

"Wait until we are back in the grasslands. He will defy you again. The evil within him will force him to."

Evil? Peter had never spoken such of Daniel. James did not like or trust the man, but ambition did not put a man in the pack of the underone. Every true man wanted the leadership. James had. Let he who was able take it.

"Leader, you should summon the women and pups. Order Daniel to bring them. He cannot disobey and it will show the other men he must still do exactly as you say."

James nodded and his voice boomed. With sternness that avoided harshness, he commanded Daniel to return to the hole through the thorns and bring forward the rest of the pack.

"Do not hurry them, especially the elderly. I will hold you responsible for everyone's safety."

Daniel stared in disbelief, as did many of the men. Send a hero to do a laggard's work?

But Daniel was not so possessed of pride to refuse the order. Which would have meant a fight to the death on the spot. Daniel did allow himself a baleful glare at James before leaving.

The women, pups, and elderly arrived in the late afternoon. By then the firemen had two roasting fires going, and much meat cooked. The men had already gorged themselves to the point of vomiting.

James was probably the only one who had not stuffed himself. His appetite had waned as he pondered his failings in this new land. However Peter soothed, he knew he had performed with indecisiveness bordering on incompetence. The men were quite aware of that, though they dared say nothing.

In their minds Daniel had shown himself fit to become leader. From now on they would obey James only out of fear of his strength. They would eagerly await the day when Daniel successfully challenged. The best fighters in the pack would now likely train Daniel to that purpose.

James slept poorly that night. In dream after dream, he made the wrong decision, and the pack despised him even more. When dawn broke he was almost ready to relinquish the leadership.

The pack wanted to keep going eastward, and James felt he had to agree. He would likely get open revolt if he ordered the pack back to the thorns. No one seemed concerned that all prey killed were female. James knew the males had to be tougher.

He sent scouts forward while the pack watered and ate a light meal. James managed to down some meat, but he barely noticed the delectable taste. He vowed that this day he would lead well. If they did find danger, he would be the first to charge.

As the pack moved out, he ordered they hobble two of three prey caught. Much of yesterday's kill remained uneaten. Perhaps fifty bodies lay bloated this morning. The pack had never wasted so before; he did not want it to become habit.

The scouts reported the plant lines gave away to open ground around six hundred bounds ahead. The scouts had not spotted prey. They smelled nothing, but that was to be expected since the wind today blew from the west.

The pack reached the open ground—a flat stretch of barren dirt ending at a distant tree line—not until midday. Men grumbled but James was determined to keep the advance cautious. He sent the scouts toward the trees as the pack slowly followed.

On closer inspection he saw little plants did sprout from the dirt. The plants, no higher than a paw, grew equally spaced from each other in all directions. More strangeness in this strange land.

Their advance was delayed by another wide stream. Pups could cross on the backs of their mothers, but the elderly needed the strongest swimmers to ferry them. James took satisfaction that he helped five elders across while Daniel struggled to get over one.

His satisfaction did not last long. He was in the water with a sixth elder when one of the scouts returned and shouted he had seen prey in the trees. Forty or fifty of the creatures hid there. These had coats of brown, not gray, and were bigger than the prey of the day before. The scout had gotten close enough to smell their fear.

The men and women over the stream charged. A mouthful of acrid water muffled James' command they wait. When he emerged from the stream swirling dust obscured the attackers and the treeline.

In fury he bounded after them. He swore no one would again act without his command, even if he had to tear throats. Here such lack of discipline would probably not lead to harm, but in truly dangerous lands the pack must not blink without his consent.

His anger vanished when he heard the first screams. Screams not of prey, but of his own people. Screams of the grievously and perhaps mortally injured.

James burst through the dust to find several people writhing in the dirt. Blood stained them. The mass of other men and women stood a bound from the trees. They snarled and growled, and saliva dripped from teeth, but no one ventured closer.

Among the broad tree trunks stood the beasts. Indeed these beasts with brown coats were taller, and more stout of body. They had to be the males. Instead of humps, their forelimbs held a long stick. The end of some sticks was red.

James was surprised how quickly he understood why these beasts had no fangs or sharp teeth. They didn't need them. Their strange forelegs let them use sticks to defend and kill. These males were likely predators, and men must consider them very dangerous.

Men had fought other predators, and beaten them. Man's intelligence allowed him to overcome greater size and ferocity. James would now defeat these creatures as the pack had cougars a rain ago. He would show Daniel and everyone else his true mettle in a crisis.

He shouted. "On my right, men attack by threes. On the left, women spar." His voice carried above the screams and snarls, and all heads snapped toward his. "Now!"

The men flooded to the right, then women swept to his left. The men grouped three to a beast. The women snarled while darting forward and back, careful to avoid thrusts of the sticks. Two of the men before each beast did the same, while the third sought an opening.

The openings came quickly. The brown coats lunged recklessly at the men, lost their balance, and lost their throats. Others turned their heads too far this way or that, and the third man slipped in to grab an ankle. When a beast tried to dislodge him, the other men leapt for the throat. Some of the beasts fought more intelligently, clustering together in a solid line, but men circling to the rear soon broke their defense.

The brown coats were beaten before the sun had a chance to move.

A triumphant James sent scouts in chase of the few beasts that had managed to flee, while he tallied the aftermath of battle. Over forty beasts lay dead. Of his people, two men—Jacob and Isaiah—and one of the women appeared mortally wounded. Fifteen others had lessor injury. A long slash disfigured Daniel's flank, but it would not unfortunately threaten his life. James thanked the Lord that Peter had not received a scratch.

Peter and others were tearing free the strangely loose coats of the beasts. It shocked them to find that they too were female. One beast, longer and thinner, had a coat of blue. This beast was also female.

James and Peter exchanged bewildered looks. Perhaps God had created a type of animal that did not need males to breed. James wondered how these creatures started their pups.

The scouts returned babbling excitedly. James commanded they compose themselves, and what they reported set everyone else babbling. About a thousand bounds ahead a great herd of beasts awaited. They milled around a strange white hill, which had many caves. Some of the beasts held sticks, others stones, but most just wailed. They looked very vulnerable to attack.

"How many beasts?" James demanded.

Maybe three, four thousand.

James' eyes bugged. Beasts in the thousands?

Most were gray coats, said the scouts. All, even the brown coats, were afraid.

He glanced at Peter. Peter said nothing, but he turned slightly so his body pointed east. Straight toward the great herd.

James took a deep breath, then ordered the unwounded forward. He sent scouts running ahead and posted strong flank guards. He and the pack were now in the jaws of God. From their encounters so far, they should easily beat the beasts, even beasts by the thousand. But one never knew.

Blood lust quickened everyone's pace. It quickened his. He had killed four of the brown coats, and he wanted more. By the time the sun set this day, the pack would not doubt their leader's skill at combat. With Daniel stuck at the treeline nursing his wound, the pack must look to James for inspiration in the coming fight. He would inspire well.

His fierce commands kept the pack in formation as they moved through another forest of plant lines. Thankfully these plants were not as dense as before, and he could keep everyone in sight. Scouts reported that the herd had not moved from the hill.

Soon they could hear the beasts. Even though the beasts unmistakably howled terror, their massed sound chilled him. There were so many. What if even a quarter their number fought? His people would all die.

He growled the thought away and bounded ahead of the others. Let God decide the pack's fate. Praised be the Lord.

The plant lines gave way to small trees. These trees were also equally spaced and bore fragrant yellow blossoms. The low branches swayed in the wind, hindering forward vision. James ordered the pace slowed and the ranks tightened.

The herd must be very near now. He could smell the beasts, even with the wind at his back. He shouted for the men to attack only brown coats; the gray coats could wait till later. But wait for his order to charge.

The pack emerged from the trees. Before them a seething mass of beasts awaited. For a moment, as eyes met eyes, silence fell. Then absolute hysteria took hold of the beasts and they fled in all directions. Grey coats, brown coats, and the few blue coats, the beasts frantically scurried on their hindlegs.

Many beasts surged toward the white hill. The scouts were right, the hill had many caves. The beasts trampled each other in their desperation to hide in the caves, and a trail of bodies marked their flight.

All eyes in the pack were on James. No one moved. That pleased him greatly; once again he fully commanded the pack. But he really didn't know what to do. None of the beasts were offering fight, though he ached to fight. The pack had won just by showing its teeth.

Finally he ordered they attack the hill.

"Take hobbles!" he screamed as everyone bolted forward.

Maws quickly ran with blood. The brown coats fell as easily as the gray coats. The beasts soon lay in heaps around the hill and men now leapt into the caves. Screams that shrilled within the hill told of good killing there. James forced himself to stay outside; a leader had to keep eye on the overall situation.

He heard screams above him. He watched in surprise as gray coats leaped from the upper caves. They were crippled as they hit the ground. Still shrieking, the terror crazed beasts tried to flee on obviously broken limbs. They got only a few paces before teeth found their throats.

More beasts poured from the upper caves. At several of the cave mouths his men appeared, growling at the beasts which had escaped their jaws. They shouted encouragement to the people below, pups and elderly among them, who finished off the creatures. James again had to remind of taking hobbles.

Someone shouted for him to come quickly, to another side of the hill. Beasts were escaping.

James doubted this was possible, as the pack had the hill surrounded. But he came quickly.

Simon pointed with his snout. "The beasts can climb," he said.

Indeed they could. Vines ran up the hillside and on the vines two beasts struggled to reach the top of the hill. From the nearest cave several men were yapping madly. James told them to shut up.

These beasts were unlike the others. Both had a coat from throat to bottom of shimmering white. James could not see their hindlegs, just the hooves. The hooves were thrashing frantically in the vines.

From the cave Abraham leaned and took hold of a vine. James urged caution; if Abraham leaned further he would fall. Abraham tugged hard and the closest white coats almost fell. Abraham tugged harder.

The white coat stopped climbing. To James' astonishment the beast lowered, toward the cave. Abraham stopped tugging and made ready with his jaws.

As the beast descended James ordered Abraham not to attack. They would take this one hobble. But as it neared the cave the beast kicked its hindlegs, striking Abraham in the head. Abraham lost balance and fell screaming. Abraham hit hard. James rushed over and found only his eyes moving

From the cave other men lunged at the white coat. Its hindlegs kicked and another man, John, fell. Then David had a hoof in his jaws. David jerked and the white coat tumbled. David must have sunk his teeth too deeply, for he was carried down with the white coat. The two nearly landed on James.

The white coat lay moaning. It bled heavily from the mouth and nose. David was miraculously unhurt. But John was dead and Abraham, paralyzed, might as well have been. Someone would have to tear his throat; James would not leave the man to be eaten alive by insects.

James ignored his own order and killed the white coat. He did not do so out of rage. The white coat was gravely wounded and James saw no point in letting it suffer. Besides this beast had acted bravely. It had fought so the other white coat could escape to the top of the hill.

James tore the beast's coat. It ripped away to reveal male sex parts. Other men gathered around.

"The one up there must also be male," said David.

They stared at the creature, cowering at the summit of the hill. It need not have cowered. The white coat was very safe there. Of course, how it would get meat or drink was another matter.

"I want guards on all sides to watch it," said James.

The men growled their affirmation, eager to avenge John and Abraham.

Around the hill it had grown much quieter. Only thirty or forty beasts remained alive, the hobbles who had been herded toward some smaller hills behind the large hill. Most of the hobbles clung to each other with their forelegs. They yelped softly.

James could see less than half the pack. The rest were undoubtedly chasing the multitude of beasts that had scattered into the surrounding foliage. He prayed no one ran into more males. Four people dead was enough this day.

He approved the firemen's request to start the cooking fires. Even though the pack had overeaten last evening, today's fighting and chasing would bring hunger again. The cutters were already at work on carcasses. They had started a pile of hindlegs that would only grow larger.

James shook his head. This was waste, sinful waste. The pack could eat only a fraction of the meat before it rotted. On the grasses the pack would never act like this. But here he had ached to kill; everyone ached. The beasts' very vulnerability had somehow twisted the pack. Such desire was born of the underone; perhaps this strange land was where the underone ruled.

People began emerging from the trees and plants. He was pleased to see many drove hobbles before them. Most were brown coats.

One of the men explained. "When we caught the gray coats, they just lay on the ground—puking and shitting. They wouldn't budge. So we just throated them and went looking for brown coats."

Over the Breath the hindlegs began to sizzle and the aroma soon had everyone drooling. The smell of roasting meat proved much more effective than his shouted commands in reassembling the pack.

As the sun lowered toward the eastern horizon, the pack dined heartily. James ate more than anyone. Despite the loss of three men and one woman, he felt he had vindicated himself today. He knew he had led well; the way the men responded even to quiet commands told he had regained their confidence.

He looked over at Daniel, who lay under one of the tall trees circling the hill. Two women were licking the long slash of wound. Daniel was in obvious pain, although James did not doubt he would quickly heal. The wound was not deep and it appeared to have bled well. It likely wouldn't fester.

James had seen men die of festered wounds. He could not imagine a more horrible end. Toward the end they begged for death. But no one would throat them, for fear of bringing the fester to their own bodies.

For a moment, a long moment, he wished Daniel would fester. That would save him much trouble. Daniel, no matter his tracking ability, was a threat to the welfare of the pack. His reckless ambition would one day cause men to die who shouldn't.

James admonished himself. He was thinking like a coward. The way to deal with the likes of Daniel was through the challenge. Peter was right, he could goad Daniel into fighting before the man was ready to take him on. Let combat decide their rivalry, not a wound given by a brown coat.

While light remained James went with Peter into the stone hill. The men said the caves connected into a central cavern. James had been inside caverns before, in the northwestern hills, but they in no way compared with this one. He and Peter struggled to make sense of what they saw. Wood shorn of bark covered the surface of the interior. In the cavern stood other forms of wood; some bore coats similar to that on the beasts.

James asked Peter what he made of it.

"I think the creatures brought the wood here. I think they do the same as beavers, they use wood to make their lair."

James nodded. He supposed that was possible. The wood certainly hadn't grown here. Nothing grew in caves.

These beasts might use wood, but they certainly weren't clever as beavers. It took many hours of persistent stalking to catch a beaver. These beasts almost offered their throats.

He said as much to Peter, who disagreed.

"I fear they are very clever."

"They are the most stupid animals alive. I can't understand why some other predator hasn't already destroyed them. They are helpless."

"Ask Abraham and Daniel how helpless they are, leader."

"We beat them easily."

"They use wood in ways beavers never do. Think of the humps that hold water. And the pointed sticks that killed Jacob and Dinah. Their strange forelegs let them do these things."

"That doesn't mean they are clever."

"Leader, what have we seen everywhere in this new land? Straightness. The steams, the plants, the trees, everything runs straight."

"That is how God made this land."

Peter spoke with worry. "So I thought. Until we came upon this, their lair. The sides of the hill are perfectly straight on all sides, the openings to the caves are straight, and all in the cavern is straight." He cast uneasy eyes about him. "It is these creatures who made the straightness."

James snorted. That was impossible.

"I do not believe they are as intelligent as man," said Peter. "But they outdo any other animal. They are a danger."

James loved Peter. He therefore did not spit out his true thoughts. From puphood on Peter had avoided fight. Peter never spared, and perhaps twice in his life he had throated an animal. If not for his natural wisdom, Peter would be worthless to the pack. And much taunted for his lack of courage.

Much blood had flowed today, from both beast and man. Never before had the pack fought on such a scale. The battles had probably shaken Peter. In his unmanly distress he saw the beasts as cats instead of the weaklings they were.

Darkness was dimming the blood slick cavern.

"Perhaps," James finally said.

They returned outside. Rose sky colored the east, black sky the west. Welcome coolness had entered the air.

On his way to the cooking fires, James paused to regard the white coat atop the hill. The white coat was watching the continuing dismemberment of his females. Whatever its intelligence, the beast would certainly stay on the hill. It had to prefer starvation to what was happening on the ground.

James wished he could get the male to come down. He would let him go free. The pack had found no other males besides this one and the one who fought. Many of the females had evidently escaped, but these beasts would perish unless this male survived to sire offspring.

Tomorrow James would order the pack to leave the hill. With the pack out of sight, perhaps the white coat would feel safe enough to come down. The male could then go about the task of gathering the remnants of his herd.

Night soon claimed the eastern sky and the saints sparkled in the blackness from horizon to horizon. The temperature continued to drop. About the cooking fires men, women and pups reclined. Many already slumbered. The killing and feasting had exhausted everyone, and the men James chose for the first watch grumbled. But they of course obeyed.

James, as was his right, settled near one of the fires. He had eaten so much he found the heat too strong, so he moved away. He settled on soft turf near one of the tree trunks. Sleep quickly dragged him from the world.

In the middle of the night, when the chill had turned almost to cold, one of the sentinels called to him. He struggled up.

"What is it?"

"Over here," said the voice behind him.

James could not tell who spoke, but he was groggy. He walked toward the voice.

He could not see the man. "Where are you?"

"Over here."

James could see as well as any man at night, but he could not detect even the outline of the man. The man sounded five bounds away.

He began to get suspicious. Was this a trick by the friends of Daniel? Did they lie low in the grass, ready to attack?

James hardened his voice.

"Who calls me? Show yourself."

"Fear not, James, son of Deborah. Come to me."

The voice now spoke from directly before him. James should be able to see the man.

"Who are you?" he again demanded as anxiety rose.

"The Lord God."

Anger vied with James' nervousness. How dare someone mock him like this. Whoever it was would pay with a thrashing.

"I command you to show yourself. Now!" James growled his threatening best.

"Will you serve me, James?"

The voice now came from behind. James whirled, baring teeth. He charged.

He found only air.

"Will you serve me?" The voice was above.

"Will you serve me?" The voice was below.

"Will you serve me?" The voice spoke from all sides.

James spun until he dizzied. Then, at the horizons, the sky lightened as if dawn approached—though by the position of the saints it was the middle of the night.

"Will you serve me?" the voice called again.

"Who are you?" His own voice now quavered. James fought desperately to understand what was happening.

"Be at peace, James." The voice spoke with a softness he had not heard since the days of his mother.

Amazingly peace did flow through him, and his fear vanished. But he could not believe God was addressing him. God did not speak to pack leaders; he spoke only to saints.

"Will you serve me, James?"

"I—is it truly you, my Lord?"

Light flooded the sky, and the land around was revealed as if midday. James gasped and fell on his belly.

"Stand, James."

James rose on wobbly legs.

"I say once more—will you serve me?"

"Lord—" His tongue moved thickly in his mouth. "I—I always serve you." James was not as pious as Peter, but he tried hard to honor the creed.

"You are a good man, James. And a good leader. But I shall lay a task on you that will require great sacrifice. Before you know its nature I must ask: will you serve me?"

In the dazzling brightness of deep night, James slowly but surely began to understand. The Lord was testing his faith. The Lord wished him to face a difficulty of some sort, perhaps a dangerous one. The Lord was also giving him a choice whether to accept or refuse.

He would of course accept. Since his puphood he had had faith. Faith sustained him when he lost his mother, and through the uncertain days when he first led the pack. What was he, or any man, without trust in the Lord? A man either trusted God or trusted nothing.

"I will serve, Lord." James said firmly. At the same time he wondered just what the Lord expected of him. He knew he was a man of limited ability.

"I am pleased," said the Lord.

The sky darkened and shortly the saints reappeared. Then in front of James, only two bounds away, flames flared from the grass. But it did not consume the grass. The fire swelled until its heat sweat his brow. He stepped back from the Breath of God.

The voice spoke from above.

"James, son of Deborah, you shall go throughout the lands from pack to pack. Tell all men I am sorrowed that the sick, the hurt, and the aged are so often left to slow and lonely deaths. I never intended this to be.

"You have always understood this. That is why this night I speak to you. You try not to abandon the helpless, who are as much my pups as the most fit. Far too long have men betrayed the creed on this matter."

James puzzled. The creed did say no man could injure another to benefit himself. But men did not inflict sickness or age on others. The creed had never said men were obligated to help these unfortunates. Men could help if they so chose. They could just as legitimately not help, especially if giving aid would endanger the rest of a pack.

"I sense doubt, James."

"Lord, the creed has been unclear..."

"My word is the creed." Indignation filled the voice of God.

"Of course, my Lord. I only—"

"Will you serve me, James?"

James was astonished with himself. What was he doing arguing with God?

"I will do whatever you say, my Lord."

"You may no longer lead your pack."

"Lord?"

"You can hardly go from pack to pack and still discharge your duties."

"I—I thought you meant I should tell your words at the howling." All the packs would be together then. In the eighteen days he could speak to them. Afterward he would be free to lead his pack.

"No, James. Only one day of the howling is set aside to honor me. On the others maidens are exchanged and enjoyed. Tell me who listens while in lust."

"Lord—you ask much."

"I know. But it is necessary. That you give up the leadership—while still in your prime—will impress everyone. Such a sacrifice will say you speak with a pure heart and seek no personal gain."

James swallowed. He almost wanted to turn and run into the night. Why did the Lord choose him? It should be Peter He called, the man in the pack most full of faith.

"Lord, I am not worthy of this task."

Surprisingly, God laughed.

"You are worthy enough."

"Peter would be better."

"He is most pious. But he has not your faith or stature. However, he may accompany you."

What was the Lord saying? Peter had more faith than anyone. And Peter spoke so skillfully. His tongue could convince men to accept this change in the creed. How could God expect the same from James, whose tongue often stumbled?

"By your faith, James, men shall know you speak for me. And by your faith you shall now step into the fire before you."

James stepped back. The Lord could not mean what he said.

"If you have faith, my breath will not harm you. Now or evermore. That I promise."

"My Lord God, please—"

"Who shall doubt your words, James, when you speak them from the flames? Now believe and come forward."

James whimpered. Instantly he was ashamed. He did not cry when faced with danger.

He moved slowly forward. One thing he knew, God could kill him at any time and in any way. James could have died today during the battle at the treeline. Tomorrow Daniel and his friends could throat him. During the next rains he could fall to sickness. He lived by the desire of God.

If God wanted him to die in the flames, he would die. If God intended him no harm, the flames could not char his flesh. The Lord had promised no harm. Let him then trust the Lord. If a man trusted not the Lord, he trusted nothing.

James walked into the fire.

His heart pounded in his ears as the flames licked his body. He felt intense heat, but no pain. The hairs of his coat did not singe.

"You exceedingly please me, James. Your faith shall be example to all others."

Exhilaration filled James. Praised be the Lord! From this moment on he would joyfully serve the Lord. He would bring God's good words to all men. Now the helpless would be helped, and all could die in the embrace of those who loved them.

The flames around James vanished. Night air rushed to cool him.

"Return to sleep, James. Tomorrow lead your pack from this land. You will barely have enough time to make the first day of the howling."

"Yes, my Lord."

James turned, then stopped.

"What is it, James?"

"My Lord—did you call us to this land?"

"No."

"Peter is sure you did."

The Lord chuckled. "Tell Peter where man goes in the world—what he does in the world—what he believes in the world—is by his choice, not mine. He is held responsible for all his acts, good or ill. Since I first set man in the world, I have let him run free."

"Yes, my Lord."

"I have laid out the creed to guide man. Other than that I do not interfere. Man must rely on faith and wisdom to prosper, not my benefice."

"That is as I have always thought, my Lord."

"Sleep, faithful one."

James wandered back to the cooking fires, which were now only embers. Nearly everyone in sight slumbered, even the captured beasts. Only the sentinels did not sleep—and the white coat on the hill.

He could see the eyes of the white coat on him. He could almost smell the beast's fear. The beast probably wondered how much longer before he was roasted over the fires. Well, the beast would live, if he could avoid falling from the hill. Shortly past dawn the beast would see man no more.

When James roused the pack at first light he heard much complaint. They whined more when he ordered an immediate march to the hole through the thorns. Man and woman and pup protested they had been in this land of plenty only two days. They begged to stay a while longer. Who knew what additional wonders they would find.

James did not bother to remind them the "wonders" had already cost four dead. Nor did he remind them of the approach of the howling, which they knew anyway. He merely repeated his commands in a tone that told everyone they best get going.

It took until evening to reach the thorns. The wounded of course delayed them, but the captured beasts slowed the march the most. The three hundred or so of the creatures were difficult to herd. The gray coats particularly caused much exasperation. They yelped incessantly and bolted at every opportunity.

Men tired of this and many gray coats lost their throats. Not until the brown coats set aside some of their own fear and began to soothe the gray coats did orderly movement take place. The brown coats in turn appeared to take direction from the one blue coat captured.

James had to admit these creatures did have a certain intelligence. When the pack reached the first of the wider streams, the blue coat barked and pointed its forelegs downstream. Men had meanwhile pushed several gray coats in the water, where they promptly drowned. James sent scouts downstream and they reported back that a fallen tree—a strange flat one—lay across the stream three hundred bounds away.

The flat tree allowed all the beasts to cross the stream. After that the march went smoothly. At the thorns it did take fierce prodding to get the beasts through the hole. Many of these creatures suffered cuts as they struggled through the hole on all four limbs. But all emerged alive.

During the next day's march some of the creatures collapsed. No amount of prodding could force them up. At first everyone thought this due to weaklings falling by the way. That happened with hobbles—though crippling hadn't been necessary with these creatures.

It did not immediately cause concern that the creatures vomited the grass and stems they ate. Hobbles in their terror often did that. They usually overcame fear, and thereafter ate heartily. These creatures continued to vomit. And collapse.

Peter was the first to understand that the creatures could not get nourishment from grass—just like men. What puzzled everyone was that they would not eat meat either. Peter said the beasts must subsist on the peculiar plants growing in their land.

By the sixth day on the grasslands all the beasts were too weak to travel further. Those with enough strength frantically ate more grass. Which did not revive them. The next morning most of the beasts no longer breathed.

At midday James gave the order to abandon the beasts. No one complained. By now everyone was sick of their rich meat, and disgusted with their lack of hardiness. Again the question was asked: how did such pathetic creatures survive?

Free of the creatures, the pack seemed to race westward. Even the elders' pace quickened. Talk began of the howling. As always in the days before a howling, the lust of both men and women rose. Men and women also looked forward to renewing friendships made in other packs during previous howlings.

As they trotted men also discussed whether they should keep discovery of the new land secret. The creed called on man to share in times of want, but throughout the lands game was plentiful. Why then let others in on the discovery? All packs would go through the thorns once they learned of the delicious prey requiring no hunting skill. One pack could enjoy their meat forever; all packs would wipe them out within several rains.

One evening the debate came to a head. The pack had built cooking fires on the bank of a swift stream and was finishing a diner of roast gazelle. The fires still burned brightly, and every man could see the other's face.

As men spoke, their eyes sidled toward James. He had voiced no opinion during the days of travel. Most of the pack hoped he would demand silence about the new land. But no one wanted to go as far as Peter, who argued that the pack should not return to the land of straightness at all.

James smiled as he listened. Everyone was worried, because everyone knew James could not think for himself. Their pack leader almost always took Peter's advice, especially if deciding on something more difficult than who would stand sentinel.

Well, he stood sentinel for God now. The task God had given him reduced to little importance whether other packs learned about the new land. Where the packs went, they must learn—and live by—the new creed.

It wouldn't matter if he ordered the discovery kept secret or not. At the howling someone's tongue would slip. From a pup, from a maiden, from an elder, the word would escape. By the end of the howling all men would be speaking of the land of straightness and tasty beasts which dwelled there.

James ignored the arguments. He saw Peter looking at him with pleading eyes. Perhaps Peter thought his lack of support was punishment. James had indeed been angry after he confided to Peter about God's visitation. Peter had spoken as if James were an addled elder. Peter implied James had only dreamed what he saw and heard and felt.

James was not angry now. He realized how ridiculous he must have sounded. God appeared only to the supremely pious, not to brawny pack leaders. He should have waited until he proved beyond doubt that God had chosen James son of Deborah to speak for Him.

He rose. The man speaking stopped in mid sentence as his leader stepped forward. James kept walking until he reached the hottest cooking fire.

Murmurs arose as James stared hard into the flames. Then screams resounded as James entered the fire. Astonishment filled even the face of Daniel, the man who would gain most by his destruction.

Peter was aghast. His dear friend surely thought James had lost his mind, and would die in horrible agony.

James neither died nor suffered agony, and he stood in the fire long moments. Then, with calm and certain voice, he spoke from the Breath.

"Now hear the words of God."

The Weakling

Peter feared the Breath of God. He always had. It terrified him the way the dead sizzled and blackened when committed to the flames. He had also seen it accidentally burn the living. Afterward they were in great pain for days and the scars inflicted could last for life. Its destructive power revealed a side of God he would have preferred to ignore.

Thus he again watched in profound awe as James preached from the Breath. The heat from the dancing flames easily penetrated the chill night air. The breath was devouring the brush upon which James stood, yet as always the man remained unharmed.

His awe however could not stifle the questions that had prodded ever since he first saw James in the flames. Peter hoped the Lord knew he meant no disrespect. It was his nature to question and who but the Lord had made him that way?

Firstly, Peter did not understand why God used the Breath in this manner. Peter found it disconcerting, as if God did not believe men would otherwise accept this change to the creed. God was God; He had only to order and man would follow.

A larger question was why the Lord amended the creed at all. The creed had remained intact since the days of Saint Mark and Saint Matthew. The creed had served man well in this new land. Man had prospered here and man honored the Lord with continuous thanksgiving.

As he and James journeyed through the thinly grassed lands west of the great river, Peter had contemplated at length why the Lord added this particular commandment to the creed. For good reason the creed had not required a pack attend to those unable to walk. To feed itself a pack must cover many bounds. Pups in particular needed frequent meals. God must know to prolong the lives of the ill and aged would at times cut short the lives of the youngest. It made no sense.

Sixty days had passed since the howling, and James had spoken the new commandment to fourteen packs. The change in the creed had not provoked enthusiasm. Even the infirm were slow to embrace their reprieve. They along with the healthy knew the burden it put on the pack.

No man would openly blaspheme. But Peter could tell all resented this restriction on men's freedom. Nothing was more prized than the ability of each pack to roam the lands at will. Men whispered that this hobbling compared to the time of the false Words, the time of enslavement.

The packs however were obeying. Men must obey the Lord if they wanted passage to the afterlife. Men fell on their bellies when they saw James speak unscathed from the Breath. Men might hate what he commanded, but no one doubted for whom he spoke.

When James confided God's visitation, Peter thought James had merely dreamed. In their sleep men often lived what they most desired. James' sympathy concerning the infirm was no secret in the pack. A man of James' simple intelligence would construe such a dream as revelation from God. Peter had gently tried to convince James that the visitation was born of slumber.

But it was real. Peter had watched with absolute shock when James first stepped into the flames and survived. That survival proved God indeed had visited their leader, and that James' words were His words. Even if Peter's whole being screamed to refute those words, he must yield to the Lord.

Peter must also yield to the unwanted truth about himself. Only after the howling did Peter admit that envy and anger had poisoned his soul. At one point he had actually hated James.

The Lord forbade envy, and Peter had fiercely envied James. He could not stomach that God made James His prophet—instead of him.

Peter revered the Lord. He spent hours each day in contemplation of the Lord and His works. Every word Peter spoke and every act he undertook were in strict obedience to the creed. His devotion was without end.

Yet the Lord had chosen James, who could not recite one doublet of the creed without prompting. Yes, James was a good and honorable man, but he was also very limited. Without Peter's counsel he could have never guided the pack. It was almost an insult the Lord visited him.

The envy and anger had taken too many days to die. Peter finally admitted the Lord had chosen wisely. If the Lord had called Peter, yes, he would have journeyed to all four hundred packs to deliver the new word. He might have even summoned the faith to speak from the Breath.

But the Lord knew Peter could not speak with sincerity. The Lord knew how much he disagreed with the change to the creed. The men and women of the packs would have detected this. They would not have fully obeyed, thus placing their entry to the afterlife at risk.

As he and James traveled from pack to pack, Peter acknowledged his other failings. The creed said a man must confront himself, as if he faced his image in a pool of water. A man must not shut his eyes to that reflection. Only then could he correct his faults and strive toward the perfection God asked.

For so long Peter had thought himself already perfect. Certainly he was the noblest man in the pack. Peter made sure everyone knew how much he honored the Lord and how virtuously he lived. Now shame filled him as he realized his piety had existed not to honor the Lord, but himself.

From puphood on Peter knew his physical abilities were of little value. Indeed in his eight years of life he had yet to bring down a prey. His merely average sense of sight and smell precluded his use as a tracker and his fear of the Breath kept him from the firemen. If not for his intelligence, which the Lord had granted in abundance, the pack would have considered him one of the forever pups. Every pack was burdened by several of these barely tolerated unfortunates.

As a pup Peter had known he was much smarter than his fellows; the speed with which he memorized the entire creed proved that. In adolescence his feats of recitation and interpretation earned the admiration of the reverent. Even the less pious conceded he had God's favor.

As he approached adulthood men and women sought him out for spiritual advice. Using the creed and his intelligence he soothed souls and settled feuds. He secured the respect of all in the pack, from elder to pup. No one, however, respected him more than himself.

How the Lord must have abhorred the pride that polluted this man who proclaimed he was God's servant. But the Lord also knew the pride covered deep wounds, wounds born of the scorn and bullying Peter endured while a pup. Pups in their play constantly tested each other. Peter so small fared badly in these jousts, and as in every pack, won the contempt the strong awarded the weak.

His acceptance as a man of the creed rescued him from that contempt, but he had yearned for higher standing. Fortunately in youth he had become friends with James. When Peter was a pup James was one of the few older boys to treat him kindly. Peter clove to James—all the while mindful that this oversized fellow had the best chance to become pack leader.

It was doubtful James ever suspected Peter's friendship had been based on self interest. James' great weakness—and strength—was that he accepted men as they presented themselves. Guile did not complicate his dealings with other men. Everyone knew exactly where he stood with this slow witted but honorable man. The pack could have found itself—as it did now—under a much worse leader.

With Peter at his side James had led well. Of course in Peter's mind, it was he who led and James who enforced his decisions. He viewed the big dumb man as merely the extension of his will. Peter did not abuse his power, and guided the pack in accordance with the creed, but he took enormous satisfaction in that he now commanded his former tormentors.

His lofty status had crumbled that night when James first spoke from the Breath. Anguish racked him when James announced he would be leaving the pack to spread God's word. Peter had known that someday James would falter and lose the challenge. But that dread day was far in the future, not now. Instantly Peter felt returned to puphood.

Peter held no illusions to his fate. At best he would serve out his days as a man of the creed. At worst he could end up dead. A number in the pack resented the influence Peter the runt had enjoyed the past two rains.

Daniel and his friends in particular would have no use for him. Daniel feared Peter's ability to sway men to his opinion. Once Daniel took over the leadership he would seek to isolate Peter. Daniel might even falsely accuse Peter of some disobedience, and by his right throat him. And after Peter's death, the spiteful man would probably refuse to commit his body to the Breath.

After the howling Daniel had proclaimed himself leader. His habitual sparring did him well, as he easily killed the first two challengers. Other challengers then changed their minds. Peter's hopes ended with that, and he knew he must accompany James on his wandering.

Peter wondered how the pack was doing under its new leader. Daniel was reckless, and Peter knew the pack would suffer loss under him. Daniel was determined to return to the land of straightness, which on the surface did not appear dangerous. But Peter had been convinced since he stepped inside the white hill that man must avoid that land.

Peter now knew what he had interpreted as God's will had instead been the will of the underone. The evil one, not God, had called him to the land beyond the thorns. Peter remembered the intensity of the urge. An intensity best associated with that of coveting or lust. It could never have been born of the Lord.

It was well few packs headed for the thorns after the howling. Most packs had simply not believed the tales of beasts who strode on two legs, lived in wood caves, died with little resistance, and tasted the best of all meat. Some suspected the tales a ploy to divert them from traditional hunting grounds, to leave more prey for others.

After the howling he and James headed northwest into the land of twisting valleys. Here dwelled the boar, the only prey man truly feared, but men prized the meat of the mud brown beasts. Their tusks also made for the best cutters. Packs kept returning to this savage land though they usually left with fewer numbers.

Peter thought it insane for two men to journey alone in these dangerous valleys. He pleaded with James to begin his preaching elsewhere, but James would not be deterred. He had chosen to start with the packs here, because the difficult terrain—and the boars—produced more infirm than any other land. Here men would be most reluctant to obey the new creed. When they did obey, they would set a noble example for the rest of mankind.

The conviction with which James spoke, and his survival in the Breath, won him the obedience he sought. As the two of them traveled through this hostile land—along with boars waited poisonous snakes, jagged ravines, and flash floods—they encountered packs to which James had already ministered. These packs moved slowly, as they must to accommodate the injured and elderly. No one cheered James' reappearance. But all were keeping to the creed.

One wonderful day James told Peter they would soon leave for the grasslands. Peter received no explanation and he asked for none. He knew James had not preached to all the packs in these valleys, but he was certain God would be just as pleased to see His prophet work elsewhere. Peter had feared constantly in this wretched land. He hoped they never returned.

James abruptly shattered his relief. What the prophet spoke as they picked their way between clumps of rock shook Peter to his core.

"Did God command you say this?" Peter half screamed the question. Never had he spoken in such tone to the man able to bite him in two. Though according to what James now proclaimed, Peter had nothing to fear from this huge man.

But mankind had much.

James did not look at him, but instead stared straight ahead.

"How else could God wish matters? The creed says man must not kill."

"'Except in defense of life.'"

James was such a simpleton. Again Peter asked how could God make a prophet of a man who understood the creed only in its rudimentary aspects. The Lord was asking for trouble.

James eyed him now. He smiled tightly.

"I know you think I know little. But I remember as well as any man the lessons of the creed. God told the first men: do not kill your fellow man. Prophets later added 'except in defense'."

"Do you doubt the prophets? Being one yourself, and adding to the creed yourself?"

"God's first word must always stand. The word received by prophets can change. What God said to me proves that."

Peter did not mute his exasperation. "Did God say to you that man must absolutely not kill man?"

"He said as much when he commanded we can no longer leave our sick and old. Leaving was the same as killing."

"James, James. God says exactly what he intends. No more, no less."

"He has said exactly: "Man must not kill man'."

"If Daniel had challenged you, you would have just offered your throat?"

"I would have given him the leadership—and walked away."

Peter shook his head. "What if Daniel and his fellows outright attacked you? Tell me truly you would not have slain them all."

Now rebuttal did not come so quickly. Peter could see James struggling for a reply.

At last he said, "I would have resisted but not killed."

"Then they would have killed you."

"Then that is what would happen—but I would have obeyed God."

James went on. "During my life I have not killed a single man. I spared Simon when I won the challenge. I spared Andrew when he challenged me. I have spared those few who disobeyed me." (Yes, you instead ran them from the pack—tantamount to death.) "I have always been uncomfortable with the thought of killing another man, even Daniel. The Lord has placed this feeling in me."

What the Lord placed in you was size and strength, thought Peter. That is why you do not have to kill. Men are smart enough to know their fate if they press you.

"All my life I knew leaving behind the helpless was wrong," said James. "God came to me and said I must tell other men. I have always known killing was wrong. Now I must also tell this from the Breath."

It was a warm day amid the tangle of rocks, but Peter shivered. He could see disaster looming in James' words. From the dawn of time man had survived by the pack. The pack had carried him through all adversity. The pack nurtured and instructed, comforted and protected. The pack was as necessary to man as air or water.

Men did not always get along or willingly cooperate, but the pack provided the means by which individual animosity and selfishness were overcome for the good of all. And the pack succeeded only because all obeyed the commands of one man. Men might say they obeyed the leader because the creed so dictated, but they really obeyed because the leader could kill them.

To preserve the pack a leader must be able to kill. It was that simple. If James convinced men the leader no longer held this right, how could any leader lead? How could any pack properly thrive? That is why God allowed killing in defense of life, and what was more important than the life of the pack?

Peter moved to block James's path. The big man stopped, though he could have trod over Peter without even a stumble.

"You cannot speak so from the Breath," Peter said, "or you will burn."

James snorted. "Have you not seen me now twenty times in the Breath?"

"You live only because you speak the words God wants you to speak. If you say more, He will withdraw His protection."

Peter had no way of knowing whether James would survive. Perhaps God would not sacrifice his chosen one even if James exceeded His instruction. But James must not be permitted to amend the creed on his own.

James eyed him hard. Peter thought the man did have a mind to walk over him.

"Why do you try to stop the word of the Lord?"

Peter took a deep breath. Now he would test James' aversion to harming his fellow man.

"It is your word. Not the Lord's."

But instead of anger something like pain crossed the big man's face.

Peter felt for him. Peter knew James believed with all his heart the wrong of killing. Peter had no desire to kill either. Yet that did not lessen the necessity.

James lived by too much emotion. Peter might live by too much logic. In most of life's situations, though, logic won over emotion. This big, slow, good man must now yield to it.

Near sunset they found another pack. The members regarded James with awe and it was evident they had heard how the Breath did not harm him. They offered James all the boar meat he could eat—boar caught at the cost of two lives. No one was in awe of Peter.

James shared the delicious meat with him. As always during their travels James split the meal equally—which was fortunate since Peter matched the big man's appetite despite their size difference. The simple nobility of the man once again impressed Peter. He wished he appreciated it sooner. Why the Lord had called this man was less and less a mystery.

When the flames lowered to glowing embers, even the pups of the pack hushed. The embers still gave off enough heat to scorch meat held close. Men and women and pups watched with mouths agape as James stepped onto the orange coals and did not scorch.

James' deep voice once more delivered God's message—and only God's message. When he finished, all howled that they would obey the command to leave no one behind. Not a single believer contemplated the burden James had just placed on them; that would come tomorrow. This starry evening the pack rejoiced in the Lord and His prophet.

Peter and James left the pack shortly before dawn. The day that would become the worst of Peter's life—though he would endure others that rivaled its horror—started well enough. Not long after sunrise they crested a hill from which they could see the grasslands. Peter, the man of logic, broke out in yelps as his eyes feasted on the rolling plains, now pale green from recent rains. The welcoming grasses seemed to stretch forever south and east.

Only a day's travel separated them from returning to where man belonged. Man had thrived long ago in the grasslands on the other side of the mountains, and he now prospered in the grasses here. God made man for the great open spaces, not the mountains or jungles or the land of straightness. Man lived in the grasses; elsewhere he died.

Peter asked James his intentions and the prophet said he too had enough of the twisted valleys. They would cross the grasses to the great river, then follow it north all the way to the wetlands. They would encounter many packs on that route. Enough to keep James busy until the next howling.

Peter merely nodded, though nothing could have pleased him more. Prey was abundant near the river and the dangers few. He and James would never spend a night alone and hungry as they had too often in the valleys. Peter had come to hate the aloneness more than missing a meal. He longed for the continuous presence of people, and along the wide river he would get it.

At mid morning the horror began. James stepped over a rock and on the other side awaited a snake. The snake bit into his foreleg. The snake withdrew its fangs and slithered away.

In their shock James and Peter just stared at the escaping snake. Shock did not keep them from realizing that James was a dead man. The black and yellow squares on the skin of the snake meant no other.

Many fell to snakes in the land of the valleys. Men kept returning here because each man believed it would not happen to him. Peter had especially believed a snake would never bite James, the Lord's prophet. As the shock turned to fear, Peter prayed the snake would prove no more harmful to James than the Breath.

James' stumble moments later told otherwise.

Peter watched aghast. Why would the Lord kill His prophet? Last night James had not exceeded His instruction. Would the Lord slay James merely because he considered doing so?

James soon collapsed despite efforts to keep walking. He struggled awhile on his belly, then the panic began to leave his face. Resignation took its place

Peter whimpered.

"Do not grieve for me," James said with an amazingly calm voice. "I am going to the afterlife."

Peter wanted to scream, to curse the Lord. This was insane. James had done everything the Lord asked of him. Packs were now caring for the helpless. How did the Lord expect anyone to obey after they heard God had struck down His prophet?

"You must carry on God's word," said James. "Promise me."

Peter hardly heard his friend. The air about him became ever more difficult to breathe. He could not face the loss of this previously indestructible man, who had protected him most of his life. James would be gone before the sun climbed much higher in the hard blue sky.

"Promise me, Peter."

"Why would God do this?"

James feebly shook his head. "God had nothing to do with the snake. He told me what happens in the world happens of itself."

So James had said before. Peter hadn't believed it before. But such divine indifference might be the only way to explain James' death.

"You must take my place. Go to all the packs and speak the new commandment."

"How—" Peter's throat tightened. Tears now blurred his vision. "No one will listen to me. I am nothing without you."

Peter thought he heard a chuckle. "It was I who was nothing as a leader without you." James' voice was drifting toward a whisper. "The Lord said you were to accompany me. He knew I could die like any man. It is your duty now to speak in my place."

"Who will believe me?"

"Your faith will make them believe."

Tears were flooding him. He wished he were dying alongside James. They could go to the afterlife together. Nothing remained for him in this world.

"Promise me," James rasped. The big man was fully prone, fully limp.

Mainly to comfort James, Peter croaked that he would.

"God be with you," said James. Then he breathed no more. And for Peter the brilliantly sunny day turned to black.

Freemen

Daniel the thousandman welcomed the smoke. The drifting gray that other men cursed would make their work here much easier. Smoke thwarted smell as well as vision, and had allowed him and his avengers to creep close to the prey.

The six of them were now only a few bounds away. They lay on their bellies, and the grass hid them completely. The prey, though watchful and well attended, could not suspect their presence. Daniel would wait until the prey's protectmen relaxed slightly, then strike. Men could not maintain vigilance indefinitely.

Yosef had told him this one's name was Gabriel, but Daniel no longer cared who was named what. All that mattered was that this man's death would please Yosef. Those who pleased the firstman fared well. And Daniel intended to fare very well.

Though the Breath of God burned far away, the smoke it spewed for thousands of bounds westward made breathing difficult. The men protecting Gabriel coughed incessantly. It was a tribute to the discipline of Daniel's avengers that they kept silent.

One of Gabriel's protectmen asked permission to relieve himself. Gabriel said yes, after a quick sweep of his red rimmed eyes over the grass. The avengers tensed as the big man ambled away. Five other big men still surrounded Gabriel, but the odds were more than even. Daniel selected only the ablest fighters. He favored quickness over strength, and he in particular sought those thirsting to kill.

Gabriel settled on his forelegs and yawned. Several of the protectmen did likewise. Daniel had not to say a word, for his avengers sprang as one. Each man had his teeth on a throat before the victim could move. Daniel leapt for Gabriel and killed the pack leader with practiced ease.

Returning from his chore, the last protectman did manage a horrified shout before an avenger throated him. Daniel and his helpers then ran eastward, into the smoke, which he knew would discourage pursuit. But who would energetically chase those who had so masterfully dispatched a pack leader and his brawny sentinels?

So Daniel did not madly sprint as the avengers fled through the diffuse smoke that turned the day into dusk. Five hundred bounds away he turned north. He slowed the men to a trot, which they would be able to maintain despite the foul air. He broke the silence to complement them on their good work. Later he would reward them more tangibly.

The thrill of the kill put plenty of bounce in Daniel's step. This one had almost been too easy. The last one had been more to his liking, a true life and death struggle. The man would have won, if not for an inadvertent bump by another battling pair. The resulting stumble loosened the grip on Daniel's shoulder and allowed Daniel's own teeth to find their mark.

Gabriel made the twelfth pack leader Daniel had killed. Yosef had other avengers out, but none matched his record. Most avengers did not enjoy an extended lifetime. Leaders were alert now, heavily attended, and other avengers lacked the skillful nerve of Daniel's men.

After his tenth kill Yosef had raised him to thousandman. Daniel controlled no hundredmen, so the elevation spoke to how much Yosef valued him. If Daniel continued to kill pack leaders—and live—Yosef would surely make him a ten thousandman. And put an actual ten thousand under him.

Daniel laughed when he remembered his hunger to control the mere two hundred souls of a pack. That was nothing compared to the future that awaited him now. If Yosef prevailed over the pack leaders, Daniel might eventually be called hundred thousandman.

Of course the numbers of mankind barely totaled that now. Within the space of two rains the underones had halved mankind. Before Yosef could prevail that number might be halved again. Yet this reduction was only a passing travail, like the great famines and plagues of the past.

Today his prospects never looked better, but three rains ago they were nil. He should have listened to Peter. Jealousy had blinded him to the wisdom of that little man. Scrawny runt though Peter might be, he was still the smartest person Daniel had known. He exceeded even Yosef in ability to reason.

Daniel should have heeded the runt, and not returned to the land of the underones. He had received the surprise of his life when the underones with their long staves met his pack at the hole in the thorns. He and the men had fought wildly, but the underones had countered with equal ferocity and greater discipline. Daniel remembered in particular the determination of the single white coat who battled them. He had killed many.

Daniel himself had fought well, and was one of the last to leave the hole, but the pack banished him a day after the battle. Most of Daniel's friends died in the fight. Daniel had never been popular with the majority of the pack, and all were quick to blame him for the loss of so many loved ones. Twenty men with hate in their eyes told him to go into the night. Go now, or die.

Daniel went into the night. And into aloneness that almost killed him. God had made man to live amongst his fellows; a man deprived of all companionship suffered immeasurably. At one point he was ready to crawl back to the pack, beg forgiveness, and promise to never challenge anyone for anything.

Yet even in his great despair he knew that was not his nature. God had given him the will and courage to rule others. He chaffed under the orders of any other man. With the greatest difficulty he had obeyed the weak brained James. Only the absolute certainty James would tear him apart had kept Daniel from prematurely challenging the man he detested so much.

Daniel could have never guessed he would gain the leadership by forfeit. He was overjoyed to accept it, though he regretted missing the opportunity to someday throat a slower James. He regretted much more how swiftly command of the pack slipped from him. That loss had not lessened his lust to control, but it had taught him that to keep control he must never again act on impulse.

Logically his hopes for leadership should have died when the pack banished him. No one, except an occasional holy man, left a pack by choice. Other packs would feed Daniel a day or two, as a guest, but they would not take him in permanently.

Bleak though the ten and hundreds and thousands of days ahead had appeared, Daniel sensed he would return to leadership. Of course that was not an easy faith to keep through the long period of wandering the grasslands alone. He often called on God to hurry up, to show him the path back to his rightful place in the world.

In his heart he chaffed under the Lord's control, too. But the Lord was the one being he could not challenge. The Lord could throat any man. Love the Lord or hate Him, all men must yield to that fact. The Lord was the great pack leader, with infinite power, so Daniel along with everyone else must tremble before Him.

Though Daniel might resent the Lord's power, he understood its necessity. Men by their nature were unruly. The Lord exerted His power in two ways, through the creed and through the pack leaders. The creed told men they must suppress their disruptive instincts if they wished to gain the afterlife. If that did not provide motivation enough to cooperate, the teeth of the pack leader would.

All in all, the arrangement made good sense to Daniel. One man with sole power benefited the ruled as well as the ruler. The trick was to get the power. God had His by virtue of being God, while men must contend for the lesser but still considerable power awarded pack leaders.

Daniel's path back to power began, ironically enough, with the underones doing to other packs what they had done to his. After the howling twenty packs had entered the land of the underones. Only a few of them had departed—or rather fled—without loss of life. Some packs perished entirely under the sticks of the underones, and many returned with less than half who breached the thorns.

These shattered packs were in great distress as they ran from the underones. No other animal, even the boars of the northwest, had defeated a whole pack. All wondered why God allowed such a slaughter. Men could not strike at the Lord, but they could retaliate against those who had urged entering the land beyond the thorns. Daniel was not the only pack leader banished.

And for each leader banished, a new one arose. Daniel every day gave thanks that in one particular pack it was Yosef who became leader.

Like Peter Yosef had served as a man of the creed, and like Peter he had futilely counseled his pack to avoid the strange land. After their defeat the survivors turned to him for leadership. Yosef accepted the position on condition that no one ever offer the challenge. A wise condition, since his bulk did not greatly exceed Peter's.

The survivors readily agreed. In their shock and sorrow they did not ponder this departure from ancient tradition. They only knew the Lord had not protected them; perhaps Yosef could. He had always been so wise about so many things.

Yosef was at his wisest when he praised God while other men rebuked Him. Yosef knew men's anger would pass as they remembered they still had to please the Lord to get to the afterlife. Yosef said God always acted for the ultimate benefit of mankind. A mother punished a pup to correct bad behavior; likewise did the Lord. Because He punished did not mean He ceased to love.

Yosef had also broken tradition when he opened the pack to all outsiders. The disasters beyond the thorns had created many in need of refuge. He accepted lone men, men and women in small groups, and in several cases the remnants of a defeated pack. He chided members who warned nothing was known of the character of the newcomers. He chided others who asked how will we feed so many people.

Our warm welcome will bring the best out in the newcomers, said Yosef, and the Lord will provide food for all. Indeed the grateful new ones proved model members, and prey still roamed in abundance on the plains. Everyone had food in their bellies despite the pack's growth to six hundred souls. Men praised Yosef with every breath, and they began again to praise the Lord.

Daniel was taken into the pack without question. He quickly showed his worth as a hunter, and soon he was accepted completely. In those days he took care not to antagonize anyone. He again won friends and even words of encouragement from Yosef. Of course, the man encouraged everyone.

Before the next howling the pack grew to over a thousand members. That made an unwieldy number to rule and in the past large packs split to create two new ones. Yosef again disregarded tradition. Instead of division he named ten men to each control a hundred members. These controllers he called hundredmen, and they in turn obeyed him.

Yosef did not just impose this arrangement, he first sought the approval of the pack. He went from member to member and argued the merits of his proposal. He spent extra time with the best hunters, the most valuable men of the pack. All the hundredmen were to come from this group. The hundredmen included Daniel, who found his faith he would rise again vindicated.

Little opposition formed to the arrangement, especially when Yosef added the requirement that no man would ever rule without agreement of the people. God had proclaimed to him that all men were free men. The horrors beyond the thorns occurred because callous pack leaders had ordered their unwilling members into that land of death.

Men fervently agreed, though Daniel remembered his pack almost outran him to the land of tasty meat. Yosef cursed the pack leaders. They were selfish, arrogant creatures whose right to rule lay only in physical strength. The people had not chosen them, so their rule was not valid.

Daniel disagreed with this concept but of course kept his mouth shut. He doubted Yosef believed it either. Daniel watched the eyes of this always cheerful, always considerate man. The eyes never laughed. The eyes probed and appraised and calculated, and they sent real fear into Daniel, who feared little.

At the howling discussion centered on the disaster in the land beyond the thorns. Men did not then know the true meaning of disaster, nor did they yet call the two legged beasts the underones. Packs just agreed they would keep their distance from that alluring but deadly land, as they kept from the jungles.

Men also spoke of the death of James. Daniel was shocked though hardly saddened when he learned of James' demise. A man who could survive in the Breath surely should not die from snake venom. That is, unless God had withdrawn His protection. James must have somehow displeased the Lord.

It was pathetic how Peter had tried to become prophet in James' place. During the howling Peter was laughed out of pack after pack as he demanded men obey God's "commandment" to waste care on the useless. Step into the Breath, men taunted, prove you speak for God. When the derision got bad enough Peter would angrily approach the crackling flames. The edge was as close as he ever got. The laughter grew to a roar, but Peter at least had the intelligence—no one ever said he lacked that—not to step further.

Yosef at first regarded Peter as a curiosity. He was more interested in the fact that Daniel had actually witnessed James standing in the Breath. Yosef had previously dismissed such reports as embellishments of someone leaping through flame, probably after soaking in a stream.

"He calmly walked into the Breath," Daniel had told Yosef. "He spoke to us a long time. When he left the Breath he was completely unharmed."

Daniel always told Yosef unembellished truth. That was likely one of the reasons Yosef had elevated Daniel to hundredman. Nevertheless, the firstman's eyes mercilessly probed Daniel's as they hunted for trace of untruth. They would not find a speck. Daniel knew what he had seen, though he still barely believed it.

"How long did he stand?" Yosef finally asked.

"The man was slow witted and he spoke slowly. He repeated himself much. He was in the flames long enough to cook his whole body."

"How do you account for his survival?"

Daniel considered his answer. He was sure Yosef didn't want to hear "God protected him". Then Daniel realized Yosef would be noting his deliberation. He reminded himself to reply to this man, as always, with pure candor.

"I cannot account for it."

"They say God favored him."

"I cannot account for it."

The firstman gave the faintest nod to Daniel, who knew with the nod he had risen in Yosef's estimation.

Yosef inquired no more about James and the Breath. He instead asked about Peter. Daniel managed to repress bias as he told of the man's piety and brilliance and how Peter had all but ruled their pack in James' name.

Soon after Yosef approached Peter. Daniel watched them walking and talking at length, almost a full afternoon. Undoubtedly the puny one was overjoyed to find someone willing to converse without mockery. Just seeing the man stirred the old juices of hate, and Daniel hoped Yosef would not bring him into the pack.

Peter did not join the pack. Yosef never divulged what the two talked about, but when the howling ended Peter departed with companionship. Amazingly forty attendants accompanied him back into the grasses. Or not so amazingly since these men, good fighters all, came from Yosef's pack. Daniel surmised Peter's days of receiving laughter were at an end.

Daniel heard no more of Peter for awhile. The days passed peacefully, boringly, until halfway to the next howling. Then the days bored no more because the underones appeared for the first time on the grasses. With them they brought the Breath and death.

Packs fleeing before them raved of their great numbers, numbers that were not believed. Survivors of the earlier battles were certain they had faced no more than a thousand of the beasts. Surely panic grossly exaggerated reports now putting their strength at twenty, thirty times that.

Pack leaders who had never fought the underones were eager to confront them. These leaders—and all men really—believed they could subdue any creature that walked, flew or swam. All it took was the proper application of intelligence and violence. Let us combine our packs, growled the leaders, sneak close to them, and attack as false dawn breaks. We will leave their bones littering the land.

The leaders sought Yosef's aid. While avoiding outright refusal, he managed to delay reaching the assembly point in time. He however did send Daniel and several others ahead. Do not join the battle, he instructed. Get close as you safely can to accurately observe. Note every detail. But keep out of the fighting, no matter how hot your blood runs. Yosef in particular eyed Daniel as he delivered the warning.

It did take great effort for Daniel to refrain from entering the fray. Especially early in the battle, when the packs killed many of the two-legs. Daniel's teeth ached to tear. His restraint later proved most wise, for the underones struck back with a vehemence that destroyed a hundred packs. With stunned horror Daniel watched the slaughter occur only bounds from him.

He was stunned even more to recognize one of the beasts. No longer white, the male had somehow managed to change his coat to blood red. The face though was the same. The beast did not this time swing a heavy stick; he was more deadly as he coolly stood behind the rows of brown coats, pointing this way, shouting that. This beast had been responsible for his pack's defeat at the thorn hole. And Daniel would tell Yosef this male was just as responsible for giving the two-legs victory here.

Upon his return Yosef made Daniel a five hundredman. The firstman walked alone with Daniel, as he had with Peter, and asked him to choose ten of the best fighters in the pack. Train them to your satisfaction. Then, if you agree, you will take them out into the grasses to kill certain pack leaders.

Yosef turned and faced him. Will you do this for me? he softly asked.

Daniel hid his disappointment that his new title meant something less than commanding five hundred of the pack. But he knew two things. First, one did not lightly refuse a request of Yosef. Although refusal would not bring physical harm, Daniel could find himself quickly at loss of his hundredmanship. And second, if he did well at killing pack leaders, he could count on ever better position in however large a pack Yosef decided to create.

Daniel and his men—Yosef named them God's avengers—began their work after the next howling. Yosef arrived at that gathering with his numbers swelled to near seven thousand. He had taken in most of the women and pups left packless after the great battle. Male survivors also joined this pack of refuge, where in addition to ready meals they could heal their battered nerves and broken confidence.

Other leaders decried the size of Yosef's pack. But what could they do about it? At any rate Daniel knew they perceived Yosef more as defier of tradition than as threat, and he did feed all those hungry mouths. The real threat was advancing steadily westward.

At the howling, amid much frantic prayer, leaders pondered how to deal with the underones. Few had good suggestions. Some leaders wanted to attack again, saying an all out assault with every able man and woman alive could win this time. Others called for a general retreat beyond the great river. Swim over as much prey as possible, and fiercely resist any attempt by the underones to cross. Perhaps they would stop there.

Yosef offered no advice. His eyes just studied. Daniel wondered which leaders he was picking for the avengers to kill. Other leaders grew quite exasperated with Yosef. He had the largest group of people, with the most to lose of anyone, and he treated this crisis like it was a drought that would pass with coming rains. They finally just ignored him.

At the howling Daniel again encountered Peter. The little man now told men why God had inflicted the underones upon them. Despite the commandment delivered by His prophet James, men continued to abandon the helpless. God loved man but He was now very angry. Mankind would have to learn the hard way to obey its Creator.

Peter spoke other words during the howling, and Daniel then understood why he needed the attendants. Peter said man must never again kill man. Only God had that right. Whether leader or pup, all men must respect the existence of others. He who violated this dictate could not attain the afterlife.

Men listened with wonderment as they heard Peter. Many thought him crazed, others thought him more ridiculous than ever, while some took his words to heart. Pack leaders thought him dangerous. But no man tried to silence him—not while Yosef's protectmen stood near. Besides Peter was a minor irritant compared with the creatures who were burning the grasses and keeping new grass from replacing the burned.

The howling ended with packs scattering in all directions. Many planned to head into the valleys of the northwest. Surely the underones would want no part of that rugged land. Many did retreat across the great river, while others stubbornly remained on the better grassed eastern side

The two-legs reached the great river before the next rains. They reached it in the north, and they did not halt at water's edge. In a move that surprised everyone, the two-legs sent groups far west beyond the river. These detachments then lit fires that swept back east. Carried day after day by the prevailing winds, the Breath burned all the way to the great river. The detachments repeated the process, working north.

For the first time men began to truly despair. Spirits drooped even in Yosef's mass pack, which had yet to suffer harm from the underones. Everywhere suspicion arose that mankind would not survive. Many turned to God with renewed devotion, promising to sin no more, and begging entry to the afterlife.

During those frightful days the position of pack leader became less healthy to hold. The remonstrations of Peter took root, and leaders were the easiest to blame for God's wrath. Leaders had to keep guard not just against the avengers. Leaders died, and where they retained hold—sometimes by brutal means—men and women stole away to Yosef's pack.

Daniel did not allow himself to despair. He was not a man to ignore the obvious, and he knew that if matters proceeded as they were the underones would win. The two-legs had destroyed half the grasslands, and they were not slowing down.

The two-legs had also now appeared on the rivers, in strange gatherings of wood that could go upstream as well as down. From the river as well as land the beasts could send short sticks whistling through the air a hundred bounds and more. The sticks only had to break the skin to kill.

Daniel did not despair, because he believed in Yosef. He knew he should be looking to God for deliverance, but at the moment Yosef was more reliable. Yosef did not hint how he and his pack—now fifteen thousand strong—would escape the two-legs. He just promised they would.

Yosef wasn't worrying, so neither did Daniel. Yosef was the most self-assured man Daniel had ever met. Daniel trusted that self-assurance. It meant that Yosef had found a way to avoid the great jaws closing on them.

Daniel reasoned that Yosef had not come all this way to starve or burn to death. Yosef evidently intended to rule mankind and he wasn't about to let the two-legs deny him that. Have faith in Yosef's ambition, Daniel told himself. Let this man of small size and large design somehow triumph, and Daniel triumph with him.

First Among Men

Yosef surveyed the remainder of mankind arrayed before him. In the dying twilight it was difficult to tell where their mass ended and the dull grasses began. But they were all here, save those attending the horns.

"Freemen!" he cried. "Hear me!"

They roared back at him.

Beside him his tenthousandmen also howled their devotion. Even Daniel, who Yosef knew thought all this much overdone. Of course, it didn't matter what his ablest battlemaster thought as long as he strictly obeyed.

"Freemen! Tomorrow we are delivered. Praise God!"

They praised God.

"Freemen. Tomorrow the underones die. But remember in your passion what I have told you. Spare one in ten. You can throat all the rest."

They screamed their approval, though at first his order had bewildered everyone. Then he reminded them of the unmatched flavor of the underones' roasted limbs. It had been a long time since anyone had eaten one, but those who had raved anew of the deliciousness. Soon everyone agreed the packs should maintain a herd of the two-legs.

Yosef would permit the periodic slaughter of only a small number. The prized meat he would distribute to those who served him best and those he wished to influence. Most of the two-legs he would keep alive and healthy. He had other, better uses planned besides eating them.

The firstman spoke a few more encouraging words, then summoned Peter to the forefront. The little man rose hesitantly from his position in the first rank.

The firstman didn't understand the uncertainty that still hobbled Peter. All men now accepted him as creedmaster of the great pack and as the chosen companion of the prophet James. The strictures he claimed James received from God were obeyed. Men and women of all ages sought and followed his advice. Yet the man still questioned his legitimacy.

Well, a confident and courageous Peter—a most unlikely combination—might prove a formidable rival. The runt of mankind was certainly Yosef's full equal intelligence.

"Would you lead us in prayer, creedmaster?"

Peter nodded. He faced the fifty-two thousand who had survived the wrath of the two-legs. The pack was clustered tightly, and Peter spoke loudly as he could, but the creedmaster's weak voice probably reached only the front third. No matter. They had heard it all before.

The prayer finished, Yosef bade all to get a good night's sleep. No one need anticipate the dawn, he reminded. For they did not attack until midday.

As the pack dispersed, Yosef sat with his five tenthousandmen. Each reported on the readiness of his fighters. All fighters had been given double rations over the past thirty days to build their strength and stamina. The tenthousandmen advised that their charges lacked the full prowess of old, but were capable enough. And insanely eager. Yosef reviewed the sequence of attack once more, then he dismissed everyone save Daniel.

The two strolled over still wet grass.

"Tell me," the firstman asked, "your men are truly ready?" Their training had been most difficult. Too many needed lives had been lost. Only in the last days had they achieved a semblance of coordination.

"They will break the two-legs," Daniel said matter of factly.

"All depends on them."

"They know that."

Yosef had to smile. No hesitancy with this man.

He withdrew the smile. "I say again: you will not head the attack. Your teeth will not taste blood. You will command from behind your fighters, and not yield to the kill lust I know will inflame you. Do you understand?"

"Of course, firstman."

Daniel better. Let half the fighters fall tomorrow, but he needed this man alive. They had much work together to do.

Someday, of course, he would have the man killed. Daniel was one of the few former pack leaders he had given any position of command. Most men could submit to authority, but those driven to seek leadership—even over the mere two hundred souls of the old packs—did so because they could not submit.

Daniel was a brave and resourceful fighter taking orders from a former creedsman. To Daniel that could not be the natural order of things. In the challenge Daniel would have throated Yosef within the space of two breaths; on this also the too brave tenthousandman must often reflect.

Daniel had been smart enough to hide his innate longings. But eventually this repressed hunger would force an attempt on Yosef's life. Yosef would be ready, for he had always been able to tell what men planned before they acted. He would make Daniel's death a foreboding example to any other plotters.

"You must get some sleep, too" he said softly to his tenthousandman.

They bade each other good night. Yosef was not ready for slumber; he needed but half the sleep of ordinary men. He instead walked slowly about in the darkness, stepping around the numerous forms already dozing.

At a distance of several bounds, in a full circle about him, his protectmen matched his movements. These men were his first defense against the Daniel's of the great pack. The protectmen always received double rations, and all the women they wanted. After tomorrow they would have a steady diet of two-leg meat.

Occasionally Yosef ran across a person or two praying. They all asked to survive the morrow. What, were they not begging God for victory instead of their lives? Did not they know it mattered little if they died as long as mankind went on? For all the promised wonder of the afterlife it was amazing how few yearned to immediately greet it.

Yosef had believed in the creed as a pup, but then he grew up. He saw the sacred tales and strictures for what they were, necessary delusions. Why then did no one else? He had not met a single man who would acknowledge that the creed was the creation of man instead of God.

To Yosef it was all so obvious. Men greatly feared death. To battle this fear men created God and His afterlife. Men could not face that nothing would exist for them after they left this life. At times Yosef shuddered at the prospect, but then he reminded himself what an advantage this acceptance gave him.

He called those he led freemen, but he was the only free one among them. The rest were hobbled by their belief they must obey the creed or forfeit the afterlife. That had allowed Yosef to turn men to his need. Using men's fear of God had given Yosef greater power than the teeth of all pack leaders combined.

Such fools were the mass of mankind. They pleaded to an empty sky, believing their God heard every word. They pointed to the stars and called them saints. The saw God in the wind, in the grass, in the river. Even pups did not cling so to their mothers as men did to God.

Of course, Yosef had encouraged and would continue to encourage this clinging. He would reward the pious of his pack. For when men ceased to fear God, then men must fear each other. The creed kept men from preying on each other. It would be impossible for any man, even the cleverest, to rule a pack where the creed inspired ideals of civility and cooperation were unknown.

Men were willing to accept less than full satisfaction of their desires because they believed in God. Without promise of the afterlife men would be without restraint. Without God's retribution to worry about, they would try any misdeed they felt they could get away with. Men would act constantly on their basest impulses.

Because he knew the falsity of the afterlife, Yosef was not hobbled. Nothing restrained him except his own calculation, and so far he had calculated very well. He now commanded all mankind, tomorrow he would defeat its one true foe, and eventually all creatures north of the jungles would live or die upon his word. Could even God claim more dominion than that?

Men did not live after death. He regretted that, but he would not hide from it. Because he faced the dread, the path to another immortality lay open. All his energy had gone toward increasing his stature in this life. After he gained rule of the world the name Yosef would live for all time. That would be his afterlife.

The firstman woke with the dawn. He ate a light meal of broiled hare, then he briefly received his tenthousandmen. There was not much to be said. Everything was prepared.

Shortly files of fighters began walking forward, into the damp grass. They would move about two-thirds the distance to the enemy, then split into two groups. In the center they would leave a large gap for Daniel's force.

Only when they were in place would Daniel bring forth the combination that would determine victory or defeat. When Yosef first proposed using the horned buffalo to crush the two-legs, his tenthousandmen thought him crazed. Or so said their eyes. Their mouths dared say only it would be most difficult to control these easily angered beasts of great bulk.

Alone of the tenthousandmen Daniel said he would try to tame the horned ones. He emphasized the "try". Daniel probably doubted managing more than tenuous control of these massive black beasts. But he understood any sort of control could give them the means to stop the two-legs. There weren't other options, anyway.

Later in the morning the ground began to tremble, signaling the hard won success Daniel had achieved. As Yosef and his protectmen watched from a safe distance, the horns emerged from the high grasses at a slow trot. Upon the back of each buffalo lay a fighter and on the edges of the herd unmounted fighters softly yelped to hold the formation. At the very rear loped Daniel, who Yosef knew ached to ride a beast.

Before midday everyone was in position. Scouts reported that the underones were milling about their encampment in a state of low vigilance. Lately when the grasses were wet their discipline had slackened. Yosef had been careful not to prod them during these periods of inactivity. Let them be bored...and overconfident.

By now the two-legs surely did not fear mankind. They had killed men for so long without serious loss they considered their foe toothless. They had seen the emaciated bodies of those too weak to flee any further, and presumed the rest barely clung to life. In their minds mankind was already dead.

At midday the ground once more shook as the sharp horned beasts led everyone forward. The buffalo first advanced at a trot, then a gallop, and the pounding of their hooves could be heard for several thousand bounds. The fierce yelping of fighters rose to accompany the rumble of the buffalo.

Yosef stayed well to the rear as the attack proceeded. He could not risk a stray short stick finding him. Let others rush forward to prove their bravery to fellow men; he would not yield to such foolishness. He was above that, as he had always been of the vanities that hobbled other men. That was why he led them now.

The firstman was annoyed to find anxiety rending his bowels. He reminded himself whether he joined the fighters or remained here with the elders and pups, the battle would proceed as it would proceed. On his part he had done all he could to bring victory.

The plan should work. It might not. The two-legs may have anticipated mankind would make one last desperate assault. The scouts certainly indicated the two-legs were unprepared, but perhaps their laxity was feigned. Yosef would not put such a ploy beyond them, especially that one red coat. This two-leg had given Daniel his only defeat, and he had broken the great attack six rains ago.

Hopefully this red coat was dead. For two rains now Yosef had sent suicide fighters into their encampments with orders to kill only red coats. Daniel had given good description of the male, but fighters at night would do well to identify any red coat. Yosef had no way of knowing success; such fighters never returned.

The pounding in the ground faded and the cries of the fighters all but disappeared. The lack of noise didn't surprise Yosef, for the wind blew on his hind. Somewhere over low clouded horizon the battle was at full pitch, perhaps now in the decisive moment. He would know the outcome soon enough. Let him not learn of it from a mass of fleeing fighters.

Eventually Yosef did see men bounding toward him, but they were runners. They yelped as they raced. The fastest one reached Yosef gasping. He did however manage to wheeze: "We are delivered. The underones are destroyed."

Those around Yosef instantly split the air with joyous shouts. Shouts of "Praise God! Praise God!"

The firstman swallowed his displeasure. Praise Yosef, they should be yelling.

No matter, no matter. His rule was assured.

Yosef now scurried forward. When he reached the battlefield he saw with his own eyes the magnitude of his victory. In a fairly confined area lay the torn and trampled bodies of the underones. They apparently had no chance to flee. Already his men were eating their flesh, without benefit of the Breath. Tonight every belly would be full.

Where the horned beasts had passed no two-leg remained alive. Elsewhere they fighters had carried out his orders to spare one in ten. Yosef eyed several red coats among them. When Daniel returned—he was probably far off herding in the buffalo—he would say if one were the male Yosef sought.

The other tenthousandmen reported their fighters had suffered surprisingly light losses. Yosef had expected half the fighters to fall. With delight he learned only several thousand died.

When Daniel arrived Yosef saw dried blood on the man's maw. Yosef was very good at controlling emotion, but it took all his will to conceal his rage. Daniel had joined in the killing, despite the firstman's direct order to keep from harm's way. Yosef's vision turned to red.

Keeping his voice absolutely level, Yosef instructed Daniel to inspect the red coats—both dead and alive. Bring their battlemaster to me if he survives.

As always, Yosef's passion passed quickly. He had learned long ago to let anger die before making decisions. Daniel would never know how close he had come to ending right there, torn apart by Yosef's protectmen.

Yosef shook his head. Why did men have flaws? Flaws hobbled men, made men so much less than they could be. Daniel was his best battlemaster, but this love of danger, this rashness, would deny him true greatness.

Yosef should not complain that each man lessened himself. Where other men hunted prey, Yosef hunted vulnerability. Some men revealed their weaknesses immediately, while others could hide them many rains. Yosef eventually found them all. Once he knew, that man was his. He had never met an impenetrable man. It was well his mother's litter had not included a second of him.

As twilight gathered Daniel reported. Yosef belatedly praised the buffalo's fine work, then inquired about the red coat.

"He is not among them," Daniel said. He did not sound concerned.

"Are any of the red coats so mangled you cannot tell?"

"All their faces survive."

Yosef sighed. "He must have been on the river."

"Or perhaps he returned long ago to their lands. I'm sure they thought the fight over."

"So we will have to face him again."

Daniel snorted. "Even he cannot stop the horns."

Yosef repressed a snort of his own. Anything could be stopped, especially when advantage of surprise was gone.

"You have pleased me greatly." Said Yosef. "Mankind owes you much. From this day you shall be known as secondman."

Daniel thanked him. The thanks seemed genuine, although Yosef knew Daniel thought he now deserved "first" instead of "second". No matter. Daniel would live only as long as the red coat lived.

If the pack hurried, perhaps they could kill the red coat and his remaining fighters before the two-legs could recover. Yosef, unlike Daniel, did not underestimate them. They were still very dangerous, these baffling creatures who one for one were so inferior to the strength and quickness of men. But in numbers the two-legs were the mightiest beasts of the world.

He would hurry.

Part IV

Mankind

Songreat

She was the first Mother I had ever seen, and she was trouble from the start. I do not know if any Eyes blood ran in her—all records had been abandoned—but I swear some must. She easily matched Stone Eyes in obstinacy and purpose.

We were used to deference from females. This young one obeyed but never with the subservience we had come to regard as natural. Mothers were obviously used to giving orders and reluctant to receive them. They were much like ourselves.

But of course they were ourselves. When I had time to reflect—a commodity in short supply that first year—I reminded myself this female was born of the same females who had given birth to me and every other Son. I suppose that was why we tolerated their difficult behavior.

I was partly to blame for the difficulty with this one. She had never received a man before, and I was in an utterly impatient mood. We had converted the inn near Son of Great's grave to the new Motherhold, but the structure of course lacked the proper facilities. So we were thrown together in a room—unfurnished save a sturdy oak table—that permitted no anonymity

I entered the room an exhausted and harried man. I am sure she entered in a state of great trepidation. I did not want to perform the task at all; I had already sired my Son, and also three Mothers. Let other Sons repopulate our ranks.

She balked when I told her to raise her robe to her waist. Fear and defiance poured from her gray eyes. That I could not understand. Hadn't the older Mothers explained what was involved? It was a simple, quick matter, and one that would tire me far more than her.

"Raise your robe," I repeated. "Then bend over the table. What I do will not harm you."

I was so fatigued I wondered if I could perform. Not that this female was unattractive. Unlike a Counter, she abounded with curves and the face bore a nicely upturned nose. Her dark hair lacked the luster of a beauty's, but her skin was almost as clear and pale. Still, desire did not rush to my aid.

The female started to cry. I could not believe it. I almost bolted from the room, to find and upbraid whoever assigned her to me. But the young Mother lifted long green cloth to expose her buttocks. Well formed buttocks, I observed. She lay face down on the table, with her legs barely touching the floor of roughly hewn timber.

I raised my tunic, and I stooped slightly to align myself. Then I thrust forward.

The female screamed, then thrashed on the table as if I had plunged in a stave. In horror I withdrew from her. In greater horror I saw my penis was covered in blood, and I was quickly at the door shouting for a physician.

Mothers and Counters came running. A great commotion ensured. Everyone charged everyone else with failing to prepare this female; how could it have happened? Meanwhile the female walked as if crippled while she was helped from the room. Dark brown spots stained the middle of her robe.

Only later was it explained to me that I had not injured the Mother. Pain and blood accompanied a female's first penetration. It was also explained that beautys and Mothers were subjected to a wooden dowel before their presentation to Holders and Sons. Left unsaid was that in the chaos and confusion of resettlement, many duties previously performed without fail were now fortunate to be performed at all.

Their profuse apology only slightly allayed my shaken nerves. They said they would assign me another Mother. I said do it quickly, as I wanted this chore out of the way.

When I returned the next day to the Motherhold, and to another room with a table, I found the same female. Before I could rebuke, the elder Mother escorting me said: "She asked for you", then swiftly shut the door.

This young Mother could have fooled me. She looked apprehensive as the day before.

"Does she tell the truth?" I demanded.

"Yes." A strained voice, and eyes still wary.

I could only think she wanted me as a sire because of my fame. The other Mothers must have told her who I was. As long as she had to do this, the Son or Mother born might as well have the blood of he who jointly held the titles of Commander and Chairman.

"Let us proceed," I said. I gestured toward the table.

Her mouth was a grim line. Wetness again rimmed her eyes. She bent, and with white knuckles grasped the far edge of the table.

This time she did not scream. As I worked she only groaned and whimpered. When it was over she fled from the room on perfectly good legs. Well, I told myself, at least the first seed was cast. Unfortunately repetitions were required to make sure some took root. I would have to return on the morrow and three days following.

I was astounded to next see this Mother outside my office that very afternoon. Mothers here were not confined—we had neither the time nor material to build walls—but Mothers did not usually roam far from their Hold.

Behind closed doors I heard her shrilly arguing with my Counters. They demanded she return to the Hold, while she as steadfastly insisted on speaking with me. I was in the midst of a meeting with Council deputies; I was very tired, and much annoyed at this distraction. But I also knew the fright and discomfort I had caused her.

I poked my head out the office.

"Let her stay," I told the Counters. To her: "Wait. And not another word."

Gray Eyes always treated my words as advisement rather than command. Shortly I could hear her conversing with the Counters, although she did reduce the volume of her voice.

When the meeting ended I just wanted to sleep. Lately I often took short naps, which kept me both functional and sane. Perhaps the lack of one this afternoon explained why I agreed to her proposal.

She wanted duties with the Council staff.

"I can read and write, and do all numerical calculations. I can do better here than any Counter. You know we are smarter."

It was warm and drowsiness had seized me. I listened to her unimaginable request and thought I was dreaming. Mothers were for carrying on the Lines. Counters pushed pens and kept accounts. Of course, the Raala had lately negated much custom.

"You can't want us to weave tapestry and the such. That is foolishness."

I could not believe she was addressing me as if I was the lesser in intelligence.

"Your task is to birth Sons and Mothers. And then to look after them."

"When I have—yours—I will. But that is twelve scoreday away. I can help with staff work now. So can many other Mothers in this time of desperation."

We did need help. We did not have enough Counters to go around at Songreat, in the fields, and up with the Guard. Our efforts everywhere would be improved if we could replace the four hundred Counters in Songreat with Mothers.

"You are the only Mother to come to me."

"They want to. But they are afraid."

Afraid. "Why?"

She wouldn't say. I suspected the Mothers—and Counters too—had learned of the Assembly's decision to destroy the Guard. During the terror of the flights, when everyone intermingled, no doubt many tongues had wagged. These females likely no longer trusted those who commanded them. If correct behavior could bring death, why risk anything smacking of the incorrect?

Such fear would have to end immediately. If we were to survive—a vast if—all must trust all. Tomorrow Counters would start training Mothers to assume their tasks in Songreat.

Tomorrow I would also demand the Assembly publicly rescind and apologize for the Guard vote. They would amend the Code so no one, male or female, could be condemned without the concurring vote of the breed involved. If that meant letting watchers vote, so be it.

There were those in the Assembly who would bitterly resist. I would make it clear the Assembly so agreed, or I would resign and not lift a finger in the Civilization's defense. Oh, they would agree. The surviving cowards who voted the shameful Law knew only I and my Guard kept them from Raala bellies.

I returned four straight days to the Motherhold. Gray Eyes suffered no more apprehension, although it was obvious she did not enjoy the proceedings. We spoke little during these encounters.

She and the other Mothers were soon a common sight on the dusty streets of Songreat as they began their training. The Sons and Counters stared hard at them. Most thought this open appearance most improper, but these females quickly proved themselves. Much sooner than even I expected we were able to release Songreat's Counters to the fields and Guard. Which raised morale. And we needed raised morale.

It had been a long and terrible year since the Raala with their black beasts had overrun the Guard. Only a few of those on land escaped to the river. These survivors were in shock, at first unable to speak sense. Later emerged their tale of shaking ground, deafening rumble, and a wave of horned animals rushing toward them. The wave hit their disorganized ranks and shattered them. Raala leapt from the animals to slay survivors.

We in the boats had heard the strange but ominous noise. I had not known what to make of it. We pulled close to shore and sent patrols to see what they could learn. It was they who brought in the nineteen females and one Son who got away.

Twenty of the Guard out of thirty-five thousand. Who could have imagined?

The boats carried five thousand watchers, a couple hundred Counters, and only twelve Sons. We were the remnants of the once irresistible Guard. Through my grief I realized we were the sole hope of the Civilization, and not much of one at that. On the journey over the salt waters I truly despaired. The Raala might be inside the thorns before our vessels reached the mouth of the Life River. I sent our fastest boats ahead to deliver what warning they could.

We arrived at New Songreat to amazingly learn that the thorns had held. The Son in charge of the thorn wall was a man who had taken his responsibility seriously. Even though everyone back home assumed the Raala were all but dead, he maintained watchers in the towers and kept the wetting ducts ready to work. To him the Civilization owes whatever chance it has.

Wherever the Raala did try to breech they found fire useless. A charge by the horned animals failed when the beasts recoiled after contact with the thorns. The Raala then temporarily withdrew, probably because of lack of forage for their herds. Some grass had grown back on the plains, but not enough to feed substantial numbers of grazers.

The time gained allowed me to get the Guard off the boats and marching eastward. The Assembly had proclaimed me Commander even before my arrival in New Songreat, along with almost any power I desired. When they learned the thorn wall had held and the Raala withdrawn, some tried to reduce my power. But most Holders were still thoroughly shaken. As well they should have been.

For within two scoreday the Raala came back to the thorn wall. And administered a shock that dwarfed the one received near the banks of the Other River. The Raala did not try to breach the water soaked thorns, they instead went over them. The trunks of slender trees were placed against the thorns, allowing the Raala to climb, then leap to our land below. Those who carried and placed the trunks were girlys.

The Raala advanced swiftly. The southwestern evacuation had only just begun, and many there perished under the teeth of vengeful Raala. I did not cross the Central Ridge to rescue them. My diminished Guard would survive but an hour in open battle. Less if the Raala had managed to bring the horns with them.

I issued many orders those frantic days, but only a fraction were carried out. Disrupted communications, paralysis of will, and a general disbelief of the disaster unfolding thwarted organized withdrawal. Too many men delayed or ignored too long, and were cut off.

Those in the eastern Holdings hoped we could stop the Raala at the Central Ridge. I had no such illusions. The ridge was only a steep rise of ground; creatures could climb it anywhere, whether they possessed two legs or four. Men cursed me for not deploying along its length, but such a thinly spread defense would be good as useless.

I saw only one hope. Even since I returned to the Civilization, my eyes had fixed on Songreat. Or more accurately, on the ragged thorn wall which encircled that abandoned city and the surrounding hill country. True, no water ducts protected these thorns from fire, but the rains were due in thirty days.

In the lush lands of the north, we were losing everything. The Raala overtook even those fleeing in earnest. And as I foretold, the Raala and their horns easily crossed the Ridge. New Songreat now lay but two hundred sixty miles before them.

I ordered everyone southeast, towards the ancient seat of our Civilization, but many resisted and instead headed to New Songreat. To them New Songreat was "protected" by the Life River at its rear, and to its front and flanks by the semicircular canal ten miles out from the city. The canal was over a hundred yards wide and its waters swiftly moving.

Stand and fight there, many demanded. Our short staves and boats will halt any crossing. And if worse comes to worse, we can still flee via the River. We will not go to Songreat, where we will be irrevocably trapped.

I did not bother to debate them. Raala could swim quite well; I had seen them ford the Western and lesser rivers. The horned ones could also swim, so a hundred yards of water would mean nothing. The Raala would likely cross at night, when boats and short staves were at their least effective. And if we fled on the River, where would we go? To the jungles, or the marshes, or the sands, or the freshly created wastelands?

Fortunately some Sons saw as I did. When I commanded, they without hesitation moved all the breed Holds southeast. They also impounded barges to transport a great portion of the Civilization's food stores to the canals' closet approach to Songreat. There teams of girlys lugged the stores over forty miles of increasingly bad roads to the old city.

The Raala headed unerringly towards New Songreat. That did not surprise me, since most people were fleeing there. The canals led that way also, and perhaps a captured Counter—or forbid, a Son—had indicated such was the center of our Civilization.

Let the Raala race toward New Songreat. It kept them out of the south, where panic was less severe. I was able to get orders obeyed to bring to Songreat what they could of the thorn wall's water ducts. Holders also heeded command to stop at Songreat, pitiful place it was. Entire Holdings arrived intact from Holder to the last girly. I was angered to learn that Holders had burdened girlys more with carrying ancestor busts, wardrobes, and crockery than farming tools, but bodies were bodies.

Those of the western Holdings encountered more haphazard fates. Most of the Eye Holding, including my father and my son, made it to Songreat. Long Hand's line did not, even though their Holding lay so close to ours. Loose bands of Raala had swept through the west, spreading fire and death, and luck told who would live or not.

I needed to gain time. Once the Raala took New Songreat, they would undoubtedly turn south. If they reached the thorns—which surrounded old Songreat at twenty-five miles distance—before the rains came, that barrier would go up in flame. If I could delay the Raala until the rains, we could have water ducts functioning when dryness returned.

If we escaped fire, we need not worry about the Raala climbing over these thorns as they had at the main wall. Centuries of neglect had allowed these thorns to spread. In some places they had grown to a tangle a half mile in depth. Everywhere at least a couple hundred yards would separate us from our ancient enemy.

I decided to gamble. I marched the Guard, a bare six thousand strong, toward the Raala. I also brought a large group of girlys. We moved to the south bank of the Southeast Canal, at a position sixty miles from New Songreat. There I prepared my trap.

The Raala did not have to cross this canal to reach the city. They could have stayed on the other bank and just followed the waters in. But the mass of girlys, properly terrified at the horns' approach, shrieked and ran. To the success flushed Raala this proved too great a lure. The horns and their masters immediately plunged into the muddy waters to pursue.

I had hidden my watchers in well disguised trenches. It took all their courage—and me mine—to not flee as the ground shaking creatures surged toward us, but everyone remained steadfast. We had dug staked pits before our trenches. The charge of the horns abruptly stopped as these animals tumbled into the pits.

During my years of battle I have heard many horrific screams. None could match the bellows that now erupted from the impaled beasts. Many more cries of pain joined theirs as the watchers rose and released their short staves. Before us the Raala attack quickly lost all cohesion, with middle and rear ranks crashing into the halted front. We poured on more short staves.

When the last Raala who was able returned across the canal, I could have walked to the brown waters on their dead. I had never seen so much concentrated carnage, even at my long ago victory on the grasslands. Of course, I had not surveyed the field where the horns destroyed the Guard.

On the opposite bank thousands of yelping Raala milled. With great relief I saw only a few hundred of their horned companions among them. But behind them more Raala were arriving. Many more.

My subcommanders urged we withdraw. But I felt the shocking slaughter of their formerly unstoppable vanguard would deter an immediate attack. They had no clear idea of my total numbers, and they might even fear a counterattack. I would stay awhile.

Early the next day we saw the strangest of sights. On the opposite bank the Raala pulled back. Into the clearing came four Raala, dragging with them another of their fellows. Each Raala mouth held a limb, and when they stopped they stretched out this fellow on his back. This Raala was not dead, as we first thought.

Several more Raala stepped into the clearing. One barked loudly at the surrounding hordes, then a couple others attacked the prone Raala. Their teeth tore at its abdomen. The Raala shrieked and writhed as its entrails were first exposed, then slowly pulled out. I tasted bile. I am sure many of us grew nauseous, even though we should have welcomed the death of one more of these odious creatures.

We remained opposite the Raala ten days more. They probed our defenses but still did not attack. Then we retired south under cover of darkness. The Raala did not follow, but continued on toward New Songreat. In addition to bringing the rains closer, the ten days hopefully would help many escape the city.

I had ordered and pleaded, but too many quit New Songreat too late. We lost many of the best of our Professions. I shudder to think how many Sons and females died in their tardy attempt to flee. Raala teeth must have been especially eager after their defeat at the canal.

Outside Songreat's thorns I fought one more delaying battle, then escaped within. The rains had begun, as drizzle, but that kept their flame at bay. Great rage must have smitten our enemies as they realized we had just long enough deceived them as to our true refuge. Their victory was not quite complete. Hopefully it would never be complete.

We had the ducts up and watering when the rains ended. Hundreds of towers gave us oversight of all approaches to the ragged circle of thorns. I had increased the Guard to thirty thousand watchers, although we were short of even long staves to arm them. We had gotten a quarter of a million girlys behind the thorns, and they were busy clearing long disused fields and planting beans and corn.

After a pause of fifteen centuries, the narrow dirt streets of Songreat again bustled with activity. Five thousand of us filled its dilapidated structures to bursting. The one and two story buildings of pitted limestone and rotted timbers were feverishly repaired. We amazed ourselves how quickly we restored the city.

Indeed those first scoreday inside the thorns everyone worked in a frenzy. Unceasing toil shielded heart and mind from the great calamity that had claimed nine-tenths of our numbers. No one wanted to dwell upon the peril that faced the remaining tenth. It was now we who were trapped. We had tried to kill all the Raala; surely they intended no less for mankind.

For several scoreday the Raala did nothing. We could see them patrolling the perimeter of the thorns, but they did not attempt to burn after the rains stopped. We never saw them mass in strength. On the other hand, I was not about to venture the Guard outside the thorns. I knew Raala could appear out of nowhere, with likely a new vanguard of horns.

When the Raala at last did act, they caused little alarm. Before our western wall captured girlys piled brush out of bow range. This they wetted slightly, then Raala lit the piles. The prevailing winds carried the smoke created into the thorns and beyond.

I kept watchers in the adjacent towers regardless. They served half hour shifts and breathed through masks of damp cloth. The smoke could not dry out the thorns as long as we kept the ducts operating. I did not see what the Raala hoped to accomplish beyond annoyance.

I had better worries. We must feed three hundred thousand mouths, and our food stores would last only a year and a half. By then our fields had to produce enough to take over. Shortages of water and good soil would preclude that.

Need for water and good soil had been the reason, besides a sense of destiny, why mankind spread beyond the hill country. The hills birthed us, nurtured us, let us develop the form and manner of our Civilization—but the hills could not sustain a major population. The rocky, limed soil stunted crop yield. The scattered springs provided a steady but limited amount of water. The lack of level ground made cultivation and irrigation difficult.

Even with modern methods of engineering and fertilization, it remained to be proved whether the craggy hills of whitish brown could feed us, and the unborn growing in many bellies. If the land could not, we could chose reducing our numbers either by the randomness of general starvation—or by again condemning some of our females to death. I would never accept the latter. Sons and Mothers, Counters and watchers and girlys, we would live or wither together.

Of course, all these problems paled when compared to the one named Gray Eyes. Dealing with this strange creature took an increasing portion of my valuable time. This female never sought permission for any of her actions. She just did them, and left it up to me to chastise or accept.

One day—more than halfway through her carrying of my child—I arrived at the Eye quarters to learn from my highly agitated father that she had occupied a room. Two Counters had shared the room before we dispersed Counters from Songreat, and it had since remained vacant.

Gray Eyes was totally unapologetic. The Motherhold was badly crowded, she informed me, and would become more so with the arrival of the newborns. Also she had to walk a half mile from the Hold to her duties at the Council. As her belly swelled, the daily trek was becoming difficult. It only made sense that she now live close to her work, and where better than here, in this spare room?

I should have sent her back to the Hold. No female of the Civilization announced to a Son how things were going to be. Females requested. Holders and Sons granted. From the time of Son of Great this state had served all well.

But what she said did make sense. So I harshly told her she could stay, and to keep out of the way. My father also rebuked her. My son, however, only stared with widened eyes at this brazen female.

He was ten years old then, much lonely, and took to this female immediately. He had been close to the Counters before they left, and I did not at all mind the bond he formed with Gray Eyes—though she continued to irk me greatly.

Uninvited she began to join us at our meal table. In our close quarters the Counters had done so. The attending watcher and girlys had not of course. My father and I told each other once things returned to normal, males and females (beautys excepted) would as usual dine separately.

Her belly swelled and swelled. Finally the day came when the unborn one became the born. It was a day of great trauma for me, worse than any of my battles. It took many hours, and I heard all her pitiful cries as I waited downstairs. I had to constantly assure my terrified son Gray Eyes would be alright, which I didn't know at all.

Gray Eyes lived—and into the world she brought another Mother. I was of course disappointed, but I had braced myself for the possibility. All the waiting Sons knew half their born would be Mothers. This only meant I would have to breed again. I wasn't at all sure I wanted Gray Eyes the Mother; I preferred my females more pliable.

My son was fascinated by the little Mother. Previously boredom had filled his days, but now he was constantly at the side of Gray Eyes and the newborn. My son aided her greatly in those early days of its life.

I saw little of the household after the birth, as my duties called me to every corner of our much shrunken Civilization. My thoughts, however, were always close to those in our shrunken manor. I even missed Gray Eyes.

Whenever I returned to Songreat the Matchers were after me to breed again. If I didn't want to mate with Gray Eyes, they had a dozen other young Mothers ready. I put them off. I had found the process of breeding with Gray Eyes distasteful, and it wasn't going to be any better with someone else. Besides, the fate of the Civilization would hardly turn on how many Sons I sired.

While in Songreat I occasionally brought a beauty to our quarters. Twice as many Sons as beautys had survived the flights, so early on the Council decided to not individually assign the remaining beautys. The beautys were housed in a separate Hold. On a rotating basis Sons could for a night bring them home.

I of course had done this before and since Gray Eyes graced us with her presence. It was none of her concern anyway what I did in my own bed. Except she made it her concern one warm night several scoreday after giving birth. While the beauty kissed and caressed me and I kissed and caressed her, I saw the whites of two eyes at the window. The eyes were very wide.

I instantly knew who watched with such astonished curiosity from the darkened veranda. I don't know why I forsook my namesake and jumped up shouting. Many times I had bedded beautys within sight of Counters or watchers. It should be no different for a Mother, even this one who I would now finally put in her place.

I had never struck a female, so I didn't hit her. I did let loose with my tongue. This female of barely twenty years didn't cringe or cry (the beauty did flee). As I raged she just fixed those frightfully earnest eyes on mine. When I finished she stepped forward and kissed me.

I was stunned.

Then Gray Eyes quietly but resolutely announced, "I don't want you to bring those females here anymore."

A strange paralysis had seized me. My tongue wouldn't work. I, the Commander and Chairman, the man upon whom rested the hopes of the Civilization, could not summon a proper rebuke for this outrageous creature.

The outrageous one continued: "You don't need them. I can do what they do."

Finally the ludicrousness of the situation hit me. I burst out laughing.

Her face twisted in anger and she darted from the room. The next night when I retired, however, I found her naked in my bed.

Peter the Great

At least he was alive. Defender told himself that every day, even as every day he fought to keep sanity. Life, no matter how hideous, was better than death. These hideous creatures could fool themselves into believing something waited after they last closed their eyes. He knew better.

It was incredible he did live. He had seen so many others die. Almost everyone he had known was gone. He alone of his Line had survived, and few in the Professions made it out of New Songreat. Besides himself the Raala had let live only twenty-six other Sons.

So many deaths, so many bloated and fly covered bodies. The Raala had spared only girlys. All the rest from Holder to Terminal Son, from Mother to Counter to beauty to watcher, had their throats torn out. Such had been the fate of those unable to escape to Songreat; such would be the fate of those now hiding behind its thorns.

He no longer doubted the certainty of that fate. Within five years, or less, of all the honored Lines only he and his few companion Sons would remain. The Raala (no, he must stop calling them that) were not to be halted. Mankind had reached its end. What an abominable end it would be.

How much better if these things—who also called themselves "men"—had simply killed everyone. Instead these creatures were intent on enfeebling mankind. And they were succeeding. Within a generation they would have debased mankind beyond repair.

At first he had resisted. So had his fellow Sons, even when teeth were put to their throats. Then a Son was held by his arms, while other Raala began chewing flesh from his feet. After the feet, they ate the Son's calves, then started on his thighs. The Son by now promised he would do as they asked, but they paused only when the shrieking man fainted. When he revived, they resumed eating. They stopped when they had exposed bone all the way to the crotch.

Defender and the other uneaten Sons did the Raala's bidding. Utter revulsion seized the Sons, but they bred with girlys. Defender gagged each time he coupled with these squeally, smelly, hairy females. The Raala forced him to couple up to five times a day. The relentless mating left him exhausted and his penis painfully bruised, yet somehow he never lacked motivation to penetrate the next girly placed before him.

From these ghastly unions the first crop of newborns had already arrived. Hundreds now lived, and soon these abominations would number in the thousands. The Raala were not thinning the ranks of the males born, either. Defender understood the proportion of male to female made no difference to the Raala, but it was almost as if they intended the coming mass of male misbreeds a final insult to mankind.

Within fifteen years these males could sire, and the requirement for the Sons would pass. Defender hoped the Raala would give him a swift death when the time came. Of course, his loins might give out well before then. He was under no illusions about surviving once his utility ended.

When he and the other Sons passed from life, there also passed the true essence of mankind. Mating between a Son and girly would at best produce a being with the intelligence of a watcher. Girlys were very stupid. Mankind would be reduced to a horde of watchers—base creatures unable to implement or appreciate the trapping of civilization. These new beings would amount to no more than an improved version of the girlys, capable of performing somewhat better in the fields. The Raala need fear nothing from them—which was certainly the point.

The meal made of their companion had helped the Sons to devote themselves to more than breeding. From the start it had been evident the Raala desired to communicate. Defender and the other Sons, though weary and depressed and often ill, had concentrated hard to learn their harsh tongue. Defender was the first to half master their speech, and it gained him immediate benefit. Often he escaped a day of mating so he might sit and converse with the creatures.

They wanted to know everything. Defender decided he better not withhold information. The other Sons would eventually be able to talk, and then any omission or distortion would become apparent. Besides, what harm could he now do mankind? Mankind was dead.

So he talked. Ten to twenty Raala attended, all hurling questions at him. He could tell loathing filled their voices. He forced himself calm, and tried to answer as if he were briefing members of the Council. He had always excelled at that.

He realized he did face a council—of sorts. When the Raala began to reveal something of themselves, he learned these creatures governed themselves most strangely. The many obeyed the few. The many willingly assented to this unnatural arrangement; Defender had not met one Raala uncomfortable with it.

Those in the group he spoke with were the obeyed. They bore the bizarre of titles: tenthousandmen, thirtythousandmen, and the one firstman. Other Raala lowered heads when these select passed near. When the firstman appeared, an intense shrilling ensued.

Defender had enjoyed several private audiences with the firstman. This Raala possessed an intelligence far superior to the others of his kind, and indeed, to many Sons. His questions were astute and probed deeply. Defender had no trouble believing what other Raala told him: that this firstman by his genius had saved them—and brought low mankind.

The firstman's interest in Defender slackened as other Sons began to speak the Raala tongue. Defender had to return full time to his breeding chores. In the intervals between couplings, other Raala came by to talk. Most were merely curious to learn something of their deadly opponents, and their hostility lessened as he explained again and again why mankind had so fiercely battled them.

Raala of a different bent also visited him. Raala who wanted less to learn than to teach. They visited all the Sons, at all hours, and kept coming back. Defender got so he would rather couple with girlys than listen to them. But he had observed the respect they received from the other Raala, and he was careful not to offend.

They were called creedsmen. They spoke of little else but this creed and the glory of the lord god. This endless prattling about saints and prophets, about sin and the afterlife, about the god and the underone, it all bored Defender. Their attempts to turn him to their beliefs irritated him. Their relentlessness maddened him.

Still, he pretended both interest and patience. Finally he just said he understood, he believed. That unfortunately was a mistake. Their enthusiasm only grew and they pledged to formally instruct him all the nuances of the creed. Defender thanked them while he inwardly groaned.

One sunny day the smallest of the creedsmen visited him alone. Defender had never given much notice to this usually quiet Raala. He had assumed the one called Peter was an apprentice.

Defender did not wish to hear the apprentice practice his knowledge of the creed. He pleaded extreme fatigue and asked Peter to return another time.

The little Raala spoke and Defender could not understand his speech. Then with shock Defender realized this Raala had addressed him in the tongue of mankind.

"I know you are not a believer," the Raala repeated.

"How—how do you speak as I do?"

"I was often present when we taught you our words. And I have heard you 'Sons' talk among yourselves. I learn things easily; God has blessed me in that manner."

Defender looked at the Raala anew. He had erred in evaluating him. He best not compound the error.

He had been told the penalties for what they termed blasphemy. He supposed his pretending to embrace the lord god could qualify. He sensed, however, this Raala would not denounce him if he admitted to the fraud.

"I will tell the others to leave you alone. A man must come to god of his own accord. Duress cannot play a part."

Defender simply said, "Thank you."

"Speak freely to me, Defender. You have nothing to fear."

He had weighed words all his life. Here the necessity seemed greater than ever. Yet without reason he believed he would never sit in greater safety than he now did with this utter stranger.

"You are right. I do not believe."

"God is patient. He will wait for you."

How reassuring, thought Defender.

"I take it you are not an apprentice, Peter."

"We are all beginners in the sight of the lord."

"Who are you?"

"One who is still learning. I am not avoiding your question, Defender. Since your capture you Sons have taught me new things about God."

"But we don't believe this lord god exists. None of us do. We say so only to please the creedsmen—as you have determined."

"How can you regard all the wonders of the world, including yourselves, and not believe? His glory is everywhere."

Defender was tired. He did not want to debate such points, even though he owed gratitude to this Raala. It would be a most welcome relief for the creedsmen to bother him no more.

His fatigue lead to blunter words than he intended.

"What is, is. Your god or your underone has nothing to do with it."

"A man without God is a fraction of his true self."

Defender smiled politely. "Then I am but a fraction. Besides I am not a man. According to your creed, you are the men."

Then Peter spoke the words Defender would remember unto death.

"We are all men."

Only minutes before Defender would have laughed—at least to himself. Now he could not summon a trace of mirth.

"You and I are both men," said Peter. "We just differ in outer form. The creed says God created man in his own image. Therefore the image lies beneath our hides. Our image is not of the body, but the soul God has placed within. We together—you who call us Raala—and we who call you underone—are mankind."

Peter then left him. The insane words banged in Defender's head the rest of the day. He did his mating duties as if in a daze, and the other Sons worried his mind had at last fled in upon itself. Defender hovered between outright rejection and cautious consideration of Peter's declaration. He did not mention it to his companions.

Within days everyone—Raala and Son alike—knew of Peter's sentiments. Peter addressed crowd after crowd. They were as stunned as Defender had been to learn that their brutal enemy was but the other half of mankind. The Raala evidently held Peter in the highest regard, for he was not shouted down. Or even challenged.

The Raala became most uneasy, however, when Peter extended his declaration to say these enemies must no longer battle. The men outside the thorns must let the men inside live unharmed. Let those outside instead devote their energies to bringing the creed to those inside, who—after all—were also god's pups.

Raala did now begin to challenge Peter. They challenged with deference, but it was clear many could not accept his radical notions. Defender would have had a hard time giving the two-legs a reprieve, either. Mankind had shown the Raala no mercy. Defender knew his people; men would not squander a second chance to destroy the Raala.

Peter silenced all objection when he announced he would speak from the breath of god. Defender had to ask what that meant. Other creedsmen explained Peter would show the truth of his declaration by repeating it as he stood in flame. If he spoke for god, the breath would injure him no more than the heat of the sun.

The creedsmen told how the prophet James had survived the flames. With his own eyes one had seen James stand unscathed. Peter had so far avoided this test, but none of the creedsmen doubted he would live. Peter was the holiest of men. If god did not protect him, he would protect no one.

The Raala were in great excitement. Few had witnessed the miracle of James, but everyone had heard of it from puphood. All were overjoyed that their beloved Peter would demonstrate the ultimate in faith. His faith would be their faith, and bring all mankind that much closer to achieving the afterlife. Almost secondarily they agreed Peter's survival would let them accept the two-legs as fellow men.

A massive fire was built. More Raala than Defender dreamed existed gathered in the fields around it. When Peter serenely trotted toward the soaring flames an eerie howling erupted. Defender watched with great apprehension as the creedsman advanced on what had to be certain death. Peter's destruction would end whatever chance mankind had left.

Peter got within two hundred yards of the fire. Then eight girlys—those gentle, ubiquitous creatures—attacked the little Raala with hoes. One hoe sank into Peter's head.

The girlys were throated immediately. Screams of "Kill the underones!" rose moments afterward, and Defender did not know how he and the other Sons survived the Raala raging for their blood. Well, he did. Most fortunately—and strangely—the firstman's protectmen were in position about them when Peter died. The protectmen saved their lives.

Many thousands of girlys died in the days that followed. The Raala would have killed them all, Defender was sure, if not for the intervention of the firstman. Everywhere Yosef calmed and placated the mobs. He understood their thirst for revenge, he told those he commanded, he yearned for it himself. But they needed the littlest underones, otherwise they could not complete mankind's victory.

The killing stopped. The hostility, which had diminished markedly the past scoredays, returned full force. At every step Defender was greeted with guttural growls. Even creedsmen bared their teeth.

Defender's spirits plummeted. He saw little hope for himself, and none for those behind the thorns. As the days of despair piled one atop the other, he for the first time considered taking his life. He ate less and less, grew ever more tired, and soon was able to breed only once a day. The Raala threatened, but he did not care.

Finally protectmen came and ordered him to go with them. He was certain he was to be killed. They instead escorted him to the firstman.

Legacy

I never expected to see Defender alive again. Nor did I particularly want to. His mere name brought me ill memories, and much self recrimination.

Countless times had I debated myself. Always the path not taken won. When Defender proposed we seize the Civilization, I should have agreed. That very day I should have arrested Too Tall, and anyone else in the Guard disputing me. Defender could have gone on to New Songreat to prepare for our taking control there.

I do not know if I could have succeeded with the Raala where Too Tall had failed. The horned animals may have wrecked the Guard just as thoroughly under my command. We knew nothing of the horns then, and it is difficult to prepare against the unknown.

I however would not have let the Guard stand around idly as if on a day of rest back in the training camps. Especially when the grass before us was still wet. When we could not burn I always practiced extreme vigilance. Under me the thirty-five thousand of the Guard would have waited out the wetness in battle formation, with sentries deployed well ahead, and with a strong reserve in the rear. We would have given the Raala a most difficult time, even with their horns.

But no, I had to flee up the Western River to weigh my options. When only one right choice existed, to confront the Assembly with force. I knew the Peers had forfeited authority with that vile and murderous vote they dared call Law.

They had voted crime, and thereby become criminals.

It did no good to tell myself that eventually I would have opposed the Assembly. Eventually proved too late. If I had summoned courage immediately I might have confounded the Raala and spared the Civilization its ordeal. Upon my shoulders rested much death and sorrow.

I wonder how often Defender thought the same. I imagine he had cursed my name during each day of his long captivity. Ambition more than outrage may have motivated his attempted conspiracy, but at least he had the fiber to reach a quick and firm decision.

I barely recognized the man when he was brought to me. The past two years had put lines on my face, but Defender looked older than my father. His fair hair contained much gray, his cheeks were sunken deep, and he stooped like an ancient. All his quiet confidence had fled.

We did not embrace upon meeting. Our eyes did exchange acknowledgement of what might have been. Many were crowded into the Council room, but really only the two of us sat there.

Defender recounted his horrifying experiences. He spoke dispassionately, his voice never breaking as we listened to how New Songreat fell. He told of wounded Holders and Sons thrown alive into flame, of the city's canals running red with blood, of males and females alike yielding to their own maddened laughter before yielding to Raala teeth.

Everyone in the room hated the Raala even more, but we also wondered why this man had remained alive. We hardly believed the reason when he told us. I am certain my face screwed in revulsion like everyone else's. We suddenly viewed Defender as Outcast—though we all suspected the Raala could have forced us each into these dreadful unions.

So mankind was breeding a new breed. Half girly, half Son. Through my disgust I could see the sense of it, at least from the Raala perspective. Sons were the only males available to the Raala, as we had taken all other male breeds behind the thorns. The Raala had no other way to regenerate the tens of thousands of girlys Defender said they had captured.

We had known since the Raala climbed the thorn wall that they made use of the girlys. We did not imagine this use would extend beyond their current duties of hauling wood to the smoke fires. It jolted us to learn the Raala had girlys back to work on the surrounding Holdings. With knowledge extracted from the captured Sons the Raala had successfully directed the girlys in growing staple crops. The Raala were using these crops to feed their expanding herd of the horns in addition to prey animals.

We had barely digested this ominous news when Defender handed us a profoundly more unsettling disclosure. The Raala were not the Raala. These creatures had never encountered mankind until thirteen years ago. They said they had come from far to the south, from a land of dreadful cold. Five thousand years ago their ancients had crossed over mountains and through treacherous jungle to reach the grasslands. Our hill country had remained unknown to them.

For centuries they knew of the thorn wall, but they had always avoided it. When they did penetrate the surprisingly thin barrier, they had no idea another creature with similar intelligence lay beyond. They had not sought to destroy a civilization—not until the two-legs sought to destroy them.

Everyone sat in silence. The only sound in that chamber of limestone brick was the flapping of window curtains. A strong breeze blew outside, and as always it carried the scent of smoke.

Someone spoke to say it was all a lie. The creatures had behaved like Raala from the start, therefore they were Raala. They could tell Defender anything they wanted. Likely this was a trick to soften our will to resist. Many in the chamber agreed.

Defender went on to tell of their curious beliefs, about how an invisible creature in the sky watched and judged their every move. A code fashioned by reason of men did not guide them, but instead they lived by commands from this sky creature. These commands, many of them ridiculous, were called the creed.

Defender had been speaking for several hours now. He was slumping in his chair, and it was time to let the man rest.

We all needed to turn our minds to something else. Not one piece of information Defender had related gave solace. The Raala, or whatever they might be, were thriving in our own lands. They obviously meant to stay. Nor did their determination to destroy what remained of the Civilization appear lessened.

I had Defender taken to my quarters so he could eat and sleep. I ordered everyone else back to work. The Council would discuss his revelations on the morrow, after the implications had a chance to sink in. Not that there was much we could do to alter the Raala's activities. Of course, we could inform them that mating Sons with girlys was a capital offense of the Code.

I did not return to my quarters until well after sunset. Gray Eyes greeted me at the door with her usual fervent hug. I perfunctorily returned the embrace, then asked about Defender.

"He's asleep. We gave him food, but he hardly ate anything."

"Well, I hope you didn't question him to death. The man's been through enough today."

Her jaw tightened, but she let the barb pass. She let most of my barbs pass. And her affection never dimmed.

I asked about my son, and she replied he was also in bed. As was my father and the little Mother. What the little Son or Mother in her belly, now five scoreday along, was doing no one could say.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

My stomach rumbled, but nowadays I never looked forward to meals. Even in the grassland we did better than our current fare of bean curd and corn meal. Long ago we had exhausted stores of spices. Two or three years from now we might look back fondly on this diet, however monotonous it was.

I ate what Gray Eyes placed before me. I chewed the bland food and I drank the bitter water. I tried to imagine it was wine, which I had not tasted a full year now. I wondered if I ever would again.

Gray Eyes sat opposite me, and said nothing. But her eyes probed intently. More than her usual avarice to know everything motivated the frantic curiosity of those eyes. She hungered to learn whether this man who survived the Raala brought with him any hope. Though I had hid the worst of our situation from her—and indeed from all but a few members of the Council—she suspected the Civilization's prospects were not good.

I finally spoke to those wide, bright eyes and told her some of Defender's wretched ordeal. She bit her lips as I spoke and her pale skin grew paler.

The fatigue of a long day began to stumble my speech, and she urged I sleep even though much remained to tell. Such was Gray Eyes. She always put my needs before hers, even where mine were small and hers great. I wished I could love her as she did me.

On the morrow Defender asked to speak in private. I had sensed he yesterday told but half his tale—the better half.

We sat in the clearing at the side of my humble quarters, under the shade of a gnarled oak tree. I could feel many eyes from many windows upon us.

"I did not escape," he announced.

Three days ago Defender had appeared before our towers on the southern section of the thorns. Raala were seen in the distance, but they stayed well out of bow range. With difficulty the Guard had gotten him over the thorns; several watchers were injured by the spikes which had so far saved our lives.

By now we knew the Raala well enough to understand they would have risked poisoned short staves or anything else to deny us anything important. If they had wanted to stop a fleeing Son, they would have sent a hundred of their numbers against him even if that meant losing ninety. I don't think any of us had believed Defender managed a true escape.

"So they sent you to us."

"Yes."

"I dread to ask why."

"To offer peace."

He spoke with the flattest of voices. If his word could have carried beyond this ragged little clearing to every reach of our withering Civilization, a mighty chorus of hysterical cheers would already be bursting.

"What do you have to say to me, Defender, that you could not tell the others?"

The man sagged in his chair. All animation appeared to have long fled him; Defender was but the husk of his former self. Sucked out were the confidence and calculation that had advanced him so far in the former Civilization.

"The Raala have no need of peace," he said. "They will prevail anyway."

"I believe I already know that."

"No, you don't. They—" He sighed deeply, forlornly. "They live but a third our years, less than even girlys. Good you, say. Good, except that their females can give birth twice a year—and each birthing brings five to eight more Raala to the world. Already they have replaced much of the loss at our hands."

Now I sagged. Five to eight Raala born at once? It wouldn't matter that we now were letting all Sons live; we could never outdo birthing like that.

Defender went on. "As I told the Council, the Raala won't lack for food—whatever their number. The girlys are working just as hard for them as for us. They'll work for whoever gives them orders, the stupid things, even if those giving orders eat them. With the girlys the Raala can return every Holding to production. Right now they are probably outgrowing you tenfold. In five years it could be twenty or thirty-fold."

Grim news indeed. We would never match their strength, and likely never be able to drive them from thorns. Mankind would not return to New Songreat.

But our battle now was no longer to destroy the Raala, only to survive. As long as the thorns stood, we could tell ourselves that a million or ten million Raala on the outside did not matter. Let them farm every Holding as long as our hundred and a half miles of thorn wall held.

I said as much to Defender. Throughout the shrunken Civilization Sons and Mothers and Counters (and perhaps watchers, too) sought reassurance with the same wishful logic.

Defender shrugged. "The Raala aren't worried about the thorns. They worry about you."

"Me?"

"The Raala speak of you almost with respect."

The captured Sons must have told of my successes—and omitted my failures.

"They have feared you for a long time. In every battle where you led, they lost badly."

"But how, before the Sons were captured, did they know it was I who commanded?"

As Defender answered I was astounded to learn these creatures had been aware of me since I fought alongside Stone Eyes. I was more amazed at their belief I could not be beaten in battle—whatever the disparity in numbers. Fortunately I did not believe it.

I saw a ray of hope.

"So this is why they offer peace?"

"Peace to them is every Son dead."

"But—"

"They offer peace to lure you outside the thorns. Their leader did not tell me this, but I know it is so."

At the edges of the clearing small knots of Sons and Mothers had gathered. All watched us intently. I am sure many were desperately trying to read our lips.

"That is a big assumption on your part, Secretary. Especially with the fate of the Civilization at stake."

"The one who leads the Raala is called Yosef. He is a man, a creature, without honor." Defender proceeded to tell me about this Yosef, the one who styled himself the Firstman of the Raala. He did sound a most cold and conniving sort—like Defender, in his better days.

For the first time Defender's voice actually revealed emotion as he spoke of the Raala called Peter. "Yosef arranged his death. You and I know girlys would not consciously harm anything, even pests. I am sure they weren't aware of what they did when they struck down Peter. I am just as sure Yosef's men instructed the girlys on how to act."

Defender's eyes moistened. "Peter would have truly offered peace. He would have let us live, even after all we had done to the Raala. He said that we and they are all part of mankind. I know that sounds mad, but while he lived I almost believed it."

"What did this Firstman tell you to say to me?"

"That he will meet with you—outside the thorns—to discuss an end to hostility. He promises your safe return, whether agreement is reached or not. He wants no more death, he is sick of it. He said that if you can convince him that we will leave his people alone, he is prepared to withdraw back to the grassland.

I struggled to conceal a rush of joy. What if this Raala were serious? I didn't know if I could trust Defender's appraisal of Yosef. I almost wished Defender were his old coldly rational self; I needed unbiased counsel. Defender obviously loathed Yosef. That did not mean the Raala commander lied.

I questioned Defender softly, trying to gain better insight to my Raala counterpart. Defender immediately detected my drift. He smiled tightly.

"He will kill you, Calm Eyes. Do not doubt that."

"And if I fail to meet with him? How will the Raala take that?"

"If Yosef were sincere, would he not let you talk from one of the towers, while he stood on the other side?"

"He probably fears our short staves. We have some now that reach eight hundred yards."

"You could converse by runners. Whether you and he stand a yard apart, or a thousand, I can still interpret."

I closed my eyes. I was already tired, even though the day had hardly begun. For too long I had carried too much responsibility of too grave a nature. How I longed to rest.

Defender was right, I must be wary. The prospect of peace tempted me sorely. Often lately I had let my mind slip from its duties, and dreamed of a return to the Eyes Holding. There I would pass the rest of my days in relaxation, with those of my Line at my side.

We talked some more, and I forced myself to learn as much as I could of the Raala. The more I heard, the less blood hungry beasts they became. They were killers, yes, but not madmen. They too loved and grieved and hoped. They too preferred peace to battle.

Finally Defender exhausted his knowledge of our enemy, and it was his turn to query me. Strangely—or perhaps not—instead of asking about the strength of our defenses or our state of morale, he wanted to know about the females he had seen everywhere in Songreat. The females obviously weren't Counters or beautys.

"You've released the Mothers?"

His voice mingled fascination with censure.

"Much is different here."

"The female at your quarters. She actually lives there?"

"She shares my bed."

"Every night?"

"Yes. She will allow no other female there."

Though I spoke facetiously, Defender widened his eyes. Strange how a man who had witnessed such horror could register dismay over what to me was now a minor concern. Certainly one who had mated with girlys could hardly condemn what had come to pass between me and Gray Eyes.

I told him such arrangements were now more the norm than not in Songreat. Gray Eyes and I had been the first, but many other Sons and Mothers quickly followed. The pairings occurred almost as if natural, though of course they were born of the supreme crisis we faced. If peace came, and the Civilization was restored, I expected the ancient order would return.

I had contemplated that matter very little, since restoration seemed unlikely. Now we might have to address it. A year ago I dare say few would have opposed putting the Mothers back behind shard topped walls. Today men might oppose with staves.

A number of Sons had lost all reason where Mothers were concerned. I had seen men become obsessed with this beauty or that, but the attachment to Mothers involved more than loins. Men announced themselves profoundly happy, in a way they had never experienced. They were wildly pleased with life although disaster loomed for them like everyone else.

I considered their obsession pure foolishness, created by desire to escape—at least in their minds—from the fate that appeared ever more certain. I felt nothing of the like for Gray Eyes. I held her in affection, and I greatly appreciated her devotion to me. But flowers did not smell better and the sky did not glow more brightly, as other Sons giddily claimed to us less fortunate.

I told Defender some of this and he shook his head. We agreed the terrible stress of the times had caused this aberrant behavior

He had also seen the many little Sons and Mothers about. They were in equal proportions, and it was obvious we were no longer culling the Sons. He acknowledged the need for repopulating, but he did express reservation.

I pointed out that we still culled males born from all the other breeds of females. We had been very careful on that account. When peace came—if peace came—we would likely resume culling of Sons, once we had enough to assign to Holdings where no one in the original Line had survived.

Our long talk once again drained Defender and he went back in my quarters to nap. Immediately Sons and Mothers surged around me, pleading I inform them what the arrival of this man meant for the Civilization. I told the desperately anxious crowd he brought neither good news nor bad. The Raala were strong, but they still did not have the means to breech the thorns.

I ordered everyone back to whatever tasks they should be doing, then I walked the mile it took me to get out of Songreat. I needed aloneness.

I turned from the main road and took a path into the hills west of Songreat. I stayed as much as possible in the shade of the scattered threes, and gratefully breathed sweet clean air. Air today free of smoke.

Even since Defender had crossed the thorns four days ago, the smoke had diminished. True, the winds had blown lightly those days, but it still blew from the west. Undoubtedly the Raala had dimmed their fires.

Whoever this Yosef was, he knew how to tempt. The respite from the smoke made contemplation of its return unbearable. For two years the smoke had tormented us. Everyone from Songreat westward now coughed habitually, and our eyes and nostril always stung. Many days we saw only the morning sun.

Yet these torments were could live with (though the smoke did kill the elderly). We could not live with the destruction of our cropland. We had a mass of mouths to feed, and we needed all tillable land in use for that end. Because of reduced sunlight crops in the west were failing to grow beyond seedlings. Crops near Songreat grew but were stunted. Only east of Songreat did we get adequate yields.

The food stores we had transported from New Songreat were gone. Within half a year I would have to put everyone on half rations. We had avoided much sickness and infirmity so far, but half rations would force them upon us. One way or the other, our numbers would reduce to that which the land could properly feed.

We had additional worries. The Raala had extended their fires. Gradually, but steadily, they were assaulting northern and southern lengths of the thorns with flame. At first this puzzled me, because the winds kept smoke arising there away from us. But fire anywhere along the thorns required water to keep it at bay.

If the Raala attacked our entire perimeter with fire, we would not have enough water to both irrigate crops and fight the flames. Keeping the wall intact was of course the supreme priority. So even more land would go out of production, and ten of thousands more of us would starve.

Few inside the thorns knew what I knew, but they had premonitions. Aside from the lovesick, joy was a forgotten luxury. I didn't come across too many who spoke of their plans for five or ten years from now. I certainly had none. Worse, I saw no future for my Son or the little Mother.

I would have to go speak with Yosef. Indeed he might have me killed as soon as I ventured beyond the thorns. Yet he and his Raala might be as weary as we of this struggle that had caused both sides so much misery. At any rate, my remaining behind the thorns would not reverse the slow death of the Civilization.

I stayed a couple more hours in the solitude of the hills, then returned to Songreat. I summoned Defender and the Council and announced my plans. Hope crowded out apprehension on all faces except that of Defender. He then surprised by saying he would accompany me; if Yosef did speak the truth I would need good interpretation and counsel. Both he could provide.

Gray Eyes went white when I informed her of my departure. She did not cry or wail for the sake of my son (who begged to go along), but she clearly did not expect me to return. That night, as we bedded for what might be our last time, she poured out her love for me. I promised I would be back.

I had to come back. And bring peace with me.

As we traveled by litter to the thorns, I asked Defender why he had volunteered to accompany me.

"I would not have ordered you to. You said other Sons there can speak the Raala tongue."

Defender's old eyes fixed mine. "Yosef ordered me."

"You would obey?"

"Am obeying."

"Why? He has no reach here."

"He said if I brought you back I would be able to live out the rest of my life. He would even put me in one of the manors and give me some half breed servants. If I did not return, I had better kill myself. Because when his men did breech the thorns they would have orders to capture me alive. Then they would kill me very slowly."

I shook my head. "So this is the nature of the one I go to meet."

"As I advised you."

A wave of terror rippled. I could not turn back now, I would not turn back, but much of me wanted to scurry to Songreat. The Civilization might hold out ten years more. Ten years of life was certainly preferable to the less than ten hours I might have left once I crossed the thorns.

Crossing the thorns took a day in itself, then we were on the other side. Where things looked innocuous enough. Here at the southeastern edge of the hill country one would never know a life and death struggle was in progress. Not a Raala was in sight, and the gently rolling land of shrubs and meadows lay undisturbed.

We walked a mile before we saw the first Raala. Hair rose on the nape of my neck as about fifty sprinted toward us. They yelped as they ran. Before when they charged I always had a club in my hand and worthy fighters at my side. Now only the Raala leader's promise of safe passage protected me. I felt quite naked.

I saw bared teeth as they neared. But they did not attack. They merely split ranks to encircle us and growled lowly. I had not smelled Raala up close for a long time; they still stank. Fear kept my face from revealing disgust.

Then Defender was talking with them. I do not know how he could understand their harsh mishmash of sound—different pitched grunts, really—which they used to converse. More amazingly, he spoke rapidly as they.

"We have a walk of five miles," said Defender.

Several of the Raala speeded away to inform Yosef of our appearance. Defender said the Firstman waited at the Arm Holding, which he had taken as his own. The Raala leader actually lived in the manor. Yosef slept in the Holder's bed and ate at the Holder's table. The leader however still dined on flesh instead of plant, and had developed no taste for wine. But give him time, said Defender.

We soon left the hill country and entered the outer fields of the Arm Holding. Though Defender had told me what to expect my eyes fairly bugged to see girlys at toil under Raala taskmasters. The girlys, singing, were weeding rows of young corn. Substitute watchers for the Raala, and the scene would be the same as across the centuries.

The girlys took little notice of us, but everywhere the Raala stared hard.

"Do they know who we are?" I asked Defender.

"No, we're just two breeding Sons to them. Hated, but tolerated. Yosef told few he was attempting to get you here. He doesn't like failure, and likes it less failure become known."

Presently the fields gave way and the manor came into view. The two story building of white marble stood intact, but severe overgrowth blemished the surrounding grounds. Here was where they should put girlys to weeding.

The Raala escorted us to the front entrance. Several other Raala waited there on the porch. I picked out the Firstman immediately, for Defender had said Yosef was of smaller size than the average Raala. But I think I could have determined his identity anyway. The faces of the other Raala twitched and seethed; he alone eyed me calmly.

The Firstman said something and Defender gasped.

"What did he say?" I asked. Certainly not "Welcome, Commander."

Defender spoke in Raala tongue. His voice pleaded.

"What did he say?"

Defender turned to me, gloom all over him. His voice caught, then the words fell out.

"He asks if you wish to die by fire or by teeth. He is dung, worse than dung."

I stepped forward. Growls greeted my movement.

"Tell the Firstman my fight with his people is over. Tell him I will gladly die if he wants, if it will ease their fear of us. But let there be peace between our two kinds."

The Firstman answered and once more Defender quivered.

"He asks again how you want to die."

I looked at the Raala leader. If he wanted me dead so quickly where was his anger, where was his hate? I gazed into utterly still eyes.

Could Yosef be testing me? Appraising for himself the mettle of their most dreaded opponent? A wise leader would test very thoroughly. Yosef could hardly forget that I and my Guard had almost killed his people. He would also remember I had never requested a meeting to discuss peace when the odds favored us.

With him on the porch we two were at the same eye level. I spoke directly to him, pausing just enough to let Defender interpret.

"Yosef, it was your people who first attacked. We understand now that you mistook us for unintelligent prey—but nonetheless you killed first. We killed you in turn because we feared you were the ones who nearly destroyed us long ago. Not until Defender could speak to you and you to him did we both learn the truth of each other."

"We know the truth of you," Yosef said softly. His eyes continued to pierce. I had to work hard to keep my voice steady.

"Firstman, hundreds of thousands on both sides have perished. You may yet prevail, but hundreds thousand more will die—our male and female, your male and female. Let us two leaders end this terrible fight, here, today. We lived in peace for thousands of years. We can again."

Yosef rose from his haunches. His head turned right and left to survey the growing crowd of Raala. Then he spoke loudly, to the crowd. They answered with vicious yelps. Defender did not interpret until I told him to do so.

"Freemen! The leader of the underones promises us mercy. Do you accept?"

"No! Never!"

"He promises not to kill us. Shall we trust him?"

"No! Never!"

"He promises a thousand rains of peace. Shall we reward his generosity with life—or with death?"

"Death! Death! Death!"

The shrieking Raala pressed closer, their stench all but knocking me over. Many made ready to leap.

My bowels were very loose. But I could not falter now. I had to keep my courage, and my reason. My presence here was still the best hope for my people and I must continue to argue their case.

"If you fear us so, Yosef, then keep us behind our current circle of thorns. Stay on the remainder of our land. That way you will always be the stronger. We would even allow your observers among us, to ensure we are not preparing harm. I am certain the longer we exist side by side, the less we will dread each other."

Yosef shouted something and the Raala pulled back. He then lowered his voice so only Defender and I could hear.

"I believe every word you say, Commander. Defender has told me much of your character, and in the main it is quite admirable. And I believe your people long for peace. Why should they not, so close to final defeat?"

"We—"

"Please, Commander. Let me have my say. You have had yours."

I apologized and hope flickered in me. Yosef was speaking civilly now. Perhaps some sort of agreement, any sort of agreement, could be reached. I would be willing to cede very much to give us a chance at survival.

The Firstman continued. "You must have noticed a basic difference between our two kinds, Chairman and Commander. No, I don't mean we eat flesh and you eat plants. Nor that we honor a lord god and you do not. Nor how you kill your males and misbreed your females and we don't. I mean the real difference." Yosef held out his foreleg. "This."

I stared with puzzlement at the haired limb.

"Come now, Calm Eyes, I can do nothing with it but walk. With yours you have made manors and fields, canals and boats, and the New Songreat which awed us all. With your arms and hands and fingers you have an advantage we of four legs can never match."

I started to say something, something soothing. I kept my tongue.

"Your people will always exceed ours. It cannot be helped. You will always be the stronger, whatever circle of thorns separates us. We must forever fear you. For if our intelligence may be equal, your arms and hands can make what has not existed before. Eventually you will create something against which we cannot defend."

"I give you my pledge—"

"Oh, I accept your pledge. But you are only one man. When you are gone, or merely lose influence, who will restrain the other Sons? Eventually we must battle again."

I now found Yosef's quiet reasoning more threatening than his haranguing of the crowd. I sensed the baiting for show, but these measured words indicated a made up mind.

I appealed again, promising whatever safeguards he and the Raala required. I even broached surrendering our bows.

"Most commendable," he said, "but how do you surrender your hands? Will you let us chew them off?"

"Yosef—"

"No use, Calm Eyes. We don't want you alive. We don't need you alive."

"It—it is a crime to continue to kill. That is what there is no need for, don't you see? In peace our peoples can help each other. Defender has told me of your creed. I will of course not pretend to believe in your lord god, but I find much in the creed of value. In turn you can benefit from our knowledge, especially that of the healers. We have medicines to help with sickness and injury. Together our peoples can rise higher than either could singly."

Yosef pondered my words. Then he spoke, with softness gone from his voice.

"Yes, you are as dangerous arguing peace as waging battle. A leader less able than myself might be fooled. But I do see. We truly can offer nothing to your people, and the only thing we want from you are your forelimbs. Which we now have in the girlys and their Son bred offspring. So I ask you once more, how do you wish to die? By fire or by teeth?"

Defender's voice broke as he delivered the Firstman's response. I stood stunned. I could not believe my imploring had been absolutely without effect.

"Answer," snapped Yosef, "or I will chose for you."

"This is not how men of honor deal with each other, Firstman."

"I choose you die by teeth."

Defender's face reddened and he spoke harshly to Yosef. I told him to keep his head, and not join my fate.

Yosef shouted something and four of the Raala came forward. They were creatures twice the size of Yosef, with plenty of teeth in long jaws. Yosef barked some more words. A Raala scampered into the manor and shortly returned holding an object in his mouth. It was a stave, which he dropped at my feet.

Yosef turned to me. "I am not entirely without honor, Commander. Take the stave. With it survive against my protectmen as long as you can."

I picked up the stave. Its tip was well sharpened.

Defender groaned. "I am sorry, Calm Eyes."

"You properly warned me. But I was obligated to come."

"He killed Peter, now he kills you."

"If you ever see my son, tell him I love him. Tell him to carry on the honor of our Line."

Defender nodded, though I am sure he did not expect any Line to carry on.

The four Raala came at me. I stepped back and felt the cool marble of the manor on my buttocks. Around the manor the other Raala had broken into fierce yelping. I did not need Defender's aid to tell me they were crying "Death!"

With marble guarding my rear, the Raala could attack only from the front. One charged ahead of the others, and my stave caught him in the shoulder. Reeling backwards, he shrieked. I whipped the stave butt around to crack another's skull, then the stave point slashed the third Raala's throat. The fourth managed to sink teeth in my thigh before I felled him also with a butt stroke.

The yelping stopped quickly as it began. Blood was flowing freely from my thigh, but the old excitement of battle had seized me. I shouted for them to send in four more; I would kill them too.

I caught Yosef's eye and I think I saw admiration. I swear there was regret in his voice as he issued another command.

This time twenty Raala charged. Despite their numbers, they advanced more warily than the previous four. I killed a couple, wounded more, but I was of course doomed. One eventually locked teeth on an ankle, pulled, and down I went. A dozen jaws lunged for my neck. I continued jabbing my stave, finding flesh as their teeth bit and tore.

I felt no pain and I felt no fear. In my final moments I didn't even think of the fight at hand. Instead a swarm of faces swept at me. Those of Stone Eyes and my father, of the Prime Son, of Long Hand, of Defender, of my son. The last face—and the most vivid—was that of Gray Eyes. My last thought was hope that the Raala afterlife existed, so I might see everyone again.

Breach

In the early morning light John the thousandman watched the little two-legs lug more dirt from the cave. The cave they had dug reached far now, over six thousand bounds. Word had it only a hundred more bounds were required. The digging might finish in ten days.

The attack would doubtless begin soon after. Already the first and second tenthousands had assembled, and the others were gathering. Shortly the fields before the western thorns would contain eighty thousand fighters. That would be a force that even fully alerted and properly positioned two-legs could not repel. But the two-legs would be dispersed and unsuspecting.

Mankind now held all advantage. The long cave would allow the tenthousands to emerge undetected in the rear of the two-legs. Furthermore the fighters would emerge at night, when men's vision was superior. With the great leader of the two-legs dead, fighters need not fear a killing counterattack. John knew the two-legs would fight fiercely, but also in fatal confusion. It would probably all be over in a matter of days.

His thousandmen had the honor of leading the attack. His thousandmen had been trained by Daniel himself, and had served in his tenthousand. No better fighters existed. No better battle master than Daniel had existed, in spite of his defeat at the false river.

John had loved Daniel. And he had watched Daniel's end with horror. Yes, Daniel deserved reprimand after that reckless attack over the false river. John tried to get Daniel to send forward scouts. But Daniel's blood was up. After curtly telling John to guard the rear, Daniel charged across the muddy water.

It would have been so much better if Daniel had perished in that charge. Death in battle was his rightful end. Not the abomination that followed. No matter how many fighters and horned beasts were lost to the staked pits, such did not justify the evisceration Yosef ordered. That Yosef later sought—and received—forgiveness from the creedsmen for this gross violation of the creed had not dampened John's rage one bit.

He had never cared for the firstman. John acknowledged mankind would not have survived without his leadership, but Yosef's intelligence was the only thing about him John respected. Otherwise Yosef gave off a rank odor. John had never trusted men of smooth words, and Yosef's were the smoothest.

For the same reason John did not value creedsmen. He always suspected their skill with speech covered lack of courage. Cowards could easily hide in the creed. Yosef had originally been a creedsman, likely perfecting his ability to sway men with words instead of deeds.

Of all the creedsmen, the only one John revered had been Peter. That little man exuded faith. When one stood near Peter, one felt the Lord was nearby. John had come to honor Peter above any man, fighter or not. The words Peter spoke struck straight at the heart and all men knew their truth.

Peter brought comfort wherever he went. John had seen Peter soften the hardest of men and strengthen the most uncertain. That was always Peter, uplifting men and removing burden. John had trusted this creedsman, and the day John heard Peter say mankind and the two-legs were the same in the eyes of God, he believed.

When the two-legs killed Peter, John had killed them until his jaws were too tired to open. For a while he hated the two-legs—the underones—with all his old ferocity. Surely they were not of God and mankind must kill each and every one. He ached for completion of the long cave.

Then the rumors started. Rumors whispered in the darkest night, from voices hidden in underbrush. Yosef had plotted Peter's death, they said. At first John had cursed these stealthy men, and swore death on them if they dared come out the brush. (Some were caught, and killed.)

But their words eventually made sense. John had observed the little two-legs, who the larger two-legs called girlys. They were essentially gentle, though he had seen them squabble among themselves. They never inflicted any real harm. However they readily mimicked what others demonstrated. With their low intelligence, they would likely not know the difference between poking a seed hole and poking Peter's body.

The girlys would not have attacked Peter unless tricked into it. Only one person in mankind threatened Yosef's primacy, and that was Peter. If Peter had survived the Breath—and he would have—who would mankind afterward follow? Men would thank and honor Yosef, but he would have been firstman no more. Henceforth all mankind would look to Peter for direction.

After he preached from the Breath Peter would have sought an immediate peace. From what John had heard of the meeting between Yosef and the two-leg leader, this Calm Eyes would have immediately agreed. No more corpses of brave fighters would fill bloody fields. Both sides could return to normal life. For John such a life he had almost forgotten.

Several days ago Yosef had visited the first tenthousand. With him he brought the two-leg called Defender, who spoke man's tongue. Yosef told the assembled leaders of the first to show no mercy to the two-legs behind the thorns. The fighters were to spare only the male counterparts of the girlys. These males were near a group of wood and stone caves called Songreat, which was supposedly much less grand than New Songreat.

Once out of the long cave John and his men were to head directly for Songreat. They were to take Defender with them, with Defender riding on the backs of the largest fighters. At Songreat Defender would lead them to the place where the girly males lived. After that John was to kill Defender.

It was known Yosef had pledged to spare this two-leg. Yosef had also promised to spare the two-leg commander. He had killed Daniel and Peter, two of the best of mankind. Yosef had shown himself totally without honor. There was no worth in this man, who shat on the creed at will.

Later John wondered if he should have leapt for the firstman's throat when Yosef said to kill Defender. He may have been able to land a lethal bite, in spite of the protectmen so closely guarding Yosef front, flank and rear. But his own death would have swiftly followed, and worse, total elimination of those called Sons and Mothers would have gone ahead anyway.

John must stay alive. For again he accepted the truth of Peter's revelation, that men and the two-legs differed only in form. Within the forms dwelled souls who owed obedience to the Lord God—and who owed compassion to each other. The creed said man must not kill man and that man must aid man. He would not kill and he would aid.

He had spoken with Defender. At first the two-leg thought John was trying to trick him, but trust formed once they learned their mutual hate of Yosef. It was well they hated, for John's plan asked both to risk much. Hate could breed the most resolute courage.

John had also felt out fighters he knew bore no love for Yosef. These men had adored Daniel and still abhorred his end. Most too suspected Yosef was responsible for Peter's death. From more than forty men, men who he had fought alongside through peril and triumph, John received pledge they would follow whatever orders he gave. If such orders contradicted those of the firstman, so much the better.

His attention returned to the girlys carrying out whitish brown dirt from the cave. It amazed him how tirelessly these creatures worked. They dug and dug, and never gave complaint. Feed and water them, let them sleep a little, give them one day in ten to rest, they could go on forever. They had contributed to victory as much as the finest fighters.

As always, five hundred bounds beyond the cave, smoke was rising to blot out half the sky. As usual, the west wind blew the choking blackness into the faces of the two-legs. How they must have grown to hate it. Just as mankind had hated it through the long ordeal on the grasslands.

The smoke had risen for three rains now, and throughout that time the two-legs must have thought the smoke was intended to both make them miserable and ruin their crops. Never could they imagine the smoke hid the girlys' toil. Toil which would allow their enemy to go below the barrier the two-legs believed secure.

The west wind brought scent of the two-leg, and John turned to greet Defender. The two-leg didn't look any worse for wear, though yesterday must have been difficult. Defender had spent the day practicing riding fighters. Several times he had fallen off.

"How are you feeling?" asked John.

"Apart from a few bruises, quite good. Better than I have in a long time."

"That is well."

Defender nodded toward the cave. "How long?"

"They say ten days."

"I wish it were ten hours."

"Patience, my friend. You should not want us through at all. Once we are inside most of your kind will die. There is no way to prevent it."

The two-leg lowered his head. "I know."

"Pray my men are successful."

"I do, John. I do."

The two-leg professed to believe in the Lord God and accept the teachings of the creed. John was not entirely certain of either the depth or constancy of his faith. Crisis brought even the blasphemer to God. Yet the two-leg might have truly yielded to the Lord. If the two of them lived, John would have ample opportunity to observe how well Defender adhered to the creed.

"God be with us," said Defender. Earnest eyes met John's.

"God be with us," said John.

The Line of Eyes

Gray Eyes nursed her newborn. The gnarled oak under which she sat cast delightfully cool shade and she did not care if she ever moved again. She was still very tired from the labor, and the escape after the labor. Together they had almost drained empty her young body.

Birds were singing in the knot of trees. The sky was blue, the wind gentle. She wondered how the land could pretend such tranquility, when just days ago savagery was all about. The birds should scream, the sky should blacken, and the wind should howl. Did not three hundred thousand deaths demand that?

They told her she was safe, but she knew better. The Raala that hid and fed and protected could turn against them. The other Raala, still seeking survivors, could find this vale. But she was tired of fearing. What would come, would come.

It was hard to believe the twenty-eight here were the sole remnants of mankind. It was beyond belief that she, her little Mother and her newborn were among them.

By rights she should be throated like most of the others who fled Songreat that evil night. The father and first son of Calm Eyes, who became separated from her in the frenzied panic, certainly must be dead. Only the wildest chance had let Defender and the band of Raala that did not throat stumble upon her as she tried to hide in brush.

Defender said the Raala held other Sons, as breeders, though he expected they would die now that the Raala had the male girlys. The girlys, whether female or male, would be no help. Mankind could never rebuild from them.

Any renewal would have to begin with the Sons and Mothers in this lonely vale. Ten grown Mothers, four little Mothers, eight grown Sons, six little Sons—seven, including the one she had birthed eight days before. Pitifully few upon which to found a Civilization. She took little cheer in Defender reminding everyone that Son of Great had started with about the same number.

Nonetheless, she would do her duty. She had agreed to pair with Defender. He was a stranger, but he had known Calm Eyes a long time. That mattered much.

She knew she annoyed Defender with her determination they discuss Calm Eyes. She had repeatedly questioned Defender about the journey to the Arm Holding and the manner of his death. Defender better get used to it. She had to learn everything about the last hours of man she loved so much. Both for herself, and the Son she had borne for him.

Defender could tolerate these queries, especially if he persisted with his own repetitions, those about the lord god of the Raala. That more than annoyed. She did not understand how any educated Son or Mother could entertain such foolishness. She could sympathize with the stress of his captivity, and why he might feign belief to please the Raala. But he was captive no more.

Neither was she, but she still would have to mate with him. She didn't know how she would react. Calm Eyes had been the only Son ever inside her. He would always be inside her, till she drew her last breath. When she did bed with Defender, she would try hard to keep from tears. Hopefully he would not want to mate too often.

She had wanted to mate with Calm Eyes all she could. She could never get enough of the man in bed or elsewhere. She dreaded his absences, rejoiced in his mere presence. She knew Calm Eyes had not loved her in the same way she did him, but she could feel the affection he kept too deeply within. In time—time they did not have now—she would have nurtured that affection to full passion.

She was afraid she would ever compare Defender with Calm Eyes. It was not fair, but how could she do otherwise? She knew she should judge Defender—whose true character she did not yet know—solely on his own merits. No Son could match the standard Calm Eyes had set. Whatever happiness Defender or she might find in the difficult life ahead would depend on her remembering that.

Her little Son had stopped feeding. He now cooed contentedly, probably the only content Son left of mankind. She searched his face for likeness of Calm Eyes, but it was of course too soon to tell. Would that this Son resembled his father inside and out. Twenty, thirty years from now the growing band of mankind might well need such a leader.

Whatever this Son accomplished, he—and the little Mother—carried the blood of a great man. Blood which would course through many, many Sons and Mothers yet unborn. Gray Eyes' heart still ached and she would grieve for Calm Eyes until her own death, but his fine blood would live to shape the Civilization to come.

Gray Eyes saw Defender coming, with the little Mother in tow. She forced a smile and he smiled back. She resolved not to say a word about Calm Eyes. She would ask of Defender, and begin to know her new mate.
