Reclamation

15—Section five, Division one, The Home Ground, Hour 09:15:25, Planet Time

“Coming up on Division One,” said Security Chief Panair from his station at the transport’s controls.

Avir felt an unexpected surge of relief at the announcement. They could not be more than twenty minutes from the base. When they arrived, she would be able to report what they had found under the Unifier dome to the Assembly and get orders on what to do with their prisoner. She’d also be able to get out of her pressure suit. Her helmet and gloves lay on the seat beside her, but the suit itself had been designed more for protection and efficiency than comfort. She had to remind herself that she could not squirm in front of even Ivale, let alone the Unifier. The Security Beholden all remained sealed and helmeted. She had no idea how they stood it. Probably professional discipline combined with the fact that Chief Panair was there to watch them. She could imagine the three Beholden left behind to guard the Unifier base stripping off their helmets and rubbing their necks vigorously.

Bio-tech Nal did not show any sign of having heard Panair. Avir suspected that, like her, he was fighting unaccustomed fatigue. It had been fifteen hours since either of them had slept, but Nal would not leave the artifact in the transport’s emergency support capsule without his trained supervision. Avir herself would not be seen to have less diligence or endurance than one of her Beholden.

“Act at all times as if there were a Witness with you,” her Assembly representative had told her. “There are not enough to cover all the landing sites, but new ones are being assigned as we speak.”

So Avir sat bolt upright in the rear set of seats watching Nal transfer the readings from the artifact’s capsule into a portable terminal. Broken Trail struggled randomly against the restraints. Nal had decided against sedating it. Its delusional state was obviously so deep, he said, that it could not be further panicked by confinement to the capsule. He appeared to be correct. Every few minutes its head would twitch to one side, as if it had just seen a glimpse of something, and sometimes its hand would strain to reach out, but it made no concentrated effort to remove the oxygen mask or to dislodge the needles pressing into its arms. Consequently, the Bio-tech spent the journey gathering valuable baseline data on the artifact’s physiological attributes.

CRASH!

The noise hit the roof and the transport swayed. Avir’s shoulder banged against a locker and she clutched the seat’s arms with both hands.

“Attack readiness!” called Panair.

The front window showed the passage between the major buildings blocked by a pile of stones and broken beams. The Security Beholden pulled back their seating restraints and opened the lockers in the transport.

Artifacts surmounted the pile of debris, whirling slings over their heads. A dozen stones hit the transport window and didn’t even crack the silicate.

CRASH!

The transport rocked again. Avir realized that the artifacts must have managed to rig some sort of catapult on one of the roofs.

The Unifier grinned. “Well, somebody’s not happy with you,” he said to no one in particular.

The engine’s hum deepened its pitch and Panair plowed it into the debris. The garbage cracked and snapped under the tires and, for a moment, the transport balked.

“Artifacts closing!” called out Panair’s second-in-command.

Avir could hear the artifacts yelling. Muffled thumps from stones or clubs battered the transport’s side. The seat’s arms dug into her palms as she clenched them tight.

Panair set up another drive sequence. The wheels churned for a moment, but something snapped underneath the door and the transport lurched to the left. Nal swore aloud.

“Systems check shows the left rear axle broken,” reported the First Beholden. “Autorepair is not…”

The engine’s hum died.

“Blood of my ancestors,” Nal lifted his head. “They must have a telekinetic out there.”

Avir’s heart jumped up to the base of her throat.

Panair glanced at her. “Contractor, you hold my name, but I need it back to get us to base.”

Avir inclined her head once. Ivale lost his Ambassadorial composure long enough to suck in an audible breath.

“Kul, Marthanat, Janaich, Hanath” said Panair. “Clear the perimeter. Oan, you and I will start repairs.”

The first two Beholden slung tanks about the size of an oxygen pack on their shoulders and checked the nozzled hoses to make sure they were properly attached. The second two unloaded a tripod-mounted laser and its batteries. Avir opened her mouth and closed it again. She hadn’t known that had been issued the team. Unlike the contents of the tanks, it was a lethal weapon and would damage the artifacts, but she had already given Panair back his name and could not rescind the order.

Through the window Avir saw Silver on the Clouds. The King artifact rode her oxen to the rear of the attacking mob. Silver’s mouth opened and closed rapidly, but it was too far away for the intercom to pick up what she said. Evidently she still wielded enough power that the artifacts would follow her lead against their true masters. Avir wondered for a moment what was making her own heart beat so hard. Then she realized it was nothing more nor less than fear.

The artifacts charged the transport. Blows from stones, or clubs, or fists made it shudder on its remaining axles. The shouts grew louder, crowding against each other to get through the intercom.

Panair and his second seemed to ignore them. They left their stations and lifted the rear seats out of their racks. The Beholden in charge of Unifier Lu ushered him to the rear of the transport without a word. Oan opened the repair hatches and stepped back to let Panair plunge both hands up to his elbows into the workings of the undercarriage.

The perimeter team opened the left-side door and charged out in a solid formation. Startled, the artifacts fell back, giving the Beholden enough time to raise their weapons and fire.

Greenish brown foam spewed out, too thick for even the Home Ground’s wind to carry away. It hit a row of artifacts, who reeled backward, clawing frantically at the stuff. Targeted oxen bellowed plaintively and fell to the ground, causing their riders to jump free or be crushed as the beasts rolled onto their backs and sides.

The foam had been developed for riot control for client governments. It would not harm the artifacts, but it itched and stank abominably. The artifacts the foam missed fell back, shouting. The affected ones ran, or stumbled, away, breaking ranks without heeding any cries from their comrades or their King.

CRASH!

A boulder landed in the middle of the security team. The debris collapsed under them and the transport slid down the pile, rolling Avir into Ivale and Nal and pitching them all against the walls. Outside, the Beholden had scattered. One scrambled to his feet, but the other two lay still, bleeding heavily, perhaps dead. A host of artifacts lay with them. The intercom filled with their screaming.

Avir’s throat closed.

"The Aunorante Sangh are not all dead after all,” murmured Ivale in the Proper tongue so the Unifier couldn’t understand.

“Target the catapult,” said Panair into his Intercom. “Lethal force.”

New noises crowded through the intercom. Beyond the debris a troop of Ivale’s “security force” clashed with Silver on the Cloud’s followers. The Security Beholden used the transport as cover and aimed the laser at a location Avir couldn’t see. The light was visible as the Beholden fired and the artifacts screamed again. Some tried to run. Some pressed closer to the transport and got caught in a fresh gout of foam. More stones flew from distant slings. The Beholden swung the laser toward a new target and fired again.

The engine’s hum cut through the cabin.

“Recall!” shouted Panair as he dived for the driver’s chair. “Seats!”

Avir realized the order was meant for the passengers. She staggered toward the nearest upright seat and dropped herself into it. The door opened and two of the Beholden all but fell inside. The door closed and the transport righted itself. The tires ground against the debris and the transport lurched forward into the melee. Artifacts scattered left and right to get out of its way. More stones thumped and cracked against its sides. Silver on the Clouds waved her club at them as they barreled past, her face flushed and distorted in anger.

She’d try again, Avir knew it. She was Aunorante Sangh.

How many others like her are mixed among the artifacts? Weariness pressed against her mind. There’s no way to tell. Nal can take them all apart gene by gene, and there still probably won’t be any way to tell.

And we’ve based themselves in their midst. The fear inside Avir redoubled. She tried to be ashamed of it, but she couldn’t Being afraid made too much sense right now.

“Are we receiving from base?” she asked Panair.

“Still receiving, Contractor,” he replied. “The situation there is secure.”

They approached their half-converted base. It looked calm. The shuttle still hung on the tether, glowing like the captive star it was designed to imitate. Only a few artifacts populated its steps and they scattered into the nearby buildings as the transport drove into the plaza.

As soon as Panair brought them to a halt, Avir jumped to her feet and hit the door control. She remembered her helmet and gloves lay on the floor of the transport somewhere, but did not stop to collect them. She strode down the transport ramp and up the base steps. Ivale followed behind her, collecting more data for his unfavorable report of her activities. She didn’t care. There was no time to waste.

She had believed the artifacts to be merely lost and confused. For some of them that was doubtlessly true, and those, the true work of the Ancestors, had to be preserved. But some of them were the shameful blood, and those had to be eliminated, and all their progeny with them.

Avir headed straight for the comm terminal. Behind her, the remainder of the security team carried the support capsule containing Broken Trail across to Nal’s station and set it beside the empty holding tank. The Unifier was marched in, too, and he gaped at the bustling Vitae and huddled artifacts.

Avir decided she could ignore him for a moment. She needed direction. She needed reassurance. She needed to tell someone that the Aunorante Sangh were alive and well and that the war that had ended in the Ancestors’ Flight had been joined again.

Beside the primary comm terminal sat the backup unit. It was internally powered and small enough to be carried by one person. Avir picked it up in both hands and headed for the rear of the Temple, trying not to care if anyone’s gaze followed her.

Beyond the main chamber were the living quarters and the kitchen. They were little more than alcoves blocked from a central foyer by more of the rough-woven blankets. In the middle of the foyer, though, a stone staircase had been built down into the earth. Avir took the stairs carefully. They were unevenly worn from years of feet descending this way.

The cellars here were not the work of the Ancestors, but they were the result of some astoundingly careful work by the artifacts. The flagstone and plaster were all tightly sealed, creating a row of chambers that were dark and cold, but dry. Each one had a wooden door shut with a surprisingly complex iron lock.

The chambers were full of books. Some were obscure convoluted texts of what passed for religion or history among the artifacts, but most of them were lists upon lists of genealogies. For all the artifacts had forgotten, they had never lost the fact that they had been bred for their functions. Even the rebellion of the Aunorante Sangh had not been able to wipe out the artifacts’ need to keep their creator’s work as intact as possible.

Lights had been fastened to the ceiling and their glow thinned the shadows on the reddish stone walls to grey ghosts. The only sound was the soft murmuring of the team’s Historian in one of the rear cellars as he catalogued what he had found.

Avir picked an empty chamber and shut herself inside with the ancient books. She wedged the comm terminal on a shelf and stood in front of it. For a moment, she just enjoyed the silence and the familiar intimacy of solid walls.

She could have done this up above, but it was easier to think down here, and she had no idea what the Assembly was going to say to her.

Avir opened a line to the Assembly’s waiting terminals. Every comm line into the chambers was answered by a Witness now that the Reclamation had begun. No word between the teams on the Home Ground and the Assembly would be lost.

“Good Morning and also Good Day, Contractor Avir,” said the Witness when the screen cleared. The image was good, if distant. She could see the glint of her own reflection in his camera eye.

“I have a first level emergency situation,” said Avir. “I must speak to the Assembly immediately.”

The Witness stiffened and relaxed so fast, that for a moment Avir was certain it was her imagination.

No, I startled him.

She had just enough time to see his hand move across his own board before the image shifted.

The Reclamation Assembly looked small and unreal on the flat screen. She had stood before the Assembly hundreds of times, but she had always been surrounded by accurate projections in the Assembly Chamber of the Hundredth Core. Even the Witnesses with their cameras trained on the screen she spoke through looked ridiculously far away.

“You have declared an emergency, Contractor Avir,” said the Moderator. “The Assembly is awaiting the details.”

Avir didn’t even try to compose herself as she gave what could only loosely be called a report. She wanted the assembled representatives up there in the encampment to know about the screams, and the anger of their artifacts, and the Vitae blood that had been spilled. She wanted them to understand the scale of the miracles that they stood on top of.

When she ran out of words, she received nothing but silence from the Assembly. She was glad of it, because it was a signal that she had gotten through to them.

Finally, one representative, a Senior Engineer with smooth mahogany skin and long hair that was the same color as her sepia robes, signaled for time. A red light appeared above her as the Moderator granted her request.

“Does the Contractor have a recommendation for a course of action in the light of these events?” asked the representative.

“I do, Representative,” said Avir slowly, “but it is not a pleasant one.”

“What is it?” the Moderator prompted her.

“Moderator,” said Avir, “we deliberately chose to begin the Reclamation of the human-derived artifacts by mimicking the authority example that their social groupings had created to deal with the lack of the Ancestors’ direction. The authority example they have created, the “Nameless Powers,” is all-encompassing and all-powerful and is recorded in their mutated oral history as forcibly removing sources of rebellion.”

The attention of the Assembly was so focused that Avir could begin to feel it in her spine. It strengthened her, exhausted as she was, and it reminded her who she was. Her voice fell into properly smooth cadences.

“It is, therefore, my thought that if we wish to continue to make use of this authority example, we need to remove the rebellion. All of it.

“We need to remove the city.”

Now there was noise. Representatives muttered into their own intercoms or shuffled keys on their own boards, trying to call up data to support or strike down what she had just suggested. Avir waited for the flurry to pass, just as she had waited all the other times.

A Historian signaled for time and was acknowledged by the Moderator.

“How many artifacts are in the city Narroways?” he asked.

“Approximately four thousand,” Avir said promptly. Despite her knowledge that this was right and the war had to be waged before the Aunorante Sangh gained real power, a cold wind blew through her mind.

“Out of a total population of?”

“Four million.”

Avir knew she had probably just announced the death of Narroways and of four thousand precious artifacts. Part of her wanted to erase her words. For a split second, she thought about telling the Moderator she had reconsidered. Four thousand pieces of the Ancestors’ work was too high a price to pay just to eliminate what might only be a hundred Aunorante Sangh.

It was out of proportion and she knew it. The Reclamation had to continue. They had to secure the majority of the human-derived artifacts quickly so that they could be interfaced once more with the living heart of the Home Ground. That was more important than the safety of a few human-derived constructs milling around with their fearful eyes following her every move, with their distorting anger recreating the Aunorante Sangh, who had risen against the Ancestors and stolen the world away, with the blood and the screams and the stones…

Avir swayed on her feet and felt the blood surging in her veins. In that same moment, years of careful training made her realize she was not done with her report yet.

“Moderator?” said Avir.

“Contractor?” The Moderator activated her acknowledgment signal.

“I would like to put in a request to the Assembly.”

“So Witnessed.” The signal turned green to mark the recording. “Proceed, Contractor.”

“I would like to formally request transfer of my duties to the unpopulated portion of the Home Ground. If I could be allowed to choose my assignment, I would like to help coordinate the mapping and analysis of the underground complex. I would further like to suggest…” She paused, searching for words. “I would like to suggest that contact between Vitae and the artifacts be limited as much as possible to the Ambassadors who are accustomed to dealing with Outsiders.”

Another silence emanated from the Committee.

“Are you advising us of psychological difficulties with your assignment, Contractor?” asked the Moderator.

“Yes, Moderator,” Avir said and the confession lifted a weight from her shoulders. “I am.” Fear, hatred, blood, screams. Yes, those are indeed psychological difficulties.

“Thank you for so doing.” The Moderator made a small obeisance in tribute to a difficult job well done. “You will submit a full report to the Related Stresses subcommittee. You will return to the Hundredth Core while your reassignment request is reviewed. I will say now that your request is reasonable and shall be referred to your immediate representatives.”

“Thank you, Moderator.”

“Orders regarding the transport of the sample artifact you have obtained and the decisions based on your report will be transmitted at the end of this session,” said the Moderator.

Avir made obeisance to the screen and the line closed down.

She stared at the blank screen for a moment. She remembered standing in Chapel and picturing the Home Ground and the Reclamation. In her mind’s eye she had seen a green and beautiful world holding its breath for the return of the Lineage. She had seen herself working tirelessly, with the Graces singing in her mind and delight in every task flowing through her heart.

Maybe it will be more like I imagined when I return, she thought wistfully. Maybe.

“Mother?”

Aria stirred on her sleeping mat. “Go back to sleep, Little Eye.”

“Please, Mother.” A tiny hand shook her shoulder.

Aria peeled her eyes open to see her daughter crouched over her, anxiety filling her round face. She reached out to rub Little Eye’s cheek, and all the events of her life came flooding back to her.

Aria sat bolt upright. Daylight streamed through the door blanket. Eric still lay asleep under his own blanket, but the other mats were empty. They’d been left to sleep the day away.

“Little Eye, what are you doing here!” Aria did not bother to keep her voice down. Eric groaned and rolled over, opening both eyes unhappily.

“Storm Water’s gone,” sniffled Little Eye. “He didn’t come home last night. Roof Beam swears he doesn’t know where he is and your daughter got scared and…and…” Little Eye burst into tears. “The Skymen got him! Little Eye knows they did!”

Without stopping to think, Aria swept Little Eye into her arms, crooning in wordless reassurance. Little Eye buried her face against Aria’s neck and howled. Eric was staring at her. Aria got to her feet, holding her daughter against her chest, and shouldered her way past the blanket into the front room. The fire on the hearthstone had been carefully banked so that the coals were barely visible. Past the front doorway’s hanging, the shadows slanted toward the center of the marsh, pointing the route to the Dead Sea. It was past midmorning then. The clan was awake, well into the tasks of the day—scraping hides, cleaning eels, chopping reeds, and all the other endless mending, maintaining, digging, and scratching that kept the clan alive.

“Come on, Little Eye.” Aria set the girl on her own feet. “Take me to your father.”

Little Eye made a great show of stifling her tears and she trotted through the clusters of workers with a child’s dexterity and single-mindedness. Aria followed Little Eye, barely aware that Eric was following her, too.

They found Nail hip deep in pond water, tossing reeds up onto the shore with a wooden pitchfork. Roof Beam and Hill Shadow combed through the glistening piles, chopping off the edible roots and spreading the stalks to dry on the ground. Later they’d be worked into mats and baskets, and even roofing.

Aria’s sons looked up immediately as she and Little Eye made their way to the pond’s edge, but Nail did not. He tossed another forkful of reeds onto the shore with a grunt, and then impaled the fork securely on dry ground. Then he looked up, first at his sons, then at his daughter, then at Aria.

“Well?” he asked.

“Our…” Aria checked herself. “Your daughter came to me in tears saying her brother has disappeared. What is going on, Nail in the Beam?”

Nail sloshed through the reeds and green-scummed water until he reached the shore. “The whereabouts of my family is not your concern,” he muttered, wringing out the hem of his tunic.

“But it should be yours,” Aria folded her arms. “Or your wife’s. Where is the righteous Branch in the River, Nail?” She spoke with more bitterness than she intended, but the woman’s insults still rang in her ears.

“Aria,” Eric came close enough behind her that Aria could feel his breath against her neck. “You don’t need…”

“Come out! Come out!” Iron Shaper’s voice called out in time with the clanging of a stick on a gong. “Come out! Come out!”

“Nameless Powers preserve me,” Aria whispered. Nail in the Beam was already headed toward the noise at a run, trailing his sons in his shadow.

“What is it?” demanded Eric.

“The emergency call.” Aria snatched up Little Eye in her arms and ran after Nail.

“Come out! Come out!” Iron Shaper beat the gong furiously.

Most of the clan was already in the center of the huts by the time Aria got there. Eyes Above, leaning on Iron Keeper’s arm, pushed her way toward Shaper. Aria set Little Eye beside her brothers and forced her way through the crowd. The ones who knew her gave way, clearing enough of a path for her to see Iron Shaper clearly.

The smith wasn’t alone. Storm Water sat on the ground beside him, holding his arm tenderly. His head was bare and Aria saw a clumsy black bandage under his fingers. A fresh stream of scarlet trickled down his arm.

“What happened to you?” Aria crouched beside Storm Water. She removed his hand from the bandage. He let it drop into his lap and winced as she unwrapped the bandage and revealed a long, ugly gouge in his skin.

“Someone get me some hot water!” she shouted. The wound was caked with old blood, and it looked deep. Storm Water was pale under his eyes and around his mouth

“Branch in the River left the clan yesterday.” Storm Water’s voice was low and hoarse, as though he hadn’t had enough to drink for a while. “Storm Water followed her. She went to a troop of soldiers from Narroways. She’s bringing them here. Storm Water thinks there’s a Skyman with them.” He paused and swallowed hard. “A soldier did this to Storm Water as he ran back here.”

“Nameless Powers preserve me,” said someone.

The crowd was stirring. Some of them were retreating, but Aria barely noticed. She was trying to think of where to get a clean bandage and a needle and thread and…

Eric knelt beside her. “Let me,” he said quietly, and he took Storm Water’s arm out of her hands. “How far away are they?” he asked as he gently probed the edges of the wound with the fingers of his free hand.

“Two hours, maybe less.” Eric touched a scab and Storm Water grunted.

“All right, Storm Water. You’ve done well. Hold still now.”

He laid his hand over the wound and Aria realized what he was going to do under the eyes of the whole clan.

Storm Water gasped and stiffened. Aria grabbed his shoulders and held him still. Eric’s breathing grew hard and ragged. He lifted his hand away and there was nothing on Storm Water’s arm except some dried blood and a thin white line marking where the wound had been.

Eric slumped backward.

“You’re a TEACHER?” cried Iron Shaper incredulously.

Aria let go of Storm Water’s shoulders and stood up in front of the smith. “I vouchsafed him Iron Shaper dena Voice of the Wind, and I will not hear one word said against him.” She raised her voice so the entire clan could hear. “Not one word.”

“And there is no time for it,” said Nail in the Beam flatly. “We must get ready to move. We have two hours at best.”

Aria looked up at him, intending to say something scathing, but the look on his face made her stop. He was already punishing himself for again finding a wife who would betray the clan for her own purposes.

His words worked like magic. The crowd of men and children and the handful of women streamed toward the houses.

“Wait, wait.” Eric climbed to his feet, but Teacher or not, no one paused to listen to him. “We don’t even know what they’re doing,” he said somewhat helplessly to Aria and Iron Shaper. “Did you hear?” he asked Storm Water.

Storm Water nodded. “They are looking for the family of Stone in the Wall,” he said, knotting his bloodstained head-cloth between his hands.

“The stones,” breathed Aria. “Nameless Powers preserve me, they must want the stones.”

“I don’t think so,” said Eric. “I think they want your genes.”

“Either way"—Aria gripped her son’s hand and raised him to his feet—"we need to show them our retreating backsides. There’s places in the Lif that the upper ranks couldn’t find, even if someone showed them where to look. We can wait this out.”

“You’d just run?” Eric was genuinely shocked.

“We fight, Eric, and all of our own will pay for it.” Aria squeezed Storm Water’s hand. “It’ll be bad enough as it is. And it’s my fault.”

“Yes, it is,” snapped Iron Shaper. “And you’ll be hearing plenty about it from me later. But now we must get ready. Keeper,” he called as he stalked off toward the forge with his son.

“Aria,” said Eric urgently in the Skyman tongue, “we can’t just run from this. We need to find out what these soldiers know about what’s going on in the cities:”

She bit her lip and forced herself to think. The part of her that was still a Notouch and would never be anything else said run, get away, get out of here. The part of her that formulated enough rebellion and heresy to take her over the World’s Wall shouted against a retreat, especially now that they had drawn her family’s blood, first her sister’s, now her son’s. Storm Water was watching her with a young man’s anger in his eyes. She wasn’t sure how to answer that.

“We need to find out who’s hounding us, at the very least, and what side they’re on,” she said at last. “Maybe we can talk some sense to them. They won’t listen to Notouch.” Her gaze strayed to Eric’s hands. “As a Teacher, you could…”

Eric snorted. “A Teacher and a Seablade talk down soldiers from the Heretic city? Not likely.”

She curled her free hand around her pouch of stones. “We cannot fight them. It’s been tried. The costs are…too much.”

“This is not some harvest rebellion we’re talking about here,” he reminded her needlessly. “This is the Vitae, or the Unifiers, and it’s for the entire world. If we lose, it doesn’t matter. If we win, then it will be remembered that the Notouch helped, and no one will blame you for anything.”

Aria gave him a pained look. “Which shows what you know.” She sighed. “But you’re right. I’ll talk to my mother. She’ll go along with it.” Just don’t ask me why I’m so sure, Aria pleaded silently. “That will take care of the Seniors,” she went on. “I know all the clan malcontents. We should be able to put together something. It might even be something useful.” She let go of Storm Water’s hand.

“Especially since whoever’s coming from Narroways doesn’t expect a fight,” Eric added.

“Would you expect one?” she arched her eyebrows.

“I can’t say. After all, what do I know?” He turned his face away.

Aria reached one hand toward him. “We can’t be self-pitying now, Eric. We’re about to start a war.”

“I don’t think so, Aria,” he said, turning around so she could see the tired smile on his face. “If anything, I think we’re about to finish one.”

A hole broke between the clouds, dropping a broad beam of sunshine onto the huts. Aria dipped her eyes automatically and had to forcibly stop herself from beginning the Chant of Thanks for Another Day.

The oldest and the youngest of the clan were loading themselves onto the rafts and pushing off for the deeper marsh. Everyone else had set to work with a speed and decision that, she could tell, disconcerted Eric. He had expected a few knives to be sharpened, not kettles of boiling water and fat set out on fires. He hadn’t expected to see the men tightening up slings that could take down a wild dog or do serious damage to a human being, or to see the women running whetstones over sickles for harvesting rice.

He hadn’t expected the Notouch to know exactly how much damage they could do.

“We’ve had to fight before,” Aria told him. “Every now and again, you get a band of rovers that decides it’s tired and knows no one cares what goes on out here. We don’t keep the land we tame by running away from that kind.”

A shrill whistle sounded over the noise of the wind and the babble of voices. The soldiers were coming. Aria took her place, busily stirring the kettle of fat.

See, she thought toward the coming band. There’s nothing unusual here. Just tallow we need to waterproof door blankets and ponchos.

Around her, men and women were cooking, or washing, or harvesting more reeds. There was nothing unusual to be seen anywhere, unless some sharp eye noticed that the tiniest children were all somehow invisible.

The soldiers came in on bald-legged oxen. Aria counted fast as she dropped to her knees and raised her hands in homage to the higher ranks. A dozen of them. Narroways Heretics, by the clothes. They were armed with swords and clubs and shields, but they didn’t look particularly alert. She noted that Branch in the River had had the sense to keep herself out of their ranks. She was probably lurking behind them somewhere, wondering if her absence from the clan had been noticed.

Aria raised her eyes a little and caught her breath. A Skyman rode in the ranks. She recognized him. He’d been the one who sank the needle into her arm when Cor had taken her to their shelter. She glanced involuntarily toward Shaper’s steps, where Eric had taken up his position.

He was not there.

Aria had no time to curse.

“We are looking for the family of Stone in the Wall,” said the troop’s leader. He was a big man with Nobility’s swirls on his hands. Green and scarlet. Aria faced one of the rulers of Narroways.

Well, she thought with a mix of satisfaction and sourness, let’s see how astute this Lord of Narroways actually is.

“My lord, forgive this despised one. She can say only that they are not here. When Stone in the Wall was cursed as a Heretic by the Teachers, the Nameless Powers preserve them all, we hurled that tainted blood from our clan. If they live yet, this despised one doesn’t know where or how.”

The totally expected happened next, which was why Aria had insisted on being the one to deliver the bad news.

The Lord of Narroways took a foot out of his stirrup and aimed a kick at her head. She covered, ducked, and rolled backward, but the blow set her ears ringing anyway.

“Don’t lie to me, Notouch!” he bellowed. “Where are they!”

“My lord?” said a voice. “If I may?”

That was a surprise. Aria took great pains to blink stupidly as she heard the sounds of someone dismounting. A shadow bent over her. She felt the weight in the air as the entire clan stood silent in the face of this startling gentleness.

“Stone in the Wall’s family is in no danger.” She heard the accent under the voice and she saw the blue-and-white swirls against sun-browned skin as the Skyman’s hands reached to help her up. Aria shrank back under her poncho hood.

“We come as the Servant of the Nameless came to their ancestors,” he went on. “To get help.”

How dare you…Aria forgot to keep her eyes down.

“Got you, Stone in the Wall.” The Skyman hauled her to her feet.

In that second, the clan poured out of their doorways and the fight was on.

The Notouch hefted the kettles and sickles. Aria tore her sling off her belt and whirled it over her head. She brought it across the Skyman’s temple while the Narroways lord was still fumbling for his sword. She whirled it again and took down the soldier unlucky enough to get in her way. Then she had to start ducking and running. The noise of metal on metal, and the screams of battle surrounded her. Eric appeared out of nowhere, dragging soldiers off the oxen and throwing them to the ground. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him haul off one in Teacher’s robes, dragging him back toward the huts.

What’s he doing? She had barely time for the thought before she was nose to nose with another of the soldiers and had more important things to deal with.

It probably didn’t last that long. Aria lost track. All she knew for sure was that there came a moment when she looked wildly around her and the only people standing were also of the clan.

A flash of brown and black darted out from a thicket of bamboo. Without even stopping to think, Aria took off at a run. Her quarry ran like an expert, dodging the worst of the mire and ducking low tree branches without breaking stride. A Notouch poncho and headcloth flapped behind them. Aria realized whom she must be chasing and adrenaline and anger gave her an extra burst of speed. She launched herself forward and threw all her weight against her quarry. With a “whoof!” of lost breath they both hit the marshy ground.

Branch in the River rolled over and swung her fist out. Aria scuttled backward and snatched her sling off her belt as they both scrambled to their feet. For a moment, they did nothing but stare at each other. Then Aria swung her arm slowly backward.

“You try to run and I will drop you like a dog before you get thirty feet,” she said.

“Do it, then.” Branch in the River gulped air and wiped soil off her face. “You want me dead anyway.”

“Oh, no.” Aria shook her head. “I want you alive. I want you to face the clan with all of them knowing who brought the soldiers and the Skyman down on us. You can either walk back or be dragged back. It’s your choice.”

Branch glanced toward the open marsh and back toward Aria. Aria locked her elbow and held still, even though her arm was beginning to feel the strain. The adrenaline rush was leaving her and a slow trembling was taking hold of her limbs. If Branch did try to run, Aria wasn’t sure she could stop her.

With more dignity than Aria really wanted to see, Branch lifted her chin and began walking back toward the huts. Aria followed warily, her sling still in her hand.

Although the fight was over, the clan was still engaged in a flurry of activity. Several of them had picked up swords and were making sure no soldier would rise from the ground again. Others clustered around the oxen and the supply sledge, laying claim to the spoils of battle.

A shout went up as Branch in the River stepped into the clan’s view and Aria heard the distinctive whistle of a sling being swung. Before she could do anything, Nail in the Beam broke through the shifting crowd. A blanket of silence dropped across the clan. Aria’s breath caught in her throat.

Nail in the Beam stood directly in front of his second wife.

“Go home.” His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. “And know that I am glad my children have already been sent away.”

“I did what was right,” said Branch loud enough for every ear to hear her. “I will answer any who challenge it.”

“You will answer.” Nail’s hands were trembling. “I just hope we will not have to answer with you. Go home.”

Branch, chin still held high, walked a straight line through the crowd and the clan returned to its grim work. Aria turned away, suddenly weary beyond belief.

“Mother?” Storm Water laid his hand on her arm.

“Your mother is all right,” Aria said, although she was not certain she spoke the truth. She squeezed his hand firmly and straightened her shoulders. “What’s happened to the Skyman?”

“He is fallen here.” Storm Water led her to the prostrate Skyman on the edge of the pond.

He was sprawled on his back. Aria laid her hands against his chest to feel for his breathing. It was ragged, but strong. He had a bruise from her sling, but was probably all right. Iron Shaper made his way through the crowd to them. He had a captured sword in his fist and he raised it over the Skyman’s head.

Aria held up her hand. “This one we keep. He’ll be able to tell us what’s going on.”

The smith grunted. “We need to sink the bodies.”

“Go ahead. Storm Water, go help unload the sledge.” Storm Water stayed where he was until she gave him a long, stern look. Then he ducked his head and trotted toward the gathering around the soldier’s supply sledge.

Awkwardly, Aria hefted the Skyman across her shoulders. He was deadweight and she was tired. She staggered into Shaper’s house and dropped him into a heap on the floor.

Eric stood by the fire circle with a burly man in Teacher’s clothing.

“Stone in the Wall dena Aria Born of the Black Wall,” Eric said, “this is my brother by marriage, Heart of the Seablade.” He spoke evenly. “He’s a Heretic, too, and he’d better understand something.” Eric’s stare could have set the walls on fire, the heat of the anger behind it was so intense. “If he tries to play any sneaking games this time, I’ll kill him with my own hands.”