'What happened? What of Tambol?'
'Tambol is well. He moves swiftly toward the south.' Duwan frowned. 'And you?'
'I ran away. I could not leave you, Master. Forgive me, but I would as soon be peeled as leave you.'
Her presence complicated things. And yet, with the coming of the change, the renewing, he could still send her south. The journey through the land of forests, water, barrens, fire, would be a long one, and he would be eager to make as much time as he could.
But her presence would not be unwelcome during the long, cold, dark nights that lay ahead.
'I should use the lash on you,' he said.
'If it pleases you, but don't send me away, please.' The snow fell, soft, quiet, all covering. The entrance to the cave was all but blocked, and the snow barrier made it cozy inside, if a bit smoky. They rested, and talked, and ate of the dried food, and slept together for warmth—or so Duwan told himself, that very first night, until, as he held her closely she turned to face him and his hands moved as if of their own accord to bare their bud points.
Then the winter did not seem long.
In the early winter, after the first invasion of frigid air had moved down through the forests, bringing a clean, fresh, cutting wind from the great ice caps, there came to the fringe settlements of Kooh, northernmost of the cities of Farko, a priest of the minor du, Tseeb, he of the clear skies. The worship of Tseeb was not a popular cult, for followers of that fair-faced du took vows of poverty. The priest was dressed in a bundle of cast-off things, torn pieces of Devourer dress, tattered slave wear, and he shivered with the cold as he called on outlying settlements, begging permission to give a message of piety to the pongs.
Pongs, being an inferior sub-species, stupid and gullible, were especially susceptible to the fair-skied belief in a du of kindness and goodness. Masters had no objection to the practice of a religion that taught acceptance of one's lot in life, of obedience to authority, in hope of the promise of a better life in the afterworld, so the ragged priest was welcomed, and was allowed to share the meager food and squalid quarters of the pongs.
So closely was the priest bundled in his rags, so nearly did he piously cover his every body part, that no master saw that he was sleek, well-nourished, almost, in fact, pleasingly fat. Nor did any master bother to listen to the priest in his teaching, thus no master saw that the priest did not partake of the pongs' grass nut bread or the meager portions of animal flesh.
Upon the departure of the priest, for a while, at least, the pongs seemed to perk up slightly, but, the masters noted, they soon fell into their old, slovenly ways.
Through storm and crisp, clear, brittle days the priest tramped the snow, visiting dozens of settlements, villages, and came at last to the city of Kooh, itself, where, upon application to the City Master, he was given permission to spend time in the pongpens. There, among more sophisticated Devourers, the priest was a source of shame, for, although priesthood in a dozen or more cults was a socially accepted way to earn one's bread, to lower oneself to the level of the pongs, to live among them, was going, masters felt, just a bit too far.
Most Devourers who had property, or power, or wealth, looked upon the various religious cults as necessary evils. The powerful priesthood of Ahtol actually shared power with civil authorities and served an excellent purpose in keeping an eye on the masses, and keeping down any possible disquiet among the majority of the ruling race who had no direct say in policy, government, and other matters of importance. Only naive fools really believed in an afterlife. Most Devourers were advocates of Ahtol, if only because the priests of Ahtol, with their sacrifices, put on a stirring show, helped, by the use of pong young, to hold back the redoubling of the pong population, and were generous with the surplus flesh used in sacrifice. The tiny temple of Tseeb was, in that northern city, hidden away near the wall in a cul-de-sac surrounded by pongpens, and the three ancient priests who served the tiny temple often had to share pong food in order to survive. That winter, however, they had received what was, for them, a munificent gift from a wealthy Devourer and, well fed, they built up their fire and sat before it feasting and drinking the summer's wine, letting their small following, mostly among the pongs, serve their own spiritual needs. They did not hear of the visiting Tseeb priest, and even if they had, they would not have left the warmth and comfort of their fire. During the shortest days of the year the ragged priest moved south to Seman, spent weeks in the outlying settlements, then a short time in the main pongpen within the city. Next he betook himself to Tshou, and there by the cold sea he taught his message.
As the days began slowly to lengthen he was in and around the capital, Arutan, and there, where the population of pongs was greatest, he found his largest audiences, pongs gathering around him, huddled against the cold, to hear a message that had preceded him, carried by the pongs of masters who had come to Arutan from the other, more northern cities. His message, in essence, was a brief one, and could have been summed up as follows:
'The Master has come. He has seen. He has judged. He has gone away to counsel with his father (who is not, by the way, the du of clear skies, the insignificant and rosy-minded Tseeb, but an ancient, forgotten du, who manifests his image daily in the skies as Du, the sun), but he will return. With him comes freedom.'
There was, of course, more to the message, for the priest knew well that the minds of pongs tended to be simple and doubt-filled. What right have the hopeless to hope? So he elaborated. He offered personal testimony.
'I have lived and traveled with the Master. I saw him come from the good earth.' In this, of course, he was stretching the truth, but he
