The canyon was in its peak of new green. The stream that had carved it and then diminished to a bright, sparkling, lively run over colorful stones was sweet. There was evidence, in the health of the green, growing things, that the canyon received plenty of sun, plenty of rain. Nowhere had Duwan seen such impressively tall brothers, boles as thick through as he was long, and healthy, and giving shade, and whispering, whispering.
'Yes,' his grandmother said, when he showed her a little glade near the stream. 'Oh, yes.'
There was no prescribed ceremony for the return to the earth. Duwan planted his grandmother himself, kissed her, watched as her eyes closed.
'I feel it, Duwan,' the old female whispered. 'I can feel the tendrils growing from my feet. I can taste the richness of this earth. You have kept your promise.'
There was, in their cave, still signs of their occupation, rotting beds, dead embers. They refreshed the beds, slept by a bright, cozy fire, and spent the next day watching the swift, miraculous transformation of the twenty-one they had brought to the canyon. The newly planted could no longer speak, but there were, in their minds, sighs of contentment, and,
'Farewell, farewell, thank you.'
Voices blended into the background of the whispering brothers, none distinguishable until, after several days and nights—it was so pleasant to be alone that Duwan was in no hurry to rejoin the others, and he felt that he owed it to his grandmother and himself to stay with her until the transformation was complete—he went to the new grove of twenty-one growing brothers and squatted beside the thing, the tree, the brother, that had been his grandmother.
'It is a state not to be despised.'
The statement came to him so clearly that he looked up to see if it had been Jai who spoke, but she was down at the crystal creek, bathing.
'In the time of the snows it is quiet and peaceful.'
'Grandmother?'
'Yes, Grandson. You have chosen a place beyond compare for me to spend eternity. My peace will be complete— although I exact no promise, knowing that it might prove to be impossible for you to keep—if, when the time of my daughter and my son comes you would bring them here, and then, after a long, long time, yourself and your mate. It's peaceful and quiet in the winter and good in the summer. I drink the goodness, grandson, and I revel in it. I am one with the earth, and with all others.'
'How is it that you speak with me so clearly?'
'It is my desire.'
'And the others?'
'We are here, Duwan,' came another voice in his head.
'The ancient ones. The wisdom of the ancient ones. Is it available to you?' Duwan asked.
'Some here were planted before the coming of the Enemy. The Drinker lands were far to the south. This has been a quiet, isolated place. Some remember. Others choose not to, to feel only the wind, the sun, to dance in the winds and commune with Du.'
'And the tall brothers at a great distance? Can you communicate with them?'
'A feeling,' came the voice. 'Nothing more. I sense, far off, that there is pain, and death, and evil.'
'Grandmother, try to communicate with those distant ones. It would be very helpful.'
'I will. Now you must go. Come back to me, Grandson.'
'Yes,' he said. 'I will come. In this canyon I first began to understand the meaning of love, Grandmother. We will come when we can, Jai and I, and you will be in our thoughts when we are far away.'
'Farewell, farewell, farewell.'
For the first time in his life, Duwan delivered a blow to a living entity who was not the enemy. Another Devourer settlement had been destroyed, leaving more enemy dead. Now ex-slaves had seen their former masters
