“What do you call that building?” Lutha asked, pointing it out.
“A House Without a Name,” said Chahdzi, his tone forbidding further questions.
Lutha, who was looking back at the elderly woman, merely grunted. The woman moved in an unusual way. As though apprehensive. As though fearful. Fearful of what? What was inside?
Trompe, picking up on her perception, followed her gaze back along the road, too late. They had come around a curve and could see the place no longer.
Chahdzi spoke as though continuing some former conversation. “You see how this trail winds back and forth, into this side canyon and out again, each time a little farther down the great canyon but requiring much time in the walking. If we could go across, it would take only a little time, but there is no way to go across safely.”
Lutha fumed silently. If the Dinadhi were sensible and efficient, they could go across, but the Dinadhi weren’t sensible or efficient, so everything was done the long way, the slow way, the laborious way.
The patterned way, she reminded herself, cautioning against impatience. She settled the padded straps on her shoulders. When they stopped next, she would arrange the retriever at the top of her pack, set it on audio only, and listen to one of the grimy old language chips Trompe had given her the night before. No sense wasting the time entirely!
It was noon before they came halfway down the great wall, stopping on a promontory from which they could look directly south, across a spacious canyon bottom where a lake gleamed, and into the mouths of four other canyons. These four plus the canyon in which they stood made the five points of a star, with themselves at the northeastern point. They could look down the southern arm, a little way into the eastern and western arms, but they could see only the far wall and opening of the canyon to their right.
As they took food from their packs to make a hasty lunch, Chahdzi told them the lake was called “the Gathered Waters,” and was neither deep nor lasting. Present in spring and early summer, it dwindled to almost nothing in fall or early winter when there was not enough water to fill the declivity.
The sun stood at its zenith, lighting the southmost canyon to its bottom but leaving those at either side still shaded. The sun also lighted the great stone cave eaten into the western wall of the canyon across from them, making the hive within it glow like gold.
“There is ba h’din, the hive, of Cochim-Mahn,” Chahdzi said. “There is the leasehold of Bernesohn Famber. Below, stretching toward the Gathered Waters, is the greenblessing, the farm and fruit lands of our people. And now we have rested long enough. We must walk again.”
Though Lutha saw a glimmer of water along the canyon bottom and in the shallow lake, she saw no green, blessed or otherwise. Her glasses brought it within vision: a soft fur of trees and vegetation nestled in a wilderness of red stone. Narrow ribbons of greenery, at some places only a few paces across. It seemed scarcely enough to feed the people of the looming hive.
Wordlessly, they got the straps of their packs across their shoulders once more. From this point on, the trail was much grown up with small thorny shrubs and tough grasses, and Chahdzi led the way.
“No one uses this trail much, do they?” Lutha asked.
Chahdzi took time to reflect before answering. “When Bernesohn Famber was there, people came again and again, as he chose, to bring equipment and supplies that were unavailable in Cochim-Mahn. Once his wife came here to him, also. The animals go up in spring and come down in fall. Other people come, now and then.”
Chahdzi seemed to feel this explained the situation fully, for he offered nothing more. Lutha soon found this understandable. The way had steepened; the footing was intermittently treacherous. It was sensible to avoid conversation in order to give all one’s attention to where one stepped and what one was holding on to.
During the morning and for the first hour after their noon stop, Leely scampered along behind them or between them, interrupting his journey to stare at a flying bird or the shape of a cloud. In early afternoon, however, he sat down with a sighing “Dananana,” and refused to move farther.
“Here’s where I earn my fee,” said Trompe, picking the child up and placing him on his shoulders.
“I will take him when you are tired,” said Chahdzi. “We cannot stop for him to rest.”
Light now came from the west, glaring into their eyes as they wound their way down and down.
“Some of the canyons don’t get enough light to be habitable, do they?” Lutha asked, suddenly aware of differences among the various chasms.
“They must be wide enough to let the sun in,” agreed Trompe. “Best of all are the wide east-west canyons with a sloping southern wall. Worst are the narrow north-south ones, with steep walls. In those the evening song would follow hard upon the song of morning. In those Lady Day finds little pleasure and shadow breeds.”
Lady Day would take little comfort from the canyon beyond the Gathered Waters, south of them. Already its western wall threw heavy shadow halfway up the eastern precipices, leaving the depths in darkness. Each day it would be lit for a short time at midday. The rest of the time it would be a dim and forbidding region. Lutha stared into its shadows and shivered, turning her attention elsewhere.
“Trompe and I saw many abandoned hives on our way here. Why so many?”
Chahdzi cleared his throat. “H’din ha’disha. Empty hives, yes, they become … vacant when the Dinadhi move about. From one place to another.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps a spring dries up.” His tone shut
