Trompe cast a quick glance at Lutha, pursing his lips, shaking his head. Chahdzi was uncomfortable with the question.
She read his expression and let the matter drop, turning her attention to the landscape below her, where the delicate green of new leaves sprouted beside the transient water, a silver shoestring of oasis in this rocky land. They were close enough now that she could identify fruit trees, the branches almost hidden behind a flourish of blossoms.
When they stopped to drink from their flasks, Chahdzi took Leely, who was by now asleep, fastening him to his back with crossed belts that might have been made for the purpose. They went on, more quickly as the day waned and the sun fell, climbing downward until Lutha thought she would drop from the pain in her legs where the muscles rebelled at every step. She told herself another thousand steps and she would rebel, danger or no. She began counting, storing up her pain against the explosion she intended. She had reached eight hundred and something when the trail leveled and they debouched upon the level gravel soil of the canyon bottom.
“Now” —Chahdzi sighed—“it will be easier.” He was sweating and pale.
“Let me take Leely,” said Trompe.
“Let Leely walk,” said Lutha. “He’s awake. He’s just being lazy.”
The boy screamed at being put down, and when the three adults started ruthlessly off without him, he ran after them, raging incoherently. Lutha stopped his mouth with a cookie, which occupied him until they were almost at the stream. The sun had sunk below the rim of the canyon above them, and the great cave with its hive was deep in shadow.
Chahdzi took a small stoppered bottle from his pack and directed them to take a small mouthful each, even Leely. Then, while they sputtered at the acrid taste, he said, “Take a deep breath and go fast. Only a little more now, but the darkness comes swiftly.”
“I’m ready to drop,” said Lutha.
“You may not,” he said softly. “Not yet. Only a little more. Quickly.”
They pushed themselves into an exhausted stagger that accelerated into a heart-pumping plunge, fueled by Chahdzi’s stimulant, as they splashed through the narrow stream, tending a little southward to a place immediately below the great cave. Now they were in shadow. Now they could see the hive itself, see the few people assembled upon the lip of stone, peering down at them.
“Ladders!” said Lutha, disbelievingly.
“Only a few,” said Chahdzi, gesturing her to climb first. “Go, rest, go, rest. Keep moving.”
They climbed. They climbed forever. Leely screamed. Lutha cursed under her breath. One ladder led to another, led to another yet. A few were slimy with spray. And then they were on the flat, sagging with exhaustion.
A high tenor voice soared:
“See our Lady depart. See her dance westward, upon the rock-rimmed mountains, beautiful her feet among the trees….”
A tiddle of bone flutes, a rattle of little drums sounded from the wide-windowed loft of a tower nearby. Seemingly the rush was over. People were moving about purposefully, with no appearance of panic, men and women both, difficult to tell what sex they were in the loose robes, their hair cut alike, their faces painted this way or that. Some wore only the underrobe, the back hem pulled between their legs and up over the belt in front. Others’ robes flowed free. A few had put on leather outer robes, these evidently for ceremonial reasons, for the singer and the musicians were among those so clad.
“Now what?” breathed Trompe.
“The leasehold of Bernesohn Famber is at the back,” said Chahdzi, sounding more cheerful than he had at any time during the day. “Only a few steps.”
He led them along the south side of the great hive, past numerous pore windows and a few skin doors, each made of a drum-tight hide lashed to a frame of poles. Then there were no more windows and doors in the walls, and they entered upon Bernesohn Famber’s private space: limited on the north by the featureless wall of the hive, on the south by the curving wall of the cave, on the west by his own living space, a small, single-story wing extruded from the hive: mud-colored, dome-roofed, softly rounded. Unlike the doors of our people, the annex door was made of planks, heavily strapped, hinged, and latched. The door had a lock. The single window was shuttered from inside.
“Is there a key?” Trompe asked, trying the door.
The latch rattled beneath his hand, and I, Saluez, opened the door from within.
They stared at me, Lutha and Trompe and the child.
I stood before them, my face veiled, holding a broom.
“What in hell?” demanded the tall, golden-haired man who came up behind me. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
“Dananana,” cooed Leely.
“Leelson,” gasped Lutha, surprise warring with fury on her face. “Leelson! Damn it all to hell, what are you doing here!”
We expected these people. We had been told to prepare for their arrival, so I had been inside the leasehold, cleaning it. I had fetched extra sleeping pads, extra blankets. I had brushed down all the walls and benches and had swept all the dust into a pile just inside the outer door. I had my hand upon the latch when it rattled, so I opened it. Lutha stood there, with Trompe and her child. I knew at once who they were, for we had been expecting them and I had seen them on the trail across the canyon earlier in the day. My father, Chahdzi, stood with them, but when he saw me, he turned and went away without speaking.
I stepped out of the way, drawing my pile of dust aside with my broom.
“What the hell are you doing here?” demanded Trompe, moving aggressively toward the man, who had been with us for some time.
Lutha scooped up Leely and came inside. Her face was twisted with effort; she was trying to scream or curse, but her voice would not come. She managed only a snarling
