“Or if they weren’t really stone,” said Trompe, joining his colleague. The two of them stood there with their mouths open, wearing identical expressions of annoyance. Fastigats, so I had already learned, do not like things they do not understand. Their irritated silence made me uncomfortably aware that I understood no more than they.
Lutha had regained control of herself. “You’re not thinking that they’re unnatural, are you?”
Leelson took his time before answering. “You’ve seen Dinadhi children playing ball games. You’ve seen Dinadhi herdsmen spinning wool. Imagine yourself trying to balance one of the balls on the tip of a spindle and tell me how much luck you’d have.”
She gave me a quick look, and I shook my head. As described, it would be impossible. Unless the ball were spinning. We have jugglers skilled in such tricks, but these heads weren’t spinning. So. It couldn’t be done.
The two men came strolling back, foreheads wrinkled with concentration.
I said, “But if they aren’t natural, wouldn’t someone have noticed before now?”
Leelson shook his head. “According to you, Saluez, people come this way only once every sixty Dinadhi years, which is about once a century, standard. Since that’s a generous lifetime, it’s unlikely anyone makes the trip twice. Suppose a traveler had noticed. Suppose he’d gone back to his hive and told someone. Would there have been any consequence?”
His superior tone implied there would have been none, and he was probably right. On Dinadh, whenever someone raises a “difficult” question, someone else can be depended upon to mutter, in that particular tone of hushed apprehension people always use on such occasions, “Perhaps it’s part of the choice.” Once the choice is mentioned, all conversation ends. Only songfathers are allowed to discuss the choice, along with the rest of their arcane lore.
I suppose my thoughts showed on my face, for Leelson said:
“As I thought. No one would have done anything at all about it.” Then he shared one of his infuriatingly smug looks with Trompe.
Lutha glanced at me from beneath her lashes, and I blinked slowly in sympathy. We were both thinking that Fastigats were impossible. She took my hand and we walked back to the wagon behind the men. I was wondering if our being here was blasphemous, but Lutha had a different concern.
“From here, they look like a herd of great horned beasts, don’t they? If they’re artificial, why are they here?”
Leelson stood for a moment in thought, then fetched Bernesohn Famber’s map from the wagon, unrolled it on the ground, and put a stone on each corner to hold it down. Kneeling beside it, he pointed with an extended forefinger.
“The important geographical features are all shown on this map, canyons, tablelands, hives, and so forth—even the omphalos, beside this winding river on what seems to be a flat plain. The Nodders, however, are not shown.”
“That is, they’re not printed on the map,” said Trompe, underlining the obvious.
Leelson continued. “No. The word Nodders has been written in, probably by Bernesohn himself. He learned about them a century ago. Either someone told him about the Nodders or he himself came this way.”
I said, “But Bernesohn Famber wouldn’t have been allowed to go to the omphalos. He was an outlander.”
“We’re not allowed either, but we’re going,” Trompe snorted. “What would they have done to him if they’d caught him?”
It was not a proper question. It was not a question any Dinadhi should have to answer. “I don’t know,” I said. “Sometimes the songfathers have people stoned.”
Leelson sat back on his heels. “Let’s assume he came here himself. Let’s even assume he was put to death by the songfathers for that impropriety. Would his property have been forfeit?”
I didn’t know what he meant, but Lutha did. She turned to me, asking:
“If a person is executed on Dinadh, what happens to his property. What happens to his clothing, or anything he may be carrying?”
“Everything we have belongs to our families. When someone dies, if the body isn’t too close to a hive, it’s just left where it is. It’s only … flesh. The spirit is already gone. But anything like clothing or tools would be returned to the family.”
“Even if the person has been executed?”
“The family is not tarnished for what one person of it does. That would not be just.”
Songfather was not tarnished because of me. Chahdzi father was not tarnished because his daughter had failed. It would not be just. I felt my throat tighten, all my sinews strain. Was it just that I had been tarnished? What had I done to deserve tarnishing?
Lutha put her hand on my shoulder, but Leelson did not notice my pain. He was focused elsewhere.
“So if Bernesohn was killed out here somewhere, the map would have been returned to his leasehold.”
I brought my mind back to where we were.
“The map?” Leelson demanded impatiently. “It would have been brought back?”
He made me angry with his insistence. “Yes, but the same would be true if he had been found dead. He didn’t have to have been executed. In fact, we know he wasn’t, because if he had been, no one would have—” I caught my breath and put my hand over my mouth.
I’d been going to say, “No one would have prayed his return if he’d been guilty of blasphemy.” Since he came back to Cochim-Mahn as a Kachis, he must have been invited. This is one reason our people are careful to be pleasant to one another, not to be hostile, not to be mean, for if one of us is not well liked, that one may not be invited to return, may not be invited to be part of his former family.
I turned away in confusion.
“What?” demanded Leelson.
Lutha squeezed my hand, saying, “It’s one of the things she’s not supposed to talk about, Leelson. Simply take it as given that she has reason to believe Bernesohn Famber was not killed by the songfathers.”
Leelson glared at her and at me, shaking his head. “It really doesn’t matter whether he vanished
