“I paid attention,” said Mar-agern. “I offered my talents, for what they were worth. I ended up a bondslave on Fajnard.”
“Ah,” breathed M’urgi, turning to Margaret. “And you?”
“I said yes to Bryan,” she said flatly.
After a moment of wide-eyed silence, M’urgi asked, “Where was it he was going? Tercis, wasn’t it?”
“Tercis,” Margaret agreed. “A Walled-Off called Rueful. I’ve been there ever since.”
M’urgi shifted her weight. “How about him, back there? He looks like…”
“Naumi’s one of us,” said Mar-agern. “He got split off when Ongamar did. He had his sex changed somewhere along the line. He grew up on Thairy. We thought he should wait while we introduced ourselves since he’s a little less believable and has gaps in his memory.”
“So there’s five of us?”
Margaret took a deep breath. “Actually, there have to be two more, seven altogether.”
“Seven. How interesting. Lately, I’ve been dreaming of that number. Those dreams reminded me of one I had years ago of meeting myself here, at this place.” She paused, swallowed deeply, managing a casual tone. “I see Ferni’s with you.”
“He came to Thairy to get help finding you.”
M’urgi glanced at the packs the others carried. “What’ve you brought?”
Mar-agern replied. “Stuff to kill ghyrm. As many knives as we can carry. We have a prototype ghyrm eradicator, and there are bigger ones coming that they can’t fit through the way-gate. The Siblinghood should be bringing them by ship.”
“I hope it’s enough,” said M’urgi, with a grim smile. “This morning, a friend of yours arrived to tell us the enemy has declared war.”
“Friend?”
“An old guy, Weathereye. He brought a member of the Siblinghood with him, Sister Ella May. She knows Margaret, and he knows Naumi, or so they say. Let’s go sit down in my tent and find out where we are.”
M’urgi sent two young men running to pick up the packs Margaret and Mar-agern had carried as the others came forward, Falija lying across Bamber’s shoulder.
There was a stir among the tribesmen.
“What is that animal?” M’urgi muttered.
“Not an animal. Gibbekot,” said Margaret.
Mar-agern said, “Tell them it’s…it brings good luck.”
M’urgi turned and spoke to the tribesmen. Margaret and Mar-agern identified the speech as an intelligible dialect of Earthian with certain consonants blurred or missing: final l’s that sounded like w’s. R’s that disappeared.
“Gibb ah cot,” she said. “Come to hep us kill ghyrm.”
I saw Mr. Weathereye standing to one side, a woman beside him. I went to meet him. “Mr. Weathereye. And you must be Ella May. You got here ahead of us.”
“Ah, well, my boy. Difficult times almost always produce unexpected encounters.”
“Turns out there’s more to me than meets your eye, Mr. Weathereye. Or less, perhaps. Did you know I wasn’t meant to be a man at all?”
“You sound angry about that.”
I hesitated. I was angry about that. Anger was sometimes useful, but might not be at the moment. “Yes,” I admitted. “Why?”
“Camouflage,” said Mr. Weathereye. “If the human race is to survive, we needed seven of you with a broad variety of experiences. Some were enslaved, some were sovereign, some labored, some thought, some were hidden, some were put in unexpected places, some were left out in plain sight to see if anyone showed undue interest. You were camouflaged.”
“If the human race is to survive,” I said. “All that, dependent on making a man of me?”
“A man of you; a shaman of M’urgi; a spy of Ongamar. You’ll have to decide for yourself whether it was worth it.” Weathereye sighed. “Since we and the Gentherans have another agenda for humanity, we think it was worth it, yes. We’re opposed to your being wiped out. We hope to restore humanity to itself.”
“And how we are to do that?”
“You know how, Naumi. The Siblinghood told you how.”
“By finding someone who knows everything. Perhaps by walking seven roads that are one road, all at the same time.”
“Exactly. And by doing so, regain something humanity lost a long time ago. Something the Gentherans say you once had that was stolen from you.”
“By whom?”
“The Gentherans believe it was done by the Quaatar, but they admit they’re extrapolating.”
Over Mr. Weathereye’s shoulder, I saw my companions entering one of the tents. I said, “Later,” in a significant tone, and went to the tent where people were seating themselves around the barely smoldering fire with M’urgi. Our small group was surrounded and outnumbered by a silent circle of squatting tribesmen, obviously alert to every word that was being said. Mr. Weathereye and Ella May came to stand inside the tent flap.
M’urgi dipped her hand into an open jar, threw a handful of something onto the fire, and said through the resultant fragrant smoke, “Mr. Weathereye spoke to us before you came. He says that K’Famir, Frossian, and Quaatar ships are about to attempt eradication of the human race, starting here on B’yurngrad. He says it is not a reasonable enmity but merely an old grudge the Quaatar have against humans, one so old they’ve forgotten the reason for it.”
“What are they going to do?” asked Margaret.
“They’re going to drop ghyrm all over the planet.”
“No,” I said flatly. “They must not be allowed to do that. A few days from now, it might not matter, but right now, it’s absolutely necessary that they drop the whole load, whatever that amounts to, on top of us, right here!”
“Why?” cried M’urgi, eyes wide with shock.
Ferni answered. “We brought a prototype machine with us, M’urgi: first one out of the factory. They’re sending larger ones, but right now, this is all we’ve got. According to Flek—the armaments person—this one will cover about thirty square jorub, not much compared to the surface of a planet.”
“No, but it’s still a considerable area,” said M’urgi. “Enormously larger than our encampment. You want them to drop the whole load here because we can destroy the whole load if they do?”
“Exactly!”
“How do you propose to get them to do that?”
Stubbornly, I repeated myself. “I don’t know how, but somehow it has to happen. We’re hoping they bring along many
