“For what?” I sat up, astonished.
She frowned, shook her head. “Confession, Naumi. I once let someone do something for me that was against his own best interest. I’ve spent my life since trying to atone for that. I’ve been ashamed. Rueful. All my life.” She looked up, shook her head. “There’ve been joyful moments, sure, but in the main, rueful says it.
“And then I met Mar-agern. She’s me. She’s lived a totally different life, but she’s me. And M’urgi, and Ongamar, and you. They’re your lives, but they’re mine, too. I…isn’t it weird we all think of as ourselves as me…Well, Margaret’s identity has not been as unworthy as I always rued it being. And I have you and the others to thank for it.”
I took her hand. It was my hand. I knew that hand.
“You’re welcome,” I said.
I Am Gretamara/on Tercis
On Tercis, the Gardener preceded Wilvia and me, Gretamara, out of the way-gate and onto a sloping forest floor. Gardener led us slowly downward, stopping momentarily to say, “The outgoing sister to the gate we just used is up there, between those two rocks.” She pointed to her left toward another group of stones. “It goes to Fajnard.”
“Where are we going?” asked Wilvia.
“Down the hill to the home of Margaret Mackey.”
The way was not long. We arrived before a small house, set among the trees, the far side of it looking out across a rocky shelf into great distances of valley and hills. The door of the house was broken.
“Beasts,” snarled the Gardener. “Let’s see what damage they have done!”
I thought it looked even worse than the great house in Bray had looked. Inside, belongings were strewn about, cupboards were open, doors half off their hinges, the bed ripped apart. “What were they looking for?”
“Nothing. They didn’t find the woman they were looking for, or the Gibbekot they thought would lead them to her. They destroyed out of the spite that was built into them by their designers. It is an old viciousness not unknown to humans: ‘If you can’t prevail, destroy.’”
“We can set it in order,” I said firmly. “Will we be staying here?”
“Only briefly,” said the Gardener, looking through the stores in the tiny kitchen. “There is food here enough for several days. Show no light at night. Margaret’s daughter lives just down the hill, but the house is empty now, for the families who lived on outlying farms are staying in Crossroads to be safer. The hunters went through the valley like a scythe, and they badly frightened the people here.”
Wilvia asked, “Margaret’s family? Do they know she is gone?”
“They know she and two children went off into the woods before the happening. They are concerned, but not terribly worried. Perhaps Margaret will be back before they have time to be anxious.”
“And we?” I asked.
“For the moment, you stay here. Wilvia, if anyone comes near, take off your diadem. If anyone approaches, say you are Margaret’s cousin. You arrived after the damage was done, and you have your daughter staying with you to help. Meantime, I must make sure that several other people arrive here very shortly. The Gentherans expect it of me, and of themselves.”
I went outside with her and stood on the rocky shelf that overlooked the valley. Only peace. Far down the road, a buggy. Someone going home to a farm to feed the animals and to be sure they had water. There was no sign that the hunters were still here.
The Gardener read my thoughts. “Likely they are assembling near B’yurngrad, where all the other Margarets are together, making an easy target. Farewell, but only briefly, Gretamara.” She walked into the woods, dissolving herself onto a shining road that led to B’yurngrad.
I Am Naumi/on B’yurngrad
After I, Naumi, had done everything possible to help anyone needing help, I lay down in M’urgi’s tent and closed my eyes. The world seemed to be spinning, and I could not convince myself it wasn’t, or that time wouldn’t stop, or that we all wouldn’t die…
Falija, who had been lying between Bamber Joy and Gloriana, suddenly sat up and made a loud, spitting noise of annoyance.
“What?” demanded Gloriana loudly.
I opened my eyes and listened.
“We don’t need to insult the Quaatar directly,” said Falija. “We just need to let the Quaatar think they’ve been insulted.”
Bamber Joy yawned. “Is it any easier to do that than to actually insult them?”
“Of course,” said Falija. “All anyone has to do is go somewhere frequented by K’Famir or Frossians—or Quaatar, though that’s harder, because they don’t usually associate with other races—and tell someone, loudly, that he or she was recently on B’yurngrad and there was a great meeting of Earthians and Gentherans who were insulting the Quaatar in Quaatarian. We can throw in the Frossians and the K’Famir at the same time. We need someone who isn’t either Earthian or Quaatarian to do it, of course…”
“I’ll go get Grandma,” said Gloriana.
I sat up, still tired, but interested. Margaret returned with Gloriana and Mr. Weathereye. One might have known!
“Interesting,” he murmured. “We need only let them overhear someone saying that Gentherans and Earthians on B’yurngrad are assembled in one place insulting the Quaatar.”
“The person saying it can’t be human,” insisted Falija.
“How about someone like a K’Vasti?” asked Mr. Weathereye, with a peculiar smile. “Who heard it from a Hrass? Thank you, Falija. That is completely doable.”
They told me later the place they picked was Gilfras Station, the same nonplanet They told me later the place they pickedary transshipment point that Ferni and I had used as a rendezvous not long before. K’Famir and Frossians were numerous there, as were a dozen other races, including the inevitable Hrass, huddled in small groups in corners, trying to be inconspicuous. One of them, however, was accompanied at his table by a loud, drunken K’Vasti, who shouted, “What do you mean, all the Gentherans were talking Quaatar. Nobody talks Quaatar.”
The Hrass murmured unintelligibly.
The K’Vasti bellowed,
