Almost we missed the child. A boy, perhaps ten or eleven. Not yet come to strength, certainly, howsoever he burned with purpose, the hard red glow of it easily visible, even from our height.
“M’urgi, if this one lives,” the old woman whispered, “over a thousand will die, for he will betray them and their good purpose. I have seen it.”
“How many times?” I asked.
“Ten times watched, five times seen.”
“Then it is equally likely he will not do the thing.”
“I will be dead before the time comes,” whispered the old woman. “I pass the burden to you, M’urgi. It lies before you.”
I shivered in the chill dark, in fear of night, in grasp of bloodshed, in danger of being mistaken. A long moment went by before I said, “I accept the burden.”
The night road retracted beneath us. The sky opened and dropped us beside the dim coals of our fire, which we covered with ashes before sitting down once more.
“What did the lead man carry,” I asked, “at the end of that long pole?”
“Ghyrm,” replied my teacher. “Ghyrm to use against another tribe, one he wants to do away with so he can take the women.”
“Will the ghyrm take only men?”
“The ghyrm will take those they are purposed to take.”
“Where did he get it?” I whispered.
“He bought it with pain, from someone who sells for pain. From Cantardene, most likely. Hush. They come.”
Five runners approached, darting past not far from us, eyes set on their own road, sparing no glance that might have discovered two smoke-faced, black-garbed women hidden downwind in the dark. The air moved to me, and I smelled their sweat. When they had gone, I built up the fire once more. Much later, another footfall, this time interrupted.
“Hey, boy,” I said. “Where you goin’ in the night?”
He spun, frantic, relaxing when he saw us women sitting there, amber light reflecting from our faces. “Find m’dah,” he said wearily. “I trail ’m this fah.”
“And where’s he gone, then?” I asked.
“Dunno. D’wanna be lef wit de women. No more.”
“Ah! Fahr sure.” I patted the ground beside the fire, inviting him. “He’ll be mazed, he will, come back this way and find how far you come! That’s a clevah idea.”
“Is’t?” he asked doubtfully. He had not considered whether it was clever or not. He had only thought of his shame, being left behind with the women, the babies. “Yeah,” he claimed, inflating his chest as he approached the fire. “Is clevah. D’you hab watah?”
“Hab tea,” I murmured, seating him by the flame, guiding his hands to wrap around the crude mug. “Y’know, some dahs don tell reasons propahly. You dah tell you his reasons, leavin’ you?”
The boy spoke from inside the teacup. “Nah.”
“Thot so. Prob’ly somethin goin on back in camp, your dah, he wants to know ’bout it. He wants to know do you keep you eyes open, you mouf shut. He can leave no mahn dere, for watchin. He can leave a son, though, son old enuf, smart enuf to watch. Thas prob’ly what he thinks.”
The boy put the cup down, obviously in the grip of unaccustomed thought. “You spose? An I muck it all?”
I, M’urgi, shrugged. “You make it back in time, he nevah know. An, if he ast, did somethin happen, you say nothin happen or somethin happen, jus the way you see it.”
I was speaking to the air. The cup lay empty and the boy was gone, back along the trail. The old woman said, “He may not make it back, tired as he is.”
“He’ll make it back,” I said. “I’ve seen it.”
“Ah. And when did that happen.”
“Last night. You took us along the night road to the north. I saw the encampment there, saw the coming shadow cover it, heard the second wife buying poison from a traveler, saw the boy lying behind a bush, listening. Same boy.”
The old woman smiled, though wearily. “I didn’t see it.”
“You were far ahead, scanning for whatever it is we’re always looking for.”
“It’s ghyrm we’re always seeking, and those who sell them,” the old woman said with a touch of annoyance. “And you didn’t mention the boy.”
I nodded, familiar enough with her to be unmoved by her irritation. “It meant nothing, until tonight. Who are they, Wolf-mother?”
“The hunters? Followers of the ghyrm-way since the first bondsmen came from Cantardene. On that planet some evil creature taught them this way they follow: brother against brother, family against family, tribe against tribe, never a peace long enough for them to grow numerous, but with strong taboos on killing the women so they can always recover their strength. Faces painted like skulls to show they fear no death, for he who dies for honor goes to the place of Joy. Death and honor lovers. That’s what moved the boy on the trail, honor.”
“He will tell his father about the second wife. What will his father do?”
“Fly and see,” the old woman whispered. “If you care enough to spend yourself on them. If you ask only for my guess, well then, the father will watch to see what she does. And she, she will try to poison him, so her own son can take that boy’s place. And the man, he’ll be so angry, instead of crying her crime aloud and sending her back to her family in shame, he will forget the taboos and will kill her. Her family will kill him for breaking the taboos. His brothers will kill her brothers. They will be much preoccupied with killing one another, and larger conflicts will pass them by. The boy will not be responsible for a thousand lives. Perhaps.”
“To what purpose?”
The old woman shook her head. “We can see tomorrow, even next season or, for some things, a year. Farther than that, the road of discovery becomes a
