“How do you know this?”
“From our people’s description of her body. The cause of death is unmistakable. What is of interest is that I did not use all of Alicia’s hairs. I have several left, enough to determine her pattern. I assume the place she died is utterly destroyed, nothing left of it at all?”
The emissary agreed. “Those were my instructions. There is nothing left of the place.”
“But if that creature left that place with her blood upon him, he is carrying her pattern around. Were you in that place when she died?”
“My job was to destroy the place, the building, everything in it, everyone associated with it. I was told to stay away until I was sure of success. One of the surviving warriors was there when the woman died. He’s waiting for me outside . . .”
“Can you ask him to join us?”
The warrior came in, his face, body, and arms still bearing wounds that had not completely healed. The question was asked. He sat thoughtfully, trying to recall.
“The stairs went down the right-hand wall into an empty room . . . a kind of entry room, with a door straight ahead. Inside that door, on my left, yes, there was a worktable of some kind. There were several things on it, mechanisms, I suppose. Two had round screens on them. One had a plan on it, like the plan of a house. The other was a map, yes, with many tiny red spots on it, a big blot of them, then more of them arcing away, like the tail of a kite . . .”
“If she had been searching for Jenger, it would have located Jenger’s remains,” said Precious Wind. “You know Norland well. Did the map seem familiar?”
“It showed roadways, dots that might have been towns, but nothing I could identify . . . no coastline. No body of water.”
“I think we can assume that device was a locator,” said Precious Wind, looking at the emissary, who nodded agreement. He had seen it. It was.
Lok-i-xan spoke. “One thing more before you go, warrior. Can you describe the creature for us?”
The man drew a deep breath, though it obviously hurt him to do so. He clasped his wounded right shoulder with his left hand, tipping his head in that direction as though to relieve a constant pain.
“I can only try,” he said. “It was shaped like a man. Taller than any man I have ever seen, perhaps a third again my height, and I am thought to be tall. He was thin, as the trunk of a tree is thin, and strong in that same way, as though made of layers of hard wood rather than flesh. He bled when we wounded him, which not many of us managed to do, though his blood did not run red but oozed a pale orange color. His flesh was gray, the color of dark ashes, and it seemed that his wounds healed almost at once, for the strange blood never showed for more than an instant.” The man eased his position, lowered his head in recollection. “I managed to strike him with my sword, across the back of his hand. In that wound, for a moment, I saw metal . . .”
Precious Wind waited briefly, then prompted him. “As though his bones might be of metal? Was he covered in blood? Not his own. Perhaps the woman’s blood?”
The warrior looked up, his face betraying a kind of empty desperation. “I thought I was seeing things. He had knocked me across the room and I was stunned, but I did see it. The memory is clear. His clothes were soaked, clinging to him, and that blood on his clothing was red, yes. Where I cut him, it glinted like metal, as if the bones in his hand were of steel.”
“Anything else?”
His head went down again. “Behind him, there was a . . . Would you think me mad if I said an open coffin? On end? A kind of packing case? It was taller than he was, wider, padded inside, full of tubing and little lights and sounds. I remember thinking, So, that’s the box he came in, as though he had been something manufactured that had been delivered there. I wanted to believe that!”
“Ah, yes,” said Precious Wind and Lok-i-xan simultaneously.
Lok-i-xan said, “You wanted to believe he was a machine, yes, but you were right to believe so. Though it has flesh and needs flesh to continue working, it is mostly a machine. He was created in the Before Time. He and the others of his kind were responsible for the Big Kill. You are very fortunate to have survived him, and we are fortunate that you did so, for you have told us something of great value.”
The warrior looked his question, unable to ask it.
“The thing like a packing case,” said Lok-i-xan, laying his hand on the man’s shoulder. “We’re virtually sure he—it had been inside it. Not merely recently, no, but repeatedly, over and over again, we don’t really know how long. Perhaps for a thousand years. The case looked nothing like the ones we found elsewhere, but it had the same function. It kept him alive . . .”
“And now his packing case is gone,” said the emissary with a little satisfied nod. “Now it is gone!”
“But the thing is still alive,” cried the warrior in an agonized voice. “It chased my comrades up the stairs. I got out while it was gone . . . I should have—”
“Shh,” said Precious Wind. “You should have done no more than you did. Do not despair! We know it lives now, but it needs that ‘packing case’ to continue living. His time is limited, but we don’t know limited to how long!” She made an aversive gesture. “Why do we say ‘he’? We know the creature is
