SIXTEEN

In the first light of dawn, Nick paddled on the Sodesh, his skiff one of thousands. As they did every morning, Dassa men and women traveled to and from the uldia pavilion to fulfill their duty of the variums: to swim, to procreate. He was conspicuous, he realized, but he might draw less attention when the rivers were crowded with morning traffic. He would insist that Oleel see him. And in case she turned ugly, he'd left word in his notepad where he'd gone—and why.

Nearby, a group of women, probably sisters, happily paddled, chatting and sharing breakfast on the river. They paid no attention to him. Perhaps he was growing invisible as he began to die.

Although Oleel claimed that nothing could save him, Nick believed that langva heightened the human immune response. Other than inducing a pronounced nausea, the langva extract had helped him at first, giving fuel to his breakthrough idea: that the chemical properties of the langva were the reason the Quadi had called them to Ne-shar.

Still nagging at him was the question of why the Quadi wouldn't have sent the chemical formula as information in the message to Earth. The crew had asked that same question from the beginning, about the genetic code itself. For some reason, the Quadi wanted humans to come here. Come find what you have lost.

This trial of the langva extract, although clumsy, even reckless, had to continue. Before the Restoration stole away, abandoning them here. What Oleel seemed not to realize was that they could take the langva anytime they wished, wresting its chemical secrets eventually. So withholding the distillation gave her no advantage, and it could well kill her only human friend. Whatever game she was playing with him, she had miscalculated the cards he held.

Paddling close to the bank, he struggled to identify the back way to Oleel's keep. When ferrying him to meetings, the uldia had always kept him under a covering. But he thought he knew the way.

And here it was. Marked by a fallen banyan tree, draped into the river, the one with roots jutting upward like octopus arms. Steering the boat through a wall of vines, he found the inlet leading to the dark realm of the uldia.

Seeing the little dock deserted, he paddled quietly by the stone entryway to the wooden one. The passage under the great mangrove tree formed a gate to the compound, where, during one of his visits, he'd seen a canoe of uldia pass through. As he approached the tree, he saw that the passageway was solid with roots. A camouflage, he knew.

Sitting in his skiff before the mass of roots, he tugged on them. The roots had the feel of wood, slippery with moss. He groped at them and yanked, then pulled his skiff to the far end and pulled again. This time the roots came open, on a simple hinge.

So the uldia didn't lock their doors. Perhaps they thought they had no worries, no competitors. They didn't reckon with Nick Venning.

Under the huge tree, he floated in watery darkness.

Little frazzles of light danced in the cracks of the tree, making the passage oddly more blind. He felt like he was moving from one world to the next, through a birth canal, into the realm of the uldia, masters of birthing.

Pushing on the opposite door of roots, he peeked out. Morning sun slashed at his eyes, driving a needle of pain into his head. He closed his eyes, struggling for control. When he opened them again, he saw that before him lay a winding water path overhung with moss. He pushed out.

It was a green tunnel, incandescent in the sun, filled with the smells of growing things, dying things. No breeze stirred to freshen the air. Penetrating deeper, he came upon a view of the stone pavilion, bulking up among the trees. He would have to leave the skiff, and creep toward—

An infant's cry broke the stillness.

He found himself floating in the direction of the cry. As he peered out of his cloaked passageway, he saw, some meters away, Dassa heading in several directions, no doubt toward the pools. How many variums were there to accommodate the vast population of Lolo? The land here must be all variums, thousands of them, with their communal secretions … He tried not to feel disgust. But it was all so impersonal, and at the same time, so public.

More baby cries. The jungle was a nest of babies.

How did the infants get born, anyway? They came, he knew, from fulva, the great, loaded casings. Gestating in water, like the human uterus, and then… what? Crew had speculated. Dassa had described it: The uldia tend the variums. The egg and sperm find each other—not that easy or efficient, except for the sheer numbers of swimmers. When the uldia deem it needful, they close the varium, and the pool brings its contents to maturity.

Just beyond the cloaking branches, one such varium was active. There, an uldia waded in a small lagoon.

He could see the sunlight firing the water surface, and the uldia moving around, but for a better view he climbed out of his skiff, securing it next to him with vines. Creeping up the embankment, he parted the undergrowth for a clear view.

It was a varium, one of the closed ones. At a distance, Dassa voices filtered through the jungle. No one swam here except for the young uldia, her robes floating around her as she stood waist-high in water, holding something. Around the pool, the moss and vines of the islet screened it from its surroundings.

He hardly breathed. It was a birth.

The uldia bent over a floating gourd and sniffed deeply, over and over again. He could detect an odor, a warm, yeasty smell, not entirely pleasant, but one that probably masked his own smell from the uldia.

The gourd bounced in the water probably because the uldia was pushing it down. But no, the fulva was bouncing on its own, shaking with some internal commotion. Part of him didn't want to see this—if the babies came out of the vessel like an animal from an egg, it would be an ugly sight. But still he watched.

The egg was enormous, the size of a woman's uterus. How did it float? This question was answered as the fulva squirmed and dipped once more, turning to the side and revealing that, underneath, it was held aloft by a tremendous stalk.

A coarse, cracking sound disturbed the tranquil scene, followed by a more robust ripping noise.

The sack began parting along what appeared to be seams as the gourd oozed a cloudy, thick jelly The uldia bent low again.

And lapped at the jelly.

Nick's stomach recoiled. He turned onto the muddy bank, struggling not to make a sound as his insides roiled and then vomit surged up his throat. Fortunately, the cracking sound came louder from behind him, masking his wretched noise.

He reached down for water, wiping his chin clean, and moved back into position, forcing himself to continue what he'd started. Sweat chilled him. Get a grip. What did he think Dassa birth was? He knew; the whole crew knew. But seeing changed everything. He resumed his position, staring helplessly.

In the varium, the egg discharged its load. As sections peeled back, the gourd spewed out a curdled pulp. In the midst of this an infant squirmed, its head gleaming brownish red in a stray dollop of sun. The uldia pushed aside the jelly, driving her hands into the egg, and pulled the baby free of its capsule, accompanied by a sucking noise as the gourd released its burden.

Attached to the baby at its stomach was a small cord. The uldia bent forward and bit the thing in two.

The creature she had brought forth was covered in slime, eyes closed but mouth open, crying. Nick had time to wonder how it managed not to choke on the jelly now cascading from its flesh. The newborn was a biological nightmare, half animal, half vegetable … a travesty of birth, a dreadful variation of the human.

Just as the Dassa were a dreadful variation of the human. It was why they held no life sacred, why they mutilated their daughters, why sexuality was so twisted. They were nothing like humans. How could they be, when this was their beginning?

He slunk away, and tears popped out of his eyes as he struggled to quiet his stomach. He skidded down the bank, managing to climb into his skiff and propel himself down the green canal, its greenish gold light a mirror of his bilious stomach. Desperate for fresh air, he had the strength only to pull his boat along, hand over hand, using vines to propel himself and his craft.

God in heaven, he thought. Did God approve of this nightmare? No, this was nothing divine or natural. The Quadi had taken what was human and made it revolting. People had warned them, people of Earth had known: The universe is loathsome; don't go looking for horrors.

But they had gone looking. And found them.

Gilar watched from an upper level of the stone house as people wound through the birthlands, seeking the proper variums. At each varium an uldia monitored which Dassa swam where and which Dassa, by virtue of too-close relation, was sent on to a different birth pool to avoid inbreeding. So the uldia were busy this time of the morning. It was the best time of day for mischief.

Pain swelled down her arm, collecting in her hand. Even though she had lost three fingers, it had been worth it. The king had noticed her, and had proclaimed singing favored by the court. Her triumph must have been noticed by Anton Prados, by Bailey. And Oleel had not dared to kill her. Gilar had tweaked the big woman's nose, and lived to remember it.

Heady triumphs, but for now, she needed drugs. She knew where to find pain distillates: in the labs. Perhaps the labs would be empty for just a moment.

Hurrying down the stone stairwell, she found old Mim blocking her way

You have business here?< Mim signed.

Gilar's hand language was severely limited now, but she managed, I have errands. <

Mim smiled crookedly. Like stealing this?< She held up a vial of brown liquid. Then she handed it to Gilar. Take some, before you fall over.<

Grabbing the bottle, Gilar pulled out the stopper and slugged back the liquid, emptying half of it. The glorious drink cooled her throat; it was the same medicinal they'd given her for her mouth in Aramee's compound, in a gentler place.

Mim was holding out her hand for the bottle. You need no more for now. <

Gilar squinted at the old woman. What if the uldia catch you?<

Mim grinned so broadly that her cropped tongue showed in her mouth. She turned, pointing down the stairwell.

There, a group of hoda were just now crowding in from the landing. Among them was Eshi, one of her new friends.

Signing for Gilar to follow, the women moved down the stairs.

If the uldia caught them gathering like this, she knew, punishments would follow, but the medicinal buoyed her. Let them fuss. She handed the vial back to Mim and followed the group, cupping her right hand in her left, cushioning the jarring motion of movement.

Descending to the bottom floor, they hurried through the narrow passage and into a sleeping chamber. There Mim kneeled down to remove a block of stone, and then another. The old hoda slipped through the resulting hole, and the group held back, waiting to see if Gilar would follow.

But of course.

Gilar, on her hands and knees and unable to lean on her right hand, made only slow progress through the dirt tunnel. But eventually she clambered out of a hole into the outside air. Here, a woody tunnel bored through an arch of tree roots. She hunkered under the low ceiling and followed Mim into a ravine, which at last opened into a sunken clearing, out of sight of the pavilion. She sucked in the smells of the redolent forest, and stood tall.

A dozen hoda, many of them older, stood in the hollow, feet sunk into the water collected there.

Gilar turned to Mim, and sang, because it was easier than using hand sign, Why are we here?

Mim sang back, Because Fazza has come.

She knew no Fazza—an outlandish name.

The other hoda gathered here were unfamiliar to her, except for Nuan, of Aramee's compound, who greeted her with a barely suppressed smile. Then the women began ducking down under an enormous hardole tree, its buttress roots forming an arched doorway. Gilar followed, and soon found herself in a cozy tree room. Someone brought bio-lumes.

Do the uldia come here? Gilar sang to Mim.

Sometimes. But we have lookouts posted.

Gilar looked at Mim, old, scarred, and seemingly obedient. And Nuan, whom she'd thought Aramee's devoted slave. She wondered who else pretended to serve, and conspired to gather in secret. The thought that people were fighting back filled her with a strange exaltation.

Now a new arrival filled the entranceway A stranger.

His clothes, sewn pelts of animals, were not proper Dassa dress. At his belt hung two metal knives, one long, one short. He turned to watch Gilar and Mim approach.

“So,” his voice boomed in the dusky chamber, “this is the girl that sings?” He looked at her with a glint of intelligence and humor.

Mim urged Gilar forward. This is Fazza.<

“Sing for me, child,” he said. “I understand you sing loud and strangely I would hear such a thing.”

You would wait a long time, then.< Gilar raised her chin and frankly appraised him. He smelled as though he hadn't cleaned himself in a long while.

His eyes narrowed. “No offense meant. You do what you like.” He looked around the chamber. “Whatever you like. Fazza will indulge you.”

As the man surveyed the group, he said, “Here you see a young girl who dares to go against the king. Though she won't sing for us”— he looked at Gilar, and bowed slightly— “she has already done more than ten generations of slaves have done.” He rested his hand on one of his knives, standing with an easy warrior's grace that Gilar had to admire. He was one who didn't cower.

Fazza went on, “You meet me here under the big tree, and I thank you. Someday, a meeting like this will happen in the sun. Hoda will gather in compounds of their own, and in palaces without shame. And with their tongues.” He turned to Gilar. “If you think you can sing now, a tongue would make you even better.” He looked at the women, nodding to those who seemed to know him. “The Voi take no tongues, Gilar.”

Ah. He was a barbarian, then.

Fazza continued, “The Voi are friends to you who are born to bear. We have no slaves, no punishments. All we ask is for sisters in arms. Against the masters of the wire cage. Some of you have come to us, and some of you have killed the soldiers that serve the king, sending their bodies down the Sodesh as a message.” He paused, looking at the gathering. “Now is the time for the river to bear a stronger message.”

Eshi's hands flashed. No hoda ever come back to say if the Voi keep them as slaves or not.<

Some of the hoda smirked in agreement.

Fazza drew himself up. “Once a hoda comes among us, who would want to come back and be a slave?” After a pause he went on, “Only a few have dared to come. But if you leave in groups, you will have strength. Leave your mistresses of the wire cages helpless to care for themselves. Run to join us. Dare to be what Gilar is.” He pointed a hairy arm at Gilar.

Mim and Eshi looked at her, as they all did. In dismay, Gilar realized that she was supposed to say something, to judge Fazza. But why her? Was it true that no hoda in ten generations had ever publicly defied the king? She had never thought about history or how the hoda would view her. Only how the humans would view her.

There, in the cavern, the understanding came to her, stark and clean: Humans didn't view her at all. They never had, and they never would. To them, she was nothing.

Nuan looked up as a new hoda ducked through the opening to join them. It was Bahn.

She stared at Fazza, sniffing contemptuously. Then she turned to Gilar. We were sisters, once.<

Gilar nodded. I remember what we were.<

Bahn gestured at Fazza. Send this barbarian away, Gilar. When the Voi come down the Sodesh, they will sweep our compounds away and destroy our fields, and us with them. All that we have will be gone. The peace of our lives will be gone.< She looked down at Gilar's hand. See how your peace is already destroyed. <

Gilar looked at the white claw of her hand. Then she regarded the women huddling under this great tree. She wasn't the only one who had been mutilated. They stood in front of her, scarred, hobbled, and mute. They were all part of the grand mutilation, the thing that made them sisters. She was no sister to Bailey, or to Anton Prados. So, if the hoda wanted her opinion, they'd have it.

Go away, Fazza,< she signed.

At his startled look, she continued, I think the Voi are no better than Dassa. Our rebellion, if it comes, will be against everyone who despises us. When we rule the Olagong, will you still be a friend? When we are strong, we will meet you again. Then we will see.<

Nuan's hands repeated the notion. When we are strong, we will see.<

Fazza shook his head. “You will never be strong without the Vol. You need our iron.” His hand was on the hilt of his knife.

Gilar frowned. He smelled of power and violence. No different than the uldia. Everyone thinks they know what we need. I don't think you care about what we need, but only about what the Voi need: the Olagong. <

Fazza saw that the women were listening to her. “Someday we will take the Olagong,” he said. “We would have spared the hoda; you would have been proper Dassa. Otherwise you are the king's spawn, and will eat our iron.”

She held his gaze, grown flat and hard. Go back, Fazza. I say we don't need you.<

An old hoda began to lead him away, directing him to the bright light of the door. He turned back to the group. “We are warriors. You are slaves, only slaves.”

That was enough. Gilar threw back at him: We rise up, Fazza. We rise up—without you.< It was bold to say, and she wasn't sure it was true. But this Fazza was only another master, and a lying one, she thought.

Another hoda came to assist the first in ushering him out of the chamber. He raised his voice, saying, “I will remember you, Gilar. Look for me.”

When he was gone, Gilar was left facing off with Bahn. Bahn's face, once so eager and sweet, was pinched. She had once been Gilar's sister, but only on her terms. The terms of obedience.

But, in Gilar's early days at Aramee's compound, Bahn had been good to her, had taught her the song-speech. Gilar sang: Rise up someday, Bahn. My sister.

Rise up, a few hoda sang, passing the chant among themselves.

Hearing this, Bahn turned and left the woody cave, not looking back. But the gathering held firm.

Now, with Fazza's two hoda escorts returned, the circle of women looked again at Gilar. She knew she should have something clever to say. A plan. But she had nothing at that moment but a hope, small and unfamiliar.

It begins with a song, Gilar sang. When we sing, we rise. She didn't know how, but she thought song was a beginning.

Someone sang out, What if they punish us, take our fingers?

Gilar looked at the hoda who'd asked the question. She didn't blame her for being afraid. The forest rustled with the sound of wind blowing through leaves. It was a percussive music, a cleansing sound. It didn't matter what happened now, or later. Gilar's path was set. She could never be obedient.

Looking around the circle, she held her white claw over her head. Who is willing to sacrifice fingers?

Mim raised her hand. She looked like she couldn't knock down an uldia, much less a king's soldier. But she was smiling. Then, one at a time, other hands went up. Eshi, and Nuan, and the other hoda leaders. The circle spiked with raised hands, making all the women look twice as tall as before.

Rise up, my sisters, Gilar thought. Somehow, they would rise. And if they did, they wouldn't need the Voi—or the humans.

Still filthy from the long trek, Anton stood in the doorway to the sleeping hut and looked down at Nick Venning, lying asleep. He tossed in the hammock, grinding words out of his mouth, frantic and indistinct.

“We had to sedate him,” Bailey said. “Zhen and I were worried he would hurt himself.” She was wearing a Dassa tunic and pants, in a rich brocaded fabric. From Shim, Bailey had said. Anton had heard about her recital, but he'd had little time to think about how Vidori's new politics of song fit in with the king's ambitions. Such things would have to wait.

He saw clearly Nick's deterioration. His skin was pale, a stubble of a beard looking like a pox on his face. He'd lost weight. The poison, Zhen had said. It attacked his digestive functions. He can hardly eat.

Meanwhile, Maypong was resting in the women's hut.

“What happened to her feet, anyway?” Bailey asked.

He gave the simple answer. “She lost her boots—for a while.”

“We think he's trying out Dassa medicines,” Bailey said, going back to the subject of Nick. “He disappeared yesterday for several hours.”

“He left the islet? Where did he go?”

“He ran into some trouble. Came back muttering about how ugly the Dassa were, and how we couldn't trust them.” Bailey shook her head. “You never know which ones are going to crack, do you? He's definitely fraying at the edges.

Best send him to the ship, since he's not much use down here anyway.”

From the hammock Nick muttered, “No use …”

After showering and checking on Maypong, Anton met with Zhen and Bailey. He quickly summarized his findings from the upland trip, and his escape from Nirimol—perhaps a rogue judipon, or else Homish's henchman.

Bailey was watching him with bright eyes. “You found something up there, didn't you?”

“Yes. I might have.”

Zhen frowned. “Might have?”

He nodded. “I went looking for artifacts, repositories, technology. I didn't find any.” Then he smiled. “But I have a lead.”

Suddenly the two women were paying very close attention.

Anton removed the notepad from his pocket. “Unless I'm seeing things that aren't there.” Voicing it on, he brought up the image sent him by the Restoration. “This image is a scan from an overflight of the drone. Over the canyon lands.”

Bailey frowned. “I thought they didn't find anything on those surveys.”

“They didn't recognize what they found.” Anton handed the screen to Zhen. “But Maypong recognized it.”

Zhen pursed her lips and squinted. “Looks like eroded valleys. Am I missing the big Quadi encampment or something?” She handed the screen to Bailey, who peered at it.

Anton replied, “They left us an indicator, but it was too big to see.” He took the screen back from Bailey, turning it toward them so they could both view it at once. “It's in the shape of a langva plant. The canyons are modeled on that shape. But you need to be far enough above it to discern the pattern.”

Zhen snatched the view screen again. She peered closely as understanding crept into her face. “Could beeeee,” she murmured. “Maybe.”

Bailey looked skeptical. “Why would the canyons take that form? How could they?”

Anton said, “Maybe the Quadi modified the canyons.”

Zhen shrugged. “Or the plant was engineered to fit that image.”

“Or this is a grand inkblot test,” Bailey said, “and we're seeing what we want to.”

Zhen said, “That's a lot of trouble to go to. Why didn't they leave us a nice diamond tablet with the directions in big print? Something, say, in the middle of the ocean, that the Dassa wouldn't be likely to find?”

Anton had been building some theories. “Maybe they thought they did. Maybe, to them, the whole thing was obvious. Given their goal, if it was a goal, not to leave artifacts.”

“Ah yes,” Zhen said, screwing her lips into her default expression: skepticism. “The theory of not messing with the Dassa culture. These Quadi were so scrupulous.”

Bailey murmured, “Why, I wonder?”

“Maybe bad things happened when they encountered other cultures. Cultural erosion or implosion.” Anton waved that aside. “But let's assume for a moment that this is a clue, a clue so large we couldn't even see it.”

Zhen said, “A clue about the langva.” She looked at Anton. “Well, I hate to admit this, but Venning has always thought the langva are important. That the plant holds chemical properties that accounted for Dassa immunological strengths.”

Bailey smoothed her brocaded tunic. “So,” she offered, “Nick ingested some of the local medicines to prove his point.”

“Yeah,” Zhen snickered. ‘And look what happened. Damn near killed himself.” She looked over at the sleeping hut, as though expecting Nick to come rushing in to justify himself. Then, keeping her voice low, she said, “I analyzed the langva, testing it for immune-boosting properties. I think Nick's right, that it has them. But they're useless to us. Humans don't have the proper receptor sites.” She shrugged. “Venning strikes out again.”

Bailey said, “Maybe it's trying to tell us to look in the lands where the langva grow. They don't grow everywhere—that's why the Voi are always trying to crash in.”

Anton shook his head. “The Olagong is the place we've been looking. We hardly need a clue to go in that direction.”

Zhen stood up. “OK,” she said. She put up her hands, gesturing for silence. The great Zhen was thinking. Anton was more than willing to give her silence to do the thing they'd brought her here for: think.

“Ooookaay” she said, “it's not in the chemistry. But it's in the biology, maybe.”

Anton and Bailey waited, afraid to disturb her.

Then Zhen swore under her breath and glared at them—surrogates for herself, and for the foolish thing she had done. “I never sequenced the genome. I was looking at the chemistry.”

They sat silently for a time. Finally Bailey said, “Or maybe the langva is a fertility drug. If we all had more children, that would be useful.”

Zhen looked at her with incredulity. Bailey was off the subject. Anton gestured for the old woman to be quiet.

Looking over their heads, Zhen said, “It's in the DNA. It's coded into the DNA of the langva.”

Bailey blurted out, “But isn't the plant's DNA for the plant?”

“Not all of it. I need to look,” Zhen said, turning away to her plant samples and her computer nodes, already having forgotten the others.

A movement in the doorway “No, don't look.” Nick stood there, leaning against the post of the door. Standing up, he looked much worse than when he'd been asleep and covered with blankets.

He nodded at Anton, attempting a smile that came out as a feral grin. “Don't open the box, my friend.”

“Nick,” Anton said. “You shouldn't be up. You look…”

“Sick? Think I look sick?” Nick swaggered into the room. “Nah. Just a little sick to my stomach, is all. Maybe we should all be a little sick to our stomachs.” He pulled down the cuffs of his shirtsleeves and shuffled into the center of the room, eyeing the screen and its canyon pattern. “Clues, is it? Think the Dassa gave you clues?” His body shook with a laugh that was more like a coughing fit. “Here's the big clue for you: the hoda. That's what the Dassa think of humans. To them, we're only fit to be slaves. Didn't you figure it out yet, how they mean to use us?”

Anton exchanged looks with Bailey. She rose. “Nick, let's hold this conversation for later, when you're feeling better.”

“Later?” Nick turned to face Bailey. As he stood next to the old woman, the comparison between them was remarkable. Nick looked older than Bailey, more frail, more unstable. “I'm not sure we've got a later. I don't, anyway.”

He gestured at Zhen, already hunched over her sequencer. “Hidden DNA? Pictures in the canyons? You people are grasping at straws. The truth's right under your goddamn noses. It's between two competing races of humans. The Dassa don't want competition. They lured us here, don't you see? Come find what you've lost. The old bait and switch, old as the hills—promise one thing, deliver another.” He started to sway, and Anton leapt up to grab him.

Nick went down on one knee, struggled to rise. “Wake up and smell the stench, Anton. Bait and switch, don't you see? Send the message, get us to come, reveal where we live …” He fell again.

Bailey was standing at the doorway, looking out. “Oh dear,” she said.

Anton let go of Nick, leaving him on the floor. “What?”

She turned. “Those dreadful women in robes.”

Anton rushed to her side. There, on the dock stood dozens of uldia.

Among them was Oleel.

He turned back to Zhen. “Tie him up. And gag him.” Zhen turned to follow orders as Anton strode out into the harsh afternoon sun. The uldia were pushing onto the islet from the dock, Oleel in the lead.

She stopped as Anton approached.

“Your visit is unexpected, Lady,” he said, looking in alarm as her cohorts spread through the property.

“So has yours been,” Oleel answered. “But now, thankfully, it is over.”

“This is my land, rahi. And I will ask you to keep your people back.”

Oleel looked at him for a long time before answering in a firm but low voice, ‘Anton Prados, you will leave the Olagong, now! You have brought enough ruin, you and your people without pri.” Her attention went past him then, to someone standing in the door of the crew hut. Zhen.

Oleel whispered, “We should have killed her that night. That night you went through Vidori's walls.” Anton's hand came to his holstered gun as Oleel turned back to him, her voice dropping into a deep register. “Because of you, the hoda no longer know how to serve their masters. Because of you, the king no longer knows how to serve his people. The king may claim singing is good. But it is the anthem of rebellion. You say that lost things are hidden here. But there is only the Olagong. Will you pick it apart, piece by piece, before you are satisfied?”

A movement at his side caught Anton's attention. Turning, he saw several uldia pulling Maypong toward the dock. Anton rushed forward. “Let go of her.”

A dozen uldia stood in his way.

Anton surged forward, yanking one of the uldia away from Maypong. Suddenly a blow crashed across the back of his head. He staggered, losing his balance, as he heard Bailey shouting from behind.

Maypong was at his side. ‘Anton, use no violence here. Please.”

He struggled to rise, clutching at her, getting only a handful of her gown, which was ripped from his fingers. “Maypong…” He staggered to his feet, finding Bailey by his side. As his head cleared, he saw them shoving Maypong across the dock and into one of the boats.

Running down to the water, he encountered a solid mass of women between him and Maypong. Oleel stood above him, on the dock. As Anton looked beyond her, he saw that the Puldar was full of boats, carrying Dassa. Some of them held torches.

The woman said, “One thing we will investigate is whether Maypong is the subject of a terrible error. We will investigate whether Maypong is a hoda who has escaped our notice.” Oleel stared down at Anton, making sure she had his complete attention. “Yes, we have been worried such a mistake was made.”

She produced a smile that barely dented her cheeks. “We shall see. If you are soon gone, then perhaps she is not a hoda.”

Anton drew his gun from its holster and aimed it directly at Oleel's forehead. It would be so easy to kill her. In his mind he saw her falling heavily onto the dock, saw himself rushing past her to the boat, grabbing Maypong… “Release her, Oleel. The king said I can protect my people.”

She didn't falter. “Yes, the king has allowed you a gun to protect your people. But Maypong is not one of your people. The law says I can hold her.” Anton held the gun steady, and just as steady, Oleel stared back at it.

From the end of the dock, he heard Maypong call to him. ‘Anton, do not use a gun on the uldia. As you value your mission, do not.”

“Maypong …,” he called.

“No, Anton. It will ruin you.”

No, it would not help to kill Oleel—they had Maypong. Slowly, he lowered the weapon.

Oleel said, “This dock is not worthy of the Puldar.” She turned to an uldia standing next to her. “Burn it.” Then Oleel strode off, descending into one of the canoes. The uldia followed her, emptying the islet, the dock, paddling swiftly away.

A torch fell onto the deck. And then another. Anton ran up, kicking the torches into the water. But a hail of flaming brands came at him from the skiffs that still surrounded his island. Zhen and Bailey succeeded in pulling him back from the pier, as the flames finally caught.

The people in the remaining boats were not uldia, but ordinary Dassa, the ones who supported Oleel, the ones he'd been ignoring, seeing the Olagong as the king's land. It had never been the king who ruled, but the Three Powers, closely bound. The flames spread, jumping to Anton's skiff. Then Dassa began hurling torches at the huts. Anton and the two women kicked dirt over them, but the reed matting took fire.

“The lab,” Zhen shouted, and they abandoned the sleeping huts to the flames, concentrating on the lab hut. But the fire leapt onto the wood structure, and soon they were hauling equipment out and piling it at the water's edge. Nick sat, bound and useless, among the salvage.

The four of them watched as the flames consumed their camp, finally guttering out in the surrounding moist vegetation.

Turning toward the river, Anton looked for any more torches among the boats, but the skiffs had fled, along with the canoes of the uldia, bearing Maypong away.