To Battle The Gods

14 S’Heernoh—and a final solution

“Jalav. Hear me. Jalav.”

The words, repeated over and over, drew me toward a consciousness I had no desire for. Much of an unreasonable invasion did the words seem, and I felt no hesitation in speaking of it.

“Jalav goes elsewhere, male,” I said with words which seemed to have no substance to them. “Leave me be, now, for all my tasks have been seen to and I wish to rest.”

“You shall indeed be allowed a time of rest, yet not the one you mistakenly seek, girl,” said the voice, drawing me yet farther from the journey I had barely begun. “You must open your eyes and hear me, for there are matters to be settled before you begin your rest.”

In growing annoyance I attempted to open my eyes as had been demanded of me, yet found some difficulty in the doing. It came to me then that I had no sense of bodily presence, that spirit alone resided in that place where I was, much as though I had gone to walk the Snows without having been aware of it. With that in mind I ceased attempting to open eyes and merely intended their opening, and sight came immediately, accompanied by confusion and a great lack of understanding.

I found I sat in a world all of gray, a world composed solely of mist. Even below my folded legs was there mist of gray, no more solidity in it than to myself. Perhaps a pace before me sat S’Heernoh, the sight of him confirming that it had indeed been his voice which I had heard. To his right and a bit before him sat Ceralt, to his left and also before, Mehrayn, all three entirely without coverings and weapons, as was I.

Somewhat disturbed did the Belsayah and the Sigurri seem, yet did they seem equally determined. I knew not what occurred about me, and the stares of the three males added to my confusion.

“What place is this?” I asked, finding that I spoke with something of a soundless echo, true speech when compared to what was done upon the Snows, more than odd in any other context. “Is this the Gray Place, where souls denied entry to Mida’s Realm must wander forever?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” S’Heernoh hastened to assure me, his gesture comforting. I saw then a portion of the oddness of speech there, for I heard the male’s words with both ears and mind—the echo I had noted. Surely was there a link between that place and the Snows, yet I knew not what it might be—

“This is a place where life has never been, where even the worlds have not yet formed,” said S’Heernoh, his gaze unmoving from my face. “Time moves so slowly here that it can’t even be measured, so slowly that to spend a lifetime here is to pass a blink of an eye in your own world. When we return there, no time at all will have passed.”

I stared upon the male with growing upset, and not for the words he had spoken, which I had scarcely understood. His manner of speech was not what it had been, a thing I had at first failed to note by cause of the strangeness of that place. Much did that manner of speech seem familiar . . . .

“Yes, you’re right,” said he, the wry look about him greatly aware of the manner in which I had stiffened. “My speech patterns are not what they were, and they sound like those used by the Feridani because—I am one of them. ”

Ceralt and Mehrayn had turned to stare upon the male as I did, the shock clanging in all of our minds, yet did the male we had known as S’Heernoh wave a hand in impatience.

“I think I should have said, ‘we come from the same culture,’ ” S’Heernoh corrected himself, and then did his face twist in disgust. “I’ve lived a long time and intend living a considerable time longer, but I’d cut my own throat right now if I ever thought I’d become like those—sickeningly warped pretenders to humanity.”

With a headshake and a sigh the male shifted his place upon the gray mist, and then did he return his eyes to me.

“It’s painful to admit, but the fault for those—monsters can be lain at the feet of no one but my people,” said he, and indeed did the admission seem painful. “We had discovered a brand-new source of energy, trans-continuum in nature—Well, let’s just say we found something new, and set up a place to study it called a pilot plant. All of the studying we’d done till then assured us that the new thing we’d found was safe to handle, but what we were doing was groping blindly around the hilt of a sword, finding it easy to hold, and assuming the rest of the weapon would be the same. We were fine as long as the hilt was all we touched—but the pilot plant wrapped a firm hand around the blade we hadn’t been able to see.

“There was a minor—explosion,” said the male, groping for the words he required. “Even the people right near the explosion weren’t seriously hurt, and we laughed with relief and congratulated ourselves, because we’d found such a safe source of energy. We didn’t know how much of a disaster we’d created until some months later, when crippled and terribly mutated babies started to be born, all within a radius of seventy-five miles of the pilot plant. The energy burst of the explosion had been less than a minute in duration—the storm flowing from our new creation had lasted less than a reckid—and yet people as far away as from Bellinard to half way to Ranistard had been hurt by it. Not so much the people themselves, but their offspring, their babies. Some were so badly twisted by the storm that they were born dead, and they were surely the lucky ones. Some were born to constant, unending agony, some to be violently allergic to the very air they needed to live—and some were born with nothing visibly wrong with them at all.

“Although we didn’t know it at first, these were the worst mutants of them all,” said the male with a sigh for remembered grief. “They seemed to be fine and they grew up just like any child, but the older they got, the more—different—they became. No very young child has a conscience, that’s something that has to be taught them, but these children were impossible to teach. No matter how old they got and what they were taught, they considered no one but themselves. It was always their comforts and their likes and their wishes which concerned them, and causing others pain and difficulty didn’t bother them in the least. When their difference was noticed and they were gathered in and studied, it was discovered that they were entirely without social awareness. What benefited them was good, what interfered with their desires wrong, and nothing we were capable of could cause them to change from so socially disastrous an outlook. In our society, just as among the clans, the one who thinks of himself or herself to the exclusion of everyone else around is a danger to that society. If there’s a fire and everyone cooperates, everyone gets out alive; if everyone were to try to save themselves alone, most if not all, would die.”

“Indeed,” said I with a nod, recalling that even children of the wild will not attack if fire roars through the forests. “Those who consider themselves above the good of the clan are quickly ended, so that they shall not give the clan more daughters like themselves.”

“We made the mistake of feeling sorry for those children,” said S’Heernoh, a weariness now touching him. “They had been given about half the education which they normally would have had, and it was decided not to let them have any more, but also to let them keep what they’d already been given. They were all put in a very large shelter, a place of great beauty where all their needs were taken care of, but where they weren’t permitted to come in contact with the rest of society. They stayed in the shelter for many years, so many that most of us forget about them, and then one morning they were gone, they and all their belongings. They had somehow gotten access to a fleet of small ships gathered for a yearly race, had killed the owners and crew of the ships, and then had taken off in different directions. We knew then that we should have killed them before allowing them to run loose among innocent, unsuspecting people, but the realization had come too late.”

“And so you now pursue them?” asked Mehrayn, clearly having followed the male’s narration. “For what reason do you not ask the aid of others, others such as the stranger folk who have recently come to us? Would their wonders not make your task more easily accomplished?”

“No,” returned S’Heernoh, yet gently, for he clearly had no intentions of giving insult. “The last thing we want to do is get involved with the people you come from, and I don’t know if I can explain why. First let me say that the biggest problem we face is that you and we seem to share a common beginning; we don’t know how that can be or even what that common beginning was, but the fact can’t be denied. We all come from the same stock—but our race is many hundreds of years—kalod—older than yours.”

We all looked upon the male with lack of comprehension, and this he seemed to expect. Vexation touched him briefly, causing him to run a hand through his hair.

“Picture—picture a full-grown warrior and a child just beginning to learn the skill of a warrior,” said he at last, again groping for the proper phrases. “As a full-grown warrior yourself, you know that the child will reach your level of skill, but first it has to grow and learn and practice. But picture that child as one who thinks it’s already fully grown, and already has all the skill there is to be had. If it sees you, so much larger and so much more skilled, its first thought might be that it will never grow to match you, no matter how long it tries, so it might as well give up even before trying. Even if the child doesn’t think that, it might decide that there’s no need for it to work hard acquiring what you already have, and might march up to you and demand to be given your skill without working for it. If you agree, you destroy that child as a warrior; something given is never as precious and meaningful as something gotten by one’s own hard work. If you refuse, the child sees nothing but the refusal, nothing but a selfishness trying to keep a skill from others, and grows sullen with resentment. That child is now your enemy, and will never forget its hatred.

“The last thing that might happen is that as soon as the child sees you, it attacks. It knows you’re larger and more skilled, and is therefore afraid of you, afraid that you’ll attack first and kill it. It doesn’t stop to find out how honorable you are, it doesn’t ask you whether you would do something that terrible, it merely assumes you would and attacks to save itself. When it finds it can’t hurt you no matter how hard it tries, it curls up in shame and total defeat, and eventually dies. ”

“So the warrior may not show itself at all to the child,” said Ceralt, his gaze unmoving from S’Heernoh, his head nodding slowly in understanding. “To protect the child, and allow it to grow to warrior size, it must be kept from knowing of the warrior.”

“Or, should it somehow learn of the warrior, it must be allowed to believe that the warrior is evil,” said I, also gaining understanding. “To believe that the warrior is evil allows the child to look down upon her, and to strive for her downfall without generating fear or envy.”

“Exactly,” said S’Heernoh with a smile of approval, looking at each of us in turn. “We can’t ask the help of your people without hurting them terribly, and can’t even use our wonders ourselves, for fear the child will see the warrior. If we were totally alien to each other we’d have less of a problem; people who don’t look like you are different, so if they have more than you do, it’s just an accident that you’ll either ignore or work hard to match, because people different from you can’t possibly be as good. It’s a prejudice that helps a race survive.”

Both Ceralt and Mehrayn now nodded with understanding, following the concepts S’Heernoh presented, yet was I aware of distraction. An inner tugging fought for my attention, as though my body sought to draw my spirit back to it from the Snows, and I knew a great desire to obey that tugging. So easily might I just slide from that place, allowing it to blur and fade about me, returning to the thing I had sought so long and eagerly . . . .

“Jalav!” came S’Heernoh’s voice with a snap. returning me to the place of gray mist, in some manner blocking me from the destination I had nearly attained. The anger rose in me at such presumption, an anger which nevertheless brought little strength, and the dark eyes of the male grew soft with pain.

“I know you don’t want to be here,” said he, compassion and hurt clear in the words. “But if you go back to your body now, still feeling the way you do, you’ll die no matter what anyone does to try to save you. I can force anyone else on this world to live whether they want to or not, but not you. Your mind is too strong to be forced, and nothing but your wholehearted cooperation will let me save you.”

“You must listen and allow it, satya,” said Ceralt, his eyes and Mehrayn’s again upon me, both echoing the pain S’Heernoh showed. “We—are now aware of the reason for your doing such a thing, and have together vowed to cause you no further grief. We will both of us go our separate ways from you, never to burden you again with our presence.”

“We would not have you seek death by cause of our love,” said Mehrayn, the green of his eyes glistening somewhat even in that all gray place. “We will not face one another but will instead ride away, so that the woman of our heart may live.”

“Won’t you two ever learn?” asked S’Heernoh with a sigh as I looked down from Belsayah and Sigurri, feeling yet further of my strength slip away. “You’ve told her you love her, you’ve each told her how terrible the other one is, you’ve demanded that she choose between you, and you’ve each sworn to fight to the death for her. Now you’re telling her that you’ve both decided to walk out of her life, but you’ve never once asked her how she feels about any of it. Don’t either of you care?”

“Most certainly am I concerned over the feelings of my beloved,” said Mehrayn, the calm of his voice now tinged faintly with insult. “What man would not be concerned so?”

“Indeed,” said Ceralt, a certain stiffness to the agreement. “How is a man to bring his wench happiness, save that he makes himself aware of her feelings?”

“Well, I’m pleased to see that she’s so much in your thoughts,” said S’Heernoh, a familiar smoothness to his words above the pleasance. “Since you seem to know how important it is for a man to thoroughly understand his woman, I’m sure you both can explain her feelings to me so that I’ll understand them as well as you do.”

A time of silence went by, while I raised my eyes to see a Mehrayn and a Ceralt who avoided the gaze of the male who looked upon them both. Mehrayn seemed troubled and Ceralt vexed, and S’Heernoh merely sat and smiled pleasantly, patiently awaiting words which were likely never to come. I knew not what foolishness the male played at, yet had I questions which he surely would find it possible to answer.

“This forcing a return to life you spoke of—” said I, drawing S’Heernoh’s immediate attention. “It was your efforts which restored Chaldrin, was it not? Never had I seen any survive such a swording, no matter their size and strength. Was it not for you, my brother would long since have fed the children of the wild.”

“I knew how much he meant to you, and knew also that part of you would die if he did,” said S’Heernoh with a nod, the false smoothness again gone from his voice. “I grabbed his mind and forced it to stay with his body, repaired just enough of the damage so that he could continue living on his own, then released him. Doing something like that takes a lot out of you, or I would have noticed sooner that you were gone. ”

“Then you did for him what the one who called herself Mida surely did for me,” said I, nodding with the very edge of understanding. “When I had walked the lines for the Silla and lay dying, I, too, was given life again.”

“She wasn’t the one who did it,” said the male, his gaze upon me wary, his words painfully slow. “I told you that the twisted children of my people were given no more than half of the education given all the rest. The half they did have covered the use of equipment of all sorts—the use of wonder but it didn’t include the most important part, the full use of the mind. Learning mind control takes a long time and a lot of hard work, and I don’t believe the twisted ones would have been able to learn it even if someone had decided to teach it to them. They could operate the mechanical units that required mind control for usage, but anyone can learn that. No, neither one of them could have helped you.”

“For what reason, then, did I not find an ending?” I demanded, nearly indignant over the denial the male had spoken. “For what reason was I not slain or terribly crippled?”

“For the reason that I wasn’t about to let either of those things happen,” said the male, again somewhat shamefaced. “I was much too far away to heal you as quickly or as thoroughly as I would have liked, but I did the best I could with what I had. You weren’t actively seeking death, then, so I had no trouble pulling you back.”

“Even then you watched over her?” asked Mehrayn, fully as surprised as Ceralt and I. “Easily am I now able to see that your assistance during our journey together was no mere happenstance, yet am I unable to comprehend the reason for such doings. For what reason did you give her such aid?”

“One of my reasons was the same reason your two Feridani wanted her dead,” said S’Heernoh as he looked upon me. “Everyone who read the Snows saw the same thing, and two of those reading it were the ones who called themselves Mida and Sigurr. The Snow said that if Jalav didn’t make the trip to Sigurr’s Peak, everyone on this planet would be lost. What that meant was— But maybe it would be better if I started from the beginning.

“When the twisted ones escaped from the shelter, they didn’t simply run in the first direction they saw. We discovered that they had picked their destinations carefully, from the records we kept of your people’s newest colonies. We knew about the upheaval taking place in their Union, had used the opportunity to look in on some of the isolated colonies, and had found some of them, for the most part the more primitive ones, of great interest. For their own twisted reasons, the twisted ones chose the colonies we had been studying, but the strongest reason was probably the knowledge that we would hesitate before showing ourselves and our strength in those places, so they were a good deal safer than anywhere else.

“When the two we just dealt with first came here, they spent a good deal of time building wonders and studying the people of this planet. When they felt they were ready they disguised themselves as Sigurr and Mida, then began kidnapping people to be their slaves and followers. This kept them busy for an even longer time, but then one day one of their watching devices gave them warning of a pending disaster: the power crystals taken so long before from your ancestors’ comm were about to be found and brought together again.

“The twisted ones were absolutely furious,” said S’Heernoh with a shake of his head. “They had already begun spreading their evil with an eye toward enslaving everyone on the planet, and they didn’t want to be interrupted by the people from the Union. They watched in near helplessness as the Silla simply handed over their crystal, raged when the Hosta’s crystal was stolen—and then noticed something that calmed them a good deal. The war leader of the Hosta clan immediately mounted her warriors and rode after the ones who had stolen their clan’s crystal, and that gave the two watchers an idea. The Hosta followed their goddess Mida, so why couldn’t they use the Hosta to get the crystals away from those who would set them back in a comm? That was when the one calling herself Mida first began appearing to the war leader of the Hosta. ”

The male looked upon me with deep compassion, yet did I continue to feel very much the fool. In no manner could I have known of the deception—however, I believed I should have known.

“When the Hosta failed to retrieve the crystals, the twisted ones were furious all over again,” said S’Heernoh, clearly attempting to draw me from my thoughts by continuing his narrative. “They could have warned the clan about the men coming to capture and claim them, but they didn’t—and ended up paid back for their betrayal. The third crystal was found and placed with the others, and the people of the Union were contacted again after generations and generations of isolation.

“The twisted ones should have properly blamed themselves for the catastrophe, but it was easier to blame a war leader named Jalav. When she escaped over the wall of Ranistard, they made sure to subtly direct her with their long-distance speakers—right into the hands of her enemies, the Silla. As expected she was caught and badly wounded, but I made sure she didn’t die the way the twisted ones wanted her to. Again they raged, unable to understand why she survived, unable to detect the efforts of one who had had much more schooling in the use of the mind. They were badly confused, and the main reason for their confusion was what they had seen on the Snows.”

Again S’Heernoh shifted in place with a sigh, and looked about at Ceralt and Mehrayn as well as myself.

“I don’t know how well I’m going to do explaining this next part,” said he, looking some small bit vexed. “At this point you have to know just exactly what the Snows are, but I doubt if I can make it clear enough for you. When my people find a planet they want to keep track of, one of the first things they do is tap into a parallel sequence we discovered a very long time ago, and set up a computer watch there. This parallel sequence is a place of no doings of its own—much like the place we’re sitting in right now—so the computers aren’t distracted. Everything that happens is fed into the computers—computers are wonders that remember everything they’re told and can keep track of all that without confusing one bit with another—everything is fed into the computers by spying eyes and ears the computer sends out, and everything learned is displayed for anyone who wants to look at it. The computer uses a special code or language, and shows every possibility it can discover from the information it’s been given, as to what will happen next on that particular planet. My people are trained to read and interpret that special language, a language that was developed because of the needs of the computer, not because we didn’t want anyone else getting the information. As far as we knew, no one not of our people could reach the parallel sequence to get the information.”

“But—but that is simply untrue,” said Ceralt, his brow creased with the effort to follow the obscurity spoken by S’Heernoh. “The Snows—the ‘parallel sequence’ has been reached by many of our people, my brother Lialt included among them.”

“And the wench,” said Mehrayn, nodding toward me where I sat. “She, too, is able to reach the Snows, as you know yourself, S’Heernoh.”

“Yes, I do indeed know these things,” said S’Heernoh, amused. “That happens to be another reason why your planet is of special concern to us. That drug your Pathfinders use—all by itself it’s entirely innocuous—harmless—and can’t do a thing to breach the dimensions. Somehow, though, it encourages certain of your minds to do the breaching, something my people can’t accomplish until they’re taught. We would love to know what your Pathfinders could do if they had the proper training—but we can’t interfere to the extent of giving them that training. Your people from the Union, by the way, have never found the same ability, so if you were to mention it to them, they would have no idea what you were talking about.”

“That is truth,” said I, recalling the converse with Aram and Kira. “When Aysayn and I spoke of the Snows, the strangers took the word for snow, that which falls from the skies and mounds white upon the ground. I had meant to correct their misconception, yet found no opportunity to do so. ”

“It’s much better that you didn’t try,” said S’Heernoh, a sobriety upon him, his hands clasped together before him. “Telling people about something they can’t reach or see for themselves just makes trouble for everyone—or causes jealousy if they happen to believe you.

“But to continue with my story. What our twisted children had seen on the Snows was the same seen by all of your Pathfinders: if Jalav didn’t make the trip to Sigurr’s Peak, everyone on your world was lost. Your Pathfinders took that to be absolute, unbreakable prophecy, but the twisted children knew it for what it was: a prediction handed down by the computer based on available knowledge. It had given the prediction a high probability rating—it was guessing that what it predicted was most likely true—and that was something the children didn’t understand, because of their lack of greater learning. The computer had guessed that Jalav would be needed to unite all the warriors required to find victory over the intruders, and without her the intruders would probably win. The children, however, didn’t know if they would be lost right along with everyone else, and that was the only thing really concerning them. Since they had failed to kill Jalav through the Silla, they decided to wait and see what happened once she reached Sigurr’s Peak. Again the one calling herself Mida pretended to be the prime mover of the entire sequence, just to make sure Jalav stayed in line.

“Once Jalav reached them, the twisted children began thinking about ways to get what they wanted through her. They had joined forces only to make things easier for themselves, not because they liked each other, and began looking for ways to rid themselves of each other, while at the same time preparing for the arrival of the people from the Union. They made an emergency healer—a device developed for those of my people who often found themselves in dangerous and harmful situations, but who didn’t have the strength to heal themselves—and placed it on her. The twisted children had twisted even that useful device, and meant to render it inoperable—turn it off—as soon as they decided they wanted Jalav dead. They expected her to come to rely on it, you see, and start taking foolish chances in the belief that whatever happened to her, it would be healed almost immediately. The one calling herself Mida hated and feared Jalav, but had to use her to get what she wanted. The one called Sigurr had decided he wanted Jalav as his personal slave, so he didn’t press the point of killing her when he could have done so. Because of these two reasons, Jalav was allowed to leave Sigurr’s Peak alive and unharmed.”

The male’s narration had grown grim, his voice turned nearly to a growl, his gaze now inward rather than upon me. We three sat and looked upon him as he spoke, yet were we silent in the face of his anger.

“Jalav joined the nine clans of her sister group, became their leader, then led them against Bellinard,” said S’Heernoh with a sigh which returned him to our midst. “Once Bellinard was secure she rode to Sigurr’s city with four of the Sigurri, overcame the trouble she found there, and raised the Sigurri the way she thought she was supposed to do. The truth of it was she was never expected to be victorious with the Sigurri, and when she was, the twisted children became frightened. They thought they knew where the people from the Union would land—that’s why they ordered the taking of Bellinard—and also considered the nine clans already there wild enough and blood-thirsty enough to destroy the Union people as soon as they appeared. They expected the Sigurri to take Jalav captive and hold her as a slave until the Unioners were killed, and then they would be able to reclaim her at their leisure. When Jalav emerged from it not only free but leading the Sigurri warriors as well, the twisted children decided it was time for her to die.

“The start of their plan for her death was to tell her she had to gain the leadership of the enemy clans,” said S’Heernoh, his dark eyes once again resting upon me. “They used their long-speaking device to get Ladayna to steal her life sign, then arranged things so that she would follow the gray-clad, so-called warriors of the Serene Oneness. It was a trap they set and one she fell into—but they weren’t including me in their planning. I helped Aysayn find the emergency healer and get it to her in time to save her life, made sure the twisted ones couldn’t turn it off, then went forward with my own plans to join her traveling group. The twisted ones were now determined to see her die, and I didn’t want to be too far away to prevent that.”

“These—followers of the Serene Oneness you speak of—” said Ceralt, a great disturbance holding him close—“From the Sigurri have I heard other references to them, and I find myself unable to understand what occurs. I—I am a follower of the Serene Oneness, and never would I or any I am acquainted with behave as they are reported to have done. For what reason did they do such things?”

“For the reason that they were being influenced by the twisted children,” said S’Heernoh, his visage again going grim as he looked upon Ceralt. “In the north there are many people who follow the teachings of the Serene Oneness, but in the south the main deities are Mida and Sigurr. The twisted children sought out every malcontent among the Sigurri, every misfit who thought he should have been chosen to be a warrior, every incompetent who blamed those around him for his own lacks, and gave them the idea of founding a city dedicated to the Serene Oneness. There were a few who tried to imbue the image of the new god with honor and strength of character, but the twisted ones preferred a god of viciousness, deceit and warped self-seeking. Their preferences won out, of course, and would have spread everywhere if the children had been allowed to continue unopposed.”

“So those who follow the Serene Oneness in the north are not as those of the south,” said Mehrayn, a thoughtfulness to him which seemed to be filled with gladness as well. “I had begun to suspect that that was so, yet am I pleased to have the belief confirmed.”

“And I have learned that the Sigurri of the south are not like those called Sigurri beneath Sigurr’s Peak,” said Ceralt, returning the grin Mehrayn sent to him. “Fully as honorable as followers of the Serene Oneness are they, and this I was pleased to have confirmed.”

“There is a thing I fail to understand,” said I, looking upon S’Heernoh, who grinned with as much enjoyment as Ceralt and Mehrayn. “As the Feridani had already decided upon death for me—and were clearly the cause of the various mishaps upon that journey—for what reason was I given into the possession of Mehrayn? And for what reason was a pit dug for me, the pit which aided me in avoiding the enemy Midanna who hunted me, and also allowed my healing? Had that pit not been there, I would surely have died.”

“That’s the reason I dug it,” said S’Heernoh, again somewhat discomforted. “Or, to be more accurate, the reason I had it dug. I wasn’t close enough to do it myself, so I had to work through—surrogates. The procedure is prohibited except in extreme emergency, so I won’t try to explain it. After you were in the pit I let the emergency healer take care of you, and merely stood guard. And, of course, when it came time to send Aysayn and his warriors after you to that village, I didn’t have to check with the computer to know where you were. I was already following your every movement. ”

“Then that mist upon the Snows was your doing as well,” said I, suddenly seeing the point. “As the device we know as the Snows is a doing of your people, the mist must be the same. ”

“No, it so happens it wasn’t,” said the male, surely aware of my upset upon the point. It had been the mist which had kept me from knowing of the terrible ending which had been Kalir’s, due to the wearing of my life sign. “That mist was caused by the children, it being their belief that you had avoided death till then by being able to check the computer probabilities. They misted the sequence to keep you out of it, which also kept them out, but they couldn’t use it to keep me out when I wasn’t Walking with you. And no, I didn’t know what would happen with your life sign. I don’t get to check the probabilities for any longer than anyone else—the time flow in that sequence is almost as fast as the flow in this place is slow. We’ve discovered that having it that way is best—my people are as human as yours, and if humans are given too long a look at the possibilities of the future, they get the urge to tamper. Despite what I told you about certain happenings being so sure to come about that all branchings lead to it, that still refers only to probability. If everything continues on the way it has been going, the computer is saying, the probability of the event is so high that it’s a virtual certainty. Even before Jalav was born, the probability of her achieving success in her efforts was so high that she was immediately incorporated into the computations of the computer, setting her presence so clearly into the Snows that any Pathfinder was able to see it. Her abilities plus the certainty of my protection against things she couldn’t be expected to cope with did that, but that doesn’t mean her success was totally unavoidable. If she had been accidentally killed in battle—highly unlikely because of her skill—or had fallen off her mount and broken her neck—again, highly unlikely—or had been ended by pure chance, the near-certain probability would have immediately been changed to absolute impossibility. Nothing is set immovably in the future; that’s why the computer deals with certainties only after the event has already happened.”

The male looked closely upon me to be certain I had absorbed his meaning, and indeed did I feel considerably better. It had not been he who had callously contributed to Kalir’s sickening ending, and the hand of the Snows was not wrapped about the throats of those who lived upon my world. No more than a mirror was the device called computer, reflecting the doings of those who lived, and then speaking of what likely would occur by cause of their own efforts. This, to me, was far more acceptable than that the Snows ruled us all, and now there was no need to contemplate the invasion of the White Land.

“Still do I fail to understand,” said Ceralt to S’Heernoh, drawing me back from my thoughts. “For what reason was this wench chosen to overcome all opposition, so surely that the doing was set even before her birth? That it was so is inarguable, for many Pathfinders have seen and reported the thing. And for what reason was it so certain that you would lend her your aid? Is she truly chosen by the gods, and you the guardian set to her protection?”

“Or perhaps she was meant to be yours, and for this reason you guarded her so carefully,” said Mehrayn, something of desperate upset to be heard beneath his calm. “Neither Ceralt nor I were meant to have her, and we the greatest of fools for believing we might.”

“No, no, that’s not it at all,” said S’Heernoh hurriedly, looking from one stricken face to the other. “You’re both wrong—and now I’m going to have to tell you certain things I had hoped to be able to gloss over. Ah well, no sense fighting the inevitable. If it hadn’t come up now, you would have thought of it sooner or later.”

“You must try to understand how really long a time I’ve been here,” said S’Heernoh, once again gazing solely upon me. “A lifetime for my people is much, much longer than a lifetime for yours, even your kin from the Union, because we’ve learned full mind control. When you can heal injuries and illness in yourself, you can also stop and reverse the clogging of your arteries, the thinning of your blood, the wearing out of your organs. Growing old is a disease we don’t let ourselves suffer from—until and unless it’s what we really want. I’ve been here long enough to see your ancestors get cut off from the Union, to see the women who took the power crystals form a protective group that practiced with primitive weapons so that they couldn’t be forced to give up what they’d stolen, and then to see them argue and split into two independent groups; to see men leave the rest of the colony in disgust and build their own city, in anger over the colony’s refusal to go after the crystal-stealing women and force them to return the crystals. The rest of the colony didn’t believe in violence of any sort, and insisted on waiting until the women returned the crystals without being forced to it. By the time others took over who weren’t quite so patient, the crystals and the reason for their return were a foolish memory of fairy tales fit only to be laughed at.

“The women grew to be warriors who called themselves Midanna, after the group named Mida their founders were members of. The men who founded their own city also became warriors, calling themselves Sigurri after their first leader, Sig Uris. Those who were the remaining members of the colony, lacking the ‘purpose’ of the other two groups, merely began spreading out, caring very little about their fellow man. They fought among themselves and cheating became a way of life—and the computer said that if something wasn’t done, the probability of their wiping themselves out was so high that it was a virtual certainty.

“You must understand that if not for that, I wouldn’t have interfered,” said S’Heernoh, now all but begging understanding. “They had to have purpose, something to believe in, something honorable to emulate. I—went down among them, won a wary respect by showing I could be as violent and unethical as they were—then began showing them a better way. It took awhile, but by the time I left there were enough converts to the ethical way of doing things that I knew the concept wouldn’t die out—and neither would the people. After a number of years, they even changed my name by spreading it around word-of-mouth. They called their deity . . . ”

“The Serene Oneness, for S’Heernoh!” I exclaimed, aware of the manner in which Mehrayn—and certainly Ceralt—now looked upon the third male. “S’Heernoh has no meaning, yet Serene Oneness—”

“Yes, that has meaning,” said S’Heernoh with something of a smile, looking toward neither male who looked upon him. “At any rate, once I got myself involved with the people of this world, the computer calculated the possibility of my doing it again, then added me into its calculations. I’d found a great attraction in the women called Midanna, you see, and the computer decided it was only a matter of time before I went to look at them more closely, so to speak. It turned out that the computer was right.”

“Wait, wait!” cried Ceralt, his agitation overflowing into words. “We are to believe that you are the Serene Oneness? I am to believe—Jalav! He has said that your Mida is no goddess! Will you merely sit there and accept such a thing as truth without protest?”

“Perhaps—I have suspected the thing for some time,” I informed him with a shrug, looking to the upset in the blue of his eyes. “Often in my kalod have I called to Mida—yet never was I truly answered till the answering came from one of evil, one I would not have had be Mida even if Mida were to be no more. One finds it great comfort to call upon the goddess, yet did I triumph when the need arose without such calling. Perhaps Mida is truly a goddess and caused those before us to name their gathering after herself—and perhaps she is no more than the yearnings of those who need to follow one greater than themselves. What matters it, when it is we, ourselves, who do what must be done? Should the doing be honorable, what difference if it be done in Mida’s name, or Sigurr’s—or in the name of the Serene Oneness?”

Ceralt stared upon me with brow furrowed, Mehrayn did the same, and S’Heernoh with a smile of great warmth. My words appeared to have affected all of the males, yet S’Heernoh seemed affected the least.

“Yes, to behave honorably is the important part,” said he, nodding in agreement. “I hope you understand that that’s exactly what I was trying to do—no matter how upset you get with me.”

I frowned and attempted to question the male, yet did he wave a hand in dismissal.

“You’ll understand what I’m talking about in just a little while,” said he, and the amusement which was so much a part of him twinkled again in his eyes. “I kept myself out of the doings of this world for quite a while, indulging in nothing more than observing and studying, and then one day I got the urge to walk a planet again for a short while. There was nothing unusual in the feeling, I’d had it before and had indulged it before, but this time I suddenly found myself riding the part of your world that starts south of the Dennin river. At the time I didn’t realize what I was doing, thought I was just out to stretch some muscles that had gotten rusty from lack of use—and then I came on a raiding party of men who had cornered a handful of Midanna and were trying to capture them. As soon as I saw the Midanna I knew I ought to get out of there, but they were badly outnumbered, and I was already there . . . .

“Needless to say, I didn’t turn around and ride away. I joined the fight on the side of the Midanna, and when it was all over the raiders were either dead or gone, and I had managed to get myself wounded. Probably by trying to fight and stare at the women both at the same time. I wasn’t so badly hurt that I couldn’t heal myself, but I didn’t want to do it in front of the women and start talk that could end anywhere, and the women refused to let me simply ride away. I’d been wounded trying to help them, and they were honor-bound to return the favor. We all mounted up, and they took me back to their home tents.

“One of the five warriors took me into her own tent and saw to my wound, then made sure I didn’t need anything while I was recovering. She had black hair and green eyes, and was absolutely the most delightful female I’d ever spent any extended time with. At first we just talked, then we went hunting together, cooked together—and finally made love. Not just sex, mind you, but love. I wanted to stay forever, and she wanted me to stay, so we both knew it was time for me to leave. She rode part of the way with me, kept a hand raised in farewell as long as I could see her—and never mentioned that I’d left something behind it had never occurred to me I might. Her name was Jadin, and her clan was the Hosta.”

With great confusion did I stare upon the male who sat with head bowed, lost in the pain of memory, for Jadin had been the name of she who had borne me. Indeed had she had black hair and green eyes, and yet—

“Your seed!” exclaimed Ceralt, again looking strangely upon S’Heernoh. “It was your seed you left! Then Jalav is—”

“My daughter,” said S’Heernoh, raising his head once more to smile despite the glistening in his eyes. “A daughter who was able to take my revenge for me from those who had brutally slain my beloved who was her mother. I watched it all, her birth and growing up, her becoming war leader, the beginning of the search for the crystal— My people have developed a greater strength and speed than yours, and my daughter inherited enough of that to make her a better warrior than anyone else on the planet. Do you wonder now why the computer gave her the probability it did? Or why it was so sure I’d never let her be hurt?”

“I see,” said I of a sudden, recalling the words spoken to me by Rilas, when she had first been shown S’Heernoh in Bellinard. “It was for that reason that Rilas recalled you, yet not as one unskilled and swordless. Clearly were you pointed out to her as she was told of what you had done. Yet you assured Rilas that you and she had never met.”

“I wasn’t lying,” said he, a twinkle again in the dark of his eyes. “I told the keeper that I had never before been introduced to her, which was the literal truth. I saw her once when she visited the clan, obviously the same time she saw me, but we were never introduced.”

“And now do I see a thing as well,” said Mehrayn, a chuckling beginning in him. “I had thought it fear of myself and Ceralt that had caused you to refuse to attend the wench in Bellinard, yet when I saw your blade skill with the Feridani, it came to me to wonder upon the thing. Now do I understand the doing completely.”

“Indeed,” said Ceralt with a similar chuckle, S’Heernoh joining them both, yet was I unable to see what amused them.

“As you all are aware of a thing I am not, perhaps you would care to enlighten me,” I said rather stiffly, disliking such amusement of males even at a time such as that. “I shall undoubtedly find the reason for a male’s refusal of a war leader most—enlightening.”

“Satya, he could do no other thing than refuse you,” said Ceralt with a laugh of disbelief, Mehrayn also mockingly amused. “Have you not heard his words? It was he who fathered you.”

“Well aware am I of the fact that it was he who was the sthuvad who served she who bore me,” said I with a nod which was also quite stiff. “Am I to believe him so badly overtired from the doing that he is unable to now do the same again? Do you take me for a credulous city female?”

Ceralt and Mehrayn looked upon me gape-mouthed, for some reason unable to find words with which to reply to my queries, yet S’Heernoh was not the same. The gray-haired male threw his head back and laughed so gustily that tears came to his eyes, a doing which occupied some few reckid. When at last the great mirth began to leave him, he looked upon the other two males and shook his head.

“Have you forgotten that the word ‘father’ means nothing to Midanna?” he asked the others, bringing wry looks to them. “It isn’t surprising her mother told her nothing about me; as a child she wouldn’t have understood what her parents had come to mean to each other. As far as she’s concerned I’m just someone who happened to know her mother, even if that applies in every sense of the word. Midanna share their men, so why shouldn’t she have her share of me? I don’t expect her to understand the point, any more than I expect her to listen to what I say without a good deal of struggle.”

“You know she refuses to obey men,” said Mehrayn slowly, looking upon S’Heernoh with a stare of thoughtfulness. “Also was there a question of hers which you have not yet answered. I had thought the omission an oversight, yet does it now seem— The time in the caves, the time of the storm, when I addressed her lady and asked to possess her. It was not the Feridani female who caused the life sign to glow. The doing was yours.”

Ceralt joined Mehrayn’s stare with a frown and I did the same, only then recalling that S’Heernoh had indeed failed to speak upon the point of my having been given to Mehrayn. The gray-haired male looked up toward me from beneath his brows, his head somewhat lowered.

“I think I’m caught,” said he at last, his entire attitude an admission of guilt. “I was hoping none of you would pick up on that, but— The whole affair was so painfully unnecessary that I couldn’t stand to let it go on. You were sending Mehrayn away from you to protect him, Jalav, but he wasn’t in the danger you thought he was. I kept track of him while we rode through the forest, gently guiding his kan where I wanted it, coaxed those lenga into our path to make us turn aside, then stole that storm from elsewhere and set it over us. Getting you and me into the same cave wasn’t hard, nor was bringing Mehrayn in after us. If you had been reasonable about things I never would have played that trick with your life sign, but you weren’t being reasonable, and I became annoyed, and then Mehrayn asked his favor—” The male shrugged, a corner of his grin slipping through, his gaze now directly upon me. “The next time your father suggests something to you, you might recall what happens when he becomes annoyed. ”

Great outrage and indignation took me then, the sort which sent my left palm to seek a hilt which was no longer upon me, yet Mehrayn saw none of it. His gaze had remained locked to S’Heernoh, and of a sudden a great happiness took him.

“You are father to her, and you granted her to me!” the Sigurri exclaimed in sudden revelation, straightening where he sat. “Blessed Sigurr sustain me, for I had never thought to see it so.”

“Hold, hold,” protested Ceralt in distress as S’Heernoh turned to look upon Mehrayn. “I, too, was granted the wench, and that before you. Has he not said that he watched over her? In my village did I draw her from the circle, proclaiming her mine, and naught was done to prevent it. I, too, was granted her, only first!”

There came then a great babble of words as Mehrayn and Ceralt both spoke at once, yet had I already looked down to my hands, so that I need not allow the thing to touch me. No longer did I need to concern myself, for S’Heernoh had said I might not be forced from the path I had chosen. A long moment passed all wrapped in the babble, and then did a silence ensue.

“It seems you two still haven’t learned to ask my daughter what she wants,” came S’Heernoh’s voice, far graver than it had been. “Everyone else has had their say, Jalav. Why don’t you take your turn?”

“Jalav deserves no other thing than the rest promised her by Chaldrin’s spirit,” said I, continuing to look down and away from those I had no wish to look upon. “Release her now, male, so that her weariness might at last be seen to.”

Again a silence fell, one containing the feel of motion upon the air, and then a sigh came which was clearly S’Heernoh’s.

“That wasn’t Chaldrin’s spirit, daughter mine,” said he, the weariness within me apparently having touched him as well. “I needed something to pull you out of that uncaring horribly wounded and defeated mood you’d fallen into, so I used an image of Chaldrin to reach you. Give me just a little while longer, and maybe we can get this worked out.”

The male paused after having spoken softly, yet when his words resumed, even I looked up in surprise.

“I’ve had more than enough of this childish bickering!” he snapped, his anger unquestionably directed toward Ceralt and Mehrayn, the sternness of his glare bringing a wilting to the two, as though they were possessed of too few kalod to stand their ground against him. “Are you men in name alone, that you act so foolishly? Don’t you know what you’re doing to the girl you claim to love?”

“I make no claims,” said Mehrayn with more than a shade of diffidence, then did he force a partial return of his usual calm. “Merely do I state my love, for the fact that it is. Should you see this as the doing of less than a man, I will face even you in defense of it.”

“And I,” said Ceralt, as disturbed as Mehrayn, yet also as calm. “There is naught more precious to me than the wench of my heart, and I will face any man who attempts to say other than that.”

“Men in love are damned fools,” said S’Heernoh bluntly to the two, looking upon each of them in turn, his palms pressed to his knees. It came to me then to wonder for what reason he alone seemed able to move somewhat in the cross-legged seated position we all had been given, yet did his continuing words make the thought a fleeting one.

“Men in love are damned fools,” said he, “but that doesn’t mean they have to abuse the privilege. If you spent half the effort thinking things through that you put into challenging each other and everyone else in reach, you would have had this all straightened out long ago. You’ve both been avoiding the most pertinent questions involved here; I can understand why, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you continue avoiding them. Once they’re answered, you should see the truth as easily as I do.”

Both Belsayah and Sigurri seemed unsure as to what their response might be, yet were they given no time for a response. S’Heernoh shifted in place yet again, and this time no more than his glance touched me.

“Before we go any further, I think I’d better admit that a good part of the trouble you’ve had is my fault,” said he, the words an admission not easily brought forth, his gaze now avoiding those he addressed. “I’ve told you that I watched over my daughter, but there were times that was all I could do—watch. While she was being put through—things no father should allow to be done to his daughter. If I had been an ordinary man I wouldn’t have had to allow them, but because of who and what I am, my daughter had to pay a certain price. It made her stronger, I know, and also know it was necessary, but part of me doesn’t want to know those things. Part of me wants to apologize for something that can’t ever be excused—in the sort of lame way I’m doing right now—for letting her be hurt so badly that she’ll likely see reflections of that pain in every man she looks at for as long as she lives. Some day you may understand, I hope you do, but until then—”

The words of the male ended abruptly, falling into the silence of confusion which we others felt, then did he straighten himself where he sat and turned brisk once again.

“All right, enough of that,” said he, giving his gaze to the others again. “No need to go on about what caused the problem; what we need are some answers for it. Now, both of you want my daughter so badly you can’t bring yourselves to allow her to have her choice in the matter, isn’t that true?”

“Most certainly not,” said Mehrayn, his sudden stiffness a clear indication of insult. “The wench has been coaxed and invited any number of times to choose between Ceralt and myself, yet does she continue to refuse.”

“Even has she vowed that she shall speak no choice,” said Ceralt, somewhat less offended than the Sigurri. “Were we to accept such a dictum?”

“Perhaps not,” said S’Heernoh with a faint smile, continuing to look between them. “But I’d like you both to keep in mind what you just said, while we go on to the next point. When you discussed why she started that fight with Galiose, you both said you were willing to give her up so that she might live. Despite the words exchanged between you just a short while ago, do you still feel the same?”

“For her life, yes,” said Ceralt heavily, Mehrayn silently anod to show agreement with the words. “We neither of us would consider turning from her for a lesser reason, yet for her life—yes.”

“Good,” said S’Heernoh with a nod to match Mehrayn’s, his tone now encouraging. “You don’t want to give her up, but you will if that’s what’s needed to save her life. Now comes an even more important question: would you both refuse to give her up, if that was what was needed to save her life?”

“Your words hold no meaning,” protested Mehrayn, the bewildered look upon Ceralt saying the same. I, too, felt bewildered, yet was S’Heernoh amused.

“Let me put it another way,” said he, again with smoothness. “You said she refused to make a choice. If she makes one now, will you both abide by it?”

Again were the two males silent, this time as they looked upon one another with less full agreement than there had been, yet did they both at last nod their heads.

“Should the wench make a choice, we shall abide by it,” allowed Mehrayn for the both, no lightness to be heard in his tone. “It is certain Ceralt feels as I do, yet shall we abide by the decision for her sake.”

“Excellent,” said S’Heernoh, beaming upon the two as though he saw naught of their grimness. “In that case, as my daughter’s father, I’ll announce her decision for her.”

Perhaps the male believed there would again be silence at his pronouncement; was such the case, he surely felt unexpected disappointment. Both Mehrayn and Ceralt began shouting at once, outrage clearly in the fore, the clamor so great that the words I, myself, meant to speak were buried beneath it. S’Heernoh held up both hands for silence.

“You object?” he asked, looking from one to the other. “Hasn’t a father the right to make such a choice for his daughter?”

“When you have already allowed him to claim her in his village?” demanded Mehrayn in a growl, looking coldly upon S’Heernoh.

“When you have already given her to him in a cavern in the woods?” asked Ceralt in the chill, soft way he had.

“Then it seems I’ve already made a choice,” said S’Heernoh, continuing to divide his look between them. “One, I might add, my daughter agrees with. Do we have your agreement as well?”

Mehrayn looked upon S’Heernoh narrow-eyed, Ceralt stared in a manner which suggested S’Heernoh had lost his wits, and I silently watched them all, wondering upon what the gray-haired Walker this time attempted. His dark eyes strove to mask the usual amusement he showed with easy questioning, yet was the amusement still clearly there.

“Well?” said S’Heernoh after a brief time of waiting his tone indicating expected agreement. “Do you approve of my choice?”

“Perhaps my wits are not quite as swift as I had thought,” said Ceralt slowly, leaning somewhat back where he sat. “Although you claim to have chosen, I am able to see naught save that you have indicated . . .”

“The both of us!” said Mehrayn in great upset, also straightening where he sat. “You cannot mean . . . .”

“Why not?” pounced S’Heernoh gently yet implacably, while I merely stared. “My daughter has refused to choose between you because she cannot choose; it isn’t possible for her to turn her back on either one of you. You both said you would give her up if that would save her life, and I asked if you would refuse to give her up for the same reason. She would rather die than go on without the two of you. Will you let her die?”

The eyes of the two males came to me then, both silently demanding to know what truth had been in S’Heernoh’s words. Never would I have found it possible to say the thing of my own self, yet with it already spoken I could not deny it. Indeed did I desire them both, more than life itself, and naught of goddess-demand stood between us. No more than the views of the males themselves stood between us, a far greater barrier than any goddess-made.

“You can see just by looking at her that I’ve told you the truth,” said S’Heernoh, sobriety returned to his voice. “You can also see that she doesn’t expect you two to agree. She expects you to hold fast to your prejudices—and let her die.”

“No!” said the two males at once, both greatly angered, then did it come to them what they had said. They looked upon each other warily, doubt strong in their eyes, and S’Heernoh voiced a sigh of vexation.

“Stop looking at each other as if you’re absolute strangers,” he said, annoyance now coloring the words. “You know you’ve learned to respect each other, that you’re both men of honor. Hasn’t it occurred to either of you yet that if something happens to one of you, that one can at least be sure he won’t be leaving his beloved alone to fend for herself? That she’ll still have the other to stand beside her?”

“Indeed is such a thing worth knowing,” said Ceralt with a nod Mehrayn appearing surprised—and unexpectedly pleased in his surprise. “A man need not fear his own fate with the fate of his beloved happily seen to.”

“And yet are there other things which might concern a man,” said Mehrayn, his pleasure quickly fading. “To be pleased that another sees to his woman after his end, is not to be pleased upon the same point while he lives. To share a slave with others is no more than meet; to do the same with the free woman you have chosen and love—”

“Does having to share her mean your love has to lessen?” S’Heernoh demanded, his voice and eyes sharp. “If it does, it can’t have been much of a love to begin with. If it doesn’t, then no more than some small part of your pride is hurt, a part that will heal rather quickly. Would you rather lose her entirely than share her? Would you rather see her dead than occasionally in the arms of another man? She’s a warrior who would never even consider limiting your needs; will you thank her by trying to limit hers?”

Soberly had Mehrayn listened to the words of S’Heernoh, his eyes troubled and then did his gaze clear. Slowly and firmly did he shake his head, showing that the decision he had reached had been difficult yet surely was his decision, and a warmth and gladness I had not expected filled me. When his green gaze came to me and saw my smile, all doubt vanished from it as though the thing had never been. When we turned then to look upon Ceralt, we found that S’Heernoh already studied his frown.

“Different men, different worries,” said the gray-haired Walker, nearly in a murmur. “You have no problem about sharing her with another man, but sharing her life with the life of a warrior is another story, isn’t it?”

“Indeed,” said Ceralt with a heaviness seemingly demanded of him. “To share her love with another man is still to retain it; to share her with the life of a warrior is far too likely to lose both love and her—in the same swordstroke.”

“I can’t argue that,” said S’Heernoh, his tone filled with compassion. “The life of a warrior is dangerous no matter how skilled you are. The thing that has to be remembered here, though, is that the life of a warrior is what made her what she is, what made her into someone who attracted you in the first place. If you take that away from her, will you still have what you fell in love with? Is it fair to punish her for being the very person you want? If the most important thing in your life was taken away, would you want to continue living?”

The blue-eyed gaze of Ceralt had come to me as S’Heernoh spoke, and for a moment after he ceased there was naught save the stare, seeking to read my soul. Then Ceralt heaved a deep sigh, and smiled a smile which warmed as few before had done.

“To keep the thing of greatest importance in my life, then, I must risk it,” said he, his gaze unmoving from my face. “Should there need to be the pain of loss, sooner would I have that pain be mine. I will make no effort to keep her from the life of a warrior.”

“Then we are all in accord,” said Mehrayn with a grin, looking between Ceralt and myself, yet did S’Heernoh immediately shake his head with the accursed amusement which so often filled him.

“Not quite,” said the gray-haired male, this time sending his full attention to me. “When a compromise is necessary, everyone has to compromise, otherwise the whole thing falls apart. Well, daughter? Are you ready to do your part?”

“I know not which part you refer to,” I replied, disliking the manner in which his demand brought annoyance to the limitless joy which had come to me. Odd had the male S’Heernoh ever been, and odd did he remain.

“I’m referring to your part of the agreement,” said he, the words slow and deliberate as he leaned forward to emphasize them. “Mehrayn is giving up his demand to keep you all to himself; in fairness he shouldn’t have to share you with anyone but Ceralt. Ceralt is giving up his demand that you leave the life of a warrior behind; in fairness he should have your word to avoid seeking trouble. If trouble comes to you that’s a different story, but riding out deliberately to seek battle has to be out.”

“What, then, might be left of the life of a warrior?” I demanded dismayed at the instant eagerness to be seen upon Ceralt and Mehrayn. “You now attempt to take what was given me by these others!”

“Not without being willing to give something in return,” said he, his grin in no manner encouraging. “The life you knew as a warrior has already been doomed, and not only by the arrival of those from the Union. Do you think many of the Midanna will find it possible to return to fighting between the clans, now that they’ve fought beside one another? How many of the Midanna and Sigurri will be willing to give each other up? You three intend forming your own family; do you expect to do it in Ceralt’s village? In Mehrayn’s city? In your home tent? What will happen once those of the cities begin learning ‘civilized’ ways from the Union?”

Ceralt, Mehrayn and I exchanged glances, yet were we unable to answer the queries S’Heernoh had put. What, indeed, would become of us?

“Stop looking so stricken all of you,” said S’Heernoh with moderate amusement, allowing his eagerness to gleam forth. “Why do you think I’ve told you everything I have? Just to drop you in an unsolvable muddle? Don’t you realize I have a solution?”

“And what shall it be necessary to give up for that solution?” I asked, in no manner willing to tender the male more than he had already taken. “Should it be our souls, the price has already been exacted.”

“Your souls are yours to keep,” said S’Heernoh with a laugh of greater amusement, truly taking joy from his doing. “Your bodies and minds are what I want, to train in mind control—which is the key to reaching and retrieving everything my people have ever learned and developed—and to explore the newness you’ve developed. You won’t enjoy what the Union has to teach, and you won’t be able to use it. What I have to teach is something else again, and may even provide some adventure. Now, let me think. We’ll tell Aram you survived that wound most likely because you were so near to the emergency healer main console apparatus that it picked you up without the receptor unit. Once we get back we’ll gather up all the Midanna and Sigurri who want to start a new life, find our own place in the wilderness, then start teaching and testing. We’ll have to make sure the Unioners don’t get curious, of course, but that won’t be very . . . .”

The words of the male continued on in thoughtful planning, yet did my eyes go to Ceralt and Mehrayn, whose eyes had already come to me. So eager was I to be with them that even would I allow S’Heernoh his plans—certainly to begin with. Should the time prove uninteresting or too filled with annoyance there would surely be other things to occupy a warrior, and even, perhaps, with the aid of Galiose’s male, Phanisar, as I no longer needed to stand as war leader, a daughter . . . .