He said no again, but in a different way. Not yet, maybe. Then he stirred, rubbing at his brow-ridges, and looked at her. “It’s time to go,” he told her.

An icy stone dropped into her belly. The jerky…the cuuvash got stuck in her throat. She swallowed hard, coughed, and managed, “You’re leaving?”

He told her yes in some complicated way, said something about the weather and something about mountains, and that he’d only waited this long so that they could learn to talk. “Tomorrow, we leave,” he said at the end of it. It was not a question.

“We?” Part of the knot in her throat relaxed a little, but her stomach stayed tight and sickly-cold. “You mean all of us?”

“Yes.” He sent a black glance over his shoulder and cupped the end of his snout, muttering something with Scott’s name in it. He told her it would be a long journey.

“And an interesting story,” Amber guessed, rubbing at her stomach to try and ease up the rest of that rock before she had to puke it out.

His gaze shifted to watch her hand. He frowned and looked away, feeling idly at the buckle of his belt as if mimicking her movements. “You will tell S’kot to have his humans ready to travel tomorrow.”

“Sure, why not. And I’ll be ready, too.”

The corners of his mouth flicked up in a smile before his usual fierce frown replaced it. He leaned toward her, aggressively close, the way he’d been before the slaps started flying. He said something about Scott and the others…no, he said, “When you are S’kot’s human, you may disobey him all you like. When you are mine, you do as I say.”

He waited, but apparently took her lengthy efforts to translate as a sign of submissive assent. He grunted again, but in a pleased way, even though his scowl stayed fixed to his face. He leaned even closer, filling her field of vision with nothing but his scowling, scaly face. “And when you are mine, if you ever leave my camp to—” Something…and probably not flattering. “—I will—” Again, she had no idea precisely what the threat was, but, “—you may never walk again,” gave her the gist of it. He paused and frowned a little. “Did you mark that?”

“Most of it.”

“Then I have your obedience.”

“I didn’t exactly plan to go anywhere this morning,” she told him testily. “But I wasn’t lost. I was just hunting. And I wasn’t in trouble.”

“Human, you are not yet out of trouble.” But he leaned away from her and looked up at the sky. He said something she couldn’t catch in an inquiring tone, then gave her a rap to the knee with his knuckles. “God sees us both and we can both show Him improvement. Tomorrow.”

“Right.” Amber popped the last of the cuuvash in her mouth and went to work on it, poking at the coals so the fire wouldn’t die. She woke a few flames up. They crawled along the saoq bones, releasing a great smudge of black, foul-smelling smoke directly into her eyes and then went out.

Perfect.

Amber tossed down her coal-stirring stick. “God sees us, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Right now?”

He seemed puzzled by the question. “Now and always.”

Amber looked at the clouds. “Could you possibly make this day any worse?” she demanded.

A drop of rain hit her in the eye. Then another. And then the skies opened up and began to pour, killing the last coals in just a few steam-hissing seconds and drenching her to the skin.

Meoraq threw back his head and roared with curiously hoarse and chuffing laughter. His hand slapped at her back once, nearly knocking her cuuvash out of her mouth, and he got up, still grinning, and walked away into the grass. She could hear him talking to God as he went, but she couldn’t hear what he said over the rain, or for that matter, over the cries of fifty Manifestors scrambling to get out of it. Amber herself stayed stubbornly where she was, already as wet, cold and miserable as she could get, determined to wait it out and start the fire again when it was over.

“And I’m still an atheist!” she shouted, swiping water from her face.

So there.

BOOK IV

PIONEERS

Meoraq was a warrior and had been all his life. He had been born under the Blade, raised in the training halls of Tilev, called to serve as Sheul’s own Sword in judgment. These were the ways he knew—to cut, to grapple, to conquer—and every man who ever spoke a word in his presence spoke it with respect and by his leave.

He was Uyane Meoraq, son of Rasozul, who was son of Ta’sed, son of Kuuri, and forty-three names more, every man of them a Sheulek in his own time, all the way back to Uyane Xaima, who had walked with Prophet Lashraq himself. He was the veteran of better than three hundred judgments and if Sheul willed it, he would either go on to three hundred more or retire to stand as champion of Xeqor. He was a warrior. He was not a cattle-drover.

The humans said they were ready to follow him. Yes, they said this, even on the night before, when they bedded themselves down free of sentries and of care, trusting him to keep all danger from their little camp. They said this when it pleased them to wake the following morning, most of them not only after dawn, but well after. Those with tents made no effort to strike them. Those nearest the fire were setting it alight. They all assured him they were ready and then they just sat there!

Meoraq worked his way through four humans, dragging them bodily onto their feet and setting them in a line, but when he reached for a fifth and noticed all four of his humans had drawn off into a cluster, he had to cry surrender. He bellowed it, in fact. And then he stormed off in search of Amber.

She was sitting on a crate at the edge of camp with her Nicci. Both had their packs on their laps. Amber stood when she saw him, although he noted she put her pack down, rather than shoulder the strap for travel.

“What are they waiting for?” he demanded. “Did you not tell them dawn? Where is that chattering cattle’s ass who calls himself your abbot?”

Amber’s green eyes rolled heavenward, just as any dumaq’s eyes might do if one were entertaining thoughts best not spoken aloud to a Sheulek. “Oh Scott!” she called in a curious, lilting way. “Meoraq would like a word with you.”

“A word? I’d like my hand upside his snout, if only he had one! Half the morning is gone! S’kot!” Meoraq grabbed Amber by the arm and dragged her with him as he strode ahead to meet the human hesitating toward him. “I wanted these people ready to march at dawn! Where is your obedience?”

Scott looked at Amber.

“He’s not happy about the delay,” she said.

“What delay?” asked Scott.

Meoraq drew back. “Is he serious?” he asked dangerously.

“Yes,” she sighed. “Look, Scott, he wanted us on the road first thing this morning. First thing. Like, the sun comes up and we get going.”

Scot heard this without apparent concern, certainly without apology. “Well if that’s what he wanted, he should have been ready.”

“What in Gann’s grey hell does he mean by that?” Meoraq demanded.

“I don’t know. What are you talking about?” she asked Scott. “He’s been ready for hours. His teepee’s packed. He’s got his good, um, belts on. Or whatever he’s wearing…Are those suspenders?”

“This is a travel harness!” Meoraq snapped, clutching at one of its buckles. “And it’s a damned expensive one! I would have to sell three of you as cattle to make the cost of this harness and I can hardly see the sin of that since you have made no effort to obey me as men must do! Get your damned humans on their feet and make them ready!”

“And what was that?” Scott asked after a wary moment.

“Your guess is as good as mine, but it’s a safe bet that it’s got something to do with all this standing around.”

“Fine.” Scott turned boldly away from Meoraq and addressed Amber alone, folding his arms as though he wore a pair of blades upon them. “Tell him that if he wanted us to start early, he should have had our food ready on time.”