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be sorry to leave. I do enjoy spending time with you."

She held his gaze, searching his face. "With me, or with us, Sandon?"

"With you, with all of you, I suppose. But particularly with you."

"I am glad," she said. She turned her face away again, but her slight half smile didn't escape his notice.

An hour later, the marks of settlement appeared ahead. Traces of smoke rose to haze the sky, and the road upon which they traveled became rutted and grooved with the passage of many wagons. Proper buildings huddled together across gently rolling fields. A large barn dominated, and beside it, another barn-like building. For a few moments, Sandon couldn't tell what it was that felt wrong about the structures in front of him, and then he realized. They were all made of a kind of mud brick, rather than the characteristic stone he was used to seeing, all except for the barn-like structures, which were built from wood. What advantage could they have from building out of such materials? It must be far more vulnerable to the vagaries of the shifting landscape. A profusion of wagons and carts sat between and beside the buildings, and between it all, in and out walked people, all decked in the traditional Atavist garb. He looked down at his own homespun. He could be at home here, just as much as any of them, except for a few fundamental problems that would be easily dealt with in time. He pushed the thought aside; he couldn't allow himself to forget why it was he was here.

The wagons fanned out, finding places out of the central roadway and the family members dismounted, moving to see to their animals and their equipment. Sandon sat where he was, watching, observing the greetings and keeping an eye out for Badrae and the other elders. They seemed to have moved to another area of the town, or they had pulled in somewhere that Sandon couldn't see. Alise disappeared into the wagon itself. He heard her moving about inside.

"What now, Alise?" he said back behind his shoulder.

"Well, we make ready. There will be a service, and then we will all get together for the evening meal."

"Uh-huh. And what can I do?"

"That depends what you want to do, Sandon."

"Hmm. I don't know. I'd really like to find Badrae, or at least someone who can give me some directions."

"But you said you were familiar with the area." She poked her head outside again.

"Yes, generally. But I don't know where we are now."

She shook her head and sighed. "Sometimes you are like a small child, Sandon."

She lowered herself from the front of the wagon, and then reached up a hand to him. "Come down. Come with me. We will find you what you need."

He looked at her blankly. "But...?"

"But what? You need directions, and no doubt some mode of transport. If you are determined to leave us here, there is very little I can do but help you in whatever way I am able. So, come."

He clambered down and stood before her as she pursed her lips, looking at him. Now she really was making him feel like a child.

"This way," she said.

Sandon tagged along behind her as she walked quickly in and out of parked carts and wagons, and between buildings. He barely had time to take in his surroundings as she led him to the front of a small mud brick cottage and knocked.

The door opened, and a grizzled old man stepped out.

"Alise, welcome," he said. "May the Prophet be with you."

"And with you, Manais. This is Sandon. He is in need of our help."

The old man looked at him appraisingly. "So, Sandon, if the Prophet wills it, I might be able to help you. What is it you need?"

"Um," Sandon said, not really prepared for this unexpected turn of events. Again, he was struck by the openness, the unquestioning acceptance. Alise had spoken, and the old man had simply accepted.

The old man, Manias, tilted his head to one side, waiting.

"I need to know how to get to Bortruz," Sandon said finally.

Manias looked at him speculatively, and Sandon instantly knew why. Somehow, what he had said had marked him as an outsider. After a pause, Manias scratched his head, then peered about himself. "Bortruz, eh? That is not difficult. It lies in, oh, that direction." He pointed off to his right. "It's about five days by foot. Less by padder."

"That is the other thing," said Alise. "Would you have an animal he could use?"

The old man looked from one to the other. "Yes, of course. I have one stabled in the community barn. If you wait a moment, we can go and fetch it." He disappeared back inside the cottage.

"Alise. I cannot ask that," said Sandon.

"You have not asked," said Alise flatly. "But you will receive."

Manais reappeared before Sandon had the opportunity to say anything else. The old man beckoned them to follow. A few minutes later, and they were standing inside the larger of the two wooden structures Sandon had seen from the road, Manais walking down between a line of stalls. The building's vast interior seemed to serve many purposes. Piles of wood lined one wall. Feed lay stacked in bales in an upper platform, and there were sacks and barrels spread throughout the building's length. The air was thick with the smell of animals, and dust and hay. The tang of wood undercut it all, overlaid by the damp smell of wet earth. A couple of other Atavists attended to their business within the barn, but paid the newcomers little mind.

After a while, Manais returned, leading an animal behind him. The padder had seen better days, but was still trailworthy, or so Sandon thought.

"Beware," said Manais. "He is a stubborn beast, but he will get you to where you need to go, if the Prophet wills it."

Sandon took the proffered harness, and thanked him.

"Come back to the house. You will need some supplies for your trip."

"But -- " Sandon started. Alise raised two fingers to her lips to still his protest. He followed mutely as they led the way back to the cottage.

Outside the barn, Sandon beckoned Alise closer and leaned in to speak in a low voice.

"Alise, I don't know how I can accept all this ... this generosity. You've already done far too much for me."

She gave him a slightly reproving look. "It is what we must do. The Prophet dictates it. Do you not know that already?"

The padder pulled against him, and he stumbled. Grunting, he pulled on the harness to bring the animal under control. "I know," he said. "But I don't expect it. When I talked about leaving, I didn't mean immediately. I ... well, everything is just so sudden."

"You need to follow what path you must, Sandon. I am just trying to help you on your road."

He sighed. "I know that, and believe me, I'm grateful."

She looked at his face for a few moments before speaking again. "You are a strange man, Sandon."

They reached the small dwelling and Manais disappeared inside, bidding them wait while he got a few things together. Sandon, left outside with Alise, the activity of the Atavist settlement all around them, suddenly felt awkward.

He reached up and stroked his chin, absent-mindedly toying with the beard while he watched her, suddenly realizing that he really was going to miss this woman. Somehow, she had taken the decision of his departure completely out of his hands, as she had seemed to be able to take many decisions out of his hands over the past few weeks. How was it that he had unconsciously allowed her such control? To break the awkward silence, he sought for something to ask her.

"Alise, so who is Manais?"

"Manais lives here. He is one of our family."

"Yes, of course. But why him? You came straight here."

She nodded. "Yes. It is hard to explain. Among your own people, I suppose you would call Manais my father. He is still my father, but all the elders are our parents, in the same way that the Prophet is our ultimate father."

He lapsed into silence. Her father? Yet she called him by name. There was so much still he did not understand.

Manais interrupted any opportunity for further questions by reappearing with a bundle in his hands. He strapped it firmly to the rear of Sandon's beast. Meanwhile, Sandon looked from father to daughter, searching for similarities.

"So, Sandon, remember what I said. Go that way," said Manais, pointing. "The road is not clearly marked, and what little there is may have been disturbed, but it is that general direction. You will either reach Bortruz, or the mines. Both lie that way. If your reach the Bodrum River, you will have gone too far." He turned to the pack. "There is some food there, some bread, some cheese, and a little to drink. It should keep you until you get to where you are going. And I hope the Prophet wills you success in whatever it is you seek."

Sandon nodded, thanked him once more, then turned to Alise.

"Again, thank you for everything you've done, Alise. And give my thanks to Badrae too. If it wasn't for him..."

She said nothing, merely fixed him with that steady gaze. Feeling even more awkward, he stepped forward and reached for her hand.

"I hope to see you again soon," he said.

She gave his hand a slight squeeze and returned his look with a gentle smile. "Oh, I am sure you will, Sandon�if the Prophet wills it. Now go. Do what you have to do."

Just before mounting, he turned back to Manais. "But what about the padder?"

"What about it?" said the old man. "It is yours."

He glanced over at Alise, but she shooed him on. Without another word, he mounted and headed the padder out of the Atavist settlement and away in the direction Manais had given him.

Ideally, Sandon would have liked to spend more time getting to know the Atavist community, how it operated, to understand the way they worked together. Alise was right, though, he had things to do. He thought on this as the padder rocked beneath him across the dull ground, picking between the tall spines of the Storm Season plants. The animal grunted and snorted, flicking its tail back and forth, though there were few insects to trouble it. He looked back over his shoulder, but already the details of the Atavist township were becoming indistinct.

"Do what you have to do," she had told him. So, what exactly was it that he had to do? Though he had the skeleton of a plan, he had no details. More than three weeks had passed since Men Darnak had dismissed him from service, and in that time, he had no idea what had happened to the Principal and his party. He looked the part of an Atavist now, he could almost be an Atavist, but that didn't really get him closer to the Principal. For a start, he had no idea where Men Darnak might be. Heading toward Bortruz was merely the first logical step. There was a small office of the Principate there, and he could use that to find...

But no, he couldn't. In his current guise, he could barely gain access to Principate buildings, let alone access any information. None of the Principate functionaries in residence was likely to give him the time of day. In fact, most of the population was just as likely to shun him as an outsider. Wonderful. His perfect disguise was going to be the perfect barrier to letting him accomplish what