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Page 36.

They had wandered in the wilderness, by Alex’s calculations, for three months, heading due northwest.

Now they headed east, and in about 20 days reached the coast. The trick now was—which way to go? Which way was the valley? His guess was that they had come to the coast far beyond the valley, in Thuga territory. No sign of life, Siirk or otherwise, along the coast. He remembered how, in the early days of his life, he’d always looked over his shoulder for rippers. Now he looked for Siirk, and he realized he would be looking over his shoulder like this to the end of his days. And the Thuga? Too early to tell how they felt about yet another race sharing their territory.

Alex and Maryan killed a deer in a sandy cove washed by the sea, dressed it, cooked it and ate it. They sat back as evening came and listened to the wilderness: the wind in the tree crowns, the ocean piling onto its breakers with a roar. What a magnificent world! Alex told Maryan: “I just want to take one more look at our valley, see if there is anything we need before we leave.”

“We’ll have to spend the winter,” she said. “It will be too cold to travel.”

“For the Siirk as well as for us, I hope.”

She laid her head on his lap and embraced him dreamily. “If the time comes, we go together. We don’t live our lives in fear.”

They walked down the coast, taking their time.

Within a few days, they came to their valley. Scouting carefully, they found no sign of Siirk, except that their cattle were gone.

A new ripper couple had moved into the valley. With the birthing facilities gone, there wouldn’t be room for more than those and one or two cubs. Alex noticed that the rippers looked fat, as if they grew a layer of fat in the winter to keep warm, perhaps even to hibernate. Privately, he planned to kill them sometime during the winter if they needed the food. He eyed their pelts longingly.

Maryan and he settled in somewhat uneasily. Every morning, noon, and evening they went to the beach to scan for signs of returning Siirk. Alex was sure the Siirk wanted his hide as badly as he wanted the rippers’, but maybe the Siirk would not return this far north. The silent sky, with thick layers of gray winter clouds, brooded above as if in enigmatic answer.

Sometimes when Alex and Maryan went hunting for berries in the upper forest, and the fog crept around them in silent shreds, Alex got the feeling that someone or something was watching them. Maryan got the same feeling at times, and she’d stiffen up and stare into the mossy darkness among the trees. Sometimes it was just a bird that would snap aloft from a branch, or a squirrel darting along a tree trunk.

Sometimes it was a snap of a twig, unexplained, magnified in the damp air, never repeated, but hanging there in the silence like a barbed question mark in the gloom of the deep forest glen.

Then, one day, Alex and Maryan had visitors.

They were on the sky island, tending to their flock of chickens. Alex was constructing nests in which the chickens could lay eggs. It was an overcast day, late in the morning—the early fog had burned off, and the sun was trying to struggle through the pearly cloud cover—when Maryan shrieked.

Alex dropped the rocks he was juggling,

On the cliff with them stood about six figures.

Thuga!

Around the cliff stood at least a dozen more, all armed with shields and spears. They were an eerie, frightening sight, with their massive heads and powerful bodies, and their oddly angular snouted faces. Some had short fur completely dark, while others had dark fur with white patches. The middle one stepped forward. He wore a white circlet on his head—a kind of crown or coronet, he thought. He also wore a white linen cape, unlike the others, who wore only loincloths.

Maryan and he clutched each other.

Was this the moment they would have to choose their destiny? He pictured them stepping off the cliff together at the 300 foot side and plunging to their deaths, holding hands.

The Thuga in the white cloak held something in his hands as he stepped closer and closer.

He was walking directly toward Maryan, who clung to him with a ferocious strength born of terror.

The Thuga walked directly up to Maryan and stopped. He raised one hand in a gentle, calming gesture while holding the other behind his back. Carefully, calming them, he came closer and closer.

Then he bent down, took the sleeve of Maryan’s tunic, and touched his eye to it. He made a kissing gesture to that spot on her tunic. Then he genuflected before her, on one knee, and held his hands out. In them was a mass of white flower petals.

Maryan moved from fear and shock to utter surprise. She held one hand over her heart as if to quiet it.

He said: “He’s the one you comforted. The one who ran away.”

The man—He must call him that, for what else can he call him? And were they not all descendants of the true men here—turned his gaze to him, touched his chest with a leathery dark hand, and said in a deep, resonant voice: “Kumar.” It sounded like Shoe-Mar.

Maryan took the flowers and sniffed them. “They’re wonderful!”

She let him smell. Jasmine, he thought.

She held out her hands and urged him into a standing position.

Xumar was slightly taller than I. He pointed to himself and repeated “Xumar.” Then he pointed to the people around him and down on the sand. “Takkar.” he walked past them and pointed to the mountains in the north. “Takkar.”

He pointed to the mountains. “Takkar.”

He nodded.

He pointed to him. “Xumar.”

He nodded.

He pointed at his people. “Takkar.”

They all nodded.

He pointed at him. “Chief.” he made circling motions above the heads of the others. “Xumar Chief Takkar.”

Xumar pointed to himself. “Xumar Sif Takkar.”

He nodded. And so it went. They introduced themselves (“Abex” and “Meddiun”).

He pointed southwest. “Siirk.” he held his nose.

He learned then that the Takkar could smile and laugh, for they did both. All held their noses and said “Seelk.”

One of the chiefs stuck his gut out and rubbed it in circular motions as he strutted around. “Mmmm. Seeeelk.” And they all laughed. Maryan and he were doubled over with laughter. He imitated the chief, rubbing his stomach and repeating the way the Siirk spoke their name in utter self-adoration. More laughter.

Xumar pointed at the ground, and then made a circling gesture over the land around. “Takkar.” he stamped his foot. “Takkar!”

He understood: the Siirk raided Takkar land to take cattle, slaves, and whatever else was not bolted down.

He took a spear from a warrior and brandished it toward the southwest. “Takkar!”

So he meant to protect them, for they were guests on his land.

He grew excited and intense, motioning for all of them to sit down. He pointed up, way up, and made a whistling sound as he pointed with his finger, starting way up, and slowing and steadily dropping to the ground.

A space ship of some kind. Maybe a rescue boat or supply cylinder.

He rose in a crouch and pointed to the valley, and repeated the descending fingertip, the whistling noise.

There! he’d been right! Every century or so, a ship came down. But why? All the ships had eventually been swept out to sea and sunk during spring floods, he surmised.

Xumar cleared a sandy patch with his palm and drew a cylinder with his finger. Then he made twisting motions. The amulet! The amulet that Nizin had shown them!

Xumar, still crouching intently, pointed to the mountains. “Takkar!” he made twisting motions, pointed to the picture of the amulet, and then to the valley. Then he motioned for them to come with him.