Confused for the moment, he could not understand what she was saying. Those behind the veil were said to be in shadow, and of course Saluez was among them. “Into shadow? But … ” Of course those who passed on were also said to be in shadow. Though veiled women couldn’t be said to pass on. Because they had doubted the Great Gift of the Gracious One, veiled women truly died. They were not accorded the right of living on in Kachis form. Shalumn must mean something else!
“Tell me!” he demanded in a whisper. “You think she’s gone”—he gestured outward, at the canyons, the mesas, the distant glinting mountain peaks, all the faraway that was Dinadh—”there?”
“Yes, songfather.”
“What makes you think so?”
“I haven’t seen … not for days.”
He sighed, surprising himself with the realization that it was a sigh of relief.
He reached out to shake the girl gently. “Shalumn. Shalumn, you were her friend. You recognize her shape, her walk. Of course you watch for her, even though you know it is forbidden. That’s quite common, my dear, and it is not a severe sin. But it’s customary for those behind the veil to spend days below, in their own place, unseen by anyone.”
“But she cares for the outlanders! No one else has been given the duty! And no one has seen them, either!”
“Put it out of your mind,” he said sternly. “Hear me, Shalumn. Put it out of your mind.” Her voice had been too full of grief. She should not feel so about a doubter!
“Songfather,” she said submissively, bowing her head. “I will do as you say.”
He turned his back on her and resumed eating. So no one had seen Saluez for a few days. Well, that was as it should be. No Dinadhi should see her at all. She was a trash-person. Just as the outlanders were trash-people. Dinadhi didn’t look at trash-people, or look for them, for that matter.
Still, it was strange no one had encountered the outlanders. On the ladders, perhaps. Even trash-persons took up space on the ladders. One had to wait. Or step aside. One noticed.
He scraped the sides of his bowl with his spoon. Not long now until there’d be some greens. Early greens, springing up along the streamlets, a welcome addition to the diet. If those gaufers that had gotten loose somehow didn’t eat them all first.
Strange, that. Six gaufers had escaped their pens. Songfather had assumed they’d been let loose by someone. Some child, too frightened to confess. But the six missing ones had been a hitch. Almost. Two leaders, right and left, who as mere gaufs had established their right to that position by kicking and biting their herd mates into submission. Two followers, right and left, who did not kick or bite at all, and two middles—though they were both left middles.
Who would steal a hitch? And for what? Some young man who wanted to prove himself, taking the animals onto the heights, maybe finding an unused wagon there. But to do what? To go where?
To Simidi-ala, perhaps? Sometimes young people did run off to Simidi-ala. They grew bored with the Dinadhi way of life. They did not treasure the Great Gift enough. They decided they wanted excitement, and off they went. Hive-reared, they knew the only way they could get there was in a herder’s wain. Fully half the population of Simidi-ala was made up of runaways, which was another reason for not trusting those at Simidi-ala. Apostates, all of them. Apostates and renegades.
He chewed the last bite thoughtfully. Young people were always interested in Simidi-ala. When Saluez was young, she had asked a lot of questions about the port city, so many that he’d taken her there himself during one brief visit.
He stared blindly at the opposite canyon wall. Saluez couldn’t have taken a hitch. A mere girl? Not strong. Now wounded, though he did not know how badly. It was better not to know how badly. Better if loved ones never knew. Too many questions if they knew. Too many doubts. Saluez couldn’t have taken the gaufers. It was physically impossible.