“Ai,” the People murmured, and eyes mirrored struggle to understand.
The eldest sen’en arose then, a man bent with age. “We have known Darks. That into which you went was one. That in which we remained was another. Tsi’mri came. We did not fall to them, and they did not come back. We had strength then, but it faded. No tsi’mri came again. And the cities died, and in the last years even the elee fought, elee against elee. It was a burden-bearer’s war, and wasteful. We had a she’pan then named Gar’ai. She led us out into the mountains, where the elee could not live. Even then some of the People denied her Sight and would not come, and stayed in the elee cities, and died, fighting for bearers-of-burdens. Now the elee are fading, and we are strong. That is because we cannot be held in the hand. We are the land’s wind, she’pan; we go and we come and the land is enough for us. We ask you, do not lead us back. There is no water enough for cities. The land will not bear it. We will perish if we leave it.”
Melein was silent for a long moment, then swept a glance about the assembly. “From a land like this came we. We do not fold our hands and wait to die. That is not what the she’pan of my birth taught.”
The words stung like a blow. Kel’ein straightened, and the sen’anth looked confused, and the kath’anth sat twisting her hands in her lap.
“Tsi’mri are following us,” Melein said. “Armed.”
The dusei surged to their feet. Duncan moved for them flung his arms about them both, whispering to them.
“What have you brought us?” cried the sen’anth.
“A thing that must be faced,” Melein snapped, and bodies froze in the attitudes that they then occupied. “We are mri! We were attacked and challenged, and will this remnant deny that you are also mri, and that I am she’pan of this edun, and of all the People?”
“Kel’anth,” breathed an old kel’en, “ask permission to ask… who, and when, and with what arms.”
“I answer,” said Niun. “The People have another chance. Another life. Life is coming across this desert of dead worlds. We have it in our wake, and it can be seized!”
Duncan heard, and clenched his fists the tighter on the dusei’s loose skin, close to shivering in the fever-warmth of the tent. They had forgotten him. Their eyes were on Niun, on the stranger-kel’anth, on a she’pan that promised and threatened them.
Hope.
It glittered in the golden eye’s of the black-robed Kel, ventured timidly into the calculating faces of the Sen. Only the old kath’en looked afraid.
“An-ehon has given me its records,” Melein said. “I have poured into An-ehon and into all the cities linked with him the sum of all that the People have gathered in our wanderings. We are armed, my children. We are armed. We were the last, my kel’anth and I. No more. No more. A last time the Kel goes out, and this time we are not for hire. This time we take no pay. This time is for ourselves.”
“Ai-e!” cried one of the Kel, a shout that stirred the others and tightened on Duncan’s heart. Dus-feelings washed about him, confused, threatening for his sake, stirred for Niun’s.
Kel’ein came to their feet with a deafening shout, and the sen’ein folded their arms and stood too, stern eyes gleaming with calculation; and lastly the kath’antb rose, and tears flowed on her face.
Tears for the children, Duncan thought, and something welled up in his throat too.
“Strike the tents,” Melein shouted. “We will rest a time in the city, recover what we have left there, ask questions of each other. Strike the tents.”
The tent began to clear, rapidly; there were shouts in the mu’ara of the ja’anom, orders conveyed.
And Niun stood watching their backs, and when Melein had walked out into the night, Duncan rose and followed with him, the dusei padding after.
Melein went apart from them, among the Sen. It was not a place for kel’ein. Duncan stood shivering in the chill wind and at last Niun drew him over to a clear space where they could watch the tents come down, where they could breathe easily.