Joncaster muttered, “If Melanie gets the message and they work through the night, they can get most of the bodies moved.”
“We could do some of them ourselves, the nearest ones.”
“This man should rest, but I hate to leave him alone. She said he had to go to the standing stone.”
“You believe her?”
Joncaster stared at the sky. “She doesn’t . . . she doesn’t share our beliefs, but that doesn’t mean she’s wrong. You heard that sound she made.”
“Likeit.”
“Right. We have lots of singers in Galul, but I never heard one of them make a sound like that. And it was answered.”
“It could have been an echo.”
“It wasn’t an echo. That was real. That wasit speaking.”
“Have you ever seen it?”
“Never. But … I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she has.”
“I’ll go for a while, do what I can, then come back,” offered Etain.
Joncaster nodded. “Go. But take care. We don’t know what kinds of equipment the Aresians have. They may have detectors, so be cautious.”
Etain saluted, took up his water bottle and a packet of food, threw himself upon the sled and slithered it around the base of a dune, heading inland. Joncaster replaced the compress, then applied another when it cooled. Gradually the crustiness of the wound was softening, and when he changed the compress for the fourth time, the evil matter inside the wound began to flow out. Joncaster cleaned it away, looked at his timepiece, and readied a second injection.
The sun slipped behind the dune to the west, leaving them in deep shade. Though the temperature did not drop significantly, and would not until night came, the absence of the sun’s glare made matters more bearable. Aufors stirred. “Who?” he asked.
“A friend,” said Joncaster. “A friend of Genevieve’s, as well.”
“Is she … is she . . .”
“She’s well. Tired, but well. As soon as we can get your fever down, we’ll take you to her.”
“Aresian guard hit me,” Aufors said clearly. “No reason for it, just stupidity. His officer read him off. I should have asked for something to treat it with. It didn’t seem that bad.”
“Can you tell me about the lichen?” murmured Joncaster.
Aufors eyes flew open, full of awareness. “Who are you?”
“I said, a friend of Genevieve’s.”
Aufors’s eyes closed. He was silent.
Right, Joncaster thought. And how does one prove one is a friend of Genevieve’s?
“Do you know about Awhero?” Joncaster murmured. “I also know Awhero. And your son’s name is Dovidi.”
Aufors’s eyes opened halfway, a mere slit. “You could have found out names in many ways. You could be Aresian.”
“All right,” Joncaster said, shaking his head. “Go back to sleep. I’ve sent Etain to bleed on as many patches of lichen as he can find. I hope that’s what you think is best.”
Stubbornly, Aufors did not reply.
* * *
South along the shore from the red cliff, a stony stretch of coast was known to the malghaste as “the bird rocks.” A submarine trench that reached deeply into the planet’s crust lay just off shore, and the rising water was alive with food for the nesting birds. No matter the season, the wave-splashed stones were white with waterfowl or their droppings, and their cries could be heard for miles inland.
Awhero and the boy had come to the rocks along a narrow strip of beach that wound among the stones. They had arrived at a cavern on the sea where a freshwater spring dripped into a deep crevasse far back, out of sight of the shore. This cool, moist retreat was well known to the malghaste.
“Thank wairua taiao for bit of rest,” said Awhero. She untied her shawl and unwrapped a fretful Dovidi who began to wail. She spread her blanket beside the pool outlet and settled herself and the child upon it. Poor thing, he was prickly from the heat and fretful as well. She lowered his naked, reddened body onto the sand at the edge of the deep pool and ladled water over it while the fretful whimpering turned into chuckled sounds of enjoyment. Good enough.