“It could equally well be something in the DNA,” said Melanie, taking Genevieve’s hands and uncurling them, stroking them quiet. “It could be that any women’s blood does the trick, and the nursing-mother bit is pure superstition.”
“Or, perhaps, the two states of being are different only in degree,” said Genevieve. “And the ones who turn to wood are still alive. Certainly Prince Delganor seemed wooden enough to me! I wonder how Aufors found out?”
“It may have been an accident. After all, he was wounded.” Melanie dug her hands into Genevieve’s neck and shoulders, kneading the flesh. “Joncaster is extremely good in emergencies. He will see that Aufors is properly cared for, believe me.”
“It is important to take time to move the bodies,” Genevieve agreed, gritting her teeth at the idea of any delay. “Isn’t it?”
“Very, very important.”
Two sleds, one bearing Genevieve and Melanie, one bearing Jorub with Awhero, Kamakama and the baby, arrived at the standing stone within an hour of one another. The pillar, split from the face of a black cliff, was a well-known landmark, as was the black stone serpent at its base, a tapering tail that plunged into the sea then rose and fell in a rounded hump and rose still again in a long neck and horned head that jutted out over the deep off-shore crevasse. From a distance, it did resemble a serpent swimming out from the land, particularly when glistening with spray. Above the tumbled stone, at the base of the cliff, was a hidden cavern with a freshwater seep hole above a stone well.
When Awhero came to the cave carrying the baby, Genevieve wept with joy, clutching him to her so tightly he struggled and complained, then began nuzzling at her. This refreshed her tears.
“They gave me medicine,” she said to Awhero. “To dry my milk. Oh, poor baby, I can’t feed him!”
“We have food, lady,” Awhero answered. “We have food, and drink here at this spring, and shelter above us.”
Melanie said, “You’ll feel better if you take a few moments to rest and eat something and play with your son before he forgets who his mother is!”
“Ah, Dovidi, Dovidi, would you forget your mother?” she asked the child.
“Very unlikely,” muttered Awhero. “Seeing who . . . and what … his mother is.”
Genevieve flushed and began to babble to the baby as the others set up their camp within the cavern, distributing food supplies and sleeping mats and repeatedly sprinkling the sandy floor with water to make it cooler.
Not far to the north, Joncaster eased a sled across a stretch of rocky ground. “You think we got all of them?”
“I think so,” said Etain, not for the first time. “We divided up the territory pretty well.”
Joncaster murmured, “Is the Colonel still unconscious?”
“He moaned a little, a way back. He’s still way too hot.” They drove on, unaware of the float-craft that slipped silently along the dunes behind them, one that followed Dunnel’s loping form as he unerringly spied a fan of sand expelled by an ejection valve or a carved line that curved against the wind, both evidence of a rigid skirting that had dug into the dune. Other trackers found footprints and drag marks and mummified bodies so broken and shattered it was impossible to know whether they were male or female, not that the Trackers particularly cared.
“It’s probably how they bury their dead,” opined Dunnel, who had allowed the hover to catch up to him while he rested a moment on the sands.
“Where’s that Havenite prince? Dunganor?” asked Terceth.
“Dalgabor, sir. I have him shackled to the aft rail.”
Terceth went to the aft rail where Delganor sweated in the sun. The man looked seriously unwell.
“Hot,” murmured Terceth. “Would you like some water?”
“Of course I’d like some water,” said the Prince, through his teeth.
Terceth poured a cup of water from a nearby canister and offered it to the Prince, who drank greedily then remained with his head down for a long moment, panting.
“You seem stressed,” said Terceth.
“I am accustomed to a certain medicine which I have not had for some time. Normally, I take it every few days . . .”