ands； before finally giving up； while Kunn muttered sourly at the static on his display。 Lark struggled against a natural reflex to squint； endeavoring instead to loosen his habitual way of focusing。 Dwer had once explained that it was the only way to let oneself see in this realm where exotic crystals cast an ever…changing wildness of luminance。
That had been shortly after Dwer won master hunter status； when he hurried home to join Lark and Sara at their mother's bedside； during the illness that finally took her away； turning Nelo almost overnight into an old man。 Melina accepted no food during that final week； and very little drink。 Of her two eldest； whose minds she had doted on； day in； day out； ever since arriving in Dolo to be a papermaker's wife； she now seemed to need nothing。 But from her youngest child； she devoured tales of his wanderings； the sights； sounds； and sensations of far corners of the Slope where few ever trod。 Lark recalled feeling a jealous pang when he saw the contentment Dwer's stories gave in her last hours； then chiding himself for having such unworthy thoughts。
That memory swept over him starkly； apparently triggered by the stabbing colors。
Some credulous folk among the Six said these layers of poison stone had magical properties； poured into them by aeons of overlapping volcanic effusions。 〃Mother Jijo's blood；〃 they called it。 At that moment； Lark could almost credit the superstition； so struck was he by uncanny waves of familiarity。 As if he had been here before； sometime long ago。
With that thought； his eyes seemed to adjust…to open up； letting the muddle of swirling hues blossom into mirage canyons； figment valleys； ghost cities； and even whole phantom civilizations； vaster than the greatest Buyur sites。。。。
Then； just as he was starting to enter fully into the experience； the blur of illusion suddenly ended； cut off as the Spectral Flow plunged into the sea。 Besh banked the craft again； and soon the sweeping domain of color vanished like a dream； replaced on the left by a more normal desert of windswept igneous rock。
The line of crashing surf became like a fabled highway； pointing toward lands unknown。 Lark fumbled to unfasten his seat belt； moving across the aisle to stare over the great ocean。 So vast； he thought。 Yet this was nothing pared to the immensities Ling and her rades spanned with hardly a thought。 His eyes peered in hopes of spotting a camouflaged dross…hauler； its gray…green sails slicing the wind； bearing sacred caskets to their final rest。 From this height； he might even glimpse the Midden itself； dark blue waters…of…forgetfulness covering a plunge so deep that its trench could take all the arrogant excesses of a dozen mighty civilizations and still bless them with a kind of absolution…oblivion。
They had already dashed beyond the farthest of Lark's lifetime travels； seeking data for his ever…hungry charts。 Even looking with a practiced eye； he found few scattered traces of sapient habitation…a hoonish fishing hamlet； a red qheuen rookery…tucked under rocky clefts or bayou…root canopies。 Of course； at this speed something important might sweep by in the time it took to switch windows； which he did frequently as Besh rolled the craft； playing instruments across both shore and sea。
Even those few signs of settlement ceased when they reached the Rift； crossing a few hundred arrowflights west of the distant； hatchet…shape of Terminus Rock。
A series of towering cliffs and deep subsea canyons split the land here。 Jagged promontories alternated with seemingly bottomless fingers of dark sea； as if some great claw had gouged parallel grooves almost due east； to form a daunting natural barrier。 Dwelling beyond this border labeled you an outlaw； cursed by the sages and by the Holy Egg。 But the alien flier made quick work of the realm of serrated clefts and chasms； dismissing them like minor ruts across a well…traveled road。
League after league of sandy scrublands soon passed by； punctuated at long intervals by stark fragments of ancient cities； eroded by wind； salt； and rain。 Explosions and pulverizing rays must have shattered the mighty towers； just after the last Buyur tenant turned off the lights。 In time； the ceaseless churning of the Midden and its daughter volcanoes would grind even these sky…stabbing stumps to nothing。
Soon the sky…boat left the continent altogether； streaking over chains of mist…shrouded isles。
Even Dwer never dreamed of going this far。
Lark decided not to mention this trip to the lad without discussing it first with Sara； who understood tact and hurt feelings better than either brother。
Then reality hit home。 Sara's back in Dolo。 Dwer may be sent off east； hunting glavers and sooners。 And when the aliens finish their survey； we all may meet our end； far from those we love。
Lark sank into his seat with a sigh。 For a while there； he had actually been enjoying himself。 Damn memory； for reminding him the way things were！
For the rest of the trip he kept low…key and businesslike； even when they finally landed near forests eerily different from those he knew； or while helping Ling haul aboard cages filled with strange； marvelous creatures。 Professionalism was one pleasure Lark still allowed himself…a relish for studying nature's ways。 But there remained little zest or wonder in the thought of flying。
It was after nightfall when Lark finally shuffled back to his own shabby tent near the Glade…only to find Harullen waiting there with news。
The low massive figure took up fully half the shelter。 At first； standing in the entry with only dim moonlight behind him； Lark thought it was Uthen； his friend and fellow naturalist。 But this qheuen's ash…colored carapace wasn't scarred from a lifetime digging into Jijo's past。 Harullen was a bookworm； a mystic who spoke with aristocratic tones reminiscent of Gray Queens of old。
〃The zealots sent a message；〃 the heretic leader announced portentously； without even asking Lark about his day。
〃Oh？ Finally？ And what do they say？〃 Lark dropped his daypack by the entrance and sagged onto his cot。
〃As you predicted； they desire a meeting。 It is arranged for tonight at midnight。〃
Echo…whispers of the final word escaped speaking vents in back； as the qheuen shifted his weight。 Lark suppressed a groan。 He still had a report to prepare for the sages； summarizing everything he'd learned today。 Moreover； Ling wanted him bright and early the next morning； to help evaluate the new specimens。
And now this？
Well； what can you expect when you play games of multiple loyalty？ Old…time novels warn how hard things can get when you serve more than one master。
Events were accelerating。 Now the rumored； secretive rebel organization had finally offered to talk。 What choice had he but to go？
〃All right；〃 he told Harullen。 〃e get me when it's time。 Meanwhile； I have work to do。〃
The gray qheuen departed silently； except for a faint clicking of claws on the rocky trail。 Lark struck a match that sputtered rank fumes before settling enough to light his tiny oil lamp。 He unfolded the portable writing table Sara had given him when he graduated from the Roney School； what seemed a geologic age ago。 Pulling out a sheet of his father's best writing paper； he then shaved black powder from a half…used ink stick into a clay mortar； mixed the dust with fluid from a small bottle； and ground the mixture with a pestle till all the lumps were gone。 Lark used his pocket knife to sharpen his tree…staller quill pen。 At last he dipped the tip into the ink； paused for a moment； and began to write his report。
It was true； Lark realized later； during a tense conclave by the wan opal glow of Torgen； the second moon。 Tentatively； suspiciously； the zealots were indeed offering alliance with Harullen's loose…knit society of heretics。
Why？ The two groups have different aims。 We seek to reduce； then end； our illegal presence on this fragile world。 The zealots only want the old status quo back； our hidden secrecy restored； as it was before the raider ship came…and perhaps a few old scores settled along the way。
Still； envoys of the two groups gathered i