See Author's Notes at the end.

xXx

Escthta leaned heavily on his back leg as he inched down the steep incline, keeping the edges of his feet perpendicular to the incline. The soil here was loose and rocky, dry on top but wet underneath. The treacherous slope threatened to give way underneath and pitch him into one of the numerous streams that seemed to issue from the very ground. They coursed down the hill, tying themselves in ribbons over the bottom of the valley, and when Escthta shaded his eyes and looked into the distance, he could trace the silvery glitter of water for miles down into the valley.

He looked up behind him, at the glacier that towered over its end moraine, the ice slashed with fissures near the top, and black with filth at the bottom. One of those blades of ice had nearly pitched him into the cold interior of the glacier, collapsing as he moved from one thin ice bridge to the next, each creaking with the weight of the thaw. The next had squealed as his toes found purchase, crumbling as he lunged for the one beyond. His claws scrabbled on the super-hard ice, and his heart leapt into his throat as they scraped uselessly down the glossy surface and he dropped into a world of blue shadow.

He hadn't realized until his scream ran out of air that he had not hit the bottom. He hung in mid air, his toes flexing out, trying to find a place to stand. Panting, he drew on his adrenaline, willing himself up out of the chasm, only half-surprised when he actually began to slowly float upward. He felt as if a great hand were lifting him up, supporting his unwieldy body on fingertips. He avoided looking down, concentrating on the pale blue sky overhead, only looking around when his feet cleared the edge of the void. With some effort, he delayed his shout of victory until he was fully over the solid expanse of ice that he had missed the first time.

Even now, as he hiked down from the glacier in the cirque, he didn't recognize the burgeoning power that seethed at the edge of his phantom eye's vision; when he turned his head to look at it directly, it moved and floated away, motes on the cold wind of the new spring.

xXx

Hir'cyn turned the holographic film over in his hands; though most holographic film was reusable, allowing different documents to be viewed on it at different times, this was a piece of engraved film. It would only ever hold one message, and he rubbed his temples as he read it over again, wondering what he should do with this… gift.

Rathde walked out of his quarters, his loincloth sticking to him where he hadn't dried himself thoroughly after the shower. The sand of the kehrite was gone, though, as was his sulk; the younger Hunter had grown used to the feeling of winning and Hir'cyn had gotten a now-rare victory in the ring today. "Something wrong, Hir'cyn?"

Even his speech had grown familiar with time, shedding the fawning adoration of the slave caste and becoming warmer with respect and camaraderie. Hir'cyn rubbed one of his tusks absently as he thought over how far his young protégé had come in the past few months. His leg was fully healed, his sparring form back in peak condition after so many years of non-use. Rathde shook his tress, the soft sounds of his dreadlocks falling on his wet shoulders filling the too quiet air. He hadn't yet bound it up in the loose topknot of a scholar, something he had seen in the library and adopted as his own personal style.

Rathde padded over and took the holofilm out of Hir'cyn's hand without asking. Hir'cyn sighed, watching Rathde's eyes move nimbly down the film, widening and then narrowing at the words. He handed the film back without a word and walked over to the broadly plush seating near the large window that formed the outer wall of their quarters. He flopped down on the cushions unceremoniously, looking out the window. Hir'cyn stood, walking to stand next to him.

"You're not going to accept it, are you?" Rathde's voice was oddly flat.

Hir'cyn looked at Rathde, his lined face seeming more haggard than his age normally demanded. With a sigh, he said, "It is a matter of formality to request that someone sit on the Council. In practice, no Elder turns down the," and he gestured with the writ as if it were a filthy rag, "summons."

"And you will not be the first?" Again, there was nothing in his words to indicate his mood.

A long silence stretched between them. A robotic car stopped on the avenue, some seven levels below them and an Elder left the building, climbing in and directing it toward the spacedocks. Finally, Hir'cyn sat down on the cushions, his legs almost seeming to collapse underneath him, limply tossing the holofilm down between them. "No, I will not."

"Good."

There was a satisfaction in that sharp reply that unnerved Hir'cyn somewhat; he was not looking forward to sitting on the Council and dealing with all the petty politics and squabbling that he was sure commanded their daily activities. He looked forward less to seeing Kvar'ye and Thtarok on a regular basis. He still had not quite forgiven the scientist for his behavior toward the little human, and he dearly hoped that she held no grudge against him for having cast them out onto an abandoned and rocky beach. He had done as the Matriarch had asked of him without question, without fail, as her trust required.

The Matriarch. He closed his eyes and saw her face again, first in the pale and weakened moments of her death and then in happier times, when the goddess had only just withdrawn her touch and she was vital and eager to mate for the sake of pleasure. Their trysts had been private and brief, quickly limited by the rapid aging of her body, but those happy weeks! He had experienced a joy unknown to him before her, a fullness of spirit that made him ache with her absence.

The sumcom politely chimed to let them know that a visitor was waiting outside the door.

Hir'cyn blinked, astonished to find his eyes misting over and walked over to the door. He took a moment to compose himself and then pressed the sumcom to greet his guest.

xXx

Noskor inclined his head as the door opened. "Good evening, Elder," he drawled, the milky globe of his blind eye twitching in its socket. Hir'cyn bowed slightly and then turned and walked back to the couch near a window, picking up the engraved holofilm and brandishing it accusingly at Noskor. "I assume you are here about this?"

The Councilman blinked, shrinking from the Council's writ almost imperceptibly. "If you have… concerns, I can address them, Hir'cyn."

"Does the Council mean to mock me with this invitation, Noskor?"

"Mock you?" Noskor's voice registered genuine surprise. "The Matriarch herself insisted that you be… considered for the opening in our ranks caused by the untimely demise of Bruyaun." Noskor could not keep the sarcasm from his voice, and Hir'cyn's face darkened.

"Paya herself called me to this service?"

"Yes."

Hir'cyn's hand flexed around the holofilm, curling it, but he said nothing.

Noskor arched an eyebrow, his blind right eye narrowing. "Take care that you do not make a hasty decision, Elder. I understand that these things take time to absorb and I ask," he lifted a hand to silence the angry protests that would surely issue from Hir'cyn's opening mouth, "that you take more time to consider it."

Noskor smiled gently and gestured to a cushioned chair. "May I?"

Hir'cyn scowled. "Of course, Liege."

Noskor sat and opened his mouth before seeming to recognize that Rathde was making no move to leave. He glanced at Hir'cyn, and was not entirely unsurprised to find the Elder's mandibles twitching in irritation, one tusk tapping against the other. Rather than insist that the former slave leave, he tucked a hand back behind his head to smooth his pale tress, a finger lingering on a very old rank ring.

"I am not, as you seem to think, here about the Council's summons to office," he began. "I am here—"and tenseness fluttered over his mandibles, unbidden, "about the Psionic."

"What do you want with him?" Rathde demanded. Noskor shot a sour look at him and then continued, "I have been charged, by the Allmother, to find him. Find him and bring him back."

Hir'cyn's mandibles flared wide for a few seconds in shock, and then anger. "And how can I possibly help you in this matter, Liege?"

"You were the last to see him alive. I need to know where that was."

"As if it matters! Even you cannot track a quarry months gone under feet of snow."

"I have my ways, Elder." The words hung in the air, a heavy pendulum that swung against Hir'cyn's mind. How could he possibly know how to find Escthta? And then, could he actually find him? Hir'cyn stood to fetch a piece of holofilm from a small tray on a table, and used a lightstylus to scribble down the coordinates, knowing without checking what they were. They were as clear to him now as they had been when Ren'da had given them to him. It had come with an understanding that the Matriarch had intervened directly and selected this location, this shore, this beach, as the point where the Psionic and his human companion would be abandoned to make his own way. Although Hir'cyn knew that exile killed yautja by exclusion, if the Matriarch had really wanted Escthta dead, she would have dropped him on some mostly-frozen crust of rock in the middle of nowhere.

"The shore of a great ocean. On the other side of this world," he said slowly, turning back to hold out the film towards the Councilman.

Noskor's blind eye widened slightly, but was quickly masked with a blink. "This world?"

"As Paya charged me, this world."

"That is… unorthodox." The bitterness twisted Noskor's tusks. Of course it would be the homeworld. Of course. He stood abruptly, taking the offered holofilm and tucking it in a pouch at his belt.

"Going so soon, Liege?" Rathde's voice dripped with barely disguised venom.

Noskor narrowed both eyes at Rathde and then turned to Hir'cyn. "If what you say is true, then it would be good for you to consider more carefully Escthta's situation before making your decision about joining the Council."

xXx

Noskor left the Elder's quarters with a knot in his stomach. He took out the holofilm again, his eyes moving over the coordinates with a piercing eye and an aim to memorize them. He was not intimately familiar with the geography of his homeworld, but then again, few were. Urgency drove his steps and he was pleased to find the car still waiting for him outside the building. If he could get there in time, he might be at least able to determine which direction they'd gone. A path inland would mean a more difficult hike up and over the mountains, with the added chance of death by avalanche. Were he able to make good time with the human in tow, they might be ready to cross the spine of the mountain belt by first thaw. Well, he thought, at least the human's death might lengthen Escthta's strides. Time was life and death both inside and outside the City; it was never more true than now.

Noskor had a small subspheric vessel readied, provisioned for short Hunting encampments in the loosening grip of winter, and armed with more than enough weaponry to deal with the native life. A Great Hunt would occasionally go out into the wilderness and return with some massive beast of mythic size and strength, but that had not happened in years, and it did not seem that it would happen again for many more. After all, the exciting Hunts took place off-world, where intelligent prey could be found; none dared stock the homeworld with kainde amedha. The worst he might face out in the wilds of the homeworld would be a weyk, and he dearly hoped that he would not encounter one still surly from hibernation. They were a match for a group of Hunters without the benefit of their notoriously bad tempers. A grouchy weyk could ruin your day.

He began to call it "the expedition" in his mind. It made him short with servants, who wisely held their tongues, wary of his eye on them. Noskor was well aware of the stories about his blind eye that circulated through his household. Only half of them were true.

xXx

Escthta found the tailings of the road in the high foothills, the stones overturned, their edges like blades protruding from the ground. The uniformity of their size caught his attention; surely a rockslide would have great boulders, such as the one he'd sheltered under with H'chak-di? And their edges were smooth, rubbed round with water despite not being deposited in a meltwater channel.

He had stumbled blindly up the mountains, passing through them without a thought for counting the days. Escthta's otherworldly experience with the temple at the height of the mountain pass was adrift in a sea of time. Had it been days? Weeks? The glaciers on the other side were beginning their spring thaw, treacherously flowing down the mountainside, and he'd drifted across the white fields, spiderwebbed with crevasses and pitfalls, until now, in the high, wet foothills of this mountain range he'd begun to call Dhi'tjau Kantra, the Mountains of Prayer. There were few trees about, though plenty of scrub and thick barrelgrass, and the road stood out plainly against the greening of spring.

His curiosity about this river of rock was the first real interest he'd taken in his immediate future since she died. He followed it, not because he thought it might be a road, but because it suggested a place to go, a destination, and as much as he didn't want to admit it, he was alive where she was not, and carrying on where she was not. He was moving forward. It was simply someplace for him to go, so he went.

He picked his way down the melt-dark hills, following the undulating scales of the stone serpent until he found himself at the edge of a forest; the road went on into a wood, and the grasses and underbrush covered it completely.

Escthta felt the weight of his pack settle as he sighed. Following the road would not be an easy task. He walked to a large outcropping of stone, pitted with age and swept dead leaves from the smooth surface. Only after he had seated himself, his heels in the grass, did he realize that the rock was not only large, but perfectly round. He unshouldered his pack, stretching his shoulders as he leaned down to look at the stone. A plug of roots and grass shouldered up against the rock and he dug it away, finding a lip around the edge and then, a few feet away, a carefully chiseled threshold and some shallow depressions—mortises—for the placement of a door. Further examination revealed that some of the pockmarks in the stone were holes, augur-drilled in pairs and evenly spaced. He looked at the size of it, some four strides across by his reckoning, more than enough room.

He laid down, stretching his arms out and mentally measuring the size of the slab and comparing it to his own height. It was not hard for him to imagine a wooden guardpost surrounding him, the rafters of the small round hut supporting a simple hammock for its lone occupant, who would watch for invaders from the lands to the west, improbable though they might be, aching for his family in the valleys below. His mate had just given birth to his second son, but he knew this only from her letters that came by the infrequent hand of trade caravans. Escthta felt keenly the loneliness of the long-dead guard, stationed here on the edge of civilization—

With a sudden gasp, Escthta sat up, holding his hand to his temple. The edge of civilization. It rang in his mind, sonorous and lingering. He stood up and walked toward the forest's edge and looked down the road, shading his eyes. After a moment, he slowly closed his good eye, seeing through the eye granted him by the death god. His vision shimmered, as the air does over hot rock on a summer day. Trees and grasses slowly grew more distinct, the road seeming to fold its stones back into the earth as he watched. The avenue was not broad, but several paces on either side of it seemed to have been cleared of trees. He waited for someone to appear on the road, but no one came. He turned to look at the guardpost.

The building was a crude but effective shelter, with room for exactly one guard. Focus as he might, none of the smears of light in his second vision resolved into a soldier, though details within the guardpost became clearer. Small grass cages, used perhaps for some kind of courier animal, resolved themselves against the wall, and a threadbare scrap of red cloth blocked glare from one of two portholes. As a test, Escthta focused on it, reaching out with his mind to feel the cloth's history, to test the reality of its past. To his satisfaction, the cloth solidified, weaving itself more tightly and sprouting a simple decorative pattern, more like a tapestry now than the scrap he had originally seen.

As a last test, he bent his mind against the tapestry, willing it to be green, the green of grass stains and cooked leaves. He chose a green that would specifically be within the means of this nameless soldier to possess, within the means of his mate to weave. His vision shimmered again, but as it cleared, though he could distinctly see the hairs of animals threaded into the tapestry, it would not change to green, or any other color he could imagine. Reluctantly, he opened his other eye and willed the secondsight to cease. The hut and its tapestry faded and trees snapped into his vision. The cobbles heaved themselves back into disarray and the shimmer lifted completely.

The sun seemed unnaturally warm for this time of year. But he knew, now, where the road led, and that only a day's travel following the road to the east would take him to another, larger road. He unpacked a skin of water and a few strips of dried meat, gnawing on it thoughtfully. Another road. Where will it go? Back to the City?

Escthta shoved the question away and looked at the leathery meat in his hand. It would be a change when he began to hunt again, to have raw meat. It would be too early in the season for fruits or wild grains, but perhaps some eggs could be scavenged from a nest. His stores were still relatively full, but he had been marshaling them carefully. He leaned down and picked up a sturdy-looking branch that had weathered to a silvery grey color. The bark pulled away from the dry wood easily, coming off in sheets. With the edge of his ki'cti-pa, he scratched one mark deeply, across the grain. First day beyond the mountains. He tucked the stick away under the flap of his pack and began to follow the road to the east.

xXx

Hir'cyn unclasped his blue cloak, watching with a pang of guilt as a slave scurried over, unbidden, to collect the heap of fabric. He would not need it any more, and he could only hope that it would not end up in an incinerator. Ren'da settled its replacement under his pauldrons of office, a deep mauve with a tightly woven sheen, naturally produced in this color by a venomous insect as it moved through the canopies of trees on the homeworld. It was the rarest fabric in existence, woven entirely from this secreted thread and stronger than any metal. I might need it to deflect any blades aimed between my shoulders, Hir'cyn thought wryly.

Ren'da moved back to stand with the other Councilmen that stood in welcoming their newest member. Kvar'ye sulked, but at least he had not been involved in giving him a gift of office. Thtarok was quiet, his bruised throat having healed completely ages ago, but from what Hir'cyn had found out, his voice had not ever been the same.

Tjat'le walked to take Hir'cyn's elbow, guiding him to his new seat at the Council table, flanked by Ghanede and Noskor. Hir'cyn was rather relieved at this seating arrangement, although it meant looking directly at Kvar'ye.

"Welcome to the Council," Tjat'le said.

"Thank you, Liege," Hir'cyn responded formally, aware of Tjat'le's position as head of the Council. It was largely a position of power in name only, but on an occasion with such decorum, even small formalities had to be observed. With some satisfaction, Hir'cyn realized that he would never again have to call Kvar'ye or Thtarok 'lord'. He could not hide the smile that curved his tusks.

Tjat'le sagged into his chair, waving away the slave that held it out for him. "Now that Hir'cyn has been seated, we can declare this whole selection business over with." He saw Thtarok tense slightly, and Noskor's head bobbed for a moment, as if he was going to stand and then forgot himself.

With a small sigh of resignation, Tjat'le lifted one clawed hand and gestured at the door. "I'm sure we all have pressing matters to attend, if you wish to leave." Barely had the words left his mouth than Noskor and Thtarok both stood up abruptly, each heading for opposite doors of the Council's chambers and parting company without a word. Tjat'le lifted an eyebrow and looked at Kvar'ye, who had slowly gotten to his feet, smoothing his cloak.

"Liege," he said, with a small bow to Tjat'le, and then inclined his head toward the other Councilmen, leaving by the same door as Thtarok.

Tjat'le huffed slightly as they left. "At least there is not any urgent business to attend to." His blue-green eyes slid to Ren'da and Ghanede, who were in quiet discussion at the other end of the table, seemingly oblivious to the Head and the new Councilman.

"Care for a drink, Hir'cyn?"

"Certainly," he replied, standing as Tjat'le motioned for him to join him in a stroll. Hir'cyn nodded to the other two Councilmen, who inclined their heads in return, acknowledging him as their equal. There was something else brewing in Ren'da's golden brown eyes, some other scheme he was furtively tending with Ghanede, and Hir'cyn made a note to inquire about it later. With his presence on the Council, the abolition of the slave caste suddenly became a real possibility. It would have to be done carefully if it was to be done at all.

xXx

Noskor could barely contain his impatience as the ship approached the shore, its thrusters beating the surf into froth. The pilot had searched for several minutes for a location where the ground would not be too rocky for the landing gear. He eased the ship down with practiced skill and lowered the ramp when the tapping of claws on the deck finally got to him. Noskor was off the end of the ramp while the craft was still touching down.

The sea rolled in and out, leaving dark, foamy stains on the sand at the edge of the rocky shore. Tidepools sheltered small invertebrates that sucked themselves inside shells or spat water as Noskor hurried past. He was close to them, close to their trail, and if he moved too much, he might lose the only focus he had for tracking the Psionic and be awash in meaningless images from the countless centuries on this beach. Even knowing that, he could not slow his steps.

At last, he reached the edge of the water. The salt spray flecked the edge of his cloak, even though it was wound around his arm to hold it out of the way. Water rushed around his ankles and he dug his toes into the sand briefly, exhaling purposefully and closing his eyes to center his thoughts. Noskor opened his blind right eye and willed the vision to come.

The secondsight snapped his attention to a place further down the shore, only twenty paces away. He did not need to close the distance; their forms were very distinct. Hir'cyn, nearly as tall as Escthta, unfastened his cloak and swept it around the shoulders of the human. The human tugged it closer around her and her lips moved. Escthta had a dark, resigned look on his face, but it did little to diminish the spark that Noskor had seen in him, or rather, Seen in him.

It was a white-blue kernel of light that danced around him, as insects do around a flame. It alone was remarkable, as few he ever viewed had anything more than a look of smeared light over their features, an ethereal film that made them unmistakably mortal and earth-bound. The difficulty in using his gift came in interpreting what he saw.

The Matriarch herself had such a spark that floated around her, though it moved with purpose and direction compared to the flighty acrobatics that Escthta carried with him. Her predecessor had been accompanied by a spark of light as well. Noskor had thought it a mark of divinity until he made his first viewing of the new Matriarch while Paya was firmly rooted in her. It had left him wincing in pain for days at the memory of her brilliance; she was like looking at a star, a being of such intense and perfect fire that beholding it, even with a divine gift, was painful.

Cetanu had been an easy yautja to look at; his radiance was surprisingly gentle on the new eye given him by his benefactor. Though the pain of having his natural eye removed had left Noskor's stomach heaving, the god of death seemed nonplussed and gave his supplicant a few small words of instruction as he retched against the trunk of a tree.

"Do nothing but think of when you want to see or what you want to see. If you do so with a focused mind, you can see for years in any direction."

Cetanu had stayed with Noskor a while as his strength returned, easing his vision backward through time until the moment where he found the hidden communicator that would call the fallen Hunter's main ship. Then, in the blink of an eye, the god was gone, and even the secondsight would not reveal him.

Then the Bathyrian had been captured. The orbs of light that floated aimlessly around the Hunters that lay in the infirmary were barely enough to comment on—pale, unfocused slips of light that looked as if they might be scattered from a shiny surface. They groaned in agony, reached for friends that were dead, seemed to see monsters and hear voices in silent, empty rooms. He had not remarked on the wisps to the medics then. He did not want to end up under medical observation himself, especially not with his… unique ocular properties.

It came as no surprise to him when his former protégé manifested one after an intense arena battle at the last Council. He suspected that the Bathyrian might be involved, but his sad expectation had been only that his student would go mad like the rest, and the initial viewings of weakly luminescent shadows around Escthta's bandaged head suggested as much. But Escthta's wisp grew in brightness and focused itself to a pinpoint of light. It moved with intent and direction as Escthta's power grew and sharpened. There was, of course, no one with whom he could corroborate his suspicions, which made it all the more frustrating for him. Was it because he's a Psionic? Or was there something more?

Noskor's attention fell back to the scene that was playing out silently in front of him. Hir'cyn's specter turned and headed up an invisible ramp, fading from view. After some moments, the Psionic and the human conversed and then headed inland. Noskor set his tusks with a kind of grim determination and returned to the ship, where the pilot waited on the threshold of the ramp.

"We're going," Noskor said, and the pilot nodded, turning to his cockpit. "The City, my Liege?"

"Yes. Com ahead and let them know I'm returning." He paused for a moment and then added, "Have a car ready to take me to the Library."

"Yes, Liege." The ship's ramp folded up, and Noskor settled into his seat behind the pilot, fastening a harness around his shoulders and letting his head rest against the seat. The engines whined as they lifted off and began to gain altitude.

"Begging your pardon, Liege?"

"Yes?" Noskor's taut nerves had relaxed enough that snapping at the pilot's questions no longer seemed necessary.

"Did you find what you were looking for, Liege?"

Noskor chuckled, genuinely amused at the confusion in the pilot's voice. "Not yet. But I know where it is heading."

xXx

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I know it's been a long time, and I apologize. I have not forgotten this world, and there is much still to tell. If you're still with me, I won't stop telling it, even if it takes me a while.

I am also beginning to edit and streamline earlier chapters. This fic has been "in progress" for six years now, and many of the reasons I initially began to tell this story are either no longer important or completely wrong in the face of how the story has changed. You'll recall that initially Cthinde was supposed to be the hero of this story, but Escthta's story was simply more interesting, and the change from a focus on Cthinde and his Clan to Escthta and his power is too abrupt, in my mind, to let pass. Most of the things that I will change are to bring earlier chapters in line with later developments; most of them are small continuity errors that will be corrected to present a more coherent world.

Thanks to Chocobo Goddess, who has again stepped up and beta'd this chapter for me on short notice.