Walking up the hill to the shelter felt like walking through Prila's laundry room — the moist air clung to Zana's robe and fur, already uncomfortably warm. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she was gasping for air before she had managed to walk half of the way. It would be a very, very hot day.

She tried to distract herself from the muddy sensation in her lungs by replaying the sight of Incan and her baby in her mind. Incan would be taken back to Zaylissa's estate later that morning, and wouldn't be in the house anymore when Zana came home, so she had seized the only opportunity to see a newborn human firsthand. She still marveled at the memory of that tiny, wrinkled, pink thing, not so different from an ape baby... well, except for the fur, of course.

She couldn't help imagining Alan's babies now — tiny, wrinkled, pink humans, who maybe had a tuft of light fur on their heads instead of the dark fur of Incan's baby. She had been irrationally relieved to see it, despite all her calculations that had told her over and over again that Alan had nothing to do with this girl; but for some reason, only seeing the little human's hair color had finally put her worries to rest.

Alan's babies would be born soon now, too; they'd stay with their mothers for some time, until they were old enough to be separated from them and sold to some rich apes in search of a novelty. Zana had no idea how much time Ramor allowed his breeding humans; she had assumed until now that he'd at least wait until weaning, but Zaylissa's remark last night had ignited a new worry that they might have less time than she'd thought appropriate...

... which meant that Zana had not as much time to think of a way to save them than she'd assumed.

But thoughts of Alan and his offspring evaporated as soon as she passed through the shelter's gates; she had to hunt down both Eivas and Boy, and by the time she had everyone assembled at the construction site, she wanted nothing more than jump into the well to cool off.

Alas, she had to make do with casting off her outer robe — it wasn't as if anyone was around but the humans, who didn't count, so she absolutely had no reason to feel awkward; and better to be scandalous than to suffer another heatstroke. Since Eivas was too old, and Boy carried his arm in a sling now, the heavy lifting and climbing around in the wooden framework of the greenhouse would fall entirely to her, as she had declined Zorya's offer to send her a few of Eivas' young workers for help.

"While the greenhouse is meant to become an asset for the shelter, right now it's mainly a way to connect with Boy — you know, gain his trust and cooperation; and after yesterday's accident, I need to rebuild a lot of that trust. If Eivas' troupe does all the work, Boy may wonder why he's even there. He needs to know that he's integral to this project."

"He can't use his arm," Zorya had pointed out. "How is he supposed to contribute?"

Zana had waved her objection away. "I'll think of something."

Now, though, she had to admit that she had no idea how the human could make himself useful. Boy seemed to sense her concern; he was already edging away from them. Zana quickly decided that she'd delegate that question to Eivas.

"Well," the old man thoughtfully rubbed his ear. "He can start oiling the beams. To prevent rot," he explained at Zana's questioning look. "Needs only one good arm to swing a brush." He grinned, showing wide gaps in his teeth.

This solution provided another precious stretch of rest for Zana while the humans went to get Boy a brush and a can of lemony-smelling wood oil; but from then on she had to pull her weight, and pull the weight of the wooden beams, too, while Eivas was directing her from the ground.

At least she'd be able to build her own house from now on, she mused with grim humor, if that would ever become necessary. She'd already learned more about frame construction than she'd ever cared to know.

They didn't get far today. About an atseht later, Zana had only managed to pull up the first two logs — already fitted together at an angle — onto the beam that connected the vertical posts at the narrower side of the greenhouse, where she had discovered that it was too big and unwieldy to erect and fix it by herself. Eivas had to climb up to her, and they had spent the rest of that atseht trying not to drop it on Boy, who kept a wary eye on them, which meant he was oiling thin air as often as one of the beams.

Finally, Zana admitted defeat. Together with Eivas, they lowered the logs back to the ground, and climbed down from the construction. The sun had rosen high enough to hover above the treeline now, and was burning through Zana's robe and fur. Eivas' face was red and sweaty; he looked as if he'd have a stroke any moment. Only Boy didn't seem to be affected by the oppressive heat, although his hair was sticking to his forehead and temples, its color a grubby reddish brown from the sweat.

"Oh, this is no good," Zana gasped, and sat down on the grass with a thump. "It's too big and heavy for us to get it into place by ourselves, even if your arm wasn't in a sling." She fanned herself, thinking longingly of the cool water at the bottom of the well. Chimpanzees weren't prone to dunking themselves in water, but she'd make an exception today.

"Should I get my boys, then, vetya?" Eivas wiped his sleeve across his face. He hadn't sat down, but one look at him had Zana jump up again and lead him to the well.

"No. It's too hot for everything except for drinking lots of cold water." She had him sit down and lean against the curb of the well, then used the winch to pull up the bucket from the bottom of the well, where it had kept her lunch cool by suspending it in the water.

She handed each of the humans a wooden cup and poured lemonade for everyone. After seeing the humans' delighted reaction to it last time, she had decided to spoil them every time they worked on the greenhouse. Zana hoped that Boy would build some positive associations between her presence and the blissful sensation that drink obviously gave him. It was certainly spectacular enough for him to do the job; usually, humans only knew pure water — although some of the more cunning humans in outlying villages had found ways to spice up their water somehow, according to Galen's reports. He'd been vague on the details, though.

They sat around for a while without talking, emptying the lemonade that Zana had brought, and taking turns cooling their hands and feet in the bucket. The heat didn't let up; the greenhouse's construction would have to wait another day.

"I don't know about you, but I'm hungry," Zana said finally. "I suggest we eat something, and then find a cool and shady place to rest. Eivas, you bring your crew tomorrow, and we'll start way before sunrise, and maybe we can get the whole roof done in one day. After that, it'll only be you and me and Boy again, and we'll oil the beams together and put up the screens."

"We'll be there, vetya," Eivas promised. He stole a glance at Zana's basket; her mention of eating had probably reminded him of his own empty stomach. Zana had no idea what the shelter fed its humans for breakfast. Maybe gruel; it was cheap and could be made in big batches.

She smiled and patted the basket. "I brought some things to roast over the fire. Yes, I know, what was I thinking? Making fire in this heat?" She laughed. "But I promise, it'll be worth it, and if we keep the flames down, it won't be that hot for us. Only for the food."

This had been one of the few good things to come out of their mad flight towards the north — learning to roast meat and fruit and even nut bread over the fire. She had never done it before while she had still lived in the City, and apparently, neither had Galen. It had been Alan's and Peet's idea, and Zana wished she could've tried one of those 'mushmellows' that Alan had mournfully reminisced about.

Eivas didn't question her announcement, which he wouldn't have done anyway, but the lemonade had apparently convinced him of Zana's culinary genius, because he jumped up with remarkable speed, went to get some firewood from the shelter's supplies, and was back carrying a huge bundle on his back in no time at all.

In the meantime, Zana had retrieved Galen's cursed post box from its hiding spot under the lumber. This was the perfect opportunity to get rid of the thing with its traitorous stamps and address fields. She quickly built their campfire, still feeling irrationally proud of her acquired skill.

The humans watched her with unwavering attention; to her surprise, Zana found their stares, the vigilant tension of their still bodies, increasingly unnerving. Humans had been apekind's servants for centuries, it was easy to forget that they had originally been predators.

But what were a few centuries against the millennia their species had walked the world? A blink of an eye, nothing more. After meeting Alan and Peet, humans who had never been tamed by apes, Zana had decided that she never wanted to meet truly wild humans. And maybe it had been unwise to awaken the instincts of these two here...

... ah, well. As soon as she'd bring out the cooked ham and the salads, that call of the wild would be fade into the background as quickly as they could fill their stomachs. Better get that fire going, then. She flicked the smashed remains of the box into the hungry flames. It hit the already burning kindlings, causing them to collapse in a fountain of sparks.

Boy, who had observed the whole procedure with the fixed attention of a cat ready to pounce on a mouse, jumped backwards, startling both Eivas and Zana. He had kept a greater distance from the fire than Eivas, who now turned to Zana with a puzzled expression. No spark had landed on him, so Boy had probably just reacted to the sudden movement of the—

The human was frantically patting himself down, turning on his own axis; Zana stared, frozen in place, as his movements became ever more hectic, the patting turning into slaps. He was using both hands, ignoring his injured shoulder.

"Boy, no, don't move that arm, the sparks didn't even fly that far, stop that—"

He didn't seem to hear her; he had collapsed onto the ground, maybe dizzy from spinning around so fast, and was now rolling to and fro on the ground, his mouth wide open, but still eerily silent. He was gasping for breath, but not even a whimper escaped his scarred throat.

And suddenly it hit Zana. She had seen this before — Peet, thrashing in the river, caught in the nightmare of his torture by Urko. Boy was reliving a nightmare of his own before her eyes; the world that had Zana and Eivas in it, the safety of the shelter, the serenity of a sunny morning spent working together on the greenhouse, had vanished. He was writhing on the grass in blind panic, trapped in a memory of fire and agony and death.

Without thinking, Zana grabbed the bucket that they had used to bathe their feet in just moments ago, and tipped it out over Boy. She fell to her knees and pulled the coughing, shivering human into her arms, stroking his head, his shoulders, his sides. "I doused it, I doused the fire, do you feel it? You're all wet, and cold, not a single spark of heat on you anymore, you're safe, darling boy, you're not burning up, it was just a memory, just an image in your mind, you're safe here, you're here, you're not there anymore, everything is fine, everything is alright..."

She continued murmuring reassurances in his ear, not sure if he could even hear her, and stroking his limbs in the hope that touch would reach him better than words, until the shivering stopped and she felt his body go limp. He was exhausted from the ordeal; she remembered Peet breaking down on the river shore, but back then, Alan had taken care of him. Zana wished she had asked him what exactly he had done.

She looked up and was met with Eivas' wide-eyed stare. "He is afraid of fire," she stated the obvious. "I think maybe that's what injured his throat."

"But nothing happened," Eivas wondered. "He was behind me, and the sparks didn't even reach me."

"But he thought they touched him," Zana said. "And that was enough. I wonder what happened to him..."

They would probably never find out, even if the injury hadn't rendered him mute; Peet could talk just fine, and he still refused to utter a single word about his time in Urko's hands.

This strategy hadn't served him very well, though; he had suffered from nightmares and insomnia, his quick temper had become erratic and irritable, and his behavior ever more reckless. If Zana allowed herself to think about it, her worries about the humans' fate on their quest towards a mythic human city became so intense that her gut clenched in response; and in the same instant, guilt reared its ugly head. She had intended to do something about Peet's trauma response. But she had put it off again and again and now he was beyond her reach, and if anything happened to him or Alan because she had procrastinated on helping him deal with the aftermath of Urko's cruelty...

But she could help Boy. No more excuses; she wouldn't make the same mistake as with Peet here. "Go and get vetya Zorya," she said to Eivas. "We need to take care of Boy, and I need to talk to her about... some things."

Eivas cast a longing glance at the food basket, but got to his feet and trotted off without protest. Maybe he still hoped for a treat when he came back. As far as Zana was concerned, he was welcome to eat the whole basket, straw lid and all.

She looked down on the half-conscious boy in her arms. I wanted to be able to touch you without you trying to flee, she thought. But not like this. Why do all my wishes concerning you get fulfilled in the worst possible way?

Eivas arrived with Zorya in tow a short while later, and after one look at the delirious human, Zorya decided that Boy would spend the rest of the day, and if they could detain him, also the following day, in the shelter's infirmary. The nurse would try to put his injured arm back into a sling — this time tying it to his waist so that he wouldn't be able to pull it out again — and give him some light sedation. Zana was commandeered to walk Boy down to the building and to assist the nurse, a small, stocky Chimpanzee with an air of being profoundly unimpressed by anything that crossed the doorstep of her infirmary; together, they managed to treat Boy and persuade him to lie down on one of the pallets.

"What happened?" Zorya asked when Zana finally came out again; she had waited in front of the main entrance.

Zana quickly recounted the incident. "Whenever I think I'm making progress, I'm actually making things worse," she concluded dejectedly. "I don't know why he doesn't run for the hills when he sees me coming."

"They can tell if you hurt them intentionally or not," Zorya said. "He senses that you don't mean any harm."

"That doesn't mean I'm not a hazard to his health," Zana objected. "I just stirred his worst memory, going by his reaction."

"Well, we'll see how he reacts to you tomorrow," Zorya said lightly. She put a hand on Zana's shoulder. "But going by what I've seen so far, I'm optimistic that he won't hold it against you. You are making great progress, Mila, don't sell yourself short all the time."

They began slowly walking towards the main gates. "I saw that you're already nearly done with the greenhouse," Zorya remarked. "That's great — I was able to organize a great deal of muslin for the wind screens. If we can procure some tree wax, they'll also be waterproof."

"I'd still love to have some glass panels, at least for the roof," Zana sighed. "Fabric screens are great, but they absorb a lot of light."

Back in the City, everyone used screens for their windows; glass was almost unknown. It was too heavy and fragile to use in the tree-houses that the upper classes preferred, and too expensive for the lower classes. Besides, the climate was hotter and drier than in the mountains, and even in the rainy season, projecting roofs and fabric canopies were sufficient to divert the water from the windows. The screens were mostly used for the shadow they provided.

"Still determined to grow opers?" Zorya teased. "You're welcome to try your hand at them, but you have to find a way to raise money for those glass panels yourself. I can give you the address of a glassblower, so you'll have a cost estimation."

"Yes, please," Zana said with more enthusiasm than she felt. How was she supposed to raise money? She had burrowed in her room ever since Galen had secured his post as district veterinarian; she didn't know anybody but Zorya, and had probably made an enemy of half of the senior families of Chubla thanks to her feud with Aska and her friends.

This will probably good for me, like eating more leafy greens. Forcing me to come out of my shell, make connections, immerse myself in the social scene.

She could feel her mood drop another dozen feet at that thought. "Maybe I should start selling some wonder elixir," she muttered. "It seems to be a fool-proof method of making lots of money in the shortest possible time."

"Ah, I'm afraid the market for that particular item is already pretty crowded," Zorya chuckled. "But I'm sure you'll come up with something equally alluring for our dear Chublans."

"How about a wonder stick that can find water and precious objects buried in the ground?" Zana warmed to the joke. "Of course, I'd need your help in providing the myth behind the stick — maybe you found it lying around in that monastery you visit every year."

"Oh, they do have sticks," Zorya laughed. "But they don't use them to find water, as the backsides of some poor acolytes can attest to!"

She suddenly grew serious. "Don't dismiss Zolon's story out of hand, Mila. He might have made a poor choice of company when he hooked up with that Heron character, or he may have had no other choice. But I've heard rumors of that heretic order out in the Forbidden Zone when I was on my retreat — and I heard that rumor from the monks! There may well be something to it."

They had reached the main gate, and huddled in its shadow to escape the sweltering heat — without much success: it was almost noon, and the shadow had crawled up to the base of the gate. Zorya fanned herself.

"This heat is brutal," she moaned. "Thank the Mothers the road is shadowed by trees, or I wouldn't let you walk home just yet."

Zana had still not gotten over Zorya's last remark. "You really think Zolon stole a recipe for a wonder elixir?" she asked, incredulous.

"I didn't say that." Zorya cast a longing glance back to where her office was beckoning from the shadows of her own private copse. "That may well be a fabrication of that Chimpanzee. But if the order does exist, Zolon might be one of them."

"Well, that's neither here nor there," Zana said impatiently. "If there's no way to prove it."

"I need to lie down, and so should you," Zorya gasped, and fanned herself faster. "Well, test him yourself, then, Mila. The heretics are said to have unholy powers — that's why they were driven into exile all these years ago."

"What powers would that be?" Zana was highly skeptical of any supernatural powers. All the unholy things she had witnessed on her escape to the mountains had been committed by ordinary apes.

Zorya turned away from her, eager to get out of the sun. She flapped her hand. "Prophesy, curses, producing unnatural substances out of thin air... anything that no normal ape could do. I guess you'll have to find out yourself, I've never met a heretic myself. I'll see you tomorrow, Mila. Take care not to overheat on your way home."

"Goodbye, Zorya." Zana was eager to escape the scorching sun herself, and not in the mood for discussing supernatural forces anyway.

She sighed a breath of relief when she reached the shadow of the first trees that sheltered the way back to Chubla proper. And in this direction, the road slanted downhill the whole time, which was a blessing for her tired and overheated body. The tips of her fur were so hot that she burned her fingers when she touched it. She thought of the humans who had to go without a proper fur on most of their bodies — they had to be especially vulnerable to the rays of the sun. Alan's skin had reddened quickly, and on one occasion, even blistered.

Boy's skin must've blistered, too — blistered and blackened, and all the fragile tissue underneath must've... what? What happened to you when the flames consumed you? The memory of a rabbit they had roasted over the fire popped up unbidden in her mind. That's what happened to you when you were trapped in a fire: flesh sizzling and contracting and becoming dense and white and dead.

The rabbit had been already been dead when Peet had brought it back to their camp, though. It hadn't felt any pain from the fire. But Boy... what had happened? Why was he only scarred there? Or did he have scars all over his body, scars that he hid like Peet did?

Scars inside and out. Poor Peet.

Zana remembered the promise she had made to herself earlier. But how was she supposed to help Boy if she didn't even know what had happened to him?

She stopped, in the middle of the road, hit by inspiration. Below her, the first houses of Chubla spread out along the hill. If she followed the road, it would take her to the town square and from there, to their house.

Instead, she chose the path branching off it, the path leading down to the river.

Even at this time, the circus grounds were packed with visitors, although they tended to crowd under the canopies and at the entrances to the tents, seeking whatever shadow those could provide. Zana wasn't sure that they would find relief inside the tents — it would be even hotter in there, the air stuffy and saturated with body odors from all the other visitors squeezing together.

No sane ape would be out at this hour; it was a small consolation that she wasn't the only fool here.

She didn't know if Zolon was even approachable outside his 'rogue monk'-performance with Heron. She had come here to find out, on the assumption that a character as greedy and cunning as Heron wouldn't waste the business potential of an albino Orangutan by only using him in a single show. A bit of asking around quickly proved her correct: one of the vendors pointed her to the location of Zolon's tent.

It was pretty out of the way, at the outermost edge of the vendors' grounds, close to the private wagons of the circus people near the riverbanks. Zolon would have to cross only the shortest possible distance from his private quarters, protected from the sun by the huge alder trees, to his working space. But it also created a bit of an eerie atmosphere: the clamor of the crowd was muted, and not a lot of people were strolling around, looking a bit lost and eager to dive back into the carnival that was roasting in the glaring sunlight.

Zana suppressed the urge to follow them, and ducked into the entrance of the small tent. She didn't have to stand in line for this 'show' — in fact, she wondered if people even suspected that something was offered in this unmarked, unlighted tent. Maybe it was only illuminated after sunset, in an appropriately spooky manner.

Well, if Zolon really had some unholy spiritual powers, she wouldn't disturb his siesta — he'd know she'd come visit him at this time, right?

It was dark inside the tent, too, and her eyes needed a moment to adjust. When they finally did, Zana saw a single candle burning inside a red-tinted glass lantern, throwing a murky light. The tent seemed otherwise deserted.

"Hello?" she called. "Is anyone here?"

The shadow behind the candle suddenly moved, startling her. She had looked directly at the candle — how could she had missed the shape of the ape sitting behind it?

It was the Orangutan; his fur had an unnatural pink glow thanks to the red candle glass, but his eyes were dark this time, with no light shining directly into them. In his own tent, Zolon could arrange things the way he preferred them.

"You've come to seek answers," he said. His voice was surprisingly deep. "You may not like them."

Zana straightened. "I don't like many things," she said. "I still have to deal with them. I prefer not to be blindsided by them."

Zolon gestured at the chair sitting in front of him on the other side of the table — another detail Zana hadn't noticed in the weak candlelight. She sat down, feeling suddenly nervous. Yes, she wanted answers; and yes, she was pretty sure she wouldn't like them.

"I will throw the bones for you," Zolon said. "State your question."

Zana bit back several remarks — wasn't throwing bones something for low-level witches instead of spiritual authorities like holy monks, and if he had these strange powers, wouldn't he already know what questions she was going to ask? — and focused on her original plan. "I am the caretaker of a mute human. I want to know what happened to him that made him unable to speak."

She didn't mention the injury; humans were unimportant enough to apes that she was reasonably sure word about Boy hadn't reached Zolon, and she didn't want to give him any clues to spin a yarn from.

Zolon moved the candle towards her edge of the table, so that he was now completely hidden in the shadow. In the weak light of the candle, Zana saw an outline appear on the table: a circle, divided into four quarters. A painted animal skin.

She heard the Orangutan rummage in the darkness, and then his hand appeared in the reddish light. He carefully placed a small bone in the center of the cross.

Mothers, is that a human fingerbone? I hope not!

More rummaging in the darkness, the clacking of many small things colliding with each other. Then a small downpour of bones pattered onto the painted skin. Bones, shells, a semble piece, a small rock that had a curious cubic shape and glimmered softly in the light, and a few other shapes Zana couldn't see well enough in the twilight to discern their nature.

What am I doing here? She leaned back in her seat, ready to jump up and leave. This was ridiculous!

"Down, down, down," the deep voice intoned. "Into the bones of the Earth, I seek. Ancestors, lend me your eyes, your ears, your memories, your wisdom."

By now Zana was pretty sure that whatever Zolon was, he was definitely not a monk of any respectable order. This was plain witchcraft, which was to say, superstitious nonsense, and if he started gutting a chicken, she would be out of there in a heartbeat.

But Zolon made no move to satisfy her lurid notions about witchcraft; as far as Zana could make out in the darkness, he was swaying side to side, rocking himself into some sort of trance.

"Darkness," he murmured after a long stretch of silence. "Deep in the Earth, we despair. Blind bodies, skin to skin. Ever the darkness."

Zana felt the fur rise on her arms.

"A light! A light in the deep!" Zolon's voice reverberated on her fur, in her bones. "Fire! Fire in the deep! We cannot get out! We cannot get out! Save me, master! It hurts! It hurts! Help me!"

And she was there. She couldn't escape the image Zolon was casting into her mind. She was surrounded by darkness, then surrounded by yellow, flickering light, engulfed in a roaring firestorm.

She was shaking.

Zolon clutched his throat. Suddenly, she could see him clearly, as if her eyes had gotten sharper, or the light of the candle had grown. "Can't breathe," he moaned. "It hurts!"

Then he opened his eyes, and to her horror, Zana saw flames dancing in them. He was staring directly at her.

"There are eyes on you, little spark," he said.

Zana's breath caught in her throat.

"They seek you, ever seek you, watching from the shadows," the monk whispered, and Zana fought to rise from her chair; it felt as if she was pushing against a mountain weighing down on her. She stumbled towards the entrance.

"Beware, Zana," the voice murmured behind her.

She froze. The tent flap was just two steps away, but she couldn't move.

"Beware of the voice in the wind."

She fled.