This is a fan translation of The Missing Link (Недостаяющее звено) by Mikhail Akhmanov, currently only available in Russian and, because of the author's passing in 2019, unlikely to ever be published in English. This is the third book in a series called Trevelyan's Mission (Миссия Тревельяна), which is a spin-off from the author's Arrivals from the Dark (Пришедшие из мрака) six-book series.

I claim no rights to the contents herein.

Note: Footnotes can be found at the end of the chapter.

Chapter 6

Memories: Inferno

The grav-glider was descending from the huge Shenandi Peak, whose top was above the breathable layers of the atmosphere. This mountain, inaccessible to the natives, was home to the FDAC base located under shield domes. There, under the light of Asura and Rakshasa, a river with potable water gurgled and half a dozen pines, a rose bush, an oak, and two birches grew. By Inferno standards, it was a paradise! That paradise was where Trevelyan's senior colleagues remained: the group's coordinator Karel Hurchenko, volcanologists Chris Allen and Katie Gravina, linguist and ethnographer Takeshi Sai, and meteorologist Zhannat Azimbaev. The young Ivar Trevelyan sent aid them was a Xenological Academy intern with the status of a temporary observer. In order to get his license and become a full member of FDAC, he had to undergo internship on one of the worlds under the Foundation's purview. Some of these were fairly pleasant ones, like Highmore with its warm turquoise ocean or Sakura where white moths circled over the fruit groves. But, as luck would have it, Trevelyan had ended up pulling out Inferno when drawing lots, a world without any moths or fruit groves. No ocean either, just dozens of small seas connected by straights.

The glider was already speeding over the foothills, and Ivar, removing his mask, was inhaling the smells of hot stones, sulfur, and sand brought by the winds of the desert. Behind him rose the mountain ridge veiled in rain and ash clouds, ahead lay a vast brown plain. Between the plain and the foothills, where occasional water streams flowed from the cliffs, stretched a chain of oases. The ridge split the central continent Hiranyakashipu in two, from the western straights to the eastern ones. Beyond it, in the arid northern steppes, lived the long-armed nomadic and cannibalistic barbarians. There was no precise information about those parts, but there were rumors of a great chief called Gray Trumpeter, Brother of the Two Suns, who had united the nomadic tribes. The far south was populated by some savages, also still unknown to the Foundation's envoys, while the equatorial region, where the temperature reached fifty to sixty degrees, remained uninhabited and lifeless. There, under the hot rays of Asura and Rakshasa, steam rose over the seas, the wind carried it up, clumped them into heavy, dense clouds and blew them north, to the Celestial Ridge. The water vapors mixed with volcanic ash and dush, cooled near the ice-covered mountain slopes, and fell back down as rain. The rain fed hossas, temporary rivers and streams that gave life to the oases. The oases stretched in a long chain along the rim of the desert, and this ten-thousand-kilometer belt was the most fertile and habitable region on the planet.

Kyoll, the land of the Barons of the Foothills of the World… In point of fact, the word "kyoll" indicated an oasis master, an independent prince or king, but humans considered the kyolls to be barons, as their domains were far too small to be principalities or kingdoms. An average oasis was about thirty-six square kilometers and could feed a population of three thousand, including a hundred or so slackers: the baron's court and fighting men. The small size of these armies and the barren areas between the oases kept them from conquering other domains. Well, at times they did manage to capture and rob them, but controlling and ruling them was another matter. Imperial notions were foreign to the noble kyolls; this world didn't yet have its own Alexander the Great.

Trevelyan's light vehicle turned east. Now he was moving over the trade route that connected the oases and passed along the cliff edges; red and brown mountains rose on the left, while the edge of the desert could be seen about a kilometer or two to the right, marked by grayish-yellow sand. The area along both sides of the trade road wasn't entirely barren. There was occasional vegetation here, although it was far too gnarled and stunted to call them trees or even bushes. Remembering the pines and birches growing at the base, Trevelyan sighed longingly. Even the word "greenery" couldn't apply to the local flora, as the leaves were mostly red, brown, and yellow.

Over the past hour, having crossed four hundred and twenty kilometers, he'd flown over three oases. Ivar knew nothing of the kyolls ruling them. He hadn't yet learned the names and pedigrees of all the masters of this land, even though he had met the most noted individuals. Not personally, of course. He'd seen their holograms, as information on them, carefully collected by Hurchenko and his predecessors, was in the base computer. Baron Elsanna ruled the largest oasis with eight thousand people, and his castle—or Hearth, as they called them in Kyoll—had a total of four stories. Baron Ikangassa was extremely hairy: his mane of hair came down to his buttocks, while his mustache, which was already uncharacteristic of Ravanians, hung down nearly to his chin. Baron Appakini was highly warlike; having gathered an army of two hundred men, he'd been raiding his neighbors and even attacked the desert tribes—there was nothing to take from them besides fleas and lice, but the baron was now known as a great general. The Yanukerre Hearth was ruled by two brothers, Yanukerre Senior and Yanukerre Junior, and both loved women; their harems had women from the trade cities, natives of Vritra and Rahu, and even, according to Takeshi and Hurchenko, girls from the far south. The harem served not only the two barons, but also their honored guests, especially if they came bearing gifts. Baron Ummizaka's bodyguards included a steppe cannibal from beyond the Ridge, a beast of incredible ferocity, with huge fangs; some claimed that he could bite through anyone's throat and quickly gnaw their head off. Compared to such distinguished kyolls, Baron Ommittaha, to whose domain Trevelyan was heading, wasn't particularly famous, although he also had a hobby: food and drink. He could swallow a braised boa in one go and wash it down with five mugs of liquor.

He saw no caravans and no lone travelers on the trade road. It was sandstorm season, not a good time for trade; they started suddenly, continued for two or three days, and buried everything living under tons of sand. The storms were followed by Sons of the Desert, who dug up the sand, finished off the survivors, and took their rightful spoils: the meat of the pack animals and the cargo. While they didn't eat the people, they did drink their blood — any liquid was precious in the desert.

Trevelyan's glider was flying a hundred meters above the ground and didn't go any higher over the inhabited oases. The silent aircraft was being concealed by a veil imitating a cloud. Besides, Inferno's natives rarely looked up. There were no birds on this planet, and the sky was so furiously bright when Asura and Rakshasa were at their apex, that it could blind any brave person who was curious enough. As for rains that gave Kyoll life, they didn't expect them there and didn't glance upward in expectation. Everyone knew that it only rained in the mountains, and the moisture came down to the ground with hossa streams.

An hour's walk from Ommittaha's Hearth, Trevelyan came down and left the glider. The heat and the gravity fell upon him as a dual burden: it was over forty degrees here, and the gravity was a third again as high as on Earth. Then again, he'd been preparing for it, especially for the dry burning heat and the near total lack of humidity in the air, so his medical implant quickly restored his thermoregulation. The sweat flowing down his face and back dried up, the burning touch of Rakshasa turned into acceptable warmth, and only the unusual weight reminded him that he wasn't native to this planet. He did, however, look like a Kyoll inhabitant: a thin body without an ounce of fat, a slightly flattened nose, a low brow, dark beady eyes under the protruding brow ridges, an enormous mouth, and thick dark hair coming down to his shoulders. Katie Gravina, who also doubled as a doctor, had done a great job on his appearance; when she was done, and Ivar looked in the mirror, he nearly had a panic attack. But people got used to everything, especially interns who weren't supposed to complain.

Trevelyan adjusted the cloak hanging off his bony shoulders and took a few steps to make sure the sandals weren't chafing his feet.

Then he hung a waterskin on his shoulder, wrapped a piece of rope around his waist in lieu of a belt, and stuck a gnarled branch of the sennshi tree—an attribute of his profession—under it. He was a hishiaggin, a servant of the Water God Tarrahishi, the most honored deity in these parts. But the respect paid to the god didn't apply to his adepts. If a hishiaggin was unable to find sweet water, he was suspended by his legs. Usually naked and in the sun.

A wide bronze bracelet, the symbol of a devoted hishiaggin, glinted on Trevelyan's left arm, from the wrist to the elbow. It was adorned with nine small red garnets, positioned in the shape of a water rune, and rough-hewn sennshi leaves. In addition, the bracelet contained a remote for controlling the equipment that remained in the glider: a transmitter calibrated to the base's frequency, and intravisor, and a compact but powerful laser.

Trevelyan pressed a red stone, and his aircraft rose into the sky, wrapped in a foggy veil. The white haze hovered at the top of the cliffs, and when Ivar started walking, it followed him — a small cloud barely noticeable in the brilliant sky. He walked fast. Heat flowed from the cliffs, their surface was cut up by cracks, and occasionally there were fairly deep caves with clumps of dry reeds and black circles of firepits. These grottos served as shelter for travelers when Rakshasa, the hot white sun, was at its apex, and everything living, including the sand boas started looking for blessed shade. One could sit out sandstorms in a cave, if it turned out to be a long one, hide from the predator Four Paws, start a campfire, and roast meat and digga fruit in the embers. Occasionally, if one was very lucky, it was even possible to escape from bandits.

The sky over the desert, from which Trevelyan was separated by gnarled bushes, seemed clear. That was cold comfort, though; a sandstorm could arrive at any moment, as the weather front at the threshold of foothills and the sultry plain was unstable, and barometric pressure could change ridiculously fast. The meteorologist Zhannat Azimbaev had warned him that tornadoes appeared in an instant, moved at supersonic speeds, and were capable of producing a mountain of sand in a matter of minutes. That was why all the inhabited oases were hidden behind the protection of the mountain spurs, and if a mountain was too low, they built a wall on top of it. Over the past several decades, the kyolls had significantly improved both their construction and irrigation, mastering the useful skills introduced by humans. But there was still a lack of potable water—or sweet water, as it was called here.

Ivar had been walking for forty minutes. The trail started moving up the slope, onto a rocky crest, forcing him to slow down. Despite all the technological tricks, the medical implant, and the additional skin layer, Trevelyan was sweating profusely; while the white star was no longer at its apex, its rays, along with the heat produced by the red sun, were squeezing the moisture out of him as if he was a sponge. He took a few sips from the waterskin and, after climbing up onto the crest, paused to catch his breath and look around. For the first time, he was looking at a kyoll Hearth with his own eyes instead of on a holographic projection, and for the first time he was going to interact with members of a species under patronage. He felt trepidation bordering on uncertainty. He suddenly realized the massive gulf between theory and practice.

Below him, protected by two mountain spurs, lay an oasis, the domain of Baron Ommittaha. The domain's shape was reminiscent of a triangle: two spurs, western and eastern, gradually met, with the gap between their far ends blocked off by a wall. The territory was small: five villages next to the mountains, pinkish fields of digga and a local grain that looked like millet, pastures, cattle pens, and a network of narrow canals connected to the river flowing down the mountains. At the place where it fell down onto the plain and split up into artificial ducts there was a massive two-story stone structure, the castle of the local feudal lord. One wing of the castle pressed against a vertical cliff, and the other had a wide gate tower attached to it with metal glinting on the flat roof, indicating that warriors with copper shoulder pads and helmets were walking around there. According to Takeshi Sai's information, Ommittaha's Hearth had a population of about two thousand, but the number was going to come down within a year, unless, of course, they found a new source of sweet water. Ordinarily, Hurchenko would do that, and he was so successful, that he was famous across all the oases from west to east. But this time the search was assigned to the intern.

There was a creak of sandals and clanging of metal as two warriors stepped out from behind the rocks: dirty knee-length tunics, wide leather belts, pot-shaped helmets over the manes of uncombed hair, bent plates of greenish copper, and sarassas on their backs. Their odor caused Trevelyan to wrinkle his face involuntarily.

"Gah!" the taller and stronger of the warriors said. "A hishiaggin! Not Irri, another one. Young!"

Irri was the name Karel Hurchenko was known under in these parts. He was respected here; he was a skilled diplomat and had a large fist.

"He has sweet water," the shorter warrior said, his eyes staring at Trevelyan's waterskin. His huge mouth stretched in a grin. "There's young meat, and there's water to wash it down with… What do you say, brother?"

"Hey!" Trevelyan took several steps back and picked up a stone from the ground. "Get out of my way, you brainless oncka! I've come to your kyoll!"

The warriors bared their teeth silently, gobbling him up with their hungry eyes. From the viewpoint of civilized humanoids—humans, Kni'lina, Teruxi, etc.—they looked incredibly ugly: mouths stretching from ear to ear, greasy hair, low brows, rare growths around nearly lipless mouths. Ivar regretfully recalled that he looked the same way at the moment.

The taller warrior waved his hand, "Go, hishiaggin. We don't eat shit. But you could share with us your water."

"Another time," Trevelyan grunted and started running down the trail. A signal horn howled behind him; while the two bastards standing on watch were hungry, they didn't shirk their duties. Then again, the people of Kyoll hadn't eaten human flesh in three centuries, which was why their region was considered to be the most civilized on the planet.

After coming down the hill, Trevelyan leapt over an irrigation ditch and headed towards the castle past the fields of digga and the pastures where hffa, an absurd cross between a donkey and a goat, were roaming under the supervision of dirty naked teenagers. They were diligently grazing on prickly yellow grass, leaving behind clumps of long fur that hung down to the ground, and occasionally screeching and poking each other with horns. The lone traveler caught the attention of the young shepherds, who immediately decided to have some fun. An entire gang ran towards the road, picking up thorns and manure on the way. Trevelyan paused, shook his fist at them, made a scary face, and clashed his teeth. The teens froze, having apparently noticed the hishiggian's bracelet. The servants of the Water God weren't known for their harmless disposition and could, if necessary, use their rope belt as a lash.

On the way to the castle, he crossed several more ditches. Muddy water with a noticeable smell of sulfur flowed through them. The moisture falling onto the mountains was thoroughly mixed with volcanic vapors and contained so many nasty things that anyone from the Earth Federation would have immediately kicked the bucket after several sips. But on Inferno they drank this water and ate the animals raised on it, as well as the fruit filled with the poisons, as the microflora in the stomachs of the natives neutralized them. But for that they also had to drink clean water, the one they called sweet, which came from natural or artificial wells and geysers. There were pockets of groundwater under the oases, and hishiaggins knew how to find them, but there were also cases of the water in question being bad, filled with salts, or maybe the aquifer was far too deep to reach by digging. In those cases, a hishiaggin wasn't long for this world.

Trevelyan approached the cliff from which the river fell down with a roar, then splitting into irrigation ditches. He was facing rough-hewn steps of basalt slabs; this staircase led up to the castle tower and the already open gate. After climbing it, he saw a small procession moving towards him: two warriors with copper sarassas, two more carrying hffa horns on tall poles, three richly dressed men, followed by the corpulent Baron Ommittaha in huge boots, pants made of hffa fur, and a worn jacket embroidered with dull shell beads. The baron's eyebrows had merged into one over his nose and were hanging down in sloppy bunches, his beady eyes were sleepy, and there was a mustache two fingers in length under his nose, which was an indicator of noble blood and belonging to an old bloodline. The baron's left hand held a jug of local beer, while the right one had a marinated digga fruit the size of a small melon.

Getting down on one knee, Trevelyan splashed some of the contents of his waterskin onto the baron's boot, which was a sign of the highest respect.

"May Tarrahishi be generous to your Hearth, great kyoll…"

"May," Ommittaha agreed. Then his strong teeth bit off a chunk of digga. He chewed it, swallowed, washed it down with a swig of beer, and stared at Trevelyan, from his sandals to his hair. "You don't look like Irri, hishiaggin. Where's Irri?"

"Kahh, his apprentice. Irri sent me here after learning that one of your villages is about to run out of sweet water."

"Why didn't he come himself?"

"He was hunting in the mountains, and Four Paws leapt on him from the rocks. Now Irri is busy treating his wounded leg."

Handing the digga to one of his associates, the baron opened his jacket, scratched his belly with thick stubby fingers, and noted dubiously, "You're an apprentice then, Kahh… I don't know if the water you will find is going to be blessed."

"It will," Trevelyan calmed him. "Irri taught me well, great kyoll. And the Water God is merciful towards me."

"It would be best to wait for Irri," Ommittaha muttered, clearly trying to bring down the price. "My people believe that Tarrahishi himself has urinated on him. Irri always found us sweet water."

"And so will I. I did say that Tarrahishi is merciful towards me. He urinated twice on me."

The baron took a swig from his jug.

"All hishiaggins say that. If you, stinking hffa spawn, are to be believed, then Tarrahishi no longer has any urine left after pouring it all on your kind…" He sniffed the jug but didn't take another swig, instead barking out, "Three water bracelets! Narrow golden ones! Agreed?"

"No, great kyoll. Two wide ones, like the ones given to Irri."

Silver and golden bracelets were worthless on their own, as water was universal currency on Inferno. A narrow golden bracelet of forged wire corresponded to a keg of sweet water of about thirty liters, while eight narrow bracelets equated to a wide one. Silver bracelets were only used to measure bitter water, like the one flowing in the mountain streams and primarily meant for irrigation. The ratio between bitter and sweet water depended on market conditions, how filled the streams and wells in a Hearth were, the time of year, and speculations of traders. The local society was primitive, but they already knew of bankers/usurers they called toltarra, although their banks stored drinking water rather than coins.

"Two wide ones…" Ommittaha said thoughtfully and took a swig. "An apprentice needs to be more modest, Kahh. Five narrow ones."

"But I'm the apprentice of Irri himself!" Trevelyan lifted his head proudly. "One wide and three narrow. Only out of respect for you, great kyoll."

The baron wordlessly pulled down his pants and showed what he thought of a hishiaggin's respect. His member was enormous, at least as large as that of a terrestrial stallion. The warriors with sarassas and poles laughed in approval.

"You're vile, like those bastards that run around in the desert," Ommittaha said, throwing his empty jug on the ground. "You have angered me, hishiaggin! Maybe I'm not going to let you seek water in my Hearth. Maybe I'm going to have you buried into the ground or tied up and tossed into the sand. The Sun Gods Uann and Aukkat will drink your blood, and the snakes will get the meat."

"Then the people of your Hearth will start dying, and the women will give birth to freaks," Ivar noted. As Takeshi and Hurchenko had warned him, Ommittahha was turning out to be miserly.

"Start dying?" The baron picked at his ear. "Let them die! Another hishiaggin will come, find water, and women will make more healthy pups. It's not a complicated task!"

"No hishiaggin is going to look for water for four narrow bracelets," Trevelyan countered stubbornly.

"Hah! I'll give you one wide bracelet."

"One wide and two narrow, great kyoll."

"You're haggling like a contemptible Toufan! One wide and one narrow!"

The Toufan people lived in cities on the west coast. Those merchants did indeed know how to haggle and were very greedy. They wouldn't even part with sand in a desert for free.

"One wide and one narrow." Trevelyan once again kneeled and spilled a drop of water onto the baron's boot as a sign of agreement. "May it be so! Tarrahishi has heard us!"

He could've sold his services for a significantly smaller price but would've failed his internship. He was supposed to be in character as a servant of the Water God, none of whom worked for free or for a pittance; on this world, the skills of a hishiaggin were valued greatly, and many of them were as rich as toltarras.

The baron burped and confirmed his agreement with a nod. Then he turned to his associates, "This is Abbi, my toltarra. He will take you, hishiaggin. Go!"

The toltarra turned out to be a middle-aged man with shifty eyes whose clothing was far more luxurious than Ommittahha's: shoes, pants, and belt of mottled patterned leather of a sand python, a scarlet shirt with slits on the sleeves that were trimmed with black rope, and golden water bracelets from the wrist to the elbow. But, despite this attire worthy of a nobleman, he looked somewhat crooked.

Trevelyan followed Abbi down the steps. They silently passed the village surrounded by digga groves and hffa paddocks that stunk of manure. The village—three dozen wicker huts and a well with a sleeping guard—was empty; its inhabitants were busy among the plantings creeping on the ground, placing large yellow fruit into piles. The diggas would then be dried and ground into flour, marinated in stone barrels, or squeezed into oil in a winepress. In their fresh state, they would be baked, which helped get rid of the sulfuric aftertaste. In Kyoll, digga was an extremely important item, almost as valuable as sweet water.

Trevelyan surreptitiously pressed one of the stones on his bracelet. This activated a scanner on the glider that floated as a white cloud in the hot sky; the device was scanning under the surface for groundwater, hidden rivers, and moisture filled caverns. The water in such pockets was often under pressure, and digging for it could result in a tragedy. The powerful stream could burst out of the ground and throw the diggers five, ten, or even twenty meters into the air. It would be best to find a source that wasn't too deep, wasn't too violent, but was sizable, enough to last for several years.

When the village was behind them, Ivar pulled the branch from under his belt, and said, "In Tarrahishi's name! I'm a ready to ask for his mercy. What village has run out of water?"

"Not this one, honored hishiaggin." His bracelets jingling, Abbi waved in the direction of the well. "There's still much sweet water here. It ran out among those slackers that live at the edge of the Hearth. My home is there. If you find water, you will be my guest."

Trevelyan grimaced in contempt and shook the sennshi branch.

"If? You doubt I can do it?"

"What doubts, Kahh?" The toltarra began bowing and making gestures of respect. "How could anyone doubt the apprentice of Irri, whom I know well? Although he never said he had an apprentice. The times are difficult now, the digga harvest is small, the hffa have grown thin, not enough water anywhere, and many impostors are walking the roads of Kyoll…"

"The times are always difficult," Trevelyan said. "As for the impostors, it's easy enough to tell them apart. They didn't go through training, haven't been blessed by Tarrahishi, and can't do anything. I'm a true master! Soon you're going to see how I work!"

Abbi opened his large mouth, "Hah! I will, if it will be permitted."

This mysterious phrase remained suspended in the air. Either the usurer was hinting at something, or Ivar's knowledge of the Kyoll language was insufficient. He'd learned the language through the hypnoemitter and had believed that he spoke it perfectly, but who could really tell? There were other modes of communication besides words: intonation, gestures, incoherent exclamations, and also the strange grin on the toltarra's face. It seemed that something was amusing him.

Beyond the fruit groves lay a more deserted area overgrown with yellow grass. Here, among piles of manure, roamed hffa, and at the far end of the pasture stood the huts of a village under a mountain spur. That rocky ridge reached thirty meters in height and appeared to serve as a reliable shield against sandstorms. It was cut up by cracks, and at the very bottom, just above the ground level, gaped the opening of a large cave.

Abbi's hand reached out towards the hole.

"There's my home, hishiaggin, and this is the village whose well with sweet water has run dry. Now you will go alone. The people here hate me, they think I must give them water. But I'm not so rich as to provide water for three hundred bakku."

Bakku meant something like "slumdog." Grimacing, Trevelyan said, "Soon there will be enough water for everyone."

Turning towards the river, he walked across the meadow, scaring t he grazing animals and rounding the piles of stinking manure. He was perfectly fine with the solitude, as it was time for him to contact the glider, and he didn't want any witnesses. Finding himself in the middle of the pasture, Ivar turned on the communicator, brought the bracelet to his lips, and said, "Scanning report."

The faceless voices of the equipment began to whisper hurriedly. The analysis was complete, the map of the aquifer had been compiled and tied to the former well that was located at the center of the settlement. The layer feeding it hadn't been exhausted, only the groundwater level had lowered, and reaching the moisture was possible in several places on the outskirts of the village. While the new well would have to be deeper, ten to twelve meters instead of eight, the Kyolls were skilled diggers and good builders. They made well walls from stones, cementing them with lime and tree resin.

Besides the water close to the surface, the scanner had also marked a pocket under the meadow, right under Trevelyan's feet. But that vast and sweet source had no practical purpose, as it was located forty to sixty meters deep, the water was under the pressure of several atmospheres, and the pocket itself was under basalt and olivine. It was impossible to get through that rocky dome with a copper pickaxe, and it wasn't necessary either.

Trevelyan got his bearings, selected a suitable spot a few paces from the village huts, and headed there confidently. He'd been noticed, and a crowd was already gathering between the houses. Women with disheveled hair, making them look like witches, naked children and teenagers, old men whose bones looked like they were about to cut through the skin… Sunken eyes, dried mouths, rotten teeth, legs covered in purple sores… Ivar didn't see any men in the crowd, as they were busy in the fields at this hour, but there were five or six freaks among the people, which was a sure sign that they'd been in need of clean drinking water for years.

Stopping in the chosen spot and raising the hand with the bracelet high into the air, he called out to Tarrahishi, begging him for mercy and generosity Then he addressed the villagers, "I am Kahh, a hishiaggin. I am going to speak the Five Prayers and support them with the Water Dance in order to appease the great god. Have hope, people! I will find you sweet water, if Tarrahishi allows it! Ready your pickaxes and hoes!"

The crowd was silent, but it kept growing larger. Men were running from the near and far fields. They were as thin, dirty, and tousled as the fair half of the natives. There were also two dozen old men and women, whose appearance was so terrifying that Trevelyan had to look away.

He started the First Prayer, then switched to the Second, but the audience wasn't showing any enthusiasm. On the contrary, they were looking at him with open suspicion. No one was repeating the words of the sacred hymns with him, no one was falling into a trance, giving in to hysterics, lifting their hope-filled eyes towards the hot sky. During the instruction, Karel Hurchenko had told Trevelyan that crowd support wasn't necessary but desirable: the more shouting and shrieking there was, the greater likelihood there would be that the Water God turned his merciful gaze onto the hishiaggin.

Ivar completed the Third Prayer, then started dancing while reciting the Fourth and Fifth. He kicked his legs high into the air, twirled his backside, threw the sennshi branch into the air and waved it around excitedly, aiming it in all the cardinal directions; the assumption was that the god would direct him to the right place during the dance, causing the branch to lower and mark the spot of the future well. For greater effect, Trevelyan bit down onto a small capsule hidden in his cheek, and white foam started flowing down his lips and chin. In general, he was doing his very best, following Takeshi and Hurchenko's advice to the letter. At the end, Ivar produced a piercing screech, stuck the branch into the ground, and collapsed next to it, demonstrating utter exhaustion. Then he grunted, "Finis coronat opus!" [Footnote 1], got to his feet, and commanded, "Dig here!"

But the crowd remained silent. One of the women picked up a handful of viscous hffa manure, with streams of the smelly sludge flowing between her fingers; the teenagers also started collecting manure and stones. All that was happening in oppressive silence. Finally, an old woman that looked like a harpy pointed a bony finger at Ivar and screeched, "That's not Irri! It's some filthy onkka!"

The word "onkka" could be interpreted differently depending on the speaker's tone and expression. When spoken quietly, it indicated that someone wasn't particularly smart. If the voice was raised, then they were a fool. But the loudness and the screech indicated extreme insult. So Trevelyan had no doubt that he'd just been called a cretin. A moron at best.

Straightening proudly, he pounded his chest and said, "I am Kahh, Irri's apprentice!"

"But not Irri!" the old witch objected, and the crowd immediately started talking.

"Not Irri, no, not Irri…"

"One of those who claim to be his apprentices…"

"Another fraud…"

"The water he finds isn't going to be sweet and blessed…"

"That water will only cause rot in the belly…"

"And in women's wombs too…"

"For impostors displease Tarrahishi…"

Then the dull mutterings were drowned out by a furious scream, "Get him!" Manure and stones flew in Trevelyan's direction. While he could dodge the stones, more crap was being thrown, and those projectiles were more dangerous; Ivar knew that if it ended up in his eyes, he would lose the ability to see and would meet a sad end: they'd either trample him or stone him to death. The Kyolls, and the other inhabitants of Inferno, weren't known for being merciful, and these, from Ommittahha's Hearth who have forgotten the taste of real water, were as ferocious as the northern barbarians.

A stone hit Trevelyan's head, another one struck a knee, his cloak was covered in the sticky smelly sludge, his eyes were ringing from the screeching and the roaring. The Kyolls were moving towards him: ugly figures, bared teeth, twisted faces, clenched fists… Turning, he ran.

Either by fate or some sixth sense, he was running towards the mountains and Abbi's cave. Despite the high gravity, he managed to get ahead of the crowd; these people were far too exhausted, far too dehydrated to match his strength and speed. But the fury and the numbers were making the Kyolls dangerous, and no matter the reason for the anger, Trevelyan couldn't destroy them. It would've been so easy to send a command to the glider, strike with a laser beam, incinerate the crowd or, at least, frighten them away… But he didn't even think about it. He was a xenologist, an FDAC intern, and the Foundation's first commandment forbade raising up arms against more primitive cultures. Certain things were permissible, of course: a stone against a stone, a sword against a sword, an arrow against an arrow, but not laser beams, plasma streams, freezers, poison gases, or mental wave emitters… Such weapons were only for fighting equals.

He crossed the meadow in giant leaps, hopped over a low fence, and passed a paddock with well-fed boas sleeping in the sand. The dark gaping cave opened up before him. Torches were burning deep within, while the toltarra Abbi was standing in front of the entrance with his hands stuck under his belt and grinning widely. Rows of guards with spears and sarassas were stretched out on both sides of him, and there was a good number of them, maybe thirty or forty men. This troop could probably raze this entire village to the ground and slaughter all its inhabitants, and they knew it. Turning around, Trevelyan saw the crowd stop in front of the fence. The fury in their eyes had faded, their roars turned into dull mutterings, and not a single hand rose to hurl a stone or a huge lump of manure.

"There you are, Kahh, there you are! Just in time for dinner!" Abbi exclaimed. "You made a wise decision running to me. Those despicable bakku," he glanced at the crowd, "will stand here for a short while, grumble, and leave. They won't dare tangle with my men. So you're safe and even unharmed, from what I can tell, although you did manage to get yourself covered in shit. Great Kamma, Goddess of the Sands! You stink, hishiaggin! Your appearance and smell are unsuitable for a meal in a decent home…" The toltarra scratched his head, shook it, and finished with the same grin, "But I am kind and will give you bitter water to wash and clean yourself, after which we will have a stewed boa and beer. But for now stand farther away and wait for the jugs to be brought. Farther, Kahh! Even farther!"

The boa wasn't bad. At the very least, Trevelyan had managed to crew and swallow a few chunks with the texture of rubber. But he couldn't bear to drink the muddy swill they called beer, even though, like every Academy cadet, he'd taken special training and could, if necessary, subsist on grass, tree bark, grasshoppers, and worms. The toltarra Abbi was eating heartily and throwing sympathetic glances at his guest, probably assuming that the nervous shock had affected his appetite. Washing the boa down with a few swigs, he slid the dish with marinated digga towards Trevelyan.

"Strong beer needs to be chased with food. Eat, Kahh!"

The digga's smell was unpleasant, and its appearance was repulsive, but refusal would offend his host. Closing his eyes, Ivar felt for the flippery fruit and plunged his teeth into it. The digga tasted like a cucumber marinated in sulfuric acid. His stomach immediately rebelled, but then the medical implant under his ribs started working and suppressed the rebellion. Still, his stomach grumbled, his throat burned, and Trevelyan took a sip from his waterskin. Then he said, "It seems that this isn't the first time Irri's apprentices have been to this Hearth. How many have come here before me?"

"Four, and all of them asked for at least two wide bracelets. The first one found nothing and left peacefully. The second one made the entire village dig a well by the mountains from the rise of the red sun to the setting of the white one, but instead of water they found a snake nest. Ommittahha's warriors hanged this hishiaggin on the tower gate. The third knew none of the Five Prayers and was exiled in shame. The fourth one to declare himself Irri's apprentice was stoned and beaten to death. He turned out to be not as quick as you."

Trevelyan nodded, "Yes, I do run fast. And I really am Irri's apprentice."

"Perhaps, perhaps. I know Irri, he's been here many times and eaten digga from my plate." Pushing a pile of bones aside, the toltarra belched and wiped his fingers on the hem of his shirt. "You said he's treating his wounded leg? Four Paws strikes with its claws like with a knife, and wounds from them are dangerous… So Irri's going to have another scar in addition to the one on his back."

"He doesn't have a scar on his back," Trevelyan said angrily. "If you want to test me, Abbi, try something smarter."

The toltarra giggled approvingly and nodded.

"I believe you! You are Irri's apprentice! I was watching you and saw that you were doing everything right, your Prayers and Dance are equal to those of the greatest masters. And you even look like Irri."

"No, I don't! Irri has been looking at the suns for twice as long as I have, and his hair reaches down to his knees!"

"I'm not talking about the number of days lived. Both of you..." The toltarra narrowed his eyes slyly, "You don't seem to be afraid of anything. Or anyone. Not Kyoll Ommittaha, not his warriors, not the bandits hiding in the desert, and not even the cannibals beyond the Celestial Ridge."

"What does one favored by Tarrahishi have to fear?" Trevelyan asked. "All I have to do is blink, and the god will come to my aid, leaving only a pile of trash where anyone who offends me once was."

"Hah! I'd like to see that! Ha-ha-ha!" Abbi laughed with his mouth open wide. "A pile of trash then? And yet you were very quick to run away from those bakku!"

"They know not what they do. I forgive them."

"He forgives them! Hah!" The toltarra closed his mouth and rose from his dining mat. "All right, Irri's apprentice. Come, I want to show you something."

They left the chamber cut from the rock that served as the dining room into a fairly wide hallway. It was the best time of the day with the white sun moving to set, the huge red one not yet touching the horizon, and the air noticeably cooler. Here, in the cave, under a thick layer of basalt, it was no more than thirty-five degrees. Abbi led Trevelyan deep into his underground refuge, past barrels and baskets with food, past a large cave where the guards slept, past the passages to the bedchambers, concealed behind curtains made of mountain kangaroo pelts, straight to a staircase with uneven rough-hewn steps. The host and his guest descended to a narrow grotto that had burning torches and a tall guard — based on his appearance, he was a desert mercenary rather than a Kyoll. He handed the toltarre a torch, then, tensing his muscles, opened a heavy door. There were more steps behind it that led to a small chamber with a low and narrow passage. Abbi slid aside a shield covering it, and they, bowing their heads, crossed into a large cavern.

The air here was damp, the temperature was no higher than twenty degrees, and Trevelyan noticed his host shiver. Water was dripping from the tall ceiling that had clearly been evened out. Below, in long pools cut from the stone, there was also water, and it wasn't cloudy like in the mountain hossas but crystal clear, having obviously come from good springs or deep wells. Counting seventeen such pools, Ivar decided that this water could last the entire village half a year. Maybe even longer, as there was maybe a hundred and fifty cubic meters of water here.

"You're a wealthy man, Abbi," he said.

"You call this wealth?" the water banker shrugged. "Oshshi from Yanukerre lands has three such caves in different Hearths, while Zagga has one, but it's much larger. Even here I could keep more water here than all the hffa of Kyoll Ommittahha could possibly carry. A portion of my stores is empty."

Taking a closer look, Trevelyan saw that the inside of the pools had been lined with a shiny metal. It was glinting mysteriously through the water, and the flame of the torch was splitting into multiple reflections in these mirrors.

"Silver?"

"Yes, Kahh. Your master suggested that I cover the stone with thin sheets of it. He said that it would store sweet water better."

"He's right." Ivar lifted his gaze to the cave ceiling. "If I were you, I'd also cover the ceiling with sheets like that. Unless it's going to bankrupt you."

"It won't. This metal isn't water or food. There's lots of it in the foothills, and it's useless. Too soft for weapons."

The toltarra fell silent. He wanted something, Trevelyan thought, sensing the waves of hesitation coming from Abbi. Ivar's sixth sense was telling him that Abbi, that cunning swindler, was looking for a way to cheat him."

"If you'd have opened a spring to these bakku, and Ommittahha, our great kyoll, had paid you, then he would own what you found. He would have given a third to the village and taken two-thirds for himself," the toltarra said finally.

"I know. It's the same custom everywhere: whoever pays a hishiaggin owns the water."

"If you take payment from my hands, and my people dig a well, then I will be the owner."

"May Kamma curse me if that is not so! I believe we agreed to a wide bracelet and a narrow one."

"You and Ommittahha did," Abbi reminded him, grinning slyly. "I'm not a great kyoll, just a poor toltarra. You can see for yourself that my stores are almost gone." He waved a hand to indicate the pools.

"Then what is your price?"

"Three narrow bracelets."

"Right," Trevelyan said. "And now we're back where we started!"

"Four, that's all I can give you, by Tarrahishi's mercy! Remember, Kahh, I was the one who rescued you! I rescued you, helped you get cleaned up, fed you! And think about this too: you've crossed all this way and lost a lot of time. Are you really going to walk away without earning anything? What would Irri say?"

"That I'd made a bad bargain," Ivar grunted. He no longer had any doubt that he'd been a victim of a pair of crooks: Abbi and Kyoll Ommittaha. The fury of the bakku, driven to despair, was a commodity to them, an excellent reason to collude and knock the price down. This wasn't something out of the ordinary in Kyoll or even on Inferno in general. Some Ravanians were dumb and angry, others were cunning, but all, without exception, thought about their own benefit.

"Four narrow ones," the toltarra repeated and jingled the water bracelets. "I will also give you a sack of marinated digga."

"Eat it yourself," Trevelyan said, shuddering. "I need to thing about it. If I agree, I'll show you the spot at red dawn."

Rakshasa, the white sun, rose and set before the huge red Asura, therefore Ravana had two sunrises and two sunsets. The interval between the rising of the two suns underwent a precession with a period of a hundred and twenty thousand years, and someday in the distant future there wouldn't be any nights here, only white and red days. But Trevelyan genuinely hoped he would never have to observe such a curious phenomenon.

"Red dawn!" Confirming the agreement, Abbi tipped his finger in water and swept it across Trevelyan's forehead. "Let's go upstairs, hishiaggin. It's too cold here, and my skin has already frozen to my bones, and the moisture of life isn't keeping my arms and legs warm… Come, I'll take you to your bedchamber. Do you want me to send you a woman? I have girls from the trade cities, and also some of the locals who aren't that thin… Would you like one?"

"I'd prefer some beer and marinated digga," Trevelyan said resignedly.

At night, he got out of the cave to a latrine, a hole in the ground with a wooden board thrown over it. While sitting there, he contacted Hurchenko.

"Impressions, intern?"

"Grim ones." A caustic smell was coming from the hole, and it reminded him of the previous day's unpleasantness. "I wanted to ask about a certain toltarra Abbi. He says he knows you."

"He does," the coordinator informed him.

"What can you tell me about him?"

There was silence, then there was rustling in the speaker built into the bracelet, "He's a bug. Be careful with him, intern. If possible, avoid engaging with him."

"Too late. Ommittaha appointed him to care for me."

"Hmm… And?"

"I found the water, but it didn't produce a desired rection from the people. I ended up getting covered in manure," Trevelyan complained.

"My sympathies. I also got manured… the first time."

"But now you're extremely popular. There are people here… every hishiaggin keeps claiming to be your apprentice… two of them were let go, one was hanged, and another got stoned. Seems I'm number five."

"If you get hanged, I'm going to fail your practice," the coordinator warned him sternly. "Did you find water? You did! Now make them dig a well. And get paid. No less than a wide bracelet!"

"They're offering four narrow ones."

"That's a dumping price. You have to haggle, intern! What did they teach you at the Academy?"

Trevelyan got off the board and walked away from the latrine.

"Coordinator?"

"Yes?"

"Can I make a small miracle?"

"Not recommended."

"It's going to help your authority and magical image. After all, I properly introduced myself as Irri's apprentice. I also explained that Tarrahishi is merciful towards us and that he urinated on us both."

"I'm going to urinate on you myself if you break protocol! No unauthorized actions!"

"Exactly," Trevelyan confirmed. "That's why I'm calling to ask for authorization… just a small miracle… very tiny…" He thought about it, then added a final argument, "An apprentice of Irri can't be allowed to be covered in crap. And if he is, then there has to be an adequate response."

For the next two or three minutes he could only hear Hurchenko's breathing in the speaker. Then he snorted and said, "Fine, damn it! A miracle… Tell me what you intend to do."

Trevelyan did.

When Asura's huge disk started rising over the desert, Ivar, leaving his morning meal untouched (his stomach still growled from the previous day's digga), climbed onto the cliff closest to the cave and farthest from the village. He wasn't too high, but high enough to keep any thrown stones from reaching him from below. Finding a small ledge, he stood on it and lifted his arms to the sultry sky. From here he could see the village in all details: qualid huts, meadows on the outskirts, the old dried up well, paddocks of the hffa that hadn't yet been put out to pasture, and hearths in courtyards put together from sooty stones. Dry manure was smoldering in the hearths, the meadow was covered with fresh shit, and the smells from them, mixed in with the aroma of the latrine, dirty clothes, and soured digga, were producing such a powerful symphony of odor that Trevelyan could barely breathe.

All the inhabitants of the village, young and old alike, were gathered at the edge huts. It seemed the people were curious what the hishiaggin they'd chased away the previous day was going to do. Maybe he would climb down and get closer. In that case, they'd prepared clubs and spears, stones, and more manure. Abbi, the water usurer, was standing at the entrance to the cave, looking up at Trevelyan with hope. Besides hope, his sly face was glowing with contentment. After all, he'd made a deal with a priest of Tarrahishi for a bargain. Abbi's guards were stretched out in a line at the edge of the pasture and, swinging their sarassas meaningfully, were watching the village bakku to make sure none of them came close and kept the hishiaggin from doing magic. They were wearing severe expressions.

"Get started!" the toltarra waved to Trevelyan. "The red sun is rising."

"Service to a god must not be rushed. Especially if we want to earn his favor," Ivar replied and started the First Prayer. He was speaking the holy words slowly, clearly, and precisely, but occasionally he had to catch his breath, usually when the wind blew from the village in his direction. After the First Prayer, there were the Second and Third, Fourth and Fifth. All that, including the breaks, took about half an hour. Then, after producing the final piercing shriek, Trevelyan glanced at the bracelet and confirmed that the glider was hanging as a gray cloud over the middle of the meadow, and the laser was at the ready. It was calibrated to emit a single powerful pulse; the narrow beam would cut through the soil and the stone roof over the water pocket, and then… Then Tarrahishi's fury would be unleashed.

This time the Water Dance Ivar had performed wasn't as energetic as the previous day, as he was afraid of falling off the narrow ledge. His jumps were short, and he wasn't waving around the sennshi branch, instead pointing it towards the meadow, heating up the ballet with shouts and howls. But all the ritual steps had been completed and recorded by the glider's cameras, so Hurchenko, a strict invigilator, couldn't possibly find fault with them.

Done with the dancing and panting a little, Trevelyan caught his breath and looked down. The villagers were worried. Some were making the signs warding off evil on their bellies, others were throwing cautious glances at the guards, and yet others were shaking clubs or sticks, shouting that the onkka, that fake hishiaggin, would find foul bitter water instead of sweet. This had happened before, as some underground waters were full of salts and were unsuitable for drinking. Hishiaggins could somehow sense that, but only those that were old, skilled, lucky, and wizened. As for the younger ones, it was possible for them to make a mistake and live to a ripe old age, but only if they were quick on their feet.

"Where to dig?" the water banker shouted, throwing his head back. "My people with bring a hundred bakku with hoes, and they—"

"Thanks the gods, there will be no need to dig. Tarrahishi will help his servant," Trevelyan said, stretched out the branch towards the middle of the meadow, and touched a stone on his bracelet. A bolt of lightning flashed, almost invisible in the light of the two suns, the ground groaned under a burning beam and flared in tongues of flame. A frightening black cloud rose after the flame — stone that had been turned to ash. The cloud was still dissipating when a powerful stream of water shot up into the sky with a roar, seemingly reaching the small cloud floating over the pasture. The pressure in the underground cavern was huge, and the fountain rose thirty meters into the air. Then the rushing streams fell down, washing away the soil and turning it into a bog. The wind swayed the column of water, scattering the cold sprays, and a genuine downpour filled the perimeter of the meadow. It seemed to help his audience overcome the shock and the fear; Abbi's warriors and the Kyolls from the village were throwing their heads back and opening their mouths, swallowing the precious moisture, and shouting, "Ha-ha! Sweet water! Blessed water! Sweet water!"

"Mine!" the toltarra screamed. "Mine! I paid for it!"

"Not yet," Trevelyan replied, shouting over the roar of the angry element and making no effort to climb down. "First of all, I've yet to see any payment, and second, there's plenty of water for everyone. You'll see that soon, my cunning friend."

The fountain kept shooting up with untamed energy and strength. The puddle in the meadow kept growing and deepening. It wasn't even a puddle anymore, but an entire lake! The water carried dry grass, manure, digga peels, clumps of hffa fur, and various other trash; no one was going to call the furious waves moving towards the village clean and sweet. And definitely not blessed.

It was an unheard of thing, a flood on Inferno.

The rain kept pouring down from the cloudless skies, but, having sated their thirst, the people seemed to be realizing that something was wrong. Half of the meadow had already disappeard under the turbulent streams, the villagers were staring to back away, Abbi's guards retreated to the cave, and the toltarra himself was now staring at the lake and the column of water with horror instead of desire.

"Stop it!" he screeched, stretching out his hands towards Trevelyan. "Stop it, hishiaggin! My home, my stores, my property! It's all going to be flooded and destroyed!"

"But you'll be able to replenish your stores," Ivar said, picturing the mix of manure and soil flow into the silver-covered pools. "That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

The fountain, or rather a powerful geyser, continued doing its job, expelling hundreds of tons of water with a roar. The rain wasn't stopping; Trevelyan was utterly soaked, streams were flowing down the cliffs, and the soil below had turned into a swamp. Abbi's sand boas, to whom an excess of moisture was harmful, were convulsing on the wet sand. The lake kept expanding, and the hut at the edge of the village was already being licked by the first wave, as if tasting the wicker reed walls. The hffa roared in alarm, people dashed about between the huts, slipping and falling into the mud and the liquid manure. Trevelyan felt he'd been avenged.

"Kahh! You can stop this… this…" Abbi didn't even know what to call the lake, as the Kyoll language lacked a suitable term, so he just kept pointing at the water.

"I can, but I don't want to," Trevelyan stated, tensing his voice. "You and the bakku in this village have offended Tarrahishi. The god's wrath must fall upon you. Who am I to oppose him?"

Water was already raging in the village among the huts, and the frightened people were dragging their children and property to the foothills. Abbi's warriors were also climbing the cliffs, although they were doing their best to avoid getting close to Trevelyan. The edge of the lake was getting inexorably closer to the cave, and its entrance wasn't that high up.

"The bakku were the ones to throw shit on you, angering the Water God!" the usurer shouted. "But what did I have to do with it? I rescued you and fed you! How could I have angered Tarrahishi?"

"Four narrow bracelets," Trevelyan reminded him. "The god doesn't like greed.

"I'll give you six!" Abbi stood in the opening of the cave and spread his arms, as if trying to protect his wealth from the water. "Six!" he repeated, jingling his bracelets.

"Hah!" Trevelyan spat on the ground, which was a sign of extreme contempt.

"Eight! Eight narrow bracelets or a wide one! Just calm the divine wrath!"

"Hah-ha-ha!"

The first hut collapsed under the water pressure, and its reed walls floated in the lake. The hffa were rushing towards the cliffs after the people with loud groans. Warriors led by a man in colorful clothes—probably a courtier of the great kyoll—appeared on the road from beyond the far village. The oasis wasn't large, and they had to have heard the noise at the baron's castle and seen the spraying geyser. Ommittaha probably guessed that a spring had been found and decided to find out if it was a good thing. On the one hand, an entire lake of sweet water was good, more than good, but on the other, the screams reaching the castle weren't those of joy.

Water splashed onto the toltarra's sandals. He shrieked.

"A wide bracelet and two narrow ones!"

"You've haggling with a god, not me," Trevelyan reminded him.

"How many do you want?" Thin streams flowed into the cave, and Abbi was now dancing in a dirty puddle. "Two wide ones, like you asked before?"

Two wide golden bracelets gave one the right to nearly half a ton of water. A very generous fee! A payment for the most experienced hishiaggins, of which there were no more than a dozen in the entire Kyoll. But Trevelyan once again spat with contempt.

"Two wide ones were for finding the water, but calming the deity costs more. Four! Four, Abbi, and don't take too long to think about it! Otherwise all your sweet water will turn bitter!"

"You're ruining me!"

"Not yet, but it's going to happen very soon."

Ivar brought the bracelet up to his lips and gave the command to recalibrate the laser. Then he climbed down a little and looked at the usurer, who was already standing ankle-deep in water.

"So do we have an agreement, honorable Abbi?"

"Yes! Yes, you extortionist! May Kamma devour your bones! May your ashes scatter to the four winds in the desert! May you lose all your hair, and your liver rot in the stomach of a snake! May your reproductive organ—"

"Let's not talk about that," Trevelyan said, reaching a hand out towards him. "I'm waiting, friend. Payment first."

When four golden goops were placed in his hand, he triumphantly lifted the sennshi branch towards the sky and exclaimed, "Payment comes first!" He spoke the line in a human language, so that his shout would come off as a strange but powerful spell. The glider floating in the sky immediately replied with a series of lightning bolts that struck in a wide cone. The water in the center of the lake bubbled, hissed, and a cloud of stream rose into the air; the laser beams—less powerful ones this time—had pierced the rocky layer and melted it. For a short while, the liquid basalt was fighting the water element while cooling and hardening. Then the channel drilled over the pocket closed, the geyser vanished, falling down in a myriad of sprays. The water flowed away, and only the cloudy lake and the mud on its shores remained as the reminders of the recent calamity.

Trevelyan breathed in with his nose and grimaced, as the smell of the lake wasn't a pleasant one.

"This liquid can be used for irrigation," he noted, placing the bracelets on his right arm. "Its composition is suitable for it, and the digga will grow well. It'll definitely be useful, Abbi, as your boas are dead, and you no longer have meat." With that, Ivar removed his sandals, stepped barefoot onto the wet ground, and grabbed the usurer by his elbow. "Now let's go, toltarra. We still have much to do."

"In the name of all the gods! Where are you dragging me, hishiaggin?"

"To the village. We'll get one or two hundred bakku, and I'll show you where to dig a well. The people need sweet water, don't they? And you could use some too."

Abbi immediately perked up, threw a master's gaze over the lake, and walked across the wet sand, stepping over the dead boas. With the roar of the geyser gone, silence had fallen over the meadow and the lake; only the mud kept squelching underfoot, and the usurer walking behind Ivar kept talking, "Sweet water! Of course, I need sweet water, but the one sent by Tarrahishi's wrath will be useful too. I can sell it… for silver, but still… You're right, Kahh, it can be used for irrigation… we can water all the fields from here to the kyoll's tower… he'll be pleased too. Digga will grow, grass will grow, hffa will have a litter, bakku will multiply… But we still need sweet water! You'll find it, hishiaggin, won't you? The great kyoll didn't believe that you were Irri's apprentice, and the foolish bakku didn't either… but now everyone knows that the Water God likes you… what you find is truly blessed… My water! It's going to be my water! I gave you four bracelets, and you will find me sweet water!"

When Trevelyan got tired of listening to his mutterings, he turned and said, "For free? I haven't lost my mind yet, friend! You're going to pay me for this work separately."

Footnotes

1) Latin for "The end crowns the work."