The high priestess moved to the raised stage center and faced the multitude, lifting her arms high, wing membranes luminously backlighted in blue, the very image of beauty and purity. Yellow fires danced at her feet, highlighting her prominent features. She slowly lowered her arms, and all present, male and female, adult and child, raised voices in harmonious accord, increasing volume in a majestic crescendo. The high priestess raised her arms once again and the female tones surfaced from the powerful male background harmonies; a lush ululation rose in wave upon wave; alternating harmonics of male and female origin, a yin and yang of sound, tumbled around each other, melding into one. When the time was right, the high priestess dropped her arms.

Silence.

The high priestess stared outward and upward, eyes closed— her vision confined to the sonic realm. She uttered sounds, musically, but very quietly. Yet every pure, harmonic emanation was clearly heard by each dweller in the hall. She projected— transmitted—her message at a multitude of sonic levels, and the acute receptors of the audience received and resolved her vibrations.

"We are blessed, my people," she trilled. "We are blessed with children. We are blessed with salt and warmth. We are blessed." She paused. The audience responded with a musical affirmation, an «amen» of surpassing harmony.

"We are blessed, my people," the litany continued. "We are blessed with food. We are blessed with flowers and families. We are indeed blessed." The audience responded with growing passion and volume.

"The gods abide in our hearts and in our souls. They live in our rocks, in the mountains and cliffs. They live in the waters of lakes and rivers. We are blessed. They look down from the moons, and they illuminate the sun and the stars. Each tree, each blade of grass, each drop of rain, each starry snowflake—they are each and every one a benevolent and compassionate spirit. We are blessed. The gods are everywhere, and they are just. The gods are just and fair. We are blessed. We are so very blessed. Let us sing! Let us sing our thanks for our many blessings. Let us sing."

The voices in the assembly hall were forcefully raised in harmonic resonance, a powerful manifestation of rising fervor. Wave upon wave of multidimensional sound permeated the great hall, rebounding from stone walls and reinforcing the next wave of song newly sent forth. The fledglings in the audience trembled before the power of the adult voices. Bells sounded in rolling peals, and the harmonious tumult continued to elevate. Spirit lamp globes vibrated. The very rock upon which they stood buzzed in sympathetic harmony, warming with the transmission of sonic energy.

Time passed but was not measured, and when it was right, the high priestess raised thin arms. Blue and gold light danced from her wings, and the concord of tones and whistles, of bells and songs, subsided in subliminal thresholds, falling through innumerable levels of frequency and harmony, until only a small portion of the choir was left chanting. And with lingering glory, the last exquisite sounds drifted into exalted silence. The high priestess scanned the audience. A radiant smile reflected her contentment and inner light.

"We are blessed. We are blessed with the voices of our ancestors," the high priestess cried, tears of joy giving her speech liquid qualities. "We are so very blessed." The assembled multitude responded, humbly but with great passion.

The deep, heavy bell tolled again, six times, and the high priestess gestured grandly. The judges strode forward—nine guilder females. They arrayed themselves, solemn and imposing, behind nine onyx monoliths. They wore the same orange robes as the votaries, but they also wore necklaces of sparkling onyx. The hall was still, a stillness beyond silence, for it was the time of reckoning. Cliff dweller laws were few, but penalties severe; any cliff dweller who willfully caused harm could be banished, doomed to die in the freezing wilderness.

"We are blessed," intoned the high priestess, "with justice. Let justice have voice! Read the names."

And the trials began.

"It's cold!" Fenstermacher complained, feeding the ante. "It's cold every day!" Chief Wilson said, dealing the cards.

"Stop complaining! It's a hell of a lot colder back at the cave," Dawson chided.

"So what's going on, Lieutenant? Why the day off?" Wilson asked. He sat on a deep pile of furs looking at his poker hand.

Buccari pored over stacks of dweller writings—the dictionary. The collection of writings and drawings had grown large. Hudson and MacArthur were helping her organize the icons and symbols.

"Liz wouldn't say," she replied. "He said we had to stay in our barracks today. Some kind of religious day—a holiday, maybe?"

"There are extra guards down the passageway," Shannon said. "I pass."

"A religious day?" Fenstermacher asked. "What kind of religion do they have?"

"Hard to say," Buccari answered. "Some kind of animism."

"What?" Fenstermacher persisted. "They worship animals?"

"They worship everything," MacArthur answered. "To them every rock, tree, and mountain has a soul. They worship the planet. And they have different sects or life-purposes—the tall ones, the workers, actually pray to the rocks, or to the plants, or to the fish, or to the steam, depending on their training. The hunters worship the wild animals."

Buccari looked up at MacArthur. The Marine, standing close to her, looked away, embarrassed.

"You're picking this up quickly, Mac," she said thickly. "Keep at it. More of us need to communicate with our new friends. It's like learning how to read." MacArthur blushed and smiled weakly.

"Yeah, Mac," Hudson agreed, absorbed in the material before him. "This stuff is ambiguous and Sharl, er—Lieutenant Buccari never buys my interpretation. Like this, Sharl; check this out."

"What's it in response to?" she asked. Hudson had organized a keying system to match questions with answers.

"It relates to the series of questions on other races and peoples," Hudson replied. "We were trying to determine if they had ever seen other aliens or flying machines."

"Yeah," Buccari said. "And…"

"I read this sequence to say they've seen flying machines, but not recently—not in four years, and then only rarely before that. They also describe giants or bear people. Here, tell me what you think." He pushed the parchment sheets over. Buccari stared at them. MacArthur moved tentatively closer.

"You're right, Nash," she said after a while. "This indicates the dwellers saw loud, rigid-wing flying objects. Four winters, er— years ago." Buccari stared at the pages, shifting her view. "Their mythology includes stories of large people—giants or bear people— emerging from such flying machines. The bear people had weapons that made music, or sang. Weapons that killed from great distances."

"Giants, eh?" Wilson remarked. The poker game halted in mid-hand.

"Don't forget," Hudson said. "They think of us as giants, too."

"Not quite the same, Nash," Buccari interrupted. "Lizard uses this term big to describe us. The term he uses to describes the mythical beings seems to be more emphatic, a difference of degree. Liz makes it clear that no living dweller has seen one of these mythical bear people, but many dwellers have seen their flying machines."

"How about the singing weapons?" MacArthur asked. "Lasers?"

"Good guess," Shannon said soberly.

Everyone's attention was drawn to the entrance of their living quarters; Chastain and Gordon walked in, shaking snow from their furs.

"We thought we heard something," Chastain said.

"Like what, Jocko?" Buccari asked.

"Music, bells, whistling, or—something. Weird noises. It kinda got under your skin. Kinda pretty, though," he said thoughtfully.