Low chalky hills like stubby teeth formed chains in the distance. The open country between them was flat and dry and unpromising, no lakes, no streams, only an occasional brackish spring oozing out of some salt-crusted crack in the ground.

“Which way now?” Lisspar Moen asked. She was the daily march-herald, who transmitted Zechtior Lukin’s orders to the others.

He nodded toward the hills and indicated a continued north-northeasterly route.

“Hjjk country?” she said.

“Our country,” Zechtior Lukin told her.

Striding along behind him in the gray plain were the Acknowledgers of Yissou, three hundred forty of them now.

Of his original three hundred seventy-six followers, a dozen or so had been too old and feeble to undertake the risks of beginning a new life in the wilderness, and another few had, when the moment of departure was at hand, simply recanted their faith and refused to go. Zechtior Lukin had anticipated something of that sort. He made no attempt to coerce them.

Coercion had no part in his philosophy. He acknowledged the supremacy of the gods in all things. If the gods decreed that some of his followers would choose not to follow him, he was prepared to accept that. Zechtior Lukin, expecting nothing of the world but what the world daily presented to him, had never known a moment’s disappointment.

There had been some losses on the march, too. He accepted those calmly too. The gods would always have their way.

A raiding party of hjjks had captured five of his people as the marchers were passing the vicinity of Vengiboneeza. Knowing that the ancient sapphire-eyes capital was held now by the insect-folk, Zechtior Lukin had chosen a route cutting well to the east of it. But not far enough, it seemed. At twilight, in a mountain pass shrouded in close-hanging mist, came a sudden attack, shrieks and scuffles, great confusion, and, after a moment, the realization that whatever had happened was over. A few abandoned knapsacks lay on the ground, and one hand-cart was overturned. There was no hope of giving chase: the high country surrounding them was dark and pathless. Zechtior Lukin was grateful that the hjjks had taken as few as they had.

Natural perils took others. This was an untamed land. A scattering of loose boughs turned out to conceal the mouth of a pit, and scarlet claws and yellow fangs were waiting at its bottom. A few days later a huge low-slung beast clad in thick brown scales hard as stone burst madly out of nowhere, swinging its small dull-eyed head from side to side like a club, killing those it struck. Then there was a comic hopping creature with merry golden eyes and absurd tiny forearms; but from its tail there sprang a spike that squirted poison. And at midday once came a swarm of winged insects, as dazzling as colored jewels, that filled the air with a milky spray. Those that breathed it fell ill, and some did not recover.

“These things are to be expected,” Zechtior Lukin said.

“We acknowledge the will of the gods,” his people replied.

The survivors went on undaunted. Zechtior Lukin waited for the Five Heavenly Ones to tell him that they had come to the place where they should build their city.

On the far side of the chalky hills the grayness lifted. The land here was pale brown streaked with red, a sign perhaps of fertility, and there was a river running from east to west that was split into three forks. Along the riverbanks the vegetation had shining green foliage and some of the shrubs bore fat purplish fruits with wrinkled skins. They proved to be edible.

“Here we will stay,” Zechtior Lukin said. “I feel the presence of the Five here.”

He chose a little ridge between the two southernmost forks that seemed likely to be above the river’s floodplain, and they set up the tents that they would live in until they had constructed the first buildings. Three women who were gifted with unusually powerful second sight went some distance apart to send word to Yissou of their location; for Zechtior Lukin had promised the king that he would do that. Salaman had shown him a method, combining twining and second sight, that would allow contact to be maintained over great distances. Zechtior Lukin was skeptical. But promises were to him like sacred oaths, and he sent the women off to transmit the message.

He said, “I call this place Salpa Kala,” which meant the Place of the Heavenly Ones.

On the morning of the fourth day after the Acknowledgers had settled at Salpa Kala three hjjks appeared without warning, as though they had risen from the earth, and went unhesitatingly to Zechtior Lukin as he was supervising the raising of a tent. He was aware that they were behind him even before he turned: he could feel a hard icy pressure against his consciousness that was the bleak, remote, arid coldness of their austere souls.

Calmly one of them — he could not tell which; it spoke in the silent buzzing droning voice of the mind — said, “This place is forbidden to you. You will leave here tonight and return to your own land.”

“This place is Salpa Kala, and the Five Heavenly Ones have given it to us to be our home,” Zechtior Lukin replied evenly.

By second sight he sent forth the vision he once had had, of the immensity of the Queen of the insect-folk hovering in the air above Yissou, as though to say that he knew of her greatness, and accepted it as he accepted all things; but what he attempted to transmit also was that he had been told by the gods, the same high gods who guide the destinies of the hjjks, that he must come to this place and establish a settlement here.

But if what he had sent forth had reached the hjjks, or had impressed them in any way, they gave no sign of it.

“You will leave here tonight,” said the rasping hjjk-voice again.

“We will not yield the gift of the gods,” said Zechtior Lukin.

The hjjks said nothing further. Zechtior Lukin studied them calmly, staring at their long shining bodies, their many-faceted eyes, their segmented orange breathing-tubes, their jutting beaks, their six slender bristly limbs. The shortest of the three was a head taller than he was, but he doubted that it weighed any more than a child, so parched and fleshless did its body seem. In the clear morning air their hard yellow-and-black carapaces reflected the sunlight with an unpleasant glare. He felt no fear of them.

After a time he shrugged and turned his back to them, and went back to the job of directing the raising of the tent.

“What will we do?” Gheppilin the harnessmaker asked, when the hjjks had gone stalking off.

“Why, we’ll hold our ground,” he said. “It’s ours by gift of the gods, is it not?”

He gave orders to his Acknowledgers to break out weapons: swords, spears, knives, clubs. At sundown they gathered in a tight circle beside their clustered baggage and waited for the hjjks to return.

The three who had come before — Zechtior Lukin assumed, at least, that they were the same ones — stepped out of the shadows.

“You are still here,” the droning hjjk-voice said.

“This place is ours.”

“It is no place for flesh-folk. Go back or die.”

“The gods have brought us here,” said Zechtior Lukin. “The gods’ will be done.”

There was a shrill cry from the far side of the encampment. Zechtior Lukin looked about quickly; but the one quick glance was enough. A horde of dark angular figures had emerged from the thickets by the river, hjjks by the hundreds, perhaps by the thousands. It seemed as if every pebble along the bank had been transformed in that moment into a hjjk. Already his people were in chaos.

Zechtior Lukin lifted his spear. “Fight!” he bellowed. “Fight! Cowardice is ungodly!”

He thrust the weapon into the bright shining eye of the hjjk nearest him, pulled it free, used the edge of its blade to slash the breathing-tube of the second one.