“You I bid to silence before us all. You condemn the Eistaa who orders our death — then you assume the role of eistaa-of-knowledge who will lead her followers to their deaths. Better that you should die that they should live. I do not will that — but I understand now the feelings of an eistaa who wills one to die so that all others should live. I reject this emotion — but I understand it.”

There were cries of pain from the sisters, moans of despair. Far‹ closed her great eyes as a shiver passed through her body. Then she began to speak but obeyed when Enge called for silence-for-all, in the name of Ugunenapsa whom they revered. When Enge spoke again it was with humility and sadness, all anger fled.

“My sisters, who are more to me than life itself for I would die happily if my death were needed to let the lowliest of you live. We disgrace ourselves and Ugunenapsa when we permit our divisions to control us. Let us serve Ugunenapsa in serving Ambalasi. Let us leave this place in silence and each of us meditate long on what has happened to us. Then we will discuss our problems among ourselves and work out mutually satisfactory answers. Now go.”

They did, in silence for the most part for they had much to think about, much to consider. When only Enge and Ambalasi were left the old scientist spoke with great weariness.

“That will do for the moment — but only for the moment. You are in for a great deal of trouble my friend. Take heed of Far‹ who is a troublemaker, who seeks divisions and leads others in her ways. She is a schism in your otherwise solid ranks.”

“I know — and I grieve. There was one once before who interpreted Ugunenapsa in her own manner, who died herself when she finally understood the wrongness of her thoughts. But many of the Daughters died because of her. May this never happen again.”

“It is already happening. I fear for the future of this city.”

The first spring rains brought an unwelcome change to the valley of the Sasku. What had been thin vines hanging from the top of the enclosing walls now became burgeoning lengths that dropped lower every day toward the valley floor. They could not be burned, that had been tried without success, and were difficult to approach because of their poisonous thorns. Now swollen, poisonous green fruit could be seen ripening on their stems.

“When the fruit falls — then what? What murgu destruction is hidden within them?” Herilak said, looking up at the mass of growth above.

“It could be anything,” Sanone said, his voice wearier than any had ever heard, the weight of his many years bearing down on him as never before. The mandukto and the sammadar had drawn away from the others as they did often now; to search for answers to problems that were insoluble. Sanone’s face twisted with disgust as he looked at the harsh green growths above them, ringing the valley walls. “Anything could emerge, poisonous, deadly, they seem to change all the time.

“Or perhaps they contain only seeds to grow more of them. That would be bad enough.”

“Yesterday there was only a trickle of water in the river. Today it is completely dry.”

“We have the spring, there is plenty for all.”

“I want to see what they have done to our water; we have to know. I will take two hunters.”

“One of my young manduktos will go with you as well. Wrap yourselves in the cloth, legs and feet covered as well.”

“I know.” Herilak’s voice was grim. “Another child, dead. The thorns fly up from the sand when disturbed, very hard to see. We have had to pen and guard the mastodons. They will eat anything green. How will this all end?”

“It can end in only one way,” Sanone said, his voice bleak and empty. He turned and left.

Herilak led his small band past the guards and over the barrier that sealed the valley. It was hot in the muffling wrappings of cloth, but the protection was needed. The murgu kept their distance, always retreating when attacked, but the dart-throwers grew everywhere now.

They walked cautiously up the valley floor along the dry riverbed, the mud already caked into a hard crust. There was movement ahead and Herilak pointed his death-stick, but there was nothing more to be seen, just a clatter of retreating claws. A few more turns in the valley and they reached the barrier.

From wall to wall it stretched, a tangled mass of vines and intertwined growth, vivid with flowers; a vertical jungle. A little water trickled through this living dam to make a small pool at its base.

“We can cut it down, burn it,” Sarotil said. Herilak shook his head slowly, his face dark with anger, hatred-despair.

“Cut it, it will grow again. It won’t burn. Poison thorns await us if we go close. Come, I want to see where all the water is going.”

As they climbed up out of the dry riverbed there was a quick whistle of darts from above that bristled into their cloth coverings. Herilak fired back, climbed quickly. But there were no murgu there. The mandukto pointed to a shrub still swaying with the release of its burden; long roots from it ran back down the slope.

“We sprang the trap ourselves, when we stepped on the roots. They are growing these plants around us all of the time, more and more of them.”

There was nothing that could be said. They skirted the bush — and the others like it — walked up along the high bank until the living dam was below them. A small lake had been formed behind it which had burst the banks further upstream. The river now found a new course out into the desert and away from the valley.

It was a good thing that they still had the spring of pure water.

Once they were back behind the relative safety of the barrier they carefully plucked out the poisonous darts before stripping off the stifling layers of cloth. Herilak found Sanone waiting in their usual meeting place, and he reported what they had found.

“And we had not a single glimpse of a murgu — they have learned to keep their distance.”

“The dam could be torn down…”

“Why? It would only be grown again. While here the vines are closer to the valley floor every day. It must be said. The murgu have learned how to defeat us at last. Not in battle — but with the slow and ceaseless growth of their poison plants. They will win in the end. We cannot stop it any more than we can stop the tide.”

“Yet each day the tide retreats again.”

“The murgu do not.” Herilak dropped to the ground, feeling defeat, feeling as old and tired as the mandukto. “They will win, Sanone, they will win.”

“I have never heard you speak like that before, strong Herilak. There is still a battle to be fought. You have led us before, you have won.”

“Now we have lost.”

“We will cross the desert to the west.”

“They will follow.”

Sanone looked at the bowed shoulders of the big hunter and felt the other’s despair, shared it despite himself. Was it Kadair’s will that the Sasku be wiped from the face of the land? Had they followed the tracks of the mastodon only to find extinction waiting at trail’s end? He could not believe it. Yet what else could he believe?

The excited shouts cut through the darkness of his thoughts and he turned to see what was happening. Hunters were running toward them, pointing, shouting. Herilak seized up his death-stick, leapt to his feet. There was a splashing roar as a wave of water rushed down the dry riverbed toward them, yellow with mud, quickly filling the banks. The terrified Sasku and Tanu scrambled to safety as the wall of water thundered by.

“The dam has been broken!” Herilak said. “Are all safe?” Sanone watched the muddy water rush through the valley, saw no bodies — only tumbling shrubs and other debris. “I think they are, the river is staying inside its old banks. And, look, the level has dropped already. It is just as it always has been.”