All these animals had been under pressure from the fast-changing climate at the end of the glaciation. But most of these ancient lines had survived many similar changes before. The difference this time was the presence of humans. It was no great blitzkrieg. People were often pretty inept as hunters, and big game contributed only a fraction of their diet. Many communities, like Jahna’s folk, actually believed they were touching the animals lightly. But by pressuring the animals at a time when they were most vulnerable, by selectively killing off the young, by disrupting habitats, by taking out key components of the food webs that sustained communities of creatures, they did immense damage. It was only in Africa, where the animals had evolved alongside humans and had had time to adapt to their ways, that something like the old Pleistocene diversity was maintained.

Rood’s chill Eden had long gone. There had been a hideous shriveling, leaving an empty, echoing world, through which people walked as if bewildered, quickly forgetting that the great exotic beasts and different kinds of people had even existed.

People still lived by hunting and gathering, of course. But it turned out to be much harder to hunt deer and boar in the forests than it had been to ambush reindeer crossing rivers on the open steppe. After the extinctions, life was impoverished compared to what it had been in the past, with poorer quality food and less leisure time. Worldwide, people’s culture actually devolved, becoming simpler.

Always, deep down, they would know that there was something wrong. And now they faced a new pressure.

Juna had been traveling only half a day when she caught up with Cahl. He had sprawled in the shade of a worn sandstone bluff, and he was eating a root. The meat and artifacts of shell and bone he had taken from the people had been dumped in the dirt at his side.

He watched her as she approached, his eyes bright in the shade. “Well,” he said silkily. “Little gold head.”

She didn’t understand that word, “gold.” She slowed as she approached, dismayed by his hard stare.

He got to his feet clumsily. His belly strained at his skin shirt. “What a frightened rabbit!” he said. “Look, you came all this way to find me, not the other way around. And I notice that no matter how repulsive I am, you aren’t yet running off. So, why are you here?”

She stood frozen, staring at him. Her mind seemed flattened, as if a great rock had fallen on her, pinning her to the dirt. Although she had rehearsed this encounter — imagining herself taking control, making demands — this wasn’t going remotely as she had planned.

He said, “No reply? Here’s why. You want something from me.” He approached her, his gaze raking over her body. “That’s how I make my living. Everybody wants something. And if I can figure out what that one thing is, then I can make anybody do whatever I like.”

She forced herself to speak. “As Acta wants beer.”

He grinned. “You follow. Good. So, just like Acta, you want something from me. But you’re not going to get it, little girl, until you figure out what I might want from you.” He walked around her, and let his fingertips slide over her buttocks. “You’re skinny for my taste. Lean. All that chasing after wild goats, I suppose.” He yawned, stretching, and looked off into the distance. “Frankly, child, I wore out my cock humping that fat mother of yours.”

Impulsively she pulled up her shirt, exposing her belly.

Startled, he ran his hand over her skin, feeling the bump there. The flesh of his palm was oddly soft, without calluses. “Well,” he said, breathing harder. “I knew there was something different about you. I must have good instincts. And as for you, you’re getting the idea. My strange lust for pregnant sows; my one weakness—” He stroked his chin. “But I still don’t know what you want. I can’t believe it’s the alluring thought of my fat belly on your back—”

“The baby,” she blurted. “They killed it.”

“What baby? Ah. Your mother’s. They wouldn’t let her keep her calf, eh? I know that’s what you animals do, kill your young. Some say you feast on the tender little corpses.” He continued to study her, calculating. “I think I see. If you have your baby, they’ll take it away too. So that’s why you came running after a greedy wretch like me — to save your unborn baby.” Briefly his expression dissolved, and she thought she glimpsed sympathy.

She murmured, “They say—”

“Yes?”

“They say that in your place no babies are killed.”

He shrugged. “We have a lot of food. We don’t have to spend all of every day running after rabbits, as you people do. That’s why we don’t have to murder our children.”

She wondered how this miracle could come about: Cahl’s people must have a powerful shaman indeed.

But that brief lightening of Cahl’s face had already dissipated, to be replaced by a kind of desperate greed. He approached her and grabbed her breast, pinching hard; she forced herself not to cry out. “If you come with me it will be hard for you. The way we live is—” he waved a hand at the open plain “—different from all this. More than you can imagine. And you will have to do as I say. That is our way.”

She could smell his breath. She closed her eyes, shutting out his moonlike, pockmarked face. This was the decision point, she knew. She could still turn away, still run home. But her baby would be doomed. When Acta and Pepule found out they might even try to beat it out of her belly.

“I’ll do what you say,” she said hastily. What could be worse than that?

“Good,” he said, his breath coming in short, hot gasps. “Now, let’s get down to business. Kneel down.”

So it began, there in the dirt. She was grateful that nobody she cared about could see her.

He made her carry his load of meat, his bag of half-chewed roots, and his empty beer sack. He said it was the way, in his home. It wasn’t heavy — the meat was nothing more than the spindly catch of small game brought back by the men the day before — but it seemed very strange to Juna to have to walk behind Cahl with meat piled on her shoulder while he strutted ahead, inexpertly brandishing her spear.

Soon they had walked far from her familiar range. It was deeply frightening to think that she was entering land where, probably, none of her ancestors had set a foot, not once; deep taboos, inspired by her well-founded fear of death at the hands of strangers, warred against her impulse to continue. But continue she did, for she had no choice.

They had to spend one night in the open. He brought her to the shelter of a bluff, a half cave he had evidently used before, for she saw more signs of his unpleasant spoor. He would not let her eat any of the meat, nor even hunt for more. Evidently he didn’t trust her that far. But he gave her some of the thin, ill-tasting roots he had carried.

As darkness fell he used her again. The brutal coupling made her juvenile fumbling with Tori seem full of tenderness. But to her relief Cahl finished quickly — he had already spent himself that day — and when he rolled off her he quickly fell asleep.

She massaged her bruised thighs, alone with her thoughts.

In the morning they began to descend from the high, dry plateau into a broad valley. This was a greener land; grass grew thickly, and she could see the blue thread of a sluggish river, with trees clustered in a green ribbon along its bank. This would be a good place to live, she thought — better than the arid upper lands. There must be plenty of game here. But as they descended further she caught only fleeting glimpses of rabbits and mice and birds. There was no sign of the spoor of large animals, none of their characteristic tracks.

At last she made out a broad brown scar close to the bank of the river. Smoke rose from a dozen places, and she made out movement, a pale wriggling, like maggots in a wound. But the maggots were people, crowded, diminished by distance.