“And if they wanted to build them up?”

“They’d plant them like an orchard.”

“Or slaughter each other as they did in Vadeshfold,” said Olivenko, “and let the trees come back and plant themselves.”

“I really hate philosophy,” murmured Loaf. “You talk and talk, and in the end, you don’t know any more than you did.”

“Maybe less,” said Rigg, “because I thought I had an idea, and now Olivenko makes me wonder whether I did or not.”

“One idea is as worthless as another,” said Loaf. “Until you actually do something about it, and then it’s the action, not the word, that matters.”

“Who’s philosophizing now?” asked Olivenko. “We take action because of the words we believe in, the stories that we think are true, or intend to make true.”

“I don’t think so,” said Loaf. “I think we do what we do because we desire it. And then we make up stories about why the thing we did was right, and the thing that other people did was wrong.”

“Or both,” said Rigg. “It works both ways, all the time. We act because of our stories; we make up stories to explain or excuse the way we acted.”

But the trees don’t do that, or the squirrels, thought Rigg. They just do what they do. And they can’t change what they do, because they don’t have any of this philosophy.

“Our destination is the shore where humans are most often seen,” said the flyer. “Far in the north.”

“When we get closer,” said Rigg, “skim the coast. I’ll tell you then where to set this flyer down.”

“What will you look for, to decide?” asked Olivenko.

“I don’t know,” said Rigg. “Wherever the paths are thickest and most recent, so we have the best chance of meeting people.”

“Of getting killed in our sleep on the first night there,” said Olivenko.

“We didn’t come here to avoid the people,” said Rigg.

“Can’t save ’em if we can’t see ’em,” said Loaf.

Probably can’t save them even if we do see them. “If it turns out I picked a bad spot, we can go back and pick another,” said Rigg.

“But you can’t appear to us here in this flyer,” said Olivenko. “Right? Unless you took the flyer up to exactly the same path and matched the flight perfectly, because the path remains behind us in the air.”

Rigg turned and saw their paths stretch back along the route they had just flown. “That’s right.”

“I wonder how far you have to go upward,” said Olivenko, “until our paths stop being part of the sky of Garden, and remain inside a ship.”

“Every starship when it crashed here had human beings aboard,” said Rigg. “I should have looked for the paths, the incoming trajectories.”

“You should have looked to see if their paths during the voyage stayed with the ship,” said Umbo, who was finally joining in the conversation.

“I will the next time we’re at a starship,” said Rigg. “I should have done it before, but I had other things on my mind.”

“That’s right,” said Umbo, “blame it on me for being so clumsy as to leave corpses lying around to distract you.”

“You may not have killed them,” said Rigg, “but you made them. Didn’t your mother teach you to clean up your own messes?”

They had to traverse the whole of Larfold, from the south to the northern shore. The wallfold continued far out to sea—Rigg remembered that from the maps in the library, but most clearly from the huge map inside the Tower of O; despite the many other maps he’d seen, that one remained the true map to Rigg, the way he pictured the world. A globe with wallfolds delineated on its face, the Walls stretching out over land and sea alike.

“I wonder why they went underwater here,” said Param. “Why not build boats and live on the shore, and sail where they wanted? Why go into the sea?”

“Better climate?” suggested Olivenko.

“I think it has to do with how they managed to handle the breathing problem,” said Umbo.

“There wasn’t a breathing problem until they went under the sea,” said Param. Rigg hated the scorn in her voice, especially when she talked to Umbo.

But Umbo answered her scorn for scorn. “You don’t start living underwater unless you already have a way of surviving there.”

“They didn’t suddenly start having babies with gills,” said Param, “and then decide to go swimming.”

“But they did start swimming fulltime within a few hundred years of the start of the colony,” said Umbo. “Why would they do that unless they already had a way to breathe?”

Loaf said, “Why are you two arguing about it when we’ll be there in a very little while, and then we can go into the past if we have to and see what we find out. See if they’re even human anymore. From what Olivenko said about the death of the king, these are monsters that dragged Knosso out of a boat and drowned him. Maybe they’ve turned into sharks with hands.”

When they reached the coast, Rigg had the flyer soar above the northern beaches, which is the general region where the Odinfolders’ books said the Larfolders had established their one long-abandoned colony. Here along the coast there were many paths, and recent ones. But they all led out of the water and then back into it, like the tracks of turtles returning to shore to spawn. Rigg wondered if they would still count as human if the Larfolders had started laying eggs like turtles.

He tried to trace the paths out into the water. He could easily follow the paths when they ran just under the waves, but the deeper they were, the harder it was for Rigg to sense them. And they seemed to meander randomly. And why not? Underwater, the Larfolders could swim anywhere. There were no roads they had to stay on. Mostly they stayed away from the shore, out in deeper water, behind the breakers that gleamed in shifting white ribbons, and deep, where Rigg could barely sense them.

Returning to gaze at the paths that led onto land, Rigg tried to find some meaning, some pattern in the tracks. He failed. “When they come to shore,” said Rigg, “it isn’t for fresh water to drink.”

“If they solved the breathing problem, the drinking problem couldn’t have been too hard,” said Param. She had saved a little scorn for Rigg, too.

“I bet the peeing problem was even easier,” said Umbo.

“But cooked food,” said Rigg. “That’s the challenge. Human teeth need cooked food. We don’t have the massive jaws and molars of chimps or australopithecines.”

“How did they ever find a recipe for underwater bread?” said Umbo.

“I think they specialize in seaweed salad,” said Rigg.

“What do they come ashore for?” asked Loaf, a little impatiently.

“We’ll find out soon enough, once we land,” said Rigg.

“They come to the beach for human sacrifice,” said Param. “There’s hardly a wallfold that hasn’t invented it at one time or another.”

“I wonder what it says about human beings that we keep inventing that particular excuse for murder,” said Olivenko.

“It’s an easy way to dispose of excess prisoners of war without offending a taboo against killing those who surrendered,” said Param.

“Was that one of the theories you read?” asked Loaf.

“Yes,” said Param, sounding quite prepared to take on any challenges.

“In my experience,” said Loaf, “soldiers don’t have a taboo against killing helpless prisoners. It’s hard to get them not to.”

Suddenly the paths below changed from individual forays onto land into a huge array of interlocking paths. Thousands and thousands of them, ranging from ten thousand years ago to the past few days. “Set down here,” said Rigg to the flyer.

The flyer swerved to shore and gently settled to the ground about fifteen meters above the highwater line. “This is where they hold their annual beach party and sports tournament,” said Rigg.

“Really?” asked Param, sounding skeptical.

“I have no idea,” said Rigg. “But hundreds of them at a time come to shore here, and they’ve been doing it for a long, long time. From the beginning—their first colony was only a few kilometers farther inland.”