It was almost over. Few if any of the ustuzou remained alive. They lay in tumbled heaps among the baskets, limp corpses on the skins and poles. The attackers from the sea were now meeting up with the others who had moved up the river to attack from behind, an encircling movement they had used in their youth to catch their prey in the sea. It had worked as well on land.

“Stop the killing at once,” Vaintè ordered, calling out to those nearest her. “Tell the others. Stop now. I want some survivors. I want to know more about these fur beasts.”

They were just animals who used sharp bits of stones, she could see that now. They had a crude social organization, rough stone artifacts, and even made use of the larger animals that were now being killed as they fled in panic. All of this indicated that if there was one group this size — why then there might very well be others. If that were so then she needed to find out everything she could about the creatures.

At her feet the small one she had struck down stirred and whimpered. She called out to Stallan who was near by.

“Hunter — tie this one so it cannot escape. Throw it into a boat.”

There were more darts in the container suspended from the harness she wore. The ones she had expended in the battle must be replaced. The hèsotsan had been well-fed and should be able to fire for some time yet. She prodded it with her finger until the loading orifice dilated, then pushed the darts into their correct positions inside.

The first stars were appearing now, the last red of the sky fading behind the hills. She needed a cloak from the boat. She signaled a fargi to bring one to her and was wrapping herself in its warm embrace when the survivors were brought before her.

“This is all?” she asked.

“Our warriors were hard to control,” Stallan said. “Once you start killing these creatures it is hard to stop.”

“Full well I know that myself. The adult ones — all dead?”

“All dead. This small one I found hiding and brought it out.” She held the thing by its long hair, shaking it back and forth so it wailed with pain. “This very young one I found inside another’s coverings.” She held out the infant, a few-months-old baby that she had pulled from its wrappings, that had been held tight in its mother’s dead arms.

Vaintè looked at the tiny hairless thing with disgust as Stallan held it towards her. The hunter was used to touching and handling all kinds of repulsive creatures; the thought of doing it herself sickened her. Yet she was Vaintè, Eistaa, and she could do anything any other citizen could do. She reached out slowly and took the wriggling thing in both hands. It was warm, warmer than a cloak, almost hot. Her disgust ebbed for a moment as she felt the pleasant heat. When she turned it over and over it opened a red and toothless mouth and wailed. A jet of hot excrement from it ran down Vaintè’s arm. The instant pleasure of the heat was replaced by a wave of disgust.

It was too much, too revolting. She hurled the creature, as hard as she could, against a nearby boulder. It became silent as she went quickly to the water to scrub herself clean, calling back to Stallan.

“It is enough. Tell the others to return to the boats after they have made sure that none live.”

“It will be done, Highest. All dead. The end of them.”

Is it? Vaintè thought as she plunged her arms into the water. Is it the end? Instead of elation at the victory she found herself sinking into a dark depression.

The end — or just the beginning?

Enge moved close to the wall and leaned against it so she could feel the warmth of the heater. Though the sun had risen, the city still held some of the chill of the night. Around her the varied animals and plants of Alpèasak stirred to life, but this was so normal that she took no heed. Beneath her feet was the latticework of the floor that rested on the thick layers of dried leaves below. Within the leaves there was the rustle of large beetles and the other insects that cleared away debris, even the movements, had she listened, of a scurrying mouse. All around her there were stirrings as the ebb of life accelerated with the coming of day. High above, the sun was already shining on the leaves of the great tree, as well as on the many other plants that made up this living city. Water vapor was now being drawn from the stomata of these leaves, to be replaced by water that moved slowly upwards through the vessels of the trees, vines, creepers, water brought into the living system by the millions of root hairs beneath the ground. At Enge’s side, unheeded, the tendril of her discarded cloak twitched as it sucked at the saptree.

To Enge all of this was as natural as the air she breathed, the richness of the intertwined and interdependent life forms that existed on all sides of her. Occasionally she thought about it and all of its moral implications. But not today, not after what she had heard. Boasting of murdering another species! How she longed to talk to these innocent braggarts, to explain to them about the meaning of life, to force them to understand the terrible crime that they had committed. Life was the balance of death, as sea was the balance of sky. If one killed life — why, one was killing oneself.

Her attention was drawn as one of the fargi pulled at her manacled hands, confused by her status and unsure how to address her. The young fargi knew that Enge was one of the highest — yet her wrists were bound like one of the lowest. Lacking the words she could only touch Enge to draw her attention.

“The Eistaa wants you to come now,” the fargi said.

Vaintè was sitting in her place of power when Enge entered, the seat formed by the living bark of the city tree. There were memory creatures on the table beside her and one of them had the tendril above its withered eyes pressed into a fold of the ugunkshaa, the memory-speaker. The ugunkshaa spoke quietly while at the same time its organic molecule lens flickered with motion, a black and white picture of the Yilanè who had originally spoken to the memory-creature. Vaintè silenced the ugunkshaa when Enge entered and picked up the stone spearpoint that was lying next to it.

“Approach,” she ordered, and Enge did so. Vaintè clasped the stone blade in her hand and raised it; Enge did not quail or pull away. Vaintè seized her by the arm.

“You have no fear,” Vaintè said. “Even though you can see how sharp this scrap of stone is, as good as any of our string-knives.”

She sawed through the bindings and Enge’s hands were free. Enge rubbed gently at her skin where it had been irritated by the bonds. “ — You are freeing us all?” she asked.

“Do not be too greedy. Just you — since I have need of your knowledge.”

“I will not aid you in murder.”

“There is no need to. The killing is over.” For the time being, she thought to herself, knowing better than to mention it aloud. If she did speak, whatever she said would reveal her thoughts completely. Not only was she unable to tell a lie but the very concept of a lie was completely alien to her. It was impossible to tell a lie when every movement of one’s body revealed a meaning. The only way for a Yilanè to keep her thoughts secret was not to speak of them. Vaintè was most adept at this form of concealment. She practiced it now since she needed Enge’s help. “We have come to the time for learning. Did you not study the use of language at one time?”

“You know that I did, with Yilespei. I was her first student.”

“You were. Her first and best. Before the rot ate into your brain. You did all sorts of foolish things as I remember, watching the way that children communicate with each other, sometimes doing it yourself to draw their attention. I understand that you even eavesdropped on the males. That puzzles me. Why those stupid creatures of all things? What could one possibly learn from them?”