The morning chill brings a visible breath, and mist into the valley. By midday the sun shows me green hills to the north and red dragonflies everywhere, but I am sad and my only thoughts are of my village. I wish to turn around and go back, but I am unable to disobey Teller. So I comply as if numb, step after step, no will of my own. Again I camp without a fire.

       Sleep takes me home. Is Teller so eager to see me go? I must pack now and leave before the sun? These things happen for reasons I do not understand. And because of the secrecy, no one knows to say farewell. My good friends Kir and Fa will wonder why I am no longer there to jump from the diving rock and make them laugh. Kama will ask why no one brings her wood and starts her cooking fire. Even the great warrior Iwip will be troubled by my absence, for his debt will go unpaid. And who will make the dreamcatchers? And smudge sticks? Who will find the sweetgrass? Set the Big Lodge? The Elders Wa, Ru, Shinwo and Ston will certainly notice that the one who was revealed by them is not present at all ceremonies, as they have requested. Others will ask questions. And when the Teller Of Things is finally pressured into providing answers, he will, as always, be believed by all, no matter what his words.

       According to the chart I will travel upstream the entire way. I am to cross the river above the rapids and then recross it near the mountains, continuing upriver from there. There are two skins, one with images and symbols whose urgency I do not understand, the other a very brief instruction from a new Master. Teller insists that the winter season closes the entry to the frontier at the mountains, so leaving now is the only option for me. To protect the Master, my exact destination will be made known at a later time.

       The grandfathers say that north of the distant birthplace of the Fung, beyond the known frontier, exists a dangerously remote region known as the Sacred Reservoir, where spirit activity is magnified by the planetary environment. Where naturally occurring, incomprehensible forces are abundant. Where stones are alive, and there exists a wall that reaches the sky. Where many vanish. The old ones tell of storms so powerful that they washed away communities and forcibly changed the course of rivers, of snow so deep it remained after more than eight seasons. Some speak of it as a place of constant, unexplainable disasters, a place of natural turmoil, a place to avoid. But for me, it is possibly a destination. Looking at the chart, I realize that the remaining distance to just the headwater is farther than my mind can reach, and I am sure that this is the longest journey anyone my age has ever attempted alone.

       In my absence, Teller alone will have to make all the preparations for the sitting of the Elders unless he accepts help from Kama. She is blind, wise and exceptional, always offering assistance. But he is stubborn and easily annoyed. He apprenticed under Kama’s sister, Rain Of Dreams, the most powerful woman healer Far has ever known. Though only Rain was revealed by the Elders, both she and Kama were born with a special bond to the stone. So Teller is a fool if he refuses her help.

       There is so much to prepare. This season, new voices have asked to speak before the Deciders in the Big Lodge. And with these new voices come the many families and friends who wish to support and observe the ones who speak their desire. The grandfathers have said that all visitors to the sitting are welcome and must be accommodated. Perhaps an extension to the Big Lodge should be prepared, along with more of everything. There are other considerations. Wa, acknowledged leader of the Wata is old and frail. He leaves many of the decisions to Ston, the respected, gentle white hair, or to Ru, the wise woman Elder. Wa often pretends to be sleeping during the Deciders sessions. And he has been speaking of death, advising the Council to seek worthy leadership. Changes are coming to Far.

       The green hills become higher and steeper. Here the trail lies in the flood plain of the Fung and is headed toward a narrowing, a pass. The feathered hunters hang where the sky greets the mountains, and here below, true dogs leave their marks. The insect who laughs is high in the branches, shouting his joy throughout the valley. But he does not cheer me.

       To travel for more than a full cycle of the moon is not my choice. I am only a boy, and I am lonely and unhappy. Before sleeping, I prepare a ceremonial fire, and make a cedar and mugwort smudge stick. I have never made one for myself, they are always for Teller, his clients or the ceremonies. My dream is of sadness, uncomforting memories of long ago. My mother is broken, sobbing. My brother is holding onto me and will not let go. The women are trying to calm them as the Elders of Far, for the good of all, take me from the lodge of my father’s memory, and place me to serve with the Teller Of Things. The Elders speak of honor, sacrifice, service, and the great respect that both my ancestors and descendents gain by my revelation. It is decided. I must go and live with Teller. Nothing can change this. It is What Is, and it is good. Back then, as now, there is no choice for me. My mother, brother, and the spirit of my father have no choice. My blood, the Bso, have no choice. The community of Far has gained a One Who Can, and that is all that matters. But I am sad.

       This journey is a mistake. I miss Far. I am alone, completely alone. The thought makes this day very difficult - I no longer have a home. My feet are taking me in the direction opposite to my heart. Why am I not brave enough to defy Teller and remain in Far? Why can I not act on my own will? All morning I taste my tears.

       Sometime in the late afternoon, in a gesture of compassion, the uncommon natural beauty of this place momentarily distracts me from my misery. A welcoming meadow stretches from the distant foothills, out across a perfect valley, greeting the rocks along the shoreline with dense purple flowers. Everywhere is the delicious smell of long life. Five large green snakes weave themselves through the grass. Quicktails have lodges among the rocks, and dart about faster than my eyes can follow. A raven has been watching me since I started this journey and generously offers me his companionship through the first pass. He reminds me of the brief message from the distant new Master who writes, “Three ravens will guide you.”

       I find a protected spot near the purple flowers and stop before sunset. The river is white and full of motion as it descends down steep rocks upstream. Night falls quickly, and sleep comes without vision.

       This new day takes me upriver, into the mountain forest. The Fung is angry and loud, hissing like a spirit alarm, reminding me to keep my distance. Yet under my feet is a sensuously thick, green bedding molded to the roots of trees, rocks, and stumps. Dense, soft moss covers everything on the forest floor. I lie down in the softness to attempt to sense the spirit of this amazingly comfortable bed of green.

       As I close my eyes to relax and fully experience this special space, time steps aside, enabling a moment to occur that otherwise would not. Briefly, I hear the sound of gentle wings, and when I open my eyes, I see a small creature on my knee. Never have I seen one like her. A slender feathered one with colors yet to be named - foolish enough to think I am a rock. She cocks her head side to side and looks straight into my eyes. Her image and her spirit capture me completely, and I imagine her to be a woman. I feel certain that she will speak to me so I wait. But she is silent. “Please stay with me,” I beg. At first I am afraid to move, stiffly motionless, not wanting to scare her, but gradually I realize that she is comfortable with me and so I relax. She is a song whose music makes my heart beat, and she is responding to my smile. What is she doing here? Perhaps there is a problem. “Are you injured?” I am concerned, holding out my hand. She immediately flies into my palm, and I can see no injury. “You must never do this! Only a foolish bird flies into the hand of a man! There are those who wish to take you for your beauty!” She sings, “Wee opop whip. Wee opop whip.” I repeat her song. She, sounding very annoyed and offended leaves me. “Wee opop whip,” I call. She is gone.

       The terrain changes to no trees, only bush and grass where the snakes with legs lie on the rocks in the sun. Small pools in the shallows of the Fung breed huge celebrations of newly arrived insects. In the fields, there is no more sage, but much clover, strawberry and mint. Today I observe a very special occurrence. At the horizon, a massive flock of birds blots out the sun in the moments just before sunset, coaxing night to fall early. The significance of this event is too obvious for me to grasp at this time, but I am aware that I have witnessed something extraordinary, and know that my understanding of it will follow. In the riverbed there are huge stones everywhere - a crowd of giant spirits. This night, I sense their ever presence and I am grateful for their company, and for the gift of this potent place.

       Shadows in the land of stone
       Knowledge from the distant past
       Gather here as songs are born
       And celebrate with sacred dance

       Again my sleep takes me to the Big Lodge of Far. Prior to the sitting, each voice wishing to present words before the Deciders make known their desire. Eto, the fierce Tapa warrior wishes to speak because many Tapa families east of Far are suffering. There is the drought, which has stolen the grass of their meat, their fruits, seeds, roots, even fish. And going against time honored agreements, the neighboring Bso have been overhunting and overfishing upstream, and the Owi likewise downstream. Two others, Shinwo and Iwip, reveal a desire to speak. Shinwo wishes to establish contact with the elders of the neighboring bands in an effort to seek peaceful discourse, and opposes any act of war by the Wata against his wife’s band, the Owi. Iwip brings anger and news of two deaths inflicted by the Bso raids on Wata lodges, and he has a plan to strike back quickly with a large revenge. All come to Teller, seeking advice, asking for any advantage he can conjure to make more powerful their words and performance before the Deciders.

       After another day’s walk, the river is shallow and there are many places that look crossable. The bed is sandy, and the air is thick with mosquitoes. As I fill myself on magnificent blackberries, evidence of a very large bear is revealed. This is definitely a good sign. Powerful spirits are always welcome. Looking across the river, I can see deer on the trail heading upstream. I sing to Teller a new song of no regret, but it is not sincere.

       In the second pass, no ravens reveal themselves, so I sleep in the shelter of a stone formation, and think longingly of the bird woman. But my dream is of Kama, who I dearly love. The old blind woman chose the tiny spotted drummer as her instrument of connection. Kama can communicate with her power animal by creating the unique sounds of its call and its drumming, using her mouth. And in return for this bond, from the spirit of the feathered creature deep within her, Kama gains an ability for a vision far superior to sight.

       Morning brings the songbirds heading south, and the buzzing of bees in the clover. Large turtles populate the floating logs. In the tall grass by the shoreline sings the fat green quick jump near where the long feathered hunter successfully stalks fish. All day passes without ravens.

       I must be honest for this journal to be of value. But the truth is that I am missing Far and remain in despair. Traveling is tiring and boring. I feel I am wasting my time wandering with no possibility of accomplishment. How can I serve the village by doing this? It is only the tenth night away, but it seems like the hundredth.

       As I am unpacking and setting camp, I discover a small pouch that must have been placed at the bottom of my pack by Teller. But he did not make this one. I know by its design that this powerful pouch did not come from my village. It must be from the new Master. It feels alive. The hide has been exquisitely tanned and is as soft as air, painted with five small stars of various colors. Potent forces stream out as I open the pouch and remove the contents. It is a complex charm made from spirit messengers and attractors, including a bone tube, a lock of white hair, and a beak and skull of a raven. The rest of the charm is tied to the Ogam with a cord I have never seen. There are two locator stones, both crystals. One is a slightly pink quartz, the other is bismuth. I touch each object many times and study them more than carefully. Chosen by the powerful Master, each item has a significance beyond my complete understanding, yet I have confidence that they will guide me.

       The large box in Teller’s lodge is the receptacle of his magnificent instruments, each one an evoker of a special power. His masks include those of the spirit fox, snapping turtle and other animals, death, the old and young woman, the sky, the cloud, the forest, and the moon. There is a cedar root healing blanket, along with the robe and the hat. All of these ceremonial items, however impressive seen by day, are immensely more powerful at night. Presented in the bold light of a bonfire, wearing one of his many headdresses, Teller’s presence becomes significantly potent, and the impact of his dancing is vastly magnified. Also in the box are bone tubes to catch spirits, necklaces with pendants of ancient origin, curing wands, skin aprons, charms, rattles of teeth, drums with tight and loose skins, rattles with eyes - even a headdress that Teller has never worn, a beautifully woven, foreign looking object with an emblem of two crossed snakes. But nothing in Teller’s box compares to the fierce potency I sense encompassing this pouch from the Master.

       The morning brings the long awaited three ravens, who show me the gently flowing shallows where I must cross the river. Their guidance enables me to locate the trail with ease. But they leave before I can thank them. The way from here is very steep, very narrow, and traveling becomes difficult. When I finally reach the top of the gorge, I look down on the river from the height of ten large oaks. From here until I cross again, the river will always be in sight. Exhausted from climbing all afternoon, my body demands rest. Since leaving Far, no one has crossed my path, reminding me how alone I am. I wish I were in my old bed, in my old space, my old life. I want to go home.

       The familiar dream visits. It is my third winter. The ice on the River Ob is thick at its banks, but far from the shoreline it is remains unfrozen. Everyone is having fun sliding on the ice. My brother thinks I am with my mother, my mother thinks I am with my brother. I am by myself. I slide and slide on the ice. There is a deafening explosion and it seems I awaken into another dream, one of thunder, lightning, wind and a journey.

       Because of the rain and the wind, I am forced to spend the morning sheltered by a huge fallen pine in the company of a spiny one. At midday I set out into a large clearing where the thorny berries are thick. The field is also full of sage. Mixed in with it is a plant I have never seen, with curly stalks, tiny, reddish leaves, and flat bean pods. I am excited by this discovery and wonder if Teller knows what it is. At first I believe it to be a sign that I have arrived, but after thinking about it, I realize it proves only that I am very far from home. In the bean pods are mature black seeds, and I take some to identify later.

       In the house of the recognized dream
       Is kept the secret of the unknown seed
       While I, from the village of Far
       Have journeyed such a distance
       For the sake of the opening of my eyes
       Only to see that I have not arrived

       The river is now smaller, shallower, still uncrossable. From the tracks and droppings near the riverbed, I can see that deer are abundant. Because of Teller, these fresh signs are comforting and familiar to me. He acknowledges a permanent spirit bond to this animal, which immensely magnifies his natural abilities. He may seem crazy, acting strange and stupid sometimes, but he knows instinctively the ways of the deer. I have learned much by observing his relationship to this creature. He understands what they are thinking, how many bands, where they sleep, where their water is, what is their cover, what they are eating, how many bucks, how many pregnant females. The hunters who seek his advice always have meat. So Teller is here but has not revealed himself.

       In the meadow where I camp, my snare is blessed with an offering of a rabbit, so I build a fire for the first time on this side of the river to roast it with sage and hickory. The meat tastes different from the rabbits of my village, but it could be the firewood. While I am relaxing, my bird woman of yet to be named colors appears. “Wee opop whi...” Interrupting my call, she rushes up angrily and strikes me on the cheek with her wing. “Waa opop whip! Waa opop whip!” she cries, over and over directly in my face. “Waa opop whip,” I mutter and she relaxes. “Waa opop whip,” I understand. “What is it about ‘wee opop whip’ that you do not like?” She flies and gently taps me on the nose. “Is this a game?” I hold out my palm and she lands. She is even more attractive than I remembered. “Please stay.” “Wee opop whip,” she sings. “Waa opop whip,” I return. She smiles and remains nearby until I sleep. How unusual for a songbird to be out at night.

       Hickory, elm, cedar and sage are everywhere. They were once part of my dream catcher, now unnecessary to coax the vision that comes. It is the familiar one. I am young and small. I am sliding, sliding on the ice of the Ob. The ice is laughing. I am laughing. I see my brother far away. He is yelling for me to come back, but I do not want him to catch me. So I run away from him. Let him try to catch me! He can run faster than I am able to, still I have a big head start. I run as fast as I can away from the shore, sliding and falling and laughing.

       At dawn it is raining once again, and torrents wash the stone all day. I hope my village is also receiving this needed rain. Under a huge elm tree, in the company of owls, I sleep and recover my strength. They do not answer my questions, but when I sing them my songs, they acknowledge my presence by blinking. I offer to share my rabbit with them, but again I am ignored. I place the skull in a crotch high in the tree to watch over the young ones. Night comes, and the rain continues. All night, I am constantly awakened by the weather, and I dream of the Thunder Bear who owns this sound in his throat.

       The storm keeps me here another morning, finally clearing by midday. Now the Fung is muddy and swollen. As I walk I waste my entire afternoon reliving the same imagined argument over and over. “How can you say I must leave for the good of all, Teller? The Elders of Far expect me to serve the village. That is why they sent me to apprentice with you. But how can I serve them from such a distance? How do you explain that to the Elders? Perhaps you think you are sending me away forever, but you are mistaken. It is my duty to return to Far, no matter what it takes. Do you not understand?” Why did I not think to speak these words instead of blindly complying.

       In the recently washed riverbed, I find a source of excellent quartz crystals. I decide to use them the next time I build a fire. The Elders and the Fathers of the Fathers always plan for the future with all the village in mind. Our leader Wa has made a great effort to bring all the bands of the Ob to this village. In past seasons before this drought and the recent raids, there were many Bso and Owi lodges here. Their Elders sat in the Big Lodge and were Deciders alongside those of the Wata and the Tapa. In Far, anyone who has words to share will always be heard if they are respectful and gracious. But the new voices, the warriors Eto and Iwip, have been speaking of things which by themselves are neither respectful nor gracious, yet the Council listens, and hears a call for vengeance. And because he does not want to be seen acting in his own interests, the great warrior Shinwo no longer argues in support of the Owi. Now the Deciders find themselves deeply divided. Quartz will bring unity, and good decisions will result.

       There are five ravens in the meadow making a lot of noise. Is this the crossing point? The river is wide and shallow. As I go down the bank, there are three more on a large boulder, and I know this is the place. The ravens are very loud, a bit annoying, but I know their purpose, and I thank them. I strip, place my clothes in my pack, the pack on my head, and wade across. At the deepest point, the freezing water reaches my chest. Half way across, the bird woman reveals herself, noisily squawking at me. Pulling my hair with her beak back toward the bank I just left. “What are you telling me? You don’t want me to leave your territory?” “Wee opop whipeee,” she sings in lament. “Waa opop whip,” I hold out my hand for her, but she refuses, flying back to the rock with the ravens. “Waa opop whip,” I call one last time, pleading. She does not respond. I am across.

       On the other side, I search for the trail unsuccessfully. The ravens do not cross with me, so I yell out to them for help. They ignore me, cawing angrily back and seeming irritated. Most rivers have parallel trails on either side the entire length of the flow. On this side a dense forest meets the river, and there is no clear trail to be found. But Teller is here.

       I follow the deer trail into the woods expecting to cross a pathway heading upstream, but do not come upon one right away. Did the ravens mislead me? There is something about their demeanor and the bird woman’s behavior that is causing me to have doubts. I mark my way in case the crossing point was a mistake and I need to backtrack to the river. All day I spend traveling away from the water only to come upon a sheer rock formation twice as high as the tallest oak. After noting this spot, I turn upstream on another deer trail and walk along the rock formation until evening. Many small creatures reveal themselves.

       Because of absent moon, I prepare for darkness by laying out my pack supplies. I choose to make no fire to enjoy the lack of light. Just prior to total blackness I think I see a small, long, dark form streak beside me - perhaps more than one.

       Teller taught me to respect and recognize the many aspects of the moon. From him I know that on the night the moon of the orange leaf becomes absent, the spirits of the ice escape the Northlands, pushing the moon of the first snow ahead of them. Great changes are coming. My sleep is not restful. I dream of altered plans, of great danger. The ravens suggest that the Master is no longer accessible. There is the sense of lost control. A frightening, irresolvable conflict looms nearby. Treachery, too many deaths, overwhelming responsibilities, and debts that can never be repaid grasp at me. Doubts of my purpose are growing.

       In the morning, I find what I think is the main trail. There are rolling hills with large fields. I find a large quartz rock with a faint pink coloration and decide to compare it to the one I have, but I cannot find the pouch. I empty the entire pack on the ground but it is not there. Did I dream that I had this pouch? Did I lose it? How could I be so stupid?

       A burned and broken canoe floats by in the roiling current below. I stop to look for its riders, but none are visible. A canoe is very unlikely to burn by accident, so I see it as an ominous sign. This is the first evidence of population I have seen since leaving Far, yet it is the evidence of destruction. There are people upstream and with them, perhaps an acceptable explanation.

       Very late in the afternoon, I hear something approaching just ahead, on the trail. It could be those who use canoes, perhaps they expect me, and are coming to greet me. Or more likely, it is an enemy in large numbers, with their weapons prepared. I step off the trail and hide behind a large tree to get a look at them before they see me. The crunching of footsteps is very near. But instead of enemy warriors, it is a woman and a young girl. The young one has a wound on her forehead and the woman limps. They are very frightened when I make myself known, but I assure them that I mean no harm and they allow me to dress their injuries. Their tongue is different, yet we can communicate quite well.

       Both were injured fleeing soldiers sent by the district authority enforcing some kind of prohibition imposed upon the village of Obi. The woman’s husband and son were captured and imprisoned for seeking knowledge in the Sacred Reservoir. Sho and her young daughter Che escaped capture by hiding in their garden when the soldiers came. They are headed for relatives in the village of Vos near the big water, which they point out to me on my chart. But unless I am mistaken, they are headed in the wrong direction.

       I am very intrigued by their story and wish to ask many question, especially about the Sacred Reservoir, but they are suffering and my curiosity can wait. The sky is signaling a storm, so I locate shelter and start a fire. At the river, I accept an offering of three large trout. We eat one and set the other two on planks to smoke overnight. Sho and Che work together preparing the camp and gathering berries, while I source a supply of dry wood. As the rain comes the air turns cold. We huddle under my one blanket near the fire. Che sobs in her sleep, Sho weeps for her husband and son. I am homesick. We are miserable.

       The old Teller can often be found, even on the warmest of summer days, inside his lodge, staring into the embers of his fire. If one is to speak to him while he is doing this, he may not answer. Although no one doubts his words, many in the village are afraid of his craziness, his wild hair, his scary songs. But the Elders, wise from birth and always searching for One Who Can, recognized and revealed Teller. They decided that he would be raised and educated by Rain Of Dreams, daughter of the stone. This after a mysterious and deadly disease captured his whole family. First, his parents were overtaken and held in their beds, unable to walk or speak. All night Rain fought the damaging spirits with her most intense ferocity, but still the illness spread. In the morning Teller and his sisters could not rise. Rain stayed on and continued her battle, joined by two other Owi healers. But before that evening, the entire family had taken the spirit journey away from What Is - their conscious minds departed. Their breath, the fuel of life, ceased. Each and every pulse, the proof of life, stopped.

       All the Wata and the Tapa grieved. For an entire family to perish, something must be very wrong. Preparations were made for a final ceremony that recognized this sense of something not right. Rain, the most powerful One Who Can, was asked by the Elders to conduct the proceedings in way that would cleanse the village. The family was dressed in the red robes of death, and carried by relatives to the Waiting Bed. But during the waiting, the lone drum beat longer than ever before, the sacred fire was made larger than anyone could remember, more gifts were offered. Even those who stood silent noticed more among themselves than ever before. All this because an entire family was taken by the mystery. And so the ceremony carried on the beat of the drum, the sorrow, the guilt, and the puzzlement of a people as they danced and offered their respect. But as the procession of dancers moved from the Sacred Lodge to the Waiting Bed for the last time, the truly unexpected happened. Through the vast power vested only in his Vital Spirit, the young one, not yet named Teller, lying among his dead family, blinked open his eyes and sneezed. The village fell silent in awe, for he had been able to return to What Is having seen What Was and What Will Be. He is our connection to both our ancestors and our unborn children’s children, revealed to us by his very survival.

       The rain stops by late morning. By then I have convinced Sho that the village of Vos lies in the direction of my travel, not where they were headed. I make her a crutch which greatly aids her walking comfort. Che is not feeling well so I carry her most of the time. Vos lies near the big water at the head of the Fung. It is not identified by name on my chart, but from the seabirds high above, I know we are close.

       In the distance, there is ominous, black smoke rising from several sources - smoke much too dark to be coming from cooking fires, signaling both destruction as well as danger. Fortunately, we are headed in another direction. Che is now feverish so I lead us off the main trail, where my companions can rest while I prepare a poultice and gather herbs.

       I wander to an area where I hope to find the bitter root, but instead discover a partially burned lodge that smells of death. The bodies of two very young puppies are lying in the yard, tied to a stake. They probably starved to death. Inside the lodge are four burned bodies, perhaps a family. I have seen death many times so it by itself is not shocking. What is shocking is the disgrace of these deaths. Families in their beds. Something terrible is happening all around me, but I feel helpless to change it. Under some debris I find and take a good blanket with just a few burn holes.

       When I return, Che is asleep, and Sho is now also feverish and shaking. She accepts the poultice and sleeps peacefully. I build a fire and boil herbs and roots as the grandfathers told us. Che wakes and I convince her to drink my brew, but she spits it out and cries, waking Sho. Sho drinks the bitter healing drink and gets Che to do the same. They are definitely too weak to travel. When I show them the blanket, Sho becomes hysterical and collapses. Later she tells me the blanket can be identified by its woven design as one from Vos. I tell them of the burned lodge, but not of the death I found there.

       The chart and my skins are wet from the storm, so tonight I dry them by the fire. As I stretch out the skins, I recognize that a symbol on the mystery skin, drawn by the Master, is the same as one on the blanket. It is the symbol of Vos, and my understanding of this skin begins.

       My journey has taken an unexpected detour, but it is obvious to me that caring for these two is important. They will need to spend several days resting here while healing takes place. I make a smudge stick for all of us combining pine with sage and can see by their sleep that this comforts my companions. I am feeling homesick until the true dogs and loons begin to welcome me. Their songs last well into the night. I sing along with them in gratitude until I am too tired to continue.

       I dream that the ice and the River Ob can share with us their knowledge of our past. There has never been a time when the ice did not form. In some winters the ice was jagged, sculpted during windstorms. Other years saw snow covered ice that looked more like the land. But once, not so long ago, the ice on the Ob was perfectly flat and smooth, with no snow. In my dream I am in my third winter, when I find myself standing upon this perfectly transparent ice. I slide and fall down. The ice is special and fun. The whole village is sliding and laughing. My mother and my brother are distracted long enough for me to slide my way alone onto the thin ice far out over deep water. I see my brother calling me and waving his hands and this makes me run away and slide farther out until the ice and the river sing me their songs.

       In the morning, I build a shelter using branches of the large leaf in case the weather turns bad. This also serves to mask our camp from view. Sho and Che continue to sleep while I gather wood, berries, water, and herbs for them. In the late morning, I awaken Sho to show her the supplies and to tell her my plan. I will leave them here for two nights to scout the direction we must travel to find Vos. This journey is no longer safe, and now unknown threats make the obvious trails dangerous.

       By late afternoon, I discover another destroyed lodge. Death is here as well. From this lodge, I can see several others, all ruined, burned. Lodge after lodge appears, burned to the ground, the occupants missing or dead. I am stunned by this gross destruction. My homesickness becomes petty compared to the misery inflicted here. I gag and cry for a while and am glad no one is watching. Heading northward, I continue to find destruction and death where once there were homes and families.

       From a distance, I see two small children playing near a damaged lodge. I quietly enter the woods and approach them, remaining concealed in the bush. There is a man pulling water from a well. When I reveal myself, he is frightened and refuses to talk. I make a present of a bit of the smoked fish and he is very grateful. He calls to his son Beb and niece Linz. Zus is his name. He tells me that there is nothing left of Vos after the soldiers came. His wife, Ruel appears, crying. I give them all my food which they eat immediately.

       Are there others here? No. Many fled. Many died. Many were taken away. This family survived because their house is built alongside a mound, with part of the shelter underground and concealed. The only others who may still be here are the Nothing, who used to be so powerful that they could never be captured or killed. But things have changed drastically, and Zus blames them for bringing the soldiers. “The Nothing promised that the natural forces they were harnessing would protect the village from any harm. They showed the villagers how their encrusted preparations could mask our lodges from normal perception. Outsiders could not see our homes. The demonstration of the Nothing’s power was so convincing that the entire village felt invulnerable. We trusted the Nothing and paid for it dearly.”

       They tell me that the Nothing had been harvesting encrusted minerals in the Sacred Reservoir against the directive of the Fung Magistrate. Why would the Magistrate destroy a village for such a minor offense? Because the deciders in this land do not act in the interest of all. Here, those who govern do so for themselves. The Nothing’s claim of invulnerability to attacks from the soldiers became a threat to the Magistrate’s ability to govern by force. So the destruction of Vos is held up as an example of what will happen to anyone defying the prohibition. The Magistrate fears that others will obtain these and perhaps even greater powers, and has made entering the Reservoir a capital offence. I cannot believe that the Sacred Reservoir has become a forbidden zone.

       I ask how I can contact the Nothing. Ruel says that I will probably have to go into the village, and wait for them to contact me. She then begs me to help them find food and rebuild enough of the concealed part of their lodge to withstand the winter. When I tell them that I am caring for Sho and Che, Zus insists that I bring them here as soon as they can travel. I agree to return to help them after I go to the center of Vos and give the Nothing an opportunity to contact me. Before I leave, Zus makes me promise not to reveal his family’s presence to anyone I meet.



Chapter 2: The Nothing



       In Vos, as in the surrounding areas, there are no lodges standing. There is no sign of life, only large charred areas, scarred trees, and toppled stone fences. Debris litters the main road. Is this the Magistrate’s punishment for disobedience? Is it vengeance? And where are the victorious?

       It is early evening on a most beautiful fall day, but the rampant death and destruction here causes me to worry about Far. I am concerned, for in my distant village there are new voices who have asked to speak before the Deciders - voices who are angry at the sky for withholding the rain. They are angry because their children have sickness, and ashamed because they are helpless. They blame other bands for the losses suffered. Teller’s advice to them is to seek a conference with the Bso and Owi Elders. But instead, Eto and Iwip come before the Deciders with their weapons and shout disrespectfully about the justice of revenge and the right to take from others. And the Deciders are not only listening, but also divided among themselves. The Bso in the east have killed a Tapa warrior defending his property. In the west, Owi thieves repeatedly raid the harvest and horses. The screeching voices speak of pain, children suffering without food. Many are now standing in the Big Lodge murmuring support for the speakers. Seeing this makes the disrespectful voices louder and more disrespectful until Wa strikes the Ogam with such force that all who are speaking become ashamed. A good decision cannot be reached in this environment.

       I find myself wanting to tell the Elders of Far what I have seen here. The lessons of Vos must be shared somehow, and the questions not only asked, but also answered. Who is responsible? Where are the villagers? Have the Nothing been defeated?

       Just before dark, a long, small animal appears. It is a young ferret who circles me and watches as I prepare for sleep. I clear some debris from a protected spot near a knocked down stone wall while the little one observes. “Are you a Nothing?” I ask. The little one yawns. I am hoping Sho and Che are comfortable.

       That night I am visited by a vivid dream of failure. Lodges destroyed that were supposed to be protected. Death instead of success. Leaders lost, and knowledge lost with them. All the deciders but one are gone, and those once faithful who were not killed, now have less will to stand and fight. Devastation is everywhere. The unprepared defenders have been overwhelmed, the community razed. The loss is monumental. Because of this, there is a new importance, an urgency to my journey. So from every direction within me, I listen for the songs of the stone, for they speak to my responsibility to service - the place from which my mission must come. I am trusting of these songs. They arrive as dreams but remain as memories and beliefs.

       Teller taught me that the point where one recognizes a dream is the place where a hidden reality can be exposed. Where What Was, What Is, and What Will Be fuse, intuition becomes knowledge. But in my dream, the reality continues to remain hidden even though its connection to me has already been established. Only those who need to know will be informed, others in due time.

       At first light, I look down the long straight road that passes through Vos and see a tiny figure far away. A while later I can see it is a man walking toward me from the outskirts of the village. He walks very slowly - he may make it here by midday. The time fills me with ideas about who this person might be. Perhaps this is an injured old man walking dazed in the aftermath of the destruction. With this thought, I stand and begin walking toward him. Or a wounded soldier trying to make it back to his command. Or he might be the leader of the Nothing, the lone surviving decider.

       He introduces himself as Gund of Pato and he is here looking for his grandchild Pers. He asks where I spent the last several nights and I briefly tell him how I arrived with my ill friends, and of our camp on the outskirts of Vos. He inquires as to where he might look for Pers. I say I am new to Vos, and he asks if anyone is here who might know about Pers. I am about to mention my new acquaintances when I remember my vow to Zus. Instead, I promise Gund that I will find out for him. He tells me that he stays in the first lodge with two chimneys outside Vos going north on this road.

       When I mention my interest in finding the Nothing, his face changes. “They caused the destruction of Vos by insulting the Fung Magistrate. Far to the east, they also make trouble for the Shui. Stay away from the Nothing. They are troublemakers.” My question inquiring about the location of the Sacred Reservoir, causes him to interrupt me with a long tirade, scolding me for my curiosity of the forbidden. This is not a subject I will ever bring up again with him.

       When Gund is out of sight, I return to Zus and Ruel’s. Upon my mention of his search for Pers, Ruel shakes her head, for she had seen the body of the young child before the mass burial. Zus does not trust Gund’s story, saying that Pers was an orphan and had no living relatives. He questions me severely, concerned that I may have revealed the location of this lodge. I convince him I did not, but he is still very worried. The rest of the day is spent helping them rebuild their concealed shelter.

       Zus’ shop and livelihood were destroyed when the troops attacked. He is a construction specialist, and was especially reluctant to associate himself with the Nothing because of his business. But when everyone else in town except Zus had implemented the Nothing Camouflage system successfully, he finally gave in and installed it. For a while things went well. The traveling troops stopped harassing him because they could no longer find him. Same for all the citizens of Vos. Oppression can not be inflicted on the unseen. Other villages wanted the same protection. The Nothing became powerful and were everywhere.

       Later, as I am emptying my pack, the small pouch from the Master falls out from under the rain flap. How did this get up there? I want to ask Zus if he has ever seen crystals like the ones I carry, and if so, where? But when I open the pouch, the contents have changed! There is now an unknown gemstone and an Ogam with a small tooth and a dried leaf in the shape of a five pointed star. Zus sees that I am astonished and tries to find an explanation. I suspect my destination or my purpose has changed. But who is causing the changes? Zus is familiar with the gemstone. It is called Gleech, and it is illegally mined in the Sacred Reservoir. Gleech is an unexplainably beautiful mineral, radiant with multiple colors that seem to have their own energy and depth. Zus says the tooth looks like one his son just lost to make room for his permanent front tooth. As for the leaf, neither of us has ever seen one like it.

       I am sheltered tonight by the thoughts of my good friends, Kir and Fa, both of the Wata band. Fa is the son of the great warrior Shinwo. On the day we celebrate the successful harvest, Fa is given a horse by his family. The three of us, out of sheer joy, ride east, all the way to Bny, where the Bso and the Owi bands are powerful. No one has warned us that in recent days, warriors from these bands have been raiding Wata lodges, and that our warriors avenge each raid. We were once friendly cousins, but suddenly we are enemies. Bso warriors surround us, make us kneel as they strip off our clothes and take Fa’s new horse. The younger warriors are calling for a blood vengeance. We are expecting death, but are released. I know that the reason we are not executed is that there is only shame in killing young boys, but both Kir and Fa believe that we are spared because of my special powers and because I am also Bso. Our long, naked, barefoot journey back, however humiliating, is a shared memory that keeps us forever close.

       In the morning, I make the trip to Gund’s to deliver my information and to ask questions. There is an insignia of eagle talons mounted on his door. Gund is there alone and is surprised to see me. As we sit in his garden, I begin by asking him about his relationship with Pers. He tells me that until recently, he lived in the village of Pato far to the east, along the River Shui. His daughter and her fiancé eloped from there and disappeared several years ago. He heard rumors that she was in Vos, and he hired a counselor to locate her, but instead learned of her death in a fire that also killed her husband. Later, when he learned that his granddaughter Pers survived and lived with another family in Vos, he finally made the journey, but the assault by the Fung Magistrates forces was underway. Did I have any word of Pers? I am forced to lie to him, knowing that any other answer reveals the presence of others in town.

       As we are speaking, someone sings, “Wee opop whip,” and my precious bird appears, but as soon as she sees Gund, she begins hissing and striking at him with her beak. “No. Stop that! Waa opop whip!” and I hold out my hand. She comes but keeps looking at Gund who by now has covered his head with his arms and is walking away as fast as he can toward the house. As soon as he is inside, she motions for me to follow. “Waa opop whip, wait!” She wants me to run. I follow her sprinting for a short distance, before she disappears. But she has put me in the direction of the camp I prepared for Sho and Che, so I run all the way.

       No one is in the camp. The fire still has embers, so I am hopeful of finding them nearby. The blankets are gone, but some of the food is still here. There is still plenty of firewood. Perhaps they went for more herbs, or water - but with the blankets? I search for their trail, evidence of direction as Teller taught me. Even deer leave unintended messages in the forest. According to Teller, there are witnesses everywhere that wish to grant you their vision in exchange for your respect. Overturned rocks and leaves lead me to a small trail along a deep ravine. Ahead I can hear the Fung.

       At the end of the trail, I am very relieved to find Sho and Che washing the blankets. Che is splashing and having fun with the water. They are both much better and happy to see me. I tell them of the disaster that has befallen Vos and of the family I met in the village. Sho has many questions for me that I cannot answer.

       As we talk, I see an overturned canoe drifting in an eddy downstream. I pull it out of the water and find that it is in perfect condition. The markings are Vos. It can easily hold four adults, but it needs paddles. Che wants to go for a ride, so I find a long pole and we all go riding in shallow water, upstream. We are actually having fun. Fish and turtles make themselves known. Birds and quick jumps are singing, and flat tail and deer reveal themselves this afternoon. Che is laughing, Sho is smiling and I am completely taken by their cheerful mood. Using the pole, I push us ever so slowly upstream, toward the village of Vos. But even the most calm and peaceful boat ride is only a momentary diversion from the frightening reality of our circumstance. As they drift into view, all the lodges visible from the water are destroyed. Not one is standing. There are no people along the shoreline, only the crows feeding on a dead horse by a burned barn. This of course, ruins our fun boat experience and we drift back, Sho now crying and Che concerned about her mother. I pull the boat out, and we conceal it along the shoreline with branches and driftwood.

       As we are returning with the now heavy, wet blankets, we can hear the sounds of dogs, and many men coming toward us on the main trail. I lead us off the path, across a small stream, up an embankment, to a rock formation. We know we are in great danger and must find cover quickly. We climb the formation and head toward the clusters of stone and the crevices between them. The soldiers and dogs are close by, remaining on the main path to the river. Hiding from their view is easy, but if they spot us we are captured. The dogs suspect we are here and are straining their leashes, eager to be set free to find out. By sheer luck, I stumble and fall in one of the large openings, enabling me to see a small stone crevice large enough for only one person to crawl through. Behind this opening is a large room within a massive stone cave with a small, naturally occurring roof light high above the center of a large room. One large rock placed against the crevice from the inside can conceal this place completely. We enter and wait.

       Fortunately, the soldiers do not believe their dogs. We hear them as they go past us, down to the river, and then back to rejoin their forces. When the sounds stop, I scout our old encampment for the food, but find it conspicuously destroyed. The tracks of heavy wagons and horses are present everywhere. In the distance, more dark smoke signals death and the wrath of the Fung Magistrate. This column of soldiers is camped almost within sight of where we hide.

       I have no reason to believe our new stone lodge is in danger even though the soldiers are close, but I take some precautions. Like Teller showed me, as a way of locating deer, I put up a loose-log alarm system to signal if anyone approaches our lodge from the direction of the soldiers. Then I set several large rock traps and bent sapling snares along the deer trail that leads up to our new shelter.

       The rest of the day, Sho and Che spend their time with me along the river, close to the canoe, gathering berries and other fruit. I make two adequate paddles and a floatation device for Che. Before dark, I scout back to the lodge and see that no traps or alarms have been disturbed, before returning with my companions.

       We sleep inside without a fire, and I do not dream. Every now and then I can hear a war drum or horn, or sometimes just a horse crying for its lost freedom. Once, I am awaked by Che, who is laughing in her sleep and talking to someone in her dream named Mujer.

       At first light, we are awakened by the unwanted sound of loose logs falling. Then the noise of soldiers triggering more of my traps. Within seconds, men are all over the rocks surrounding and above us. We can hear them talking. Che and Sho are crying quietly while I try to be reassuring. But they have found us. I have been so stupid. The traps and the alarms only make them more likely to suspect something unusual is here. With enough men, and enough time, we will be revealed. They have already found the opening which is our skylight. We can see heads peering in, trying to adjust to the darkness.

       After a brief silence, a soldier looks down holding a torch, but the fumes and smoke go directly out the hole and cause him to retreat, choking and coughing. Next, a large number of torches are dropped at the same time into our large room. The three of us conceal ourselves behind rock formations. Several different soldiers take turns looking in while the torches burn on the ground. After another break more torches and this time small evergreen trees are dumped in from above. They are going to smoke us out. We will choke to death. They are dropping so much fuel and green trees, that the fire becomes a mass of smoke, filling the room with billowing white, water heavy smoke. But the amazing thing is that it is all rising and going out the hole. Our lodge has a naturally designed chimney for any fire we choose to build inside! The soldiers finally give up and leave, but I suspect they may come back with some other way of destroying our lodge.

       By late morning, we are able to gather more provisions for the new camp. Che is picking berries while I accept a large offering of fish, which Sho prepares. I was going to take us to Zus’ shelter, but Sho and Che are still weak from their recent illness, and this lodge is safe. My companions have seen that Vos may not be a welcoming place, and are content to stay.

       For the next four days, we work together making the lodge more comfortable, gathering bedding, a supply of food, wood, and herbs. Using Teller’s knowledge, I teach Sho and Che how to make and set a simple trail snare. We place two of them in good locations. From a family of hunters, they are very eager to learn these skills, so I pass on as much as I can, especially concerning the ways of the deer. In my culture women are not hunters, but these two may already be.

       In a dream, back in Far, sitting with Kama, I build her fire with the long burning night wood. We are in her lodge next to Teller’s, and she has a gift for me. She sings for me the Song Of The Traveler in her quiet way that always makes me sad, and hands me two small stone objects. Her performance is that of a departing, and I am confused. Are you leaving, Kama? Her smile informs me that she is not. Now is not the time for leaving, but preparing. In my hand are two perfect arrow points, made by a blind woman archer. Later, when I enter Teller’s lodge, a young truth bearer wearing an unfamiliar robe is leaving, and Teller has in his hands two skins, just delivered across a vast distance.

       The morning brings cold air. At the river, I am unable to find fish. The berries are farther and thinner. I am able to snare only one rabbit in all this time. I think perhaps the nearby soldiers are taking meat from this land, or scaring it away. But on the third evening, we are rewarded with an offering of a large antlered deer trapped in a trail snare. Both Sho and Che are expert at skinning, curing, tanning. And they carry with them their own blades made from the stone of the firestarter. Sho removes and dries the paunch, which will hold and cook the soup. Because of the soldiers we do all the meat preserving at a remote area near the river, where the smoke is less likely to draw attention to us. That night we feast, and we sleep late the next day.

       Around midday, we hear the sounds of distant horns and drums and horses, so I investigate. It is the arrival of a decorated wagon escorted by many soldiers on horseback. All the soldiers in camp are packed and dressed in full uniform. The wagon bears a very important decider who quickly consults certain officers. Within moments, the entire column begins movement toward Vos, and I become very concerned for those remaining there. Before leaving to fetch them, I run back to the stone lodge to let Sho and Che know my plan to bring Zus and his family here.

       The tracks and mud of the moving enforcers destroys the beauty of the landscape even when there are no deaths. This is a huge force, and they are slow. More are arriving from the south. I quickly catch up to the lead troop positions, and from the bush I can observe huge numbers of soldiers, horses, wagons, dogs, flags. The flags bear an insignia I have seen before: two crossed snakes. They are headed directly toward Zus’ shelter. Warning them is the only thing on my mind as I fly through the woods.

       There are sentries posted everywhere along the moving columns of men and wagons. I spot one directly in my path, and two others on either side, so I crouch walk and stay close to them, looking for an opportunity to sneak passed. But I am stuck. I am so close I can hear this one breathing. He is a large man with a red mustache and freckles, and a scar above his eye. He is chewing something. “Waa opop whip,” I try. Where is she now?

       A large, antlered buck appears behind me, in clear view of the sentries. This soldier, the oldest and highest in rank, takes off his pack, leans it against a tree, and silently motions for the other two to crouch and stalk. Unseen, I pick up the pack and run with all my speed.

       By the time I reach Zus’ place, light is leaving, and the soldiers have made camp. Smoke from their fires can be seen from the shelter. The terrified family comes out of the woods when I arrive, having abandoned their home when they heard the troops. We are safe for this moment, but we must leave immediately, putting as much distance as possible between us and these soldiers.

       The woods offers our best chance of remaining undetected, so we travel a deer path across the ridges, far from the main trail. Our destination is the new stone lodge, but it is impossible to go back the way I came, especially with children. Instead we hurry in the direction of the river, which will lead us south. We are weary and there is no conversation. Ruel is singing a child’s song about a contagious smile, but her voice is numb and her eyes swollen. Beb rides on my shoulders and Zus carries Linz. We jog at the quickest possible pace. A large rock overhang serves as our shelter when we stop for the night. If we are lucky, we can make this trip in one long day.

       The dream is of my home Village of Far, of Teller, and of Iwip the warrior who comes for advice as he prepares to stand before the Deciders. Teller tells Iwip that the sky is not angry as he believes, that the rains will come when enough respect has been measured. Iwip is very grateful for this vision, adding that he too believes the rain has been offended by disrespect. Teller suggests holding council with the Bso and the Owi Elders. Iwip seems to agree saying that before the battle, they must be given the right to surrender. He seizes on this opportunity to turn Teller’s calming advice into arguments of his own necessity. He rewards Teller handsomely and asks for the songs to calm and empower him when he speaks his words before the Elders. Teller and I sing helpless songs.

       At first light, I scout ahead before the family awakens. We can reach the river by early afternoon. I find a house at the water’s edge, mostly destroyed with a dock damaged, detached, and floating. A large burned boat is upside down in the water floating next to the dock. There is a deer path heading directly south along the river, and I can see this is the way to get back to the lodge. I am confident we will be safe by evening.

       But as I am leading the family within sight of the house, I hear dogs, many dogs, coming our way from the troop encampments. We are running as fast as possible, but the dogs keep getting closer. The Linz and Beb start crying and Zus is panicking. There is no way we can outrun these animals. Because of my poor judgment, these people will suffer. Should I create a distraction, and lead the pursuers away from the family? Should we surrender? Stand and fight? Keep running everyone. The dogs see their prey and that inspires them to run even faster. The river is just ahead. Can the children swim? No. Can you or Ruel swim? No. I can hear shouts and more dogs. The soldiers can see us. Keep running. Keep going. “In the name of the Fung Magistrate, halt!” We are at the broken dock. I instruct Zus and Ruel to enter the water and hold onto the boat. We are going for a ride. “Surrender now and your lives will be spared!” Putting the children on top of the overturned boat, I push it out into the current as far as my strength will allow, just as the dogs reach the water. But the beasts of the Magistrate remain on the shoreline, running back and forth, barking a horrific scream as we slowly float downstream, into the main current. The soldiers join the dogs just as the moving water takes us beyond the reach of their weapons.

       Fortunately, the Fung is swift, but not turbulent at its headwaters. It is a comfortable drift down an accommodating waterway, made even more enjoyable by our successful escape. But no one is joyous.

       By late afternoon, I recognize the shoreline near the lodge. I spot my excellently concealed canoe - no one else can see it from the water, even when I point it out to them. We arrive on the shore, shivering, the children now whimpering, Ruel openly sobbing. I rush everyone to the stone lodge, where we huddle around the warm stones of the indoor fire.

       Sho learns from Ruel that her relatives were in one of the first groups to leave Vos, crossing the river toward Na. She talks of going there, but Zus has heard that Na is now the district headquarters for the Fung Magistrate, who controls the headwater region of the River Fung.

       Zus is very impressed with our soldier-proof lodge, naturally occurring and incredibly well concealed. The inside space is easily large enough to afford everyone ample room and privacy.

       I am eager to examine the contents of the soldier’s pack. This one is a leader, perhaps a decider. An elegant, waterproof construction of tightly woven cloth, the pack holds documents, charts, emblems, passwords, orders and other evidence of authority. There is a flask of strong beverage, rolled and loose smoking leaves, dried fruit, a very good knife, and a passionate love letter from someone named Oon. There are communiqués from subordinates reporting back on mission results and observations. There is a red box with a clip of very important short reports. All of Nos has been destroyed because the Nothing from Vos fled there and were accepted. All of Ran and Tar and Obi were razed for the same reason. But the analysis of their mission to wipe out the Nothing is a surprise. The Magistrate believes that although some of the leadership was obviously killed in the attacks, their threat is still very real and imminent. The Nothing remains the Fung Magistrate’s most potent threat.

       But there is another enemy of this Magistrate. There are numerous reports of sightings and confrontations with an enemy army flying the insignia of the Shui Magistrate in the most easterly regions of the district. The Shui control the upper regions of the Shui River and access to the eastern boundaries of the Sacred Reservoir. Both Magistrates forbid citizens from entering the Reservoir with the same extreme and violent fervor, and both have major issues with the Nothing.

       One document reveals that a spy had been planted inside the Nothing organization. This agent undermined the powerful encrusted camouflage measures used by the citizens on their lodges to avoid detection by the Magistrate’s officials. By providing the Magistrate the capability to counteract the new masking techniques, this traitor enabled the destruction of entire Nothing strongholds. The method of unmasking was then sold to the Shui Magistrate, but by the time they were able to deploy it, the word was out, and they were unable to find anyone still using the Nothing devices. As far as the Shui are concerned, the method they bought did not work. Now they are angry for what they see as fraud and deceit, and are sending troops to test the previously agreed upon boundaries. From the Sacred Reservoir in the north, to the River Ob in the south, conflict appears imminent.

       There is a fact sheet on a powerful Nothing called Babalyn Rymon. This decider, one of the founders of the organization, continues to insist that to develop and use the encrusted resources of the Sacred Reservoir is a right of all citizens. For this, Babalyn is on a death list.

       Sho and Ruel are showing the children the documents when suddenly Sho gasps in horror. She is holding the operations chart and pointing at the circled attack zone, one that covers an area on the southern outskirts of Vos. The handwritten note says, “Nothing supporters suspected of hiding in this area. Destroy all lodges, encampments and property.” The encircled area on the map includes our previous camp, but I point out that our stone lodge is farther west, beyond the marked region. Unfortunately, Zus and Ruel’s lodge is within the attack zone.

       The writing continues, “Report any sightings of this insignia” - and there is a drawing of a circle containing an ‘X.’ Apparently the sign of the Nothing. But it is also a familiar mark, one of the previously unknown symbols painted on a skin I carry, sent by the Master. A skin whose complete message is yet to be revealed.

       Because of the targeting of our old campsite, I am very suspicious of Gund, for he is the only one who roughly knew the location of my camp. But among the communiqués is a series between the officer and a scout who had located a retired officer of the Shui Magistrate, Gund of Pato, living just outside Vos. The scout is instructed to discover if anyone survived the first attack. The scout’s report claims success in finding the existence and possible location of survivors of the first attack as well as the existence of possible supporters of the Nothing. Unfortunately, the informer had to be severely educated before giving his information. I ask aloud what it means to be “severely educated,” and although we all know the answer, no one speaks. Gund eventually told a story of an encounter with a youth who had vast powers and who claimed interest in both the Nothing and the Sacred Reservoir. The youth could communicate with birds and use them as weapons. Then the most frightening communiqué, directly from the Magistrate: find and destroy this threat at once. Included is a description of me, where I am assumed to be a Nothing leader.

       Because of me, these soldiers have returned to Vos. I am mistaken for a Nothing with great powers, and this ridiculously ignorant and fearful Magistrate has declared me a mortal enemy. So he sends his forces to hunt me, and in this way I become responsible for the death and torture of innocents caught up in the search. My presence now threatens these helpless villagers who accompany me. The realization of this makes my body surrender the blackberries and trout, and I tremble and cry until I am ashamed of being useless.

       I inform everyone that they are now in danger because of me, that I am the youth that Gund encountered. No one is surprised. They ask me about my great powers, and although I explain that it is all a mistake, it is clear that they think otherwise. My first responsibility is to get the soldiers out of here as soon as possible. Otherwise they will continue to search this area until either they find me or believe I am no longer here. My plan is to leave immediately and draw the soldiers as far as possible to the east. Zus offers to accompany me, but he is needed with the families. Everyone sings their farewell, and I am sad to leave.

       It is almost dark when I approach the campfires. The number of troops before me is staggering. There are encampments in both directions - now reaching north all the way into Vos, and south as far as I can see. The soldiers are drinking heavily and it is easy to sneak past and through the column by crouching and hiding among the huge convoy of supply wagons. Men are singing and laughing and it reminds me of a festival night in my village of Far. But any one of these soldiers would kill me just for the praise it would bring. The backs of the wagons are open and I can see stacks of provisions in each. From one I take a sack of flour. The sentry at the edge of the wagons is asleep at his post. I use some of the flour to make a large circle with an “X” inside directly next to him.

       As I am untying the horses, a familiar object reveals itself. Lying on the ground beside this worthless protector is the headdress with the crossed snakes, exactly like the one in Teller’s box. I hold my breath in shock to see this special object so disrespectfully abandoned in the dirt. It is the one headdress that I have never seen Teller wear. I know that one day, he will reveal to me the proper moment for such a headdress. Yet season after season passes and he has yet to use it. Perhaps he is waiting for a very rare sign, a message of instruction from those who know, that the time has come to take hold of that which addresses a need. It suddenly becomes meaningful to me that this headdress is worn when this soldier makes war. From it he must draw great strength and ferocity. And so I pick it up and wear it, not fearing any unkind influence, knowing instead, that I will use his own power against this enemy.
Choosing to ride the slender red mare, and leading the other five horses on a long tether, I head directly east, slowly and quietly. But before I can move ten steps away, a booming voice demands me to halt. Without looking back, I change the pace to a full gallop across the fields, toward the woods to the east. The unprepared soldiers see me wearing their headdress, and are unable to pursue.

       Little dogs in the nearby hills are singing, but I am too concerned with my mission to join in. Tonight I will get no rest. Knowing the Fung will come after their horses, I make an effort to leave obvious tracks by traveling over grass and soft soil wherever possible. From the chart in the officer’s pack, I know that the village of Obi is a walk of four moons east of Vos. By pushing the horses a bit, I expect to be there tomorrow afternoon. After crossing another field, a wooded area, a marshland meadow, and then a small creek, I come upon an old campsite. It is a hunter’s camp and not recently used. I stop briefly to mark it with the insignia of the Nothing using Magistrate’s flour. After building a fresh fire and leaving some remnants of my meal for the soldiers to find, I continue east at a brisk gallop.

       By first light, evidence of recent military activity is everywhere. But these tracks and camps were made two moons ago, so I do not expect to see any soldiers now. All day long I am forced to look at the scars on the land caused by troop movements.

       In the late afternoon, I climb one of the highest hills in the area and from the top I can look down on what appears to be a village in the valley. This must be Obi. As I approach, the devastation becomes clear. The village has been burned and leveled like Vos - and Ran and Tar. This sight makes me extremely angry. There is no sign of life anywhere. In a rage, I create a huge flour insignia of the Nothing in the center of town, clearly visible great distances from the hills surrounding what used to be a community - families, loved ones, children. My heart and my head are pounding and I fear I may burst from fury and an overwhelming desire for violent justice. As I gradually recover my emotional balance, and with a more determined resolve, I dedicate myself toward the defeat of this cruel enemy.

       The only other trail out of Obi goes farther east, toward the crossroads, my next destination, and the shortest way into the Sacred Reservoir. I continue to push forward at an almost uncomfortable pace. By evening, the horses need a break and we stop to rest at a stream. After a dreamless nap, I change mounts and ride the spotted colt. We start out again, before midnight, under a brilliant bitten moon.

       The trail takes us across several more small streams before going to higher ground, where the terrain slows us significantly. The fist shaped rocks are abundant and treacherous for the horses. As we come down toward a wooded area, there is a faint light ahead, a dwindling campfire. I secure the horses and approach on foot.

       Leaving the trail, I approach the encampment from the woods. It is sheltered by a large elm within easy reach of the stream. I move closer. From behind a tall bush I am able to see four horses tied to nearby saplings. Loud snoring draws my attention to two bedrolls. As I watch, one man gets out of his bedding and walks straight toward the bush that conceals me. I know I am well hidden, and that he cannot see me, yet he comes toward me. Perhaps he hears my breathing or my approach. He shuffles directly up close to the bush, and stops. His face is long of dark hair, his left ear is missing, and with a blank expression he looks directly at me, right through my concealment. How does he know I am here? What manner of power rises him from sleep to unveil me? I am too weak and unprepared to confront such capability, and it is obvious that my destruction is imminent if no effort is made to escape. But just as I am about to flee, I hear the sound of water passing, and I hold my position until he returns to his bedding.

       I search the woods all around them finding no others, so I assume these two are scouts. I can see that these are not Fung Magistrate soldiers. Their insignia is not the sign of the snakes, but talons of the sky hunter. According to the chart, they are extremely far west of their own district. The Fung Magistrate would not be pleased with this trespass. I remove one of their two food packs, and all of their water. I realize as I take their horses that these Shui may be more vulnerable to the Fung troops who now track me. So to make them flee and thereby save themselves, I draw the sign of the Nothing in flour in several prominent places around their camp.

       Daybreak brings me to the crossroads. I leave behind me the tracks of nine horses heading north, toward the Sacred Reservoir. Just past the crossroads, we come upon rolling hills of grass and clover, with scattered, stunted, leaning trees, all bent in the same direction. Everywhere is fertile and lush, but all the trees are wizen. The horses like this place. Their spirits are high, and we fly across the waves of grass without my instruction.

       In the early afternoon, a wonderful thing happens. The trail comes upon a huge flat plain surrounded by low grassy hills, no trees. As we enter this area, we are joined by a nation of wild horses who happen to come down to the plain just as we do. They prance along side us and take turns looking and announcing themselves. Proud and agile, the hoofed nation envelopes us, and as they do, I untie all nine on the tether, freeing them to join this giant family. But they all remain with me, galloping north for the entire afternoon and evening, until the terrain ahead changes to a more unwelcome form. At the last green hill before the start of the sand and stone, I dismount and camp. The horse nation remains, staying close to my camp, signaling a willingness to accompany, but I know I must walk from here.

       With darkness come the whistling winds. At first it is only a breeze that sings. But it gradually intensifies until it becomes a roaring, brutal punishment. My Fung headdress is ripped away, along with my pack and all the supplies. I cannot breathe while facing this wind. My instinct is to turn my back and lean against it, but it is much too powerful, and my frail body is at its mercy. I am swept across the grasslands at first on my feet, but then tumbling and rolling as if falling downhill. I am only able to keep from being blown away by lying down flat, arms and legs spread, clutching the grass. But the force of the wind is enough to pull the grass I hold out of the ground, and I am again sliding across the field until I can grab another solidly rooted clump. But this only anchors me briefly. The horses are unsteady and the wind is pushing them about, but they maintain their balance, and they notice my difficulty. With great effort, they gather around me and stand shoulder to shoulder, facing in, creating a tight ring. It is a wind barrier of horses and it is effective. Realizing that I am now safe, I release my grip on the grass and exhale. Although the winds do not subside for most of the night, I am somehow able to relax, and even sleep, protected by the presence of these wild ones.

       The loud and frantic whirling of the wind intertwines with my dream, and delivers me to another place. In the Great Lodge, where the Deciders of Far sit and listen and share, disrespect is unwelcome. So when Iwip, the young Tapa warrior from the east started waving his weapons and shouting for changes, no one was smiling. But all listened until he was finished. The seasons have been unkind, as have the Bso and the Owi. Tears streak his face. There are screams, screamed and unscreamed. There is wet blood on the feather, and death among the beloved. All nod acknowledgement of his pain and his call for a large revenge.

       Then Eto also rises. Though his words are not as graceful as Iwip, and his curses make us wary of his wisdom, I can sense that his anger and frustration speak for many. Iwip talks again, this time building reason upon Eto’s passion, using it as if part of his own design. Survival can require sacrifices that are, while necessary, uncomfortable to confront. The Wata and the Tapa grandfathers expect their children’s deaths to be avenged. It is a responsibility to the ancestors. Suddenly many more voices mumble agreement. But the Deciders remain undecided. Everyone looks to Shinwo, the great Wata warrior, for guidance, but he refuses to contradict or support the arguments for war. Even though he has been vehemently opposed to engaging the Owi, he now is silent on the issue, saying only that he will accept the decision of this Council. In this way, he gives great status to Iwip. To the many young warriors who hope for the battle, Iwip is a hero, just for being angry and proud in front of the Elders. But Iwip is also a skilled speaker of words, having found an ear among the warriors of the Tapa. And he enjoys sharing the gift of his loud voice. A great warrior makes a great noise.



Chapter 3: Into The Reservoir



       The morning light is hidden by dense clouds. The is no wind. In this peaceful solitude I awaken to an awareness that the horse nation has departed. Their farewell lingers around me along with their musk and their protective intention. And lying next to me is my pack and all my supplies. I will remember a debt.

       This day I reach the outskirts of a dry desert area - small rocks, sand, no trees, very sparse and unusual plants. There is no evidence of soldiers or settlements or lodges. Even the trail becomes difficult to distinguish. I am unable to replenish food supplies.

       There is nothing here but hard packed sand. At night, I sleep with no chance of shelter or fire. The landscape is forbidding and barren. I walk step after step through a constant, numbing monotony.
I can imagine sometimes that the iridescent sand is snow, and that I am back in Far exploring the fields in the course of winter play, looking for footprints. And I remember my fifth winter, when I awaken to find Teller absent. Outside, I see his tracks in the new fallen snow and I follow. He appears headed toward his place of no regret, his private refuge in the woods where he often goes alone. I know not to bother him, but I often watch from a distance, without his knowledge.

       On this morning, the tracks are predictable - through the woods and up the ravine. And always there are signs of deer. But near the clay banks, something strange occurs. The tracks left by Teller stop completely, as if he flew away when he reached that point. I mark this spot with a bent twig of the fan leaf. There is no way to explain this observation. Perhaps he walked backwards from there, within his own footprints. But I followed his tracks from our lodge. I am confused, yet I push on until I can see his refuge from my usual hiding place. He is not there. My mind is paralyzed, unable to make sense of what I have seen. Then I notice the observers. Looking at me, hidden by the undergrowth, is a large group of deer, motionless. In the next moment I hear footfalls, and then Teller appears, approaching his refuge in his usual manner. He sits and closes his eyes as he always does. The deer are gone. I decide to retrace Teller’s footprints from where he now sits. When I do this, I find that his previously incomplete footprints at my bent twig are now complete, and lead directly to him. I am in awe. That evening, when I ask him how to make unfinished footprints in the snow, he does not respond. Instead, Teller asks me how I am able to see footprints before they are made.

       My thoughts and daydreams of snow are always interrupted too soon by the monotous reality of desert. By the third day, I find a bleak place getting bleaker still - ahead I see no plant life at all. Off in the distance I can see unusually shaped cloud formations that appear to be purple storms. There have been no signs of animals for the past two days. I believe I have entered a special place, although I am uncomfortable with its specialness, its unrelenting harshness. The vague, rarely used trail is often invisible, as it crosses shifting sand, gravel, and dust.

       During a rest, I review my provisions. To my great disappointment, I realize that I have only enough food and water to get me back to fertile land if I turn around now. There are no local food resources in the desert, so I have no choice but to start back south in the morning. I have been foolish to so badly underestimate my needs in this place. But if I have been successful in leading them here, the Fung soldiers are behind me. So I will have to return a different way. I am depressed by it all.

       Tonight is absent moon. The distant purple storms now appear as smoke rising high into the sky. As the sun disappears, faraway thunder complains. Teller believes that the total darkness of each absent moon is a necessary cleansing of our environment, and an enabler of the senses. This night, in this strange place, absent moon opens my eyes.

       A glow, extremely faint but real appears from a rock formation straight ahead - so faint that only during absent moon could this light be seen from where I sit. Upon my approach, the light seems to be coming from within a cavern, and is reflecting off the glistening rocks. Inside, I immediately recognize the mineral present everywhere as the Gleech in my pouch. Perhaps I have arrived. I look furiously for I know not what. There are noises coming from deep within the cave, sounds of gurgling and gaseous emissions. The source of the light is a substance at the bottom of a large pit, where most of the sounds originate. I call out to see if anyone will answer. When I yell at the top of my voice, I notice that the light in the cave momentarily brightens. I climb down as far as possible and discover a bright yellow, thick fluid is slowly undulating and giving off a blinding light that seems to pulse in response to the gaseous sounds emanating from a large natural fissure. I am witnessing forces at work that I have never encountered, and know that I must return here to study them further.

       I sleep in the place I name The Cave of Belches, bathed by this newly discovered light, hoping that my destination will be acknowledged or revealed. But instead my dream is of a familiar morning, of ice on the Ob, of sliding and sliding and sliding. I meet the river, the sky, the earth, the life, the death, and the many faces that are mine. I experience the irrelevance of time, and travel the unseen paths. Then I am delivered to the House of the Recognized Dream where the true grandfathers have been waiting. So on this day, the villagers of Far observe a child of three fall through the ice and disappear. In the late afternoon, a young Owi mother finds this child far downstream, dead and blue from drowning in the frigid Ob. It does not matter that he is Bso, or Wata or Tapa. She wraps the lifeless young one in her best blanket and carries him the great distance back to Far, crying out as she approaches the upriver lodges, and the entire village grieves. The child spends one last night with its family. The mother, brother and the spirit of the father cut their hair and cannot speak. As is the tradition, the mother prepares the body for the Waiting Bed, along with the other women who come to offer support, and for their own comfort. Sorrow invades the air and the sense of all things, and makes large the empty space left by the child’s absence. The smudge sticks of the Teller Of Things give their blessing, and the child is taken away in the red robe of death. But as the procession reaches the Waiting Bed and the Song Of The Traveler is being sung, the child cries out, and is thus revealed.

       At dawn my eyes pop open and I am shocked to see that the glowing fluid has moved up from the pit and is within an arms length of me. As I am watching, it moves even closer, but at the pace of a snail. Perhaps it is welcoming me, or perhaps it wants to devour me. As I am pull away defensively, I perceive a moment of disappointment glowing from the fluid. I wish I could stay to study this phenomenon.

       My plan is to start back this morning because I have so little food. But as I step outside, I notice in the distance straight ahead, before the horizon, there is definitely green plant life. And the recognition that the rocks in this formation match the mineral in my pouch adds to my sense of an intended destination, so I choose to continue onward.

       At midmorning, I discover what looks like a stream at the bottom of the ridge, parallel to the direction of my travel. This is the first water I have seen since the Fung, and I am elated. It looks like a normal stream from a distance, but up close it looks frozen with every ripple and eddy represented. It has a hard surface, but it is not ice, and not cold. I can stand on it without getting wet. Beneath the hard exterior shell, are tiny fish and insects swimming in the currents of this unusual formation. Strangely, it supports no plant life at its banks.

       Then, for the first time in days, an animal reveals itself. This is not an animal I have ever seen, even in Teller’s drawings. At first, I think it is a large bird, but its head is more bear like, with teeth, and it’s wings look more like fur than feathers, with small hands at the ends. Instead of talons it has furry, five fingered feet. It searches among the rocks for a suitable stone, flies high above the stream and drops the rock onto it, creating a hole in the stream’s hard covering. Then the creature comes down to drink. It also eats a few broken pieces of the stream surface. When satisfied, it takes off and disappears into the sky. I go over to the water source and take a drink - very cold and very refreshing. But the area broken by the stone slowly changes form, and creates the clear shell again. Using a large rock, I create a large hole to bathe, drink, and refill. When no longer disturbed, this broken area also heals and the water is once again protected behind its hard barrier.

       At midday, an object appears on the trail ahead. It is a lone wagon with a harness but no horse, bearing Fung Magistrate insignia on a staff. It seems to be undamaged. Why would this be abandoned?
As I approach, I can see two Fung headdresses on the steering bench. On closer inspection there are the other remaining parts of two complete uniforms - robes, belts, boots. It is as if the bodies of the two men and the horse vanished suddenly. Something happened here that no one can explain. Yet I do not sense danger. I am a witness only to this end result, with no knowledge of what was actually done, or how it was done. But I am in awe of the forces here at play, and I wish for an understanding.

       The contents of the wagon are untouched - a good shipment of food and supplies. A pocket on one of the uniforms bears two communiqués. The first to the Magistrate’s district headquarters in Na from the commanding officer at the Mata Outpost Prison: “Emergency situation! Send help and provisions immediately! Something is attacking us at night from within the walls. Have only three men left of forty. Lost twenty overnight! The weapons are ineffective. Suggest shutting down and abandoning this post.” The reply: “Magistrate feeling extreme pressure from the Nothing. Bold insurgents planted warning insignias amongst our troops outside Vos. Other camps and strongholds were marked. Their numbers are huge and they are mounted. They may even be wearing our uniforms. We are currently in pursuit near Obi, where there are signs of Shui forces. Therefore, we can spare no additional men at this time, but your supply consignment has been doubled. Please understand our situation.” I smile at the thought that I am a bold insurgent and that my numbers are huge. The plentiful provisions provide me a meal, and fill my pack.

       By evening I reach the green area. It is a dense growth of saplings, mostly oaks, but many of these young trees are taller than any mature oak I have ever seen. I feel as if I have shrunk somehow. There are other strange plants sprouting up in the middle of the trail. The one that is most prolific has leaves in the shape of perfect five pointed stars, which I recognize at once. Some of the mature plants have a single, dark red berry hidden at the center of the plant, protected completely by many, long, fearsome thorns. I open my pouch and pull out the dried leaf. This is definitely the same plant! My mind is racing for a connection. What is special about it? Why is it in my pouch? Have I arrived?

       There is a wagon trail through the young forest blockaded by a log fence with a large sign that says, “Caution! Mata Prison Facility. Keep Out!” Beyond the barricade is a stone door, part of a stone wall that is twice my height surrounded by the forest. There is no one in the tower. The wall encloses an area the size of a large meadow. I walk all the way around it before choosing an appropriate young oak to provide me with a view of the other side.

       This is a obviously a prison camp - very clearly a bad place. But there are no guards, or prisoners. There is no sign of anyone, only some pigs milling about. And one strange thing: there are many Fung uniforms scattered about the yard.

       I climb to the very top of this seedling, where the bark is still green, and swing my weight to bend the sapling, placing me on top of the stone wall. I manipulate the seedling, snapping it, bending it over the wall, creating a way in and out. I lie low on the wall and observe. As it begins to get dark, I can see no light anywhere within the compound. There are two kinds of pigs here, normal and strange. The strange ones do not like the mud pen. One of the strange ones has a belt around its girth. Another has a gold tooth. It must be a sign of high status for this animal. Perhaps this one is a decider. When the pigs fall asleep, I climb down the sapling and enter the compound.

       Before my feet touch the ground, unnatural coldness of this place makes itself known. My breath is visible, and I begin to experience panic, overwhelming fear. For no obvious reason, I am afraid. It is an irrational dread of an unknown peril, and it is surrounding me, paralyzing me until I rush to frantically reclimb the sapling. Unlike the air below, it is warm up on the wall. Within moments my debilitating fear subsides.

       It seems obvious that this prison is an intended destination, but I am useless if I am unable to confront my fear to investigate. So once again I lower myself into the prison. The cold makes itself known, and again the panic begins to grip my will. I search desperately for a strength to focus on, a spirit to pull me away from the terror so near. What I grasp is a sense of the presence of others, unseen, but observing. Teller has instructed me to always welcome this perception, and to call out and greet those who have made such a formidable effort to be acknowledged. He tells me it is an exercise and a discipline that may reveal a hidden truth or provide access to an undiscovered ability. And so now I speak aloud: Are you What Was or What Will Be? I am What Is. May I be of service? I repeat this several times, but perceive no response. I continue to be fearful, but not overwhelmed, and am able to function. Deliberate steps take me across the uniform littered yard to the headquarters.

       The doors to the main building are wide open. There is no sign of anyone. Inside, the desk is overturned and the place is a horrific mess, but no one is here. There are piles of complete uniforms, like I found on the supply wagon, on chairs and benches, even on the floor. Every door to every room is opened, and every room is filthy and vacant. I climb the stairs and the upper level is the same, all rooms vacant and disgusting. Abandoned uniforms are everywhere.

       The other building is obviously the prison shelter. Again, all the doors are open. There is no one, only uniforms. I hear the sound of creaking wood coming from the rear of the building, but it is only an unlatched door yawning in the breeze. There is a shed back here. It is unlocked and inside are two bins. The first has water. The second hides a shock - a youth, slightly younger than me, huddled and shaking. He is obsessed with fear, frantically motioning me to be silent, and wants to go back to hiding. I ask him if there is anyone else here, and he shakes his head and cries profusely, silently. I comfort him, saying that I have come to get him out of this prison, and that now he must try to overcome his fear and focus only on escape. We must get out of here, and we must leave now. By concentrating on this single, desired purpose, I am finally able to distract him from his paralyzing fear, and we run.

       Following my lead, we cross the yard and climb the sapling to the top of the wall. He has not eaten for a long while, so we sit and feast on soldier food. This one understands me but only nods or shakes his head in response. When I ask him his name, he breaks a faint smile. Until I learn his real name, I will call him Smile. He tells me, through yes or no answers, that he is a prisoner. All the other prisoners and all the soldiers are mysteriously gone. He thinks an invisible predator from the Sacred Reservoir came through the wall and took them, and that we are still in great danger by remaining near this place. I convince him that traveling at night is more dangerous than remaining where we are, and suggest we sleep up on the wall and leave in the morning. I promise to protect him, arguing that we are very safe here. His eventual sleep reveals trust in me, but something is definitely not right, and I doubt that we are as safe as I claim.

       As I lie in the twilight of oncoming sleep, I imagine several small animals streaking up the seedling and over the wall. In my dream, I am the facilitator of a long awaited reunion, and a successfully executed plan. It is now on to Vos. Those sent for have arrived and are waiting. There is reason for joy, and once again there is hope.

       In the morning, all the pigs are gone. The belt is in the yard, along with recent tracks of pigs, but no animals. There are freshly marked Nothing insignias on the buildings. Perhaps the Nothing arrived last night and are waiting to contact me here.

       Although he is pleased to see the newly painted insignias, Smile will not allow me to stay to learn more. He signals his desire to leave immediately, jumps from the wall, and heads off. Then he stops, turns, and waits for me.

       I allow Smile to set the pace, which is brisk. He demeanor is confident now, and he knows the direction of our travel. We cut walking sticks from the wood of the oversized saplings before heading into the desert.

       As we approach the wagon, Smile observes the empty uniforms, and momentarily panics. Fear takes hold of him. He is nervously looking around and behind us as if for an expected, lurking danger. His behavior is extremely unsettling, for obviously Smile has experienced some horrible event here in the Sacred Reservoir. Or perhaps he sees something I cannot. I reassure him, saying that I have been here before, and nothing threatened me. Relaxing, he moves cautiously to the supplies, obviously searching for a specific cargo. It is a canister. Inside are two pouches, both with white powders. He observes me watching him and offers me one of the pouches, motioning me to lick my finger, touch the powder, and then taste it. The substance is the sweetness of ten apples in the form of tiny, powerful crystals. We share many more tastes. I pick up the other pouch, which seems to bear the same substance, but the taste is harsh. My grimace greatly amuses Smile and I am glad to see him laugh. We stock up on food, carrying as much as possible.

       Our packs are heavy, but Smile is in good physical shape, and able to keep walking at a comfortably quick pace without frequent rests. I explain that from here we must consider another way back to Vos. The troops have been following me and may be near. His face reveals a deep understanding of our danger, and he immediately turns to search the distance. I ask him if he knows another trail, and he nods, drawing symbols in the sand. Without words, I understand that we will head for the rock formations of the Cave Of Belches, remaining on this trail for three moons. Then, we will turn east, toward the Big Water, before heading south to Vos. Smile seems to know this place quite well, and hopefully, the troops will not find us before we make this route change. And today I learn more about an unknown message. Smile’s symbol for the Big Water is the same as one drawn by the Master on the skin I carry.

       We arrive at the Cave of Belches rock formation near sunset. He motions for me to follow as he heads directly for the cave opening. We can hear faint gurgling as we enter. Inside, he points to the glowing substance within, and I acknowledge that I have been here before. Smile begins to make loud sounds with his mouth, the noises of burping and other gaseous emissions. As he does this, the glowing substance doubles in brightness, filling the cavern with brilliant light. I join Smile in the making of bodily sounds and the light becomes almost as bright as day. We both begin laughing at the silliness of our behavior, and for a while we cannot stand straight.

       Because of what happened last time, we sleep outside the cavern. It is a dreamless night, but I remain awake for a long time thinking of burned villages and the suffering caused by soldiers, my concern for friends in Vos, and my duty to face an enemy.

       For the first two days in the desert, we see nothing unusual. But today there are huge black clouds with lightning flashes within. The wind becomes forceful, whipping sand and gravel at us, but only briefly. Then comes the strangest precipitation I have ever witnessed. At first it looks like normal snow, white flakes that gradually build up on the ground when the weather is cold enough. But this kind of snow does not melt. It is not cold, but when you touch it with motion, it disappears. At first we are very concerned by the possibility of being trapped here by the precipitation. Within minutes, it goes from our ankles to over our heads. But merely walking around under it excavates it, creating tunnels wherever we go. It is actually fun. We walk side by side creating a wide tunnel the shape of our bodies. To our surprise, Smile and I exit right away because although the snow is deep, the area receiving the precipitation is quite small. We reenter, and amuse ourselves by creating a large network of tunnels and rooms.

       During a moment when he seems relaxed, I ask Smile if he is able to speak and he nods affirmatively. “They killed my father!” he blurts, “and how did you know my name?”

       Now that he talks, I hear wisdom far beyond his age. He is an important Nothing by birth. Smile was born, first and only son of Kuma, leader and a founder of the Nothing. Kuma was the spirit of the bear, and the only son of the Master I seek. Smile says “Grandfather,” and shows me a series of five small star tattoos across his lower abdomen. The pattern is exactly the same as the design on my pouch - the one that recently disappeared and then reappeared with different contents. I realize that my journey was not what I assumed, that perhaps I had been sent to rescue this young descendent of the Master. It is even more confusing because Teller initiated my journey.

       From Smile I learn that the Master never approved of Kuma’s involvement with the Nothing, preferring privacy and obscurity. But his son felt an obligation to speak out and to try to protect his fellow citizens from the oppressive rule of the Fung Magistrate, not only regarding taxation and mandatory military service, but also against the prohibition placed on access to the Sacred Reservoir and its resources. He felt that everyone could benefit if only research were permitted. This position brought him much unwanted attention. Father and son argued and remained apart.

       From agents harvested in the Sacred Reservoir, a powerful Nothing ally developed encrusted masking techniques that could alter an object’s visibility. Large objects such as lodges could be treated so that they could completely escape visual detection. Kuma brought this fantastic protection to Vos and other nearby villages, offering a way to escape harassment by the Magistrate.

       Even though it was free, only a few were willing to try it. Most were afraid of acting against the expressed laws of the Magistrate, in spite of the cruel punishments, harsh tax levies and burdensome military service requirements forced upon them. But the experience of those who used the masking techniques soon convinced the others, as they became immune to visits by tax collectors, crop inspectors, and other thieves of this Magistrate.

       The potent camouflaging techniques worked so well that eventually, all villagers stopped reporting income and crop yields, confident that they could never be detected. For many, many moons the Fung Magistrate was frustrated, unable to locate its most productive citizens to tax, punish or impose service. More and more citizens became Nothing supporters as they saw the benefit in using the new techniques to avoid contact and accountability, until the Magistrate became desperate and angry. Finally, the offer of a large financial reward motivated a traitor to step forward. A spy was planted within the Nothing organization, and the Magistrate was able to gather information which they used to effectively counter the illegal masking capability of the Nothing. This is why the Magistrate's soldiers destroyed every house: they were all illegally masked. The Nothing were considered enemies of the state, and every house using Camouflage was considered an enemy stronghold.

       Kuma and Smile were captured together when the Nothing stronghold of Vos fell to the forces of the Magistrate. Kuma was executed for refusing to name the rest of the Nothing leadership, and Smile, because he was seen to be a child, was sent to the outpost prison at Mata.

       At midday, we see what at first appears to be a dust storm ahead, but as we approach, it becomes the expected troop contingent moving straight toward us, following my tracks. The troops are closer than we had hoped. We are forced to hide in the rocks until they pass. The column is so long that we cannot come out of hiding until sunset. I teach Smile to sing the songs of the Passing Of Time and together we meditate while the flags of the crossed snakes storm on toward Mata.

       Our last evening in the desert unveils numerous shooting stars, inspiring dream memories of the astonishing night three summers ago, when a magnificent red star, larger than the moon, burned a path across the entire sky, leaving red clouds and much thunder echoing in its wake. The grandmothers say that for each shooting star, a warrior dies. So what might this monstrous star mean, an entire nation perishes? Later this night, Iwip the great warrior visits, hoping to learn the star’s meaning for his own affairs. And he asks Teller to guide him to confidence and wisdom. After a revealing visit, he receives both in good measure. But his intention is not to improve himself through knowledge, but to capture the will of others. He wants confidence for show, wisdom for argument. This warrior sees something of himself in this great shooting star. But one is a great warrior only when many say he is. How many does he need to say it? Is he somehow able to use this most significant star to improve his standing?



Chapter 4: Back To Vos
       

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