Keje was silent as he contemplated the words. Beneath the stool, his tail swished. One of the youngling servants carried away their platters. When she was gone, Keje spoke.
"I know what you are saying. The Grik make advances and we do nothing but repel them when they strike. What else can we do?"
"They advance and we repel them," agreed Adar, "but what if they strike colonies, or trade lands, where people don't have the walls of Home to defend them? What if they attack in some new way that cannot be defended against? They already use fire, and that's bad enough. What will become of us? It would be like the exodus in the Scrolls once more, only this time with nowhere to flee."
"Well, but what does this have to do with the Tail-less Ones? We've discussed all this before!" questioned Keje. He was exasperated, but he felt a gnawing agreement with Adar's words. "Do you believe these new Tailless Ones are somehow related to the old? Is that what you're saying?" Keje huffed. "It is coincidence, nothing more. Their ways are as different from the others as ours are from theirs."
"We cannot know, my lord, if they're the same or not. It may not even matter. I say only this: they did not attack us."
"Yes, yes, you've said that before!"
"They did not attack us, and they're clearly unafraid of the Grik. With such a speedy vessel, they would have no reason to fear."
With dawning comprehension, Keje regarded the Sky Priest. "You believe we have squandered an opportunity," he stated flatly.
"Yes, my lord, I do."
As if on cue, the sound of running feet and a rising tide of alarmed voices reached them through the open windows of the hall. The coincidence wasn't lost on either of them, and they stared at one another. Keje's personal Guard detachment raced in and stood before him. Some were adjusting their armor. Kas-Ra-Ar, Keje's cousin and captain of the Guard, bowed his dark-furred head. "My lord," he said simply, "the Grik come."
Keje blinked acknowledgment, and turning, he bellowed for his armor. "From which direction, cousin?" he asked.
"West-southwest, and south, my lord." Neither Kas's expression nor the tone of his voice changed when Keje's eyes pierced his. "Yes, lord, there are six. All larger than we've ever seen."
Keje paced the battlement spanning the great floating island that was Home. It was an open deck extending beam to beam and formed the ceiling to the forward part of the Great Hall. Since the hall was so large, Keje's vantage point was several dozen tails above the main deck. On the other two towers, the level wasn't as prominent, and merely served as the foundation for the towers of apartments between the wing tripods. The platform on the central tower was larger so the High Chief could direct his people in storms—and battle.
The turnout of the Guard was more disciplined than just a few days before. Every male, female, and youngling on Salissa Home that was old enough, fit enough, or large enough to bear arms was technically a member of the Guard, but the "active" Guard consisted of the strongest and most fit from each clan. Its members spent time each week engaged in martial exercises. These consisted of athletic training and practice with weapons, but since they were so rarely called to fight, the training was geared more toward preparation for the frequent competitions between the various clans.
Rivalry was fierce and provided entertainment for the People. But the rivalries sometimes became bitter, so the active Guards of the various clans, even while preparing for the common defense, almost never practiced together. The combined active Guard of Salissa numbered nearly four hundred and, when the reserves swelled their ranks, Home could boast almost sixteen hundred defenders. But many had never fought, and fewer had fought together. Standing together clan by clan, they didn't even know how. And none of them—none of Keje's people in all the world—had ever faced more than one Grik ship at a time.
As he paced, Keje stared aft and to the left, toward the distant haze of land. He confirmed with his own eyes no fewer than six ships of the Ancient Enemy stalking his people. His insides twisted. He wasn't afraid to fight, and he didn't think he was afraid to die, but he'd fought the Grik before. One-sided and seemingly senseless as those fights had been, he'd seen a glimpse of what they were capable of. Their appalling savagery and apparent disdain for their own lives was so utterly alien that he'd always harbored a secret terror of what might happen if they ever attacked in sufficient force to gain the decks of Home. Now it seemed that the nightmare was upon them. He would see what it was like at last.
The Grik were closing fast, and their speed made it seem that Salissa really was an island, incapable of independent movement, even though the great wings were taut and straining against the freshening breeze. He watched as weapons were issued to females and younglings who'd never held them in their lives, other than to prepare food. His eyes blinked furiously in impotent realization. It was all his fault. He'd lived with the nightmare for many years and he should have prepared his people better.
The festive tarpaulins and awnings came down. Perhaps the most evil and insidious thing about the Grik was they seemed to delight in using fire as a weapon. The Homes of the People were built to last virtually forever, and his Home was barely a generation old. But it was made of wood, and the woods that served best were hardwoods steeped in resin. Resin that took fire with an obdurate flame. Barrels of sea water were always kept at hand, but now more barrels and buckets of water were hauled up by ropes as quickly as possible while they prepared for the unprecedented deluge of fire that they knew would come. Water droplets misted down as the fabric wings were doused. More water sloshed on the decks, making them slippery, but it couldn't be helped. He hoped they wouldn't soon be slick with blood.
He looked around. Adar was there, surrounded by his acolytes. All were armed, but they blinked nervously, since none had ever trained for war. The Sky Priests trained only in the mysteries of the Heavens. It never occurred to them to study the mysteries of one race intent on destroying another. They couldn't be risked on the walls, but if the enemy reached this place there would be no noncombatants. There would be only fight or die.
Keje's immediate family was with him on the battlement as well, but that was ancient tradition, not favoritism. In battle, the High Chief had enough to worry about without adding concern for his family. That family held no official power simply by familial association. In theory, their status was no higher than that of any fish cleaner or wing runner of the People. They often held status of their own, through merit, but the idea of a fixed aristocracy—at least for the High Chief—was repellent to the fiercely, if inconsistently, egalitarian People. In practice, it was more complicated. The office that Keje held was hereditary—subject to ratification by the Clan Assembly, of course—but no one remembered when a succession had been blocked. Therefore, a certain "royal family" atmosphere and collective protectiveness existed toward the heirs of any High Chief.
Unlike the wings, whose chiefs passed their position to the elder heirs, the elder, or "senior," of the High Chief 's heirs were expected to move on in Homes of their own when the time came. When the final heirs came of age and the High Chief died or stepped down, they would succeed him. All could have Homes, if they chose, peopled by the younger heirs of the "parent" Home. This ensured continuity on the parent Home through the experience of the wing clans, as well as the Homes newly founded and led by the High Chief 's elder heirs. "Wars of succession" did not occur, populations were controlled, and all the Homes of the People were distantly related to some degree. That more and more of the "elder heirs" were choosing to establish "Land Colonies" with the resources granted them concerned some, who feared dissolution of the old, traditional ways, but practically, the burgeoning Land Colonies provided support for the still-growing number of Homes. In any event, because of this arrangement, there really was no "crown prince."