Is-Shada was plainly uninterested in her friend's story. "That's not what this is about," she said, turning back to the figures by the fire. "Watch."
The battle was reaching a climax. The gestures had become more violent. The red-haired woman slowly crossed the space between the two principal figures, her arms outstretched. Her former ally, whose mask was painted in dark, handsome features, lifted his hands and clapped. The red-haired woman dropped to the ground. The dark man lifted his arms in a gesture of triumph. He hefted three great stones waiting beside the fire, set them on his back, and began a whirling dance around the flames. At the height of one turn, he seemed struck by something, and the three stones flew outward, dropping among the fallen folk. Then, the man himself collapsed.
All the separi lay still on the ground now, save one, wearing a golden mask, who stepped over their bodies. She reached down and touched each of the fallen, and at her touch each one rose. Finally, when all were standing, they wove back and forth in an intricate dance until at last they joined in a single entity.
This episode brought the play to an end. The separi discarded their masks and stood grinning amid the plaudits of the watching Cho-Arrim.
Orim clapped with the rest of the crowd and then turned to Is-Shada. "All right. What is it about?"
Is-Shada shrugged. "It is the Peliam, the origin story," she said. "It tells us where everything came from and to where we'll return when we die."
"All right," said Orim after a pause. "Tell me."
Is-Shada spoke as if talking to a child. "The fight was between two gods, Ramos and Orhop. Each had pulled down a piece of the heavens, and each sought to use it to best the other. In the end, Ramos triumphed, and Orhop, the evil god, was vanquished. Ramos grieved for the ruin he had brought to his world. And so, he gathered the people of forest and plain and mountain and set them on his back and carried them to a new world, a better world. But when he arrived, he was struck from the sky and fell in three great pieces-soul, mind, and body. Borne atop his soul, the tribes of the Cho-Arrim landed in the forests. Those atop his mind-the Saprazzans-fell into the oceans. And those atop his body-some fell from the fiery corpse and struck the coastal lands, and they became the Rishadans. Those who held on to the blazing body were slain and lie now guarding the bones of Ramos. That is why when we die, we return to the heavens, the place from which we came. Once there, we are joined in the Great River that runs among the stars until at last it falls off the edge of the world into the great, everlasting dark."
Orim nodded thoughtfully. "And who in the play was the red-haired woman?"
"A demon who pretended to support Ramos in the conflict. In the end, she betrayed him, but he defeated her and so won the war. Her name was Hassno the Unrighteous."
"And the last part of the play?"
"Though the children of Ramos-Cho-Arrim, Rishadan, Saprazzan-were scattered through forest, plain, and sea, someday will come the Uniter. He will be a great metal serpent. When he returns, all the children of Ramos will be joined as one and will triumph over our enemies," Is-Shada said with conviction.
"And you believe Weatherlight is the soul of this Uniter?"
Is-Shada pushed back the dark hair that framed her heartshaped face. "You would have to ask Cho-Manno."
"You know, there were other folk who thought the owner of Weatherlight was a uniter-the Korvecdal."
The woman only shrugged. "Truth is truth, wherever it is found."
Orim startled awake from a nightmare. Her heart pounded in her chest.
She had dreamed of monsters-inhuman beasts with four arms, boar-heads, scorpion tails. They scaled the vast forest wall, where tree trunks formed a barrier a hundred feet high. The monsters leaped upward, as nimble and bloodthirsty as fleas. They loped into the nighttime wood. Whenever they encountered a creature-whether coney-fox or wumpus or red wolf-the monsters fell upon it, tore it to pieces, ate their victim's innards, and flung away bone and muscle to rot. Their claws girdled ancient trees. Their talons tore up undergrowth. Worst of all, they arrowed straight through the forest toward the Cho-Arrim village.
"Just a nightmare," Orim said to herself, panting and clutching a hand to her chest. Her bed of leaves and moss lay, warm and familiar, beneath her. Solid walls of wood enclosed her. Is-Shada's room was just down the corridor, and ChoManno's beyond. She was safe. "Just a nightmare."
Feet came along the passage-probably Is-Shada, checking on her.
"You are awake," came a man's voice, basso in the darkness.
"Cho-Manno!" Orim gasped, grabbing a robe from a hook on the wall and holding it over herself. "What are you doing-?"
"You dreamed it too," he interrupted. His eyes glinted in the dark. "That's good. The Rushwood is getting its roots in you."
"You had the same nightmare?"
"Yes. Mercenaries. Monsters. They must be caterans," ChoManno answered. "But it was not our dream. It was Rushwood's. And it was not just a dream. The monsters are coming."
Orim stood. "Where can we flee? They can run, and climb-"
"We do not flee. We fight. The forest awoke us to mount a defense. Even now, it awakes other defenders-ancient things that have not walked the land in centuries-but they rouse slowly. We must go. We are the first line of defense."
"We?" Orim asked, astonished. "I'm not a fighter."
"You are a healer, like Ta-Karnst. The forest dreams in you, as in him-chavala. Where there are fighters, there must be healers."
Dropping her robe, Orim donned her healer's cloak, slipped on her leggings and boots, and wrapped the turban about sleeptousled hair. "I'm ready."
"Good," Cho-Manno said, holding his hand out in the darksome room. She saw then that he himself wore only a loincloth. "My armor and sword wait by the door. Already, the skyscouts and wizards are on their way." Orim took his hand. It was strong and warm. A salty scent enveloped him. "Let us fight for the Rushwood."
A coney-fox darted, shrieking. Ears lay back along its shoulders. Gray haunches pumped furiously. Claws flung up the mossy ground. Hunks of lichen smacked the fangs of its pursuer.
The monstrous thing came on, heedless. Eyes glowed yellow deviltry in the night. Mandibles thrashed hungrily. Four arms raked out after its prey. Taloned feet tore the ground. A barb-tipped appendage stabbed down, pinning the coney-fox's bushy tail.
With another shriek, the terrified creature yanked free, leaving half its tail behind. It bled. Each bound flung a sanguine trail behind it. The monster would never give up now. It would follow the blood path across the forest floor. It was doomed. To ground-every coney-fox knew to go to ground to die. It vaulted over a root tangle and scrambled down into the vast hole that opened on the other side.
Darkness lay ahead. The silver glow of the tree trunks receded. The coney-fox bounded down a worn trail among roots. There was a strong smell ahead.
Another creature laired down here, a creature with massive claws, a scaly gray hide, huge muscles-a crouched and lumbering thing. Its mouth was filled with blunt, plant-eating teeth. This beast was a protector. The coney-fox leaped beneath it, flushing it from cover. The lumbering satyr jumped up the side of the hollow just as the fanged monster plunged down it.
The satyr lunged atop the cateran enforcer. Quicker and crueler, the cateran bit open the beast's belly and started feasting.
In its dying gasps, the satyr clasped the cateran's legs and yanked them apart as though it were breaking a wishbone. A messy moment followed, and then one dead beast collapsed atop the other.