"I believe you, sir. I was just saying what I found."
"They blew their best chance. We're warned now. Keep alert."
"Better not forget who's in charge now," Bomanz interjected. "Don't get anybody in trouble with our new leader."
"That rockbrain. Do what you can, Husky. Don't crawl out on a limb."
"Yes, sir." The corporal departed.
Stancil said, "Pop, you ought to get back to the house. You're looking grey."
Bomanz rose. "You all right now?" he asked.
Besand replied, "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. The sun is up. That kind don't try anything in broad daylight."
Don't bet on it, Bomanz thought. Not if they're devotees of the Domination. They'll bring the darkness to high noon.
Out of earshot, Stancil said, "I was thinking last night, Pop. Before this got started. About our name problem. And suddenly it hit me. There's an old stone in Oar. A big one with runic carvings and pictographs. Been around forever. Nobody knows what it is or where it came from. Nobody really cares."
"So?"
"Let me show you what's carved on it." Stancil picked up a twig, brushed a dusty area clear of debris. He started drawing. "There's a crude star in a circle at the top. Then some lines of runes nobody can read. I can't remember those. Then some pictures." He sketched rapidly.
"That's pretty rough."
"So is the original. But look. This one. Stick figure with a broken leg. Here. A worm? Here, a man superimposed over an animal. Here, a man with a lightning bolt. You see? The Limper. Nightcrawler. Shifter. Stormbringer."
"Maybe. And maybe you're reaching."
Stancil kept drawing. "Okay. That's the way they are on the rock. The four I named. In the same order as on your chart. Look here. At your empty spots. They could be the Taken whose graves we haven't identified." He tapped what looked like a simple circle, a stick figure with its head cocked, and a beast head with a circle in its mouth.
"The positions match," Bomanz admitted.
"So?"
"So what?"
"You're being intentionally thick, Pop. A circle is a zero, maybe. Maybe a sign for the one called the Faceless Man or Nameless man. And here the Hanged Man. And here Moondog or Moonbiter?"
"I see it. Stance. I'm just not sure I want to." He told Stance about having dreamed of a great wolf's head snapping at the moon.
"You see? Your own mind is trying to tell you. Go check the evidence. See if it don't fit this way."
"I don't have to."
"Why not?"
"I know it by heart. It fits."
"Then what's the matter?"
"I'm not sure I want to do it anymore."
"Pop… Pop, if you won't, I will. I mean it. I'm not going to let you throw away thirty-seven years. What's changed, anyway? You gave up a hell of a future to come out here. Can you just write that off?"
"I'm used to this life. I don't mind it."
"Pop… I've met people who knew you back when. They all say you could have been a great wizard. They wonder what happened to you. They know that you had some great secret plan and went off to chase it. They figure you're dead now, 'cause anybody with your talent would've been heard from. Right now I'm wondering if they're not right."
Bomanz sighed. Stancil would never understand. Not without getting old under the threat of the noose.
"I mean it, Pop. I'll do it myself."
"No, you won't. You have neither the knowledge nor the skill. I'll do it. I guess it's fated."
"Let's go!"
"Not so eager. This isn't a tea party. It'll be dangerous. I need rest and time to get into the right frame of mind. I have to assemble my equipment and prepare the stage."
"Pop…"
"Stancil, who is the expert? Who is going to do this?"
"I guess you are."
"Then shut your mouth and keep it shut. The quickest I could try is tomorrow night. Assuming I stay comfortable with those names."
Stancil looked pained and impatient.
"What's the hurry? What's your stake in it?"
"I just… I think Tokar is bringing Glory. I wanted everything out of the way when she got here."
Bomanz raised a despairing eyebrow. "Let's go to the house. I'm exhausted." He glanced back at Besand, who was staring into the Barrowland. The man was stiff with defiance. "Keep him out of my hair."
"He won't be getting around too good for a while."
Later Bomanz muttered, "I wonder what it was all about, anyway? Really Resurrectionists?"
Stancii said, "The Resurrectionists are a myth Besand's bunch use to keep themselves employed."
Bomanz recalled some university acquaintances. "Don't be too sure."
When they reached the house, Stance trudged upstairs to study the chart. Bomanz ate a small meal. Before lying down, he told Jasmine, "Keep an eye on Stance. He's acting funny."
"Funny? How?"
"I don't know. Just funny. Pushy about the Barrowland. Don't let him find my gear. He might try to open the path himself."
"He wouldn't."
"I hope not. But watch him."
Chapter Fifteen: THE BARROWLAND
Case heard Corbie was back at last. He ran to the old man's home. Corbie greeted him with a hug. "How you been, lad?"
"We thought you were gone for good." Corbie had been away eight months.
"I tried to get back. There's damned near no roads anymore."
"I know. The Colonel asked the Taken to fly supplies in."
"I heard. The military government in Oar got off their butts when that hit. Sent a whole regiment to start a new road. It's about a third of the way built. I came up on part of it."
Case donned his serious face. "Was it really your daughter?"
"No," Corbie said. On departing he had announced that he was off to meet a woman who might be his daughter. He claimed to have given over his savings to a man who would find his children and bring them to Oar.
"You sound disappointed."
He was. His researches had not worked out well. Too many records were missing.
"What sort of winter was it, Case?"
"Bad."
"It was bad down there, too. I worried for you all."
"We had trouble with the tribes. That was the worst part. You can always stay inside and throw another log on. But you can't eat if thieves steal your stores."
"I thought it might come to that."
"We watched your house. They broke in some of the empty places."
"Thank you." Corbie's eyes narrowed. His home had been violated? How thoroughly? A careful searcher might have found enough to hang him. He glanced out a window. "Looks like rain."
"It always looks like rain. When it don't look like snow. It got twelve feet deep last winter. People are worried. What's happened to the weather?"
"Old folks say it goes this way, after the Great Comet. The winters turn bad for a few years. Down in Oar it never got that cold. Plenty of snow, though."
"Wasn't that cold here. Just snowed so much you couldn't get out. I like to went crazy. The whole Barrowland looked like a frozen lake. You could hardly tell where the Great Barrow was."
"Uhm? I have to unpack yet. If you don't mind? Let everyone know I'm back. I'm near broke. I'll need work."
"Will do, Corbie."
Corbie watched from a window as Case ambled back to the Guard compound, taking an elevated walkway built since his departure. The mud below explained it. That and Colonel Sweet's penchant for keeping his men occupied. Once Case vanished he went to the second floor.
Nothing had been disturbed. Good. He peeped out a window, toward the Barrowland.
How it had changed in just a few years. A few more and you would not be able to find it.
He grunted, stared the harder. Then he retrieved the silken map from its hiding place, studied it, then the Barrowland again. After a time he fished sweat-stained papers from inside his shirt, where he had carried them since stealing them from the university in Oar. He spread them over the map.