After a night of unsettled dreams Al Hamra’s view of their mission changed slightly, and over breakfast he proposed that they not approach the dig site that day. Wincing at the pain in his arm, he instead suggested that they visit the nearby Sogoi camp.

  “They know the area,” he told Adam when the soldier questioned the purpose of the visit. “We heard they’re complaining that the spirits of the dead are being awakened. Maybe they mean the Djanna. Maybe something else. If we ask them, maybe they can tell us what other surprises to expect around here.”

  “Possibly they already visited the remains of my dig,” Lavim mused, though he did not look happy at the prospect. “They can tell us what’s waiting there.”

  “True, true,” Al Hamra agreed. “Maybe with a bit of scouting we can investigate the outside of the dig today, and see what’s left of the gear there. Some clues about what happened.”

  “Or some maps or outlines that can tell us what to expect,” Siladan suggested. “After all, they must have left some of their tabulae behind.”

  They all agreed with this plan, and after breakfast Al Hamra, Olivia and Dr. Delecta took grav bikes to the Sogoi camp, Dr. Delecta looking uncomfortable perched on the elevated passenger seat behind Olivia. “I never got comfortable flying these,” she whispered apologetically as she hunkered awkwardly behind the engineer. The rest of her explanation was cut off in a high-pitched squeal as Olivia gunned the engine and the vehicle leapt skyward, its long slim prow pointing to the heavens and sparkling blue reaction engines throwing a cloud of dust behind it. Al Hamra followed at a more sedate pace, throwing his bike into a wide loop over the lake as he rose and taking the opportunity to check on the camp from every direction. Once he was satisfied he broke the circle and the two grav bikes sped north over the glittering expanse of the swamp, to rise across the face of the escarpment on its far side, and then across a stretch of dense jungle to the Sogoi hill fort.

  The Sogoi were clearly used to grav bikes, because they did not panic or run away as the two bikes screamed in to stop at the cleared area in front of the hill fort’s main entrance. They set down in what looked like unused wasteland, near a series of terraced paddocks that rose up to the base of the hill fort, and waited next to their bikes in the stifling heat for someone to emerge. The Sogoi camp was built on a long, wide artificial hill, that had obviously been erected by human hands and surrounded on its outer edge by a shallow ditch. The sides of this fort were steep but not insurmountable, about thirty meters in height, and crowned by a rough wooden palisade with regular gaps in it. At the end near where they parked their bikes these smooth, regular sides broke into a ramp, which led from a wooden gate down to the ground where they stood. The gate was open and nobody seemed to be on guard, but they could see two people watching warily from the shadows inside the gate, and soon enough a small group of warriors emerged, three men carrying spears and wearing what looked like armored jackets fashioned from some local animal’s hide.

  “Looks like they’re wearing your friends from last night,” Olivia observed in a light voice as the men descended the ramp, and Al Hamra spared her a tight grin.

  “I hope so,” he replied, and they watched as a fourth man and a woman walked down the slope behind the warriors. These two were older, unarmored, and obviously leaders of some kind. “Here’s our contact,” Al Hamra guessed, and started walking slowly forward. Behind him Olivia grabbed a saddle pack from the bike, and she and Dr. Delecta joined the Mystic at the foot of the ramp. The warriors spread into a line across the base of the ramp, a step and a spear’s stab away from them, and the man and the woman passed between them to stand in front of their visitors.

  “Salaam,” Al Hamra greeted them, offering a small bow. The two Sogoi were, like their warriors, very pale skinned, small and lean, muscles standing out in sharp relief under patterns daubed on their skin in fading ink of some kind.

  “Namaste,” the man returned, bowing as well. His eyes were piercing blue, his hair grey and swept back beneath a head-dress of beads. The woman, also pale-skinned and with big eyes the same color as the jungle foliage, repeated his greeting. She was very old, and her once-blonde hair clung to her head in tattered clumps. “I am Kubu-Ghan,” the man introduced himself, “Voice of the Elders, and this is our shaman Ixra.” He spoke a very old dialect, the kind of language Zenithians studied in literature class in high school, and which the Firstcome Factions still used in liturgy and special ceremonies. Their skin colour suggested that this tribe of Sogoi had descended from some specific nationality of Firstcome a millenium ago, with little inter-breeding since. Their skin tones were less miraculous than Olivia’s, since across most of the Third Horizon only the isolation of regression could protect the genetic legacy of Firstcome settlers’ origins in the First Horizon.

  Al Hamra introduced everyone, and then, speaking uncertainly, explained to the pair that they had come from Coriolis station to investigate the dig site. “We are not archaeologists,” he told them, “Nor do we come to cut trees.”

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  “We seek only to explore the battleground under the far rock,” Dr. Delecta added for him, speaking the ancient language far more comfortably than Al Hamra, who struggled to express more than simple sentences. She pointed in the direction of the rock where they believed the ill-fated dig to have been.

  The pair talked quietly to each other, speaking too fast and low for Al Hamra or Dr. Delecta to understand. Finally the shaman spoke, her voice thin and reedy. “You stir the dead against us.” She flicked a dismissive gesture at them. “The men at the waterfall take our trees, and you replace them with the unsettled dead.”

  Al Hamra gave Dr. Delecta a pleading look, and she responded. “We have no alliance with the tree-killers,” She said. “We bring with us a warrior who is a champion against the Dark. We will still the unquiet spirits, and leave. We ask only your guidance. We request you share your wisdom and your knowledge of these … of your demesne.” Al Hamra, not really understanding, nodded agreement.

  They spoke again, and this time the man gave their reply. “Our shaman can calm the spirits of the restless dead. If you will not help us with the tree-fellers, we will not help you.”

  Dr. Delecta looked to Al Hamra but, realizing that he did not fully understand, turned instead to Olivia. “Give them the bag, Olivia,” she instructed her, and the colonist stepped forward to hand it over. “We bring a gift to support you against the men you despise,” she informed them, with a bow. “The pale-skinned man who bears it can teach you its ways.”

  The woman took the bag and handed it to the man, who reached in with a look on his face like he thought it might hold live snakes, and drew out an accelerator pistol. His look of trepidation changed almost instantly to an expression of wicked joy, and he dumped the rest of the sack’s contents on the ground, three more accelerator pistols and twelve reloads tumbling out with a loud clashing of metal and plastic. He turned and talked excitedly with the woman, who did not look so impressed with the gift. Finally she turned and spoke to them. “Your gift is accepted. Your offer of assistance from this one, as well,” She gestured at Olivia, who gave Dr. Delecta a worried look. “In return, a guide.”

  She snapped something to the man, who gathered the weapons and reloads back into the sack and turned to leave with the warriors, and then gestured for the three of them to follow. They walked after her as she shuffled slowly up the hill, through the wooden gate and into the Sogoi camp. As they crossed the threshold they saw a small collection of huts made of wood and palm leaves, clustered around two small open areas, and on the far end of the rise a large, open building with a thatched roof held up by solid wooden pillars, surrounded by more of the small huts. Naked children, all pale-skinned and tiny, ran among the huts, while men and women sat in the front of their homes attending to household chores. Some were weaving, some stripping a kind of wood for thick, flexible fibers, and some preparing meat or vegetables. They were all small, wiry and mostly pale-skinned, wearing just loin cloths that were sometimes supplemented with loose linen jackets. As they walked through the camp they could smell a fragrant, light incense, which Dr. Delecta remarked seemed vaguely like frangipani, and the smell of potatoes roasting. The old couple led them across the cluster of huts and up three steps to the large, raised central building, where they were taken to comfortable cushions and bade sit down.

  “Interesting,” Olivia observed, watching a lissome woman in just a loin cloth preparing cut fruit on the edge of the platform where they sat. She brought the fruit over on a plate of woven leaves, placing it between them and backing away with her eyes downcast.

  “Olivia,” Al Hamra whispered. “Focus.”

  “I am,” she replied, lips twitching. “What are these people going to tell us?”

  The old woman shuffled over to them, and sat down with surprising suppleness on one of the cushions. She placed a tabula in front of them.

  “What’s that?” Dr. Delecta asked, and then rephrased her question in older dialect.

  “A tabula, obviously,” Ixra replied. “Our scout found it at the place where the archaeologists died.” Interestingly, the word for archaeologist in their ancient dialect was exactly the same as in the modern language that Dr. Delecta, Al Hamra and Olivia usually spoke. Strange indeed that the word for the people who studied the time before these tribes regressed had not changed in the millennium since. “Perhaps it contains information you need.” She pushed it with one foot. “Our scouts watch the diggers. There are many secrets beyond the river.” She frowned at them. “Evil, only evil, on that bank of the river. We go only to hunt, and only in daytime. Heed me. So should you.” She tapped the tabula again with her toe. “They carried these. I understand these contain records. And pictures. We tried to warn them, but they ignored us. Their elder laughed at us. Then they went into the rock, though we forbade them. Only one came out, the one with you now.”

  So, they had been watching the camp. And were surprisingly good with faces. “You remember that one?” Dr. Delecta asked, using an ancient construction that made clear she was referring to the same person.

  “Our scouts saw him leave the rock. Covered in blood. The sun was bright and the beast in the rock would not follow. The boy fell. Our scout gave him a drug, and took him to the camp of the men who cut. Our scout would not forget a man he saved.”

  So, that was how Lavim had survived the jungle as far as the loggers’ camp, and then been able to climb into one of their automated shuttles.

  “We thank you,” Dr. Delecta said. “By your grace, he lives. Now we come to slay the beast in the rock. May we take this tabula?”

  She waved dismissively. “Do not draw it out,” she warned them. “And be wary of the towers. Nothing along the line of the far bank is safe. All is danger. Running water protects us, for now.” She stood up and began to shuffle away, stopped, and turned back to make one final pronunciation.

  “I do not expect you to prevail. I pray you have a good death.

  “And if not that, at least let it be fast.”