when I found it.
I had to reconstruct it. I noticed some stones that looked smoked
on one side scattered around. Then just a hint of a smell of smoke
still in the ground here. Once I started looking around I found
more stones. It all came together fairly easily.”
Marika nodded. “What can you tell me about it?”
Grauel was the huntress. This was her area of expertise.
“Very little, except that it’s here. And it
shouldn’t be. But it did seem that this ledge would be a good
place to ground a darkship.”
“How far afield did you go?”
“Not far.”
“Let’s snoop around, see what we can
find.”
Careful visual search turned up nothing more.
“If they were here, they must have had a latrine and some
place to dump their garbage,” Grauel said.
“They may have had huntresses with them,” Marika
chided. Grauel and Barlog, treating the search as they would a hunt
in their native Ponath, left every resting place pristine, naked of
evidence that anyone had visited. Both huntresses believed the
Serke were hunting for them in turn.
“One doubts it. No skilled huntress would have left a fire
site so obvious to the eye. My thought was that you might use your
talent to look where the eye cannot see.”
“You are right, of course.” Marika went down through
her loophole and caught a suitable ghost, then searched the area
again, using the altered perspective of the otherworld. She found
what Grauel wanted in a crack to one side of the ledge. She
returned to flesh. “You were right. Over here. Whoever they
were, it looks like they used one natural hole for a garbage pit
and a latrine both.”
“Grab yourself a stick,” Grauel said.
“A stick?”
“Do you want to stir through it with your paws?”
“Of course. All right.” Marika collected pieces of
dead wood. Grauel used one to dig at soil that had been used to
cover the wastes.
“Been a while for sure,” the huntress said.
“It has all decayed away to nothing. It must not rain or snow
much here, for the black on the rocks to have remained noticeable.
But we’re wasting our time. There’s
nothing . . . Hello!” Grauel dropped onto
her belly and reached into the hole. She wriggled forward, bent at
the waist, got hold of something, wriggled back and sat up. She
held a lump to the light. Marika saw nothing special till Grauel
spat upon it and cleaned it on her sleeve.
“A button.” It was a tarnished metal button with a
few fibers of thread still attached. It was embossed. Grauel passed
it to her. Marika studied it, then compared it to the five upon the
left wrist of her jacket. “That is a Serke witch sign on it,
Grauel. We’re on the trail. They’ve been here. I have a
premonition. We are within a few passages through the Up-and-Over
of catching up with them.”
“That’s what you’ve been saying since we
established our first base.”
“This time I am right. I can feel it. I am
convinced.”
“I hope you are.” Grauel sounded sour.
“Grauel?”
“I do not want to die out here, Marika. How would the All
find me?”
“What?” This was a surprise.
“In fact, if I had my choice, I would spend my final days
in the upper Ponath, at the packstead that gave me life.”
Marika was baffled. What had brought this on?
“I am getting old, Marika. In the Ponath I might already
be one of the Wise. Likewise Barlog. The witchery and medicine of
the silth have kept us young beyond our time, but time never stops
gnawing. Lately I find I cannot help remembering that we are the
last of the Degnan pack, and that our pack lies beneath the
northern ice still unMourned.”
“Yes. I know all that. You are indeed old for the Ponath,
but not old by standards of the silth. There will be time, Grauel.
We will see to the Mourning. But we can’t go now. We’re
finally making some headway out here. We’ve finally found
something besides a place where they aren’t and haven’t
ever been. Maybe this world is a regular stop. Maybe if we just
I had to reconstruct it. I noticed some stones that looked smoked
on one side scattered around. Then just a hint of a smell of smoke
still in the ground here. Once I started looking around I found
more stones. It all came together fairly easily.”
Marika nodded. “What can you tell me about it?”
Grauel was the huntress. This was her area of expertise.
“Very little, except that it’s here. And it
shouldn’t be. But it did seem that this ledge would be a good
place to ground a darkship.”
“How far afield did you go?”
“Not far.”
“Let’s snoop around, see what we can
find.”
Careful visual search turned up nothing more.
“If they were here, they must have had a latrine and some
place to dump their garbage,” Grauel said.
“They may have had huntresses with them,” Marika
chided. Grauel and Barlog, treating the search as they would a hunt
in their native Ponath, left every resting place pristine, naked of
evidence that anyone had visited. Both huntresses believed the
Serke were hunting for them in turn.
“One doubts it. No skilled huntress would have left a fire
site so obvious to the eye. My thought was that you might use your
talent to look where the eye cannot see.”
“You are right, of course.” Marika went down through
her loophole and caught a suitable ghost, then searched the area
again, using the altered perspective of the otherworld. She found
what Grauel wanted in a crack to one side of the ledge. She
returned to flesh. “You were right. Over here. Whoever they
were, it looks like they used one natural hole for a garbage pit
and a latrine both.”
“Grab yourself a stick,” Grauel said.
“A stick?”
“Do you want to stir through it with your paws?”
“Of course. All right.” Marika collected pieces of
dead wood. Grauel used one to dig at soil that had been used to
cover the wastes.
“Been a while for sure,” the huntress said.
“It has all decayed away to nothing. It must not rain or snow
much here, for the black on the rocks to have remained noticeable.
But we’re wasting our time. There’s
nothing . . . Hello!” Grauel dropped onto
her belly and reached into the hole. She wriggled forward, bent at
the waist, got hold of something, wriggled back and sat up. She
held a lump to the light. Marika saw nothing special till Grauel
spat upon it and cleaned it on her sleeve.
“A button.” It was a tarnished metal button with a
few fibers of thread still attached. It was embossed. Grauel passed
it to her. Marika studied it, then compared it to the five upon the
left wrist of her jacket. “That is a Serke witch sign on it,
Grauel. We’re on the trail. They’ve been here. I have a
premonition. We are within a few passages through the Up-and-Over
of catching up with them.”
“That’s what you’ve been saying since we
established our first base.”
“This time I am right. I can feel it. I am
convinced.”
“I hope you are.” Grauel sounded sour.
“Grauel?”
“I do not want to die out here, Marika. How would the All
find me?”
“What?” This was a surprise.
“In fact, if I had my choice, I would spend my final days
in the upper Ponath, at the packstead that gave me life.”
Marika was baffled. What had brought this on?
“I am getting old, Marika. In the Ponath I might already
be one of the Wise. Likewise Barlog. The witchery and medicine of
the silth have kept us young beyond our time, but time never stops
gnawing. Lately I find I cannot help remembering that we are the
last of the Degnan pack, and that our pack lies beneath the
northern ice still unMourned.”
“Yes. I know all that. You are indeed old for the Ponath,
but not old by standards of the silth. There will be time, Grauel.
We will see to the Mourning. But we can’t go now. We’re
finally making some headway out here. We’ve finally found
something besides a place where they aren’t and haven’t
ever been. Maybe this world is a regular stop. Maybe if we just
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