They slept once more at the clearing further up the hills, the same area from which he and the rest of the Brin's group had taken their last view of the village. It took little time to reassemble the makeshift shelter he had built the last time he was here, though the wood was damp and soft. The pain in his body, pushed to its limits, was overcome by exhaustion.

He heard the whispers as he slept.

The next morning Rial awoke to a burning hunger that caused him to double up in pain, a pain that was only alleviated when Mead took a bird clean out of the sky, falling at his feet steaming and completely defeathered.

Rial wolfed it down in seconds then staggered to the stream. The world swam into focus as he drank deeply and his body caught up with his mind.

“Interesting trick,” said Rial once the world had returned, staring at the bird's remains..

“Simple control of gradational energy fields,” replied Mead. “I subjected the feathers to a far more intense heat than the flesh, causing instant vaporisation.”

Rial stared into the distance.

“I can hear it, you know. It’s always talking, in the back of my head,” he said.

Mead remained silent.

“How can it… talk to me? I thought it wasn’t sentient,” continued Rial.

“Do you hear words?” asked Mead.

Good point, thought Rial. It wasn’t language. It wasn’t even meaning. It was… feeling. Urging. To focus on it was to watch it disappear, like chasing a speck in the corner of your eye.

“Then there are two possibilities,” said Mead in response to Rial’s headshake.

“Two?” asked Rial.

“One: that you have some sort of access to the planetary psyche, a symbiosis effect. A merging of two separate organisms.”

“That can happen?”

“Of course. The cells of which you are made are examples of ancient symbiosis: eukaryotic cells were once separate organelles.”

“But I’m not a cell.”

“Nevertheless, you are a foreign body within a larger organism. It is conceivable that such a symbiosis could occur. Whether this is a mutually beneficial relationship or a parasitic one, however, is unknown.”

“And the second possibility?” asked Rial, knowing Mead would have saved the worst until last.

“You may be insane.”

“Oh,” said Rial. “Good.”

“The recent traumatic experiences you have undergone could have caused irrevocable damage to your mental and behavioural health.”

“And that doesn’t worry you?” replied Rial.

“I am unable to ‘worry.’ I operate for my owner. Their mental condition has no bearing upon my functioning.”

Rial pondered this for a moment before responding.

“That seems dangerous.”

“It’s a dangerous world.”

And that was apparently that. Rial collapsed.

He regained consciousness what may have been minutes or hours later. Another freshly-fried avian hit the ground beside him with a thud.

"You are gravely ill," came Mead's voice from somewhere beside him. "It is unlikely you can travel any significant distance today. Rest."

Rial did as he was told.

He awoke the next day feeling far more recuperated.

"We're going back to the village," said Rial, washing his worn and bloody body in the stream.

"Understood. However, I will once again be unable to take action against members of the First Family," answered Mead. "You will not receive any help against the Kotaku from me."

"I understand. I don't plan on needing you, and I can defend myself."

Rial's eyes moved to the sword, lying atop his clothes... well, rags, now... besides the stream.

"Of course, should you order it I can neutralise his servants," said Mead.

Rial blinked.

"What?" he asked.

"Should you order it, I can neutralise the house servants, and any other non-members of your family."

Rial sighed.

"Always late with your information, Mead, always late. So why didn't you neutralise them before?"

"You did not order me to. Your words addressed the Kotaku only."

Rial's voice suddenly emerged from the machine, pitch perfect and clear.

"Mead, neutralise him."

Rial jumped in alarm at his own tones coming from Mead.

"A recording only, Rial. It is no threat." Mead waited as Rial calmed down.

"So," asked Rial once his breath was back to normal, "you didn't help me because I didn't order it? Why didn't you ask me to order it? You usually ask at the first opportunity."

Rial wasn't sure why, but he felt like the inert piece of grey metal was studying him.

"Having seen the reaction of one person to my existence I judged it safer for both of us that I did not reveal myself in front of so many. You have previously sanctioned this course of action. I can do so at your order, however."

Rial had to admit Mead had a point. How would the villagers react should the treasure suddenly talk? No doubt enough would react in the same way as Rei had to cause further problems. Still…

From his viewpoint Rial could see down to where the village should be. Today, though, it was hidden from view by clouds. A thick white layer stretched out below him, an ocean that revealed nothing of its depths. Above the first sun shone, reflecting brilliantly enough off the cloud to hurt the eyes, but Rial had no doubt that beneath that cloud layer all would be gloom and mist. The long autumn weather was rolling in.[1]

They descended into the mist that afternoon, the damp grass beneath his feet chilling Rial and making him shiver. Wispy tendrils curled through the trees and reached towards him only to shudder and break apart when they came too close. Animals rustled through the undergrowth, no doubt gathering as much fallen fruit and seed as possible in preparation for the months ahead.

They encountered the khiladri less than an hour’s walking distance from the village outskirts. The first animal Rial saw, forewarned by Mead, was lazing calmly amongst the leaves, paws outstretched and ears twitching at the various sounds of the undergrowth. It took no notice of Rial after a cursory glance, returning its attention to the flashes of yellow that were tiny hodori birds flapping through the branches above.

Mead registered more than 30 of the creatures at irregular points around the village, some foraging, some hunting, most at rest or asleep. To a less observant soul[2] their positioning would seem random, unplanned, but to someone equipped with the ability to monitor atmospheric conditions, detect wind speeds, and to extrapolate sound and scent paths from these data it was clear that not a single path was left unsurveilled out of the village. The village, though it did not know it, was under siege.

“How long have they been here?” asked Rial.

“Unknown,” replied Mead. “I was not asked to monitor their positions.”

“Well, from now on keep an eye on them. Let me know if they look like they’re… doing something, alright?”

"Understood."

They passed through the encirclement without incident and advanced as far as the village's ill-defined boundaries before halting. The mist dulled the senses and hid any sign of movement, any sign of life. Rial had to move out of the tree cover and through the village to see, leaving him feeling exposed and tense.

The smith’s forge, open to the elements save for a high, thin clay roof, stood silent, furnace cool and dark. Tendrils of fog crawled over and around the drums and tubs that filled the space. As he moved on past several houses and the corner of the Fourth Family’s compound he could see no light, even though in this gloom and at this time late in the evening every window should have been aglow.

A child’s voice broke the silence, a raised voice from up ahead. As Rial crept forward he realised there was light coming from some of the windows of the houses, but only the soft yellow glow of candlelight. He moved quietly up to the nearest.

Peering in, he could see a group of children within the common room, a handful of small infants watched over by two older girls who looked not yet in their teens. The pair had clearly been given the responsibility of looking after the younger ones, and they watched in exasperation as the little ones staggered around causing mess and disorder wherever they waddled.

Which begged the question, where was everybody else?

“The majority of the population of the area are gathered in the primary square,” came Mead’s answer. Rial hadn’t realised he had voiced his thoughts.

The square, then.

He dived back into the mist-filled forest and wound his way through the trees until he could see the light of the many, many torches being held or lanterns placed around the square. The sound of voices reached him even before the light did; someone was trying hard to be heard above a chorus of jeers.

Words came into focus as Rial came closer.

“You must see it! You must!” the voice cried, as others shouted angrily back. “It’s all falling apart, and we can’t keep clinging to the traditions that are drowning us! Please!”

The jeers increased in intensity as Rial stopped, dumbstruck.

It was Trian’s voice.

[1] There were eight seasons across the span of a single sun, a cycle consisting of the long spring-summer into short autumn-winter followed by the short spring-summer into long autumn-winter. The long autumn was just beginning; ordinarily the village should be preparing for the harsh long winter that would inevitably follow.

[2] Not that Mead had a soul, as it reiterated constantly.