Nemeth slowed to a walk and Farinka urged Moondust alongside him – the trail at this point was quite wide.

"Nearly home," said Nemeth. His breathing was deep but still not fast; but the tone of his voice was weary.

"Tired?" Farinka asked. Nemeth grinned up at her.

"A bit." He flexed his shoulder muscles under the weight of the deer, and stretched one arm and then the other. "I admit I'll be glad to put this down. And have a wash." His hide headband was dark with sweat, and his dark hair curled damply round his neck and ears. Farinka noticed that the hip-tie band of his leggings was also soaked.

"You'll get chilled if you don't get dry soon," she said, glancing up at the sun.

"Not me," he answered, his eyes laughing. "I don't have quite the Control that Sherath does, but given a sufficient supply of food I'm quite capable of stopping myself chilling."

"How?"

"You mean you can't?" He glanced up at her, his eyes quizzical. She shook her head. "It's just a question of shifting your body system up a gear. Uses quite a bit of energy, granted. And I can't always do it very well. You should be able to – here, anyway, even if you couldn't on your own world."

"Why should I?"

Nemeth halted, and sighed. "Because, Domina, you are enabled. You should be able to Assume Power with the same ease that any Elder could. It is quite possible that you may not be able to – as there is no-one to train you in the use of Power. You are the only enabled one on this world."

"Couldn't you teach me? If you can use Power?"

Nemeth walked on. "I could teach you a little – but it would be very little. I could teach you only what every Child knows – a little about Granted Power, a little about the uses of Power; things that I know can be done because I have seen them done – although not recently. No, Domina," he paused. "You would be better learning from Sherath. He seems to be able to Assume Power – sometimes – and he shouldn't be able to. But again, he's had no training in its use; his Assumption and use of Power is as instinctive as Moondust's unwillingness to let me near him in your absence. We're an untrained lot. My hope is that you will be able – eventually – to train us."

"Me? But I don't know anything!"

– You'd be surprised, said Nemeth. I feel some of what you could be when I Hear you. The harmonies of the music of your mind are very revealing. You use Awareness as easily and as strongly as I can. You have the ability to use Command; you almost did on Moondust this morning. There was a hint of Command in your tone. While you were running with me you were using Control on yourself – albeit only lightly, but more Control than I can summon. More in Sherath's league. Not bad for an untrained seventeen-year-old from another world! His Voice was full of laughter. We are at the boundary, Domina. Lead us in.

Farinka lifted her leg over Moondust's neck and slipped easily to the ground. Nemeth had stopped by the unicorn, and laid a hand on the silver-white shoulder.

Farinka stepped forwards, cautiously. The track carried on straight ahead, and there was a strong compulsion to follow it. Farinka stopped, and grinned. The compulsion was too strong to be natural – it simply reeked of Power. She listened to ... what was it Nemeth had said? ... the harmonies of the music of the mind which had placed that ... Detour ... where it was. It was a sensation not entirely dissimilar to looking at a photograph of someone you've never seen – enough information to be able to recognise them when you did see them, but not the same as looking at the person.

The music of the mind that had placed the detour was very much like Nemeth in many ways, and yet markedly different in others.

– Sherath placed this? she asked Nemeth.

– Yes.

– There's a strong likeness, Farinka commented.

– I'm his brother, as well.

– And how many of your family are there?

– Only three and a half of us left, now. Leave it – we'll talk about it later this evening.

– Is it important?

– Very, I suspect.

Farinka grinned back at him.

"Well, come on, then." She walked through the detour, following a narrower trail than the main trail they were just leaving – and one which was not apparent until the detour was passed. She felt, rather than Heard, Nemeth's and Shiffih's use of Voice on a wavelength other than her own, suddenly aware of what Shiffih had meant by 'whispering'. Not all thoughts were open to all people. She was also aware of the briefest of mind-touches from someone up ahead – and instantly recognised the touch as belonging to the detour artist. Sherath.

"Yes," said Nemeth with affection filling his voice. "Sherath. We are here."

They had walked out from the trees and into a clear valley area – perhaps a hundred yards across by twice as long with no trees – in which stood several small round dwellings. Not far from the central hearth was a circular mound ringed by a stone wall, and covered with grass and wildflowers. A rowan sapling grew in its centre. There was a fire burning in the central village hearth. A group of about twenty Children, of varying apparent ages were sitting around the fire; silent; their faces turned towards her, their eyes travelling from Moondust to herself and back again. A single figure stood, and leaving the rest walked towards her.

She kept her eyes on him, and her Hearing open.

He was as much like Nemeth in body as he was in mindmusic – just over six feet two tall, the same well-muscled but not heavy build; the same almost feline fluidity of movement; the same ageless, timeless quality; and the same massive Powerful strength. The differences – his hair was streaky ash blonde with almost silver-white highlights, his eyes an unusual light greeny-blue, his nose had less of a hawk-like quality, and his skin was a paler gold. He walked with the deliberate, delicate, graceful, powerful and silent precision of a large, possibly-safe leopard.

He came to a halt at arm's length from her, glanced quickly at Nemeth and up at Shiffih where she sat, silent but grinning, on Moondust's back; there was a spark of unspoken greeting in the exchange of glances; then turned his ... sea coloured ... eyes back to Farinka. There was a slow smile in the eyes.

– Domina? said Sherath, his Voice no more than a whisper in her mind. She felt his subtle shift from Voice to Awareness; and shifted from Hearing to Awareness herself in response, feeling the sudden totality of the music that was Sherath's mind-touch. Not so much a mingling of thoughts as an awareness of identity, of the importance of what made Sherath himself; and a knowledge of his own awareness of the same things that made her herself.

She drifted out of the mind-touch as slowly as waking from a dream; opened her eyes without ever having been aware of closing them. The corners of Sherath's eyes creased into a smile as he looked down at her.

"Welcome. We've been waiting for you."

– Around three hundred years, added Nemeth with a grin.

***

"Well," said Nemeth, draining the last of the danchic from his wooden mug, "I'm going down to the pool. I need a wash."

Tarke wrinkled her nose. "I noticed," she said. He threw a small pebble at her, stood up and stretched lazily, and wandered into the westernmost stone building, ducking his head under the lintel on his way in. The door itself was nothing more than a large hide hung from the lintel and tied open.

Tarke turned to watch the smaller Children as they followed Moondust around, patting and stroking him when he allowed them near enough. She caught Farinka's eye as she turned.

"They're fascinated," she said. "Most of them don't remember ever having seen a unicorn – to them, unicorns have always been a bit of a myth. I think only the oldest of us have ever touched one. Sherath, Nemeth, Louka, Jevann and myself. We were all close to Journeying."

"There's so much that I don't know," said Farinka, half to herself.

"There's a lot that we don't know, as well," replied Tarke. "That's most of the problem. Having problems that those of us who are left were too young to be given the answers to."

"What happened?"

Tarke settled herself more comfortably, taking one of the leaf smoke-rolls from the pile that Nemeth had left on the end of the log, and lighting it. She looked a question at Farinka, and handed her one.

"It was a sickness," she said sadly. "Many of the Children were very ill. Some Children died. The Elders seemed to be immune at first – they had none of the early symptoms that we Children had. No snuffly nose, no headaches, no fear of bright light ... nothing until the spots. And within a day of the spots appearing, they died. All the Elders went, within a week. By that time, some of the older Children were well enough to look after the little ones and babies. We've found out since then that the pattern was the same in every one of our communities. In the past two hundred and fifty-odd years we've travelled over most of this land, and the story in every group we've met has been the same. In the past twenty years, we've met no other groups than our own – not alive, anyway. We came to this village in the spring of this year. Men had not long left it. There was no-one left alive."

"Why do they kill you? They talk of you as devils – why?"

"Partly because it's been such a long time. Three hundred years is about fifteen generations of men. Things that happened to my ancestors fifteen generations ago are generally regarded – even among us – as folklore. Things that happened even five generations ago have become distorted. There have been only Children for those three hundred years, and for the first hundred we kept very much out of the way of men." Tarke reached for her mug of danchic and took a sip.

"Why don't the Children grow up?"

"We can't become adults without Journeying to the hidden valley. We don't know what it is about the valley – or possibly the Journey itself – which changes Children into adults and enables them to use Assumed Power, and to have Children of their own. We just know that without that Journey it doesn't happen."

On the other side of the fire, Sherath chewed a piece of rough skin from his thumb. Farinka reached towards him with her mind, but his thoughts were not open. Quite definitely closed, in fact.

"So what's the problem? Why can't you go there?"

"Partly because it is hidden – the way to it is obscure. Even more obscure now – because of a little mishap that Shithri had," replied Tarke.

Farinka was aware of Sherath's grin. – Just a small mishap, yes.

Tarke grinned back at him. "Who's telling this, you or me?"

"Carry on," said Sherath, reaching for a smoke-roll.

"The other reason is that – Children have always been told – Children can't enter the valley without an adult to take them. It's like a locked door. The key is an adult." Tarke examined the last half-inch of her smoke-roll, gave up on it and threw it into the fire.

Catch 22, thought Farinka.

"So what other reasons – if any – do men have for killing Children?"

"There's an old story about a curse that was laid on the King – Shiannath – because he didn't do something he was supposed to have done. It mentions the Children – by which it meant all of us, adults too ... "The Children of Shiannathri". According to that, we're doomed to constant persecution. And I must say," she added thoughtfully, "that things do seem to have been following the pattern that legend says they would. Although it never mentioned the sickness. But so much of the curse is obscure, as well. It does seem to hold out some hope for us, I think. Not all doom and gloom."

Farinka looked up to see Nemeth returning to the fireside. He sat down by Sherath, and frowned, looking at the depleted smoke-roll pile.

"Why can't any of you roll your own?" he asked.

"You're so much better at it," said Sherath with a smile.

"True," said Nemeth. "Is anyone doing anything with that deer, or have you left that job for me as well?"

"Jevann and Louka have butchered it. It's in the steam pit – but I don't know if any of it will be ready for eating tonight," said Tarke. "There's mutton in the steam pit that's ready now, if you're interested."

"Interested? I'm starving." He stood up, and called "Food, everyone. Come and eat." – and someone else can sort it out, he added.

There was a general gathering of people as they made their way over to the fire. Sienne dragged a wicker box out of the nearest stone cot, and bowls of various materials were picked up by all and sundry.

"Throw us one," called Nemeth with a grin. Sienne laughed at him, and skimmed a plate over, frisbee-style.

Sherath and Tarke went over to the steam pit, removing the turf cover and a layer of thin slates from one end, and hooking out several large pieces of aromatic spiced mutton onto a smooth hide which they carried to the fireside. Gradually the noise subsided as people settled down to eat, carving slices and chunks with belt knives. There was an assortment of fruit and berries, and a few unripe green hazelnuts.

"These will be good, soon," said Jevann indistinctly.

"They're okay now," said Shiffih, helping herself to another handful of them.

Jevann reached for another piece of deadwood to add to the fire, which now provided almost all the available light. The moon had not yet risen, and the sun had set some time before, leaving only a thin streak of light in the west – more a reflection of light from the undersurface of the cloud than anything else. Gradually the smaller Children took themselves off to the largest roundhouse to sleep.

Farinka was vaguely puzzled. Tarke caught her thought, and smiled.

– Yes, it's a puzzle for us, too. They are still small Children, in spite of their age. You are younger by far than the youngest of us, and yet also older than the oldest of us. You are also a puzzle, Domina. Tarke's mind touch was sharp and bright, but softened like distant lightning; there was a hint of bubbliness about it and a vast deal of warmth.

"Why haven't they aged normally? Have you any idea at all?"

"Only theories," said Sherath, picking up a mutton bone and chewing small shreds of meat from it. "It must be something to do with the fact that there are no adults. Maybe small Children need adults in the same way as older Children need to Journey." Farinka looked up and caught his eye, suddenly aware again that he was guarding his thoughts very carefully. Not merely keeping them closed, but using Control on them as well. ... later, Sherath. I think there are things I have to ask you. He raised one eyebrow, and grinned.

Nemeth moved closer to the fire, stretching the soles of his bare feet towards the warmth. "Shiannathri's Curse raises some interesting questions – particularly when one bears in mind your presence here, Domina." His eyes flicked over to her for a minute; then he looked across to Sherath. "Wouldn't you say so, Sherath?"

"Yes. Somewhat."

Farinka flicked ash into the fire, then took another puff from the smoke-roll. "So tell me what you know about the Curse."

"Actually," said Tarke slowly, "I've often wondered whether it wasn't more of a precognition than a curse."

Jevann looked over sharply. "Really? You've never said so before."

"Do you think I could be right, though?" she asked.

Jevann looked thoughtful, running his fingers through chestnut hair made even redder in the glow of the fire. "Yes, you could be right. Something about the wording – and it's got that 'retold dream' feeling about it that Seeings sometimes have. So non-specific. And, though I say it myself, a touch of weird," he added with a grin.

Sherath laughed. "Domina, Jevann is the nearest we have to a Seer. I wouldn't call him weird to his face, but since he makes the admission himself..." Jevann threw him a smoke-roll.

"Light up and shut up, Sherath. You're a fine one to talk about weird, anyway."

Farinka touched Jevann's arm lightly. "Tell me about precognition. I had dreams, back home. Sometimes they came true. Sometimes only bits of them came true. Sometimes I knew something had happened even though I was miles away. Tell me?"

Jevann glanced briefly across at her. – I know, he whispered on a wavelength that was solely hers. There was a kind of languorous depth to his mind-touch – like a very slow but very deep river.

"You're honoured if he does, Domina," said Nemeth. "Jevann's pretty cagey about his particular Talent."

Sherath caught Nemeth's eye. "Under the circumstances, this might be the right time to open up, though."

"Yes." Nemeth looked expectantly over at Jevann, who settled himself more comfortably.

Jevann's eyes focussed on nothing, looking more through the fire than at it.

"Seeing's a dodgy Talent. It can tell you something about what may happen – but never everything. It's always incomplete – and sometimes downright misleading. Not by what it shows you, more often by what it doesn't show you."

"The truth and nothing but the truth, but not necessarily the whole truth," said Farinka.

"Yes," said Jevann emphatically, his eyes finding hers. She felt a sharp flicker of Awareness from him. "Yes. And not always nothing but the truth, either. And it's so important to have all three aspects. Having said that, though, Seeing's usually about such mundane things. And almost everyone has that kind of precognition. Have you ever gone to pick a bowl out of a box, and known you've seen that particular bowl at that particular angle with precisely that shadow falling across it, sometime before?"

Farinka smiled. "Back home we'd call that déja vu. From another language. Meaning 'already seen'."

"Yes. Very common. The thing that escapes most people is that they usually genuinely have already seen it. As a precog. But it's so mundane it doesn't stick in the memory. So ... unimportant. And then you find the box lid gets blown down and hits you on the head as you reach in – which is the bit of the whole truth that the precog didn't tell you about."

There was generalised laughter.

"Sod's law," said Farinka. "Yes; I know what you mean."

Jevann smiled across at her, green eyes laughing. "Yes, Domina; you do know what I mean. Precog comes in a lot of different ways, even to one person. And in more different ways to different people. Each person with a precognitive Talent seems to focus on a particular kind of happening; other than the general mundane stuff which everybody gets. You know, if you get that – déja vu – and you try to remember exactly when you saw it before, then you're getting there. This lot," he waved a hand around, "take it all for granted and never try to look further."

"Jevann's been spending over two hundred years looking further," said Sherath in a stage whisper. "No wonder he's weird!"

"'If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music he hears, however measured or far away,'" said Farinka softly.

There was silence for a minute. Then Jevann spoke.

"Where did you find that one?" he asked quietly.