by Barbara Webb Sinopoli
Barbara Webb Sinopoli has had a lifelong passion for the natural world. A degree in geology prepared her for a variety of jobs, including geophysicist, gardener, florist, and finally, sheep farmer. Sinopoli imported and raised Icelandic sheep for over twenty years. Now retired from farming, Sinopoli lives in the Berkshires with her husband where she loves to cook, garden, and travel to exotic places to visit her children.
Zsenala squinted up into the clear sky and wiped a trickle of sweat out of her eyes. All three suns blazed down; yellow Sol, Ruthur the red giant, and tiny blue Blarta.
The hottest day of the year, I should be inside the cool house, not outside shearing these poor creatures, Zsenala grumbled to herself. But when the fleece collector for the sah’Korloo says she’s coming for the tithe, then you go outside and shear, even if it is AllSuns.
Zsenala reached for Lalu, the most ill-tempered tokka on the farm, whose emerald green fleece was earmarked for the tithe. And when your baba has slipped away to join the resistance, leaving your family without money for the shearer, then you do it yourself, Zsenala thought with a sigh as she dragged the kicking animal onto the shearing platform.
Her baba said Lalu had the sweetest, silkiest fleece on the farm and maybe in the whole da’Zuna clan. He should know—his family had been raising tokka since before they settled by the cliffs generations ago.
Lalu thrashed suddenly, almost escaping Zsenala’s grasp. “Oh, no you don’t!” she said. With a tokka’s sharp horns, a smart shepherd never let go.
“Zse-zse!” Zsenala’s eight-year-old brother shouted as he pelted across the dusty yard.
“Zin, can’t you see I’m busy?” Zsenala said as she stood to stretch her back, still holding Lalu tightly. It was so unfair that she’d been left in charge of shearing and Zintan. Although tall for her age, Zsenala was still two months shy of her fourteenth birthday and the Gathering ceremony. “This had better be good.”
“It is! There’s someone here!”
“Who? Who’s here?”
“That’s what’s so exciting—it’s no one we know!”
“But someone from the clan, right?” Zsenala asked sharply. “They’re wearing our colors?” Strangers were rare in their corner of the territory, and with both Baba and Momee away, Zsenala’s heart sank with worry.
Zintan’s face fell. “Well, yes, but she’s got a funny gold braid on her sleeve.”
“A governor!” Zsenala dropped Lalu’s horns and quickly stepped away. The green tokka leapt up, swinging her horns at Zsenala, and leapt out of the shearing pen in a single bound.
“Why didn’t you say so?!” Zsenala hissed as she untucked her shift from her sash. She grabbed her robe from the wall and hurried up the farm road, brushing the dust from her hands. Zintan trailed behind. “I hope you offered her a cool drink?” Zsenala asked nervously.
As they approached the front yard, Zsenala saw that the visitor’s back was facing them, so she stopped and took a deep breath. She was trying to remember, how did Momee address the governor in the marketplace that day?
“Madame Governor—” She breathed a sigh of relief when the visitor turned with a calm smile.
“Zsenala, you’re looking well.”
Like Zsenala and her family, the governor had the coloring of their clan—skin like warm sandstone, rich maroon hair, and eyes the purple of the spring flowers that bloomed along the cliffs.
“Thank you, Madame Governor,” Zsenala said, nervously pulling at her headscarf. She wondered how the governor knew her name.
“You’re approaching your Gathering in a few months, is that right?”
“Yes, Madame, two months.”
“Well, with a number of our adults away just now, it will be good to have you join us. Although, growing up on a farm, I see you already carry many adult responsibilities,” she said with a nod towards Zsenala’s work clothes.
Zsenala swept nervously at the dust on her robe.
“Please—” The governor held up her hand. “I know I’m interrupting. I had come to speak with your momee, Ba’ Rozu, but your brother tells me she’s away from home.”
“Yes, she’s been called to a birth across the valley. A young mother with twins, so she’ll be gone for a day, or maybe two. And of course, Baba…” Zsenala trailed off. She suddenly couldn’t remember what Momee had told her to say about his absence from the farm.
“Yes, of course, I heard your baba was helping at the Kala farm after the incident there…” She stopped and glanced down at Zintan. “So I realize you already carry many burdens on your shoulders.”
“Yes, Madame Governor.”
There was a long pause. Zsenala felt the governor was waiting for something— but what? Was there some protocol Zsenala had forgotten?
“Would you like to come in for a cool drink, Madame Governor?”
“Just ‘Madame’ is fine, Zsenala. And no, thank you. Your brother has already politely offered, and I have already politely declined. So we have both done our duties.”
Then what are you waiting for? What do you want?
Zsenala almost missed the governor’s fleeting glance to Zintan and back.
Ah.
“Zintan,” Zsenala said, ruffling her brother’s hair, “I left Lalu’s fleece on the shearing floor, and we’ll need it for the tithe. Can you go gather it up? And please feed the chikchiks while you’re there.”
Zintan glared at her. He knew he was being shooed away, but he also knew better than to argue.
Zsenala waited until he was out of earshot. “Madame Governor, Zintan won’t give us much time alone, and it’s clear you’ve come for a reason.” Her heart pounded at speaking so frankly to a governor, but Baba always said it was honorable to speak truth on behalf of her clan.
The governor smiled. “I see you are indeed your baba’s daughter. Yes, I have come for a specific reason, I—”
She stopped suddenly, turning to look toward the desert. Zsenala heard it, too, a low whining hum that could mean only one thing; a sah’Korloo sand hover was approaching.
The governor’s hand shot out and tightly gripped Zsenala’s arm. Her voice dropped to a hiss. “Zsenala, listen to me—”
Zsenala’s heart skipped a beat at the look on the governor’s face.
“The sah’Korloo are here for more than our wool,” the governor said. “They’ve come to our planet to steal our genetics. Our suns’ radiation is constantly mutating our genes, and yet we thrive. And the sah’Korloo want to know how. Their own planet is poisoned, and their people are dying, and they think we have the cure, so they’re stealing our people and—”
“Wait! What are you saying?” Zsenala interrupted. She stepped back, her palms outstretched.
“No time—” the governor muttered. She leaned down and removed something from her eye. Then she straightened and looked right at Zsenala.
Zsenala gasped. Instead of their clan’s friendly purple, the governor’s eye now shone a brilliant yellow. The governor put her fingers to her eye again and suddenly the purple was back.
“It’s a contact, Zsenala. We’ve discovered that these new eye colors are markers for a cluster of genes that help us thrive here, even with all the radiation.”
Zsenala’s heart pounded and she felt sick to her stomach. Mutations? Radiation? What was she talking about?
The governor took a step closer. “There’s a bounty on those of us expressing these genes, Zsenala. Sometimes they’ll take the entire family. You must have noticed the disappearances—”
Zsenala felt herself nod.
The governor glanced over Zsenala’s shoulder at the approaching hover. “We’ve been saying they’ve joined the resistance so no one will panic.”
“What?!” Zsenala blurted out. “Did the sah’Korloo take my baba?”
The whine of the sand hover rose as it settled down onto the dusty yard behind them.
“Tell me about Baba!” Zsenala cried again, but the governor shook her head.
“Your momee was supposed to be here. A shipment’s on its way, but you’ll have to handle it.”
“But—”
The governor’s glance flickered over Zsenala’s shoulder and then back, searching her face.
“Get them to the next station, Zsenala, your momee was supposed to—” The insistent beeping of the sand hover stopped her. The governor stepped back, a pleasant calm settling on her face, the urgency slipping away.
Zsenala was afraid to look. But she knew the sand hover had landed, so she straightened her headscarf and turned to greet the visitors.
The plexidome on the hover folded back, and a sah’Korloo female stepped out onto the sand. Tall and thin, with long pewter hair hanging straight around her pale, narrow face, she stood and glanced around with disinterest, one hand twitching at her side. Her eyes were mirrored silver. Two males climbed out of the hover and stood silently behind her.
The sah’Korloo had come early for the tithe.
Zsenala took a deep breath and bowed her head, her right hand to her lips. The governor did the same, and they waited as Zintan ran up and hastily joined them. Then they straightened together.
No one spoke.
Zsenala shot a nervous glance to the governor, but she stayed silent, a bland smile on her face.
Of course, with Momee away, I’m head of household, Zsenala thought. It’s up to me.
“Greetings, Madame Bjurklak,” Zsenala said, stepping forward. “We are honored by your visit.”
Zsenala spoke the ceremonial words she had been taught as a child. The elders had decreed in the first tumultuous weeks after the invasion that the People’s dealings with the sah’Korloo were to always be about honor and welcome, never occupation or theft.
The sah’Korloo technology was unimaginable to the People, their starships powerful enough to destroy entire villages, yet the People would endure.
When the sah’Korloo destroyed the schools to keep children working on the farms, the parents became teachers and taught lessons while they worked. And when the sah’Korloo broke up a child’s Gathering ceremony, a governor smuggled the blood cup to her in her home, so she could rise to adulthood and join the clan.
The People were occupied, but they would not be conquered.
And so, Zsenala spoke the ceremonial words of welcome.
“Our hearth is your hearth, Madame Bjurklak, and our flock is your flock. We welcome you to our home.”
Zsenala had heard these words of honor spoken her entire life. But suddenly, they felt bitter in her mouth with the governor’s harsh warning still ringing in her ears.
“Yes, yes,” Bjurklak said, glancing around the dusty yard with disinterest. “Enough. I know how you love your ceremony, but I’m in a hurry today. I want to get to the marketplace. There’s an embroiderer there who makes those, what do you call them—?” She gestured at Zsenala’s shift. Made from linen grown in the wetlands, they were traditionally embroidered with intricate clan patterns.
“Kamala, your honorable Madame.”
“Yes, kamala. I will buy one today, even though her prices are ruinous. But the best ones will be picked over if I don’t leave soon. I won’t be planetside again for many weeks, so it was good these two offered to help with the tribute today.” Her lips thinned with irritation.
She seemed to notice the governor for the first time. “Who are you?” she asked.
The governor bowed again, her face mild. “Your honorable and excellent visitor, I am a minor leader in our clan.”
“Why are you here? Where are the farmers?”
“Ba’Rozu is attending a birth, Your Excellency, and Da’Rozu is working at another farm.” The governor bowed again. “But be assured Zsenala is more than capable. We were just now discussing arrangements for her upcoming Gathering ceremony.”
Bjurklak narrowed her silver-mirror eyes as she stared at the governor. Then she nodded, turned to Zsenala and said, “Well, girl, get moving.”
Squeezing her palms together to hold in the panic, Zsenala led the way to the barn. She had never been in charge of the tithe before, but she knew she would need to count out each bag of fleece and enter those chosen into the farm ledger.
But what about these terrible things the governor was saying? And where was Baba?
Zsenala tried to catch the governor’s eye several times, but she would only smile and look away.
The two men worked silently, opening gates and carrying bags to the sand hover. Zsenala could feel their constant gaze on her and her brother. After they stowed the last bag in the hover, they climbed in and waited silently.
Bjurklak turned to the governor. “You, come with me now. Perhaps the embroiderer will show you pieces that she would hide from me.”
For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the sand hover. Then the governor nodded and turned to Zsenala. “May peace be with you and with your flock.” And then she climbed into the hover.
Zsenala’s heart pounded in alarm. What if they discovered the governor’s mutant eye? Would they kidnap her?
Zsenala shaded her eyes against the whirling sand as the hover lifted off. She hoped for a glimpse of the governor’s face, but the hover turned and sped towards town, leaving Zsenala standing alone in the settling dust. She felt a deep pang of loss, which quickly turned to anger.
Why did she come tell me this? What am I supposed to do? I’m only thirteen! Then Zsenala’s thoughts quickly skittered to her father. And where’s poor Baba?
“Zse-zse!” Zintan shouted as he ran from the barn.
“Yes, Zin, I’m here,” Zsenala said, dropping her arm on his shoulder. “Come on, we have work to do. It’s DarkNight tonight, and we need to bring the animals in.”
Zsenala looked to the horizon, shading her eyes against the setting suns. Little Blarta was sinking below the mountains, and soon Sol and Ruthur would follow her down, sinking the valley into sudden darkness.
Their world was usually a shifting kaleidoscope of light and color as their suns danced across the sky. But once a year the People suffered through the blazing heat of AllSuns as the three tracked across the sky together. And at sunset they would lock up their animals, go light their lamps, and shutter their windows against the deep, dark hours of DarkNight.
“Come on, Zin, we’d better hurry. I’ll round up the tokka, and you get the chikchiks, and don’t forget to set the latch on the coop!”
Zsenala was too exhausted to sleep, and her thoughts buzzed over what the governor had told her.
Where was Baba? And those two men, were they looking for mutations?
I wish Momee were home, Zsenala thought as she turned again. If this is what it’s like to be an adult, I don’t want to turn fourteen.
A noise jolted her upright. What was that?
Zsenala threw off her covers and lit the lamp by her bed. I’ve got to go check the tokka. Should she bring the lamp? It was the darkest night of the year, with just thin starlight to guide her way. But maybe it would blind her against the dark. She left the lamp on the table.
Zsenala unbarred the door and slipped through, quickly shutting it against the light slanting across the yard. She waited, willing her eyes to adjust. She had never been outside alone on DarkNight, and the darkness pressed down on her chest, making it difficult to breathe. But Baba was counting on her to keep the tokka safe, so she took a deep, steadying breath and headed for the barn.
As she approached, the thick darkness resolved into the shadowy outlines of tokka shifting restlessly in their pen. Whew! They must have been scared when they found themselves outside in the dark. I’ll bring them in, and then I can get back to bed.
But I was so sure I checked the gate…
Zsenala whirled at a tiny sound. A shadowy figure huddled against the tokka pen.
sah’Korloo! They’ve come!
Zsenala turned to run, but a hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.
“Let me go!” Zsenala shrieked, trying to pull away.
“No, please!” a voice croaked. “We call sanctuary!”
Zsenala stopped, paralyzed, torn between her fear and the honor of her People.
“Step back,” she finally shouted. “I’ve got a weapon!” She hoped the darkness could cover her lie.
The figure stood, pushing back the hood of a dark robe. It was a girl, not much older than Zsenala. She reached down and lifted something, no, someone, from the shadows at her feet—a small boy child, barely past weaning. The girl turned him to face Zsenala and slipped off his hood. He looked at Zsenala, his eyes gleaming red in the faint starlight. Zsenala froze, her thoughts racing.
“You’d better come inside,” she finally decided.
The girl followed Zsenala into the dark house, the child clinging to her neck.
“We can’t wake my brother,” Zsenala whispered. “He’s asleep in the other room.”
The girl watched as Zsenala stirred up the fire and set out water with rye cakes and cheese. Zsenala motioned her to the table. “Please, eat.”
She nodded and eased into a chair, the boy in her lap. He snatched a hunk of cheese and settled back down into her arms to eat. “There you are,” she crooned, “that’s better then.” She offered him a cup of water, which he greedily guzzled with his glittering red gaze fixed on Zsenala.
“You, too,” Zsenala said softly, but the girl hesitated. “There’s plenty, enough for both of you.”
The girl sniffed at the tokka cheese, took a nibble, and then was suddenly gobbling big bites.
“Whoa, slow down,” Zsenala said. “You’re safe here, there’s no need to rush.”
The girl shook her head as she slurped some water. “No time. We’ve got to get to the next station before Blarta comes up. The Eye will be looking for us.
“I’d have gotten here sooner,” she continued, “but there was trouble at the radiation pens, and then I missed the first shepherd. I couldn’t wait so I headed out by myself, and then we got lost. It’s been two days, and we’re out of food.”
“Wh-what do you mean?” Zsenala asked.
“Well, the plan was to rescue him before they put him into the pens, but it turned out they were a step ahead of us the whole time. So thankfully, we got lucky with a sleeping guard.” The girl stood up and started sorting her pack. “We really have to go."
“Wait! I don’t understand any of this,” Zsenala said. “Who are you? What are radiation pens?”
The girl slowly set down her pack and stared at Zsenala. “Aren’t you the shepherd?” she whispered.
“I’m a shepherd, but I don’t think that’s what you mean...”
Then Zsenala remembered the governor’s harsh whispers. “Wait—Momee must be the shepherd,” she thought out loud, “and she was supposed to be waiting for you… and now I have to get you to the next station.” She looked at the girl, her face bleak. “But I don’t know where it is! Do you?”
The girl shook her head. “We never know—we just depend on each shepherd to get us to the next station. We can’t tell the sah’Korloo anything that we don’t know.”
Zsenala’s eyes searched the girl’s face. Then she nodded. “You’d better sit down and tell me everything you know. I’ll make tea.”
“…and most of us shepherds are children,” the girl finished. “The sah’Korloo don’t understand that we’re given real responsibilities, so they never notice us. I’ve been a shepherd since I was eleven.”
She fell silent.
“You have to wait until Momee gets back,” Zsenala finally said.
“I can’t. They’re really after this baby. Both of his parents have the mutations, so he’d be a real prize for the testing pens.”
Zsenala noticed the bloody bandage on his wrist. “What happened?”
“That’s where I cut out the chip. They put them in for the testing data and for tracking in case someone escapes.” The girl grimaced. “I’m not good with sutures…”
“Let me look at it,” Zsenala said. “With those horns, I’m always patching up some fool tokka.” She brought warm water, and bandages, and salve. The boy’s eyes grew wide when she reached for his arm. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.” Zsenala said.
She patted his arm when she was done. “He’ll be fine—just a little scar.”
“Thank you.” The girl said. The silence stretched out. “Oh—and your baba wanted me to look in on you.”
“Baba!” Zsenala leapt up, almost knocking over her chair. “What do you know about my baba?”
“Well, I know he just liberated this poor baby from the pens, and when he heard I was taking the cliff route, he asked me to check on you. Although,” she added thoughtfully, “I was meeting your momee, so I probably wasn’t supposed to say anything to you…” She ducked her head as she offered the child more water. “And what did your baba tell you about where he was?”
“They told me he’s helping out at another farm, but I decided he’d joined the resistance.”
The girl looked up. “He did. This is the resistance—”
Zsenala sat down. Then she brightened, “Wait—did you say the ‘cliff route?’”
“He said, ‘You’ll go through the Rozu farm on the way to the cliff route.’” She nodded. “That’s it, exactly.”
That’s the mountain path we take to the tokka swaps, Zsenala said to herself. Maybe he was preparing me for this when he brought me last year...
“Whatever,” the girl said, standing up. “We need to get moving. I’m not letting them get this baby. They already have his momee, and with their family history they won’t let her go until, well—” she stopped, her face grim. “Anyway, I have to get him to the rescue caves. They’ll make contacts for his eyes, and then they can foster him out.”
Zsenala turned away to hide her sudden tears. What if this were Zintan, stolen from his family and sent to grow up amongst strangers?
“So, we need to get going,” the girl prodded.
“I can’t go; I’ve got Zintan and the tokka!”
“Then just pack me some food. I’ll go by myself.”
Zsenala shook her head. “No, the mountains are too dangerous, and besides, it’s DarkNight!”
“Then help me figure this out,” the girl hissed. “I pledged my life for this baby!”
The child whimpered at their rising voices.
“You say the sah’Korloo won’t be watching for children,” Zsenala said, looking away. “Well, that means they really won’t be watching for poor shepherd children.” She turned back. “I’ve got a plan, but it means no traveling in the dark, and we bring Zintan. And you’ll have to give the baby sleeping tea. I don’t want Zin to see those eyes.”
She reached her hand out to the girl. “I’m Zsenala.”
The girl shook her head, “No name... but I call the baby ‘Lek’.”
“Who are they again?” Zintan asked, rubbing his eyes.
The girl was wrapping cheese and dried apples, and the child was asleep in his sling.
“I told you, Zin, they came to find Momee because Lek is really sick. And this is his sister, um—” Zsenala thought quickly, “—Neelo. We’re going to walk them over the cliffs to the Da’Baleen clan on the beach, to see their healer. And I thought we could bring a few rams to swap. We might find a color we don’t have yet.”
There, she thought. He’ll be so busy thinking about seeing the beach, he won’t wonder why we’re taking the tokka out right after AllSuns. It’s going to be another scorcher.
“Now, finish your mash. I’ve done the chores so we’re just waiting for you.”
They stepped out into the indigo predawn. Two rams stood browsing on the stubby grass, their traveling bells clinking softly as they moved. One was a raven-dark blue-black, and the other was a rich violet.
“Why are you bringing Surtur and Snorri, Zse-zse?” Zintan asked. “They’re too skinny, no one will want them.”
“They’re leader rams, Zin, and they’re always thin,” Zsenala said, “but they’re also smart, so they’re easier to lead. Plus, remember how they helped Baba when he got lost last year in the sandstorm? Sometimes the leaders know the paths even better than we do.”
Zsenala led, followed by the rams, Zintan, and then the girl carrying the child. The only sound was the dull klonk, klonk of the bells, broken occasionally by the skree of hawks coasting the thermals rising over the cliffs.
It took half the morning to reach the base of the mountain. The suns blazed as they headed up the stony path, zigzagging across the face of the cliffs. Just past midday, the rams ran ahead to a small plateau and dropped their heads to slurp at a tiny spring. Zsenala called time for a rest.
Zintan wiped his face and threw himself down in the shade of a boulder. “Zse-zse, I’m so tired! Are we almost there?”
“Almost, Zin, it’ll be downhill soon. But close your eyes for a while; we’re going to stop until it’s cooler.”
Exhausted, Zintan fell asleep almost immediately.
“Is that true?” the girl asked quietly. “Are we almost there? Because I swear I can feel the Eye burning a hole in my back.”
“The Eye?” Zsenala whispered.
“You know, the satellite? It’s always watching. It’s probably looking at us right now.” She lay down with the child pillowed on her chest and closed her eyes.
Zsenala struggled not to look for the satellite. The spot between her shoulder blades started to itch. Well, then, we’ll just have to look like shepherd children out tending our sheep, she said to herself.
The rams drowsed in the shade, their eyes closed as they chewed their cud. The girl woke the child, fed him, and then gave him more sleeping tea. The air finally cooled as Blarta sank towards the horizon.
Zsenala woke her brother, “It’s time to get moving.” They ate a quick meal, filled their canteens at the spring, and continued up the mountain.
When they reached the summit, Zsenala turned to look back over the dun-colored cliffs below, still shimmering with heat. Their trail wound down to the valley behind them like a dusty river.
When Zsenala turned to head down the mountain, the girl pulled at her sleeve. “Don’t look,” she whispered. “Just put up your hood and keep walking—the watchers at the satellite can read lips.”
Zsenala slid up her hood and said to her brother, “Zin, go on ahead and look for the turnoff. There are two red slashes on a boulder.”
After he scampered ahead, Zsenala said quietly, “What’s happening?”
“There’s a drone following us. I think it picked us up on the plateau.”
Zsenala turned around to stare. “Keep walking!” the girl hissed.
Zsenala leaned down to make a show of digging through her pack for her canteen. She took a few swigs and wet the corner of her robe to wipe her face. “How do you know?” she whispered as she put her canteen away. “About the drone, I mean?”
“You can hear it; there’s a light hum.”
And suddenly Zsenala could hear it, a tiny sound like a bee buzzing over the spring flowers.
“They must really want him,” the girl continued when they started walking again, “if they’re sending the drone.”
“What do we do now?”
The girl’s lips pressed together. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve never seen one, they just told us what it sounds like.”
Zsenala watched her feet on the thin, rocky path. “Well, I guess we just keep walking our rams over the mountain while we figure it out.”
Zintan ran up the path, pebbles skidding out underfoot. “Zse-zse! There’s someone up ahead!”
“Shush, Zin,” Zsenala whispered, trying not to look up over her shoulder. “You’ll scare the rams. Now, what did you see?”
Zintan dropped his voice. “sah’Korloo soldiers on the path—three of them, with guns!”
The girl turned to Zsenala. “Is there a different way to the beach?”
“I don’t know, I only came that one time!” Zsenala hissed.
“What’s happening, Zse-Zse?” Zintan asked, his voice rising anxiously. “Why are they here?”
“It’s okay, we’re figuring it out.” Zsenala scratched Surtur between the horns while she thought. Was there another route to the beach? She was afraid to leave the path; she’d been raised on stories of shepherds who got lost and fell to their deaths or died of thirst.
Surtur leaned in to encourage her scratching.
“Wait,” Zsenala said suddenly, looking down. “That’s it! The rams will show us!”
“What are you talking about?” the girl asked sharply.
Zsenala leaned down and whispered in Surtur’s ear. “Find the beach, Surtur.” He turned toward the path Zintan had just run up, but Zsenala gently pulled him away. “No, Surtur, the other way.” He looked up. Then he lifted his nose to the breeze, breathed deeply, and scrambled down off the path into the brush, with Snorri following close behind. Zsenala grinned, “I knew it! Come on!”
“No way,” the girl protested. “I’m not trusting some stupid tokka!”
“No, this is what they do, they’re bred for it. They remember paths, sometimes for years!” She slid down the slope after them. “Come on, Zin—”
Zintan looked at the girl. Then he shrugged and slid down the slope after his sister. Zsenala called over her shoulder, “You wanted to act like a shepherd, well, this is what shepherds do—they trust their leaders!”
The girl growled, hitched up the baby’s sling and followed them into the brush.
The rams trotted steadily, stopping occasionally to check the breeze. The children scrambled after them, running sometimes to keep up. The rams stopped in a tiny clearing and dropped their heads to graze.
“I told you this was stupid,” the girl gasped as she caught up to the others. “They have no idea where we’re going.”
Zsenala looked around the clearing. It did seem to dead end at a boulder, with the cliff face on one side and a steep slope on the other. “The leaders always find their way,” she said, trying to sound confident. “But this is a good place to rest. Sol and Ruthur will go down soon, so in case anyone’s watching, make it look like we’re settling in for the night.”
They spread their cloaks out for beds and passed around food and water. The sky darkened to a dull red as Sol fell below the horizon, then true darkness fell as Ruthur followed her. Zsenala started a small fire and kept it fed with deadfall from the brush. The rams settled down against the warm boulder, and Zintan began to snore. Zsenala and the girl wrapped themselves in their cloaks.
After she was sure Zintan was sleeping, Zsenala hissed to the girl, “What would happen if they found us and saw his eyes?”
The girl turned to face Zsenala. “They would take him—and us—and put us all into the radiation pens. I thought you knew that.”
Zsenala held her gaze for a moment, then rolled over into her cloak and turned her back to the fire.
She woke a few hours later and blinked into the darkness, wondering why she was awake. She realized the night was silent, and she nudged the girl, “I don’t hear the drone.”
The girl sat up. “You’re right. Go wake your brother.”
Zsenala threw more wood on the fire and banked the coals to burn through the night.
“What are you doing?” the girl asked.
“If the drone passes over, maybe they’ll think we’re here sleeping.”
Zsenala was still convinced the rams could find the path down the mountain. “Surtur,” she whispered to him, “find the beach.” He got up, trotted around the boulder, and squeezed in behind it, disappearing into the gloom with his brother trailing behind.
Zsenala peered behind the boulder. There was a shadow on the cliff face, a gap, dark against the stone, shimmering silver in the starlight. The opening was just large enough to walk in. Leaning in, she could hear the hollow echo of the rams’ hooves. Well, at least they haven’t fallen to their deaths, she thought. That’s a good sign.
She turned to the girl. “This is our chance to escape that drone.” Then with her heart hammering, she grabbed her brother’s hand and stepped into the darkness.
Except that it wasn’t dark. Their hands and faces lit up in a phosphorescent glow as shining patches of green and blue and orange glimmered down from the tunnel walls.
“Whoa…” Zintan whispered, his eyes widening.
“I think they’re lichens, but let’s not touch them,” Zsenala said stepping back from the wall.
Surtur and Snorri turned from where they were waiting and trotted ahead, the tok, tok of their hooves echoing off the stone. The children followed as the path twisted and turned and occasionally doubled back, but always, always sloped down into the mountain.
The girl stopped suddenly and grabbed Zsenala’s arm. “I don’t like this. It feels like we’re following two wandering tokka who don’t know where they are!” The child woke in his sling as her voice started to rise. “And we’re going to be lost in here forever, and we’ll starve, or die of thirst—” Her voice caught on a sob.
“It’s okay,” Zsenala said lifting the child’s sling off the girl’s shoulders. “We’re okay. The leaders always know where they are. We’ll stop for some food and water, and you’ll feel better.” She stroked the boy’s head, and his eyes started to close.
“I want to go back.”
“You can’t. The drone will start searching again at daybreak, and they’ll be suspicious if they see you walking alone with a child—there’s no good reason to be in the mountains with a baby in this heat. We haven’t caught their attention yet because we look like shepherd children, leading our rams across the mountain.”
“I can’t just bring him in here to die!”
“You’re not. I may not be your shepherd, but I’m a tokka shepherd, and tokka shepherds survive by trusting their leaders. We’ll find the way.
“And if you go back,” Zsenala continued, “the drone will find you, and then they’ll take you both. And I’m not letting that happen.”
The girl was silent. “Why are you doing this? Why didn’t you let me cross by myself?”
“I may just be the daughter of a poor tokka farmer, living out on the edge of the territory, but I know right from wrong when I see it. And letting the sah’Korloo put you or the baby into the radiation pens is very wrong.
“I’ll do anything to prevent that, and I would hope someone would do the same for me.”
The girl searched her face and then nodded. “Okay.”
Zsenala turned around to see the rams disappear around a corner. She realized she couldn’t hear their hooves. Did they just fall?
She eased around the bend and found the rams waiting at an opening with golden light shimmering on their faces. Zsenala tiptoed closer and peered in.
A large rock cavern opened up in front of her, lit by jars of glowing golden lichens. The space was filled with people, some adults standing and talking quietly, and children and adults scattered in small groups, bedded down for the night. A work bench stretched across the far wall, scattered with beakers of colored liquids.
The girl came up behind Zsenala. “I can’t believe it,” she breathed. “They found the caves.” Her foot nudged a pebble, and a woman leaning over a crib nearby looked up at the sound. The woman grinned and called over her shoulder. “They’re here!”
Cheers filled the cavern, and people came running.
The woman stood and smiled. She bowed with her hand to her lips.
“Ba'Lowan, of clan Da’Baleen, welcomes you. Be at ease, our home and our hearth are yours.”
Then she reached towards Zsenala for the boy.