Drinkable, he declared. But of animals, berries, any kind of food— nothing.

Again the shadow of night rushed down and we lay in the chil, shivering, half-starved. Gamelpar never once complained of cold or hunger. Vinnevra had said nothing for many hours.

Morning came, and listlessly we rose and washed ourselves.

Then Vinnevra closed her eyes, turned slowly, hand out—and stopped. Her hand pointed back to the chasm. With a convulsive shudder, she swung halfway around—reversing the direction her geas told her we should take.

When she looked at me, her eyes were bleak.

Her strength was impressive. Against al my instincts, I found myself admiring, then growing fond of this pair. Foolishness—it was Riser I needed to find, and once I found him, wouldn’t we celebrate by shaking our feet and leaving al others behind?

I wondered now, however, whether I could guess what Riser would do. He had always surprised me.

We traveled onward, inland and west, through the roling foothils toward the more sharply defined range. This path took us by the end of the day to the edge of what might have once been another city—a strange, shifting ruin, over which the ghosts of monuments flickered, as if struggling to return.

Vinnevra stood for a while on the broken boundary of a rounded, slagged causeway—raising her hands as if imploring, begging for relief or at least some sort of explanation.

“I need to go back!” she said to us. “Keep me, hold me! Stop me!”

Gamelpar and I gently held her arms and we al sat down as a sour wind blew through the rubble, moaning over holows and whispering through shattered arches.

Just a few hundred paces over the waste, to the left of the causeway, lay half of a ship larger than the Didact’s star boat— many hundreds of paces long, its rounded hul blackened and slumped. This boat’s spacefaring days were over. It seemed to have been attacked and brought down through the Halo’s atmosphere, to smash into this section of the great hoop.

These were not fresh ruins, and this place had never been a human city. Again, here was grim evidence that decades ago, Forerunners had fought Forerunners, and many had died.

The Lord of Admirals now decided to rise up and gloat.

Confusion to the enemy! Those who tyrannize humans have fought among themselves. Dissension in their ranks! Why should that not bring us joy?

The old spirit seemed to take control of my feet and legs, and for the moment, without making a conscious choice, I ceded my eyes and body to him. Beyond any plan, any stretch of my own experience, we stroled along the causeway, leaving Gamelpar and Vinnevra behind for the moment, feeling disappointment, sorrow, vindication—just as I had felt at the first awakening of horror and pride back on Charum Hakkor.

The causeway ascended at a gentle angle, and we walked up the slope, leaping away as the edges of jagged cracks squirmed and sparkled with a strange light—as if trying to rejoin, to begin repairs.

But for this place, the wil, the energy, the resources no longer existed. The command structure had long since been broken. That much seemed obvious—though I could not even begin to understand the underlying technology.

Again, I felt like bowing down and worshipping.

They are not gods, the old spirit reminded me with an air of disdain. But the ruins were too sad, and he no longer expressed any sense of triumph.

They are like us, in the great scheme of things, sometimes strong, too often foolish and weak, caught up in politics . . .

and now at war. But why?

The Lord of Admirals walked me to the end of the causeway, and we looked out over the dead ship and the shattered, exploded skeletons of buildings that once had risen thousands of meters into the sky, but now lay across each other like so many dead on a field of battle—toppled, half-melted, yet neither entirely stil nor silent.

I was distracted by the reappearance of wals and framework beams rising from the ruins perhaps five hundred meters away— rising and reassembling, much as the Didact’s ship had built itself at the center of Djamonkin Crater. It seemed for a moment that it might succeed—took on almost a finished aspect—but that was an ilusion.

The wals disappeared, the skeletal framework flickered, dropped away . . .

Vanished.

In mere seconds, the effort came to an end with a sigh and rush of wind, and the building’s ghost was no more. Then—to the right of the causeway—another futile effort, another resurrection— another colapse and rush of wind.

The city was like a buffalo brought down by a pride of great cats, its flanks torn and throat slashed, bleeding out as the predators wait, tongues loling, for its sharp black horns to cease swinging. . . . The buffalo struggles to regain its feet, but the hyenas scream and laugh, and the pride leader growls her hungry triumph.

I was being drawn into the old spirit’s memories of the destruction of Charum Hakkor, the colapse of entire fleets of human ships. . . . The pain and sense of loss staggered me. The old presence, this spirit, this ancient thing within me, was as much a ghost as the ruins writhing and moaning al around.

Finaly, neither the Lord of Admirals nor I could bear to watch. I could feel neither his words nor his emotions. He, too, had colapsed, retreated.

“No more!” I shouted, and covered my eyes, then stumbled back to the margins.

The girl looked to me as if for some explanation.

“We shouldn’t cross this place,” I said. “A bad, sad place. It doesn’t know it’s dead.”

Chapter Ten

WE DECIDED ON a course around the ruins.

Another day of travel and Gamelpar’s strength seemed to be flagging. We rested more hours than we traveled, but finaly found a shalow rivulet of water and edible weeds—or so Gamelpar assured us. They were less obnoxious than the greasy berries, and with thirst quenched and stomach less empty, the old man seemed to revive.

He waved his hand, then moved away on his stick.

Ahead the hils resumed. Here they were covered with dry grass and spotted with trees I wasn’t familiar with, pleasantly shaped, of middle height, with black bark and gray-green leaves that splayed out like the fingers of cupped hands.

The sky was free of clouds, except far up the bridge, at the point where the bridge was as broad as my outstretched palm. I squinted and moved my hand, covering and uncovering the clouds, while Gamelpar watched without much interest. Beyond the sharp mountains we could now see the body of water very clearly. The shadows had grown long, the air was cooling, the sun was three fingers above the gray wal. Darkness was coming.

We rested.

In the shade of a black-trunked tree, I pried a stone out of caked dirt and looked it over, marveling at its simplicity. Simple—and false. Everything here had been manufactured by Forerunners. Or perhaps it had al been stripped away from a planet, transported here, and rearranged. Either way, this land and the ring itself was like the toy of a great, spoiled child that can have anything it wants, make anything it wants.

Yet humans had nearly defeated their fleets, ten thousand years ago.

“You have that look,” Vinnevra said, kneeling beside me. “Like you’re somebody else.”

“I am, sometimes,” I said.

She gazed through the deep twilight at where Gamelpar had rested with his back against the smooth trunk of a tree. “So is he.”

She scratched idly at the dirt. “No good here for insects.”

I hefted the stone. “I could learn to throw rocks at birds.”

We both smiled.

“But we’d starve before I got any good,” I admitted.

Gamelpar was much tougher than either of us thought. He kept up with us beyond the foothils and into the mountains.

I lost count of the days.

Chapter Eleven

WHILE GAMELPAR AND Vinnevra rested near the base, I hiked to a granite outcrop at the top of the closest and lowest rocky peak.

Along the slope I found a few bushes with smal black berries that had a certain sweetness and did not upset my stomach. I nibbled, but gathered the rest into my shirt, saving them for my companions.

The wide streak of dark blue water was about thirty kilometers away, protected on this side by both the mountains and a dense region of nubbly forest. Looking inland and outward, this huge lake stretched across the band many thousands of kilometers. From where I stood, I guessed its breadth at about two or three hundred kilometers.

And where will we find a boat?

I shook my head in absent reply, then studied the lake intently as cloud shadows and dapples of light played over it. Clear enough even from this distance, the water was studded across most of its width and breadth by tal, narrow islands like pilars. About two or three kilometers from the near shore, some sort of growth or construction connected and lay over the pilars and islands— dwelings connected by bridges or just peculiar vegetation, I could not tel which.

If we were to folow the course established by getting the hel away from the ditch and the Beast, then we would have to cross that lake, but first, penetrate the surrounding forest.

Soon, with night bearing down, I descended the slope. The old man and the girl had moved a short distance from where I had left them, near a dry riverbed, and Vinnevra was patiently rubbing her grandfather’s arms and legs. Both looked up as I approached.

“What’s out there?” Gamelpar asked, patting his granddaughter’s shoulder. I delivered my berries and they ate, tipping their hands in thanks. Vinnevra’s steady appraisal disturbed me.

Then she got up and walked away, and I felt a peculiar disappointment—for both of us.

The old man reached for his stick, as if prepared to move out right away, based on some report of danger. “What’s out there?”

he asked again.

“The big lake,” I said. “Dense forest.”

“I’ve seen that one many times from the old city” Gamelpar said.

“I never expected to go visit it.”

“We don’t have to,” I said.

“Where else is there?” he asked.

“She doesn’t know,” I said.

Vinnevra had hunkered miserably a few steps away, head bowed.

“We need purpose. We need direction.” He folowed this with a direct look that as much as said, Without that, I, at least, will soon die. And what will become of the girl then?

I shared more of my gleanings with the old man, then walked over to the girl, who again seemed to reappraise me, like some unexpected and unpleasant marvel, as she accepted the last spare handful and ate.

At that moment, I wondered—for the last time—what my chances would be if I just took off on my own. I could move faster.

Out there, I’d likely be as knowledgeable about the conditions as either Vinnevra or Gamelpar, so far from their home. . . .

I had at least as much chance of finding Riser by leaving, I thought.

But of course there were larger problems to solve, and the old man stil held, perhaps, some answers—particularly with regard to the Captive. The Primordial.

The Beast with the glittering eyes.

The morning came bright and clear, and once more we had a view of the red and gray orb, a waxing crescent now showing visible details—part of an animal face, like a wolf or a jackal.

“It’s getting closer ,” Gamelpar said, performing his usual rather impressive stretches. The exercises hurt the old man, and their effect diminished through the day’s journey, but they were essential. He would stand on his good leg, arms out, then rotate his body and hips around until balance became difficult—hop to recover, and stretch out again, leaning his head back as if to let out a silent howl.

Vinnevra stood with arms by her sides, waiting for us to make up our minds, she would folow wherever we went, that was her

destiny, she deserved nothing more . . . and so on. Al in slack posture and blank, staring eyes—staring away, away from us, away from everything.

“You both look gloomy,” Gamelpar muttered as he finished.

“What I would not give for a bunch of plump, cheerful shopkeepers.”

“What would we do with them?” I asked.

“Make jokes. Dance in rings. Eat wel.” He smacked his lips.

The old man’s rare expressions of humor were almost as disconcerting as the girl’s appraising silences.

We walked off, taking a long inland route around the mountain. I had seen gentle pastures with hummocky terrain and water-worn tablelands on that side of the peak, and beyond, more and more trees until another bare and arid strip that stretched right up to the dense, high forest.

Two days between.

Two dreadful, silent days.

And then, suddenly, Vinnevra was cheerful again.

She stil did not say much, but she recovered a lightness in her step, a set to her eyes, a vibrant, swinging motion of her long arms and skinny legs that spoke eloquently that for her, at least, the worst of the disappointment was over, it was time to feel young again, to look around attentively and feel a glimmer of hope.

Her energy passed on to Gamelpar and we made better time.

Here, winding through hummocks and eroded plateaus, Gamelpar became convinced we were now back in decent hunting territory.

He showed us how to make a snare from stiff cane and plaited grass loops, and we worked for a time stretching them over one after another of a circle of fresh-looking burrows.

We carried stones to block off the open holes.

“Not rabbits,” Gamelpar said as we stood aside to wait.

“Probably good to eat, though.”

He then took his stick a few meters away and dug a hole in the sandy soil. After a while, a muddy dampness seeped into the bottom of the hole, and we al took turns digging deeper. Soon there was water—muddy, far from sweet, but wet and essential. If we were patient, we could drink our fil.

Then the first of the snares bobbed and danced and we had a little brown animal, like a lump of fur with eyes, the size of two skinny fists. That last night before we reached the forest, we captured four, set a low, smoky fire with dry shrubs and scrap twigs, and ate the fatty, half-raw meat.

Does the Lifeshaper come to these poor beasts when they are born?

I ignored that blasphemy. The old spirit had no respect.