"Remember," said Eltava, "I saw her first."

The Traveller glanced speculatively at his companion. Her growl had seemed like a challenge, but there was a twinkle in her dark, slanted eyes.

"And what makes you think," he asked mildly, "that I'm interested?"

She snorted, but couldn't help it turning into laughter, and the Traveller recognised Eltava's mood. She knew he was teasing her, but had decided to let him get away with it. "Because she's exactly your type."

He raised an eyebrow. "You're my type," he commented.

"Oh yes," she said casually, "but otherwise ..."

The girl at the stream straightened and stretched, as if to illustrate the words, and both pairs of eyes watched her, his grey eyes appreciatively, her dark ones longingly.

The object of Eltava's desire was a slim girl in her late teens whose soft, curvaceous body had a dark olive complexion, with a garland of bright flowers around her long, black hair and another belting her simple tunic. Through the fading light from up on the hill, it was difficult to make out what she'd been doing: washing something perhaps, but not clothes.

The Traveller looked sideways again at Eltava's rapt face, the expression he'd seen so many times on it, since she'd been a child. He'd been looking forward to searching for the city of Enchiau together: it was a mystery that had been fascinating both of them. Though he'd never visited Enchiau, it had been a great city when he was young, a hundred years ago. So he'd been surprised, visiting this part of the world for the first time in many decades, that no-one had heard of it, and that its former location seemed to be the heart of a great forest.

"You're serious about this, aren't you?" he said.

She looked suddenly unsure. "I'm coming with you," she said. "You need me."

He laughed, trying to deny that the prospect of their separation hurt him. He knew he couldn't deny her this. He'd lived for more than a century, and there was no sign that he'd ever age; but Eltava had to live her youth now, or it would be gone before she knew it. "I always need you," he said softly, "but I'll be all right."

She looked at him appealingly. "I want to help you find this city," she said; "but ..."

"But," he added, "I know you, Eltava. You have to get these things out of your system."

"You make it sound like I'm a child," she growled through her teeth.

The Traveller tried not to smile. "Well," he teased, "I did hold you as a baby." He shook his head. "No, not a child. Just in love." He kissed her. "I'll come back this way," he said, "though I don't know how long I'll be. Have fun." Standing, he shouldered his pack.

The Seideën scout, perched on a high branch amid the foliage, watched the abomination straighten from washing her demonic icons in the stream and walk away. He was barely aware of the snarl on his face, though it helped: he wasn't immune to the creature's outward charms. But great Melamith strengthened his resolve and reminded him of the corruption beneath that enticing façade.

His attention turned to the two more distant figures on the ridge. The man, who looked about thirty, was clearly from the north, where his own people had come from two generations before: tall and fair-skinned, though the shoulder-length hair was dark, not blond like his own people's. The woman, a little past the blossoming of maidenhood, was like nothing he'd ever seen before: dressed in leather, she was tall and strong, with an ochre tinge to her skin and short-cropped hair. Could she, he wondered, be another abomination?

He saw the man get to his feet and disappear down the far side of the ridge. After a few moments, the woman followed the abomination in the direction that must lead to the settlement.

He offered up a prayer to Melamith, who had led his father's people safely from the cold wilderness of the north to this fruitful land, and who had now delivered to them a settlement of the accursed Demon Children that infested the land he had given to them. The darkness would be scourged, in his name.

After a suitable interval, the scout slipped down from his tree and followed at a discreet distance.

Eltava was frustrated. The village had offered her hospitality that was warmer than mere obligation required, but in five days she'd been unable to get to know the beauty from the stream, whose name was Drustil. Eltava had spoken with her many times, but only in company, giving her no opportunity for seduction.

Drustil seemed a lively, friendly girl, often giggling and playing with the other younger women and flirting with the younger men; yet she tended to turn shy and tongue-tied when Eltava spoke to her, blushing a little and studying the ground. Eltava did wonder whether the girl was aware of her feelings, but there was no way of telling how she took them. She'd been in villages where women who loved each other were cast out, or even stoned to death. She couldn't imagine such extremes from these gentle people, but it was entirely possible that her feelings would disgust Drustil.

Yesterday afternoon, she'd several times fancied that Drustil had been watching her when she thought herself unobserved, looking away an instant before Eltava caught her eye. Screwing up her courage to face the possibility of rejection and a hasty departure, she'd determined to speak to her at sunset, a time of quiet leisure in the village. But the girl was nowhere to be found.

It was a small settlement, such as could be found almost anywhere in the world: a dozen houses of wattle-and-daub in the forest clearing among small fields of barley and vegetables. Chickens clucked and pecked busily among the houses, and a few cows and pigs grazed and rootled on the edge of the dark, pathless forest that cut them off from other communities. It was a special occasion when a visitor arrived from another village.

And there was the mound.

No-one spoke about the mound, though Eltava was unsure whether this was due to secrecy or lack of communication. She knew a tongue not unlike theirs and could make herself understood, but she wished she shared the Traveller's fluency with languages.

The mound was clearly not a natural hill. Perhaps five times her height, it rose from flat ground, green and perfectly circular. She had looked surreptitiously for an entrance but could see nothing, and she was wary about looking too obviously.

It seemed otherwise a relaxed community, with no obvious leader, though an elderly man called Ashleët and the wise-woman Kaani were highly respected. But something was missing, something Eltava couldn't put her finger on. Maybe, she reflected, it was merely her frustration over Drustil.

She was there now, but Eltava saw that she was with a boy of about own age called Nuenit, who seemed often in her company. Eltava saw now, with a catch of her heartbeat, that they were obviously flirting together. Though he wasn't the only one Drustil behaved like this with, she had a sinking feeling that this was more serious, and she felt adrift in despair.

She'd felt this kind of desire a few times, though she knew deep down that it was always short-lived. The Traveller was her love for life, always and forever. She remembered no time when she hadn't loved him, first as a child adoring a special adult, then as a young girl with a crush, finally as an equal lover. The world was a secure place with him in it.

But she needed danger too, conquest and heartache, and the wonder of someone who could feel swept away by her strength and mystery. How could she have that from a man who had cleaned her up as a baby and played with her as a child?

Eltava's head came around suddenly, wondering what had caught her attention. No-one else had reacted; but, as she glanced about her, a little boy came at a stumbling run into the village, his cries too fast and high-pitched for her to follow.

Instantly, the village was full of people running and shouting. Eltava grabbed the nearest person, the elder Ashleët. "What's happening?" she demanded.

"A raid." There was a quiet panic in Ashleët's eyes. "It's the Seideën. We must hide in the forest."

She stared at him: she didn't know who these Seideën were, but they were obviously feared by the villagers. "Aren't you going to defend your homes?" she demanded.

He spread his arms. "We don't know how to fight," he said. "It will be all right, the ancestors will protect us."

Eltava hesitated for a moment, tempted to tell him not to be superstitious, but she knew better. "I'm sure they will," she said cautiously, "but they'll want you to help them, surely?"

Ashleët stared at her blankly. "We trust the ancestors," he said and hurried off.

Eltava could hear crashes from the forest in the direction the child had come. The raiders clearly knew that the village had been warned and had abandoned stealth. Her hand went instinctively to her side, and she cursed fluently. For courtesy and lack of need, her sword lay beside her sleeping-place, and whether she was going to fight or flee, she'd no intention of doing it unarmed.

Racing into the hut, she yanked out the sword, leaving the scabbard behind, and ducked outside again. In the few heartbeats it had taken, everything had changed. The villagers were gone and the clearing was filling up with strangers: short, stocky men with square faces, angular features and yellow hair, wielding swords and axes. Some carried torches, and she saw fire set to a couple of buildings.

Eltava glanced around, assessing the situation. There looked to be between twenty and thirty of them, and none of the villagers were offering resistance. Though she had a high opinion of her weapon-skills, she wasn't a fool. Her eyes flickered around, seeking the safest route of flight, then stuck in horror.

By the mound, her back to the village, Drustil stood on her own. The raiders caught sight of her at the same moment.

Caution and commonsense went tumbling down the slope of terrified desire. With a wordless yell that turned every head to her, Eltava raced across the clearing to where Drustil stood.

"What the ..." She paused, frustrated at not being able to curse in this language. "What are you doing here?"

The girl half turned her head. "I must summon the ancestors," she said.

"Why you? And can't you do it from somewhere safer?"

"No," she said. "Even if I get killed, I must stay."

"They won't kill you," Eltava growled. "I won't let them touch you."

Drustil glanced around, her dark eyes startled and wondering, but there was no time to question, as the first raiders reached them. Eltava turned and swung her sword several times in a fast, wide arc, forcing the leading two men to leap back. They circled around warily, keeping back as she moved her sword more slowly now, trying to keep three directions covered. Though she'd have no chance if they rushed her, she'd probably kill a couple of them first, and there seemed no volunteers to be her victims.

"Demon," spat one of the men. "All abominations must die. Melamith the Lord commands it."

Eltava knew the tongue he spoke, though she doubted that the girl behind her did, and assumed that the abuse was aimed at her. She'd been in countries before where a woman bearing arms had been seen as blasphemous.

Then, seeing the speaker's eyes, she realised that they were focussed past her. "All servants of the Dark One must die," another called out; and a voice from somewhere shouted, "Witch."

Eltava had an instant to wonder about this. A few moments before, she'd have laughed at the suggestion that these gentle villagers, or the beautiful girl behind her, were servants of evil. But Drustil's comment about summoning the ancestors sent cold steel through her guts. Could these men be right?

She only had a moment to wonder, though. The abuse was doing its work, unifying them against the enemy, making them forget their fear of death. A couple of heartbeats more, Eltava knew, and they'd rush her.

A hand gripped her free arm from behind. She checked the beginning of a stroke, half-turned, as she realised that it was a small, soft hand. Drustil's voice urged her, "This way, now."

It was less the girl's urging than the sudden shock on the raiders' faces that made her allow Drustil to tug her backwards into the deep passageway, where moments before had been unbroken hillside.

It was cool under the canopy of trees, even in the early afternoon. The gazelle, drinking at the tiny pool and ignoring the constant skittering in the undergrowth, spooked a moment at something; but it was only a fox, come for a drink. They watched each other warily, with respect but no great interest, as they shared the water-hole.

Then, abruptly, both fox and gazelle stiffened, head up and ears alert at the heavier tread approaching. By the time the Traveller reached the pool, it was deserted, other than the skittering underfoot, a bird issuing a furious challenge from somewhere and the eternal insects.

Sighing, he slipped off his pack and sat on a patch of sparse, open grass, unslinging a water-bottle for a long pull. Nearly empty. Glancing at the pool, he shrugged. The water was too stagnant: he needed to find a running stream.

The Traveller felt lonely. That was strange: in more than a century of life, he'd spent plenty of time on his own and had always enjoyed his own company as much as that of others. But he'd grown used to having Eltava with him, in the last few years; and the five days had not only seemed very empty, but had played on his nerves too. Most of the time, he knew that she'd come back to him, but only most of the time. What would he do, if one of her affairs became permanent?

But she wouldn't be Eltava, if she weren't free to wander. Part of her appeal as a child had been the beautiful intensity with which she'd pursued each passing fancy, and she was no different now. He just had to trust her love for him.

After resting for a while, the Traveller looked around him, listening and sniffing. It was hard to tell, over the breeze rustling the canopy, the sounds in the undergrowth and the buzzing of insects, but he thought he could hear trickling water somewhere near.

The city of Enchiau should be nearby too, if anything of it still remained; but, though that might be his ultimate goal, he needed to track down the water. He was fairly sure that it was that way, down the gently-sloping forest floor.

The ground sloped gently downwards for perhaps ten minutes' walk, before falling off more sharply. There was a little rocky crag, perhaps twice his height, that would have been easy enough to climb down; but, to one side, it merged into a steep earthy slope, where something (deer perhaps, or wild goat) had scored a faint path down through the dust. The Traveller scrambled to its foot to find a busy little stream cascading out of a much larger hole, splashing down into a course a little way below.

The Traveller was drawn immediately to the opening: something seemed to be drawing him to this hole, calling him to come inside and investigate further. He took a step towards it, then disciplined himself to deal with the essentials first. Once he'd drunk and filled both his bottles, though, he examined the opening. It came up to his waist and, when he peered inside, vanished into darkness.

He hesitated. Normally, he'd have felt no great curiosity about this, but the call was strong. Puzzled, he leant further, putting his head as far in as he could while still keeping firmly anchored in the sunlit world. There was definitely a pull, and he realised what it was. Power. He could always sense power, such as he had himself, and he could feel it inside. Not actually someone using power, more like the remnants, radiating out like the heat from a fire.

That gave him even more pause. In the five days since he'd parted from Eltava, he'd seen no human, or even signs that any human ever passed that way; yet someone with an immense amount of power had used it here, under the earth. The sensible course, he knew, would be to turn away and go nowhere near it. Power this secret would likely mean danger, and he should avoid it.

But then, the Traveller had never been sensible. Not in that way, at any rate, the way that would make him turn away from a mystery and leave it unsolved. This must have some connection with his search. He wasn't sure how, exactly; but a great city had vanished without trace, from memory as well as from the landscape, and some great power had been used where it had once stood.

He examined the opening again. It was difficult to be sure, but the echoes, when he tossed a pebble experimentally inside, didn't suggest that it narrowed. Bundling up all his possessions, he crawled inside. The pebbles on the stream-bed dug sharply into his hands and knees, but he only had to crawl a short distance before the echoes told him that the space was growing larger. Standing, he discovered that the roof was beyond his reach.

Finding the tinder-box in his pouch still dry enough for a few heartbeats' light, he saw a crack twisting between rock-walls, the roof lost in shadows. He must be deep underground by now, he thought; then stopped abruptly. He would be under the ground he'd trodden to get here, he realised. The rock from which the stream emerged had been no more than twice his own height; and, though there was a slope beyond, he could hardly have gone far enough to account for much of a rise. Yet there was no doubt that he was far below the surface.

The Traveller stood motionless for a long time, wondering what to do. He could crawl back, of course, and get out of this unnatural place. It did briefly occur to him to wonder whether the way out would still be there: he'd seen enough to know that such things were possible. But the stream was still flowing. Magic or no magic, it had to be flowing somewhere.

So he could crawl back, escape from the passage and flee this weird place. And spend the rest of his life, which might be a good deal longer than most lives, wondering what it was exactly that he hadn't seen today.

Sighing, he turned back to where the high cleft vanished round the bend, trying to use all his senses, natural and extra ones, to pick up clues about what might lie ahead. But there was nothing, he realised, prickly fear creeping over him. No sounds or smells came from round that bend, and none of the power whose radiation still hung about him. It was as though the world ceased to exist a few paces away from him.

Very slowly, he made his way around the bend in the passage. Almost at once, though, he came to a stop. What was he doing? Why was he making this pointless, unpleasant journey underground, when what he searched for was a city? A city would be on the surface, not down here. Come to that, why search for Enchiau anyway? It was nothing to him, he'd never even been there. If he turned round now, he could be back with Eltava within five days. After all, he'd no way of knowing that it was safe to leave her. What if she never came back to him? He couldn't allow that.

As he turned to retrace his steps, a memory came to him from somewhere. Eltava was eight at the time, and he was letting her spend a couple of hours with him on board his ship, Searcher, in dock. He'd turned his back for what seemed like a heartbeat, and when he looked again, he saw the child's delighted face peering down at him from halfway up the mast.

"What are you doing up there?" he called, and she shouted down, "Wanted to see what it was like up here."

"All right." He remained calm, not wanting to panic her. "But can you come down, now you've seen?"

Eltava began to climb down. He held his breath the whole time, looking up at her from beside the mast. Halfway, she slipped and lost her hold. He noticed vaguely that she didn't cry out, but he was mainly concerned with pushing down his blinding rush of panic and getting underneath her.

He lay on the deck, still holding onto the child he'd caught, and finally managed, "Don't ever do that again."

She looked at him with that appeal he could never resist. "Why not? I knew you'd catch me. And I've been up there, now."

The Traveller pulled himself back in the act of turning away from the passageway. Since when did he distrust Eltava? And since when was he any less curious than her? That wasn't him.

Now that he was able to look from the outside, he knew that the suggestions hadn't come from him. All around him, something was catching at whatever it found, suggesting eminently sensible reasons as to why he shouldn't go any further. He could feel it, now that the spell was broken, now that he understood what to look for. It wasn't power exactly, which was why he hadn't sensed it, but it was a barrier between him and what lay beyond.

But a barrier that relied on his cooperation. Keeping clearly in his mind the mischievous face of that child he'd loved, and loved even more now, the Traveller walked forward.

Whirling back from the opening in the mound that had appeared so suddenly, Eltava took up her guard in the defensible position between high, close sides. But Drustil said, "No, come with me. They won't follow."

Eltava looked at the enemy. The girl was right, she realised. There was fear on their faces, and they made no move towards the new doorway. In their position, she reflected, she'd probably have felt the same.

Walking backwards, never taking her eyes off them, Eltava followed the girl she desired, but now didn't quite trust, further into the mound. After a few steps, the passage turned and the light vanished. Eltava fumbled for her pouch, intending to get out her tinderbox, but Drustil put a hand on hers. "We mustn't bring light here," she said.

Though it occurred to Eltava to wonder how she knew, she was more aware of the soft, warm hand on hers, which she didn't want to go away. Without thinking, she dropped her sword and covered Drustil's hand with hers.

There was a long pause; and, when Drustil spoke, her self-assurance was gone, and she was nothing more than a nervous young girl. "Eltava," she said; and Eltava realised with a lurch that, in all the times they'd spoken together, this was the first occasion she'd heard her name from the girl's mouth. "You ... I've seen you looking at me. Like a man looks at a woman he wants."

Eltava swallowed. "You're very beautiful," she said, immediately cursing herself silently for sounding inane.

"So are you." There was wonder in Drustil's voice. "I've never met anyone like you. It makes me feel… I don't know, strange, whenever you're around. Scared, but tingly."

In the darkness, Eltava was aware that they were very close, and she suddenly didn't care what Drustil was. She bent to kiss the smaller girl, but missed in the dark and kissed her nose instead. Drustil giggled and gathered her in for a proper kiss.

When they finally came up for air, though, Drustil sighed. "Eltava," she said, sounding as if she was enjoying saying the name, "there's ... something I've got to do."

That sobered Eltava a little. "You mean ... raising spirits?"

They were close enough that she could feel Drustil nod. "I have to summon the ancestors," she said. "I'm the keeper of the talismans."

Eltava was aware of her holding her hands up. "Grandfather," she said, "are you there? I need to talk to you."

"Of course I'm here," said a voice beside them, and Eltava nearly jumped out of her skin. "I wouldn't miss talking to my favourite grand-daughter."

"Grandfather, it's urgent, we're ..."

"And who's this with you?" The voice, old but strong, sounded curious.

"Oh ... this is Eltava. She's ..."

"Drustil, you're blushing," said the voice. "Ah, so that's it. A roll in the forest with a boy was good enough for your grandmother; but you have to try something new."

"Grandfather ..."

"You, what's your name? Eltava. You seem decent enough. You make sure you don't hurt Drustil. You hear me, young lady?"

"I've no intention of hurting her," Eltava protested, unsure of how to speak to an ancestral spirit.

"Grandfather," said Drustil urgently, "we're under attack. Remember I told you about the Seideën? The ones with the god who hates everyone? They've attacked us, and they're burning the village. We need you."

"Burning the village?" The garrulous old man was gone suddenly, and he sounded angry and decisive. "The cheek of it. Of course we'll help. But ..." He hesitated. "We can't go out without you leading us, sweetheart. We'll try to protect you, but ..."

Eltava heard her swallow. "All right," she said. "Eltava." Her voice sounded uncertain. "I've got to go back outside."

"Out there?" She couldn't believe it. "We wouldn't last long enough to get across the village."

"I have to go outside, or the ancestors can't, and we won't stand a chance. You don't have to go."

"Don't be an idiot," Eltava snapped. "You don't think I'd let you go on your own, do you?" She took a deep breath. "Now?"

"Nearly," said Drustil. Wrapping her arms around Eltava, she gave her a long kiss. "I'll feel safe," she said at last, "if you're with me."

Eltava swallowed, hoping her voice remained steady. "I can't promise they won't hurt you," she said, "but they'll have to hack their way through my dead body first." Recovering her sword, she took Drustil's hand and followed the younger girl the few steps up the passage.

The darkness vanished instantly, as the Traveller rounded the bend in the passage, and he was standing under a clear, open sky of a pale, hot blue emphasised by the few wispy straggles of white cloud, and a fierce yellow sun. Only these clouds hung motionless, without the faintest breeze to blow them across the sky. There were no sounds and no smells, but there was plenty to see. A few paces ahead, buildings began: mostly of mud-brick, some of red sandstone, a few of gleaming white marble.

The Traveller had never walked the streets of Enchiau, but he'd been to other cities in this part of the world, and he knew how their builders thought. There was no sign of the modern fad for brightly painted façades, nor the domes with which recent builders had been experimenting. This was a city that hadn't changed for a hundred years, at least.

The road between the buildings was dust and stone, but no dust-swirls played at his feet, even where he stepped. It was utterly still and utterly deserted, until he turned a corner and came face to face with two women and a man.

For the first heartbeat, the Traveller was caught between starting in surprise, calling out a greeting and feeling warily for his sword-hilt, but only for that long. By then, it had become clear to him that none of these three figures was moving a muscle.

He moved forward cautiously, puzzled. He'd seen statues, in Hafdosu and Nessit, that people swore looked completely lifelike; but, impressive though they were, he'd never been able to see much life in them. This was life in every detail, from the carving of tiny lines and wrinkles to the colour tones of skin and clothes, from the facial expressions to the way the cloth draped.

It made a strange scene, too. It was clear that one of the women, dressed in a gaudy, low-cut gown such as had been fashionable in these parts when the Traveller was young, was flirting with a finely-dressed young man, allowing the other woman, a little plainer, to quietly relieve him of his purse. Fascinated to find out what material the artist had used to create such reality, the Traveller stretched out his hand and touched the nearest figure.

He touched warm flesh.

He jumped back, more shocked than if his hand had been burnt. He stared at the figures, sure that they were going to move, but there was no sign that they even breathed. He saw a strand of the young man's hair, raised as if ruffled by the wind, but motionless.

Finally deciding that he wasn't going to solve the mystery merely by staring at this unnatural group, he turned his back on them, constantly glancing back to see whether they'd moved, and made his way up the road.

The further he went into the city, the more such figures he saw, as if turned to stone while going about their business. But they weren't stone. Every one of them was as soft and warm as any human he'd ever touched.

The Traveller found himself trembling by the time he reached the great building high up in the centre, almost overcome by the sheer unnaturalness. Here, as elsewhere, crowds of motionless people were scattered about the great plaza in front of the doors; but, glancing inside, he could see no-one in the building's dim interior.

The Traveller hesitated for a while, partly to screw up his resolution, partly to get back his breath after the long, uphill walk through the streets to the rise on which he now stood. Then he went inside.

It was clear at once that this was a temple. It was one huge hall, each of its pillars incorporating a little altar, a small statue of a stiff, unnatural male figure above a stone slab stained the black of old, dried blood. For an instant, the Traveller wondered whether this was a sign of human sacrifice before he realised, with a little relief, that these slabs weren't big enough to take anything larger than a chicken.

And at the far end, fifty paces away, stood a much larger altar, a crude statue towering over it. And he saw that he'd been mistaken in thinking the building deserted. In front of the altar, on a golden throne, a figure sat motionless, dressed in rich robes of bright colours. He was a powerful-looking man, large and strongly built, a handsome, ruthless face fringed by shoulder-length black ringlets and a beard.

It wasn't until the Traveller had cautiously covered half the distance, that he realised what was unusual. Even from the door, with minimal light filtering in to illuminate the temple's dimness, he had been able to see the figure in as much detail as if he stood before him. It was almost as if this man shone with his own light.

It would have taken very little for the Traveller to have turned tail and fled that unnatural place, searching for the way back to the underground passage and its stream. It was less courage than curiosity that made him continue to walk forward. Not to mention stubbornness: he'd come this far, and he was going to discover the answer to the mystery.

He wondered who this man could be. A king or a high priest, he guessed, since he was obviously a figure of huge power: even frozen like the rest, the sensation of power coming from him was almost tangible. Yet what could have happened, to have left him and all his people in this state?

The Traveller reached the altar and stopped a pace in front of the throne. The dark eyes, arrogant with a hint of sadness, stared past him into the space of the temple.

Then the eyes moved and focussed on him. "Who are you?" demanded the man.

Eltava and Drustil paused for a moment at the exit, adjusting to the light and sharing another kiss. "Stay behind me," Eltava said and walked carefully out, aware of Drustil behind her and a rustling further back in the darkness.

There was no-one at the exit: clearly the Seideën wanted to keep away from the demonic mound, with its magical opening. All the buildings were on fire now, and the raiders were looting; but Eltava could only see about a dozen of them. The rest, she assumed, were pursuing the villagers through the forest.

"Witch!" a voice screamed from the other side of the clearing, and within moments, men were running at them from all sides, hefting their weapons.

The first man to reach Eltava swung a big double-handed axe at her. Flinging her blade up to parry, it bit into the wooden handle, and she managed to yank the weapon out of his hands. Backhanding awkwardly, she caught the man's face with the side of his own axe, knocking him flying. Another sweep flung it off the sword, forcing another warrior to duck.

Turning, she clashed swords with the next man. The isolated part of her mind that assessed while she fought registered that he wasn't very good; so she made a quick flick to push his weapon aside and lunged, pushing the point into his unprotected throat.

Pulling back, ignoring her enemy collapsing as his hands tried to keep the blood from spurting out of the wound, Eltava was turning to face the next attack, when a scream came from behind her. Whirling, she found Drustil on the ground, blood oozing from her shoulder, as a Seideën warrior stood over her, sword raised.

Eltava's expertise suddenly deserted her, and she lunged in desperation, clumsily intent on preventing the blow. Her enemy changed his stroke as it fell, swiping at her legs. Leaping to avoid the sword, she landed awkwardly, twisting her ankle as she fell. Her sword flew out of her hand.

Trying to clear her spinning head, Eltava tried to anticipate where the blade would fall, ready to twist away from it. The Seideën reared up for the blow, stood motionless an instant, then collapsed, blood spurting from his suddenly cleft head, as gnarled hands pulled a scythe from the wound.

An old man stood above her, a grim expression on his face. Looking around, Eltava saw that the clearing was now full of people: hundreds of them, and more were following, pouring out of the mound. Some were old and some young, but all looked strong and vigorous, and they carried clubs, axes and scythes.

Most of the raiders turned and fled, some of the ancestors pursuing them, others dispersing into the forest, turning the hunters into the hunted. But one stood his ground, yelling to his comrades, "No, stand in the name of Melamith. Destroy the accursed demons. Kill the witches. He will protect us."

A few of the men seemed to heed him, and Eltava saw one rush at Drustil, who still lay on the ground. Forgetting her twisted ankle, she leapt to her feet, tackling him to the ground and pounding him with her fists. A red gauze shrouded her mind, and all she could think of was the need to kill the man beneath her. Her hand closed around a knife on his belt and, drawing it, she stabbed, again and again.

"I think we're safe now." A voice spoke above and behind her, and Eltava instinctively struck out with the knife in her hand. But a smaller, softer hand stopped the blow. "Come back, Eltava," said the voice, and a beautifully soft mouth gently touched her forehead.

The redness evaporated from Eltava's mind, and she saw Drustil's face hovering over her. "We're safe now," she repeated, and Eltava saw, glancing around, that no Seideën was alive in the clearing. "But maybe we'd better put the fires out."

It took all the Traveller's self-control not to scream aloud, when the figure spoke, and he did take several involuntary steps backwards. "You ... you're not ..." He swallowed and tried to speak again. "You're ... not like the others?"

The man regarded him calmly. "No," he said, as though there could be no possible doubt, "I'm not like the others."

"But ..." He tried to gather himself up and stop stuttering and staring. "Who are you?"

There was a slight pause. "That was what I asked you," said the man. "You haven't answered."

"Oh ... I'm ... My name's the Traveller. I'm just ... I was looking for the city of Enchiau. Is this ... have I found it?"

The eyes gave him their full attention, and it was almost as if his skin were being flayed. He gave a whimper. "Why?" the man demanded after a moment.

"Because ... Please stop that, it hurts. Because I'd heard of it, but no-one seemed to know it had ever existed. I don't understand why."

The full, flaying gaze lessened, and the Traveller slumped in on himself. "How do you remember Enchiau?" the stranger demanded. "Its memory was blotted out. No-one born in the last hundred years has had the knowledge of Enchiau. What makes you different?"

The Traveller was struggling to control himself, but he found sudden strength from the realisation that he could answer this question. "Because," he spat through his teeth, "I was born more than a hundred years ago. All right?"

There was silence, as the man studied him in puzzlement. Now he had the leisure to collect himself, the Traveller realised something else strange. This man was speaking his own language, the tongue he'd spoken growing up, more than a hundred years and half a continent away.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "I've told you who I am. And this place: how did I get here from under the earth?"

"You wouldn't understand," said the man. "Where we are is beyond the measurements of man. In the past, and outside time entirely. For myself: if you remember Enchiau, don't you know who I am?"

The Traveller hesitated. Most of these arrogant, self-important rulers hated it when people hadn't heard of them, and this one was clearly more arrogant, more self-important than most. But he had no idea and could think of nothing to say.

"I ... I didn't really know very much about Enchiau," he said cautiously. "I never came here, you see, and ..."

"My name is Lenitu," said the other. "I am Enchiau's guardian deity."

The Traveller stood for a moment, speechless and stupid. "You're a god?" he managed at last. He'd encountered plenty of demons and other supernatural beings, but a god was different. His own people's gods had been the fields and forests and the great mountain that protected his village: capricious but benevolent spirits, always present but never seen. He'd encountered beliefs in other kinds of gods, most of which hadn't impressed him; but it had never even occurred to him that he might come face to face with one of them.

"I'm the greatest of all the gods," said Lenitu, with such self-assurance that it hardly occurred to the Traveller to wonder why, in that case, he had never heard of him. "Enchiau is the seat of my power, and this is my great Temple. All come here to worship me and to give me sacrifice."

"But …" The Traveller hesitated, wondering for a moment whether he should argue with a god, but he felt he had to understand what was going on. "No-one's moving out there. They're all…" He struggled for the right word: not frozen, since their flesh was warm; not petrified, since they were soft.

"I've preserved them," said Lenitu. "They'll never leave me, now. They'll never lose my grace."

The Traveller stared at him, wondering if he'd understood correctly. "Are you saying," he demanded slowly, "that you did that to them? To the people who worshiped you?"

"They still worship me," said Lenitu casually. "They're my faithful people."

"They're not anything," snapped the Traveller. Suddenly, he was too angry to wonder whether he ought to speak like this to a god. It was wrong; and, whoever this idiot might be, he was going to convince him of that. "You've stopped them being anything. If nothing happens to you, if you don't move or change, you're not alive. You might just as well have slaughtered them all."

"They exist in a moment," said Lenitu, sounding as if he didn't greatly care whether or not he explained himself. "All their being is in that moment, in which they're utterly faithful to me. Because that moment is out of step with the time of mortal existence, neither they nor the city have any reality in that existence. It can only be reached by breaking through the barrier I've placed around it - as you've clearly done."

"But why?" The Traveller's mood was swinging between rage and bewilderment. "What's wrong with people living their lives out? What's wrong with them changing, making choices and…"

He stopped abruptly: something had just clicked into place. "That's it," he said, "you're scared they won't choose to worship you."

Lenitu's eyes never flickered, never flinched away. "A god is not scared," he said. "The mind of man can never hope to measure a god's mind. But I will not have my people deserting me. This way, everything is safe."

"This way," the Traveller snarled, "everything is dead. It's the risk that makes it worthwhile, don't you understand?" He met the god's relentless eyes, and sighed. "No, I don't think you do."

"I've no need to understand you. And I've no need to justify my ways to an unbeliever." Yet, even as he said this, a look of doubt came into his eyes for the first time. "I'm not a cruel god," he said, a little more gently. "I want to look after my people, and I can't do that if they turn away from me. Surely even a mortal can understand that."

Remembering his own thoughts about Eltava that day, the Traveller realised that he did understand, but understanding wasn't condoning. "You know," he said, speaking softly in wonder at the discovery without considering its implications, "I think I pity you."

He realised, as soon as the words were out, that this hadn't been a sensible thing to say. Lenitu's eyes flashed with rage; but, when he spoke, his voice remained controlled. "A mortal," he said, "does not pity a god. You disturb me. Go."

"I'll go." The Traveller wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do, but he knew he had to try to break this terrible spell. He had arts of his own, though to oppose the work of a god ... But maybe there was something he could do.

Turning, he ran out of the temple. The square outside was full of motionless people, who disturbed him even more, now he knew the reason. Picking one at random, a solid, middle-aged man who looked as if he might have been a successful artisan, the Traveller focussed his mind, trying to penetrate the man's thoughts.

They were there, he realised, although they were like no thoughts he'd ever encountered before: slow like treacle, unwilling to move or change. Picking at them, the Traveller found excitement at the prospect of a lucrative sale he was going to conclude later that day; wondering whether he really had enough money for the second workshop he was planning to open; concern that his second daughter was being defiant about the very nice, very successful young man he'd found for her; and adoration of Lenitu. The Traveller watched those thoughts for a while, and nothing changed.

Concentrating harder, he tried to slide another thought into the man's mind: a sensation of doubt. He willed him to question whether all around him was real, and whether Lenitu really was watching over him. He nudged and worked the thought further and further into the man's mind, hoping that it would be enough to shock him out of his complacence, make his mind move again ...

"No." The voice boomed all around him, but the Traveller recognised Lenitu. "No, you will not corrupt my people. Go."

And the Traveller felt a sense of nothingness close around him.

It was sunset when Eltava saw Drustil leaving the village and followed her. Everyone had been working hard at repairing the salvageable houses, though several would need to be completely rebuilt. No-one had actually asked Eltava to help: she was a guest, and one that had fought to save them. But she wouldn't have dreamt of standing by and watching.

The ancestors had remained for a while before returning to their mound, and she'd been amazed how the villagers had taken this in their stride, greeting parents and grandparents, as well as others who seemed more distant.

Eltava found Drustil where she'd first seen her, kneeling by the stream, and stood for a moment, simply enjoying the sight. The younger girl glanced up and smiled.

"I need to wash them," she explained, and held up three small stone objects, wincing slightly as she raised her injured shoulder. "The talismans. I have to do it every day, at sunset."

Eltava knelt beside her, a little awkwardly, since her twisted ankle still hurt. "That's what you were doing when I first saw you," she said. "The evening I came to the village. That's when I fell in love with you."

Drustil's raised eyebrows turned into a broad smile, and Eltava took a while to appreciate how beautiful her dimples were.

But she couldn't put it off. "Drustil," she said, "what happened today? What are you? A priestess? A sorceress? Do you have power over the ancestors?"

Drustil frowned, clearly puzzled. "I'm not sure what those words mean. I'm the keeper of the talismans, so it's my job to talk to the ancestors. Just because they're dead, it doesn't mean they're not part of the village. They like to know what's going on: who's in love, who's quarrelled, what the harvest's like. I tell them."

"But ... they came out when you called them."

"Well, of course." Drustil's eyes widened. "Wouldn't you, if your home was being burnt?"

Eltava thought about that and, though it sounded strange, there was something very natural about it. Pushing it away from her mind, she reached out to the other girl, gathering her into her arms, and they kissed.

A long time later, Eltava murmured, "I do love you, Drustil."

"Me too. I… didn't quite realise that was what I was feeling. But… when we were in the mound, and you were so close and I felt so safe with you…" She gazed at Eltava, her soft eyes wide. "I suddenly wanted to kiss you and hold you and touch you." She giggled, a lovely blush suffusing her olive face. "Touch you everywhere."

"I ... I wasn't sure." Eltava felt absurdly unsure of herself. She could face down enemies in battle; she'd encountered sea-monsters; she'd fought and defeated demons. But she was terrified and tongue-tied before this sweet young girl. "There was that boy ... Nuenit. I wasn't sure if you and him ..."

Drustil put her head on one said. "I like Nuenit," she said simply. "I've always known him, and we've always got on well. There aren't that many choices of people to marry."

"You don't have to marry," Eltava objected.

"I suppose I don't. But ... I've always wanted to, you see. I want to have children. When I'm an ancestor, I don't want to be an ancestor without descendents." She put her head on one side. "Haven't you ever wanted children, Eltava?"

Eltava shrugged, feeling a little awkward. "Once or twice, I suppose," she admitted. "But not for long. I don't think I'd be a good mother."

"I don't know. I've seen you with the children, and they all adore you. You're really good with them."

"Oh, I don't mean I don't like children. But settling down and having my own: that's a different matter." She looked at Drustil again. "So ... where does that leave us?"

Drustil swallowed, then looked up again, eyes suddenly mischievous. "Well," she said, "I'm not promised to anyone yet. We could see what happens, can't we?" She kissed her again. "Eltava," she added uncertainly, "what ... um, what exactly do two girls do together?"

Eltava felt herself suffused by pure joy. "I'll teach you," she said. "But I warn you, I might have to show you lots of times."

And she drew her giggling lover down to the ground with her.

Entering the clearing with the stray piglet he'd tracked down among the trees, the Traveller saw Drustil watching Eltava teaching a group of children to use pieces of wood as swords. Only one showed any aptitude at all for it, but everyone seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves, including Eltava. Smiling, he returned the piglet to its sow, before crossing over to them.

They'd stayed in the village several months now, since he'd returned from his search for Enchiau. It had taken him a while to realise that he wasn't dead, after Lenitu had banished him from the endless instant that was Enchiau. But, once he'd realised that, he'd looked around to see that he was standing in the forest, watching the stream cascade out of the hole in the rock-face.

His first instinct had been to go back inside, to see if he could get back to Enchiau and have another try at convincing Lenitu how wrong he was. But, deep down, he'd known he didn't want to return, and that he shouldn't. He'd never change the god's mind. And Lenitu had been right, when he'd said that the mind of man couldn't measure a god's mind. He'd no wish to try.

The Traveller had known a great many people, over the many lifetimes he'd lived. Some were good, some evil, and most couldn't be defined so easily; but, to some extent, he'd understood even the wickedest of them. Standing in front of Enchiau's forgotten god, he'd glimpsed a mind that was trapped, just as surely as his people's bodies were trapped. Where humans, imperfect and stupid, grew through their lives, for good or evil, Lenitu had come into being finished and had nowhere to go. The Traveller decided that he'd been right: he pitied him.

Drustil smiled up at him, as he came up beside her, wiping the muck of the pig off his hands. At first, he'd felt jealous of Eltava's adoration of this young girl, a little scared, in spite of his determination to allow her the freedom to choose. But it was impossible to dislike Drustil, and they'd become closer as he'd come to understand that this wasn't going to be permanent. He just hoped now that Drustil wouldn't be too hurt when Eltava finally decided to leave.

"You found it?" she asked.

He nodded. "Same place as last time. I think there might be truffles there."

"You know so much," she said. "You seem to fit in here. I mean, Eltava tries, but ..."

He laughed. "But Eltava grew up in a city, in a house with servants. I grew up in a village not unlike this one."

She looked up at him, curious. "But you left it."

"I left, yes, and I don't regret it, but it's nice to spend a little time somewhere like it."

They were both silent for a moment, watching Eltava and the children. "She's almost ready to leave," said Drustil suddenly.

The Traveller turned abruptly. "Has she said?"

"No, but it's obvious. Grandfather thinks so too. He likes her, even though he pretends not to."

That made the Traveller smile. Fascinated, he'd persuaded Drustil to let him talk to the ancestors, and he'd found her grandfather to be one of those old men who used their crotchetiness to hide a genuinely affectionate nature. "Will you be all right?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'll miss her, but I'll have the time we've spent together to remember. And Nuenit keeps hinting about marrying. I think I'd like that." She considered a moment. "I'll always love her, but ... It's like the ancestors, I think. I mean… they die, and we love other people, people who are still alive, and that's right. But it doesn't mean we forget the ancestors, or stop loving them too, in a different way. They're always with us. I think that's what it'll be like."

The Traveller nodded, surprised to hear such a sophisticated attitude from a young village-girl. "I'm not sure she'll agree," he warned. "If she's made up her mind to do something, she can be stubborn."

Drustil giggled. "That's putting it mildly," she said. "I'll talk to her. We both knew this was likely to happen. It's all right." She smiled at the Traveller. "Take care of her, won't you?"

"Always."

He looked around the village and the forest that surrounded it, with its constant sounds and movements, its change and its imperfection, that had taken the place of the changeless city. Whatever happened, he realised, would be good. It was life.