The Dunes was a flat, low, sandy place, protected from the sea by a high bluff, strewn with patches of bunch grass and three small wooden houses. The ground was cracked here and there, piles of driftwood lay scattered, and the bottoms of the houses were grey with the rot of the great storms of years past, when the place had been flooded. There was nothing else but small stones and seagulls flying and crying overhead.

Yaltring knew all the people of Imme by name, but these were near neighbors, within ten minutes’ walk of his home, whom he saw often and knew much better than the villagers of Dunak or Nuela. He also knew something about the company his mother kept, and had a good idea where he should be heading.

"Good morning, Shengo," he said, seeing a boy his own age gutting fish behind his house. It was home to several members of a large family Sila had often entertained. His father’s current fishing companion Hezak was Shengo’s uncle.

Shengo looked up from his work. The two had often played together when they were younger. "Well, good morning, Yaltring. Haven’t seen you for a while. What brings you out here?" He peered curiously into Yaltring’s intent face.

"I am trying to find something out," said Yaltring, furrowing his eyes as if trying to cast a beam of light inside Shengo’s head. "It concerns my mother."

Yaltring stopped speaking, as another man emerged from the house and walked unconcernedly toward the pile of gutted fish. It was Lazak, another of Shengo’s uncles. His eyes turned to Yaltring’s. Immediately, his face froze.

Yaltring strode around Shengo, his eyes never leaving Lazak’s. He came face to face with him, barely three feet away. "What dealings are you having with my mother, Lazak?"

Shengo looked from Lazak to Yaltring, startled, then disappeared into the house.

"What has she told you about me?" Lazak demanded, returning Yaltring’s stiff, belligerent tone.

"She has not named you," said Yaltring, shifting immediately to the formal style. "More than that belongs to the wisdom of our house, not yours. Your footprints betray you, like your face. Tell me what has passed between you."

Lazak’s face hardened now. He was a fat man of over forty, tough and weatherbeaten. "Why should I tell you anything?" he said. Yaltring saw Shengo’s father Dozak emerge in the doorway of the dingy brown house. There he stood, watching Yaltring and his brother intently but saying nothing.

"My mother has forsworn herself for you," said Yaltring. "All the more reason that you owe me a fair explanation. I am not often watched in the woods by men who keep themselves hidden. I do not take kindly to it, nor, I think, would you in my place."

Lazak looked at him levelly for a while, considering. "I bear you no grudge, young master. I would not have my house set against yours. I beg your pardon if you have been offended by anything that may have happened. You are young in your manhood, and your passage is not easy. No one can ease your burden."

Lazak was speaking in a conventional island style that sought to avoid offense while revealing little. Yaltring said nothing and waited.

Lazak turned to his brother, acknowledging his support with a slight twist of the chin. Dozak, leaning on the doorframe, fixed his eyes on Yaltring.

"My kin and myself have always thought highly of you," continued Lazak, "and look brightly to your future. My brother Shistozak is especially fond of you, and you are always welcome in his home."

Yaltring frowned in puzzlement. It sounded like more of the same. But what was this business about Shistozak, the youngest of the brothers? He had never had a quarrel with the man, but they were not particularly close.

"Does the news displease you?" asked Lazak, with a hint of offense.

"No, not at all," said Yaltring, "but I find it wide of the mark. I know that you had words with my mother yesterday. I know that you watched me unobserved, that you reported to her what you saw, and that the two of you returned to the place later, after I was gone. I would like an explanation of what is going on. I appreciate your kind words, but your doings need explaining." He spoke more cautiously now, wondering if other people were involved and if some sort of trap lay in wait for him.

"That," said Lazak, with a rather oily smile, "is a matter for long speech. Would you like to come inside for our lunchtime meal? We had not planned anything, but for you we would gladly stage a hakla." His smile broadened, and he gestured courteously towards the door.

Yaltring stared at him in wonder. A hakla was a long midday meal consisting of many light dishes, eaten with much mead, at the end of which the participants were usually good for little for the rest of the day. Haklas were generally held on an important occasion, or to cement a social bond. This unexpected and unplanned invitation, in the context of the harsh words of his visit, was strange indeed.

Recovering himself, he said, "Good Lazak, I do not wish to cause you any offense. Nor have I forgotten my manners! It is a gracious invitation. Alas, today I am busy and troubled. I cannot stay with you long, I fear, though it pains me much to miss such revelry. I have only time enough to learn what I have asked you.

"Again, I repeat my question: what is the nature of your dealings with my mother, Sila? And why did you spy on me two days ago? I cannot accept a refusal to answer."

Lazak scratched his nose and stared down it at Yaltring, whose last statement had potentially dangerous implications. Dozak started to move forward towards his brother’s side. Yaltring stood his ground.

"Far be it from me," Lazak said at last, sounding much aggrieved, "to be the cause of dispute between my house and yours. I will try to satisfy your curiosity." Yaltring found this last word rather offensive, but said nothing. Dozak stopped, a few yards behind his brother.

"Indeed I did talk to your mother yesterday, reporting some things I’d learned of you. You already seem to know much of the matter. I saw you in the woods two days ago--was that not your birthday?" Yaltring nodded. "I saw you," Lazak continued, "in the middle of the woods, naked, digging a large hole in the ground. I saw, also, colored stones around the hole. You might understand that I found all this strange."

"Indeed," said Yaltring. "It would have been a kindness and a friendship to have said hello. And, also, you would have had answers sooner."

"Perhaps," said Lazak rather nastily, "and perhaps not. At all events, my dear Yaltring, I beg your pardon for not greeting you. It was most uncivil of me, but I was so surprised to see you so."

"How long did you watch me?" asked Yaltring, unperturbed.

Lazak shrugged. "A short while. What does it matter? At any rate, I went to see your mother about it."

"The next day," Yaltring said drily.

Lazak looked thoroughly annoyed. "Yes, the next day. I discussed matters that were between herself and my kin, and some also that involved you."

"Why was I not invited to such a discussion?" asked Yaltring.

"But my dear Yaltring," said Lazak, "knowing, of course, that your haste is urgent--" he looked closely at him, as if to question if this were really so, "that is why it would be so good for us to have a hakla. Perhaps, if you cannot today, we can find another time--tomorrow?--and your mother will be invited too, and others of my kinfolk."

"Maybe," said Yaltring. "What concerns me is that the discussions already seem to have been held."

"Oh, no," said Lazak ingratiatingly, "nothing has been decided. Our talks are only just beginning, and--"

"Nothing has been decided about what?" Yaltring interrupted.

Dozak cast Yaltring a hard, warning look. "Do not worry, brother," said Lazak, turning. "He is a young man, and they are always given to overhasty judgments. Yet that will mellow with the years. He is a good man, true of his word, and skillful with boatcraft and woodcraft." He turned back to Yaltring. "I am sorry, sir," he said, "if I do not satisfy your curiosity as quickly as you would like. My brother Shistozak would say much that I cannot. When will you come to see him? All this can be cleared up very quickly."

Yaltring was liking the situation less and less. "Why," he asked, "does Shistozak wish to see me? Of course, I would be glad of his company, as I am of yours. But why is it so urgent?"

Lazak turned to Dozak and smiled broadly. "So blunt, these young men are!" he exclaimed, in that same ingratiating tone. "So sharp! So quick to the point!" No one else said anything, and he turned back to Yaltring.

His tone, now, was even sweeter and more sickly. "Have you not guessed, young man? Didn’t your mother tell you more? No! I had forgotten! I made her promise not to ruin the surprise! But surely--" he moved his face close enough for Yaltring to smell his sour breath, "surely, my dear fellow, you have not forgotten Nera." He gave a self-satisfied smile, and backed away again.

A light went off in Yaltring’s head, as he realized what a fool he’d been. Nera was Lazak’s niece, and Shistozak’s daughter. Yaltring had almost forgotten about the marriage arrangement, considering it a long-closed spate of foolishness, harmless and rather silly. Now he remembered his father’s warning: "Nera’s folks are planning to surprise you with the offer some time in the summer." But Yaltring had hardly guessed it would come only two days after he reached a marriageable age! Could they be serious?

Startled and threatened, he had to struggle against the urge to laugh. It took all his strength of composure to keep his face impassive. "I remember her," he said, watching Lazak’s face and speaking deliberately slowly, "and keep her in my heart, as I do all your kin." Yes, there could be no doubt about it: for he had seen a smile on Lazak’s face that grew after the word "heart," only to fade away in disappointment.

"Perhaps," said Lazak, unsuccessfully trying to sound chummy, "she could be greater in your heart than old fellows like myself and my brother." He gestured to Dozak and laughed. "Come, now, you are a young man, and there is more to life than sailing and drinking!"

Yaltring stood unmoving for several seconds, smiling mildly, before speaking. "You say I am blunt, Lazak, so let me be blunt again. It seems that you wish to make me your brother’s son. Do I understand you rightly?"

Lazak’s face grew dark with a feigning of horror. "Yaltring, of course! You do not think we would suggest anything improper concerning my niece?"

Yaltring responded with the same rigid smile: "Good sir, forgive me if my words give offense; I mean nothing by them. I seek only to understand you clearly, since my wits are dulled by the sun.

"Well, now we are clear, and that is good. I must tell you, most kind Lazak, that I am deeply flattered by the graciousness and bounty of this offer, which exceeds the bounds of what I would be worthy to receive." Lazak leaped forward startled, frowning heavily. Yaltring had just spoken the first words of the traditional formula for politely declining marriage proposals. Usually, long hemming and hawing would precede even this indirect formulation. It differed only subtly from the acceptance formula, in which, among other things, one said "what I had ever hoped to receive" instead of "what I would be worthy to receive."

"I am sorry to be blunt again, sir," continued Yaltring, seeing Lazak’s look and feeling he could bear no more of his company, "but I am, as I have said, in haste. In short: I bid your niece and brother well, but she must find another husband, and he another son. Good day to you." And with that, Yaltring took off in long strides, heading for the waves.

"Wait!" cried Lazak. "I have more to say to you!" He hurried after Yaltring, who finally stopped and turned.

"Does it concern my mother?" shouted Yaltring tautly from the distance.

Lazak stopped abruptly, looking offended again, but evidently worried that Yaltring would leave if he didn’t humor him. "Some of it does," he said, and strode forward. Yaltring waited for him, his feet sunken slightly into the sandy ground, the wind blowing through his dark hair. He stood under the bluff, beyond the three inland houses, alone amid crying seabirds.

"Yaltring," said Lazak, huffing and puffing a bit as he approached, "Yaltring, you must believe me, I do not wish to offend you. I would not want my graceless words to come between my kin and yours. Like your mother, I have only sought what was best for you. Will you reconsider? At least go to my brother Shistozak and hear what he has to say." He held out an imploring arm.

"Perhaps I will, if you give me clear answers," Yaltring replied. "Why did you spy on me?" Away behind Lazak, he could see Dozak watching them. He wondered whether he would come, and if Lazak would then harden up again.

Lazak let out a heavy breath. "Yaltring," he whined, "why put an ugly name on a--"

"Enough. I am a hasty young man, blunt and busy. You did spy on me. Why?"

Lazak held up his hands as if he had been struck. "Yaltring! Your mother wished to know of you."

"She told me she did not ask you to spy. Was she lying?"

"No!" Lazak burst out in horror. "I would never accuse your mother of deceit or dishonor."

"Even if it were true?" asked Yaltring, smiling the same wry smile his mother had seen a short while earlier.

Lazak stared at him incredulously for a while. "What are you saying?" he asked.

"I am a man of simple speech," said Yaltring. "I imply even less than you say. But be plain for once, Master Lazak. She did not ask you to spy on me?"

"No!"

"Then why did you do so?"

Lazak stood still for a while, holding Yaltring in his eyes. Yaltring did not like the delay, as he was sure the man was devising a strategy, and felt his eventual words would be less reliable with every intervening second. Lazak spoke at last in a secretive undertone, just loud enough to be heard over the whispering sea breeze and muffled echo of crashing waves that on the Dunes never cease: "Your mother told me that she feared your departure. I hoped perhaps I might be able to give her news to assuage her."

"My departure?" asked Yaltring, puzzled.

"Yes. There was something you had found, something that points light I think? you would know more about it than I, who understand such things so very little--something which she thought you would return to on the solstice. She said it had to do with questing, and that you would disappear on a great journey soon after the day came."

"Pardon me, Lazak, but that sounds all muddled. I never told her anything about questing or a journey."

Lazak did not look as if he believed him, but continued, "Well, that is no doubt my misunderstanding. She had long words, worried and tear-filled, and spoke of many things. I am only a simple man, Yaltring, a man of Imme who has never been elsewhere!"

"So that’s what she feared," thought Yaltring, wondering how much she really knew. This certainly explained why Nera’s father and uncles were in such a hurry to conclude the marriage. But he said only, "I, too, have never left Imme. There are many things that puzzle me as well, good Lazak. Tell me this much, at least, that I may be made less simple: did you follow me through the woods to the place where I was digging?"

"No, Yaltring, I never followed you!"

"Then how did you find me? And please, Lazak, do not tell me that you happened there by chance. Not, at least, if you hope for me to believe you."

Lazak frowned, sullen and offended. But Yaltring looked straight back, square-jawed, crossing his arms, and did not budge.

"I had...information," said Lazak. "I am not as young as you; I have heard many things." As he spoke, his voice shifted smoothly from evasion to aggression. Out of the corner of his eye, Yaltring saw that Dozak was starting to approach.

"I’m sure you have," answered Yaltring, quick and also smooth, but with a tightness that threatened anger. "I ask only for what concerns me. No one has ever approached me in that part of the woods, though I have been there before. No one knew I went there. How--"

"You are wrong, Master Yaltring," said Lazak, his oily voice regaining its smirk. "You’ve been seen hunting around that place before, or near enough."

"By you?"

"No. Yaltring, I cannot tell you who saw you. People would not talk to me if I talked about them."

"Well, I’m talking to you, aren’t I?" Yaltring asked impudently. Lazak’s eyes flashed, but he said nothing.

"Never mind, Lazak. I understand that you must protect your sources. But what do you mean by ‘hunting around’?"

"Oh, come now, Yaltring," said Lazak. "I’ve heard about your family and your yearly hunts." He smiled knowingly.

"Yearly hunts?" said Yaltring, now genuinely startled. "I see." Indeed he did see. The capspool--what else? Lazak clearly had no idea they had stopped six years ago. He must think Yaltring’s current dig was somehow part of it too!

And Yaltring had found his last capspool very near to the dig site.

"Thank you, Master Lazak, that tells me a great deal. But please tell me this much more--" Yaltring surveyed Lazak’s smug gaze before continuing:

"Was it Wengo who told you where I went? Or Uggort? Or perhaps Kazo put them up to it?"

He smiled, but his eyes flashed.

Lazak stood still, his face frozen, and was silent. Yaltring waited. Lazak’s lips twitched, but otherwise he did not move.

"I know the first two used to work in the barn next to your old house in the Shaxa Outposts," Yaltring finally continued. "A good place to hear gossip, but it’s surprising not all of it got around. How much did you pay them not to show anyone else where they saw me?"

"I have already told you, Master Yaltring, that I cannot say who it was," Lazak said dourly. His air of assurance had entirely vanished. Yaltring nodded sarcastically.

"Very well," said Yaltring. "My business calls me." And without further word, he made off in the direction of the sea.

Lazak started to say "Wait!" again; but just at that moment, his brother came and tapped him on the shoulder, shaking his head. Lazak threw up his hands.

But Yaltring saw no more of what passed between them, for he was climbing up the bluff towards his boat.

It was tied to a tree on a small beach to the east, little used, but which Yaltring found good for launching, about midway between the beaches adjoining Afa and the Dunes. Slipping his pack inside, he raised the sail, cut the moorings, and pushed his little craft into the lapping waves. He jumped in and was quickly off, rowing vigorously to pull clear of the sand. The wind took his sail, and he was out into the space and freedom of the water, away from prying lips and eyes. He felt he’d had quite enough of island society for one morning.

Soon he was past the northern beaches, drifting lightly down the longer eastern shore, the one that faced the sea without end. It was colder than the day before, and the wind was blowing briskly. He looked out over that ocean that is not a space between lands, but a finality of water, and shivered. Then he turned the other way, to the island so close and familiar. Woods rose just beyond the sandy shore. Yaltring was near enough to make out the very leaves, and the trees’ shapes were long remembered. He had watched and grown with them, from both land and sea.

It had been a long while since Alkhartren had taken to the waves, but he’d never left them far behind. Few local sailors even noticed the place where Yaltring, priding himself on his knowledge of every nook and cranny of the shoreline, now fastened his boat. He took his pack and headed off into the woods that ran here almost to the water’s edge. It was not five minutes later when he was knocking on Alkhartren’s door.

"Who is it?" came a taut, fearful voice.

"It’s only me, Yaltring!"

The door flung wide. "Yaltring! Come in! I’m sorry, I thought it was someone from the village. One of ‘em came by two months ago complaining about some nonsense, though I never bother them. I think they’re scared just to know I’m here sometimes.

"Well, anyhow, glad to see you again. To tell you the truth, young fella, I was just makin’ some lunch. Are ya hungry?"

Yaltring suddenly realized how ravenous he was. He had been floating on a bubble of nothing for quite some time. "Yes," he said gratefully. "Thank you."

"What’s going on?" asked Alkhartren, noting his intense, worried face, as he fetched a second chair, shiny and little used, from a nook above the fireplace, placing it down before his visitor by the rough wooden table.

"Well." Yaltring hesitated a moment, as he sat down wearily. Yet somehow, though he had only just gotten to know this strange man, he trusted him. "While I was digging out that chest yesterday, somebody was watching me."

"They take anything?"

"No, there wasn’t really anything to take, but for the pearl--and I’ve got that." He grinned and patted his pocket.

"You’re a clever one and no mistake," said Alkhartren, grinning back at him. "I don’t think they’re gonna get the better of you, somehow."

"Well, maybe. I just don’t like being followed around in secret."

"Don’t blame you," Alkhartren said darkly. And Yaltring thought to himself, "There is no place left on the island I can really call my own."

After they ate, Yaltring fished the parchment out of his pocket. "Alkhartren, I wanted to ask you about this. There are signs I don’t recognize." He pointed to the first word of the text: "ARNA+."

"Let me see it again," said Alkhartren. He held up the parchment before his eyes.

"Oh, you mean there at the end? That’s just one of their old letters. Later on, they changed it to ‘s-h.’ The letter’s gone now, but the word’s arnash, means ‘lord.’ That’s you, I guess." Alkhartren’s eyes glinted mildly. Yaltring laughed and flushed. "Lord of your own crossways. And that’s not a bad place to be."

"The x’s are another thing that’s different. See where it says ‘YAXANA’? That means ‘light,’ but we write a ‘k-h’ now. Back then, ‘h’ didn’t work with other letters. My name would have had an ‘x’ too. Alxartren," he said, rolling the harsh guttural sound through the corners of his mouth and grinning.

"What are these little dots?" asked Yaltring.

"Oh, those? They just show you where the word ends, that’s all. They didn’t have any hyphens, though. Just wrote it all together. See here, where it says ‘E-A-D-A’? That’s e-ada, which means, ‘with the one.’"

"E-ad," said Yaltring dreamily.

"Yes, that’s right!" said Alkhartren. "Ada changed over the years, and now ‘one’ is just ad. You must know Ezrain! Not many people here do."

"Heard it all from my mother," Yaltring said in that same dreamy voice. "My mother." Suddenly he sat up straight, with a wince. Alkhartren gazed at him for some while.

"What’s wrong, young fella?" he asked, gentle and concerned.

"Well--turns out this whole business where I was watched--my mother was in on it. I came home, got mad at her, and never got to ask her what my name meant!"

"Ah, you’ll get a chance soon," Alkhartren said. Yaltring looked down.

"Don’t know," he mumbled. Alkhartren stared at him a while longer, but said nothing.

"Look, Yaltring," he said at last, "I get the feeling that you’ve got trouble, bad, and you’re wanting to get away from it. And if so, that’s fine. If you need for me to put you up for a while, well, there ain’t much room in here, but we can manage it. If that’s what you need. I haven’t lived in the company of another for a long time, but I never would turn away someone in need, unless I had no other choice."

Yaltring raised his head at last. "That’s more kind of you than I know how to say, Alkhartren," he said. "And I may take you up on it. I still need to think a lot of things over."

Alkhartren nodded. "That’s the only thing you can be sure of," he said quietly.

Yaltring lapsed into a thoughtful silence. "I wish I could talk to my father," he said at last. "He’d probably know what to do. But he’s out on a fishing trip with Hezak, and won’t be back till tomorrow night."

Suddenly, he frowned. "It’s strange, Hezak going out with my father on a long trip like this. Hezak usually keeps away from my father. I always thought he was afraid of him."

"Your father?" Alkhartren asked sharply. "His name is Drengo, right?" Alkhartren was evidently a bit unpracticed at recalling such things. To most people of Imme, the intricate net of their fellow islanders’ kinship relations was second nature.

"Yes, that’s right."

Alkhartren laughed softly. "Like being afraid of a big friendly dog. Sure, he could hurt you, but he’s not going to--unless you bite him first!" He chuckled some more. "Meaning no disrespect to your pa, Yaltring. He’s a tough man, but I never saw him look mean."

"Well--I did, once," Yaltring said thoughtfully. "But he had good reason that time."

"Somebody bit him first!" Alkhartren laughed. He seemed in a good mood suddenly. He rubbed his fist against Yaltring’s shoulder, then rose. "I’ll go get us some dessert. There’s huckleberries growin’ in the back." Alkhartren pushed open the door and went out, then reappeared in the doorway.

"Yaltring," he said, and now there was concern in his face. "Something’s goin’ on out here, some racket. I think you better come listen."

Even from where he sat, Yaltring could indeed hear a noise faintly repeating itself, now that the door was open. He strode swiftly outside. It was a fine afternoon, the sun bright and rich through the intricate woven shadows. A bird could be heard from an unseen perch, chirping in a high sweet voice a paean to the majesty of day. But also there was another sound, a kind of thumping in the distance. It repeated, and did not die away.

Alkhartren was standing next to his vegetables, his head turned at an odd angle. "You can hear it better from here. Sounds like drumming."

"You have good ears," Yaltring said. He came and stood next to Alkhartren, straining to understand the sound, which seemed to be slowly getting louder.

"Yeah," he said after a while. "You’re right. It is drumming."

"I thought you’d want to know," Alkhartren said carefully, "since you seemed to have some trouble." Yaltring barely nodded. But his eyes disappeared into the far-away.

"Alkhartren," he said, very slowly, as if the words were hard to pronounce, "about that message, the inscription--if it’s for me--"

"Yes?"

"Well--my mother’s always wanted me to stay close to Imme, but I never did quite understand why. You said Yaltren was a quester’s name. She always talked about my uncle Yaltren, who died young out at sea. Maybe she didn’t want me to be a quester. Maybe she thought I’d be safer if I didn’t sail too far.

"But what made her think I was likely to, anyway? Do you think--do you think she could have known my path before I even came to it?"

Alkhartren smiled tightly. "Don’t know from my own side," he mumbled. "Mothers usually do, if old tales tell true."

Yaltring spoke softly, eyes fixed on Alkhartren’s. "‘Lord of the land of the noonday sun, follow the sinking light till it’s gone, plunging the deeps till you merge with the one.’ I can’t make anything out of that. Except--" He stopped.

"Yes?"

Yaltring breathed out a sigh, and closed his eyes. "It sounds like it’s about sailing to the West, where the sun’s light sinks. Maybe all the way to the Mainland--the One great land." He peeked at Alkhartren’s face.

Alkhartren thought for a while. "Well, I don’t talk to other folks too often, but from what I can remember hearing about you, you’re a sailor born. So the seas are your deeps, and you can plunge them up or down, as far as you want to go--following the sun as it sinks into the west. Is that what you think of when you try to understand the inscription?"

Slowly, Yaltring nodded his head.

"Well, young fella, it might have many meanings, but the one that comes to you is the only one you need. You understand it yourself, without me telling you anything. It comes from Beyond, where the Whispering Voices are. You’re like a compass, taking in the pull. You don’t know what’s what, any more than a compass does. You’re confused--that’s all right! The pull you feel is still the true north.

"Who knows where it’ll lead? Maybe someday, it’ll occur to you that the message meant something else all along. Just stay open, and keep on listening.

"That’s the true wisdom. That’s much greater than the lore. That’s the first and last thing they taught me."

Yaltring looked down. "I was hoping you could interpret it for me," he said. "You know so much about all this stuff."

"Ah, me? I don’t know much about it at all. Just the letters and the lore. No one ever taught me where the meanings are." There was a long pause.

"It’s hard, having to figure it all out on your own, isn’t it?" said Alkhartren. He looked at Yaltring fondly. Slowly, Yaltring raised his troubled eyes to meet Alkhartren’s mild ones.

"Yes," he replied.

"Well--" said Alkhartren hesitating. "The thing is, you ain’t gonna find out here. Natarak doesn’t know what that inscription is, I sure don’t know, and there’s no one else who could help you.

"Imme’s a small island, young fella. You know that, but you haven’t seen the rest. I’ve been around a little, and I know what I’ve seen isn’t much. The world’s so big, no one even knows how to measure it. And what you found is big, too. It belongs to the great outside, somewhere." Alkhartren’s voice, now slow and solemn, sank into silence.

"What should I do, then?" Yaltring asked in a hushed tone.

"Up to you. Leave it a mystery, if you like. Or do what it says, and try to find out."

Yaltring was silent for a while. "Sail to the west?" he said. "Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it. But where would I go? Everyone I know is here. I don’t even have kinfolk to the west."

"Well," said Alkhartren slowly. He looked away from Yaltring, then. "There’s no easy way to say this," he said at last in a heavy voice. "That’s the trouble of dead words. They hang on us, and no way to rest from them."

"What do you mean?" Yaltring asked, in a thrill of fear.

Alkhartren sighed and turned back to meet his eyes. "If you think those words, chiseled there in the ground, into the very roots of the earth, mean something about sailing away to the West, then that’s what you’ve got to do--that is, if you ever want to find out what the inscription’s about, and why it was put there, and the stone chest, and the black pearl. There’s no other way. Follow the sinking light--the setting sun, as you say. Wherever it leads. Until the waves end. That’ll be your road."

Suddenly, Yaltring was aware that the drumming had grown much louder while they’d been talking. The beat was harsh and insistent. Also, between the repeated bursts, he thought he could hear voices, shouting some obscure syllables across the air.

Yaltring turned to Alkhartren. The older man looked grave. "Sounds like they’re lookin’ for something," was all he said. "I’d better get inside. I don’t want ‘em to find me, whatever it is." He walked hastily to his door, then turned to Yaltring. "But, let me know if there’s something you need." He nodded and disappeared inside. Yaltring was left to listen to the sound, and ponder his future.

Dorsaw was over; today was Moonless Day, when there was no moon and no month. Tomorrow, a new moon would start the month of Wellum; and two weeks later was the summer Feast of Passing, when once again the boys of Imme who were ready to be men would pass into the arms of those who had gone before them, Yaltring this time among them. He would become a Receiver--a father to all the boys of the island, as he was already a brother to all the men, upholding the laws and protecting the boys against the mad fury of First Father, who had lived before the law and killed his own son. His death had opened up a space of safety; for the laws that bound everyone but First Father also protected everyone but First Father. Teaching this lesson to boys as they became men would confirm Yaltring’s place within the life of the island, and complete the circle of manhood.

And after that? Should he disappear across a sea little known to him, pursuing an ancient mystery of which he knew still less, leaving behind all the men who were his brothers, and the boys who were under his care? Was that the fate towards which he had been slowly slipping, ever since his eighth birthday, when the blinding light first drew him inside the fateful confines of the Stone Circle? Or was all this only a dream of free travel, a wild, passing dream of the careless days before responsibility, to be left behind with childhood? For which fate had the elders truly prepared him?

As if in answer to his questions, the voices that were shouting from afar became clearer; and he understood the word they were saying.

They were calling for him, with their drums that echoed through the woods. There was a search afoot at that very moment. But why? He owed no debt, had committed no crime. What did they want him for? What gave them the right to pursue him?

"Tump, tump-a-tump, tump-a-tump, YALTRING! Tump, tump-a-tump, tump-a-tump, YALTRING!"

The last time those drums had called him, they summoned him to manhood. He remembered the voice saying, "We are here for you, sons of Imme, and we take you into our arms." He remembered the voices of all the men, calling him to join them, to defend the laws of the island, but also to find the Open Road.

Suddenly Yaltring had a vision--a trick of his mind, weirdly bright through the broad daylight. He saw a yellow door up in the sky. It was the door of his own house--not the faded brown back door out which he went to explore the woods, but the front door that opened north to the village of Afa, the people and houses and the dusty paths. The door was hanging above the trees to the north from where the sound was coming. And he himself, floating in the sky, was nailed to the door, hand and foot. Each beat in the drums’ fourfold rhythm was one of the four nails. Every time it sounded, the hammer struck.

He trembled and gaped as he saw himself mirrored high in the sky, caught on his own front door, bloodlessly pinned; and all the while the hammer: "Tump, tump-a-tump, tump-a-tump, YALTRING! Tump, tump-a-tump, tump-a-tump, YALTRING!"

The drums were taut and savage. The voices that sang out his name in unison were many. And now at last, remembering his conversations that morning, with Sila, with Lazak, he understood what the drums and voices had been telling him all along.

It was the malakhana.

Yaltring had never been witness to this now seldom-used rite, but all the old stories went the same way. Everyone who could be found in Afa, except the very young and old, was fanning through the woods, split into many parties. And they all were hunting for him. When they found him, they would seize him by force. Then they would drag him back to a hastily thrown wedding pavilion, where already Nera was waiting.

The drums were now loud, the voices clear and distinct. Searchers could arrive any minute. Each party carried a length of rope to bind him, all held together by the single rhythm behind them, a rhythm that grew stronger with each stroke: tump, tump-a-tump, tump-a-tump, YALTRING!

Yaltring’s thoughts raced. He understood now why Sila, bound to silence by the marriage contract, had been so evasive that morning--and why Hezak had gone fishing with his father. Until Yaltring’s unexpected visit, Nera’s uncles must have been planning to see him in Afa that very day, to try to coax his consent before threatening force; but his refusal on the Dunes gave them the right to summon a village council at once. Sila and Nera’s consent to the marriage, though months old, was a binding contract--even if they didn’t want a malakhana. Without Drengo there to cast a veto, Sila, contractually obliged to support the marriage, spoke alone as the household elder, for today. And today was all Shistozak and his brothers needed. The villagers, obligated by their own law, the law of the malakhana, could only have clucked and agreed--and then joined in the hunt.

Was this the same rule of law he’d defended against First Father, beneath the full moon on that night a year ago?

"Tump, tump-a-tump, tump-a-tump, YALTRING! Tump, tump-a-tump, tump-a-tump, YALTRING!"

His name was now clear, the drums a thundering pulse. Yaltring knew he had little time to decide what to do. He felt a surge of passionate anger, and his whole life crashing down to trap him: his early pursuit of the blinding light, and discovery of the Stone Circle, his one private place, watched all the while by Kazo, Wengo, and Uggort, now finally taking their revenge through Lazak; the islanders’ jealousy of anything, like the capspool, that did not belong to them all; Yaltring’s unresolved clash with his mother’s protectiveness; his infatuation with Nera; his exposed dig in the woods, on this little island, where everything could be seen by anyone, and gossip spread faster than wildfire; and the elders, praising his sailing skill, teaching him stories of the far seas, then discouraging him once he was old enough to go there, trying to keep him on the island, like his mother--all now conspired together to bind him hand and foot, tying him up, pinning him to the front door. The quest he had briefly glimpsed shining bright before him could never begin. It would all end here, on this little land, with Nera, and a lifetime of labor for her and her scheming uncles, according to the age-old obligations of a husband. The stone chest would be gawked at many ignorant eyes, then left to molder, its secrets unrevealed for another age.

Why had they ever bothered to teach him of the Open Road?

He stood still for a few minutes that seemed much longer, his thoughts an agonized tangle, the call beating him through and through, nails driving deep inside. Finally, he ran back inside the house.

"Alkhartren," he panted, "it is the malakhana. They are coming for me."

"I thought so," said Alkhartren. "You look pale, young fella. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Again, Yaltring hesitated. He sank down into a chair, breathing heavily, and buried his head in his hands. Suddenly, he looked up.

"You’ve been kinder to me than I ever could have asked for," he said. "And now I need to ask you for something else, which I’m afraid I won’t ever be able to repay."

"What is it, Yaltring?" Alkhartren said, so kindly that his resistances melted.

Yaltring let out a long breath. "If you could give me a lot of water, in tight containers, I’d be obliged to you to the ends of the earth."

Alkhartren eyed him keenly; then got up, fetching something from a shelf, and went outside. He came back with three full canteens, which he pushed in front of Yaltring’s face. "You’re leaving Imme, ain’t ya?" he said quietly.

Yaltring nodded. Alkhartren went out again and got more water.

"Need some food?" he asked.

Yaltring shook his head. "Naw, I have enough dry food stowed on board. I can fish for the rest."

Alkhartren went to the other end of his little house and came back holding something. "But you’ll want this," he said, pushing a yellow flask to Yaltring’s side of the table.

"What is it?" Yaltring asked, staring at it.

"Honey," said Alkhartren, returning to the shelf and fumbling for more canteens. "Got it myself from a tree nearby. I remember dry sea rations. Gets to taste all the same after a while. A little sweetness couldn’t hurt."

Yaltring smiled, also with sweetness, as he had smiled for his mother that morning. He looked ready to cry, and couldn’t say a word. Alkhartren went back outside.

Two trips to his well later, he had given Yaltring enough water for a long voyage, for one person. "That’s all my containers," he said.

"Keep some!" cried Yaltring, mortified.

Alkhartren shook his head. "I can get more," he said. "You’d best get going."

Yaltring stared at him, then nodded once. "Can you help me with this stuff?"

"I sure can."

Yaltring stuffed as much water as he could inside his pack. Alkhartren picked up the rest. "Are you okay?" Yaltring asked.

Alkhartren looked down at his big, hairy arms, laden with full canteens, and grinned. "Yeah, I’m fine! Where’s your boat?"

"Not far. Follow me."

The drums were loud behind them as they made their way through the woods. They resonated painfully through Yaltring’s spine. He felt an invisible leash at his neck, tugged by the voices each time they called his name. They were very, very close now. It was hard to walk away from them--the villagers he’d lived with all his life. What would they think when they found out he’d sailed away? Would they call him a rogue, a shirker--or say he’d fulfilled his destiny as a man of the sea?

When they arrived, Yaltring sprang into the waiting craft, dropped the pack, and collapsed, massaging his weary shoulders. Alkhartren carefully put the other canteens into the boat, one by one.

"You know," said Yaltring, "you’re the best friend I ever had. And I never really got to know you."

"Ah," said Alkhartren, "you’re a young fella. There’ll be others." He put the last flask inside, and stood staring at Yaltring, a woodsman, dark and grizzled, with a tender longing in his eyes. Yaltring said nothing and raised the sail.

"Don’t worry, Yaltring. I can’t leave this place, and you can’t stay. I can’t sail any more. Carry on for me, willya?"

Yaltring nodded. A tear leapt from his eye, and the boat sprang out into the sea.