Children of God

Sandoz shrugged, eyes dull, not really caring that it was starting to rain again. "No. I don’t know. Except that it was about three or four percent of the prey population. Maybe six hundred thousand? That’s just guess." He looked at Joseba. "Why do you ask?"

Sean and Joseba exchanged glances, and Sean sat down as well. "Listen, Sandoz, the buggers may be lying, but that Rukuei says there’re only about fifteen hundred Jana’ata left now." Sandoz looked up sharply and Sean went on. "The Runa’ve rousted them all off the land. They’re scattered, but there’re two main groups of several hundred apiece, plus some pockets of survivors too scared t’go near anyone else. The VaN’Jarri live in a valley on their own. They’ve got barely three hundred Jana’ata among them, with about six hundred Runa in the same settlement."

Joseba leaned forward. "Carnivores generally need at least two thousand individuals, with two hundred and fifty breeding pairs, just to keep the population genetically healthy. Even if Rukuei is underestimating the total, the Jana’ata are very close to extinction," he whispered, as though to speak aloud of this prediction would make it come true. "If he’s overestimating it, they’re probably doomed." He sat for a while, working it through. "It makes sense, Sandoz. From what we’ve seen and what Shetri says, the Jana’ata must be living at the absolute margins of their ecological range. Even without the collapse of civilization, this species would be on the edge."

"There’s more," Sean said, a little loudly now that the rain had begun in earnest. "There’s something goin’ on up in the north. I had t’ask twice t’be sure of what I was hearin’, but when we asked about them eatin’ that froyil, one of them—that Shetri—told us the VaN’Jarri Jana’ata are near t’starvin’. They won’t eat Runa." Sandoz looked at him, narrow-eyed. "Brace yersalf: the phrase he used was, The meat’s not kosher." Sandoz reared back, and Sean raised a hand. "I swear that’s what he said. Apparently this man Shetri’s wife, Hanala or whatever her name is, was raised by Sofia Mendes in the south, among the Runa."

Joseba said, "Obviously, there has been a certain amount of cultural exchange. Shetri says his wife is a teacher, but Sandoz—the title he used was ’rabbi’. It’s possible that these men are simply lying about not eating Runa, but look at them! They’re thin, their coats are dull, they’re missing teeth—"

"And they’re travelin’ with two fine, fat Runa, who don’t seem a bit concerned about becomin’ anybody’s breakfast." Sean hesitated before going on. "And, Sandoz," he said, "listenin’ t’this Kitheri? Well, it seems to me that Hanala may be a sort of… I don’t know, but I ask myself, What if Moses had been an Egyptian, raised among the Hebrews?"

Sandoz sat open-mouthed, trying to take this in. "You’re serious?" he asked, and when Sean nodded, Sandoz cried, "Oh, for God’s sake!"

"Precisely," Joseba agreed, and watched without moving as Sandoz stood, soaked to the skin.

"You’re hearing what you want to hear!" Sandoz accused. "You’re imposing your own folklore on this culture!"

"Perhaps we are," Joseba agreed, from his seat in the mud, "but I came here as both an ecologist and a priest. I want to know about this. I am going north with them, Sandoz. Sean wants to go, too. You can stay here with Nico and wait for Sofia’s people to arrive. All we ask is that you don’t give them away. We’ll take our chances with them—"

With Nico’s approach, they fell silent and watched as Sandoz drank water from the canteen and got a little food into himself, refusing to discuss this nonsense further.

But Nico, ordinarily the quietest of them, had something on his mind. "Don Emilio, one of those Jana people has a bad dream like yours," he said, wiping his wet hair back out of his eyes. Sandoz stared at him, and Nico continued, "He dreams of a city burning. He told me. It’s from when he was a little boy, he says, but he’s seen you there. In the city. In his dream. I think you should ask him about it."

WHICH IS WHY, AFTER CONSIDERABLE ADDITIONAL INTERROGATION AND discussion, eight people of three species finally went north together in secrecy and foul weather. They did not tell Carlo Giuliani of their decision, concerned that the radio was being monitored by the Gayjur government. Knowing now the danger the VaN’Jarri were in, it was Joseba’s suggestion that they remove their GPS implants—a small cut each, nothing to be concerned about.

They intended to travel as quickly and inconspicuously as they could, but if anyone questioned them, their story would be simple. The foreigners were friends to Fia. Shetri and Rukuei were VaHaptaa mercenaries who were leading these Runa and the foreigners to the last stronghold of the predators who’d preyed on the Runa since time began. When the place was known, the army could come and clean the last of the djanada out, and then they would be gone, forever.

The VaN’Jarri believed that this was all merely a convincing lie. In fact, it was very nearly the precise truth.

Nico d’Angeli had not really understood what Joseba said about minimum breeding population and species collapse, nor had he followed much of the talk of revolution or religion. But Nico understood very well what Frans had told him before landfall. "I can’t find you if you take the GPS implant out, Nico. The people on the Magellan were all lost—no one knows what happened to them, capisce? Never remove this, Nico. As long as you have a transmitter with you, I can find you."

So while the others were loading the boat and making ready to leave, Nico slowly came to the conclusion that it was best for Don Carlo and Frans to know where they were going, even if the others didn’t think so. That was why he retrieved one of the discarded implants and put it in his pocket.

He meant no harm.

THEY WENT BY RIVER AT FIRST, JANA’ATA AND HUMANS CROWDED INTO the cargo hold, their Runa conspirators topside, calling out greetings to sodden barge passengers and crew as their wakes crossed. The powerboat’s batteries were as silent as sail and its passengers almost as quiet, even when there was no one to hear them. One human or another would think of some objection to what he had been told, and would say what was on his mind, and have his doubts assuaged. The VaN’Jarri, too, would venture a question now and then, but the one most eaten by desire to know about the foreigners was also the one most frightened of Sandoz, who had barely spoken since agreeing to go as far as Inbrokar City with them. So Rukuei kept quiet as well.

Not wanting to compromise their safe houses by duplicating their route south, they left the river behind on their second day. Tiyat and Kajpin let the others off near a cave a few cha’ari short of the Tolal bridgehead, and then went on alone, returning the powerboat to the livery, where Tiyat made a show of disputing the damage done to the hull when they’d run the boat aground. Finally Kajpin waved the extra charge off and said expansively, "It’s only money! Pay the woman—we’ll make it up on that rakar deal." Which led to comfortable small talk about the new rakar plantations, and then to amiable farewells, called loudly over the pounding rain as Tiyat and Kajpin moved off toward town.

"It’s only money," Tiyat echoed irritably, as they stopped in the Tolal market district and spent their last few bahli on salt.

"Don’t worry," Kajpin told her when they were out of earshot, heading out of town on a road that went northeast. "We can jump a caravan next season!" When they were sure no one was behind them, they veered overland and doubled back toward the south at a trot.

Reunited at the cave without further incident, the party left roads and rivers behind and traveled instead through an endless rolling landscape. Stopping periodically to listen and watch and stand nose to the wind, the VaN’Jarri became increasingly confident that they’d escaped detection. Indeed, there was little left in this monstrous, lovely, depopulated land that bore the imprint of mortal mind or hand. For hours, walking without haste but without rest, they saw nothing but low-growing clumps of lavender-leaved plants with bell-shaped blooms that nodded on wiry stems, battered by rain as warm as blood, and heard nothing but the drumming of rain and the squelching of footsteps, and the lilt of Nico’s singing.