ting,-- she said excitedly without turning her head form the event.-- Settling scores. They say the Bold Phan took somebody's money for his own... Fine fellows, aren't they? And the beads on her high breast tinkled again beating the time of her screams. Sigurd didn't understand her. He has never fought yet in his life. Only the animals happen to fight when they're young. Salars don't fight. The Invertings don't fight. They can kill, oh yes, they do kill. And often they are killed themseleves. But what's good in such fighting? He couldn't catch the meaning of the word. It was dirty, dull and senseless. Just like those men at the fence. One of the bearded men drew out a knife. The knife was blunt, curved and inconvenient. Bryan sighed, made his way through the crowd and came near the fighters. -- This knife is bad,-- said Oygla taking the man by his hand.-- And you're not better. Stop this! It's a shame... The bearded man seemed to be at the verge of an apoplexy. He swallowed air with a convulsive movement and all space left at his face between the thick hair and the tiny eyes became bloodshot. He stared at Oygla as if he has never seen a live man before. Then he saw Bryan's grey cloak and breathed noisily and laughed loudly. -- You're a hero,-- he said when his breath calmed down.-- Our glorious defender... Devilish sprawn! So you don't like my knife, do you? Sigurd remembered well the pause after these words, and it often returned afterwards in his nightmares. And each time it seemed to him that he's standing naked at the middle of the silent square and awful inhuman faces crease their noses with disgust and sniff at him. The bearded man drew his hand out of Oygla's grip and hit him with his knife at the breast. He was very surprised to see that he missed the hit. He repeated it once more. And more. Awkward men breathing heavily tried to kick down a boy -- a surprisingly slippery boy -- and the man he had tried to protect was the most diligent of the four. But Bryan moved swiftly and rhytmically as he was taught. The four couldn't reach him. And his hand searched for the sickle at his belt -- but in vain. When he realized that he was unarmed he clenched his fists... -- Excuse him, please,-- said the familiar soft voice at Sigurd's ear. And everything came to an end. The mentor Pharamarz bowed to the crowded people, made his excuses once more, took the offended Bryan by the shoulder and led him away. Sigurd shook off the sticky hot fingers of the market-woman and followed them. There were whispers in the crowd and staring eyes, and the younger women were cocking their eyes at each other and smacking their lips. When they left the city Oygla broke silence at last. -- Why did he behave so, Teacher? -- He was struggling with tears of anger. -- Why? -- Pharamarz thought for a moment and then went on.-- Why does the puma hate the kuguar most of all beats? Because they are alike. Alike but not the same. Do you remember what kind of buckle you wore when you had First Rank, Salar Oygla? -- It was golden, Teacher. -- And now when you've got the Second Rank? -- It us silver, Teacher. -- Quite right. And the Third Rank Salars wear a bronze buckle. I'm a mentor, I'm of the Seventh Rank, and my buckle is made of iron. The golden age passed long ago, my Salars. Or may be it has never begun. The Gods have gone forever to the Penates of Eternity, and the way there is known only to the eldest of Salars, the Sons of Gods. Maybe soon I'll know the way too. Our age is iron one, boys, and it is rusty. And if we, the Gliding-in-the-Dusk, the blue steel of our age, the Ninefold-Living won't defend the people of Kalorra they'll pass away earlier than it should be. They will disappear once and forever. And then it'll make no difference whether they were good or bad. They're of the same tree, of the same root with us, they are our relatives from mother's side. -- And what of it? -- asked Sigurd with perplexity.-- I have passed two times already. I had been ill when a boy... And then a leopard tore me. And each time I returned. -- That's right,-- said the mentor Pharamarz smiling sadly.-- You passed twice, Bryan three times, and I had six times. So we must forgive everything to the people of Kalorra -- they pass away one time and that's all. We the Ninefold-Living shouldn't accuse them. Sigurd nodded. He has already forgiven the people of Kalorra. But why did the bearded men call them -- the offspring of Gods -- the devilish sprawn? Their ancestors surely were not devils! The devils... or the devouted Gods? Or the devious Gods? Or simply -- Divine folk? What they were? x x x [.....................................................................] Shadow 2. Animal. Human. Divine: Solly Of Shaingholm, the Mutable. [.....................................................................] MEMORY SECTION THE HOWLING IN THE NIGHT Old Morn was against this venture and did his best to dissuade them -- but he couldn't to simpy order or forbid them to go. He could not to forbid anything to the people whose kin became cold ashes before his eyes. Morn was against it but they didn't listen to him. And Solly turned away and left his teacher, for his father from that time on would never go hunting to the forest and his mother lost her left hand and whenever she become wolf again she'll be lame and won't be able to catch even the most sluggish beasts. Since then Solly hasn't seen his mother smile softly as she use to before hearting about his successes or how the teacher had praised him. It was all gone. The invisible door that kept her smiles was shut forever. Now he could see in his mother's eyes only anguish and bitterness. She didn't weep and didn't say anything but it would be better if she wept or even howled... ...They marched in silence. They didn't glance back. They marched as animals. Some of them took their weapons tied with belts to their backs, others relied only upon their own claws and fangs. About two dozens of Mutables joined them -- the solitary ones who didn't like to use fire and dwelt in holes or any suitable shelters. Solly knew that his native village was the only one in this land. And it did not exist now. Morn had to lead those who survived to some new place. Solly has heared (also from Morn) that their people dwelt somewhere in the East, but nobody of his fellows ever dared to enter those wild lands. People say that there were some settlements over the mountains, at the other side of Ra-Muaz passes... They could have gathered twice as much Mutables but rage was driving them on and didn't allow to wait. Besides, the scouts told that the Killers from the Constants village had been summoned to some muster and those Ninefold-Living who were left home won't resist long. Solly understood better than his mates what would have happened with them were the Killers present, but now the wood people had a favourable opportunity. An opportunity blinded by rage... The rain lashed their backs as if the sky urged the avengers on. Pitch-black darkness unlike the Constants... Woe to the murderers! Their nine lives won't do them any good. The Mutables will drag their corpses to the woods and there they'll watch them dying again and again, until the last bracelet will appear on their arms as the sign that their crimes are atoned for. ...It took them few moments to strangle the dogs. And a triumphant howl announced the beginning of the feast. A live wave born in the night rolled out of the forest and overflew the palisade; those who have enough time to transform into human from climbed up the pales scratching their skin in a hurry to open the gate. Solly jumped down and helped Rollo to remove the wooden bar, with an evil smile. A lightning showed the wolfish grin at the youth's face in a short flash. And the thunder answered with a hoarse groan of awe. The gate was flung open and the massacre began. The werwolves didn't spare anybody. Invisible death overtook the Constants everywhere, the blades and knives worked untiringly, dissecting the scared night and soft human flesh... Solly was running past at opened door when a Ninefold-Living jumped out of it. He was almost naked but armed with a sword. At the next moment he sank slowly at the porch of his own home. He had no time to notice Solly's instantaneous stroke. The Mutable praised once more the darkness of the night. Then he threw away his bladric and changed himself into a wolf. Wielding the sword wasn't enough for him. He wanted some more than that. Only then his vengeance would be accomplished. He burst into the house. There was another door inside. He pushed it with his paw, and it opened with a creak. The woolf's keen eyes discerned at once the two figures pressed into the corner and clinging to one another. There were a girl, almost a child, frail and clumsy, and a boy about seven whom the girl tried to protect. The boy trembled, terror- stricken. They were the children of the man whom Solly has just killed at the porch. The moon peered cautiously through a gap in the clouds and lighted the room through an opened window. The girl saw the woolf's silhouette and raised her head with a shiver. And Solly clearly saw in her eyes the familiar anguish. They were the eyes oa his mother. It was his father who lay dead at the entrance... It was he himself who was now choking with terror in the corner behind a unsecure shield of his sister slender body in a light dress... Without thinking what he is doind Solly rose to his feet -- his two human feet -- and stood before the girl, and a timid, improbable hope linked them. And the moon, astonished, forgot to hide itself in the clouds. Solly heared a loud noise, and Rollo burst into the room staggering as a drunkard. He was in human form, wholly naked, and his sword was stained with blood. The leopard-man was drunken with blood. -- Ah, you've found some fun too, haven't you, Solly? -- gasped Rollo, showing his teeth in rapture.-- Well, let's halve the prey! You take the girl and the cub is for me. And then we'ii halve them each in turn, and once more... He stuck his sword into the floor prepearing to transform into a leopard, a mad yellow cat, but Solly turned to him, and Rollo looked at his friend's face -- and understood everything at once. -- What's up with you, Sol? -- he muttered stepping back to the door.-- These here... they killed your dad... they crippled your mum... how can you... -- They did it,-- Solly's voice was colourless and toneless as the Morn's.-- Then we do it -- and then it's their turn -- and ours... and again... Constants or Mutables, both of us are constant only in one thing -- equally constant... Solly wanted to stop but he couldn't. The words fell and fell from his lips, but suddenly Rollo's body tightened and Solly became silent at once. Fear seized him. He was afraid not for himself. When a human being he could contend with Rollo, but Rollo-leopard could easily tear both Solly the man and Solly the wolf, and after that... Solly's hand instinctively grasped the hilt of Rollo's sword that protruded from the floor. At this very moment a growling and grinning whirlwind rushed at him out of the dark. Solly raised his hand just to defend himself but his fingers clasped the hilt as if by their own will, and the sharp blade cut the leopard from hinder legs to the throat. The muscular twitching body knocked Solly off his feet, but he hurriedly jumped up and lifted his hand against Rollo. But there was no need to hurry. Rollo was dead. -- Have you here any place to hide yourself? -- asked Solly turning to the girl. She didn't say anything. -- Yes, we have,-- the boy said instead of her. He thought a little and added shyly: -- Thank you... ...Solly hid them in a barn. He brought there the body of their father too: to prevent it to being taking away to the forest. Then he covered them with hay. The father had to come back to life by the morning just like any of the Ninefold-Living and in Solly's opinion he was quite capable to take care of his own family. After that he returned to the forest with his mates. Many of them carried the bodies of the Ninefold-Living to continue their killing tomorrow, but Solly marched without any burden. He carried with him only the memory of the Constant girl with his mother's brown eyes... and the dead body of Rollo lying on the floor... They marched without glancing back. x x x Translated from Russian by Alina Nemirova.