was noticed. Day after day I have been with them. Not one says anything different. They do not know why, but they are sad enough to die. They have lost the zest for living, Al·Ith.’
‘They are conceiving? Giving birth?’
‘They are still giving birth. But you are right to ask if they are conceiving … ’
At this Jarnti let out a muttering, ‘They tell their queen she is right! They dare! Drag them off! Beat them … ’
They ignored him. With compassion now. He was sitting loose and rolling there, his face aflame, and they saw him as worse than their beasts. More than one of the women was weeping, silently, at the fate of their sister, as they watched him.
‘We believe they are not conceiving.’
A silence. The wind was not shrieking now. It was a low wail. The animals that were making a circle all around lifted their muzzles to sniff the air: soon the wind would be gone, and their nightly ordeal over.
‘And you, the people?’
They all nodded, slowly. ‘We believe that we are the same.’
‘You mean, that you begin to feel in yourselves what the animals feel?’
‘Yes, Al·Ith.’
And now they sat quiet for a long time. They looked into each other’s faces, questioning, confirming, allowing their eyes to meet, and to part, letting what each felt pass from one to another, until they all were feeling and understanding as one.
While this went on, the soldier was motionless. Later, in the camps, he was to say that ‘up there’ they had vicious drugs and used them unscrupulously.
The wind had dropped. It was silent. In a swept sky the stars glittered cold. But wisps of cloud were forming in the east, over the borders with Zone Four.
One of the girls spoke up at last. ‘Al·Ith, some of us have been wondering if this new Order from the Providers has something to do with this sadness of ours.’
Al·Ith nodded.
‘None of us remember anything like it,’ said the old man.
Al·Ith said, ‘The Memories speak of such a time. But it was so long ago the historians knew nothing about it.’
‘And what happened?’ asked Jarnti, suddenly finding his tongue.
‘We were invaded,’ said Al·Ith. ‘By Zone Four. Is there nothing in your history? Your tales?’
At this Jarnti wagged his pointed beard at them, grinning — triumphant.
‘Is there nothing you can tell us?’ asked Al·Ith.
He smirked at the women, one after another, and then his head fell forward.
‘Al·Ith,’ said a girl who had been sitting, letting her tears run, ‘Al·Ith, what are you going to do with such men?’
‘Perhaps Ben Ata won’t be so bad,’ said another.
‘This man is the commander of all the armies,’ said Al·Ith, and could not prevent herself shuddering.
‘This man? This?’
Their horror and shock made itself felt in Jarnti, and he would have punished them if he could. He did manage to raise his head and glare, but he was shaking and weak.
‘He is going to have to get back to the camp at the foothills,’ said Al·Ith.
Two of the young men glanced at each other, and then rose. They grasped Jarnti under the armpits, hauled him to his feet, and began walking him up and down. He staggered and protested, but complied, in the end, for his brain, clear all this time, told him it was necessary.
This scene is known as ‘Jarnti’s Walk,’ and gives much opportunity for humour to our artists and tellers.
‘I don’t see that there is anything we can do?’ asked Al·Ith of the others. ‘If this is an old disease, nothing is known of it in our medicine. If it is a new disease, our doctors will shortly come to terms with it. But if it is a malady of the heart, then the Providers will know what to do.’
A silence.
‘Have already known what to do,’ she said, smiling, though not pleasantly. ‘Please tell everyone on the plain that I came here tonight and we talked, and what we thought together.’
We will, they said. Then they all rose to their feet, and went with her through the herds. A young girl called three horses, who came and stood willingly, waiting, while the young man put Jarnti on one, and Al·Ith mounted another, and the girl herself got on a third. The animals crowded around Al·Ith on her horse, and called to her as the three rode past.
Out on the plain, headed back towards the camp, the grasses were now standing up grey in a dim light, and the eastern sky was aflame.
Jarnti had come awake, and was sitting straight and soldierly on his horse.
‘Madam,’ he asked, ‘how do you people talk to your animals?’
‘Do you not talk to yours?’
‘No.’
‘You stay with them. You watch them. You put your hands on them and feel how they feel. You look into their eyes. You listen to the tones of their cries and their calling to each other. You make sure that when they begin to understand that you understand them, you do not miss the first tones of what they say to you. For if you do not hear, then they will not trouble to try again. Soon you will feel what they are feeling, and you will know what they are thinking, even if they do not tell you themselves.’
Jarnti said nothing for a while. They had now left the herds behind.
‘Of course we watch them and take notice of how they look, if they are ill or something like that.’
‘There are none among you who know how to feel with your animals?’
‘Some of us are good with animals, yes.’
Al·Ith did not seem inclined to say any more.
‘Perhaps we are too impatient,’ said Jarnti.
Neither Al·Ith nor the girl said anything to this. They trotted on towards the foothills. Now the great peaks of the high lands were pink and shining from the wild morning sky.
‘Madam,’ he said, blustering, because he did not know how to be on an equality with her, or with anyone, ‘when you are with us, can you teach some of the soldiers who are in charge of the horses this way of yours?’
She was silent. Then: ‘Do you know that I am never called anything but Al·Ith? Do you understand that I have never been called Madam, or anything like it before?’
Now he was silent.
‘Well, will you?’ he asked gruffly.
‘I will if I can,’
