《Shaper of Isles》


 Arrival With Thunder

    Arlen woke up with sand on his face. The sun blazed low over ocean waves. He was overdressed in his wool jacket and cap. He rolled onto his back, wincing at the hard metal in his waistband, and tried to remember how he got here. He''d been outside cutting firewood at his granddad''s place. Then nothing. Now he''d been given a beach vacation.


    The first question was, "Where is this?" He stood up shakily. Water squished in his boots and pink-tinged sand covered him. The warmth seared him through his clothes. The sky was too cloudy to judge by, but he caught sight of the moon... which was pale green, and hazed with clouds of its own. Arlen took a step backward as though to get away from the strangeness. But he knew, now, and the question was what to do about it.


    In the distance along the shore, a fire burned and shapes moved. He smelled only the sea-salt. He considered heading toward the strangers and asking them what was going on, but that wasn''t at all safe until he knew more, by his own effort. He pulled off his sweaty coat to sling it over one shoulder, then walked inland. There was still some light. Jungle began maybe thirty yards from shore. He kept to its edge for cover. These trees cast long shadows into woods too dense to risk entering.


    The distant beachgoers hadn''t spotted him. Some were dancing around the flames, others cooking over it or sitting on logs. They wore ponchos and long loincloths. No sign of a radio or a glowing screen. That didn''t bode well for finding a convenient way home. The music being played on drum and warbling flute made him want to listen, anyway.


    Something rustled. Arlen turned and saw glinting eyes. He yelped and ran. His boots kicked up sand. Behind him came a wolf-sized lizard, frilled in feathers. While running, he threw his coat. Then he fumbled at his belt and found his revolver. He swerved to one side and squeezed the trigger twice.


    Shots rang out. The lizard-thing recoiled and snarled. Arlen had missed. It lunged and chomped his arm, and his muscles convulsed. Numbed and jarred too much to feel the bite, he staggered aside and the creature let go to try striking again.


    He fell backward onto the sand. It leaped and sailed right over him. Then a rock whizzed and struck it on the tail. It turned, hissing. Sparks crackled along its teeth. A group of the natives had come. They were in costume or something. One of them had a long branch held out like a spear. Another stood unarmed but wary, and there was a girl throwing rocks with more enthusiasm than skill. One stone skipped on the sand inches from Arlen''s face. He winced and shielded himself.


    The beast was distracted, now, protecting its "kill" from them. Arlen rolled away, found his gun, and held it behind his back, ready to hide or use again. The beachgoers had this under control. The stick wielder jabbed the lizard, a rock staggered it, and the other guy somehow caught a wave that had gone far inland and rode that several feet into the air to crash and kick hard. Another stab from someone''s knife and the creature was down, bleeding onto the sand.


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    Arlen stood up shakily and raised his bruised hands, saying, "Thank you!" He staggered and grabbed his bitten arm, as the pain finally registered.


    The islanders stared and chattered. Their words blurred, and Arlen started to understand them as though remembering a foreign language. They were saying, "How bad is it? What are you?"


    Arlen clutched his arm, where a bit of flesh had been seared and blood only seeped. He looked up with gritted teeth. His rescuers weren''t quite human. Though mostly recognizable as some bronze-skinned tropical tribe, their ears were too high up and flicked back and forth, hidden by shaggy tan hair. What he''d taken for loincloths were actually tails, wide and seemingly animate. The people wore something like shorts or skirts, loose wraps on the women, and sandals. They stared at him as the weird one in the group.


    He said, "I''m Arlen Erickson. Where is this?"


    He covered his mouth. The words he''d spoken weren''t English, but he understood them.


    "Opaline," said one baffled-looking man. He pointed to Arlen''s arm and said, "Come. You need help."


    He went along, while one guy shrugged and began dragging the animal carcass along. Beyond the firelight the woods opened up to reveal a village of thatch huts. "Civilization," Arlen said, but there was hardly a dirt road. He''d vaguely hoped for a phone. Really, he already knew he was far outside the safety of home.


    More of the tailed folk peeked out from homes. Arlen followed his guides to what they called the "healer". Looked competent: an old man surrounded by fragrant dried plants and to Arlen''s pleasant surprise, bark strips covered in writing.


    Before he could decipher it, his painful wound distracted him again. The healer exclaimed, "What is this? Where did he come from?"


    A man answered, "Washed up on shore, chased by a shockjaw."


    "He''s not wet. Never mind; clear out."


    The medic washed Arlen''s wound with water and stinging rum. Then he held one hand over the ragged flesh and his fingers glowed a soft blue. Arlen''s eyes widened. The throbbing pain faded and bits of charred skin flaked away.


    "How!?" said Arlen.


    "Thank the spirits. Keep this clean and don''t swim for three days. Now, outsider, where are you from? Did you come through the Roaring Storm?"


    "I don''t remember how I got here. I think this isn''t my own world." He shuddered and explained.


    The doctor''s formal feather headdress and cape hung on the wall. He looked toward them, saying, "I don''t know what to make of that. But you have some power too; you hurled thunder?"


    Arlen grimaced. "Do your people sacrifice outsiders? Do you cut out people''s hearts or throw them off cliffs?"


    "What? No! Why would you think that?"


    "I know of some peoples who do, or did."


    "Then you''ve seen more of the world than me. We don''t have outsiders. Nobody comes through the Roaring Storm, only bits of their ships or in one case a shark-eaten body. We argued about whether they''d bit off his tail."

 The Chiefs Inspection

    The people had been nothing but friendly so far. Arlen risked revealing more. He took out his revolver slowly, aiming it downward and saying, "This is a weapon."


    The islander peered at it in fright. Arlen figured he might start invoking "spirits" and curses to ward off the mysterious evil. But instead the man said, "How does it work?"


    Arlen smiled. He explained the concept, and revealed the five-chambered cylinder with three shots left.


    The doctor glanced toward the curtain he''d drawn across the doorway. "Strange! But with such power in your hands, you didn''t kill the beast?"


    "My mighty thunder weapon missed. Twice. I swear I aim better when nobody''s biting me."


    The doc laughed. "Even so, it''s valuable. Don''t show it off. You should hide it, or Chief Thoko will take it for himself."


    "Who''s that?"


    He explained. Thoko was ruler of all the Echoing Isles, to their chagrin. He had risen from being a hunter and beachcomber, to lording over everyone by force. "If anyone asks, the thunder was from whatever magic brought you, or the shockjaw''s bite."


    "Does Thoko have any way out of the islands?"


    "A few people have tried leaving over the years, but none have returned to brag. I think you''re stuck here." He spread one hand in apology, and thick webbing extended between his fingers up to the second joint.


    Arlen wanted to go home, but mainly to reassure everyone he was all right. Here was another world to explore! He said, "Will I be allowed to live, then?"


    "I think so, but it will be up to our chief. I''ll tell him you don''t seem dangerous. But Thoko will find out before long."


    Arlen imagined getting interrogated. "Then I should learn to make myself useful."


    The healer nodded. "A good thing to hear from a guest. Will you leave your weapon with me, in case of trouble?"


    Arlen had wanted to bring it, for the same reason. But it sounded like he''d be safest without risking it being found on him. So he gambled his life on trusting these people, rather than on his tools, for now.


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    #


    Arlen got led to a hut little better than a doghouse. It was a low, improvised spare just big enough for sleeping, meant for travelers between islands. He had many questions but the adrenaline had worn off, and he crashed. Frogs croaked in the distance and warm, salt-scented wind blew through leaves.


    He awoke to a pretty young lady bringing a wooden platter of sizzling grilled fish and fruit. "Good morning, outsider! Is it true you killed a shockjaw with thunder?"


    Arlen smiled back. "Good morning! Thank you. But no, your neighbors killed it. I only distracted it." He showed off his arm and found it had already healed cleanly most of the way, leaving raw pink toothmarks.


    "Well, our chief wants to see you once you''ve eaten."


    She watched as he ate bare-handed, and she asked questions about "the world beyond the storm". He said, "I don''t think I''m from there, but from farther away than that." He then tried to explain a bit about Earth, but was pretty sure the gal still believed the place was some island across the sea from this one.


    In the end she said, "That''s quite a story."


    Arlen shrugged. "I''d like to hear more about the islands. Sounds like I''m needed elsewhere, though. Are you the chief''s daughter?"


    "Only the niece of the old chief."


    He wondered what the story was behind that. "What do you do these days?"


    "I cook. I''m better at it than I thought, though I still hate gutting fish."


    "This is good," he said, hefting his breakfast plate.


    She led him to the largest building in town, a two-story longhouse woven like a basket around standing logs. Inside, fur-lined benches and tables and a fireplace served as office space for a few elderly people who mainly sat around, with a tally board listing items like fish and rope. Arlen couldn''t get a good look before an unsmiling spearman ushered him halfway up the stairs on his right.


    That let him see the second-floor throne room, the chieftain''s personal quarters with its curtains thrown wide. A burly, tattooed young man sat on a chair decorated with antlers. The guard made Arlen stand just outside and below this tableau so that the chief could peer down at him, saying, "An outsider, and in such strange clothing! Aren''t you hot in that?"


    "Yes, chief." He''d left his jacket with the doctor, too.


    "Search him," said the chief. Arlen got stripped naked over his objection. The spearman made him turn around, and laughed. The chief said, "So he really isn''t one of the people at all."


    "Give me my clothes back."


    "Thoko will want to see them."


    "Will he want to smell my dirty underwear?"


    The chief scowled, then chuckled. "Oh, that? Keep that if you wish. Someone get him more comfortable things. So is the outside very cold?"


    Arlen blushed as he reclaimed his underwear and socks. "Parts of it are. Chief, I want to work here if you will accept me."


    "My lord will want to hear from you. But for now, welcome to Opaline. Earn your living. Catch fish or whatever it is you''re good at. Are you a user of magic, by the way?"


    "I wish I were. I imagined I could defeat the shockjaw, but rocks were a lot more effective than my trying to shout curses at it."


    "Ha, so I heard. Go, then. Maybe I''ll give you a woman if you behave."


    The chief sent him away. He had effectively stolen all of Arlen''s cash and credit cards, but Arlen got the sense he wouldn''t be needing them soon.

 Crafters and Destroyers

    "Could''ve gone worse," he said, leaving the longhouse. He now wore a pair of straw sandals plus something resembling shorts, and a loose shoulder wrap, both made from coarse blue fiber. The sun beat down and he hoped he could avoid getting roasted too badly.


    A few islanders had gathered to see the strange outsider. He said, "Can I see who makes the tools around here?"


    They took him to a hut with a canopy outside. Ah, shade! thought Arlen. A man and his son were banging rocks together. "May I watch for a little while?"


    They let him. It was painfully primitive, but not the complete bottom of the caveman ladder. There was a particular clever way of striking a fist-sized chunk of flint or obsidian to make sharp chips slide off. Not useful for every application, but it gave them tools for cutting and scraping.


    Arlen saw some arrowheads ready for turning over to a fletcher. "What do the people hunt with these?"


    "The shockjaws, birds, snakes."


    The apprentice boy said, "Mirefolk."


    "Swamp monsters?"


    The stonecrafter laughed bitterly. "Practically. They''re thieves and killers, and nobody can fight back except by capturing one of them alive and trading for him."


    He set Arlen to do some tedious work while he watched: making a stone cup with a stone chisel. Arlen asked, "Is there no metal?"


    "A few tools here and there, but mostly in Thoko''s territory."


    Arlen worked for a while, making little progress. So backwards! But the crafter wasn''t stupid; he just lacked equipment. "I want to see what other work is being done."


    "Suit yourself."


    Before Arlen left, though, the crafter used a very different method. He touched the cup Arlen had been working with and brushed his fingers along it, making glittering sand flake away from the rim. Arlen stared, saying, "Magic?"


    "The spirits granted me just enough to be useful. Maybe you can get it yourself."


    Arlen hadn''t earned his keep yet. He watched for a little while, then stepped away to explore some more. He got curious questions about "the outside", so that he had a gaggle of children and young adults following him when he reached the potter.


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    The town''s clay crafter had gotten more advanced techniques than some peoples had; her shaded outdoor workshop had a potter''s wheel. "Heard there was a castaway. You''re funny-looking."


    "So I''ve heard. Can I help?"


    "Looking for something to do? Get me more firewood."


    "I can do that. Are there a lot of dangerous creatures in the woods?"


    "Sure, everywhere. Hope you''re good at running."


    He assumed there was some sarcasm, but borrowed a stone knife. He set off to the forest.


    The people had pushed it back over however many centuries they''d lived here. He estimated a few hundred people lived here in this beach settlement, and conversation with the curious onlookers told him that hundreds more lived on this island, counting another village and some scattered hermits and hunting camps. Tree stumps surrounded this hamlet. The land held small farms growing unfamiliar gourds and grain. A farmer told him the tall stalks he was looking at in another field were "sugarcane", but it was another moment when Arlen knew he was hearing and speaking another language. The names were approximate.


    Arlen searched warily. Without a proper axe he wouldn''t be felling any trees. The species around here were tropical breeds. Ah, here was something like bamboo, in a deep red-violet. He wanted to cut that later. For now he gathered some fallen branches and ones he could snap free. He paused to listen for trouble and heard only songbirds. Then he discovered he didn''t know which way he''d come from.


    No problem. Footprints. Um. The soil was dry, leaving unclear marks, and he dropped everything while crouching. He gathered it all up, put it down to find the knife and stow it securely in his waistband, and searched again. He thought he saw which way he''d come.


    A few minutes'' walk later, he came to a burned hut. Everything was silent here. Arlen walked around it and found an arrow in the ruined walls. Bowing his head, he retreated and found his way back to the last clearing he''d seen. From there he finally thought to follow the sun and let that guide him back to the beach, where he could find the village again. It took too long and he arrived with aching arms.


    The potter laughed at him. "Better late than never."


    "I found a hut that was attacked and burned."


    She paused in her work. "Mirefolk. It was a game to them, tormenting an old man."


    "Do they come often?"


    "A few times a year. A screaming bunch of their wildmen, usually, with a few who aren''t crazy. Or they harass us at sea."


    "Sorry to hear it."


    "Well. Feed the wood to my pile there."


    He was glad to drop it. "Do you use charcoal?"


    "No; why?"


    "I''m wondering if I can use anything I know from the outside."


    The potter frowned. "I don''t know about that. Can''t be so great if you crashed a ship through a big, obvious storm."


    "Ha. Maybe not. I''m not sure how to get the right, consistent temperature anyway; it''s got to be more complicated than ''switch to charcoal''." He looked the equipment over. Not a gear in sight; she had to awkwardly kick the wheel sideways while sitting cross-legged. There had to be a better way.


    Because there was probably a reason why he''d been sent here. If his arrival from Earth was a random cosmic hiccup, it could''ve been a lot worse. If God had picked him for something, He hadn''t been specific. So it was up to him to find a purpose.


    For now, he returned the borrowed knife and did some menial work preparing more clay. "How do you convince someone to give you food and lodging around here, anyway?"


    She shrugged and gave her name. "Tell the cooks you were working for me. It''s about lunchtime anyway."

 Several Forms of Education

    There was a big communal grill. Arlen watched as fishers and gatherers trickled in with their harvests. There were crunchy squash-like gourds said to be "the only thing that grows on Gull Crater these days". He snorted when he saw his friend the shockjaw on a spit. A man told him, "Heard you helped kill that thing, outsider."


    "I wasn''t very helpful. This might sound silly, but... do you fight with magic?"


    "Me? No, but that guy over there does. Maybe he''ll teach you."


    Arlen still had the attention of a bunch of villagers who either shunned or stared at him because of his strange looks, like he was a magnet. Certainly better than ending up on the cooking spit himself.


    The doctor found him, coming over with a wooden plate of roasted squash-things. "What do you think of our home?"


    "I''m impressed. I''ve heard of horrible places where the first thing outsiders notice is that they eat people, or something. Besides that, you can... write? Does that word translate?"


    "I understand. I write, but it''s not something many people learn. Do you have the skill yourself?"


    Arlen scrawled with a stick in the sand: Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum. He said, "In my own language. I''m not sure how I know yours."


    The doc squinted at the unfamiliar letters. "Strange. Maybe you have the memory to learn how to be a healer yourself."


    "I''d like that, though there are other things I''d like to learn too. Is there a way to learn magic, like you?"


    "You get the spirits'' blessing. That means going either to the heart of Gull Crater, or to Decim Island. What they''d make of you, I have no idea."


    #


    Arlen found the fighting man, who''d been there smiting the shockjaw last night. He grinned and showed off his techniques. Arlen gaped, now that he saw them clearly. His punches were decently impressive to his amateur eyes, but then the warrior jumped forward and a miniature wave appeared from nothing around his feet, surging him higher and father than should''ve been possible. "I call it Riptide Style," he boasted.


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    A younger man razzed him. "Unlike what everyone else called it forever."


    "What was that?" asked Arlen.


    The teasing guy said, "Just ''water fighting methods''."


    The fighter said, "Which is why it doesn''t get many people interested in learning."


    Arlen said, "That''s what your people are missing. Marketing."


    #


    Arlen spent the afternoon letting the martial artist brag and show off, getting Arlen to go through the basic motions. Being a sparring partner meant getting repeatedly slammed to the beach, so he was earning his lesson in bruises. He stayed out of the water due to his arm injury, and eventually begged off rather than risk making that worse.


    "What do you do with all that skill?" Arlen asked. "Hunt? Fight the raiders?"


    "Some of both. But it''s good to be part of the tradition. Anyone do things like this where you''re from?"


    "Yeah! I don''t know much, but..." He gave a layman''s lesson on Earth style martial arts. "And that''s without anything magical."


    The fighter looked thoughtful. "I''d like to try sparring with someone out there."


    #


    The people didn''t expect much from him and didn''t seem to work long hours. Making a pot or a canoe was tough work, as he learned from a few days of odd jobs, but there was only so much to do. The economy was informal enough that the people didn''t even know the word, but they had a strong sense of who was contributing.


    One morning he heard a scream. He came running from his doghouse hut. Three young men stood on the village green, beating the hell out of a young teenaged boy. They kicked him, yanked him to his feet and beat him down again.


    Arlen called out, "Hey!" and ran by instinct to interfere.


    One of the three gave him a rude gesture. Arlen tried to get closer and got shoved back, then grabbed by another bystander who told him, "He had it coming."


    "What?"


    The kid was moaning on the ground now, curled up. Arlen''s grappler said, "The dummy sits around all day. That''ll teach him."


    The brawlers walked off together, laughing and shaking their injured hands.


    Arlen said, "Maybe I can teach him something...?"


    "Don''t even look at him. Seriously."


    So the bloodied guy limped away suppressing tears, and Arlen risked an educational beatdown of his own if he got any more involved.


    Afterward, Arlen went to see the doc, who wasn''t seeing any patients. Arlen made sure to offer to do chores, before asking what was going on.


    The medic shrugged. "The lad will learn. Maybe he''ll start going out to fish more often. I can''t treat him till at least sundown; nobody can see him, understand?"


    Arlen was more a fan of money changing hands than this kind of overdraft notice. He supposed every group had its own way of doing things, and could say this one was never warranted.


    "Arlen, what did you do for a living?"


    "Machines. Er, complex tools. I had just started doing real work after my training." He slicked back his dirty blonde hair. "I could tell you what I know about the tools, but things like that weapon take materials I don''t know how to make."


    "You''re in a unique role. Nobody''s sure what to do with you yet, so we''d probably accept you as a fighter, a fisher, a healer. Craftsman might be be your best bet."


    "Maybe. I''ll have to see if I can build something useful. I''m glad to be given the choice."

 Island of the Overlord

    The next morning, a boat arrived. Unlike the little fishing canoes and rafts, this one was a catamaran with a proper sail. It veered around the island''s north side to arrive on the west beach. Arlen watched it bounce along the gentle waves of the inter-island sea. Four men climbed out, two with maces. It took him a moment to recognize the iron heads, the first metal he''d seen besides an iron saw in the head boat-builder''s toolkit.


    They spotted him and went right toward him. "This is the outsider?" said one.


    "Where''s his tail? Ugh!"


    "And his ears!"


    "Just shows that it''s true," said one of the four. He wore a cape of glittering lizard scales with an iron buckle.


    Their arrival had drawn plenty of attention from the villagers, but the people were hanging back.


    Arlen grimaced, expecting no help. "I''m Arlen. Yes, I''m not from around here. Can I help you?"


    "Come with us. Chief Thoko wants you."


    He got the impression that they weren''t asking. He stepped closer and let them put him on the boat, with hardly a glance toward the village that''d watched the scene.


    They relaxed once they had him at sea. Asking him many of the same questions he''d gotten for days about how he''d arrived, how he could stand upright without falling for lack of a tail, and whether he knew any mysterious secrets.


    The caped man discouraged that line of questioning. "Let the chief handle that."


    Arlen asked, "What is he like?"


    "Strong and clever. He''s the keeper of the Black Arrows, and the first chief to unite the isles in ages."


    "How''d he do that?"


    They told him a tale. "There was a terrible monster on Gull Crater, a thing that crawled ashore and poisoned the land. Thoko gathered all the chiefs to drive it away, and only he survived."


    Convenient, thought Arlen. Changing the subject, he said, "This is a nice boat."


    One of the sailors seemed especially proud. "It''s the latest style. See how the runners are made?"


    Arlen leaned over carefully. The people had progressed beyond hollowing out logs by carving and fire, and beyond tying logs together. They had made multi-part pontoons and sealed the hollow tubes with tar. "Clever. You can build bigger. Are you thinking of challenging that storm I''ve heard about?"


    "Ha! Not with me aboard."


    #


    The voyage took around a full day and night. He groaned as the sun beat down. He''d been given a palm-fiber sheet for a little comfort, but there was no cabin. He could tie himself to the deck to avoid going overboard in his sleep. The only relief came when they''d sailed into the night, navigating by the stars, and reached a convenient shallows with a protruding reef and atop that, a wooden platform. That had a canopy that they all crawled under.


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    There was actual bread, something like pita. He''d seen it back on Opaline Island but it was kind of hoarded and he hadn''t pushed to get it.


    While they rested, the sailors told a little story about how this spot had been found. There''d been a fool who denied the spirits, got lost at sea, prayed for guidance, and ran aground. Ever since then, the people had known, go this way to Decim, that way to Opaline, and so on, judging by the color of the water and the way waves splashed around the coral. They called it the Guiding Reef.


    They finally arrived at an island of rocky shores, where stones had been piled up to make a wide breakwater harbor. The houses looked sturdier and had a discernible pattern of circular clusters. The catamaran pulled up to a stretch of sand with an attempt at a wooden pier.


    One of the sailors said, "Welcome to Decim Island. Good luck." They were all exhausted.


    Another said, "Still need to drop him off."


    They trudged inland. People gathered to see the rumored outsider and gawk. Arlen smiled and waved but the guards wanted to get this meeting over with. So they passed a two-story building in roughly the same longhouse style as the Opaline chief''s... and kept going.


    "What''s that place?"


    "The womens'' quarters." It had a tall hedge, reminding him of a dormitory.


    The high chief''s palace had a central round building he took for a simple grass hut in the distance. Really this was a grand structure over fifty feet wide with a conical thatch roof stretching high, and flanked by two attached two-story longhouses. The front had a walkway of mud bricks leading to a curtained doorway of dangling shells and bits of bright copper.


    The sailors called for a spearman guard who kept them waiting. Finally Arlen got led inside, pushed forward, and shoved down to one knee. The room smelled of wood smoke from the central firepit, currently dark.


    The interior was one big room of thick support poles, benches, and fur-covered beds. On two floors of shelves sat weapons and mounted animal heads and feathered decorations. A raised platform held the bulky, muscled man who''d sent for him.


    High Chief Thoko wore a fine circlet of copper, iron, and scarlet feathers, along with a feather cape and a crude ring-mail breastplate of iron. By his side rested a warhammer and a fine green pot. A woman lounged beside him, wearing little. He said, "You are the first outsider to arrive alive. Ar-il-en, is it?"


    "Arlen, oh High Chief. I mean your people no harm."


    "And you''re a shipwreck victim?"


    "I truly don''t remember."


    "But you do remember the secrets of the outside world? The way such things as these are made?" He gestured, and a man fetched Arlen''s stolen clothes.


    "I know a little of the method, though I was no weaver. And a little of many other things."


    The chief grunted. His eyes were sharp and bright green in the sunbeam that fell on him from the roof. "What do you think of my islands? Terribly backward?"


    "Truly, High Chief, you have less than some other lands. But I''m impressed with what you''ve been able to do without all their tools. I''ve heard of lands where the people have nothing, know nothing, build nothing."


    Thoko smiled. "Yet we are primitive, or so I gather from what broken clues reach me from beyond the Roaring Storm. From these I and my father before me have tried to piece together what can be, and see a better world. I want you to teach whatever you can remember. Can you do that? Can you explain ways to make better ships, finer tools, and so on?"


    Arlen said, "I warn you that I am no expert, but there are things I can help with."


    "Very well. You shall have a place to live, food, and assistants. Show me what you can do in the next few days. Voz, what do you make of him?"


    A wiry young man sprang up from slouching on a side platform, and walked around Arlen. "Other than his deformity and his accent I see nothing strange about him. But he may be useful, if --"


    "Glad you agree. Guards, find him a house."

 The Rite Of Initiation

    Arlen received a hut that had obviously been a storage shed hours before, smelling of dried herbs. But it had a fresh straw mat on the floor and a hammock. He could do worse. He fell asleep quickly.


    He woke up to find a guard rapping on the hut wall. He groaned and sat up. The man told him, "You''re wanted first at the ironworks."


    He was still eating a fish wrap when he arrived, with escort, at a smithy. It took a while to recognize because these people didn''t seem to know what they were doing. Two "master" smiths were yanking and pounding metal within wooden frames while a too-open furnace with slumping sides belched smoke. A trio of boys held the frames steady with their hands or tried to manage a charcoal-burning pit.


    A smith with smoke-reddened eyes waved one webbed hand. "I''m told you''re here to lecture us."


    "I should watch and listen, first. What are you making?"


    "Shields. Also pegs." He held up an iron nail with no head.


    Arlen watched as promised. "What do you need metal shields for? The raiders from the, what, Mirefolk?"


    "They don''t bother us here; that''s where we get most of the iron ore. It grows in the swamp."


    The metalworkers seemed to want to work the iron like clay, through thick leather gloves and only moderate hammering. They''d gotten the basic idea down because of past exposure to copper, which could be beaten and heated at lower temperatures. Without tin, which usually didn''t appear in the same geographic area, they''d never discovered bronze or melted copper reliably. They had some notion of alloying but a very limited palette to work with.


    Eventually he described a bellows, a simple thing they hadn''t come up with yet, to help with the furnace temperature. Also an anvil and a vice. Without screw threads he had to work out with these guys how they could build a kind of ratchet to hold parts together. He''d need to experiment with this stuff himself, but over time he could probably skip them a few centuries up the technology ladder.


    One of the smiths grumbled continually at the interloper''s advice, but the other ounded like he might try it. "Thoko wants more every year."


    "Again, who are you fighting if it''s not the Mirefolk?"


    The natives looked grim. "A lot of it''s for Newshore. The ghosts will rip you apart if you''re not prepared."


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    "The what?"


    The skeptical smith said, "An endless battle gets played out there, and the ghosts haven''t got tails either."


    #


    Arlen figured he''d earned his keep for the day. He slept, then woke up at some terrible early hour when the man named Voz arrived.


    "What are you doing here?" said Arlen, yawning and glaring.


    Voz gestured for quiet. "Are you being treated well?"


    "So far, yes. I got to see the farm yesterday, and have some ideas for that too. Are you Thoko''s assistant? His brother?"


    "Advisor, or mage. In his name I serve all the islands. Tell me, did any order come saying that you may not study magic?"


    "No."


    Voz brightened. "Then we should see if the spirits will accept you. Come."


    He ushered Arlen outside. The sun was just rising. They went down to the beach, and along the uneven coastline of Decim Island. Arlen asked, "Can''t this wait?"


    "Early is best. Trust me."


    "How does this work?"


    "You swim into the cave, and..." The vizier laughed. "It may be harder for you than for most. You can swim, can''t you?"


    "Yes."


    "Normally we do this without magic, as a test, but I feel it''s justified here."


    "It won''t anger your spirits?"


    "Tell them I judged it was all right. Hold still."


    The man stepped around Arlen, spun, and danced. A glow like bright water surrounded Arlen, then swarmed in toward his head. He gasped, but the spell had stopped inches from his face like a helmet. He pawed at it and felt its springy surface.


    "That will be good for a few minutes. I''ll fetch you, say, in a few hours."


    Arlen wondered at Voz''s intentions. "I don''t mean to replace you in the High Chief''s esteem."


    "I don''t think that you''d want to. Now go." He pressed a sealed jar into Arlen''s hands, then pointed the way along what Arlen had taken for a mere breakwater.


    Arlen walked along the uneven stone path, then lowered himself with his arms. Deeper and deeper, till the glow around his head merged with the sea. The air within it stayed put. He took a relaxing breath, then dived.


    The water grew suddenly chilly a few paces down. He looked around and found a pale glow from beneath a little hill of stone, an island that hadn''t broken the ocean''s surface. Maybe thirty feet under. He would''ve loved to explore this place with scuba gear. He trusted that more than he did this unknown magic. He steeled himself and violated his limited diver training by going into the sunken cave.


    #


    He surfaced by a rocky ledge that ringed a pond, weirdly separate from the sea itself. Stagnant but clear and rippling. Approaching it let him feel its bubbling heat; better not touch it. He would''ve taken it for a volcanic pool but it also glowed from within, lighting the cavern. The walls bore graffiti in white, lots of varied swirls and doodles. Arlen sat and opened the container he''d been given. It contained white paint.


    So, was he supposed to add to the designs? It could be a form of offering. How did magic work around here? Knowing the rules was key to having any idea what to do. As an outsider there was something he could offer. As a way of hinting at it, he drew a right triangle in an unused bit of cave wall, high up. Then a sketch of the Pythagorean Theorem.


    He sat quietly, trying to meditate. Maybe an hour passed. Then the water beside him glowed brighter and seethed. It formed overlapping images made of drifting steam. Maybe mountains and seagulls, seeming to whisper.

 What the Spirits Want

    "Hello?" he said.


    The water splashed and a single drop scalded his knee. He winced and brushed it aside, then shut up. The hot pool drew a rippling human stick figure, as if recognizing him. The image faded. Now it made a trio of shapes, breaking apart and reforming. Maybe a bowl, a bird, a rock. They floated above the pond and wobbled toward him.


    He waited for the vision to offer some better explanation, but each of the three waggled in turn. Maybe an offer, a choice. He gingerly reached out and got no rebuke. All right, which? He''d seen the islanders working with magic to manipulate stone, conjure and transport water, and turn the wind to guide their ships. Any of these would be a boon. He''d begun learning the "Riptide Style" martial arts that relied on water magic. For his long-term plans, he wasn''t sure what was best. "I''m not sure why I came to the islands," he said. "Did you summon me?"


    The three offerings bobbed insistently. "All right, then. They''re all useful." Arlen reached toward the bowl that might represent Water.


    The vision in steam rushed into him, making him feel warm and buoyed up. The cave dimmed, making the seething pool seem brighter. On second thought, that wasn''t it; instead a new kind of glow emanated from it. And from his outstretched hand. Not ordinary light, but something he could interpret like a million tiny sparks all around. Now that they were visible, they swarmed to the cave''s center and shaped themselves to speak somewhat more clearly.


    Shafts of light. Mixed shapes and sounds. A furnace glow and the sound of metal being struck. A hammer dominated the vision, swinging again and again. But then a shark appeared and savaged the thing, biting it in half and scattering the pieces. The hammer was back. A man picked it up, held it aloft, and got devoured, shown with the same vindictive detail. Then another man did the same to the same effect. After that he saw what might''ve been islands, pearls, a storm, but he couldn''t make sense of it.


    Arlen said, "Thank you for this gift. I''ll use it to improve the lives of the islanders. But what do you want, exactly?"


    The visions grew cloudier, as though trying to express too much at once. Bits of them grew stronger and faded in turn without making a clear impression. Then the force behind it all faded away and the heated pool grew dim again, even to his enhanced senses.


    Arlen took stock of what he''d done. He didn''t worship these island spirits or whatever they were, and certainly didn''t plan to start making sacrifices. He''d accepted their gift, and been given a vision of sorts.


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    Come to think of it, the hammer looked a lot like the fancy iron-headed one by the right hand of Chief Thoko.


    #


    Arlen no longer had the halo of trapped air around his head. Now that he knew where the surface was, though, he decided to risk leaving. He took deep breaths and then ducked into the sea to flip around and look for the exit. There was daylight now, showing the way to the surface. He returned to the cave to recover and steel himself, then swam for it.


    When his lungs burned he began trailing a thin stream of bubbles from his mouth, suppressing the urge to breathe. He broke through into bright sky, gasping. With a tired grin he paddled to shore and dragged himself up. Some of the islanders were out in their fishing boats now or walking around the village to cook and clean.


    Arlen dripped his way inland toward his hut. His hunger only let him rest for a few minutes, though, and he sought out the communal grill. The cooks were finishing up their flatbread and tossed him a piece to juggle in his hands till it was cool.


    While he ate, Voz arrived, looking startled. "You''re back? You gave up already?"


    "It worked already. I don''t know what the vision I saw means."


    Voz shushed him. "Mystic insight comes after breakfast."


    "Agreed."


    They went to Arlen''s hut and Voz said, "The spirits blessed you, then?"


    Arlen described what he''d seen. Voz''s ears lay flat and he went quiet, finally answering, "The will of the spirits is hard to read, sometimes. It''s best that you not discuss it with others. Especially not with Chief Thoko, understand?"


    "Voz, is there some problem between you and him?"


    The shaman turned away, wringing his hands. "You wouldn''t understand. Our land has changed since he took power, but it''s better that we move forward now. He has plans and in the long run, they''ll help."


    "What''s this I''ve heard about an island full of ghosts?"


    "Newshore. Or Death Island as some call it. We left it alone for ages, but now it''s being slowly tamed. Hence the iron weapons and armor."


    "Which he gets from these Mirefolk, in return for letting them raid other islands?"


    Voz turned toward Arlen with his webbed hands gripping the sides of his own head. "I know, I know! The Mire is a wild and untameable island, for now, and the people are beasts. They would attack their neighbors anyway. Thoko made them useful by harvesting the ore. It fits together, see? We gradually solve one problem and make the best of a bad situation. Don''t come here from spirits-know-where and think you know it all."


    "All right," said Arlen. "I need to learn before I''m qualified to have much of an opinion. Since the spirits chose to accept me, can you start teaching me magic?"


    Voz relaxed somewhat. "That''s something I can control more fully. Hold out your hands."


    The first lesson didn''t take long. Though Arlen lacked the webbing between his fingers, Voz showed him how to cup a bit of water between his palms and then focus on it, until a pale glow rose from his skin like fog. The water floated into it and stayed there, inches above his fingers. Until his concentration broke and he lost it all.


    Voz finally smiled. "That''s a start. Practice... but say nothing of this vision."

 The Gilded Cage

    A few days later, High Chief Thoko summoned him. Rain was falling this afternoon, and Arlen sat outside trying to repel it. He was cross-legged, concentrating. The motes of magic around him stood out even with his eyes closed, like heat or sound but extending farther beyond his body. The sensation by itself was a wonder that, with practice, might let him walk around in pitch darkness.


    He returned to the palace to sit cross-legged next to the fire.


    The ruler on his throne platform looked down at Arlen with curiosity. "The spirits have accepted you, eh? Show me."


    Arlen stood up and demonstrated his meager skill. He could still only make a ball of water and have it hover near his fingers, but absorbing that much pure water from the humid air was a potentially life-saving trick by itself. "I thank them for the gift and hope to get better with it."


    A guard made him sit again, and then Thoko said, "I would not have tested their opinion of you so quickly, but it''s for the best. You have made yourself useful already. My court should have one such as you. So, you will stay here. Advise the people of Decim in the making of tools and what other things you can do."


    It was an honor, but he probed the limits of it. "I would like to visit the other islands and learn more."


    Thoko laughed, and most of his advisers joined in. "Some you would not like to visit. No, you should stay here. I will make sure we learn what we can from you before any risk. Then, maybe, under guard."


    Gilded cage, thought Arlen. He thanked the chief and was allowed to leave his presence. Beside the islands'' master, there still sat that hammer. Arlen was about to leave, but stopped to point and ask, "What is that?"


    Voz shifted uncomfortably. Thoko hefted the weapon, a heavy one-handed piece with a square head. Good for smithing and skulls alike. "I call it Tomorrow''s Impact. An example of how our metalworking can make us strong."


    No ancient relic, but a modern creation of his own industry. Arlen bowed and thanked him on the way out.


    #


    Life on Decim Island pleased him. There was no official salary, but he was understood to have a job. He was self-conscious of being an outsider no matter how he dressed, either in native garb that struck him as too little or in his Earth clothes that were usually too hot. Other parts of his life were an awkward in-between, too. The people had some notion of sanitation, but that meant foul latrines for the most part. He could admire their solution while still wrinkling his nose at it.


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    The food was monotonous but the menu was at least filling and plentiful: fish, berries, several herbs and vegetables, and that bread he thought of as wheat pita. The fact that they had grain farming surprised him. Then there was a version of sugarcane, which meant a little rum distillery that put out enticing sugary smells. He thought of it as the beginning of a chemical industry.


    The population of Decim was in the mid thousands, said to be the largest in the Echoing Isles. The total population seemed to stand at over ten thousand, but the concept of a census was new to Thoko and intrigued him to hear. "I should know what I have."


    He worked more and more with the smiths and in the process, explained the idea of gears, springs, and levers. Easier said than done, of course, but in a day he carved a crude wooden gear and sketched an improved mechanism for the potter''s wheel, to be run by a comfortable up-and-down foot treadle. "Many other tools can be built this way."


    The smiths and especially the overworked young apprentices were impressed. Arlen added, "It would be helpful if more of you could write."


    "That''s shaman stuff," said one of the smiths.


    Arlen had been learning what he could of the local system, a set of simple marks with many forty-five degree angles or octagonal patterns. There was a plant similar to the cattail reed that could make a rough, heavy paper sometimes waxed and used as a window covering. Arlen contemplated a sheet of it that he''d brought along, and said, "Writing doesn''t have to be a hidden shamanic skill. They can keep their secrets, and you can have your own."


    The other master craftsman said, "And why do you care about pottery? It keeps the women busy."


    "A better method will make them happier, right? Seems like something you''d want. Why aren''t any of them here at the smithy?"


    The all-male gathering grumbled at his suggestion. "It''s not fit work for them."


    The women of Decim Island cooked and farmed, and there were a few doing crafting jobs like basket-weaving. But they weren''t getting the range of opportunity he was used to. His first thought was to blame Thoko on the grounds that devoting people to the new metalworking industry was tied to keeping the ladies at home. Really though, what he''d seen of Opaline had been much the same. That was just how it had always been, for these people. There was very little "industry" of any kind, either; smithing was still an aberration, a personal project of the high chief rather than a vital part of island life.


    The basic question was what he wanted out of this new life. He had skills and knowledge from another world that could push the islands toward... something new. A technological future. He couldn''t give them airplanes or engines, but he could dream up enough tricks to make an early Iron Age culture with an interest in growth and exploration. And maybe he really could pierce the wall of storms someday and see what was beyond it.


    Which raised the question of why he wanted any of that. The Echoing Isles lived in splendid isolation of the sort that any travel agency from his world would advertise as "paradise". His background gave him reason to be cynical about any such claims, and he knew already that the high chief ruled lands of monsters and raiders. So, there were things to fix. Even if Arlen really had found paradise, he''d ask, "Now what?"

 Local Traditions Of War and Alliance

    He was daydreaming about schools and factories back at his hut, at sunset, when three women arrived. He sat up and said, "Can I help you?"


    They grinned, bearing bowls of fish and vegetables for four. The tallest of them said, "Thoko sent us to pick from."


    Arlen blushed and mumbled. Okay, yes, he didn''t mind, and he supposed it was better than being assigned all three at once. But... "Did you get any choice in this?"


    "It was a strong suggestion. We''re of age, and he wanted you to settle down."


    Of the three, two seemed to be sisters, each tall and strongly built, with the bright green eyes of the chieftain. The third was a somewhat rounder girl with a cruder but more colorful skirt and top, and a nervous expression. All cute, and he didn''t know a thing about them but guesswork. Arlen''s fists clenched. "This isn''t how we do things where I''m from."


    The younger sister said, "But you live here now."


    "When in Rome," he muttered. But no, it was one more sign of him not getting to control his life. "I''d like to get to know you all, but I can''t choose today. I want to see more of the isles."


    Though the third lady nodded, the other two were a bit annoyed he wasn''t ready to grab one like a new shirt off a display rack. So the older sister said, "Let me spend time with you first, then."


    That left him with one suitor at a time, anyway, with the others sent away. He said, "Are you Thoko''s daughter?"


    "Niece. How did you learn to build these things you''re working on?"


    He tried to relax in his shabby hut, where there was hardly room for two to sit on the straw mats. There was so much to be done! He explained, "In a faraway land there were people who valued designing new things, and rewarded it, and most could read so that there was an ever-growing record... It''s complicated."


    "We don''t need a thousand years of history to know how to do things."


    "You do, if you don''t want them to rust away and collapse."


    She said, "Seems to me that now that we have the bits and pieces washing ashore, and somebody to explain them, it doesn''t much matter which bearded sage thought them up or why."


    Arlen relaxed and smiled, because he''d decided he had no real interest in this woman. He talked about exotic lands and factories, then asked about the islands. "Have you seen the Roaring Storm?"


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    She had. The boats were well made for the technology level, but mostly kept within sight of land... or the Storm. It was said their ancestors had miraculous ways of navigating by the stars, no longer necessary and now forgotten. She''d also been to Stormhowl Island with her sister and gone sliding in the mud there, a tradition. That was fun to hear, and they talked about sleds and skis. The only place around here with snow was the peaks of Catacomb Island, the place of stone men.


    That made him sit up straighter. The woman explained that creatures of rock and light moved by some enchantment there, guarding a ruin of the Builders.


    "The Builders were people? Not just another name for the spirits?" He''d heard the term offhand. Now, he was thinking of the supposed ghost battlefield and of ruins.


    She frowned. "I want to hear more about you, not talk about some bunch of angry eccentrics."


    He let her draw him into talking more about home, but for her the only interesting parts were what she''d see if she could visit Earth today, not why or how such things as roller coasters or televisions existed. So when the sun set and she left to return to the single womens'' quarters, he''d had a pleasant conversation but wasn''t sorry to end it.


    He also had other goals besides picking a wife right now. That could wait. He wanted to see more of this new home.


    #


    In the morning he asked about borrowing a boat, and was told to petition Thoko. He had to wait behind several other islanders who had disputes to settle, over a reckless brawl and harsh words last night. To Arlen''s surprise, the high chief ordered a duel right outside.


    The two men involved in that argument stood in a cleared space, behind wooden shields, shouting insults at each other. A crowd gathered to watch and jeer. Each man had three javelins. Thoko called out a ritual challenge to them both, and one of his servants displayed a bundle of three black arrows while chanting something about them being "the High Chief''s might".


    The duelists feinted and circled. Arlen kept well back. Those javelins looked sharp! One man threw and the other blocked with his shield. Then a second spear flew and went wide, into the audience. People leaped out of the way, barely in time. Another exchange of blows, one thudding deep into a shield and scratching the arm that held it. Its holder howled in anger and threw his last spear well, catching his enemy in the leg. Then he started forward but someone shouted, reminding him he must not. The other guy had the right to throw, still. A feint, a half-step, a pained staggering hop, and then the last javelin flashed out. Its target didn''t trust his shield and flinched away. The shaft sailed past him and struck a woman.


    Horrified, Arlen rushed in to try to help. Someone grabbed him, held him back. The duelists threw down their shields and went at it with their bare hands. Arlen said, "Are you people crazy? We''ve got wounded here!"


    The island''s main shaman-doctor was an old man, and when he shouted people listened to him. They let him drag the woman with a spear through her hip a little way off from the brawl. Arlen helped, wincing at her pained gasps. Now that she was away from the fighting fools, the doc pulled the weapon out of her -- no barbs -- and went to work with a splash of rum, a rag to bite on, and magic. His face was stony and he said nothing to her, only directing an apprentice boy to watch and help. Arlen muttered reassurance to the lady and tried to hold her steady.


    Cheers and jeers sounded from the duel beside them. Arlen didn''t care. "Savages."

 Challenging the Moon

    He was alone and fuming about the fight an hour later. Maybe he''d been too harsh. These people didn''t have courts beyond the wisdom of Thoko and his appointed minions, and Thoko himself had been in the audience enjoying the show. He knew all too well from his homeland that laws and judges meant nothing when the basic honesty and honor of the system behind them broke down. So were these people on the way up, clawing their way from total ignorance to something better? Or on the way down, remembering bits of an ancient "Builder" culture and hardly caring?


    A minor courtier of Thoko''s court fetched him. "Weren''t you in line?"


    "I''d forgotten. Thanks."


    So he found himself back in the palace, where the high chief said, "A little too much excitement, eh?"


    Arlen knelt. "Is this common?"


    Thoko shrugged. "I dueled three times before I became a chief. The young men have their blood up."


    "It wasn''t just their blood."


    "It''s a lesson to us all, that we mustn''t let our feuds spill over to hurt others. A man should stand and take the blow or block it if he can, or others might suffer."


    He could see the wisdom in it, but not in using bystanders to make a point about feuds. "Where my people''s young men have fights like this, it''s in a fence that holds back any threat from the audience."


    "Hmm. I see good and bad in that."


    Arlen said, "I want to see the Roaring Storm, and the other islands."


    "Why?"


    "To see the severity of the storm, and what the other islands are doing with iron and other tools."


    "Then I''ll have someone take you out on a boat tomorrow to see the edge of our domain. You should be back by sunset. As for other travel, I think not; the people there can''t be fully trusted with you. I''d prefer you stay here, and I bring you craftsmen to train."


    Arlen thanked him and left the palace, but felt once more that he was the high chief''s property.


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    #


    He''d been training occasionally with the martial artists. Magic was a key part of doing them well, in their opinion. Now that he could wield a bit of that power for himself, they taught him a way of conjuring a bit of water rapidly, flinging it in such a way that it became a hailstone in mid flight. He grinned when he finally got the trick to work. Turning and stepping with his instructors, he lashed out with one palm and his hand glowed, chilling painfully for an instant before the humid air crushed inward and lanced ahead where he aimed. A ragged golf-ball-sized chunk flew out and struck bare sand.


    "Missed the target, though!" said the lead fighter. A painted plank stood untouched in front of Arlen.


    "I''ll keep trying!"


    There was an art to it, not just in the sense of difficulty but in how it felt to do the steps, the bit of mental and physical gymnastics to turn will into reality. The islanders understood it all as a gift of the spirits, and he was learning the techniques only at a surface level. His handful of magic lessons with Voz or others were more studious, involving sitting cross-legged and calling to his chosen element slowly. This too was a skill that rewarded patience and care.


    The people had been doing this for many generations. On the one hand, they hadn''t much improved at it, and were confused at being asked what new spells they''d invented in the last century. Vaguely offended, even. On the other hand, a tradition had built up of master and apprentice, prayers and meditation, elegant forms he''d heard of but barely seen yet. Voz had not formally accepted him as a trainee and was humoring his curiosity. So during one of the more sedate lessons Voz offered, Arlen asked him, "Do you think it''s wrong of me to try developing new spells?"


    The shaman-adviser''s eyes were shut and a ball of water and swirling air hovered between his hands. He had advanced far enough to beg the spirits for another of their three elements. He said, "I''m less of a traditionalist than most. It''s not wrong to try, but there are ways that work and others that don''t. Those of the spirits are stronger than we can ever imitate."


    "Where I''m from, there''s a constant struggle to find some new tool or material or crop." They were sitting outside in early evening, and the moon had come up. Swirling clouds hinted at new lands to explore, with much more promise than barren Luna. "You see that, there? My people would take one look at that and say: That''s a challenge. We''re going to go there somehow."


    Voz laughed and the spell burst between his hands, dropping rain onto his lap. "You arrived, looked at the moon, and challenged it to a duel?"


    Arlen grinned and scratched one ear. "Well no, my first thought was that I was obviously a long way from home. And the shockjaw critter challenged me right after."


    "That''s your lesson, then. You have the potential for a good life here without trying to rip it all up and rebuild it for some goal you can''t really reach."


    Arlen could sympathize. "What about Thoko''s goals, though? He seems to want more and more tools and weapons. I thought you approved of that."


    "I... will not speak out against the High Chief. Solving some of our local problems is a job worth doing. In the meantime, study what you can. If you do want to innovate, you should know the basics first!"


    That was certainly true.

 Edge of the Storm

    The next morning, he set out. Two sailors of Decim Island brought him to a canoe with an outrigger, a long side-buoy helping with stability. One of the pair was a mage of basic wind talent, who conjured a steady breeze to fill their crescent-shaped sail.


    Arlen watched how he did it and asked a few questions. The method involved gathering matter with the hands, in this case air, but it was a stream that the man directed continuously past him. "A jet!" said Arlen.


    Having seen that, he tried using the same idea with his hands in the water, hoping to push the sea along. His calm attempts to contain a glob between his fingers and his combat-focused freezing hadn''t prepared him for that. But he kept trying over hours of sailing, no matter how silly his hand-waving and splashing looked and despite falling overboard twice.


    Around noon, he felt a distant rumble. The sky that was pale blue everywhere else had grown a dark indigo ahead. The sailors with him left off their casual talk about fish and dueling and women, and focused on their work. They veered slightly starboard to avoid approaching head-on.


    Then the Roaring Storm was in his ears like a waterfall. Continuous hammering of sea and booming of thunder. The clouds had thickened into a wall that grew more and more plain, stretching all the way ahead. "A wall!"


    "Of course," said one sailor. "And a pit. The water drops off."


    "What do you mean?" The storm filled the whole horizon. Silver lightning danced through violet fog.


    "You sail much farther, and you fall like someone''s dug a trench all around our islands. Then you get flung up into the sky and struck by lightning."


    "That''s impossible."


    "Sure; want to try?"


    "Can we get a little closer, please?"


    The current here was bizarre, pushing them this way and that. The sail beat forward and back like a drum. The thunder had several pitches and it never stopped for long. Though the boat''s mast wasn''t tall or thick, he could climb it a little to peer down. In the roiling clouds ahead where sky met sea, there was a line of white water that bubbled and crashed as though this whole patch of ocean were ringed by a waterfall. A flat disc continually spilling outward, maybe. Or a fountain, or some kind of suction yanking moisture upward from the seabed and flinging it into the storm and down again. Arlen hungered for a logical explanation but it was beyond him, even in terms of magic spells.


    He leaned outward from the mast, saying, "A little closer! I need to know!"


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    The sailors cursed him out and dragged him down, so they could pilot away from there and not study the mystery by leaping into its mouth.


    #


    He returned to Decim by nightfall as planned. He sat around a campfire, eating vegetables and bread, and thinking. How could anyone see that and not dwell on how it worked, what colossal force controlled it? The sheer energy behind it could power a city! The volume of water had to create some massive effect on the ecology of the whole region. That much magic could be measured, charted, theorized about. It was big and loud!


    The other diners stomped and hooted. A woman had stepped up toward the fire wearing a grass skirt, a tight palm-fiber top, and bracelets trailing long ribbons. Drummers beat a tune and she began whirling and hopping, slowly at first. Feathers bobbed in her hair.


    She was the younger niece of Thoko. She spun dangerously close to the fire, but every step was carefully placed. Her bare feet stamped the sand and Arlen unconsciously stamped to the same beat from his own bench. The drums banged and someone shook a metal sheet, making thunder. She raised one arm and Arlen''s gaze followed the motion all the way up along her side, then stayed with her hand as she turned and shook and waved. Until her palm rested on her heaving chest, and then his attention was there for another round of motion. She paced and hopped with muscle and precision. Even her tail was part of the act, swinging for balance until he couldn''t imagine how she stayed upright without it.


    He sat up in alarm because she''d made a mistake. The long streamers from her wrists touched the campfire and ignited at the ends. He and others gasped. She only smiled. She turned, whirling them around so that embers shined around her in bright arcs. Flame consumed them slowly. She paused and deftly untied one, then the other, and spun each time to swing the burning cloth around and cast it into the fire.


    Then, at last, she seemed to look directly at Arlen and smile, just a little. He couldn''t move. Then she turned and began walking away. The crowd erupted in hoots and cheers. With a playful shake, she was gone, only showing how exhausted she was as she faded into the night.


    She hadn''t spoken a single word. Arlen was speechless for the rest of the night, in turn.


    #


    The next day, he was sitting on the fringes of Thoko''s throne room, his presence requested so that he could give his thoughts on the Roaring Storm. Most likely the ruler wanted to be amused by the outsider''s thoughts, but he''d also expressed interest on the idea of breaking through it.


    He was still gathering his words when a group entered the palace with some argument. Someone was saying, "We have a right to ask it!" and pushed past the guard.


    Thoko shifted on his platform and said, "What is this?"


    The visitors, four of them, included the doctor he recognized from Opaline Island. They knelt before the high chief and the doc said, "We want our boy back. You have a replacement from our island, so you don''t need him."


    Thoko frowned. "Who?"


    "Ar-il-en, the outsider. He arrived on our island, and you took him away."


    One of the other visitors quickly added, "As is your right."


    "So now, you have him. Return the boy."


    Thoko said, "You claim Arlen as one of your own? You suggest that if you cause trouble, I should punish him, and you will care?"


    Arlen froze. They were talking about hostages held for good behavior. Arlen had been warned away from a particular large house that he''d vaguely understood as holding "visitors" but well inland, far from the kind of guest quarters he had.

 The High Chiefs Collection

    The Opaline islanders argued to the high chief, about Arlen''s legal status. "We took him in, tended his wounds, and began teaching him. Is this not a claim of hospitality?"


    "Answer my question," said Thoko. "Would you care if he were harmed?"


    The doctor fumed, and his tail lashed. He''d been helpful and friendly. He kept silent when one of the others said, "Yes, we value his safety. Maybe if he were to marry into our families, it would be best."


    "Ah yes, that sort of thing is a good idea. That''s why I''ve already offered him his choice of wives. How have they been to you, Arlen?"


    He coughed. "I''ve only really spoken with two. Seen two, that is."


    Thoko smiled indulgently, then turned to the Opaline group. "I do like the idea. Your chief''s daughter should marry my son. Then we will all be family."


    From what Arlen understood, the chiefs served by different rules on each island, some hereditary and some more-or-less elected. But Thoko as monarch had effective veto authority. A political marriage to Opaline''s chieftain, as obedient as that man had seemed already, would give Thoko''s family some claim to the "throne" of that island. The high chief probably wanted an unchallenged kingship over the whole region.


    And to start getting that, he''d discovered the idea of keeping hostages. Wonderful.


    Opaline''s men conferred, sounding unhappy. The doctor finally spoke for them. "We''ll take the idea back to him."


    "You have no authority to agree to this? Then you''re done here. Go and ask."


    They left, and Thoko grumbled. "Well, Arlen? Lighten the mood. Tell me of the Roaring Storm."


    Arlen spoke about having to be restrained from sailing into the teeth of it for a better view. Then about its amazing energy and wild speculation of what drove it.


    Thoko motioned for some of his attendants to bring Arlen an array of trinkets. Splintered planks, corroded brass, rope, and glass rounded by waves. A rusty iron saber and a little sea-chest of wood and iron with one intact hinge. "What do you make of my little collection? There are other bits but most is like this. Only hints of something grander."


    The chief climbed down from his perch to stand nearby. His bulky frame was showing fat these days, but he was built like a lumberjack. Arlen felt him looming, and crouched to examine the prizes and make sure to admire them.


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    Arlen gave general praise first, then said, "These certainly seem to be from an ocean-going ship. I''m no expert, but do you see how these planks are sealed together with tar?"


    "Yes, and so we''ve begun trying that with pontoons and outriggers."


    "Ah yes, I''ve seen that. Then you''ve also noticed they''re held together with pegs?"


    The chief bobbed his head, seeming younger now. He crouched beside Arlen and toyed with an iron piece. "Could you draw me a complete ship?"


    "Yes, though I certainly wouldn''t know every detail. Have you seen how the masts and ropes work on such a thing? Your sails are simple."


    "Sadly, no, though I think this piece here was meant to hold a large mast."


    Thoko fetched him a wide, thin slab of stone that had been smoothed over, possibly slate, and a piece of chalk. These themselves were equipment Arlen hadn''t seen yet and wanted for himself. Arlen sketched a few seafaring vessels, from a trireme to a plausible Age of Sail ship to a galleon that Thoko laughed at for its obviously absurd size. Then he said, "What are the little circles you''re drawing on the side?"


    Arlen hadn''t meant to add that detail; he''d begun doodling. "Weapons," he said. "Something like powerful bows."


    "Can you build those?"


    Arlen said "No," quickly and honestly. "But the special bows, maybe. More useful to you in the near term is a bigger, more complex set of sails and ropes." He described the idea of a block and tackle and a pulley system, well within the islanders'' potential to build. Then what was called a "junk" rigging, which he began describing as "like a Venetian blind" before realizing how useless that wording was. It wasn''t an objectively better design than the simple sails the islanders used, but it was a viable and fairly simple option for larger ships.


    Thoko stamped the floor and said, "Good, good! I understand it will take time, but I want you to build all of these things. Maybe my grandchildren will make it through the storm, and see what''s beyond it."


    Voz was still up on one of the lower platforms. He''d been listening, and his ears lay back. "Is any of this going to help the situation on Newshore? Or Gull Crater?"


    "It''s a little much to ask him for a way to kill ghosts, isn''t it? Arlen, have you killed any yourself?"


    "I have not, sir."


    "We''ll be sending more people there soon."


    "From where?" asked Arlen.


    "Everywhere. A few brave volunteers from here on Decim, and... well, the other isles will find some troublemakers or layabouts to send. And this time they''ll hopefully last longer, with some better iron weapons, eh?"


    #


    Arlen found the Opaline group in a guest hut at sunset. The building was nicer than the little doghouse he''d had for himself on Opaline, as this capital island needed more visitors and supplicants. Still, three of the four men were sleeping in little more than the shed Arlen had. The other had apparently found a welcome bed elsewhere.


    The doctor was there. "Good to see you, Arlen."


    "Should I be honored you were offering to make me Thoko''s hostage?"


    "I don''t know. In your lands, is it reasonable to let someone keep a three-year-old boy under an implied death threat to make others obedient?"


    "Your kid?"


    "No, our chief''s. But I swore to see to the health of my home''s people."


    Arlen wanted to snap at him for his hypocrisy. If Arlen was one of Opaline''s rightful residents, he shouldn''t be hung out as a potential sacrifice either. But he couldn''t blame them for looking after their blood relative first. He rubbed his forehead and sighed. "I understand. And I thank you for the training. Maybe we can compare notes sometime."

 The Escape Opportunity

    "Did Voz send you to the spirits?" asked the doc.


    "And I came back, yes." Arlen concentrated and the basic spell sprang up quickly from his fingers, to his delight. Droplets condensed from the air and swirled into a small ball. "Which has also let me begun training to fight with this."


    The doc started to speak, but a spearman came to visit, checking in on the group. "Four in the hut, fine. But you, Arlen, you''re supposed to be back at home."


    "I was just talking about magic training," Arlen said, showing off the spell he still held.


    "All right. But the chief says you''re to spend the night at home."


    Nobody argued. Arlen went along, and he sat in his hut with a different guard who''d been assigned to keep him company. Arlen kept quiet and occupied himself with magic practice.


    Over an hour later, leaves rustled. Arlen looked up from his work, done by moonlight and the chilly glow of spells. The guard had wandered off and a man from the Opaline group peeked in. The man whispered, "Do you want to leave?"


    Arlen opened his jaw but found no words. To stay meant being a court slave to a tyrant... or put another way, a favored member of that court and an in-law of the royal family. To be conscripted to build weapons to dominate the region, but also to lift a small nation centuries ahead in technology. To be a well-funded builder and teacher wearing a yoke and living near hostages.


    To leave meant... what? Betraying a chief who''d offered him a good life in a gilded cage. (And he hadn''t even dated that third lady yet.) Siding with Opaline in a conflict he poorly understood.


    The man waiting for an answer said, "If you do, then run when you hear a bird call." He was gone. The guard returned moments later, yawning.


    Arlen sat with his head on his hands. Some amount of what Thoko was doing, Arlen could overlook as the price of progress, or innocent mistakes. But there were too many marks of a tyrant about him. If Arlen could have his own freedom, he could contribute to the islanders'' future without one man getting to dominate how his ideas got used.


    When a screech came from what could''ve been a jungle parrot, Arlen tried to slip out past the lazy guard. He got a few paces downhill and heard the man call out, "Hey!" behind him.


    Arlen panicked and started running. The guard chased him, hesitated and looked around, then followed again. Arlen fled toward the beach. His boots pounded on dirt. Shadows stretched across his path and he stumbled into a tree. His pursuer caught up. Arlen recovered and lashed out with a punch that flashed blue-white and struck from several paces away. He was off again. Down to the beach where people were sleeping. The one who''d been following him wasn''t in sight, but another group had just reached the beach and was rushing to launch a boat. That was Arlen''s ride! His lungs burned as he ran.


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    The group he''d thought was working together, was fighting. Two of them were Thoko''s guards, brawling for control. One of the fleeing party carried a bawling little kid over his shoulder and could hardly fight while doing that. Arlen sucker-punched a guard and tried to kick the other, which only got his attention. Good enough! The boat started moving. Arlen got grabbed and spun around. A fist struck him in the chin. He reeled. As he''d been taught, he twisted and did an expert counterattack in his head, but in reality he fell over and the guard landed on him. They flailed at each other on the wet sand. Thoko''s man reached for his spear. Arlen used the distraction to squirm aside, kick him, and hop toward the boat.


    Another guy had a knife. The boatmen had oars and somebody jabbed at him. Arlen barely dodged their blows. He shoved the boat toward the sea and got in. But his attacker kept coming, driving a spear at him. Arlen got nicked on the arm and he kicked back desperately. A second stab missed by inches.


    The guards were arguing now. "Forget it! Get more guys!" People in nearby huts had started to hear the muffled fight and peek out.


    One of the men was still trying to get Arlen in particular. A timely oar thrust barely saved him from a blow to the spine. Arlen sat up and did another icy punch that made the spearman step back to dodge. Their boat was in waist-deep water now, approaching the stone breakwater by the spirit cave. The persistent guy took out a knife, threw aside his spear, and began swimming after them. Like all his kind he was good at it, thrashing his rudder tail side to side. All he had to do was delay the escape for a few minutes.


    Arlen put his hands in the water and tried that current spell again. He felt the water churn and flow past him. Their boat swerved away from the breakwater, where a woman was approaching. The sail caught the wind and they picked up speed. People shouted from the shore.


    A hand grabbed for Arlen. He yanked his own arms out at the last second. The swimming guard grabbed the boat and came up for air, shouting, "Stop, now!" Arlen kicked him in the face. A rower whacked his hand. Then he was down again but not out. In the distance men were readying a second boat to follow them. Arlen risked trying magic again in the water, propelling them onward. The rest of the group was rowing, but for the terrified toddler and the doctor, who was holding up a gemstone pendant and making wind whip and whistle through it. A natural evening breeze blew out to sea and they rode that as hard as they could.


    They were all exhausted now. Arlen was strained in some magical sense he didn''t understand, like a chill in all his muscles. "Can they catch us?"


    The swimmer had given up and retreated to the breakwater. The pursuing boat was visible in the distance but the island had faded into the night. The doc said, "Doubt they''ll be any faster; we picked a good boat. Might shoot at us. If they do, we''ve got this." He nudged a bow and quiver that someone had snuck aboard.


    Arlen stretched, then traded places with one of the oarsmen to use his actual muscles. "Thank you."


    The doc frowned. "You weren''t our main goal. Thought it''d be worth fetching you if we could, though."


    "You still helped me. Thoko was treating me as a permanent unwilling guest."


    One of the other rowers took a moment''s break and looked up at the full sail. "Yeah, he has plenty of people as ''guests'' on Newshore, too. You did the right thing, outsider, giving up life with him."


    Arlen still wasn''t sure of that. He looked out to the dark sea and said, "The die is cast."

 A Listing of Isles

    They arrived on Opaline Island after a long, unpleasant sail. The forces of Decim hadn''t followed them this far but knew where to find them. Everyone disembarked and saw the chief waiting for them. He''d been pulled out of bed and now stood there in a fancy feathered outfit, with a smile that didn''t match his haunted eyes. "My friends, welcome home! And you have my son, and the honored wanderer. How wonderful! Come, eat, and tell the tale before you rest."


    Arlen wobbled and flopped onto a seat in the chief''s little palace. He mostly let the others do the talking. But while he was starting to nod off, someone spoke his name, and all eyes turned to him. The chief said, "Can you help defend us, with your metal-flinging weapon?"


    Arlen stood up shakily. "You still have that?"


    The doctor presented it to him. Arlen nodded and took it. He checked the cylinder and held out a cartridge. "It can strike three more times, and then it''s likely useless forever."


    Someone murmured, "Like Thoko''s three Black Arrows."


    "Is that all?" said the chief. He looked to his other advisers. "You said he had more, much more."


    "There are some things I can teach you. Will Thoko send an army here tomorrow?"


    "A what?"


    "A large raiding party."


    "I don''t know. I gambled he would not. Spirits..." He looked up toward his throne platform and private quarters, where his wife fussed over their returned son.


    It was possible that the chief''s gamble had put the entire population in danger of immediate, overwhelming retaliation. Had he thought that far ahead? Arlen''s anger helped keep him awake. By rescuing the kid, let alone Arlen himself, had the man just set off a civil war?


    If there was blame to be had for what was about to happen, Arlen shared it. He said, "I''ll tell you what I can about defending yourselves. But you know more about how you fight than I do, and there''s no way I can radically change things overnight while I''m half asleep."


    The room went quiet. The chief said, "I shouldn''t expect you to work miracles. But if morning comes with war canoes, will you stand with us?"


    "Yes."


    "And if we get through the day, will you teach us then?"


    "That, too. What about the other islands?"


    "Their children live in Thoko''s clutches, too. They don''t dare help us." The chief laughed hollowly. "Everyone, we have our freedom to act, now, and we have the outsider to guide us. Thoko won''t dare strike us yet and that delay will be his undoing. Let us rest for now and make plans tomorrow."


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    #


    Arlen had collected what writing-slates and bits of papyrus-equivalent he could get, and took notes. His first record was for himself, making a chart of the entire domain. It said:


    Echoing Isles, an island chain. Population vaguely over 10,000. Surrounded by the Roaring Storm. Impenetrable and big and loud! 7 islands.


    Catacomb: Giant Builder ruin, good fishing. Most of the island off-limits due to golems.


    Decim: The capital. Big, early ironworking. Hostages. Cave for concacting spirits and getting magic.


    Gull Crater: Old capital. Toxic soil, volcano with direct spirit contact. Lost their heroes when Thoko was the only survivor versus a monster.


    The Mire: Swamp full of raiders. Can''t be invaded. Iron ore (natural bog iron). Mutated?


    Newshore AKA Death: Camp of exiles forced to kill ghosts to survive. Slowly pushing the ghosts back with iron weapons.


    Opaline: Where I arrived. In rebellion. Raided by the Mire; dangerous critters. Cliffs with valuable crystals.


    Stormhowl: Close to the storm. Good with sturdy boats and houses. Bad weather.


    Various tiny islands besides these seven.


    Stormhowl was the one he''d heard the least about and which was the most isolated. As for the crystals of Opaline, he''d heard very little so far. In a meeting the next morning, the chief and his council showed them off: milky structures like quartz or aquamarine, useful for magic. Only about a third of the islanders had any magic ability at all, and of these the spirits had chosen, half had no more than modest ability such as speeding a boat. Arlen had been judged as potentially powerful but not amazing.


    Arlen yawned and paced. The good news was that Thoko hadn''t immediately sent in his marines. Nor did he have any idea what those were. "The first thing I can explain, then, isn''t some new weapon or magic trick. It''s about the difference between warriors and soldiers. You''re brave and strong, but you need to learn to fight as a team. I''ve never seen your men do that."


    He sketched what he meant, by words and drawings. The chief was interested enough to get several dozen spearmen to be Arlen''s students. Arlen had them stand in a close line, stabbing together, moving forward and back together. The moment he had them turn together they whacked each other and several men tripped. "Good hustle," Arlen said, wishing he had a coach whistle to blow.


    They didn''t understand the point. He drilled them and explained further that having a bunch of guys run screaming into battle, each trying to prove his manhood, each trying to land a blow or steal something and then run off, was lousy fighting. An effective force was of a whole different quality, more than the sum of its parts. "With even these basic methods you can beat a larger raiding party."


    They still didn''t see how, but they wanted to believe his methods were a ritual of invincibility. So when he had them march with shields, unnaturally close together, and choose officers for groups of five, he got them to cooperate. When things really began to click was when he had ten traditional screaming teenage yahoos charge at a shield wall of ten. The impact thud made Arlen wince. When the old-school fighters tried to tear their way into the formation by yanking shields aside and slamming through, the brawl got more realistic than Arlen wanted but the defenders at least won. The yahoos lay there groaning and in some cases bleeding on the sand.


    "Halt!" Arlen said. "Let''s heal people up. That''s a good start."


    He was no soldier either, but the islanders weren''t exactly up for advanced tactics anyway. He hoped to get them to master the basic shield wall and the notion of organized retreat... and fortifications.

 An Invitation To the Catacomb

    For that last part, he enlisted the island''s women. He''d asked if he could get them to fight and got only a look of shock and ridicule. So he shrugged and asked them to dig. They''d have ditches that could start as a basic trip hazard and, with enough time, upgrade to pit traps or trenches. Maybe they could make some small fence sections too, to corral invaders. All this was deeply foreign to the islanders. Nobody had ever fought this way.


    One man said, "Although the idea of hiding behind a wall is like what they do on Newshore."


    Arlen encouraged him to tell the class. The guy recounted how he''d once been made to live there for months. The locals had made a wall of logs and mud and rammed dirt and used that to help against the endless hordes. "The monsters that can''t fly over it, anyway. But it helps."


    Arlen loudly answered, "So permanent defense walls do work, even against things worse than people. The more of a defense we can build, the better we''ll do here."


    When a whole day had passed with no attack, the chief decreed there should be a hunt tomorrow, as practice for new tactics. Arlen wasn''t sure his makeshift war methods were suitable replacements for the old ways of hunting, but he shrugged and went along to observe.


    One thing that impressed him, as he followed the barely-trained mob, was that they''d naturally integrated a stone-flinging mage and a few archers into the back of their formation. "Good idea. Hold the enemy off with spear and shield, and shoot over your friends'' heads."


    The mage said, "Sir, shouldn''t you be in the front yourself?"


    Arlen held a spear of bamboo and a hastily made wooden shield, and felt like he was defending himself with a toothpick. "Yeah, sorry." He got into formation on the right edge.


    They also had a forward scout who was an actual professional hunter. Arlen hadn''t needed to tell them to do that. That man whistled and by agreement, the infantry halted. Arlen strained to see. Someone whispered, "Shockjaws."


    Arlen said, "I hate hearing the plural." The group lurched forward, their line wavering. He hissed, "Keep together!"


    Something hissed back. Two of the lizards with lightning-crackling jaws were snapping at each other over a deer carcass. They froze, looking up at the little army. The smarter one backed off but the other hissed and jumped.


    It crashed into two overlapping shields, and their bearers staggered. Men shouted and stabbed in all the wrong directions. Something touched Arlen''s leg. He yelped and fell back an instant before the other critter could bite him, but even the touch of its fangs made his leg go numb. He crashed into the nearest tree.


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    Two arrows whipped past him and into the monster''s throat and body. Then a stone blade flashed into existence and arced overhead. The shockjaw was still up but bleeding, and Arlen could stand up straight and jab his spear. It skittered along the beast''s hide and drew blood along the base of its tail. He winced at feeling flesh tear and hearing the monster howl. Another spearman turned away from the line and helped him with a kick and another stab, and then that shockjaw was dying. Excited shouts came from the left; they''d finished off the other one.


    "Any more?" said Arlen. A shallow cut burned on his leg.


    They searched, breaking formation, and found no more prey. It was a pretty successful trip, and good for morale. As they went home, though, Arlen said, "What good is a thrown magic stone or two, when you have bows?"


    The spellcaster said, "I''m not much of an archer."


    "What do you normally do with your magic? I haven''t learned much and my fancy punching isn''t much better than a spear." In training he''d made the point that adding another spearman to the mass of infantry was probably more useful than prancing around in front of it trying to do cool martial arts moves. Unless you were just that good.


    The answer was, "I shape stonework. With enough work I can help make solid, dry stone floors. I helped Thoko expand his palace a few years ago."


    "Maybe you should be working on the fortifications, then."


    The man glared. "Pits and walls! Do you not think I''m brave enough to fight?"


    "You''re plenty brave. It''s just that the better an army is, the more jobs there are for people who aren''t standing in the front. Same as with the archers, right?" Arlen spun a true tale of military engineers who''d been assigned to build a sea-port on a remote island in a hurry while under attack.


    The spellcaster looked thoughtful. "I guess that''s useful, too. And I''m not hiding from danger; I can still be there with a spear when the attack comes."


    #


    Messengers had gone out to several other islands to ask for at least covert help. There were sympathizers everywhere who''d had friends taken away to the deadly life of a Newshore colonist, or who''d been bullied by Thoko''s other demands. But the first contact that came back was from Decim.


    Arlen missed it; he was training people in the island''s other main village. He came back and heard there''d been two war-canoes from Decim, loaded with a dozen raiders who''d come to "take back what''s ours". Opaline''s sudden militia had met them on the shore. They''d shouted threats and insults, somebody shot an arrow, and the war party turned around without landing or taking a hit. Could''ve gone worse. Except next time, Thoko would know to send more at once.


    Opaline''s next visitor was a fast courier from the island of Catacomb. The tag-team of two sailors signaled for peace and came ashore asking for "the outsider".


    Arlen met them in the presence of the chief and the doctor. The Catacomb men wore bracelets of stone and glass beads. One of the pair walked all around Arlen, saying, "Not one of the people. More like one of those shipwreck victims."


    "I''m a person too," Arlen insisted. "We need your help against Thoko."


    "Our chief wanted to meet you, before we talk about that. Wants to know how strong you are, whether you''re useful."

 The Eavesdropper

    Arlen was about to agree when the Opaline chief said, "How do we know you won''t steal him away?"


    "Our word of honor. And the chief''s." The messenger handed over a glittering necklace of metal shards. If it was iron it was highly polished and oiled, heavy in the Opaline man''s hand.


    Opaline''s chief admired it. "So be it. But are you going to run him through your mad maze?"


    "His decision. We''ll try to keep him safe if so."


    Nobody else questioned the promise, so Arlen went along. He rode with the duo, away from the distant ring of storms and from Decim. "Tell me about the maze."


    "It''s always changing. Mostly empty, and sometimes the golems attack. Nobody knows why the Builders put it there."


    He had to see this place for himself.


    They let him pilot the boat for an hour while both sailors napped, which let them arrive by late morning. A craggy island lay ahead with a beach of grey sand, in the shadow of a mountain. A village huddled near shore, sharing walls and using a mix of finely quarried blocks and later additions of rubble and brick and sod. It gave him the impression of a modern shopping mall, the kind where its core had been torn out to create a collection of strip malls. Barely-tamed boars roamed grassy slopes in the distance.


    His escorts took him to a feast hall. It was built in a false-arch style of triangular stone ceilings, creating several narrow vaults with partial interior walls and columns. The scent of sweet berry pie greeted him even before he saw the woman with a crystal-topped staff, standing up creakily from a padded chair.


    "Hail, traveler," she said, and four islanders beside her waved or nodded. Their table was polished stone, and the chairs...


    "How do you have those?" Arlen blurted out. Each of the six was an elegant wooden frame with decorative iron claw-feet and cushions that could have come from a modern factory. "I''m sorry. I just haven''t seen that kind of worksmanship here."


    The staff-wielding lady cracked a smile. "Will you run away in awe of our furniture?"


    "I''ll stay long enough for pie."


    Arlen took the empty chair and admired it again. The table looked like it was made from grey stone rubble with a smooth top and bottom, but there were other objects around here that didn''t fit with the technology of the islands. "Are those lightbulbs in those holders on the walls?"


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    One of the other guests looked puzzled. "The moon crystals? I suppose you could call them that. They''re from the Catacomb like everything else."


    "Why aren''t they everywhere?"


    The lady at the head of the table said, "Everything we find in there is piecemeal. Some of it stops working if it''s taken away from our home island, like the lights."


    "But the bits of iron, and whatever else there is. Why hasn''t High Chief Thoko filled his palace with the chairs or stripped them for scrap iron?"


    "Well now, that''s a tricky question. But we brought you here to ask a few of our own."


    Arlen gestured to the pie. "Mystic insight comes after breakfast."


    They bribed him with that first, then with a sizzling garlic pastry with bits of pork. Flaky crust, seasoned meat. Arlen hardly spoke till he was halfway through. "Excellent! So, what did you want to know?"


    She gestured, and a man whipped a cloth off of a statue. It stood as a pillar three feet tall, covered in zigzag runic lines, standing on four legs that each ended in a claw. Unlike the chairs, it had distinct joints, and a black glossy stripe ran around its octagonal main body.


    "Have you seen such a thing before, where you''re from?"


    Arlen took a moment to understand. "You call them golems? I recognize the word, in another language. The ones I know of are made of metal and other things, and they can walk and grab things. They''re not smart like a person, though."


    The guests murmured. Their chief said, "So it''s not just some unique spell of the ruins. The Builders must have used them as servants. Traveler, we''ve learned to manipulate these stone creatures a little, making them carry things and stack stones. We feed or pay them with certain crystals, mostly from Opaline. But we have almost no idea how they work. Might you have some insight?"


    "What are you hoping to do with them?"


    "Defend us from any meddlers who''d tell us how to live, hopefully. But we''d also settle for having them not violently defend large stretches of empty land all over the island. We''d make more farms, but we can''t do much more than chase pigs around without golems dismantling what we build. Or occasionally attacking us personally."


    Arlen thought about it while finishing off his garlic pastry. "What I''d expect is that they''re following a very specific set of instructions. They should respond in predictable ways, like following marked paths or recognizing certain shapes. Do they recognize specific people or adapt to what you do?"


    "Probably not." The chief''s ears flicked to one side and she sighed. "You can come out now, Meadow."


    A squeak of surprise came from a shadowy corner full of boxes. A young woman peeked out and grinned sheepishly, stepping into full view. She wore more than most islanders, less decoration and more belts and pouches. "You''re named Ar-il-en?"


    "Arlen. You missed the pie."


    "I know. You lot were torturing me with the smell."


    The chief rolled her eyes. "Meadow is our self-proclaimed expert on the Catacomb and the golems. Since she''s here, she may as well share theories."


    Meadow hopped in place and clasped her hands. "They don''t recognize faces but they do block people in general. Children get pushed away more gently, so the Builders cared about that. We can build outside of specific rectangular areas, and I thought we had them drawn out, but a year ago something changed and a few zones went from allowed to forbidden or vice versa. Small tents are allowed but wood and stone structures get destroyed."


    Arlen chuckled. "Are the villagers paying you to study all this?"


    "They tolerate me."


    The chief said, "To her credit, she has a good record for retrieving things from the Catacomb."

 Dungeon Prep

    Arlen asked, "Are these Builders still here? Maybe they''re the golems themselves? How can this maze of yours be producing more and more trinkets over time if they''re gone?"


    The other table guests had more to say on the subject than Meadow did. One said, "We don''t truly know, but any remaining Builders never show themselves. Our legends say that they were people, tail-less ones like you, who lived here long ago. Kind, but strange and living mostly apart. Then they left for reasons we don''t know."


    "But they only left ruins on this island?"


    "No, they left bits and pieces in the Mire that we''ve never gotten to look at, and some remains on Newshore that the ghosts guard. But the golems only show up here."


    Arlen looked longingly at his empty plate. "Most likely then, the instructions haven''t changed in ages. They''re going to be either written inside each golem, or coming from some central voice inside the island."


    "A voice?"


    "Um, yes; think of it as a kind of whistling too high for your ears to catch."


    "Like a dolphin''s squeaking?"


    "Something like that. My point is that something in your maze might be speaking silently to them to command them. Do they work together, so that one of them knows what another one is doing at the same time?"


    Meadow said, "I haven''t tried that idea out! See? He''s useful."


    The man at the chief''s left said, "She''s drifting off topic again. You too, Arlen. Imagine that you are the islands'' overlord, and you don''t care one whit about how many people die in the process of fully taking over a troublesome island. Similar to what''s going on at Newshore. Based on what you''ve heard, what might you try doing to get past the golems and build things on their land?"


    Arlen frowned. "I wasn''t going to suggest it..."


    "Imagine you are Thoko."


    "Send children to explore and build, on the theory that the golems don''t bother them."


    The chief applauded sarcastically. "You have a little in common, then. When he made us try that, it was one of the rare times the golems became completely erratic and dangerous. Since then, we''ve shared as little information and material with him as we can get away with."


    Arlen couldn''t help asking, "Did the golems start attacking because a bunch of kids were in the wrong area?"


    A man said, "We don''t know and we''re not going to test that." He added several expletives.


    "Yeah, can''t blame you."


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    The chief added, "So we''ve given the impression that nearly anything taken from our island crumbles and breaks. That''s a tradition dating back to before Thoko. Mainly the work of clever fingers and convenient accidents, to make all but some small amounts of scrap iron find their way to the bottom of the sea before reaching our masters on Decim." She wiggled one hand.


    Arlen understood the idea of sabotaging anything Thoko tried to force them to give. "You never trade willingly, though?"


    "We have what we need here, and our fancy trinkets are hard-won."


    "But I don''t see much hand-crafted equipment here. Even those boxes Meadow was hiding behind look like repurposed old designs."


    The chief shrugged. "We do make some of our own things."


    "If the golems ever really stop being dangerous -- that''s what you want, isn''t it? -- then you won''t be protected from Thoko taking a greater interest in the place. They don''t seem to protect you much as it is." Arlen leaned forward, remembering why Opaline''s people wanted him to visit. "If Thoko and his men are such a problem for you, then join forces and resist him."


    The diners grumbled. Some of them obviously sympathized. Their chief said, "Four of our people are either on Decim as hostages, or fighting for their lives on Death Island."


    "Newshore?"


    "The naming of things is important. Newshore is what Thoko started telling people to call it, to downplay the flesh-tearing ghost army."


    "And I thought nobody here had learned the art of marketing. He could find an island of ice and call it Green-land."


    The chief sighed. "He would do that, and more. Now, you spoke to our sailors about training warriors with some mysterious new technique."


    "There''s nothing magical to it. Anyone can learn."


    Meadow suggested, "If you want to prove yourself, come along to the Catacomb. You want to see it anyway, right?"


    He smiled. "I do. As for the hostages, I don''t have a solution yet. But maybe I can help learn about your golems."


    They let him rest until afternoon in a stone room. He slept but also made plans. By proposing an alliance he was protecting Opaline but spreading the rebellion. To people who didn''t like Thoko anyway, sure, but was that justified? He could at least help train these people and make them more capable of self-defense. They weren''t innocent victims of tyranny, though. How could you have a seemingly inexhaustible supply of manufactured treasure, even if you had to loot it piecemeal, and refuse to share it for a fair price? There was nothing wrong with Thoko having a cool eagle-claw chair, in return for some good rum and leather and magic lessons. Instead Catacomb mostly exported pork. If Arlen were in Thoko''s place he would be leaning on Catacomb to let others study artifacts freely, and to do more of their own crafting.


    Any improvement hinged on impressing the people on their own terms. So, it was off to this maze before long. He napped while he could.


    #


    The island seemed mostly empty. Fields stood out with odd gaps and corridors of bare grass between them. "Do the golems keep you from farming?"


    "We have enough growing space, but getting to it can be a pain. Have to move it around whenever the golems decide to claim some new area. Sometimes that even happens a month before harvest and we lose stuff."


    Meadow had little interest in giving him a guided tour. She''d donned a hard leather vest and gotten Arlen another. They each had stone-headed maces crudely reinforced with precious iron. They also carried wooden shields.


    The girl led him to a grey cliff with a door of white rock traced with octagonal designs. She held up a shard of crystal from Opaline that shimmered a deep red-purple.


    "What''s so special about that?" said Arlen.


    "We sort of pour magic into this stuff, and the Catacomb accepts it as an offering." She placed it into a dish built into the carvings, and the gate rumbled open.


    Arlen stared at a hallway of tall, pale walls that glowed softly along their peaks. "I would have traded many shiny things to explore a place like this, back home."


    Meadow said, "Then come on!"


    He walked in, mace and shield in hand. The air inside chilled him and the sounds of birds and distant waves faded out.

 Dungeon Desk

    The halls opened at forty-five degree angles, branching often. Arlen and Meadow peeked into empty rooms before finding one where a golem was at work. Instead of scuttling along on rocky feet like he''d expected, it was hovering at waist height. "What''s it doing?" he said, as it combed along the far wall and emitted beams of pale green light.


    "Watch."


    The wall cracked in a line along the middle, and one half swung forty-five degrees inward. The golem began drifting along another side wall.


    Arlen said, "Will it attack if it notices us?"


    "Probably not. They get more hostile the longer you stay. I tried spending a night here once; bad idea."


    Arlen had brought a small backpack, really a basket with straps. He pulled a stone out of it and sent it skittering up to the wall, in the golem''s path. When the creature reached it, it flew right over without disturbing the debris.


    Arlen said, "Would''ve thought it would push the thing aside. It''s not using a powerful fan or jet. Does any of your magic make things float?"


    "No. What the spirits give us is different from what they gave the Builders."


    "What spells do you have yourself?"


    "None. They didn''t like me enough. I get the sense that your people have something different even from Builder stuff?"


    "Yeah, but some of this I can vaguely understand."


    They continued exploring. "Why is so much of it empty?"


    "This room''s not." Meadow had peeked around a corner. Decorations filled this spot. Regularly spaced pillars filled much of the space, each one etched with more glowing green lines. The walls were intented on two sides. As they watched, a golem emerged from somewhere ahead and slowly pulled a pillar upward. It scanned the thing, and then with another long, echoing grinding noise it lowered the rod again.


    Arlen took a step back. "I''m not sure we should be here. Do people get sick from being around these energy rods?"


    "Huh? Never heard of that happening."


    Arlen tried casting a spell, not to get any effect but to help him perceive the magic around him. As he gathered a bit of icy water between his hands he saw threads of what was called mana winding through the pillar space. That spot was a loom or web for them, intricate and slowly flickering as though fiber were being slowly pulled through it.


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    He said, "Do you... draw pictures of the rooms and halls? I was told that it changes." He would have said the word "map", but it was a foreign concept he sensed had no direct translation. The means of traveling between islands was more about memorizing key locations and directions, turning them into a kind of story to aid the memory.


    Meadow said, "I''ve drawn it, but yes, it changes like the golems'' claims on the land outside. It''s like they''re working on something inside, and it makes them shift the outdoors to match."


    "You''re probably onto something. Has anyone tried taking the rods?"


    She grinned wickedly. "The golems don''t like that, at all. Thoko was the first chief to demand we bring him one. So we begged to have his bully-boys lead a trip into here to grab one, and made sure our guys were closest to the exit. That''s part of why even he has learned to leave this place alone."


    Arlen shuddered, picturing walls spinning inward to crush him.


    They kept searching, and soon found a golem with a cracked hide, floating off-kilter. When it saw them, it charged.


    "Split!" said Meadow, hopping to Arlen''s right. He dodged left. The creature moved slowly but with momentum, like a paint bucket being swung by a drunk man. Arlen sent his mace crashing down through empty air. A green ray flashed out like a punch and knocked him backward. Meadow connected with a light swing of her mace, just hard enough to get its attention. It lurched toward her.


    Arlen recovered and swung. His blow had more force. The mace cracked against its hide and knocked it downward. Its hover effect faltered and it dropped, missing with its next shot. Meadow struck too, beating it down, and Arlen struck a second time and broke something important. The golem crumbled, revealing another of the crystals inside. This one was faceted and polished, still faintly glowing.


    "Loot for us," he said.


    "Not for us. They keep these things."


    "Well, what do you get out of these visits?"


    "Excitement, for me."


    They kept looking, and the next non-empty room was the most out of place yet. There was a big stone secretary desk, littered with stone replicas of a desk lamp, a tray, even a drinking mug. All were rock sculptures fused in place. A false double door marked the far wall, with a trash can. The can itself was real, made of fine wood with a brass rim. Meadow saw it as a prize.


    Arlen paid more attention to the desk. It wasn''t exactly what he''d expect from the lobby of an office building, but it had a stone chair with armrests, also stuck to the floor. He squirmed into it and looked around. From his own culture he expected a keyboard and screen, but the technology here was not just more primitive (maybe) but different. An array of four dials, all fake, stood before him. At one corner stood a socket containing an inert replica of the glowing rods. "If it was all right to sit next to those, I''m more reassured about hanging around near them."


    "Learn anything?" said Meadow, hefting the garbage can. "We''ve seen a room like this before, maybe a throne room."


    "It''s an echo of something that was here once. It was used to watch or control what happened, but the leader didn''t sit here. The user would greet guests and speak to more important people."


    "Notice the chair?"


    "What about it? Oh!" It had seemed ordinary to him for being a replica of office furniture. Made for humans, of roughly his size, without tails.


    "We''ve seen that kind of shape. So we''re pretty sure the Builders were like the legends say; they were like you."


    "Do the stories say why they left?"


    "Yeah. They fought each other, and died. So not everyone today will be glad to see you."

 Mandatory Rest Stop

    They got out of there and back to town. Meadow reported on her own, leaving Arlen to take a break. Then he got summoned to the chief''s place again.


    The staff-wielding lady said, "So you have some insight and some fighting skill. That''s interesting. But if you want to change our situation, we need our people back."


    "From Decim, and from New... I mean, Death Island?"


    She glanced aside, quelling what seemed to be an ongoing argument from her inner circle. "Three of our kin are on Decim. The fourth hostage is on Death Island, and arguably he deserved it. I would be satisfied knowing that the three are back safely."


    "If that happened, you''d then be free to say No to whatever Thoko demands."


    "We would. The question then is how we might make that happen."


    Arlen was glad the discussion had moved to "we". He began talking about military tactics.


    The chief shushed him after a few minutes. "That''s probably useful, but a large and loud raid isn''t what we need. Not against the heart of the High Chief''s domain. Since you have water magic, have you learned yet how to breathe underwater?"


    #


    Arlen went back to Opaline exhausted and shaken. They''d given him a crash course in a more advanced magical technique. It drew on both his martial arts style and the more sedate, prepared kind of casting. With a halo of magic around his head, the water grew thinner and he could gulp it down, flooding his lungs without drowning.


    It had not been a fun lesson, what with instructors forcing him underwater for minutes at a time and warning him he''d either learn or ruin the plan. When his spell finally rippled into existence at his own desperate command, they made him stay under even longer and get used to feeling he was going to drown. Finally they let him up and he lay miserably on the beach, retching up saltwater again and again.


    When he could finally talk, he groaned and said, "I like the air bubble method better. Can we do that instead?"


    His instructor, a beefy old fisher who didn''t look like a wizard at all, laughed and slapped him on the back, making him hiccup. "Better to know how to do it yourself, with what element you''ve got! This lasts longer anyhow."


    So after that wonderful experience, Arlen sailed back, and a party of three fighting men came along, including the fisher-mage. Spears and rope and bows filled half the space in their two boats.


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    On Opaline Island, there was a conference that Arlen was only allowed to hear some of. All the proposed raiders shared a drink of rum and a good meal. They trained for a while, rested, and prepared to leave by evening.


    #


    A total of six boats and twenty men were ready. For the islanders it was a significant war expedition. But as Arlen had suggested, there was staging and trickery involved. It began with ignoring the Guiding Reef.


    His allies didn''t understand. They patiently explained how anyone sailed from the one island to the other. When they began telling the story of how it was discovered, Arlen interrupted. "In Thoko''s place, how would you watch for an attack from Opaline?"


    One warrior said, "From the shore of Decim, maybe up a tree."


    "From the reef!" said Arlen. "He''ll have somebody there, ready to ride and sound the alarm."


    "But you can''t just wait on the reef."


    "Is there something preventing you from sitting on the platform with some bread and water for a few days? It''s above high tide and most waves."


    "But nobody does that. You rest and then move on."


    Arlen slicked back his hair. "Arrgh. All I''m saying is, we can sail around the reef by a few miles and then we won''t be spotted. You know which direction the target is."


    The doctor of Opaline gave him a sympathetic smile. "Arlen, I think I understand your fear. But Thoko won''t put sentries on the reef. He just wouldn''t. He''ll trust in his own defenses. Besides, the other part of the plan will work."


    The Catacomb folk had agreed to send word to Decim to warn their master that Arlen was there, building something dangerous in the ruins. That would hopefully draw some fighting men away.


    Arlen went along with something like a traditional raiding plan, modifying it as much as he could get away with. When the six boats reached the Guiding Reef, Arlen was on edge, climbing the tallest mast as much as he could to see. No, there were no sentries, no canoes rushing onward to warn the boss. Arlen came down and shook his head. "And Thoko is the really forward-looking one."


    "Forward to what?" asked the fisher-mage.


    "That''s a good question."


    The group managed to catch a little sleep under canopies, there on the reef and before and after. Someone told the story of how the reef was found.


    They timed the assault to happen late at night. Rain began at sunset and turned the sky crimson and black. Arlen worried for Shark Team, the squad assigned to hit another part of the beach and be ready to start a fire as a distraction. They''d figure it out though; survival skills were their specialty.


    He was on Shell Team. The very idea of splitting up and coordinating was new, and had required him to get some women to give out necklaces of shark teeth and shells to make it feel official. (No seals available, sadly.) He had three boats of would-be heroes nearby, and a fourth hanging back with empty seats, slightly less brave archers, and a healer. The other two boats were Shark Team''s.


    The shore was barely visible ahead, dark. The sailors grew quiet and displayed no lights. Arlen refused to believe Thoko had zero sentries on shore, so he''d talked himself into a tough job. On a signal, he and nine others dropped into the sea.


    Arlen cast the spell he''d learned so reluctantly, using his will and concentration to weave some aspect of oceanic power around his body. It felt like threads pulling tight. Then, he winced and gulped down seawater. After a few terrible seconds he adjusted and could swim. His eyes stung and blurred.


    When he''d described the idea of swimming goggles earlier, the natives had looked at him funny. "You can''t see well underwater?"


    "Huh." These people were obviously more aquatic than normal humans, so maybe they had that problem covered too.

 The Escape

    He pushed ahead through the sea, trusting in the splashing of his companions ahead of him. A few of them knew similar spells but others relied on bobbing to the surface every so often to sneak another breath.


    The other men had deliberately slowed themselves, too. They were dragging along a log weighted with stones, an improvised backup canoe.


    It took longer than he''d thought to reach the shore. Magic gill-spell or no, his lungs ached and his muscles trembled. How was the rest of the squad so much faster? Oh right, rudder tails and webbed hands. He despaired of even reaching land before his body quit.


    Then he kicked sand and a wave plowed him into the beach face-first. He lay there dazed and shuddering, hacking up water.


    His men were already up and shaking him, whispering, "Come on! They''ll see us!"


    They had to drag him to his feet and he could hardly stagger after them. His cheeks burned; he was a liability. Rain spattered along his back.


    They went inland to a site Arlen had rarely seen. Keeping to the shadows let them avoid notice. Ahead lay a longhouse with relatively sturdy wooden walls and a solid wood door.


    "Where we found the kid," whispered one of the Opaline men.


    But a guard sat in front of the door, doodling in the dirt and rolling pebbles around. Swiftly, one of the squad tossed a rock to clatter against a boulder to the man''s left. Then three men crouch-walked closer from the right, and when they made enough noise for the guard to hear, they jumped him. He hardly got out a squeak before they put a knife to his throat and suggested he shut up.


    "Has he got the key?" said Arlen, stepping out of the shadows.


    "The what?"


    Arlen looked to the door. It had a simple wooden deadbolt, easy for a strong man to lift. He decided not to boast that his civilization knew far more about imprisoning people and deterring thieves.


    With the door open, Arlen peeked in, and cursed. "Nobody''s here!"


    One of the team questioned the guard. "Where are they?!"


    The guard himself looked surprised. "Thought they were being quiet." Under further prompting he said, "If they''re not here, maybe... yeah, I thought I saw the ''guests'' being led to the womens'' quarters this evening. Didn''t make the connection."


    That was close by, anyway. Arlen helped tie the guard up, gag him, and stuff him into the house he''d been guarding. That''d buy time.


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    The two-story building with its thick hedge was a more secure site. A vigilant guard stood near a burning brazier that hissed and sizzled in protest against the rain. Only one door. Chief Thoko might not have been fully prepared for a commando raid (as Arlen liked to think of it) but he had learned something from having Arlen and that boy stolen from his kind hospitality.


    The fisher-mage from Catacomb stared and sniffed into the shadows. "Reeks of magic. I sense some kind of trap worked into the ground."


    Arlen asked, "Can we get through the hedge?"


    "Give me half an hour with a machete."


    Another man said, "I would put the prisoners on the upper floor if I were worried. There''s a balcony... Any ideas, outsider?"


    Arlen thought about grappling hooks. A sturdy tree stood nearby. "Can you tie that spare rope to a spear, then wedge it into the balcony rail there? Quietly?"


    One of the other team members specialized in wind magic. "I can muffle the sound for a minute. I think that trap on the ground will make noise if we touch it."


    The unorthodox spear technique took some work. Fortunately the tree and the balcony were in the back of the building, with only trees and a garden nearby. Their best thrower chucked their grappling hook, landed it in the hedge, swore, and took a while retrieving it. Arlen sweated. On the second throw, the spear fell between two vertical beams of the balcony railing and caught. Good!


    They walked the near end of the rope over to the tree and tied it there, creating a line between the branches and the building.


    The little upper-floor door opened. Everyone held their breath. Then an old man peeked out and went wide-eyed. He ducked back inside and came back with more people staring across and down. Arlen and company waved and shushed them and beckoned for them to cross.


    Looked like seven hostages in all, from multiple islands. Two youngsters, an old man, three women, and a scarred man. They got the idea quickly but struggled to cross.


    "I''ll help," said one of Arlen''s team. Arlen didn''t trust his muscles to get him across alone, let along carrying anyone.


    But he helped hold the rope from his side, anyway, and the strong volunteer made two trips to fetch a child and one of the women. It took agonizingly long and then the last crosser, a woman, fell into the hedge.


    She managed not to cry out as she got tangled in sharp branches. Arlen darted closer with several others to try freeing her. She whimpered and let everyone rock her free of the thorny chair. She fell and had to be helped up. But she stood, ignoring her many cuts, and said, "Never mind. Let''s go."


    In the distance, smoke trailed into the sky. Arlen hadn''t needed the distraction but it was welcome. He helped usher everyone toward shore. There, they dragged the spare log into the water and got the prisoners to help pull it, or hang on tight.


    Arlen decided not to try the water-breathing again. It had felt like he was hardly breathing, and if a watchman saw him he''d also see the log loaded with frightened civilians. He focused on driving himself onward and left the pulling duty to the good swimmers.


    Whether by luck or the distant fire, they got away unchallenged. Arlen was grateful when two of the boats zipped closer, risking discovery, and rescued him and the kids and the injured lady. He gallantly offered his place on the boat to another hostage, but the sailors said, "You''re a bad swimmer. Get on."


    Soon they were all on the fleet, and the Shark party came into view, returning from their arson job. They were rowing fast. "Don''t wait for them!" said Arlen.


    Three boats now carried the ex-captives farther away. The fourth stayed behind for Shark Team. Arlen climbed onto that one. Hard to tell, but that might''ve been a moving shadow in the distance behind it. "Are you going to swoop in?"

 Island Defense

    A sailor shook his head. "Saving our strength. Let ''em get closer."


    That was wise. The Shark boats got close enough to reveal a man waving his hands and casting a spell to make light. No stealth. They had a pursuer, clear now when a break in the rainclouds dropped moonlight across its sail.


    "Are they going to get to us safely?" asked Arlen.


    The sailors judged it. "The chasers have a good wind caster on short notice. So, no. Go in?"


    Arlen picked up an oar. "If you''re willing."


    They rowed, and then someone had the good idea to shout and wave in the direction of the enemy. Thoko''s men could now see they were outnumbered three boats to two. They could rush into an uneven fight, or wait for backup while the renegades got a bigger lead. Arlen grinned with bared teeth as the distant ship seemed to hesitate, then to turn. A cheer went up from the Shark Team.


    Together they sailed away to rejoin the rest of the little fleet. When they reached Guiding Reef after an exhausting ride, someone told the tale of how it''d been found and what was in each direction. It was broad daylight and nobody had slept much.


    Arlen sprawled miserably in a boat that''d been moored to the reef platform. The wooden ledge itself was overcrowded with crew and refugees. "Why hasn''t it been built bigger?" he said, laying under a blanket hardly big enough to shade half of him.


    A sailor overheard. "Never have this many boats come by here at once."


    So they never bothered expanding, so it was never practical to send whole fleets. "I want to expand it anyway. I hear some of the hulls scraping against coral; that can''t be good for either."


    "If we covered more of it, how would we see the water color and the currents?" He started quoting the navigation story.


    "You know which direction is which! The blasted sun is south, and --"


    "Huh? It''s north."


    Arlen had missed that detail. This was definitely a round planet, what with the sea horizon, but he''d assumed they were in the north hemisphere and apparently they weren''t. Great. Fascinating. Arlen groaned and turned over to try shading his face better.


    #


    They didn''t dare stay long, for fear of more pursuit. The fleet set out for Opaline and eventually reached a few fishing boats that''d made a point of being out in this direction to keep watch. The fishers waved and happily took the excuse to leave off work and head back to shore.


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    The islanders threw a party. Arlen smiled and waved but like everyone else who''d arrived, he wanted a bed more than anything. He was glad for the doghouse and heard most of the bunch had ended up sharing the floor of the chief''s longhouse for now.


    When he finally woke up again he asked the doctor, "I guess the hostages are finally going home."


    "The Catacomb three are already gone with some of the borrowed warriors. The rest stayed to hear about your training."


    "And the rest?"


    "The chief''s sending messengers to spread the good news to Gull Crater and Stormhowl, that we''ve got their family members safe and sound and will return them soon. And by the way, would they like to join forces?"


    Arlen winced. "Should''ve predicted that."


    "But he _will_ return them. I''ll insist. Though in hindsight you should''ve grabbed some people from Decim, to play the same game."


    "We were lucky to get away at all."


    The doc let him sleep a little longer, then took it upon himself to bring lunch and lure Arlen outside with it. He was still dazed and tired, so he didn''t immediately understand when a group of men said, "Train us."


    "To do what?"


    "The fighting methods. Decim''s going to get serious, any day now."


    Arlen found he''d gotten less hungry. He scarfed down his bread and fish anyway, then said, "I helped make this happen. I''ll do what I can to fix it."


    Over the next few days Arlen worked hard, explaining military drill and fortifications. At some point he used the term "Western culture", and his soldiers assumed he was talking about some forgotten island off to the west beyond the Roaring Storm. So the militia proclaimed they were learning "Western" tactics. Arlen''s best martial arts instructor, the guy who called his techniques "Riptide Style", declared that this war method was the "Setting Sun Style". Arlen had no objection; they''d invented the Telephone Game before the telephone.


    Regardless of the name, a few of Opaline''s men now understood the basic concept. They''d been beaten down in a trial against Opaline''s best, and went hope to preach. Observers showed up from Stormhowl and Gull Crater, too, to ask politely but firmly about their captured relatives. So the chief wined and dined the visitors, and had Arlen run a military demonstration.


    The visitors exchanged a look and some quiet words. Finally they approached the chief in Arlen''s presence and the Stormhowl man said, "We don''t dare tell Thoko we''re against him. Not to his face. But if a few of our men are young and headstrong, and decide to come here without permission... just to watch and train, mind you... and they happen to be here when trouble happens, he can''t blame us."


    The chief smiled.


    #


    Early one morning, a horn blew. Arlen struggled out of his hammock and hurried to the beach. "Which way?"


    The island militia had blown the horn to answer another from a boat at sea. That ocean sentry was over a mile out in the direction of the Mire. As the news spread and more people woke up, panic built. "Hide everything! Run!" shouted several men.


    Another guy yelled at them. "Shut up. Listen to the outsider. Chief, what do we do?"


    The chief himself had come, and he said, "Get organized, as the outsider taught you. Now! Arlen, get them moving."


    Arlen shivered in the morning breeze, but nodded. He forced himself into the same kind of training pattern he''d been imposing on everyone else. "Crown men, gather to the chief! Shell, stand here! Tricky-Teeth, prepare your surprises."


    He had to shout and curse at people who''d forgotten everything, and send runners to fetch troops still in bed, but that was normal. The sentry boat came back with a guy who''d been out there for hours, exhausted. "A lot of them!"

 War Chief Of the Isles

    "How many? And watch your step. Come this way." Arlen escorted him inland past a set of odd pits and dirt mounds.


    The sentry nodded toward the horizon. "At least nine sails, some of them big!"


    The soldiers murmured. Arlen had gotten over eighty adult men willing to stand and fight in his new style, enough to form a line two men deep. Plus another forty men who refused most of the training and boasted they''d prove themselves in their own way, ie. as screaming maniac spear fodder. Arlen wished them luck. And then there were the other assets. He grimaced.


    The enemy saw Opaline''s people not cowering but forming up on the beach, clashing weapons and shouting. Normally there wouldn''t even be this much time to react. He stood on a tree platform, squinted, and counted ten ships. As the warriors aboard them came into view he blinked. They were abnormal. Hairy, sharp-toothed, hunched over with shields and knives and hatchets.


    The morning sea-breeze was carrying them right to shore with little rowing. Arlen then sighted a different boat. "One from Decim?"


    The chief had joined him on the platform to watch. "Here to watch, maybe. This isn''t a random raid; Thoko probably ordered it. But it''s not his full power, not at all."


    "Then I''ll be happy for the practice. Let''s go."


    They shimmied down a rope. Arlen had wanted to stay up high to give orders and be out of melee range, but the chief had gently made it clear nobody would take him seriously. So Arlen was there right behind the Shell line of battle, next to the chief''s Crown unit.


    The first arrows flew before any raiders got their feet wet. Mirefolk preferred melee and used their shields as they jumped out, but a few of them shot back with little effect. They came right at the troops who''d dared to line up on the beach for them, instead of trying anything smart. But they were big! Hulking, wide-shouldered, some with a misshapen cast to their brows or an uneven pair of eyes and ears. Their weapons varied too, from iron hatchets to heavy obsidian-bladed clubs resembling chainsaws. The group came on as a wave of snarling, dripping jaws smelling of swamp and the blood they''d rubbed onto their faces.


    Arlen was glad there were some brave people in front of him. Even so, he and everyone else took a step back. He shouted, "Cages!"


    Two young men had been hiding behind dirt mounds. Now they yanked a pair of ropes and started running. Concealed cages dropped open and hungry shockjaws stepped out, snarling and facing toward the invaders. The undisciplined warriors on Arlen''s side were about to charge in from the left, but when the beasts came out they hesitated.


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    The Mirefolk paused for only a second, then charged at the shockjaws. The animals didn''t have time to run and had to fight for their lives. Snarling and leaping, they caught a man''s arm and knocked someone else down.


    It was enough of a distraction for the warriors to strike them. Their choice. Arlen said to his group, "Step back, like we planned!"


    The two soldier squads saw their chance to strike and rushed forward into blind melee, breaking formation. Arlen lashed out with a punch that sent icy shards into the Mire swarm, and joined in with the chief in yelling at the men, "Back, idiots! Back!"


    The raiders seemed to enjoy the novelty of defenders doing a shield wall. They were ripping through, then starting to turn to strike from behind. In a moment there''d be panic. But the chief threw a knife right into a Mirefolk shoulder and Arlen dared to jab with his spear. It was enough to get the attention of the ones breaking through. Narrow, bloodshot eyes focused on him. One man licked a set of fangs.


    Only then did the defenders start stepping back as ordered. The Mirefolk were suddenly in front of them again, turning side to side. Then the disorganized warriors were on them. A lone raider broke through again and went for Arlen. He jabbed while trying to dodge. The guy was fast, getting inside his range. Arlen tripped right into a shallow pit and crashed, yelping. He barely protected his skull with one arm and an awkward swipe of his spear. The guy who''d targeted him came running for the kill. Arlen shouted and rolled aside. By some instinct he clawed his way forward and up over the pit''s edge just in time to avoid a hatchet swing. Now he was up and stabbing down, into a man''s neck. He didn''t want to; it was right there, though, exposed for half a second. The stone point found its mark and sank in with a nasty squelch Arlen felt. He stepped away, queasy, releasing the spear.


    The raider party was falling back to the beach. They''d had enough. Still hissing and cursing, they plowed into the water and their blood stained the waves and sand. Each boat carried a man who''d held back, who didn''t have the mutated, hunchback look. Or in one case a woman who scowled while waiting at the tiller. Nearby, the small force of Decim Island men watched in anger until someone aboard called out an order and they turned to escape.


    Opaline''s fighters chased them to the beach, clubbing two of them. Arlen limped closer, thinking they could be captives, hostages to trade. But the troops kept beating them, and the pair kept trying to get up and fight.


    "Enough!" said Arlen.


    The chief ran one of them through with a spear and a lieutenant gave the other one last heavy blow to the skull. "Yes, enough. This is good. Healers, come up."


    "We had them alive."


    The chief said, "We don''t keep Mirefolk. Not worth it. When they catch any of us, they never return."


    The soldiers and the wilder warriors cheered, while the men and women trained in healing magic and ordinary bandaging hurried to tend the wounded. Arlen was banged up but mostly needed to sit alone in his hut and shudder for a while. By any military standard it was a victory among people who''d expected a bunch of crazed bullies to rampage through town. Opaline''s folk hadn''t needed to run or hide. Arlen mostly remembered how it''d felt to stab a man, and he didn''t eat for the rest of the day.


    The chief proclaimed him "War-Chief of the Free Islands" and pointed out how the visitors from other isles had begun asking for more training. Arlen tried to steel himself; there was more fighting ahead.

 Ruin Seeker

    Arlen''s experience was harrowing, but useful both for his skill and his reputation. On a sunny morning with seagulls squawking overhead, he felt calm for the first time in several days.


    As war-chief, he''d continued teaching the troops. They hadn''t even made full use of the tricks and traps he''d wanted to use, like retreating properly to fight from behind pit traps or convincing some of the women to at least lob a few stones from a distance. He''d even fantasized about making crossbows but that was too big a project.


    He really wanted to do big but peaceful things for the isles. It seemed like life wouldn''t get much better for anyone involved, until he''d beaten Thoko... the man who wanted to build and improve.


    There was no way to be sure when Decim''s forces would attack in earnest, or sic the Mire on them again. Opaline''s chief fretted too; he was a strongman like most of the chiefs but understood that Decim had sheer numbers and the Mire had ferocity. "We need something more."


    Arlen nodded. When the Catacomb people requested to work with him again, he saw it as an opportunity.


    He sailed to the island of golems and ruins. There, he heard how the locals had ambushed and killed three warriors of Decim who''d come to seize Arlen, thinking he was there. Arlen feigned enthusiasm for the killing. But when they kept boasting, he finally said, "Thoko has made everyone obey him because he''s strong and he''s willing to do whatever it takes to get his way. I want to be better than him."


    One of the best fighting men on the island said, "You''d rather be weak?"


    "I want to match him blade for blade, so that he''s forced to respect you. He''s not so wrong that it''s worth a huge war."


    Meadow the ruin-delver had been impatient to see him again. She said, "What about everything on Death Island?"


    Arlen asked his hosts, "How bad is it there, really?"


    Few had ever been there. The Catacomb chief simply said, "It''s the reason we have empty houses to spare."


    Meadow changed the subject. "Since you were last here, the golems shifted their territory and the room layout again. It happens every so often, but I have to wonder if it''s you they''re reacting to. Since you''re a Builder."


    "Me? I''m not from that culture. I just recognize some of the ideas."


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    "Maybe you''re their descendant?"


    "Doubt it, unless there''s a lot more cross-world traffic than I''d thought." Heh, he''d had an engineering classmate who''d get a kick out of the situation. He wondered what Tom was up to these days.


    The chief said, "Even so, we''ve mentioned that the ruins seem to try harder to force us out, the longer we stay. What does that suggest?"


    "That they were built by people like me, who saw you as... different. Friendly, maybe, but not fully welcome."


    "So we think. And you might be allowed farther than we are."


    Arlen wasn''t sure of that, and if the chief was right, that irritated him. Had the Builders set up a security system that identified people by the most blatant differences, when they had such advanced equipment? Though really, their technology was a strange mix.


    He said, "I''ve heard only vaguely about the Builders. They came, they left these buildings on your island, and they killed each other off and were gone?"


    An old man related, "In the first days, they taught us the signs used by our shamans to make pictures that speak, and how to avoid diseases of filth, and the use of carts."


    Writing, sanitation, and the wheel. That made sense. The islander culture had recognized these things as good. It was a backhanded compliment to praise the islanders for being "willing to learn", as though they absolutely needed outside help, but really they did have a spark of innovation and curiosity he could admire. Unfortunately the biggest innovator of his generation was Thoko.


    The storyteller talked about the Builders traveling across the islands, asking questions, asking for help with strange tasks, being given gifts.


    Arlen said, "What about the Roaring Storm, though? Did they create it, or pass through?"


    "That, nobody''s sure of. Which means we aren''t sure of our own past. Did we come here from some faraway island?"


    The chief said, "One story says we''re from the sea itself." She shrugged. "So, Arlen, we have several reasons to want you to enter the Catacomb again. Maybe you''ll find something to help us against Thoko. But we also want to know what''s out there, and you''re in a position where you might find what we can''t."


    #


    Meadow accompanied Arlen to the Catacomb gate in the mountain. He carried one of charged gems from Opaline as his entrance toll. He said, "The fact that the door would react this way suggests the Builders were using your people to collect the gems. Show up with one to give away, and they''d let you in for a while."


    "Thought about that," said Meadow, as the door slowly opened. "But why not meet with us personally to trade? And what did they let us in to do, just walk around? All we''ve ever had are hints at some greater meaning to it all."


    That deposit box in the door hadn''t opened. Arlen looked at the gem he held, still a radiant red-purple as bright as a flashlight. "Doesn''t want it this time?"


    "You''re the one holding it."


    "Free ride. Want to come along?"


    Meadow twitched. "I really want to, but now I don''t want to spoil things. It''s treating you differently, maybe opening different doors for you. So go, and tell us what you find."


    Impulsively he took her hand and squeezed it. "All right. Be back soon."


    He set off alone into the stone halls of the Catacomb.


    The walls glowed where they met the ceiling, and at first he found only empty halls and more of the odd zigzags. He hefted a mace and shield, and stuffed the gem into his woven backpack.

 Dark Dungeons

    The first distinctive room he came to was an echo of a seating area. Benches lined the room''s middle, all made of rock as though a more practical material had petrified. Arlen crouched to study the furniture. Indeed, there were signs of bolts holding parts together, or rather this was a one-piece stone cast of a version that had used bolts. Then came a room with more seats that all faced a dry fountain, as though it were an entertaining decoration. Or a display system.


    "More echoes," he said. None of the equipment seemed functional. It didn''t respond to the gem, either. From there, only branching halls of forty-five or ninety degrees led onward. Speculating aloud, he said, "Theory one. This place is run by robots mindlessly building and rearranging a Builder base. I''m seeing hints of what it looked like, and the real stuff is either somewhere in there as a template, or long dismantled. They''re either making random bits of true objects, or scavenging them from the real template. But the islanders have been finding bits and pieces for centuries, so my money''s on the idea that more is being manufactured. Never anything beyond simple tools and trinkets, though."


    He peeked down one dead end, then another. A golem drifted by but paid him no heed, instead pushing a wall segment inward to form a meaningless indentation. "Theory two. The rearrangement has a purpose. It''s tied to their behavior on the land outside. So, something like feng shui, guiding magic or other energy flow. Shaping it over and over, to do... something."


    In the distance came the sound of grinding stone. Arlen approached down a bent hallway, and came to a new, metal-bound door. One that slid open at his approach, leading to a downward ramp.


    Here, the air grew colder and the lighting inconsistent. Arlen held his shining gem in his shield hand and walked through the depths. And here was the reception desk, this one an original. Maybe. The desk was still heavy stone but topped with glass, and the chair was iron with long-ruined fabric. "Plain iron? Never seen any aluminum or anything fancier than brass here."


    He sat down and examined the dials built into this version. Then checked for the glowing conduit rod built into the side. A real one was there. Its glow still unnerved him but at this point he took it for something akin to a circuitboard. The control dials had writing on them, and his eyes widened. Same writing system as the islanders, and he should''ve expected that. Different language, same octagon-like glyphs. He sounded them out and got the weird reminder of how he was speaking in the islanders'' tongue. The words were pronounceable but meant nothing to him, except for one that sounded like the local''s odd word for "begin". Maybe it was an import from Builder speech. What would he begin? He turned the dial to find out.


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    Nothing happened. Hmmph. He tried another of the dials, clicking it a notch clockwise, and static noise screeched from a hidden panel. Communications, then. He tried the other settings on that one and got only static, but for a station with faint sloshing noises and mechanical hums.


    He used his papyrus-equivalent and some charcoal to record what he could. He could come back and play with this more later. He undid his changes and moved on, picking one of several doorways.


    There was a long, stagnant pool ahead, three feet wide, its water murky, surrounded by pillars. A statue rose from beside it, flashed a green light across him, then wobbled closer. In its wake, jets of water shot up and curved, like an attack spell.


    Arlen ducked behind a column. When water sprayed past him he let it glance off his shield. With his weapon hand he tried reaching out toward the stuff and pushing magically. It resisted like pushing an incoming punch, but he''d been told you could block a caster that way.


    Arlen hustled around the other side and raise his shield. The hovering golem visibly glitched, wobbling to turn and follow him.


    Its light beam seemed good only for scanning. More water rose, frothing and freezing into jagged shards that created a weirdly steamy aura around the pool. Arlen feinted from behind cover with his mace and ice shot out, clanging against the shaft. Again, and he got the same reaction. His hand ached from the impacts and the wooden part of the weapon was in danger of breaking. He crouched and ran low, keeping his shield up. Frozen blades thudded against it. Then it missed, twice. He misjudged his footing, found himself about to crash into the pond, and leaped over it. Another blade shot into the wall behind him. Good aim, bad timing. In fact, it missed twice more, seeming unable to turn to face him perfectly. Only in those eighth-turn increments. Aha.


    It darted to one side for a better shot, but Arlen knew how to stand just out of its line of fire. This time he leaped over the pool and watched ice whip right past him. He brought his mace down on the golem. Stone crunched and his weapon snapped, but it was enough. The flying machine''s lifter failed and it crashed to the floor, twitching. One more dart shot out and he barely hopped over it. Then it lay still.


    Arlen wondered if these things were built to a flawed design or just damaged by age. Maybe both. He was still gambling that he was more welcome than the natives were, which implied this was a malfunctioning golem... and that there might be more. He frowned at his ruined weapon; the cord binding it was shredded. He kept the stick and rock.


    The architecture down here wasn''t the same random jumble he''d expected. Gone were the random branching hallways. Beyond the room of the reflecting pool he reached a completely dark place. He raised his glowing gem to shine into it, and with a whoosh and a flash, something shot out from the shadows to knock it out of his hand!

 Major Magic Upgrade

    He dived to one side, then thought to raise his shield. Nothing happened. Several timid movements drew no more reaction. Arlen scuttled forward and kicked the fallen stone. The instant it moved there was a whoosh of air, and something struck near his foot. Arlen shuddered and took two cautious steps back. In the flashes of scarlet light he''d seen smooth floor and the base of a square pillar. Then, wide-eyed, he understood he''d seen two muzzle flashes from some kind of gun mounted on it. But he needed that stone to see where he was going!


    He took a deep breath. "Hockey." Using the stick from his mace, he leaned down... and decided he didn''t want his face anywhere near the impact point. Instead he began conjuring a water spell... nope, not a good idea either! He stopped an instant before his hands would''ve glowed. So he kicked once more, sending the stone clattering farther along. Another shot rang out. He saw part of a wall and an open door. Good enough; he gave the hidden turret a wary glance and hurried on without his light source.


    It turned out not to be needed. In here, something glowed in the same red-violet shade, sparkling behind a wall of ice. Arlen chipped away with a stone, then looked worriedly up at where a ton of icicles might fall on him. Magic might be more effective. He stood where the door would block any objection from the last room''s turret, and went to work. His hands flickered and chilled as he drew on the spirits'' power to reach into the frozen wall. It slowly warped and flowed under his touch. Weight shifted overhead and he sprang back in time to avoid the crash of stalactites. The little glacier fell in slow motion through the sparkle of pale blue and distant red light. Frost dusted Arlen''s arms and face. Wisps of fog curled into the room like an invitation.


    He climbed over broken ice and into a room of ancient control panels. In its center, a foot-wide cube floated, shining and slowly spinning. Circuit-like traces of light covered every face. The level of detail drew him closer in admiration. This was no crude automaton, but something made with intense purpose and skill.


    Only one of the panels showed activity. Arlen didn''t know Builder language, but he did recognize how they counted. A number glowed next to the dials, and it was in the hundreds of thousands. Population? Too high. A power reading? As he watched, it ticked up by one, but no further.


    "New theory," he said, putting his shield down. "The Builders were working on something, they had machines manipulating the whole environment to study or test it, and they left the experiment running."


    He took notes. If this cube were going to kill him, he was already doomed. With that comforting thought, he decided to try a low-tech approach and poke it with a stick.


    A force held the cube in place so that it only wobbled. The controls told him nothing... no, a light had wavered. He tried turning the dial beside that mark.


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    The cube''s containment field weakened and it sank onto its platform. Arlen poked it again, then touched it with one finger.


    It shattered into angular bits and surged toward him. Arlen yelped. He was overheated, crawling with spidery animate stones, and his vision blurred out. He couldn''t fall; some force held him up. He felt locked in place, and reinforced. The artifact had dug into him and dissolved. When it reached his chest he feared the worst, but the brief chill and crackle he felt was more like what he felt from the use of magic. But stronger, far more forceful. He dropped to the floor at last, but the ground warped under him.


    Singed and chilled and smoking, Arlen passed out.


    #


    When he woke up, he found himself in a man-shaped crater a few inches deep. He groaned and pushed himself up with one shaky arm. When he moved the other, the damaged floor flowed like clay. A trap? He tried to scuttle away from it, rolled, banged strangely into something, and ended up unsteady and dizzy on his feet. His skull pounded and his ears strained backward, which didn''t seem right.


    As he began to recover, something twitched behind him. He spun and sidestepped, and banged into the artifact pillar. Only it wasn''t his legs that had hit it. He reached back, wide-eyed, and discovered he had a tail stuck to his spine! It was wide and muscular, hanging to below his knees, and the weight of it made him feel like he was leaning backward. He shivered at the feeling of it being touched. The same brown and tan fuzz covered it as it did for any of the natives.


    "Like one of them," he said, looking at his hands again. Leathery skin had stretched between his fingers up to the second knuckle, giving him a natural paddle. He still had his boots on but would bet his toes had changed too.


    He stood there in the chilly, dim room, trying to calm down. He''d changed, but he was still himself. Still nearly human. What was important right now was to figure out what had happened, and get to safety.


    If the ancient facility had a crude security system that identified people as welcome based on whether they were physically human-shaped, he was now an intruder deep in an area where the kindly paternal attitude probably didn''t apply.


    Arlen found no trace of the cube he''d touched. It was probably embedded in him, though he couldn''t feel it. He looked at one hand and wondered what the thing had done to him magically. He was able to conjure an orb of water to hover above his palm, still. No change. The soft glow of the spell revealed that crater he''d landed in, and he crouched to examine it. No way had he been slammed into the floor that hard without being a cartoon coyote. He touched the surface... and without meaning to, it flowed beneath his fingertips. He felt it as though he were gripping a chunk of ground several paces wide. The whole area coursed with flickers of the red-violet energy of the cube. At his touch the material slowly smoothed out until it showed no damage.


    Arlen stared at what he''d done. The adepts of earth-themed magic that he''d seen could reshape a rock in their hands to do things like crafting sharper arrowheads and forming building foundations, slowly. This work was far beyond them.


    He needed to get out and experiment. He snuffed out the spell''s light and made his way to the room with the automatic turret. There he kicked the crystal back across the room and dodged the gunfire. In the process he stepped on one of the shots and paused to pick it up. A little lead ball. He held onto it and managed to kick the glow-gem out to a safe spot without getting any high-velocity bullet samples.

 Shaper of Stone

    So the Builders did have lead. It was still unclear how advanced they were, but they''d moved along some different evolution of technology than he knew. He would''ve expected this ammunition to be a simple iron ball, given earlier finds.


    As he inspected it, the material grew briefly cold and rippled. Its texture shifted. Arlen dropped it, then found it again. "Iron? It''s iron, now?"


    His ears flicked forward, high atop his head. "Maybe I can change it! Let''s say... gold?" He envisioned what he wanted. Again his material sample shifted and flowed, now taking on a distinctive shine that put greed in his heart.


    Arlen laughed. "Gold, whenever I want! Eureka. Yet it''s worth almost nothing here. I''d give my golden bullet for half a pizza."


    He felt worn out in the way that an intensive spell training session left him drained, not in his muscles but in some internal fatigue in muscles that didn''t quite exist. Fair enough; he''d just worked some small miracles.


    He walked back to the area he thought of as the reception desk. There were other rooms to explore.


    From the depths he hadn''t yet seen, something large rumbled. He decided today wasn''t the day to dally here. He hustled back the way he''d come until he reached the upper level of shifting walls. More grinding of stone sounded behind him and there was a hum of machinery. He kept moving. Down the halls, to a dead end where he froze in fear before hurrying to find another route. Farther around corners. Down an angled way, and at last back out to the afternoon sunlight! He panted and stood with his hands on his knees. The gateway rumbled shut behind him.


    #


    He made his way downhill toward the village. The sky swirled with chaotic clouds and there was an eerie orange tint to the daylight. His lungs burned and his new tail threw off his balance, swinging back and forth and slapping against the back of his legs. Farmers were converging on town as rain began falling. He reached a wide public pavilion of woven branches.


    Meadow had just arrived. "Arlen! Good timing. Storm''s coming; we ought to get under a better roof."


    He looked up worriedly. "Did I cause this?"


    She and a bystander laughed. She said, "The spirits don''t make every storm meaningful. Wait... you have a tail!"


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    Arlen blushed and felt his ears flick backward. "I noticed. I''ve got something to show you, once I can rest a bit."


    The rain picked up. He and the others went indoors, which put Arlen in the chief''s large vault with Meadow.


    The chief was stirring soup. "How did it go?"


    Meadow said, "Look at him!"


    She eyed Arlen and chuckled. "A handsome improvement. But how?"


    "I''ll tell you the story, for a meal."


    They listened and ate together. As Arlen explained the new magic he''d used, they grew quiet. Meadow finally said, "So all this time, there was some amazing relic down there?"


    "I''m not sure. My guess so far is that it was being built or improved over time, by a process that involved a lot of terrain shuffling. I want to see what it can do."


    The chief muttered, "The power of the Builders was on our island, not just trinkets." Her eyes met Arlen''s fiercely. "If you''ve taken this might for yourself, you should use it on our behalf. The spirits have decided that you should be one of us, now, and not an outsider."


    "Did the spirits really do this to me? Seems that it was the Builders."


    "It was their will that you find it, not that of some long-dead people. The spirits are the ones with us today. They didn''t revoke your water power, and the spells of earth are theirs as well. You work with what''s only a stronger version of their blessings."


    The fire in her voice made Arlen relent. "All right. But what do they want from me? To the extent I understood them in the cave on Decim, they seemed to oppose Thoko and maybe his tools and ambition in general."


    Meadow said, "But they obviously don''t hate you personally. If they''re willing to communicate, you should go back to Decim to speak again. Or to Gull Crater."


    "Worth trying." Arlen stretched. "I want to try something." He walked to the doorway and brushed its curtain aside. Rain sprinkled across him in the strong wind. He crouched in the dirt and tried willing it to shift and harden. The scarlet light of his new power snaked into the soil and began changing it, making him feel he had the grip of a giant hand. Earth became tan rock and formed a roughly square patio.


    Could he do more? He mentally lifted his grasp and more stone emerged, either flowing up from underground or springing into existence. The patio''s edges rose like taffy, only an inch a second but climbing all around him. The bare, rain-spattered new doorstep was becoming a new room added to the chief''s home. "Higher!" he said. He pulled the walls around him and realized he didn''t even need to touch them, only to be nearby. He laughed and shaped each side to begin curving upward, sealing overhead and leaving a doorway in front. It took only a few minutes!


    The chief and Meadow stood behind him, stunned. Somebody peeked out of a building at the unusually close-by thunder and saw that it was only this spell, powerful enough to shake the earth enough to feel.


    Meadow said, "How!?"


    Arlen concentrated, solidifying his creation and gingerly letting go. "The Builders'' machines apparently spent a long time after they were gone, getting this to work well. Lots of re-alignment of the energies feeding into the ruins, or testing designs. That''s not even all I''ve learned to do. By the way, see this arch? It''s an improvement over the stepped kind you''ve got in your main room; I can make a more open space than this."

 Emergency Construction

    The chief said, "How have you not collapsed from exhaustion, doing that?"


    He was hardly tired. "Seems like I have a lot of magic available. I''m happy to use it for your benefit. Where would you like a new house, or a road, or a wall?"


    The rain fell in sheets now, and the room he''d just created had an icy chill. The chief told him, "Come inside. It seems we have a new asset for defeating Thoko."


    He returned to the main part of the stone house and tested what else he could do. He proved able to summon a bar of stone that rose up from below but sheared off as a convenient brick, and then to transform it into iron. He felt as though he were kneading dough. "There you go. Enough metal for your smiths. I don''t think I can do that part all day; it feels harder than the stone-calling itself. But it would give you a weapon or a shield, easily."


    "Iron weapons for all our warriors. This is almost what Thoko wanted. The fool; he made demands of us when if we''d worked together, we might have found this power for ourselves." She sighed. "But only an outsider was able to bypass the Builders'' wards and reach the depths."


    "I might not be welcome back down there now, to see what else there is."


    "You have more immediate concerns. I will contact Thoko immediately to end this fighting."


    Arlen said, "I wouldn''t yet. He''d want to capture me and make me work for him again."


    "Is it your freedom you care about?"


    "Partly. But what about Death Island and the Mire? Thoko will see what I''m doing as a blessing to continue hurting people." Arlen leaned closer. "I''ve also just disrupted his deal with the Mirefolk. If he doesn''t need their iron, what happens?"


    "Then he stops tolerating their attacks on other islands."


    "Does he? Because you''re in rebellion right now. Submit to him again and he''ll want more hostages to promise you''ll do everything he says. I say you should arm yourselves and then tell Thoko he can have peace, with your independence."


    Meadow looked outside. "What a storm." It was getting loud, and the wind slashed rain nearly sideways.


    The chief left off arguing. "Arlen, I have to wonder now if this weather is a coincidence. If you have such power, well... When I was young we had a real storm that tore roofs of the huts and broke the roof even on a stone building. Now might be a good time to demonstrate how good you are."


    Arlen nodded. Good time to find out for himself.


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    He set down his backpack, stepped outside, and was instantly soaked and chilled. Gritting his teeth, he looked for a large open spot within the village grounds. He crouched and slapped the soggy ground to send a pulse of violet light all around, stabilizing into a square. Then he began willing it to clear, harden, and rise, shifting from mud and grass into bare tan stone. Maybe twenty feet wide. When the platform stood a few inches above ground level he started raising a thick wall facing the worst rain. With some mental strain he got the wall growing, then focused on a second and third. The rain and wind whipped him. He kept his focus until he had a wall ten feet high and halfway that on the adjacent sides. Now, a roof...


    A completely soaked Meadow was shouting nearby. He hesitated, held control of his spell with some trouble, and turned to her. She said, "I''m bringing people over! All right?"


    "In a few minutes!"


    He focused on growing and expanding the project. Nothing fancy. He expanded it to twenty by forty feet and raised a back wall, then a long, smooth arch over the whole thing, Roman style. He was admiring his work when a slew of villagers hurried over, shivering and splashing through the mud. He blinked, briefly surprised to be reminded that actual people wanted this. He released the magic gingerly and winced at the faint groaning of stone that settled into place, without trouble. "Come in!"


    Inside the new building the villagers stared at the chilly walls, poked them, then looked at Arlen himself. "So fast!"


    Arlen took a breath and considered how to answer. "Thank the spirits'' power. Are your homes fragile?"


    Some of them had brought now-soaked bundles of bedding and whatever was wrapped in them. One man held his daughter for warmth and had a son clinging to him. "Already tearing away. Worst I''ve seen in many years. Brr! Can you make a fire?"


    "I don''t think so." He thought about creating wood, but when he imagined how he might shift that transmutation ability in the direction of making logs, he wasn''t sure how. "I can make a chimney like the chief''s, though."


    The daughter said, "Did the spirits bless you?"


    The man told her, "Never mind that, for now. Stay here while I fetch wood. It''s getting cold out there. You, outsider, make that hearth. I don''t care how." He pried himself free from his family and darted out into the storm.


    Arlen thought, I did cause this, somehow. Half the houses don''t look like they can withstand a hurricane. He touched the downwind wall and made stone flow away to start reshaping into a fireplace.


    More people hurried in, crowding the building and shedding enough body heat to counter the cold that seemed to come with the construction. Meadow showed up to shepherd townsfolk into the new shelter or (it looked like) toward the chief''s large, sturdy place. She was wide-eyed and frantic but visibly holding herself together while people hustled. The father staggered back in with chunks of firewood that he dropped all over. Men, women and children stepped back but then collected it all and waited for Arlen''s makeshift chimney. Arlen grimaced and found he had to go back outside to see where he was working.


    The entire sky was alive with swirling clouds in an eerie grey and orange that tinted the world. Rain stung his eyes. Lightning flashed and the first thunder followed an instant later. Tremendous energy was at play above. He looked at his newly webbed hands and wondered if his use of the magic was making things worse. How did it all work? Never mind that; he had a job to finish. Shivering violently, he finished the hearth, raised another room of twenty by twenty, and extended a crude roof to start covering that. It was good enough for him to get back inside and finish the expansion from there.


    Adding space to an orderly, geometric structure was easier than contemplating what forces his exploration had unleashed.

 Metal For Nothing

    The huddled villagers got a fire going, after using magic to help wick away water from their wood and belongings. Arlen hadn''t even thought of that. Even his tail felt sodden and heavy until he let them fling a spell across it, making the new appendage twitch and tickle his backside. He blushed.


    As the refugee group began to calm down and warm themselves, they had time for questions. "How are you doing this? How much can you make? Are you going to fight Thoko?"


    He didn''t have full answers, any more than he had the power to rescue whatever property was getting blown away by the hurricane. He cleared folks out of one corner and shaped the stone floor into a bench, then a table. "I don''t know yet. Thoko''s been hurting everyone, so that needs to stop before we have peace."


    A frightened young man said, "Our crops..."


    The islanders were going to be even more dependent on fish for a while, unless Arlen learned quickly how to make food from rocks. Every field in the Echoing Isles might have been threshed prematurely if the storm was big enough.


    Arlen''s eyes widened. He had no way to prove it yet, but intuition told him to worry about the Roaring Storm itself. He peeked outside and saw no change to the fury. Maybe the whole barrier had become a permanent fixture right where people lived. For now there was nothing to do but practice. He chose a point just outside, mentally gripped it, and made a low block of stone. Then, he shaped and transmuted it at the same time like squeezing clay and hoping to make diamonds. He imagined the intended shape carefully. It became real: an iron breastplate in a simple one-piece style with hooks for attaching straps. He darted out into the rain to fetch it. Fog coiled around the new armor.


    He said, "This can protect you from any spear, stone, ice dart, claw or fang your enemies might strike you with. Though I''d avoid fighting shockjaws while wearing it. I can make as many as you need, probably with a better design and tailored for you, and iron weapons to match."


    By the time the storm lessened, hours later, Arlen had set the displaced islanders up with a board game of colored stones at a stone table, and was debating the merits of swords and spears as he slowly conjured an arsenal.


    The Catacomb chief hobbled in, bent slightly under the wind and rain. "Spirits'' mercy! At last it''s fading. What is all this?"


    "Your new defenses," said Arlen. "I can''t feed you, but if there are more raiders, your most vulnerable people can shelter in a building like this. With new weapons."


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    The chief shut her eyes. "New ways of killing. Before the hostages'' rescue we were at least not fighting."


    Meadow objected. "Because you had to do whatever Thoko said! What''s a little fighting, to get our freedom back?"


    "Child, you''ve only ever killed ancient rock creatures. You aren''t a man or a warrior. Arlen, you''ve drawn blood against raiders on Opaline, yes? Tell young Meadow how wonderful a real battle is."


    Arlen sighed. "Meadow, and everyone, your chief is right to want to avoid killing anyone. I believe that with my gifts, I can make you strong enough that Thoko will see you can''t be beaten, and will make peace. He''s no fool. Will you accept my help?"


    The chief said, "We already have. I would much prefer having you build us sturdier houses and better fishing boats to replace any we just lost. We''ll need to fish especially hard for a while."


    "I''ll see what I can do. But I need to check in with Opaline too and make sure they''re well defended."


    He spent the evening there, by which time the storm''s rage had faded to a drizzle. He had gone around to a dozen wind-ravaged huts and put new, tidy stone cottages in their place with raised floors, solid roofs, and built-in seats and shelves. The people had more living space than before. He offered to improve the primitive stone vault of the chief to make it remain the most impressive building in town, but she waved the offer off for now.


    He''d also made iron breastplates and spearheads for ten soldiers, in case of more trouble. And lastly, a coastal lookout tower. It stood about forty feet tall, following the natural inclination of his powers to work with a unit he thought of as roughly a twenty-foot cube. Any medieval European noble would recognize it as a respectable basic guard post with a raised upper wall and slit windows. Two stories high with a top trapdoor. No mundane weapon of the islanders could breach it anywhere but the door, which he left as an exercise for the owners to build. Magic could drill into the stone, but so far as he knew, nobody else could do it quickly. He''d spent only half an hour conjuring this little tower, and some of that was fiddling with the windows and other details.


    Such as the stairs. The islanders barely understood what a staircase was. Even after getting past that discussion they were confused. "This isn''t how we fight," one man said.


    "You have someone sit up top and watch for trouble at sea, and then people can hide inside. I would put archers up there too, but that''s your decision."


    He had to leave the island and try tending to Opaline. He set out by late morning but saw Meadow running up to his borrowed boat. "Take me with you! I want to see what''s going on."


    "Don''t you have more work to do with the golems and the ruins?"


    She looked spooked. "Nobody''s seen the golems move since the storm. I haven''t tried going back into the Catacomb but now I wonder if it''s shut down, sealed off. It was something you did, Arlen. You found something big and now the whole world is holding its breath. I want to see what happens and make sure it''s all right."


    Though he worried, too, he could understand her wanting to do something about the chaos instead of waiting. "Get in."

 The Dangerous Calm

    Arlen and Meadow sailed to Opaline to check on the damage and bring what help they could. The sea had become eerily calm and the sky had cleared to reveal blazing sun. Arlen had requested and gotten a broad-brimmed hat made by a basket weaver who thought it was a silly idea, but was now thinking about making more.


    Once they were well on the way, Arlen said, "Your chief thinks this is all the spirits'' doing. I want to get their opinion again when I can."


    "You said yourself, Thoko still needs to stop what he''s doing."


    "Yeah. I hope we can all be on the same page... er, all riding the same wave." He sailed quietly for a while. "Whatever the Builders were doing, it''s something that can benefit the islands now."


    Meadow said, "I''ve never seen someone change stone into something else. Didn''t want to say it while we were there, but that''s not normal magic."


    Their boat was a basic canoe with a small sail and an outrigger. "I wonder what the limits are." He concentrated on the wooden hull but couldn''t seem to transform it, nor to make more wood from nothing. "I''ll try more later."


    In time they arrived on the shore of Opaline. The beach was littered with branches and seaweed. A sentry boater was just setting out to sea when he spotted the pair. Arlen waved and rode to the shallows.


    The chief sent for him right away, but didn''t receive him in the longhouse. Arlen soon realized why: the two-story building of thatch and wood had been damaged so much in the storm that nobody trusted it. Instead he''d taken over a makeshift canopy of sailcloth and branches.


    The chief had his throne but no high platform to sit on. "What did you find in that land of twisting tunnels?"


    "Something amazing." Arlen held up a stone he''d picked up, then changed it into iron. "And that''s not all."


    Meadow had come along. "He can make a stone house in minutes."


    The chief startled and took the iron lump. "I don''t understand. Did you ally with Catacomb? Did they give you some new spell?"


    "I convinced them to help resist Thoko. This new power is something I found in the old Builder place."


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    "Wait, let me get a closer look at you. You''ve changed!"


    He made Arlen climb up to be inspected again. The chief laughed. "I suppose that''s a blessing. So you have iron. You will give us metal weapons?"


    "All that you want. I''ll show you."


    The chief left his little pavilion to watch Arlen demonstrate. Other islanders peeked from all around. Arlen conjured up another iron breastplate in under a minute, then tried putting it on, and found he could make the material flow and adjust as needed. "Can someone tie this to me with rope?"


    Once he''d donned it, he thought better of his testing plans and put the plate onto a prepared stone pillar like a mannequin. "Someone try stabbing it, as hard as you can."


    A spearman ran screaming at it, and shattered his obsidian blade with only a nick in the metal to show for his effort. Another man stabbed it and a third struck with a club.


    Arlen cautioned, "Against clubs you''ll want some padded cloth or something underneath. And of course it doesn''t cover your whole body. But I can give you an iron hat, and iron blades and arrowheads. Now, for defenses, recall what I was saying about trenches and pits..."


    He created a twenty-by-twenty foundation and began stretching it around him into another coastal sentry tower.


    The chief was speechless at first. Then one villager said, "This isn''t the spirits'' power."


    Another murmured, "This isn''t how we fight."


    The chief seemed to share their mood. "Arlen, stop that. This is too strange. No one has this kind of power, out of nowhere. The spirits trust one of us with magic gradually, revealing more over many years."


    An islander said, "He''s an outsider."


    Meadow told him, "He''s been changed! He''s one of us now."


    Arlen said, "I''m trying to protect you all from being conquered again or killed by raiders. Let me give you good equipment and walls and towers. When Thoko comes again he''ll know you can''t be beaten."


    The chief shook his head. "This isn''t normal. I don''t trust any of it."


    "I''m trying to save your lives and your freedom!"


    A woman called out, "By telling us what to do. By making us fight with dead iron like Mirefolk and Newshore exiles."


    "Exile weapons," grumbled another man. The iron tools were like what they had on that island of ghosts.


    Arlen said, "The spirits approve of what I''m doing. Can''t you see I even have a tail now?"


    The chief said, "I don''t know anymore. That storm could''ve been a sign of their anger. I would go to Gull Crater to seek answers from them, but I''m needed here for defense."


    "Then I''ll go."


    "And I should trust you to come back and report that they said everything you''re doing is all right?"


    Arlen glared at the big man. "Yes. You showed me hospitality when I first arrived, and I want to help you. If the spirits tell me not to, then I won''t come back. Maybe Thoko will still want me."


    He grimaced. "Then may the spirits find you acceptable, Arlen."


    He spent the evening there, and the man who''d broken his spearpoint asked for Arlen to make a replacement of iron. Arlen gave him two.


    He was resting in his little guest hut, quietly forbidden from making a better one, when a boat arrived from the direction of Stormhowl. He paid it no attention at first but a commotion spread, bearing news:


    The Roaring Storm that surrounded the islands was gone.

 A Menace To Public Order

    Arlen and Meadow set out early in the morning, feeling new urgency. For Meadow it was only her desire to understand what was happening to her home. For Arlen it was the sense that this little world''s splendid isolation was ending.


    They arrived at a shore lined with wooden homes, in the shadow of a mountain with a cratered rim. It was sunset and at first he took the clouds that covered the land for fog. "Have you been here before?" asked Arlen.


    Meadow said, "Only once. The miasma happened around when Thoko took over, and killed the other chiefs and heroes."


    The fog had a sickly blue tint like lead. The main town was away from most of it, but he smelled something like sulfur before he even reached the steep-sloping beach. "I don''t think I want to stay long. People live here willingly?"


    "It''s their home."


    A dozen people were cooking outdoors, and they seemed curious to spot travelers. When Arlen approached, waving, one of the women said, "What brings you here? Are you hungry?"


    This beach was littered with storm debris too, but the houses seemed mostly intact. "Yes, please. I came to try speaking with the spirits, but I''ve also been given powerful rock-shaping magic. Would anyone like me to create a new stone house?"


    The little crowd asked about this power and got him to demonstrate, to their delight. He described it as a gift of the spirits, so that he''d come to the famous island to ask them what it meant. He avoided the topic of Thoko for now.


    "How are the crops?" he asked.


    The islanders grumbled. "Not much worse than usual," said one man. "What fields we have are mostly inland and missed the worst of that hurricane. The miasma got blown away a bit."


    A woman said, "Hey, what''s that accent? Are you that weird outsider? What island are you from?"


    Arlen smiled. "Tennessee."


    He got some strange looks. Then a man with a cape of parrot and seagull feathers pushed his way into view. "The outsider! You stirred up the Mirefolk and the other snakes, and now Thoko is demanding warriors from us. Did you cause this storm somehow?"


    Arlen bowed his head. "I''m not more powerful than the spirits, sir. I''ve come to ask their will."


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    "Their will is that you get back where you belong, doing whatever the high chief tells you! He was furious."


    "For taking his prisoners home? In fact, wasn''t one of them from your island?"


    "We had to send three back!"


    Arlen smacked his forehead with one webbed palm. "I''m so glad I risked my life to help your people. I should speak with your chief."


    "You should leave. Now."


    "I have a house to build." He gestured to the crowd around the cooking fire. "Or will you tell me I''m not allowed to do that, when you''ve had homes damaged by the storm?"


    One woman told the shaman, "Juti, I want my family to sleep under a roof of our own tonight. If he can really do that, let him try."


    The caped man''s tail lashed behind him. "Let''s see."


    Arlen made a show of it, going to a spot where several huts had been damaged or flattened. He stamped the earth and slapped it with one palm while calling out a chant to the island spirits. The ground rumbled and grew cold. Dirt hardened and inched upward.


    Now that he''d done it several times, Arlen realized he could let his control of the spell slip or narrow somewhat, to go faster. But he had a house to make. He let it grow over several minutes, making walls flow up from the earth. He brought his outstretched arms together as he made the arched roof seal over, then made a bed platform and bench. He breathed hard from the mental strain of getting it right in front of an audience. Physically he was fine, and even his sense of magical effort didn''t feel drained. It was easy now that he knew how!


    Juti the shaman gaped at him. His face was pale and he said only, "I''ll tell the chief," before running away.


    Arlen bowed to the new home''s owners and said, "I can make it bigger if you like."


    The lady who''d asked, clinged to her man. "That''s... that''s all right. Some others might want houses too."


    He had two other customers. He built houses to their specifications, even adding a second story to one, and some room partitions and windows and shelves. It was a chance to practice his control and speed.


    Before he was done with his third house, a messenger boy said, "Come to the chief!"


    Arlen left off from doing more furnishing details, and came to the sturdy cave-home of the chief of Gull Crater. It stood inland on a little plateau with signs of having been shaped partly by magic, and it had a garden. The house itself was carved into the volcano''s lower slope. Pillars held up the cave and it had a stuffy feel, cluttered with dining benches and animal skins.


    The chief was a sickly old man named Hassna, smoking something with an earthy scent from a pipe of bone. He coughed and said, "Welcome, traveler. Who is your friend there?"


    The young woman said, "Meadow, of Catacomb."


    "A woman shouldn''t be traveling with a strange unmarried man."


    "I''ve been told there are a lot of things I shouldn''t do," Meadow said, laying her ears back.


    Arlen said, "Excuse her. She''s worried for the future of the islands, as am I."


    The shaman appeared from the shadows. "Strange magic is definitely a worry. Hassna, this man is a menace to our peace."


    "I thought he was a tailless one."


    Arlen blushed. "I was. I''ve been changed. My plan is to ask the spirits what they wish of me."


    Juti said, "He doesn''t belong here. Chief, we can capture him and take him back to Thoko. He will trust us more, then."

 Blood On the Crater Trail

    Arlen''s tail twitched as he laid out another of his cards. "Oh chief, the last time the spirits made their will known to me, it was that they were against Thoko''s rule."


    Juti said, "That''s a lie!"


    The chief held up one hand, webbed fingers spread. "What exactly did they show you?"


    Arlen explained. The pipe-smoking man grunted, finally saying, "You''ve brought war to us."


    "Thoko brought it. I can give you the tools to end it in your favor. But I''d like to hear your story. Why is this island tainted by some kind of poison?"


    Juti complained, "It''s not your business, outsider."


    But the chief said, "It''s a good question for an ignorant pup." He puffed on his pipe. "Years ago a terrible beast crawled up from the sea. It began to poison the shore and all the land around it as it wandered, marking territory. Those warriors who came against it died. Those who lingered near it sickened, and the fields withered. We call it the Foul Shell, like a turtle or an octopus. We could do nothing."


    The old man puffed and clenched the arm of his chair. "Good men died. My friends, my rivals. I was there, but..."


    Juti put a hand on his shoulder. "No one blames you."


    Hassna seemed not to hear. "Many were the shouts as the chiefs gathered and war-drums beat. Thoko struck the mighty blow that chastened, but the wound poured out sickness and the greatest fell. Now Thoko is the survivor and senior chief. The beast is contained, knowing its territory, but its foulness keeps much of the island tainted. Little grows here but one type of gourd, and the fish avoid the coast. But we persevere."


    Juti said, "And we can continue doing that without meddling."


    Arlen clenched his fists. "Yes, you can keep existing, barely. Is that all you want for your families?"


    Juti cursed at him. "Who do you think you are to lecture us about our loss?"


    "I''m from far away. I tell you you''re not the only ones to suffer disaster. Even this latest storm is nothing in the grand scheme of things. Your story ended with the rise of Thoko and the loss of your heroes and farmland. Don''t you want to add more to it? In fact, Juti, what''s your objection to my building things for you?"


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    "You want us to fight and kill and suffer more!"


    The chief said, "Juti is a cousin of Thoko. We have peace now... for what it''s worth. Accepting any help from you threatens that."


    Juti declared, "Then you have your answer, outsider. The high chief will have you, and then --"


    "No." Hassna puffed and breathed deeply. "Juti, in the morning you will take these two to the holy crater. They seek the spirits, so let them try to do that."


    "Very well," said the shaman, and left without giving Arlen another glance.


    #


    It was before dawn when Juti came to the door of a stone hut Arlen had made for himself and Meadow. "What is this? You''ve caged yourself."


    Arlen groaned as he woke up. He''d squashed his tail painfully under himself and the bedding was too thin. He''d shaped this structure as a little maze with a door no intruder could easily pass. He flowed the stonework slowly out of the way. "I was practicing."


    "I''ve prepared the way. You must leave all your belongings for the journey."


    "Isn''t it a long climb?"


    Juti shrugged. "Our people endure it. Can you?"


    "I''ll be ready in a few minutes, then." Arlen shooed him away.


    Meadow woke up groggy. "Ugh. So early?"


    Arlen spoke quietly. "He wants us to leave behind everything." He pointed to the knife he''d been carrying lately, and to the waterproof bag carrying his gun.


    Meadow woke up a little more. "Do you suppose...?"


    "Be prepared." Arlen reshaped part of the floor and buried his equipment under it.


    "That was faster than I''ve seen you do before."


    He shushed her. "Let''s go."


    They walked up a rocky slope in the dim early light. Juti had a walking stick with a lantern on it. Arlen cast a spell that conjured a bit of ice slowly, just to have a frosty glow to see by, but it was cold enough that he had to keep switching hands.


    The main town stretched far below. He estimated a few thousand people lived here but the land was underused. The blue haze had begun to stand out in a wide swath near the coast. Its edge overlapped people''s homes. Much of the other land was too steep or rocky for farming without terrace techniques these people hadn''t developed, and possibly magic irrigation. Physically it was a nice place; in his world it would be a tourist destination with boating and climbing and nature hikes. Though out of breath from the hiking part, he chuckled.


    "What?" said Meadow, looking worn out herself.


    "Thinking about the shockjaws. They''d be a nasty surprise for outsiders trying to admire the wildlife."


    Juti said, "We keep the trail safe enough."


    Up and ahead stood a plateau where upright boulders had been carved with swirling designs and several large trees cast shadows across the trail. Arlen tensed, and elbowed Meadow for attention.


    Juti trotted faster to cross the flat area, then paused for breath. Then whistled.


    The ground collapsed under Arlen and Meadow. He yelled and crashed painfully ten feet down, landing on his left side.


    Juti glared down at him. "I won''t let you defile our home. Everyone, now!"


    Other faces appeared around the open grave. Maybe eight of them. Then their spears and bows.

 Battle On the Crater Trail

    While falling, Arlen had instinctively grabbed the ground by magic. Now he made the loose dirt and stone explode upward. Men fell back with grit in their eyes or in one case a rock striking him in the chest. Then Arlen began yanking a layer of ground over the pit, like a blanket.


    A spearman jumped in. He landed well and stabbed down, burying his spear an inch from Arlen. Meadow shoved him from behind. He crashed nose-first into his spear and staggered, clutching his face. Arlen punched him. He tripped over Meadow and knocked her down.


    "Hey!" shouted an archer who''d crouched to aim down into the partly-sealed pit. The spearman staggered out of the way and an arrow flashed, nicked the ceiling, and struck Arlen''s ribs.


    Arlen groaned and spun around, feeling a hot line of blood. Meadow was trying to brain the brawler with a loose rock but he was avoiding her, trying to retrieve his spear and draw a knife at the same time. Arlen gritted his teeth through the pain. The man swatted Meadow aside and advanced on her, knife raised. The whole pit smelled of dirt and sweat and fear.


    Arlen shoulder-slammed him. They crashed into the grave''s wall. He felt flesh give under the impact. The man was like a bull, bigger and stronger, and he kicked backwards and sent Arlen reeling too. Arlen bumped into the embedded spear and for him, it was helpful. He bounced off it and body-slammed his opponent again just as he was turning. His chest wound flared up again.


    Meadow said, "Here!" and tossed a dropped knife to Arlen. He grabbed it and stabbed. The blade sank into the spearman''s chest. He coughed, staggered, and tried to grab it. Meadow finally hit him with the rock and he dropped to the floor. An arrow shot down and hit him in one leg.


    Arlen didn''t stop. He reached up toward the pit''s opening and sealed it over with rock, half an inch thick and then thicker and thicker. Then he risked glancing down again. The man was dead or dying.


    Meadow was shaking. She''d been battered and cut and had just helped beat a man to death. "What do we do? We''re buried alive and the shaman has a horde of guys just overhead waiting to kill us!"


    Arlen grimaced and said, "We''ll handle it." He thickened the ceiling a bit. Then he examined his wound. The arrow had gashed an inch deep into his lower right chest but then skidded off, scoring a mostly shallow gash. He could still breathe. Had it hit a bone? No, too low. Faint scarlet light glittered around the blood. He went wide-eyed at that. "Healing?"


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    Meadow noticed. "Maybe that power protected you."


    "Good, but it still hurts. I''m not made of iron, sadly. Ow. Gonna need to clean this unless magic fixes it up."


    The roof rumbled. Meadow said, "Juti must be digging in with a spell of his own."


    Arlen caused the floor beneath them to gradually drop another foot away, then thickened the ceiling to match. He could go faster than any shaman of the isles, probably.


    "What do we do?"


    "We take a break for a minute." Arlen sat down hard and made sure the roof would hold.


    The spearman groaned and struggled to rise. Meadow gasped and raised a rock.


    "Wait. You there, fighting man. If you want to live, do exactly what I say." Arlen pulled himself to his feet and kicked aside the arrow he''d been shot with, before the man could grab it. "Meadow, if he moves, hit him."


    With one eye watching the prisoner, Arlen transmuted part of the wall from rocks and dirt, to metal. He pulled out a pair of crude shortswords and offered one to Meadow, who took it and wobbled under its weight. "Too big? Switch." He shrank the other blade to be more of a machete, and switched. He shaped a bit more material into a plain buckler for his other hand.


    The prisoner was staring at him and in obvious pain. "How?" he said.


    "I got blessed, is all. We''ll get you to a healer in just a minute." Arlen gave up on making more equipment for the moment. Instead he looked toward one of the walls and carved a narrow tunnel in it, pushing outward and gradually up. Then he carved several stairs into the nearest part of the pit, and quietly thinned that part of the roof.


    Arlen caught his breath. "Get up. When I say, you go down that tunnel and make lots of noise. They''ll rescue you. Ready?"


    The warrior stood slowly, clutching his chest, and nodded.


    "Go!" When he''d started hobbling down the tunnel, Arlen carefully looked down to its end and magically gripped that spot by sight. He tore open the ground there to form an escape route.


    "Do we follow?" said Meadow. Then she looked toward the much closer staircase. "Oh!"


    "Yeah. Wait, though."


    The prisoner shouted, drawing attention. Arlen waited a few seconds, then broke open the roof above the steps. He went up first.


    He''d misjudged the height; it was five feet up to the ground. Three of Juti''s goons were there with spears while the rest had run off to the distraction. Good enough. Arlen collapsed more ground beneath the feet of one, sending him tumbling into the same hole he''d dumped Arlen into. The other two came at him.


    Arlen slapped the ground. Spikes of rock jutted upward in the path of his enemies. One man ran into a point two inches wide and doubled over, hurt and gasping. The other barely dodged and stabbed for Arlen but missed. Arlen sidestepped and raised his buckler, then slashed with his sword and gashed the man''s shoulder. He stepped back and made another slope to help Meadow escape. "Hurry."


    Meadow was terrified as she reached ground level with an injured warrior trying to come up behind her. Arlen kicked him in the head. Now Juti and the rest of his remaining fighters were doubling back. An arrow went wide and a dart of ice from the shaman struck Arlen in his sword arm. He winced but wouldn''t have more than a bruise.

 Will of the Spirits

    The stabbed warrior wheezed and pointed toward Arlen to warn the others. Arlen demonstrated. The spikes he''d made were fragile, narrow things that''d crumble from any real effort, but they were fast and narrow. He made the ground erupt in front of him in a dozen forward-facing stalagmites. Two men got impaled. The rest flinched.


    "Shoot him!" said Juti. Two goons still had bows in hand. They timed their attack with one of Juti''s; the shaman made the ground shake right under Arlen''s feet.


    Arlen dropped. The arrows passed overhead. He rolled and let fly with another, randomly aimed field of spikes. These were numerous enough to slow down the melee charge. "Meadow, you all right?"


    "Yes!" she said from behind one of the old pillars.


    Arlen began raising cover for himself as he got up to a crouch. He''d have a low wall against arrows. "Juti, give up now! I don''t want to kill you all."


    One warrior laughed; there were still four trained men and the shaman standing. One of the others muttered, "He''s too strong."


    "We''re here to talk to your holy spirits! If they want us dead, let them do it." While shouting, Arlen was still raising his defenses.


    Juti cursed. "You''ll be sorry soon enough!"


    Arlen stood his ground. The natives hadn''t thought to spread out and surround him, though he glanced around for any other ambushers. "Get your wounded out of here."


    The bowmen had drawn again, but the shaman growled and held them back. Without a word he turned to stomp back downhill. The rest picked up their fallen fellows and left too.


    Meadow peeked out from her pillar. "That was terrible!"


    "Different from fighting golems, huh?"


    She just nodded.


    Arlen was hurt and only starting to calm down and feel it. "Still have more hiking to do. You''re probably safer with me for now."


    They moved onward, up the trail.


    #


    Arlen was grim as he ascended. "My understanding is that the spirits live here, or they speak more clearly here, than they do on Decim."


    "I don''t know. I made the pilgrimage to Decim once but they didn''t speak to me, or give me magic." She paused for breath. "Why is this happening? Why do we all have to fight?"


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    "Change is coming to the islands, like it or not. That''s always hard."


    "Because we''re fighting Thoko and all his use of hostages and exiles? And because you''ve got this new power?"


    "Partly. Meadow, what do you think it means that the Roaring Storm is gone?"


    "It... it can''t really be gone. It''s always there. It''ll come back; it was just thrown around by whatever the magic was doing in the Catacomb."


    "And if it doesn''t?"


    For all her boasting about wanting to explore, she seemed scared and young when considering the idea of a bigger world than she''d known. "There could be monsters out there, beyond the sea."


    "I don''t know who or what lives out there. But the Builders probably came from somewhere, and I''d bet there are people a lot like you and me in another land. Ones who''ve spent centuries knowing there''s a mystery behind a giant storm they can''t pass. And now, the way is open for them to find out what''s here."


    "These outsiders don''t have to come here. They could leave us alone."


    "How''d you react to the big, mysterious ruin on your home island?"


    She went quiet.


    They climbed a steep trail until they reached a wide crater rim. This place wasn''t obviously rumbling with immediate threat of eruption, but there was a faint heat to it so that the shifting breeze alternated between the natural chill of the peaks and the warmth of a vast, banked flame below them.


    Arlen spoke in a chant he''d heard, calling upon the spirits'' favor.


    The crater steamed. He took a step back. He''d seen multicolored light in the depths, swirling in agitation.


    That illusion rose with the steam and brought voices with it, overlapping in hisses and snarls. "Troublemaking outsider! We gave you power, and you unsealed our domain!"


    Meadow knelt and trembled. Arlen stood, though phantoms swirled before him. "You finally speak."


    "This is your fault. You will bring ruin down upon our people."


    "Seems to me they have plenty of trouble already."


    "They had stability. Safety from the outside world. You know nothing of their ways."


    "It''s true, I don''t know much. What I got from your first message to me was that you wanted Thoko stopped. So I tried my best, and I got a new kind of power that I can beat him with."


    The spirits hissed and the colorful streams clashed in the crater''s open air. "We disagree on Thoko''s proper fate. You must prove yourself before long. You will see how. And then, you must stop the outsiders. They will come again."


    Arlen clenched his fists and used bravado to hide the rapid thumping of his heart. "Seems to me, the islands'' best chance is if they''re unified. If we stop the killing, the prisoners, the raiding. The war will be bloody and destructive unless we work together to end it quickly. Right now, many of your followers refuse my help because they''re afraid of angering you."


    Seething, sulking elemental anger reigned in the crater. "You are an outsider. You will not rule the islands. Never!"


    "That''s fine," Arlen said.


    "You will purge the islands of evil."


    "Which evil? The Mire raiders? The undead of Newshore or Death Island, whichever you call it? The poison on this very island?"


    "We cannot see that which poisons the Mire, but you will find it. Tend to these other things as well. Only then can the islands become strong enough. Finally, you must unify the people under a new high chief who respects us."


    "Who?"


    "You must find someone. This is your task."


    Arlen turned to Meadow. "Would you like to speak, since they''re so talkative today?"

 The Foul Shell

    Meadow was wide-eyed, still. "Why... why are you so quiet to us, normally?"


    "Presumptuous child," hissed the spirits.


    Arlen said, "It''s a fair question."


    The spirit voices shifted and split, speaking in chorus. "We do not wish to be the masters and rulers. To speak too loudly, too often, would do this."


    "There''s wisdom in that," said Arlen.


    Meadow said, "Oh spirits, I want to help Arlen. He needs proof that you support him, and we were nearly killed by a shaman claiming to speak for you. How can we convince others?"


    The internal bickering of the elemental lords was a contained storm. Finally they said, "Our man Juti was wrong to fight you. Meadow, if you would have proof of our support, leap."


    She gasped. Arlen started to get in front of her. "I won''t let you kill her just to --"


    "She will live. Come forth, child."


    Meadow breathed deeply with her eyes shut. "I wanted them to speak..." She screamed as she leaped off the crater''s rim.


    Arlen reached toward her, but a wind snatched her up and she floated in a vortex of mixed energies. It lifted her back to where she''d come from, with a new light glowing in her eyes and around her hands and feet. She stared, weeping, then thanked the spirits.


    Arlen shouted into the crater, "Is this what you do to make people trust you?"


    The spirits said, "This is a time of danger, outsider. More trust is needed."


    "Then earn it! Help me end this!"


    Meadow said, "Arlen, stop."


    He tried to calm down, though he still felt the slashing wound of a fanatic''s spear and he''d just seen a young woman risk death just to prove herself to unseen beings. "Fine. I will work to solve the islands'' biggest threats. Since we''re talking, I want to know your desires. I intend to give the people the tools they''ll need to defend themselves. I don''t plan to go back into the Catacomb anytime soon; so far as I know, it can wait. Do you have any objection to my giving the islanders what tools I can?"


    The sullen spirits fumed in the volcanic depths. Finally they answered, "Do what you must, and tell our people this is our will. Now go. If you would begin to prove your worth, slay that which poisons this island."


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    #


    Arlen and Meadow trudged downhill, tired and ragged. The sun was setting as they reached the town.


    People came out of their homes to see them, though they had no fanfare, no spirit heralds. By the time they were in earshot, the chief had come and he had lantern-bearers. "I''m told that you attacked my shaman."


    "There were eight or so plus Juti. What do you think happened up there?"


    Meadow interrupted. "Listen, oh chief." She came close, and whispered something in his ear.


    He went pale. "I see. You would not know that, without their blessing."


    Arlen tilted his head to ask silently, but neither the chief nor Meadow shared the secret. Instead the chief said, "I have had Juti and his friends stay confined, on suspicion of something like this. I''ll trust you on the spirits'' behalf."


    "Then tell me about this beast, the Foul Shell."


    The chief explained in more detail, and made Arlen queasy. He''d imagined a tentacled turtle, but now he heard that it dripped with many writhing, greedy mouths of venom that destroyed any land the beast occupied. Now, he pictured Congress.


    He asked Meadow, "What magic did you learn?"


    In answer, she shut her eyes and cupped her hands, gradually creating a swirling wind that stirred her hair. She looked at it and smiled. "Finally! I always wanted this."


    The chief said, "I happen to know a little of the art myself. I can teach you. Will you help him fight?"


    Her grin faltered. "I ought to. I''ll try."


    Arlen decided to do this the smart way if he could. "I need to try some tricks out myself."


    #


    The next morning, Arlen began fighting like a farmer. He walked from the relatively fresh air of the village and into the miasma zone, where everything stank of lead and sulfur. Not good to live here or to grow anything. The soil in this sparse, stunted forest had a sickly blue tinge, and squished with each step.


    So he changed it. Though his power gravitated around bare rock, he''d been able to turn dirt into stone and back again with limited transmutation. It felt like trying to grip multiple ingredients in a mixed bowl, or pulling just one color of candy out of a mix. More tiring than the simpler feats of conjuration. Where he worked, he left a nibbled-away perimeter of healthier-looking ground with chips of some unpleasant alloy vomited atop it. That could be swept away. He wasn''t sure the fog was getting thinner, but then he kept pressing into it. He had someone fetch a broom and basket to sweep up the crud. The woman doing that for him was brave to get this close to the monster''s lair, and kept glancing nervously into the tainted woods. Meadow kept nearby and practiced pushing the fog away.


    He worked carefully and rested often. Around noon he felt he''d hardly pushed back the foulness but it was still progress.


    Then, it came for him. The sodden, ugly ground ahead seemed to boil. Bruise-blue flesh flowed along the ground and showed a hard segmented shell and many armored, twisting limbs like snakes. The sight of its writhing and dripping body made Arlen gag on the foul air that thickened wherever it passed.


    The sweeper fled, of course. Meadow whimpered but pushed herself and made the fog flow ahead of them. Arlen said, "Back!"


    He and Meadow fled to their little fort. He''d prepared by setting up a platform five feet high and ringed with low walls. Two frightened spearmen were on duty there. From this perch, Arlen turned the cursed earth against the monster. Spikes erupted beneath it and drew dark blood. A discordant howl answered his attack. The beast yanked itself free while he tried to impale its main body again and again. The vine-like limbs helped tear it free so that it stood tall, dripping yellow pus.

 Sultan of Swat

    Like a rubber band, the toxic beast whipped backward and launched itself forward. The body struck Arlen''s wall and scuttled up it, whipping tentacles at everyone. Spearmen jabbed once each and then fled for their lives. The points stuck in its hide, at least. A stinging rope of flesh wrapped around Arlen''s left arm and a toothed mouth coiled nearby as if deciding where to bite.


    Arlen had a sword. He slashed down and cut the tentacle with one desperate blow. The rest recoiled. Meadow whipped a machete back and forth, barely keeping it at bay. The Foul Shell rose and breathed in, bloating, rising.


    "Now we run!" said Arlen.


    Meadow took the invitation. Arlen made the wall erupt upward to spear the beast from below again, then turned tail and leaped from his platform. Everyone ran away. The creature belched poison and bled over the platform, but it didn''t follow them far. Its territory was secure.


    Arlen''s arm stung and he''d been drooled on by several mouths. Two women quickly dumped buckets of water on him, then on Meadow, hosing off the worst of the filth.


    Arlen sprawled on the ground outside the poison zone, laughing. The chief stared at him, saying, "How can you find that funny?"


    "Congress," Arlen said. "Ugh, it was awful. We did beat it up, though. It was a little tough for us today, but did you see we made it bleed? We know what we''re doing, now."


    Though he''d lost today, he had the island spirits'' blessing for whatever it was worth. And more of a plan.


    #


    He asked the islanders about their past heroes, the ones who''d fallen in the first battle against this creature, or against Mirefolk raiders or the golems of Catacomb. Or in other battles. Despite the isles'' pleasant appearance, they had stories of many fights.


    He and the villagers shared a sparse meal of fish and those monotonous crunchy gourds, which made him think of dry cereal. He asked, "Do you have any treasures or symbols of these fighters, that you can show off?"


    "My grandfather''s axe," said one man.


    A woman said, "We keep my uncle''s mask."


    Arlen began building pillars a little ways into the monster''s territory, each one waist-high and flat-topped like a Roman column. Atop each one he had the islanders place their treasures. The axe and frightful mask, and the shell necklace of a heroic sorceress, and the shield of a guardian chief, and more. They had a curving wall of artifacts between them and the cursed ground.


    Meadow whispered to him, "Will this really help?"


    He smiled and gestured grandly outward. "Among my people this ritual is called..." He switched to English. "Ruth Points At the Bleachers."


    Then he set to work at the more practical details. He had his little fort and expanded on it, now that he understood. He added a panic room his team could drop into. More importantly, he added columns and walls full of holes. He was ready to run if the monster rushed him, but it wasn''t yet in sight. So he expanded on his design and waved to call for backup. He''d convinced three melee fighters and another three archers to help with the dangerous job. The chief had browbeaten Juti the shaman into lending a hand (without any of his friends) along with a junior spellcaster specializing in wind, like Meadow. The job of the wind-keepers was to push the fog away and minimize how much everybody was choking on it.


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    He''d had the melee men swap out their spears for slashing swords that he made, along with shields and helmets and breastplates for all. Thick wrappings for everyone''s limbs reduced the threat of poisonous acid burns.


    So now, they shouted taunts into the wilderness. Behind them, in sight, stood the relics of the last generation. Behind those, the people sang and prayed loudly. Arlen said, "You''re standing between the monster and your families."


    The monster came. It lurched in zigzags across the woods, kicking up splashes of filth. Everyone drew back at the sight of it, but they had their upgraded fort. The archers took useless shots. Now its many mouths roared and it reared up, bloating itself. An arrow caught it and knocked its main body back, drawing dark blood. It was angry now. It yanked itself forward and sailed, fell, squelched, and bounced up again with flailing vine-arms.


    Another arrow hit and Juti''s ice attack nicked a tentacle. "Be ready," Arlen warned.


    The Foul Shell embraced the fortress, spreading its limbs wide and slipping its dark tentacles through many openings. Fanged mouths chorused and oozed just feet away. Two drew dangerously close to the fighters, who shouted and battled with sword and shield. Arlen''s stomach churned but he raised one fist and clenched it.


    The ground shook and stonework crushed inward. Holes that''d been narrow now drew tight enough to snare the beast on its armored bits. Pinned in four or five places at once. "Cut!"


    Soldiers'' slashing blades hacked off chunks of living, rotten flesh while shields swatted aside flailing blows. One long limb snaked around the side of an open wall and the archers desperately tried to jab it with their bows before it could grab them. Juti jabbed with a knife and a swordsman lunged to finish it off.


    Arlen left the tentacles pinned. "Now, spikes!" His wall boomed and erupted forward into the monster''s body. Discordant shrieks came from the mouths. A vomiting sound erupted from the main armor-shelled blob. It wobbled just out of sight hard enough to shake the stones. He peeked through a large hole, dived out of the way as another limb clattered toward his face, and found another spot where he could target the main body by sight. Stalagmites ripped up from the earth to spear it from below.


    "Archers!" he called. The bowmen hopped up along prepared stepping stones and pumped arrows into the beast, so that a few shots got through its armor and tore open more oozing wounds. A loose tentacle whipped around at him and he slashed, cutting it midway. Then he made the ground rise all around the monster like a box.


    It thrashed, still impaled, and its blood stained the coffin growing around it. Spikes gashed it from the sides, then from above. It was shelled with half an inch of stone, a full inch, two. Arlen gave a signal, and everyone left the fort to come down and hack off every protruding limb at its base. Even now the core banged and raged. It took several minutes to go quiet. Arlen opened up the box to make sure it hadn''t escaped, and everybody took turns stabbing down into the squelching mass.


    They were filthy, splattered with slime. Arlen''s armor had taken a dent and a nasty bruise throbbed under it. Juti was bleeding from several wounds, and everyone else was banged up. Arlen caught his breath. "Let''s get someone to clean this up. Make sure no part wriggles away to regrow, somehow."


    The villagers had seen only from well behind them, but they''d heard, and they saw the party return with their weapons stained and their heads held high.


    "It''s done!" said Arlen. "The source of the blight is dead, thanks to the blessing of your heroes and the spirits. The deaths of your friends and ancestors are avenged!"


    A cheer went up. Even the shaman Juti let himself share in the credit for working with Arlen.


    Had the relics of the dead really done anything? Well, they''d given the troops more confidence, and now they were a source of honestly earned pride.

 Cleanup On Isle One

    Over the next day, he hunted and cleansed. He tore up and transmuted patches of ground to erase the nearest tainted areas. He and others kept on the lookout for any sign of the monster having a brood, but they found only an empty pit for its lair.


    The islanders didn''t outright ask what that thing was. They took it as some kind of incomprehensible misfortune from the sea. Arlen wondered if the Builders were somehow to blame. For now, he was glad to see there was only the one. Probably. He and the more knowledgeable spellcasters and farmers judged that over time, the worst taint would fade. He could come back and continue terraforming later.


    Having won the people''s trust, he explained the idea of a "Western style" fighting party. On the shore he raised a tower forty feet tall as a bastion and lookout point. "Your families and treasure can be hidden here too. If it really bothers you, I can remove the tower later."


    They accepted it for now, since he''d shown the value of even a small fort. He also got people using some iron arms and armor. He kept the design simple, partly because he didn''t think he was creating proper steel and couldn''t tell how pure or well-tempered his creations were. He went with a Roman gladius style of straight sword, iron-headed spears, shields with metal rims, and whatever bits of armor and helmets people wanted. Some men favored arm and leg guards. He wasn''t able to make a knightly suit of plates yet; too complicated to do all the joints by magic. He also tried a brigandine of small plates riveted to the inside of a jacket, giving it a look misleadingly described as "studded leather".


    For himself, he had his recovered gun, along with a sword and shield.


    He set out for Opaline again with Meadow and a witness, one of his archers. Meadow''s new talent with wind helped them sail swiftly.


    They found Opaline''s people still worried about battle any day. It was bad enough that the crops here had been damaged, forcing the people to rely more heavily on fishing and on gathering fallen wild fruit. The fishers were serving double duty as sentries.


    So when Arlen''s group arrived, a fisherman was trailing him as if he''d brought an army, despite all the friendly waving. Arlen waded ashore to explain to anyone who''d listen, "We killed the beast of Gull Island!"


    The townsfolk gathered to hear the tale. Arlen emphasized the heroism of the islanders themselves and their reverence for the past chiefs and other heroes. Then he got into the meeting with the spirits, and Meadow''s new blessing from them.


    The chief reluctantly admitted, "You seem to have their support, and enough strength to fight in new ways. All right, then; what do you have in mind for when Thoko organizes well enough for a serious battle?"


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    Arlen explained. Arms and armor, walls and towers, traps and tactics. The people listened. Especially after he created a stone extension for the chieftain''s home, that more than doubled its size and grew it to four stories, possibly the tallest structure in all the islands.


    The complex, grand rock-shaping was a lot of fun. He learned to lift himself up on a pillar as it grew, and to swirl walls and gateways into being, and to conjure simple furniture and braziers and decorations to his clients'' taste. Another bedroom? Certainly; give me a few minutes!


    Besides making a few houses and storerooms, he focused on military preparations. That presented a tricky problem that he spent long hours going over with the chief, the clever doctor, and other key figures. "The Mirefolk were our ''free'' easy battle. Thoko will know better. He won''t attack at the most well-defended spot."


    "Where, then?" asked the doctor.


    The chief frowned at Arlen''s sketched map of Opaline Island. He still wasn''t that familiar with maps in general. "What I''d try is to come around the far side of your island with a stealthy, swimming team to attack the other main village, much like our fire-starting squad during the rescue job. He''d risk being spotted by sentry boats, though."


    "I can''t easily ask someone to sit in a boat all day and night."


    "How about on a tiny island?"


    A shrug. "We have many, but not well placed for this... are you suggesting you can make one?"


    "Let''s find out."


    They adjourned from the upgraded palace and took a boat a little ways out to sea. The water here was only around thirty feet deep, shallow like most of the archepelago. Arlen dived. He grinned, discovering that his eyes no longer blurred like they ought to while underwater. He''d become a true aquatic. He didn''t have to hold his breath for long; he spotted the seabed in the sparkling depths. And mentally grabbed it. And lifted a chunk of it.


    The ocean rumbled. Sand and silt billowed out from the spell''s impact. Arlen rose, breathed, and returned to pull again. Soon his magic could grip it from the surface. He rode it up until his stone pillar broke the water and climbed ten feet above it. He made a little wall, and a canopy, and took a bow to the stunned Opaline observers. "Where else would you like a little island?"


    He ended up making this one twice as big, and tall enough to spot a war fleet from many miles off. Even if the enemy tried to be stealthy, Thoko''s men would take boats most of the way and expect to swim only the last stretch. They''d be spotted. Or at least see this thing, fear being spotted, and be thrown into confusion. Either way helped.


    Arlen consulted again with the planners. "Until the battle happens, I''d like someone to spend time in each tower if possible, at least the ones nearest to your villages and the best landing sites. If the sentries see trouble, they can light a fire and blow a horn."


    "Strange," said the chief.


    "And each village should have a safe place for your valuables and non-fighters. That''s easy. If possible we''ll keep a fire burning atop your home, too. We can try to lure Thoko into attacking the one building bigger than his own palace."


    The Opaline leaders and Arlen the war-chief kept busy. Parties went back and forth between the rebellious islands including, now, Stormhowl which wanted the new "magic" training and equipment. Their privileged isolation had let them hang back but they''d now grown bolder, more willing to lend warriors.

 Threatening a New Island

    Arlen asked one of the far-flung Stormhowl men, "The Roaring Storm is really gone, then?"


    He looked haunted. "The weather''s still risky but we don''t see it swirling in the distance every day, anymore. It was there all my life. Now, just empty ocean and spirits know what else."


    The news from Gull Crater was still good: training and a newly heartened population, looking forward to a future with safe air and fertile fields.


    But then a messenger arrived from Catacomb, exhausted and hollow-eyed. Decim had struck there first. They''d used intense, piercing jets of water to bowl soldiers over and leave them vulnerable to Thoko''s men and a force of berserk Mirefolk. A mighty mage had even toppled half of the defense tower, crushing not just the archers atop it but four women and two children who''d taken shelter in the bottom floor. Only one girl of the six was expected to live.


    "What!" said Arlen. "Who! How?" Everyone around him was demanding to know, too.


    The traveler shook his head. "A wizard at Thoko''s right hand. The high chief has retaken the island and punished anyone who defies him. The hostages... the trouble with them is that if he kills them and sends word of it, he only causes revenge. So for this battle Thoko captured our people and have them prisoner right now, ready to slit their throats in plain view."


    Arlen breathed hard, picturing innocent people buried under rubble. That part was his fault more than the rest. "Magic shouldn''t be able to cut through the walls that easily."


    "I saw it myself, sir. It was stronger water magic than I''d ever known before, slicing like a knife."


    Arlen growled and swore. He could''ve added iron plating, if he''d known. But extra powerful magic?


    He muttered, "Let''s you and him fight."


    "What?" said the chief.


    "When I spoke with the spirits, they said something about proving myself and how that would decide Thoko''s fate.


    Because the spirits feel unsure, divided. How might you handle a dispute between two angry, headstrong young men in your village?"


    The chief''s ears lay back and he worked his jaw. It was the doctor who answered. "A chief such as Thoko might give them weapons, and set them against each other to see who wins."


    Catacomb''s man shook one fist. "Are you suggesting my people died to some mighty attack because the spirits willed it?"


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    Where Arlen had encouraged faith in the island spirits to bring hope to Gull Crater, he now wondered if it was misplaced. Certainly ill repaid. He asked, "Who was the wizard? Do you know?"


    "Voz."


    Arlen clenched and unclenched his webbed fists. "I see. I''m going to discuss this problem with him personally, soon. And with Thoko."


    The Opaline chief said, "We should explain it directly on Decim."


    Arlen said, "Do you think he''ll likely attack here within the next few days?"


    They conferred. Despite how distraught the Catacomb man was, he helped provide more information about Thoko''s little army and its plans. The goal of them seemed to be to keep control over Catacomb, then move on Gull Crater next. A messenger went out immediately to warn the people of Gull Crater.


    The good news was that Arlen had a little time to create more problems for Thoko, by an indirect approach.


    #


    Arlen, Meadow, and three fighters from Stormhowl and Opaline came to the place called Newshore Island, or Death Island. It seemed totally uninhabited at first. Jungle right up to the unwelcoming rocky coast.


    Then they swung around a tall outcropping and saw the settlement. At a mediocre harbor of muck and driftwood sat a shantytown behind the best manmade wall Arlen had seen any of the natives make. A swampy smell pervaded the area even at sea. Strong current swept them inland. No boats were waiting at the dock.


    But soldiers of a sort were. These were men with iron equipment in a more primitive style than Arlen used, more like the products of Thoko''s forges. An alarm horn blew and troops with bows came out to the beach to threaten the boat, shouting, "Who goes there?"


    Arlen had been warned but hadn''t expected immediate attack. "Everyone get down and hold us back." He dived over the side.


    The water here was darker and muddier. It took him a while to reach the bottom and bang into it by mistake. That let him begin raising a tower. When he came up for air the archers were waiting for an easy shot or an easy arrest. Without explanation he dived again and pulled his miniature island higher, placing it so that the boat could snag on it and remain offshore.


    One of Arlen''s men called out, "I said, we''re here to help fight! Let us come and speak."


    "You''re the rebels, aren''t you? I see that stone witchcraft he''s doing. Stop, now!"


    Arlen made sure the boat could hold position, and slowly built up cover. "We mean no harm to the exiled prisoners of this island. If that''s you, lower your weapons and we''ll talk. In the name of the Free Islands --"


    Arrows whooshed. Only one came close. Arlen dived to one side and crashed into the water, then grabbed the pillar and raised it another few inches. "Are you Thoko''s men? He just killed women and a child on Catacomb. Stand down, I say, or I''ll crush you like we crushed the beast on Gull Island!"


    There were two distinct groups on shore now. Thoko''s loyalists stood out in the middle, well equipped, clustered to seize the intruders. In an arc to one side were men and a few women who''d been manning that wall. The barrier stood maybe twice a person''s height, made of wood and stone, and rippled with some kind of enchantment. Parts of it had collapsed or been rebuilt in new positions, making a shifting battlefront. But that defense was directed against the swampy rainforest, not the coast.


    His attention snapped back to the immediate threat. A force of maybe fifty loyalists faced him and his tiny squad. The prisoners they guarded, maybe forty in view at the moment, were barely armed. That group was just watching.


    Arlen reached out with his mind and magic to grip a point near shore. The ground felt tense at this distance.


    A guard on the island clashed his spear on his shield. "Come close, or go away. Quit wasting our time."

 Seizing Death Island

    "Surrender to the Free Islands!"


    The loyalists on shore jeered him. So Arlen raised one hand, and the ground exploded. Jagged rock ripped up at the feet of Thoko''s men, stabbing them and sending others tumbling and banging into one another. Arrows flew and he ducked easily away from the wild shots. "More? Want more?"


    "It''s not possible!" someone shouted. The prisoner group flinched back from the violence in the center.


    Arlen shifted his aim and more spikes jutted up nearby, felling another two men. They were scattering, drawing back, taking cover behind the shoddy long huts that formed their prison settlement.


    One of the exiles on the fringes fell to his knees, saying, "Don''t kill us!" Others raised their hands or dropped their weapons.


    "All right!" Arlen shouted back.


    Meadow stayed on the boat. "What now? You don''t need to beat them all."


    He grimaced, not wanting to keep going. "I''m going ashore. Shout if they try anything." He focused on a point between himself and the dispersed enemies, and made it rise until it was high enough to be cover when he reached land. Then he dropped into the water and swam with the current.


    His troops, minus Meadow, decided to come along. They reached the shore to find soldiers peeking out from doorways and corners. He stood by his new wall and said, "Weapons down!"


    Two of the warriors exchanged a look. They ran at Arlen, shouting, "For the high chief!" A third got brave enough to follow. To their credit they made an effort to dodge so that his first spikes didn''t hit them. Clever archers fired to keep Arlen behind his wall. Arlen started sweating. It was easier to do this against a big group. "Guys?"


    The soldiers with him drew their swords from their soggy clothes. Arlen waved one hand and shot spikes out sideways from the wall.


    The incoming men had expected strikes from below. Arlen misjudged the timing but the two in front struck the fragile bars and crashed into them, staggering. Arlen''s guards stabbed. He was on them a moment later. The straggler came in next and joined the brawl but was behind his friends for just long enough to be useless. Arlen slashed a man across the shoulder and bashed the last one with his pommel.


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    The scent of hot blood sickened him. "You''re beaten!" he called out, as the three went down. "Enough!"


    Thoko''s men cursed and jeered, but there was no heart in it. "How are you doing that?" somebody said.


    "Spirits'' blessing. They want this over with. We''re done here. Come out slowly and drop the weapons, or I finish you all off." Then he turned to the exiles waiting on the fringes. "Can we get a little help this time?"


    "Do you even need it?" asked one incredulous man.


    He answered loudly, "I could kill them all, but I''d rather not. Make their decision easier."


    Slowly, the poorly-armed exiles began advancing on the loyalists. Arlen said, "If I see an arrow fly, I''m feeding it to its owner."


    The loyalists surrendered. One man with a gaudy, impractical plumed helmet of iron glared at him as he set his hatchet down. "You don''t know anything, outsider. Thoko will deal with you yet."


    "Good. I''ll see him soon. Get your men healed, if you can. Then we''ll talk."


    The officer barked orders and his warriors tended to the wounded. Arlen soon found out more about the population: Thoko''s garrison was backed by a larger group of troublemakers, rebels and unpopular people who served as cooks, farmers, and other support. Women from this prisoner class did most of the healer work. The convict men and a few magic-using women were allowed weaponry so that they could serve on the front line.


    "The front line of what?" asked Arlen.


    "See for yourself," the captain said.


    Arlen let the prisoners seize control of the settlement, warning them not to do any more killing today, and went to the wall. It circled the ramshackle village. He climbed a ladder to the narrow walkway atop it.


    The trees had been felled for a hundred paces but logs littered the murky ground. Fog began not far beyond that. Not the poisonous mist of Gull Crater, but simple haze that stirred as unseen things moved.


    "We''re usually glad for the mist," said a prisoner. "Makes the ghosts easier to see."


    Another had followed him out here. "The iron weapons hit them better."


    "I can give you iron," Arlen said. Some of the trees looked like they''d been slashed or bitten, even high up.


    He returned to the settlement and explained what he could do. The loyalists perked up at the mention of unlimited, upgraded combat gear. "I can help you fight these ghosts, but the war with Thoko needs to end first. And none of you should be forced to stay here."


    One exile said, "I want to go home!" Others chimed in, agreeing. But others said, "This is home now. We fought for it."


    "I can understand both," Arlen said. "I''m going to leave to free the islands from Thoko, and I will win. If some of you will join me, I''ll come back faster." To the loyalists he added, "Are you sure you haven''t got any boats? I could trade a nice stone house for one. And I don''t trust you with weapons just yet, but I can make sure your former captives have enough weapons to keep everyone safer than you are right now."


    Somehow, the troops had forgotten they had a swift sailboat stashed away. With that, Arlen was able to send off a few civilians who wanted to leave. It''d be a gesture of goodwill. He''d be sending boats to Stormhowl to rush fighting men from here to Opaline, right after.

 Afraid of No Ghosts

    Before leaving, he wanted to test his worth against the ghosts. The people told him that their wall had been blessed with an ongoing ritual, a duty of several guards and prisoners. He didn''t know the nature of its magic but it did course with some kind of spell. Gingerly he ran his hands along some cracks in the barrier and made the stone parts of it flow back into shape. He didn''t dare try more repairs to what he didn''t understand.


    There were grounded ghosts and flying ones. To the defenders neither was much different since the fliers had to swoop in close and didn''t have the wits to avoid the barrier. To Arlen they were more of a problem. He''d learned to fling shards of stone around like arrows, an enhanced version of the common earth-element combat spell, but it was basically a single-target attack and not the kind of mass destruction that''d impress Count Vlad. He made a few stepping stones near the front of the wall and went down into the wilderness.


    The Newshore settlement was Thoko''s ongoing project to settle a useless island. He''d forced enough people to come here that they''d established a foothold with a wall. Mindless monsters bashed continually on the defenders, killing people by ones and twos. Over time, the hope was to push the frontier back, but in years of work they''d maintained only a small village.


    Arlen was alone at the moment. Iron-wielding men stood on the wall, taking bets. He pushed just beyond the cleared area and peered deeper into the foggy woods. Here and there he found a lost weapon from past scouting parties. The land smelled rich and alive, just damp. Mostly from the warm rain drizzle, he judged; the ground was above the ocean''s level. While he was thinking about it he created a short road as a landmark. Sixty feet long, twenty wide, two thick. All the while, he watched for trouble, wondering if he was provoking the locals. Nothing yet. He got nervous and began adding a one-story bunker and other prepared spots.


    The old inhabitants arrived. The first sign was a stirring of the mist ahead, like breath. Spiderweb shapes emerged and split and swarmed. Arlen gripped the ground some distance away. The swarm came on, overlapping and mumbling. These were vaguely human shapes showing awful wounds and tattered uniforms and bits of armor. A man without a head rushed onward with outstretched arms. A severed leg whirled through the air. Some had a sort of memory of a weapon, sometimes a sword, maybe an axe or a crossbow but indistinct. All had a pale, drowned look. Then there were the flying ones, still humanlike but whipping through the branches like monkeys or merely forgetting to stay on the ground. And all charging at him by the dozen.


    Arlen ripped up the ground. His new road exploded in spears, some of them tipped with iron bits he''d placed by transmutation. The ghosts along the path shattered like glass. Others had avoided the strike or were higher than it reached. Floating faster than expected. The swarm ignored the window of his bunker and flowed swiftly around to the doorway. Arlen spun and spiked the entrance, tearing away more of the gossamer flesh. Other ghosts got in, though. The room was full of crazed, deathly-cold jumbles of overlapping limbs and slashing hands and teeth. None quite solid and real, all bent on hurting him.


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    Arlen screamed. He lashed out with bursts of stone and ice while confined in the little room. Ruinous eruptions of sharp rock gashed holes in the poltergeists. He couldn''t see what he was hitting. Claw-like strikes cut him, feet kicked and tripped him. He toppled toward one of his own stalagmites and barely swept it aside. Mismatched teeth from three superimposed jaws closed in. He tore free a spike and fed it into the unreal mouth. Rolled to his feet. Collapsed half the ceiling. Spun, slashed with his sword.


    Shrieking, the diminished mass of ghosts fled from the ruined bunker, wobbling deeper into the forest. Arlen was bleeding from a dozen cuts including one on his tail. Even his armor had taken a dent, though he recalled the ghost that did it had exploded or something. He staggered and picked his way back out of the building, to head back to the village wall.


    Meadow and his guards were up there. "Arlen!" shouted Meadow.


    He trudged up his stepping-stone path to get back on the wall, and erased it behind him. "Need bandages." He wobbled and had to be helped back into town.


    One of the prison foremen was drinking watered-down rum, trying to look comfortable while disarmed and hoping the exiles wouldn''t take revenge on him. "Didn''t think you''d be back. Real stupid to go alone."


    Arlen''s wounds burned, but he''d also seen the glimmer of scarlet light along them, similar to his other magic. Slow self-repair, apparently. He tried to laugh. "Wanted to get a feel for how bad it is. I tore up a lot of them. How many are there?"


    "Never seen more than a few hundred at once, if counting them means anything. But they keep coming back. You might''ve bought us a few days of peace."


    "What makes them keep returning?"


    "Did you get a good look at them?"


    "Old uniforms... clothing of a different people, dressed alike. Armed for war."


    The former guard sipped his drink. "I think the land remembers a terrible battle, and relives it."


    Arlen said, "Then how do you kill a memory?"


    "Over the years we''ve pushed it away little by little. But anyone who''s found where it comes from, hasn''t come back to say."


    #


    Arlen had effectively taken control of Death Island. The few exiles who least wanted to be there had gone, and two men who were... unpopular, had quietly requested to come with Arlen when he left, in return for fighting. Which meant that Arlen couldn''t trust them.


    He sailed back to Opaline in a hurry with Meadow''s help. He turned the two ex-guards over to Opaline''s chief to figure out their fate. As soon as they''d been taken away for later questioning, he muttered, "Not my circus."


    He worked with Opaline''s chief, who''d been building more boats lately. "I''ll keep training the troops, but please make a run to Death Island to get more volunteers."


    "They''re willing to come here?" asked the chief.


    "Some of them will come with us to Decim. Because it''s almost time to finish the job."

 War Preparations

    While a fleet assembled, Arlen took a single boat outward toward Decim, with just himself, a good oarsman, a wind-mage, and a store of well-preserved dried fish. They had a long, dull trip under a cloudy sky, and arrived at the Guiding Reef.


    Arlen''s companions began to tell the story. Arlen waited it out while resting. Then he said, "We''ll travel for another hour."


    He''d explained the plan already, but it was a dangerous one. Once they''d sailed onward along the known, obvious route everyone insisted on using, Arlen went overboard. He spotted the seabed and pulled on it. In several dives he made a stone tower inch upward, until it broke the surface. Instead of building another obvious watchtower, he made an underwater base. Just a dozen or so feet down, with enough space to store supplies. And to rest. And to have a lot of pre-formed stone spears ready to lift and fling.


    He wasn''t sure yet exactly how it might be used. If Thoko attacked Opaline very soon, it''d get ignored and be no real loss. Otherwise, it was positioned as a surprise attack point.


    For the moment he extended thin stone arms in several directions from the hidden tower for possible later use. He sealed the sunken room off and removed its entryway. Of course, he''d now need to find it again! To that end he made a thin pillar a few hundred yards off as a hint.


    His companions called out while he was fooling around with the details. "There''s fighting to do, war-chief."


    His ears drooped. "Yeah. Let''s head back and finish preparations."


    They talked about Guiding Reef on the way back, too.


    #


    No word came from Catacomb, a bad sign. Arlen had been aiming for the main threat because once again, Thoko was using hostages located on Catacomb itself, with knives at their throats to prevent any resistance. In a way the system of captives was a method of peace; it could prevent fights before they began. The high chief had tried to arrange a marriage between his family and the Opaline chief to tie everyone further together with himself in charge, and that wasn''t greatly different.


    Arlen met once more with Opaline''s chief, and with the doctor, and with a few other trusted people including Meadow. They spoke at length about the possible outcomes. "There''s no getting around this completely. For all our blessings, we must either do as Thoko says or risk him murdering innocents."


    He''d brought this up before, but the final reminder made everyone grim. The chief said, "You come from the outside, some place of amazing tools. Do you think us foolish and backwards because we fight like this, over such things?"


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    Arlen took a long drink. "Your islands are beautiful, the people friendly, and you already have more knowledge and skill than I would have expected. What I''ve been teaching are more powerful ways to fight, but they''re not happier ways. In my lands there was a great war among many mighty chiefs who were related by blood, and then a war of revenge, and many lesser wars after that. In a way they''ve taken themselves hostage by building weapons that could destroy a whole island, and threatening to use them on each other."


    The doctor stared at him, aghast. "Why? No, I think I understand. It''s not all that different from threatening to slit the throat of your rival''s sister if he disobeys you, is it?"


    "No. So you have a choice, once more. Call Thoko''s bluff and he may kill many people you care about. Or don''t, and he will keep enslaving people to throw to the murderous ghosts, and leave you as prey for the Mirefolk, and make constant demands of those he doesn''t kill."


    "An ugly choice," the chief said, not for the first time.


    "But I can make sure that if Thoko is the kind of man who will carry through with that sort of threat, he will die. And that''s an effective threat, because isn''t he the one person he cares about the most?"


    #


    A war fleet had assembled on Opaline. Every available boat was loaded, and the wind favored them. The soldiers were fewer than Thoko''s total army, but they had the training of the "Sunset Style", better arms and armor, and experienced fighting men rushed from Death Island. And Arlen''s ruinously destructive magic. Several hundred fighters were ready along with spellcasters and medics. The chief of Opaline would be leading much of the party but deferred to Arlen as war leader.


    What if Decim''s forces did the unthinkable and sailed around them, ignoring the standard trade route by Guiding Reef? Or struck with the small occupying force on Catacomb? Then the Opaline civilians would flee and hide. If Thoko''s warriors attacked them anyway, Arlen would make sure that those warriors returned to find their homes gone. Most likely, Arlen''s army would add that their families must be killed in revenge, too. And Arlen would lecture and give orders about not committing atrocities, and angry men would have to decide how far down the spiral of bloodshed they wanted to go.


    Damn Thoko. And damn himself, if he didn''t try his best to stop it.


    Women, children, and the old prayed and sang for the departing heroes. Maybe they''d still be around when the fleet returned.


    The ships set sail early in the morning by wind and oar and magic. The journey would take roughly a full day and night as usual. They''d left a small food cache in the hidden underwater base but that wouldn''t feed the army. What the base did do, was provide a better resting place than the tiny reef platform. So they all traveled from Opaline to Guiding Reef, stopped just long enough to tell the story and orient themselves toward Decim, and pressed on for another hour into the night.


    Arlen sweated as he tried to find his secret lair in the dark. Maybe this was a dumb plan. Eventually his mages risked casting their brightest spells, and they spotted the marker spire. He used that to guide him beneath the waves and finally reached the base. There, he stretched the stonework until it broke the surface again, opened the way into the sunken room, and happily fooled around with expanding it. He added something like covered underwater parking for the boats, and a little tower.


    The soldiers were spooked to have this hidden island suddenly available. But he was giving them a safe place to rest and they were all tired from sailing.

 The War Fleet Arrives

    "Sir! A boat!"


    Arlen woke up from nightmares. A fighter was shaking him. Arlen said, "Spotted from the tower?"


    "Yes, from towards Decim!"


    Arlen had been laying on a thin sheet, wishing he could make blankets. He got up with stiff muscles and joined the current sentry at the entrance to the little lookout turret. He caused that outcropping to melt away into sand so that nothing much would appear above the waves. While it was still fading over a minute or so, he said, "Good work. Did you see how many?"


    "Just the one. Maybe watching for an invasion like we''ve been doing, or coming ahead of a fleet."


    "Let''s find out."


    They woke two more people including a caster able to breathe underwater. A woman, in that case; one of the few who''d been allowed to tag along over some objections. After a few minutes'' wait she deployed in front of the base. Everyone else kept hidden but readied a fast boat.


    The scuba scout returned, out of breath and peeking over a stone block. "Just the one boat, war-chief."


    He breathed deeply of the cool, salty air. "Thank you. Let''s ruin their evening."


    The boat was of course headed right for the usual reef, which put Arlen in its path. To Thoko''s sailors the sea probably had nothing here at all. Its current direction would make it miss the mark by a few degrees, not perfect for the trap. Arlen asked, "Think they''re planning to wait on the reef? Strange to see them so far out from Decim."


    The troops agreed, though one man was puzzled. "You don''t _wait_ on Guiding Reef. You rest and move on."


    "Well, Thoko is an innovator."


    The team woke up Opaline''s chief and asked if he wanted to let it pass, completely missing the war fleet, or to attack. The chief grinned wickedly.


    They let the scout boat pass by, then struck. Arlen was behind them and below, pulling a tower up from the seabed. He began waving a spell around in his hands, glowing brightly in midair. His spellcaster scout floated fifty yards farther out with a flashy spell of her own. The scout boat shuddered like people were staggering around in confusion. Arlen nodded in grim satisfaction. He''d given them information that something was going on, so would they act on it by turning back to report? No harm done if they only moved on.


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    As hoped, they turned around. And tried to avoid the two mysterious lights by turning, which sent them toward the ambush boat.


    It pounced, led by the chief and two others rowing. Over the short distance they caught up. The scouts weren''t the best fighting men either; they were slow to react. Arlen was swimming to intercept. By the time he got there, the chief had bloodied his iron machete and he and the rest had overpowered three sailors.


    They forced the boat over to their hidden lair and called in a healer to save the most wounded man. The chief said, "How goes it on Decim, you three? We decided to visit."


    The scouts hardly believed anyone could ambush them here, or that this false island even existed. They got talked into describing Thoko''s army, supposedly well over a thousand men strong, and they boasted about rushing the enemy with invincible courage. Arlen''s group recoiled at the figure, but Arlen himself saw it as thin. "Still more ''warriors'' than ''soldiers'', and some will be busy on Catacomb."


    One of the scouts eventually said, "You rebels are going to get it! It doesn''t matter how many tricks you have. Thoko and his Black Arrows will make quick work of you."


    "What can he do against a stone wall that comes to him?" said Arlen.


    "You''ll have to step out from behind it someday."


    The chief said, "What do you want to do with them, Arlen?"


    "We''ll leave them here without a boat and rescue them when we''re done."


    #


    Sleeping in a stone room with few furnishings wasn''t pleasant, but it still beat the ships. After a night''s rest everyone woke up ready for war.


    The army of the free islands approached the shore of Decim Island. They assumed more scout boats would be guarding the most obvious side routes to circle the island, and so came directly for the stone breakwater that marked the biggest town of the capital island. Alarm horns blared in the distance.


    Opaline''s chief laughed. "It''s time, everyone! They''ll have a bigger surprise than they expected."


    The army had given Thoko less warning than the tyrant would''ve hoped for, but Arlen was less confident. "They''ll know about my tower-building. Probably not about the more aggressive power, but we''ll see."


    A shout carried unnaturally from shore, as though echoed by the ocean itself. High Chief Thoko spoke to the fleet. "Rebels! Surrender at once!"


    The overlord of the islands stood with his mighty hammer, shield, and armor, and a growing swarm of fighting men near shore. Others on his side were standing on wooden towers with bows, and wisps of smoke coiled from them as they prepared to ignite boats with flaming arrows.


    Arlen sat at the prow of a boat. He yelled back with the help of a wind mage. "It''s over, Thoko. Remember how you fought that monster on Gull Island to a draw, and managed to be the only man to run away? I just killed it for practice."


    There was an awkward pause. Then Thoko said, "You betrayed me, Arlen. I gave you food and shelter, and an honored place at my side, and offered you women. You had a chance to help me build. Now you''ve been killing my men."


    "And you''ve been killing our women and children. Voz, I see you there at Thoko''s side. Did you kill them personally?"


    "What!?" shouted Voz.


    "The fort you collapsed!"


    "It was a war fort! Your men were hiding in there!"


    "It wasn''t just men."


    "You people didn''t tell us that!" Voz said, screaming a few expletives too.


    Around Arlen, men growled. The chief sat in the boat beside him. He said, "They were in the way; was that it?"

 The Black Arrows

    Arlen''s ears burned. He was at fault too. He hadn''t meant to use civilians as human shields, but by making the fort a shelter and a fighting platform he''d had the same effect. He began concentrating on the shallow water in front of him, beginning to raise a platform slowly. He called out, "I warn you, Thoko. If this fight continues, I will kill many of your warriors. Do you think you have the spirits'' blessing with Voz at your side? Because I do too."


    The vizier conferred quietly with Thoko, nodded, then stomped forward from shore. And onto the water. He walked across it, alone, and the sea parted slightly under his feet, giving him a wave-bound road to walk. His ears lay back and he carried a staff in one hand, a knife at his belt, armor on his chest.


    The men beside Arlen murmured. "A challenge!"


    "An insult," said Opaline''s chief. "Thoko sends his shaman rather than his best warrior."


    Arlen said, "He''s dangerous. Is he coming for me, or for you?"


    The chief grunted. He shouted at Voz: "Do you challenge me?"


    The shaman said, "Arlen, face me."


    Arlen nodded. "On my own terms." He dived into the water.


    Voz had apparently gained new powers of the sea. Arlen had to work quickly. He hit sand just six feet down, and lifted the little platform he''d begun to grow. The beach swirled and condensed beneath him. He emerged from the water standing on a sandstone block that rumbled and surged at his feet, lifting him higher by the moment. When Voz stopped walking, Arlen was already looking down at him as from a throne.


    They were close enough to speak without amplifying spells. Arlen said, "Did you really not know who was in that tower?"


    "I didn''t. I swear it. I also swear that the spirits have told me, you must be defeated. You''ll bring the islands to ruin if you don''t submit to me."


    "They spoke to me. They said I must prove myself, that I must purge the islands of evil like the Foul Shell monster on Gull Crater."


    "After all that Thoko has done to improve our lands, you think you can take over?"


    "No. The spirits outright told me I may not. I''m only a war-chief."


    Voz spread his arms. "Why all this, then? Thoko''s way has been painful, but it _works_! Have you no gratitude?"


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    "Look at me and how I''m standing here, Voz. I''ve changed. I gained power from the ruins of Catacomb, and it seems the spirits have granted you more power."


    "To stop your little rebellion."


    "Didn''t you hear their voices clashing? They want a fight, to settle their disputes about Thoko and the way forward for the isles."


    "Then who am I to deny them a chance to thrash you and stop the killing?"


    Arlen pointed far out to sea. "You know that the Roaring Storm is gone, right? Men will come from the outside. If we''re weak, they''ll know. You need me alive. You haven''t seen all that I can do."


    "Then join us, damn it! Come and stop this battle, and I will see to it that Thoko takes you in."


    Arlen gritted his teeth, knowing he could agree. And accept the misdeeds Thoko had imposed on his people already, and try to lessen whatever evil Thoko did next in the name of progress. Better to stop it now. He said, "I have a better idea. Join me. Be the new high chief and defeat Thoko."


    Voz said, "What? Why?"


    "Quick and decisive. The spirits'' goals are met. We both _fight_, just not each other. The islands remain strongest this way. You will set the rules for problems like the Mire."


    On the shore, Thoko had grown suspicious. He found another mage to help him call out, "Voz, return."


    Voz nodded toward him. Then he said to Arlen, "You speak only for yourself."


    "Then I will make sure my people understand." Arlen dived and swam toward his boat.


    When he surfaced again, the others were listening. Arlen explained quickly. The Opaline chief looked to his allies. "There would''ve been talk of it anyway. What say you?"


    They grumbled and argued, but there was enough agreement for the chief to take the lead. "I will accept this. May the spirits guide us."


    Then he bellowed so loudly, he needed no magic to be heard. "All hail High Chief Voz!" The soldiers raised their weapons and called Voz''s name.


    Voz had begun walking back toward his current boss, maybe to negotiate. Now he glanced over his shoulder at the shouting, with a terrified wince. The rebels had just made his decision easier.


    Thoko raised his hammer. "Voz! Kneel, this instant!"


    The shaman leaped backwards and into the water. The betrayed high chief said, "Get him! Third group, go!"


    A swarm of lightly armored men waded into the sea and swam, ducking deeply enough to resist any arrow fire.


    "It begins," Arlen said. "Start with the swimmers." He dived too and lashed his tail like a shark to rush back to his platform.


    Arlen reached the stone dais and locked his mind on it to raise it, especially in front. He grabbed it and struggled to climb.


    Voz got there too. Arlen reached down. The spirits'' champion grabbed his arm and wriggled up onto the platform, gasping. "Allies?"


    "Yes." Arlen crouched; arrows whizzed by but he had decent, rapidly growing cover.


    Voz said, "The Black Arrows. He''ll dare use them. If he can see us -- quickly!"


    An arrow sailed overhead as a dark line against the clouds. Then it whipped around the growing roof of Arlen''s tower and slammed into Arlen''s left shoulder.


    Arlen staggered, screaming. Voz yanked him back from the edge and shouted, "Seal the walls! Now!"


    Though his vision was red with pain, Arlen rushed to whip more stone into existence all around the two of them. Sand and dust congealed into a ceiling and walls. He coughed out the word, "How?"


    Voz said, "Hold very still." He chanted something, leaned his head close to Arlen to study his shoulder, then wriggled the arrow and yanked.

 Storming the Beach

    Arlen fell onto his chest, blinded and howling. Voz said, "Still, I said." He knelt and tried some healing spell. "It''s not too bad. The Black Arrows seek blood, and this one''s been fed." He picked up the shaft that''d struck Arlen and showed it to him. The head was barely barbed and glistened with dark red.


    Arlen whimpered.


    "Shut up, war-chief. Listen. The high chief has three. Two now. They can follow any open path. We''re safest back in the water, as far down as we can get. Can you do... however it is you''re doing this stone-shaping, from there?"


    Arlen''s every breath hurt, but his lungs still worked. "No. I need to see the target clearly. The shore''s in range from here."


    Voices clamored from the tower''s base. Some of Thoko''s light troops had begun climbing the hastily made, rough walls.


    Voz said, "I feel someone striking the stonework with magic. We don''t have long."


    Arlen had to gamble. He wheezed, steadied himself, then opened a hole in the back of his tower. From there he saw two climbers. He shouted and made the wall erupt. Those two took spikes through their chests and fell, gagging. Arlen felt little better. He sealed the wall again. "How long before they break the base?"


    "Maybe a few minutes."


    It''d be long enough, he hoped. He tore open one side of his fort, saw a mage and a climber at work, and made chunks of rock blast them into the sea before closing the hole again.


    Voz said, "Thoko will time it well."


    "We''ll have to time it better. No..." He braced himself against the wall with his good hand, and focused on the stonework. He needed only to see through it. He touched one spot, transmuted it to iron, and at the same time shaped it into a grating with narrow holes.


    A Black Arrow slammed into the metal. Voz and Arlen hopped back by instinct, but the missile didn''t penetrate. "Two down," Arlen muttered. He looked gingerly out toward the beach and magically locked on. He felt the sand and earth at a distance, where many feet stamped and paced, ready for a fair fight with the invaders from Opaline.


    "I''m sorry," Arlen said, and made the ground shatter under them.


    In one spot after another, blades of rock ripped out from the island and into feet, legs, groins, arms. The warriors of Thoko yelled and scattered. Arlen''s grip on the shore weakened. He fell back, pained and queasy. Somewhere below, men were yelling and striking each other. "The fleet must be fighting the climbers."


    Voz''s tail twitched. "So many."


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    An arrow struck the grating again. "Was that all?" said Arlen.


    "I doubt it. Ordinary arrow maybe."


    The next enchanted one might strike his heart. Meanwhile other people were risking less certain but more numerous threats than a single arrow. "Let''s see what I can do." He tore open the grating a little wider for a better view, still heavily shielded. Again he slashed at the enemy troops on the shore, but they were spread out wider now, some behind the towers. Aha! He shredded the supports for those wooden structures and they toppled, sending their archers falling in a jumble of arrows and fire.


    He''d lost sight of Thoko. The man was finely dressed but taking cover. The army retreated farther back on shore behind buildings and trees, correctly guessing Arlen couldn''t easily reach that far.


    But another band had jumped into boats and rushed into the deeper part of the harbor. Arlen tried to target them using the breakwater but had trouble striking anyone at that angle. They''d be in combat with the war fleet soon. Worse, Arlen wasn''t giving orders.


    Voz said, "If I can avoid instant death from the high chief --"


    "That''s you now."


    "From Thoko, I can try shielding us from ordinary arrows, using water."


    "You can do that? Come on, then!"


    "It''s not strong enough."


    Arlen opened the back face of the tower. Below him the stonework rumbled as a spell cut deeper into it. He couldn''t stay long anyway without tougher shaping than was safe to try. He yelled down, realized he couldn''t be heard, and yanked Voz over for amplification. "Fleet, land!"


    Then he drilled down like an elevator. The tower''s center rapidly dissolved and carried them to a spot where a startled pair of mages were tearing away at the cracked foundation with their own spells. Voz blasted them with a burst of water that flung them far back into the shallows. But then he cringed against the most intact part of the wall.


    That Black Arrow could come at any time. How much was Thoko obsessing over hitting the two of them?


    Really, Arlen was the one obsessing, letting everyone else fight while he hid. He was supernaturally tough; he''d live. Probably.


    He steeled himself by strengthening his armor. Covered faceplate, metal shorts, and an even shoddier temporary set of plates on his arms and legs. "Bomb disposal suit," he muttered.


    Only then did he remember he had his gun, carried in a waterproof pouch slung on his back like a canteen. He moved it for easy reach.


    Voz gaped at the display of instant metalwork, but there was no time to explain.


    Arlen forced himself ahead, on a fleeting road of water made by the cowering Voz. Now that he was away from the tower and clanking onto the wet sand, he was ahead of the army. The Free Islands men was driving back the smaller group that had entered the water. Still, Arlen couldn''t much help the battle at sea between archers, mages, and melee fighters. His attempt to raise blades from the beach worked too sluggishly. He looked around for the tyrant chief. The man''s army had pulled back to the buildings and trees so that by himself, he''d cleared the beach. Which was great except that he was the entire landing force.


    A muffled shout. A volley of arrows flew at Arlen. He dived. Several clanged off his armor and one hit hard enough to bruise, but nothing bit through. "I should feel honored." He began tilting the land at his feet, forming a trench and berm. "Come on, people! Join me!"


    More arrows fired but only three, like a fluke from undisciplined archers on his left. Then again they were probably fighting as individuals, barely heeding Thoko''s orders. But six men charged from the trees to the right, all holding their shields low and ready to dodge and leap. He gave them a reason. The land jutted up at them. One man crashed into a tall shard but the rest were ready. One even threw his shield down and surfed over a spike with it. The five still up were screaming at him, spears raised, lightly armored.

 Arrow Assault

    Arlen hustled up out of his pit, dodged an arrow, and glanced back over one shoulder. A few troops were just now hitting the beach. He struck with an unexpected thrown stone but there was no more time. He drew his gun and stepped back, buying seconds. His crude armor was already tiring him out.


    Voz dashed toward him and yanked a wave up from the sea. Shouting more in fear than anger, he crashed it onto the five enemies, hard enough to stagger two and knock the rest down.


    Good enough. Arlen raised one hand and speared his foes while they couldn''t dodge. Gouged, bleeding, one run through, another with a spike in his arm. The other troops had to be seeing that. They had to know they''d lose. He shouted, "Accept High Chief Voz!"


    Voz didn''t appreciate having attention right now. He dived into the unfinished pit, saying, "Cover it!"


    Arlen couldn''t blame him. They were still on an open beach with an army in the woods and town in front of them. Arlen joined Voz and strengthened the defense. The enemy were holding back. Good. Because now the Free Islands men were on shore and finally coming to join them.


    Arrows flew over Arlen''s head. Voz raised his hands and water blasted upward in a spray that disrupted some of the shots. So now the problem was that Thoko''s forces still outnumbered his, and the man wasn''t stupid enough to keep bringing them out to die.


    Arlen stood up and pointed with his gun. "Thoko, I challenge you! We shouldn''t let our fight kill others, right? Come, Thoko! Fight me!"


    He was gambling, but if even a thin iron grate could block those shots, the magic of the Black Arrows was only in their unerring aim. The question was how to make Thoko waste his last shot and not pick off Voz. Arlen had his own special weapon besides magic, but he couldn''t count on piercing iron with either.


    Arlen slapped the stone barrier in front of him and molded a chunk of it into an iron pot helmet, which he handed it to the shaman. Voz looked at it in confusion but put it on. The Opaline chief was coming up now, using the little barricade as a focal point. "What now? Thoko''s not coming."


    "I need to provoke him. Voz?"


    With help from Voz''s wind spells, Arlen bellowed loud challenges and insults. "Thoko is a coward who sends other people''s children to die fighting ghosts. He lets the Mirefolk play wherever they like. He carries that big, heavy hammer but his real might is dagger-size. Thoko, when you ran away from the monster I killed on Gull Crater, did you flee before the other chiefs died? Did you trip them, maybe?" And worse.


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    Unfortunately, Thoko was a visionary modern leader, of the kind who knew not to stand in the front row. He allowed duels, but Arlen could damage the man''s reptuation only so much.


    Another volley of arrows answered him, aimed at the troops. The Free Islands men shot back and overlapped their shields from a tight formation, but being out here left them at a disadvantage. Some men were down already. Arlen said, "Stay together, like we practiced! Follow me!"


    He headed for the coastal buildings with a tight mass of soldiers who could fend off most of any arrow barrage. He had a few men light torches and start destroying the capital city, such as it was. Methodically burning each building. A man ran at them with a knife and got cut down. Two frightened women held each other in the next hut, and Arlen yelled at them to get out. They fled. Valuable pelts and jars were in the next house; he had the men drag that stuff outside.


    A rock glanced off his helmet. Arlen look up and found a boy throwing stones from a roof. "Run, kid. Men, keep burning."


    "This is my house!"


    "Your chief''s a bad man. Run!"


    "You''re bad!" Another stone struck one of his troops.


    Arlen''s army was torching other buildings but was genuinely being delayed by a random kid. "Voz, you still there? Grab him."


    The vizier''s ears lay back in shame. He''d been hanging back, trying to keep behind others'' shields. Now he scrambled up with the help of a wave he conjured from nowhere, captured the struggling boy, and let him go with a scolding.


    Meanwhile Arlen continued methodically destroying the town. The soldiers shoved the kid aside until he ran off shouting threats. Arlen said, "Fetch Thoko!"


    Voz said, "Is Thoko really going to let you keep doing this?"


    To his credit, the enemy chief attacked well before Arlen threatened his palace. A few soldiers keeping watch called out just as Thoko descended from a ridge at the head of hundreds of angry men.


    There was a horde. Arms'' width apart but jumbled, variously armed, shouting a hundred different war cries. Arrows flew over their heads but most archers were running to close in for their own glory too. The ground shook with the army''s charge.


    Arlen made the shaking far worse. The land erupted beneath them so that the army was running downhill into spikes. Sending so many attackers to pounce on the invaders from uphill was normally wise, but now it was desperate. His focus shifted enough to strike in one spot and another, sometimes a line. Warriors leaped and crashed, banged into each other, hesitated, and sometimes got knocked into danger by their fellows. In a few seconds of screaming a hundred men shed blood. More of them tumbled, dropped weapons and shields, got trampled, paused in fright or prudence.


    More got through. Arlen''s side didn''t have a proper formation right now either, but they put the blazing buildings between them and the foe. Arlen shouted orders and kept up his magical assault.


    A blur shot toward his face. Arlen threw up his arm. Something thunked against him right where the slit in his helmet was -- but his arm had caught it. He dared to hope. He moved his arm, saw an arrow -- and the second one flew. This one struck him in the chest. He turned aside enough to peek down. There! The last Black Arrow had hit him! He turned back to the battle.


    A third arrow whipped around and over a building to plunge down at his head.

 Chiefs Downfall

    A third arrow whipped around and over a building to plunge down at his head. Arlen fell and toppled onto his back, barely covering his face again. It had to be that one for real. It struck his left forearm, making him howl in pain. It''d torn through his arm bracer but not all the way through. The dark weapon looked just like the first one that''d wounded him.


    Voz had run over. "Arlen!"


    "I''m all right. Protect yourself!" He had one arrow sticking out of his breastplate but not piercing, and the other one had bounced. So that was the last Black Arrow unless Thoko had also lied about the number.


    Arlen used his good hand to help guide his attack, spearing yet more of Thoko''s men. More arrows zipped by and one struck him on an armored leg plate. He needed time to recover! The enemy wasn''t focusing just on him and most were melee fighters. They''d closed in. Men were shouting and clashing now.


    Voz conjured a wall of rising wind and rain around himself and Arlen. "Quickly now, remove it."


    Arlen used the moment''s respite to tear open that pierced arm guard. The arrow hadn''t sunk far enough for its little barb to bite. Wincing, he pulled it free and blinked away pained tears. The wound started its faint glow of regeneration but would take hours at least. For now, he could use his arm again.


    The battle was in Arlen''s favor. The Opaline chief had waded in with great whacking blows of a mace, rallying men to his side. Thoko''s men were trying to circle them and herd them into the burning town. Now dozens more men charged down the hill seemingly from nowhere. A reserve. Thoko really was a man ahead of his time. Unfortunately for him, he was facing something like a Maxim gun.


    Arlen shouted, "Thoko, come and talk!"


    Thoko appeared with flames behind him, swatting a man down with a blow from his hammer. "Ruiner!" he said, shoving another man aside. He''d gotten alarmingly close while Arlen was pitying himself over arrow wounds.


    Arlen readied a burst of stone but also drew his gun. Thoko''s armor was askew and had a broken strap.


    The high chief paused. He had blood on his face and shield and his weapon was deeply stained. His gaze fixed on the gleaming object in Arlen''s hand. Around the two of them, warriors had instinctively pulled back, circling.


    Thoko said, "Outsider, this is your fault!"


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    "Surrender to high chief Voz, and we''ll save everyone we can. I''ve been fixing your failures and wickedness already. Drop your weapon and the isles will be strong when more outsiders come."


    "I built this land! I made people work for a better future, and you burn it!"


    Voz put in, "We can still have the new tools and new strength. What''s more important: that, or you being in charge?"


    Thoko resented Arlen, but Voz''s words and treason enraged him. Or something in their background, the years when Voz was the dissident voice telling him some of his deeds were wrong. The chieftain charged at his old adviser, hammer raised high, his whole left side exposed.


    Arlen took the shot. A bullet ripped into Thoko between loose iron plates. The bang made everyone step back. Thoko''s eyes widened. He stood there for a moment, then toppled face-first.


    Voz ran in to try healing him. But Thoko''s heart had been gashed and his lung punctured and he had still other injuries from earlier. The man who''d done more than anyone else to modernize the Echoing Isles was dead.


    Arlen''s revolver smoked. The battle had gone quiet and a town still burned. He said, "Enough! Voz is the high chief!"


    Nobody objected further.


    #


    Hundreds of people were dead from swords, spears, arrows, and magic. Spells had helped to keep other wounded men alive, and the armor had helped both sides. A grim day but victorious.


    Voz declared himself high chief of the Echoing Isles, in an amplified speech before the thousands of sullen people of Decim Island and the invading army. Voz stood on a platform created by Arlen. He spoke of unity and forgiveness, saying, "The world is changing quickly. The Roaring Storm is gone. We''re free to explore beyond our home if we wish, but we''re also vulnerable now to outsiders who might have worse plans for us than our war-chief. We must rebuild and grow so that we can protect ourselves."


    He went on before a grumbling crowd. "No more hostages. No more of people being banished to Death Island. I will call it Newshore again because it won''t be a place of exile and punishment, and will be tamed at our own pace by willing residents. We now have a hero among us who will make it easier!"


    Arlen took his place at Voz''s side. "Please listen to Voz. He is experienced and wise. We can have a high chief without him threatening and bullying us all. Thoko''s ideas weren''t all bad; we can keep what he did well. The spirits have blessed us both as leaders, as you''ve seen from our power. Have patience and end the fighting, and everyone will grow stronger and richer."


    Though the residents gave a weak cheer at the end, Arlen slept that night in a building of solid stone with a barred door, just in case. The new high chief asked for the same instead of moving directly into the palace.


    In the days that followed, Arlen made sure to be useful. He gave iron to the smiths and coached them in forging it, downplaying the fact that he could shape it by himself. "You might get better control and quality than I can." He made houses to replace ruined ones and upgraded the homes of the more influential people.


    The Opaline army returned home... and left Voz there, in the palace, quietly panicking about vengeful loyalists. Arlen told him, "Maybe it''s time to marry? Thoko has two nieces available."


    "They might stab me in my sleep."


    "You''ve got to step up. The islands need you to be strong and organized, not just smart."


    Voz tried to calm himself, taking deep breaths. "I''ll try to show them I''m not a tyrant."

 Wars Aftermath

    Arlen asked Voz, "What would you have me do, since we''re not at war now?"


    The high chief was more comfortable when faced with that question. "The main problems right now are the Mire''s aggression and the defense of Newshore. It seem that we should also start spreading knowledge and education. Send word to every island that they''re invited to have people visit and train in metalworking, and you personally can offer training and material wherever you go. I want you to equip Newshore and make sure anyone who wants to come and go, does so. What else?"


    Arlen nodded. "It would also be a good idea to teach writing to anyone who''ll learn."


    "That''s shaman work, though. Why bother?"


    "The population will learn so much, that it doesn''t fit in any one man''s head. In the short term, it means being more able to send messages. Not every shaman is completely cooperative yet, right? Better to have more people who can help you."


    Voz''s disputes with Thoko had been partly over the old chief''s forward-looking desire for technology. Getting Voz to accept the same basic program with less cruelty might be a long-term problem. Still, the ruler nodded and accepted Arlen''s idea, for now.


    Arlen sat on one of the platforms while Voz opened his "royal" court to visitors. The atmosphere was awkward and muted but the islanders came before him with petty disputes, just as they''d done when Voz was sitting on a lower-tier bench.


    There were three bloody duels that day, disputes held over from the war, and Voz let them happen by the traditional rules. Arlen still felt he was the outsider trying to lecture the islanders. He sighed; he could guide them but could and should do only so much.


    #


    He sailed to Catacomb with several trusted men. A messenger had already gone out to announce Thoko''s death and the new leadership. Still, Arlen was wary.


    He arrived to find a sullen truce and several new graves. The female chieftain met Arlen with a quiet nod, saying, "They took our people hostage right here. The three men most responsible, are here now." She rapped her staff on a low mound of earth. "The rest refuse to leave. What are you waiting for, war-chief?"


    Arlen got shown to a camp of around twenty men who''d been sent to occupy the island. They''d done it with their capture of local children, giving them much more influence than sheer numbers would''ve had. Now, the rest of them were stationed in a damp, boulder-strewn patch of ground on the edge of what''d been golem territory.


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    Arlen pretended to be calm about approaching the soldiers. They''d kept their weapons. "I am now war-chief of all the isles. You will return to Decim. I''m told the problems have been dealt with."


    The warriors glared at him, and one said, "Do you think everything will go on on as normal, after killing our high chief?"


    "No. Much will change. For now, you can go home today and be a part of it. Maybe come back with an invitation."


    "We serve the real high chief!" said one angry young man.


    "He''s dead. Make your decision. Your boats are prepared and the locals will be happy to give you food for the trip back."


    "You can''t make us!" said another man.


    Arlen looked at him and spoke calmly. His fists began glowing. "I can. The spirits trusted me to handle the situation, with their power. Now get on the boats. Or run at me right now, which will solve the problem another way."


    The troops were all quiet for a long moment. Then they got on the boats and left.


    Arlen had the freedom now to help the islanders. The chief wasn''t happy that Arlen hadn''t immediately rushed to their aid, but was mature enough to understand once she heard all that had happened. She spoke in his defense, asking everyone to cooperate with him. So, he built homes, drew a sturdy road through town, and created iron tools along with ingots and rods to practice with.


    He asked, "What''s going on with the golems?"


    "They''re asleep, or dead. Whatever force animated them isn''t working anymore. You may have taken it all for yourself. And the power of the Roaring Storm, from what we''ve heard!" She poked him with her staff. "We expect it to be used well."


    "That''s the plan. I expect you''ll expand your fields into the formerly off-limits areas, finally making full use of your island?"


    She looked unnerved by that, for all her acceptance of instantly created buildings and hatchets and roadways.


    #


    From there he visited Newshore again. He went out to provoke and cull the ghosts but found few to destroy on this trip; there''d been a recent attack the islanders fended off well. He got them to better explain their enchanted barrier wall. Now that they were free, the ones remaining here were present willingly and stubbornly determined to claim the place. The magic theory of the wall was still beyond him for the most part but he helped them push it forward a bit, moving and rebuilding segments of mystically etched wood and stone. An uneasy truce had developed between former guards and prisoners who''d been brothers in arms. There were women too, exiled for various reasons and maintaining homes here with the quiet pride of being frontier settlers. They deserved respect for being there to heal the wounded and keep everyone fed and comfortable. A few even fought directly.


    One thing he did for the island was to try creating iron boats. The concept was laughable to the islanders, but he proved that such a thing could float. He made several more and said, "They might rust away in a month since I haven''t done this before. So inspect them often. Should be good for a few trips at least."


    He left them with better housing, more iron gear, and an expanded set of forward-base bunkers. He''d be back later.


    The next stop was the Mire, the least stable situation in the isles right now. For this job he took along Meadow, because she insisted out of curiosity; and six iron-equipped soldiers from Opaline and Catacomb.


    The guards asked him, "Are we really enough?"


    Arlen said, "If there''s any solid land, or I have time to make some, we should be."

 Test of Island Courage

    Their two sailboats took them into an island of swamp and mist. Right away he saw why it''d never been tamed; there was no obvious harbor and normally anyone trying to row in would get tangled up in mud and roots. Mangrove trees lined the shore, spreading their wide, exposed roots across the shallow water.


    Arlen had been told the general area where what passed for their harbor was, but finding it took a tedious extra hour of sailing. Even then he saw only a gap in the wall of roots and mud and sandbars. The layout was so confusing that the boats ran aground twice even with Meadow trying to push with wind and a guard using a water current spell.


    "We''ll do this the direct way," Arlen announced, and let them stay beached. He began yanking the shallow water up to make a narrow road directly to the island proper.


    They all climbed ashore and found awful muddy ground. The Mirefolk probably knew the best stepping stones by heart. Arlen brute-forced his way. He''d become fast enough to do it at a walking pace, reflexively making it a few inches thick and elevated with a lengthwise arch pattern.


    A guard said, "They might not appreciate that." The footpath of tan stone gouged through the island''s edge. The sun shined dimmer beneath fog and tall trees.


    "It''ll impress them. If they prefer bare swamp I can undo it." He told the story of a man named Caesar, who''d built an elaborate bridge in view of a hostile tribe just so he could go kick their asses, then dismantled it on the way out.


    Deeper inland, the noise drew attention. Snarling, splashing noises drew near. Arlen began raising a barrier.


    "Mirefolk," said a keen-eyed guard. Two hunched-over figures with spears appeared in the gloom. The guards had their swords and spears out, but for two men with bows.


    A voice called out from near the snarling Mirefolk. "Who goes there? What are you doing?"


    Arlen thumped his armored chest. "I am Arlen, war-chief of the isles! I come to tell you of the war''s end and the new high chief."


    There was muffled talk in the distance. The spearmen came close enough to be seen clearly. Arlen had looked at them in battle and thought of them as berserkers, weirdly hairy and sharp-toothed. These two weren''t fighting at the moment, but they had the same feral look. They sniffed and glared at him like attack dogs.


    Behind them came a more normal man with only a little of the mutated look. In a raspy voice he said, "Come, then. A feast is starting soon. You will not be harmed, by my word."


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    Meadow whispered to a guard, "Do they eat people?"


    The archer whispered back, "I don''t know."


    Arlen abandoned his unfinished bunker and continued to sculpt a sturdy road from nothing. The Mirefolk scout said, "A powerful mage. I won''t tell you to stop."


    "I can do more for you if your people wish it."


    They traveled a winding path that made Arlen wonder if he was being made to create a complete highway system. They passed along awful muck, fallen logs, the side of a ravine, and stagnant ponds. The scent of greenery all around competed with a sulfur stink.


    More Mirefolk appeared, shadowing them. These mutants splashed along or hid in the branches so that Arlen feared a pounce from above. The guide led everyone along in peace to a kind of rice paddy where rows and rows of cattail-like plants grew. Drums pounded somewhere ahead.


    "No road here," the guide said. "You''ll ruin the crops."


    Reluctantly, Arlen made his street ramp down into nothing and lowered himself into the water. It had the look of tea. Tiny fish swam in it and he made a note to check for leeches.


    He and the rest waded through the field, feeling the ground squish underfoot. Finally there was a boardwalk to climb up on. And there, the drums still beat and something was roaring.


    The Mirefolk had a village raised on boards, and a sturdy ring where a beast was being tormented. Fire occupied the center. The animal looked like a boar or a small bear. It crashed into the walls, unable to escape, and remaining just a few steps from getting burned. The swamp dwellers jeered. Suddenly a man jumped down into the pit with a club. Arlen watched aghast as it turned toward him and lowered the long horn on its forehead to charge and stab him. The fighter leaped over the fire, drawing a gasp from his audience, then whacked the monster''s side with his club. A second later he was skittering along the wall to haul himself up and barely out of the way of being stabbed or trampled.


    A council of elders were drinking together, wrapped in blankets. Arlen''s guide went over to explain this group of outsiders and warn of Arlen''s magic.


    The council argued quietly. Then an old lady said, "Show us who you are, war-chief. Take a turn with the beast. No magic."


    A younger man said, "He looks too scrawny."


    The one who''d just counted coup offered Arlen his club and grinned. "Well? I want to see."


    Arlen tried to show no reaction but his new tail was twitchy. He put down his sword and shield, and took the club. Only had to land one hit, and he could heal. The boar-thing thrashed and tried to climb out but couldn''t get traction. Arlen circled to the ring''s opposite side, then hopped down and landed in a crouch.


    It squealed and turned to get at him. He fled around the ring. It feinted. Smoke blew in Arlen''s eyes. The pit concentrated the fire''s heat. In the moment he''d looked away the creature charged. Arlen threw himself against the wall and got slammed aside, dropping his club. He yelped and fumbled to pick the thing up but tripped over a hot coal. The boar was coming around again. He grabbed the club and yelled as the horn aimed straight for him. He tried to grab it. Push it aside. He got shoved back instead but at least went un-stabbed. He flailed with his other hand and smacked it on the rump for a weak hit. Good enough! Arlen grabbed the ring''s edge and hauled. The boar was coming around again. He got highly motivated. Up and over! He sprawled on the platform, breathing hard.


    The Mirefolk laughed. Somebody said, "You dropped the club!"


    Arlen made a rude gesture.

 Key to the Swamp Ruins

    The elders conferred and told him, "You did it, anyway."


    Meadow talked while Arlen caught his breath. "What is this ritual?"


    "It brings the tribes of the Mire together, once a moon."


    Arlen stood up. "I want peace between the Mire and the rest. No more fighting. Thoko allowed it, but the new high chief will not."


    One elder said, "We can''t be touched here."


    Another answered, "His miraculous road shows that we can be, now."


    "Only if he lives."


    The guide said, "I promised this group safe passage."


    "Bah. What will the others do if the swamp devours these outsiders? Will they come and raid us? No."


    The elders fell to arguing again. Eventually they reached some kind of consensus that visibly didn''t please them all. An old man said, "We live as we do, because we''re close to the foulness at the island''s heart. So the spirits have made us strong and fierce, to take what we need from abroad."


    "What is this foulness?" asked Arlen. "The swamp itself?"


    "No. A poison deep within the Mire. From the Builder ruins."


    Arlen''s party murmured. There''d been rumors that this island had its own ruins, but nothing proven. Mirefolk had the luxury of not conducting tours.


    Meadow asked, "Poison? Is that why Mirefolk are... this way?"


    An elder answered, "It makes our crop-growing a struggle, and many of our people become strange. The spirits'' blessing, yes, but if they aren''t given a place to fight elsewhere, they fight and kill among ourselves."


    So the raids were partly a way to give the mutant part of the population a way to work out their violent instincts. Arlen said, "If you''ll avoid hurting my group, or taking our things, then we will investigate this and try to stop the poison."


    "Very well, oh war-chief. What of these roads?"


    "I will build you a road anywhere you wish, and houses of stone."


    They had him demonstrate by making a little plaza above the marsh, and a two-story house atop that. Everyone was impressed. And so, after several more men dropped into the pit to harass the boar-thing, they finally killed it and shared the meat with Arlen''s party. Arlen felt he''d worked for it.


    #


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    He and his party rested in Mirefolk territory that night, performing feats of construction and training in magic. They set out in the morning with two non-mutant Mirefolk escorts.


    With his road construction he could walk wherever he pleased. When his guides stopped to tell the story of a dead man led astray by lights, Arlen waited but then asked, "Which direction is the ruin?"


    "We come to the place of lights, and then the shattered tree, and then the ravine''s fork and the broken statue."


    "But which direction is it?"


    "I don''t understand."


    Arlen tugged on his ears in frustration, then shut up. Even if the direct line would force him to cross a canyon, he could do it. But no, they wouldn''t let him use magic to make it easy. He muttered to Meadow, "One day, we''ll have proper maps."


    It took hours and several turns and long looping detours. Eventually they found a version of a Catacomb golem embedded in the muck.


    Meadow said, "What''s it doing out here?"


    Their main guide paused to talk about the "broken statue" and note how its most exposed limb pointed back to the ravine fork. Arlen considered trying to pry it up but didn''t want to disrupt the landmark. Even though he''d been casually carving a walkway through the swamp the entire time and anybody could follow it, short of tons of determined effort by other earth-moving mages.


    The water had grown murkier, with a red tinge. They came to a place of jungle plants and vine-draped trees that concealed old stone walls. Parts of it slumped and tilted. The splashing of fish, frogs and birds had faded out. A bitter smell rose from the muck.


    Arlen crouched to look at the tainted ground. "Swamps naturally purify water. Good for everyone else. But that means any poison here might be concentrated. How long has it been here?"


    "As long as we remember. Some of us grow strange and feral, others less so."


    Arlen approached the building. Its remains were only one story tall in most places. "If they kept something harmful here it would''ve been in the most sturdy part." He sculpted his path into stairs to begin walking on the roofs, testing his footing. "Has anyone been in here?"


    "The High Root Tribe has poked around. Nothing valuable, and there''s flooding."


    "I''m going in."


    Arlen couldn''t be sure how bad the pollution was here. It didn''t seem to be an instant death problem. To some extent he suspected the healing effects of his Builder magic would help him.


    Meadow said, "I''ll wait. But will it be safe out here?"


    Arlen asked his guides that. They said, "For now we''ll stay here. Can you make one of your shelters?"


    "Sure." He spent a few minutes making a simple room to one side of the ruin. The Mirefolk were still impressed to watch.


    He returned to exploring the roofs and seeking a way in. He made a pair of iron boots for himself that clanked and slowed him but would keep shallow water out. The noise of him stomping around caused something inside a broken room to call out weakly.


    Arlen peeked down. A Mirefolk man lay there in pain with a broken leg. Arlen shaped a simple stairway and watched the helpless survivor''s eyes widen. "How long have you been here?"


    "A day," said the man. "I was hunting, and got curious." A spear lay nearby.


    "Let''s get you out." Arlen gave him a shoulder and helped him hobble along upstairs. From there he set the guy down on an improvised seat and went to fetch the Mirefolk.


    The survivor didn''t look thrilled to be rescued by whatever tribe the guides were from, but said, "Thank you. Stone shaman, what island are you from?"


    "Opaline, lately."


    "I''d heard they were up to strange magic. Here; maybe you can use this thing I found. A sheet of carved bone from the Builders."


    Arlen took this gift. It was a thick card with a pattern of neatly punched holes through one side. He smiled as he realized he was probably looking at a key. "Thank you! Meadow, have you ever seen something like this?"


    The girl had come along to see the rescue. "Once. It''s a necklace worn by one of my neighbors now."


    "I want to see that later."

 Keeper of the Factory

    For now, he descended into the ruins with a spell for light. Meadow couldn''t resist following him, but only one of the guards wanted to do more than "keep watch outside". He gave both companions boots like his for a little more safety.


    "Let''s see where that trinket came from." The floor here was decrepit, cracked stone. Bits of it had been swept out recently to remove moss and slime. Before long he reached a dead end where the recent explorer had given up after a little scraping and prying. Solid stone... but it was an interior wall.


    "Open sesame," Arlen said, and pushed it away like clay. The muck cleared from the growing hole. Stepping through it took him to a better preserved room where the far wall was metallic, and had a door with a keycard lock. He tried not to look smug before seeing if the key would work. But the old mechanical door clicked open without much jiggling, and he took a bow.


    Rubble crashed from the ceiling beyond. It echoed down a staircase. Arlen walked cautiously down and saw no serious water damage. "A sturdy area. Not sure we can pass this door, though." This one was metal like the last. He might be able to tear through the surrounding rocks if the key didn''t work.


    While he was contemplating that, the door slid open.


    He stood in silent fear. The room beyond was active. Rows and rows of dirt gardening trays filled it, each with harsh lights set into stone. Stray vines ran riot across the floor and walls. Some of them pulsed slowly. Trickles of water and the breath of ventilation stirred the fragrant multicolored plants.


    "How?" asked Meadow.


    Arlen called out, "Hello? I come in peace."


    A voice spoke as from several gurgling mouths. Coming maybe from hidden speakers, or from vines. "Greetings, colleague. It is a good day. The main facility has woken up, and you read as being registered as part of Project Catacomb. Have you come from the main facility, then?"


    The language baffled Arlen at first. It was alien, not that of the islanders nor any Earth tongue he knew. He did understand, though. "If you mean the place with the shifting walls, I was there recently, yes. Where are you?"


    "Here." The voice guided him to a wall of dark glass where armored plates had slid into place, letting him see only glimpses of an immobile shape within. Humanoid, mainly, with an elaborate helmet of hoses.


    The guard drew back. Meadow said, "A Builder? Alive?"


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    "The local life-forms are not authorized in the facility."


    "They''re with me," said Arlen. Whoever this relic was, it seemed to have accepted him as an employee, or something, despite physically resembling the natives. "Do you have a name? Have you been asleep here?"


    It took a long time to answer. "It''s been so long... no, I don''t think so. Not much. I continued working no matter what. I was called Sachin." The shape within the tank twitched and dark liquid sloshed. "Time! Time has passed! You can''t be one of the old group. They would have rescued me. They abandoned me. Or they died. Did they die?"


    Arlen bowed his head. "My name is Arlen. I''m sorry to say, I haven''t met others like you. I am continuing some of the research of your people, though. Can you tell me about this Project Catacomb, first of all?"


    The old gardener said, "I was not authorized to know the details. It was a high priority, on par with the other projects."


    Meadow asked, "What is it saying? What are you saying?"


    Arlen relayed what he understood of the conversation. Then he asked, "What were the other projects?"


    "Project Ring, I wasn''t supposed to know." Sachin began laughing and its echoing voice babbled for a while. "It was too slow. All that work, all that power. Maybe it killed them all. Now Project Flask..." More laughing. "My specialty. We ran low on materials but I bred more here."


    "To do what?"


    The vines pulsed all around the room. "To fill the lungs of every disgusting treacherous enemy with blood and bile! To make them pay!"


    Arlen stepped backward, eyes wide, tail twitching. He was standing not just in some ancient broken factory, but in a chemical weapons plant. Composing himself, he said, "Sachin, this place is poisoning the island and probably the ocean."


    "The local life-forms are of no concern outside of the work. But they''re not the enemy either. Is the external damage significant?"


    Arlen asked his party, "Would you say the building is significantly damaged?" He got some incredulous nods. He told Sachin, "I''d say so."


    "Then it is a security problem. The material needs to be contained in case of enemy capture or harm to our personnel. I seem to have lost sight of the lower production area. I can authorize you as a temporary transfer and the others as your assistants. Have you any doubts about their loyalty?"


    "No, sir."


    Sachin went quiet for a while, seemingly lost in thoughts of old bureaucracy. A vine studded with crystalline parts shifted closer to Arlen, and he said, "That enchantment field on you! I''ve seen nothing so complex, unless..." He gave a long and ragged laugh. "So one of the rumors was true. The project paid off. You are a superb repairman, aren''t you?"


    Arlen said, "I know more about machines than most people around here. This power from the Catacomb lets me shape stone and create iron."


    "That''s all? If the theory wasn''t a fake to throw the enemy off, you should be fixing and shaping and creating other things. Depending on how well it worked, I suppose."


    "I''ll try more things, then."


    "You were obviously trusted to test the... well, it would have been known as a ''shaper field''. Go and clear out the basement. It should be easy for you."


    Arlen asked, "What''s the plan after that? The spill needs to be contained."


    "Yes, the spill. And then I can resume research until new orders come."


    "Does that mean more production?"


    "Not at this time. It would need to be authorized."


    Arlen was glad for the lack of updated orders. For now, it sounded like he and Sachin were agreed on solving the problem.

 The Toad

    "So that thing is a gardener?" asked Meadow. The group had left it behind, passing through another rubble-strewn hallway where Arlen moved stones aside at Sachin''s direction.


    Arlen wasn''t sure how much to explain. "It sounded like terrible things happened here once, but the gardener was trying to learn new ways to make things. Some were dangerous."


    He explored deeper into the more intact part of the sunken base. Some of it seemed designed to be down here and secure against the swampy terrain. There was a large room full of thick stone cylinders connected to pipes. Markings in the octagonal Builder script stood out on some of the control dials, but he''d been given access only to the spoken language. It''d be a treasure in its own right to have Sachin translate even a few phrases. That could come after earning more of his trust.


    The guard who''d followed him said, "Will you really be able to fix the island?"


    "My guess is that it''ll take a long time to fix completely. But we can stop it from getting worse, so that the next generation of Mirefolk will be less, ah..."


    "Crazy?"


    "Yeah."


    In a corner of the cylinder room lay three skeletons with bits of ruined clothing. Two of them had obvious tailbones. Meadow crouched to examine them. "Our people worked here?"


    "Sachin seemed to think natives were allowed in, with a Builder in charge."


    "To do what, though? Garden?"


    "Maybe." Arlen didn''t voice his full theory. Sachin had been making poisons to kill his people''s enemies. But given the specific effects the Mire''s chemicals had on the locals, maybe the feral mutation was the intentional result of another experiment. The dead duo here couldn''t be identified as clearly normal or not.


    Delving deeper, they reached a stairway that had shattered. Rusty metal and stone gave way to a wide, deep octagonal pit with a waterfall beside the stairs. The flow looked no worse than the swamp above, but the depths below had an acid reek that stung Arlen''s eyes. Ripples stirred in the darkness.


    Arlen said, "I might have more resistance to whatever the poison is, than you do. Can''t blame you if you want to hang back."


    "As opposed to jumping down?" asked the guard. "Oh, right."


    Arlen grinned. He began reshaping the nearest wall to create a stronger, more complete staircase to step onto. "Going to need a better view of whatever''s down here, and we''re definitely not lighting a fire. The air might burn."


    Though the guard had been mostly quiet, having no context at all for understanding what he saw in this place, he finally stamped the ground and said, "What do you know, Arlen? Are you really one of the Builders? You can talk gibberish to whatever that monster was. You have more power than the oldest shamans. And what you did on the battlefield! Have you come to set the old masters back in place over us?"


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    Arlen paused in his casting of the slow spell that made tons of rock groan and stretch along the ruins. "I''m not a Builder. I come from a land with a few things in common with them. Why I''m here, I don''t know, but I''m choosing to act like I''ve been given a gift and should repay it by helping the islanders."


    Meadow said, "I figure that he was chosen by the spirits to fix things. They spoke to me a little, but didn''t say it outright."


    The guard said, "If they''re so willing to speak to you, why not make their meaning plain to us all?"


    Arlen shook his head and gently proposed a new idea. "It''s possible that there''s some force beyond even the spirits."


    He went back to work, gradually descending. He stretched a wide, arched catwalk across the cavernous room. Now and then he and Meadow created small spells just to shed light on the walls. She was the first to spot the gaping crack low along one wall.


    "That might be part of the problem. Though the waterfall will overflow if I seal that." He stroked his chin, thinking about the layout of the whole building.


    Some eel-like creature stirred in the depths. Then a fanged maw appeared below it and swallowed it whole. A yellow eye seemed to peer at Arlen.


    Then it leaped onto shallow portions of the tainted pool and bellowed, sending up a spray of water. Squat, slimy body, four legs, three eyes.


    Arlen flung a blade of stone toward its gullet, but a barbed tongue whipped out and yanked it down. It spat the thing out.


    Everyone backed off. Meadow''s contribution was a breeze to keep the biggest splashes away. Some of the scent still reached Arlen.


    "Let''s try the usual way," he said, and urged the ground beneath the toad-like beast to kill it. Spikes jabbed its underbelly. The creature belched and looked down in confusion. It leaped to free itself. Arlen gauged where it''d land, and prepared. Instead, that tongue stretched so far in mid-hop that it raked along him, gashing his side and clattering along his armor.


    "Nicked it!" said the guard, showing off dark blood on his sword.


    Arlen hissed and nodded. Could that thing get all the way up here to the walkway? Probably not. He stared at a point above the thing and made the wall extend. It must''ve heard the rumbling because it darted away from that spot, down into the water.


    Meadow said, "If we''re lucky it''ll keep away,"


    It lashed its tongue at the walkway, cleaving rubble from the thin new stone. The warrior slashed down at it and pinned the spiked muscle, straining. "Chop it or something!"


    Arlen had a better idea. While the toad struggled, he raised pillars around its body as quickly as he could. Faster than the usual shaping, thicker than his attack spikes. Its attention was on the struggle above its head. Meadow tried to stab the big tongue too but only got purchase for a moment. Then it yanked free and both of them staggered. The swordsman shoved Meadow toward safety. She reeled backward and caught the old rusty stairs, which creaked.


    Arlen strengthened the cage bars he''d just created. The beast began to react by bashing against them, cracking the stone. Its tongue battered but could build up little momentum. He added more and more mass to the barrier. Outraged belching sounds echoed through the room and spread its rotten stink.


    Meadow said, "Can it still get us?"


    "I don''t trust those bars. Wait." Arlen kept hemming it in till only a space around its eyes was visible. "Probably best to seal it up and let it starve. Might take weeks."


    The swordsman objected, "That''s a terrible death."


    Arlen frowned. "I guess you''re right. Want to finish it faster?" He began forging a path down toward the cage, mentally probing at the stonework to make sure it wasn''t about to shatter from its continued thrashing.

 Shaper Training

    The three of them approached the last hole. They stood just above the chemical tank''s waterline, where the air rippled with something unhealthy. Arlen started coughing. He created a spear and handed it over, saying, "Hurry."


    The soldier stabbed into the beast''s lair, creating anguished gurgling howls. It tried to turn but had no space to move. Two more stabs and it slumped, barely moving. The man turned aside looking sick from his own efforts in addition to the toxins. "It''ll go faster at least."


    "Thank you. Let''s head back."


    Upstairs in Sachin''s laboratory they explained what they''d seen. The ancient scientist quivered in his prison of glass, saying, "I had _suspected_ something crawled in there and died! Arlen, touch this device. It should work with your shaper field."


    One of the vines uncoiled and revealed a rod of stone and crystal, similar to the devices he''d taken as some kind of battery or circuitry in other Builder devices. At Arlen''s touch the thing lit up in a mesmerizing scarlet swirl that rushed with burning heat along his arm and back. His muscles locked for a moment and he staggered, finally dropping the bauble. "Ow. What?"


    Sachin said, "If my planning is correct, your field has read some of the simpler structures to install. That doesn''t include creating many of the parts, but there''s a method for crawling even a heavy object along a wall to where it needs to go. You will remain here and help me install replacement filters and production equipment."


    Arlen reminded the old one, "With stopping the toxin leak as a first priority, right? That could lead to dangerous production accidents."


    "Yes, yes. I can''t reach everywhere here, so your hands and power will be needed."


    Arlen relayed the conversation. "It sounds like Sachin wants me to stay and help with repairs. It''ll be a chance to learn, too."


    Meadow said, "Is this the same kind of long-term offer that Thoko gave you?"


    Arlen winced. "I won''t allow that."


    #


    Arlen spent a few days with the Builder researcher. Outside of anything specifically devoted to the repairs, the facility, the need to go kill some long-dead enemy, Sachin usually trailed off in mad rambling. But at the very least, Arlen was giving some companionship to the former human, as Sachin claimed to be.


    Arlen inspected and installed filter equipment, stirring propellers, pipes, and more. His building powers had gained some versatility from practice and the device he''d touched. He could slowly inch heavy parts along a floor or wall, and craft precision housings according to a kind of built-in blueprint. There were enough simple shapes in the "library" to make construction in general easier. Sachin claimed that Arlen should be able to fashion other materials, and grew frustrated when that didn''t immediately work.


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    Arlen did want to try, but not to succeed too quickly at anything that could make the place capable of making more poison yet.


    Maybe he could talk Sachin into becoming a more benevolent chemical engineer. For now they worked together to seal off the worst of the filth and run some of it through a neutralizing system.


    As a side project, he coaxed Sachin to translate parts of the Builders'' written language. The man seemed not to even remember the whole thing, or much else, and grew agitated when reminded of how much he''d lost. But he had literally forgotten more than Arlen ever knew on the subject. They created a priceless set of thin iron plates with a translation of phonetic Builder writing and common technical terms into the islanders'' language. Not surprisingly, the natives had learned writing from the Builders, so the marks were roughly the same.


    "What were the islanders, to your people?"


    Sachin rambled, but some of his answer was clear. "As orphaned children. Ones we were too busy to adopt. But they could be trained to fetch useful things, and we had some resources to spare."


    "What of the ones who lived on this island?"


    The scientist went quiet, then answered only, "There was a war to win."


    "And what of the island spirits?"


    "I know nothing of them."


    #


    Arlen had been living for days in a self-made apartment on the ruins'' outskirts, away from the worst of its atmosphere. Mirefolk brought him a gritty porridge and fish that he tried to eat sparingly, telling himself the pollution was slow-acting.


    He explained to Sachin that he''d be back later, and needed to check on other sites. The Builder grumbled at the "interruption" to Arlen''s apparently permanent employment, but didn''t stop him. Arlen headed along his new road, back toward the village where he''d met the assembled chiefs. Before he''d passed the outskirts, a messenger reached him, saying, "The Drinkers are angry."


    "They often are. What''s going on?"


    The man explained, this particular clan or tribe had heard of Arlen''s progress and saw it as blasphemous.


    Arlen smacked his forehead. "Do they like being poisoned?"


    The messenger shuffled his feet uneasily. "The way we''ve always lived, we''ve been tough enough to survive it. We''re the strongest here."


    "Ever seen a giant toad with a spiked tongue?"


    "Yes; how giant?"


    "Bigger than you."


    "Not quite. But... but our hunters could handle it!" He thumped his chest.


    "How much do your clans talk with the other islands? Or visit them?"


    "Not much. I''ve never been, except once to Decim."


    "I want a peace where you can go freely, and nobody''s fighting each other. It''ll be better for everyone."


    "I think I understand. But the Drinkers don''t. It''s safe, doing things the way they do."


    "Won''t be for long. The swamp won''t protect the Mirefolk forever."


    "Because of your amazing roads?"


    "Not just that. Someday there''ll be more people like me, and they won''t understand your ways at all."


    The messenger frowned. "Then I hope you can talk some sense into the clan."


    Arlen went into town to speak with whoever was in charge. The main tribe here was called the Ring. Its chief was more involved than most in direct contact with Decim. But the man was one of the more skeptical ones from the rodeo party the other night. "It''s your fault the Drinkers have a louder voice now. You killed some of the raiders from other clans, leaving most of theirs."


    Multiple crazed raider clans. He hated hearing the plural.

 A Poisoned Society

    He checked in on the guards he''d brought, and on Meadow. They were still being treated as guests; it helped that Arlen had given them housing. None of them were eager to go even deeper into Mire territory. He was dealing with a possible mutiny. Instead of ordering them along as war-chief, he said, "Then some of you can go. Send word to Voz and the rest that we''re fixing things here. Leave me a boat."


    "What are you going to do?" asked the guard who''d helped him kill the beast in the old factory. "It sounds like there''s a whole tribe that''s angry."


    Arlen cracked his knuckles. "I''m going to have a word with them."


    #


    He headed toward Drinker territory. He carved a narrow path through a bubbling bog, keeping a constant eye out for danger. Anyone else would''ve waded and slogged miserably, so his progress was fast. Except for having to go by landmarks again: the bone pile, the mossy boulder, each time turning. Overhead the sky grew dimmer and made the sun hard to track. Then the rain began.


    His growing road wasn''t hindered, but fog closed in and he feared horrible things sneaking up. He felt weighed down. Not just from the rain, either. This island was the worst he''d seen and all his repair work wouldn''t cure everybody right away. In modern terms he''d probably prevent a lot of birth defects and childhood development problems, ie. crazed feral tribesmen. In twenty years the Mire would be a nicer place. Right now, there was a good chance he''d end up killing people.


    In the distance a pale light stood out. "Will-o-wisp," he said, but he headed toward it out of curiosity. Forgetting that he could simply make a roof if he wanted one. It proved to be a hut of woven branches and thatch and mud, clinging to a tree like an oversized wasp nest with stairs. A green lamp shined at the door of leather flaps, and thin smoke coiled above.


    Arlen called out, and a voice said, "Come."


    Arlen pushed aside the heavy leather. The owner was a grizzled man with a missing ear and a cane, showing a bit of the fanged and hairy look of the raiders. "I don''t recogninze you by clan."


    Arlen bowed slightly. "I''m Arlen, war chief under the new high chief, Voz."


    The man laughed. "Voz! That little squeaker claims to be the one who slew Thoko?"


    "I was the one who killed him."


    "Then why are you under anyone at all?"


    "I want to do things differently. Right now, I want to speak with the Drinkers."


    "Sit, then. You look miserable."


    The hut held two log chairs. Arlen sat and began using magic to dry off. The firepit helped too. He said, "Thank you."


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    "So you want to meet the Drinkers, and think you can persuade them. To do what?"


    Arlen raised an eyebrow. "Are you their chief, sir?"


    "Used to be, years ago."


    "I''m seeking peace with your people. Someday soon, outsiders will come to the isles. If we''re still fighting among ourselves, we''ll all be conquered. I''ve begun to purge the poison here, so that there''s no longer a need for fighting and raiding."


    "A need? We don''t do it only for wealth. We prove ourselves in battle. We honor the spirits by endurance and strength."


    "The spirits told me to purge this island of its poison. Have you heard that?"


    "I''ve been told, yes. Did they also tell you to stop the raids?"


    Arlen fumed. Did everything need to be about what these mysterious voices in a cave or a crater wanted? He said, "They wanted me to unify the islands under a high chief who would respect them. That''s Voz."


    The ex-chief grunted. "We took orders from Thoko until recently. Never liked him. Who are these outsiders you''re so worried about? They''re your people, aren''t they?"


    "No. Really I know very little about them, but Thoko had collected pieces of their ships that tell me they have more powerful tools than the isles do. From my own land''s history I say, their motives will be mixed. You risk being told that all the Echoing Isles now belong to some foreign chief you''ve never heard of, and that you will renounce the island spirits or die. You do not want to be seen as weak."


    "We are rarely accused of that."


    "There are other kinds of strength than the ability to send a bunch of screaming fighters to kill people, aren''t there? I''m not the most muscular or the best spearman, yet I beat Thoko and all his men. If you want to preserve what you value most, you''ll need to throw away what you don''t. So do you value the ability to harass and fight and rob from other islands, more than anything else?"


    "You don''t know us," snapped the old man.


    "That''s fair. So, what do you want to do whenever the outsiders come? I want to make sure nobody gets conquered."


    Arlen''s host stared into the fire. Arlen was willing to fight the tribe''s leaders if that was what it took to stop the internal threat.


    The old man said, "Why do you care about the isles, outsider? Why don''t you prepare to board some passing ship from afar, and go with it to a better place? No doubt you''ve muttered about how savage we are and how you wish you could change many things about us."


    Arlen fumed, but it was a good question. He answered, "I''ve met many of the islanders and enjoyed my time with them. I want to see them happy and prosperous. I''ve never forced them to accept some new way of doing things and the closest I''ve come is overthrowing Thoko, someone who had been doing that, and with the support of people who already wanted him stopped. The isles are worth protecting. I want to reach a point where you all have knowledge of other ways, and the choice of how to proceed."


    "And if we Mirefolk choose not to change?"


    "Then I''ll help your enemies who''re sick of the raids. In the end many of your people will die in their attacks, and your power will be broken. Or we can skip that unhappy step."


    The man thought for a while. "Well now. There''s a use to having a bunch of dangerous men in the isles, isn''t there? If these outsiders are that much of a threat, isn''t it best to have violent men at hand, waiting, ready to give them trouble? That''s a reason to keep peace with us for now."


    Arlen blinked. "Are you suggesting I sic the raiders on the outsiders?"


    "If need be. If a fight happens, and our warriors fall to strange weapons, your problem is solved. If no fight happens, we can talk about what''s next."


    "A pause on raiding, and the possibility of calling on Mirefolk for battle?" Arlen chose to interpret the proposal that way. "It''s a wise solution, sir. If the clan will accept it."


    "Mm. It''s not my place to decide these things anymore. But take the idea to the leaders, and see if they listen."

 Battle Challenge

    Arlen left again when the rain lessened. He kept going by the landmarks the old chief recommended. As for the fact that Arlen was building the fanciest road in all the islands, the man took a look at it but never said a word.


    Arlen''s path was easy from there. He found some kind of nasty slime beast that began lurching toward him, but he managed to encase it in stone. He thought of it as a pollution elemental. From there he found something else he took for magic at first: a continual flame rising from a mass of muck and roots. The land sloped slightly upward so that it emerged a foot or two above water.


    It was the outskirts of a village of ironworkers. Several of the methane-stinking eternal flames rippled in this part of the bog. Drinker clan members in sight were using them for smelting, which probably didn''t work well, and cooking, which had to violate all kinds of restaurant health codes.


    He got spotted; he wasn''t being subtle. A mutant with a lot of knives waded toward him and only the intervention of a more level-headed man at the smithy probably prevented a fight. Still, both demanded to know who he was.


    "Arlen, war-chief of the isles, killer of Thoko and the beast of Gull Crater, comes to make peace."


    "Alone!" said the smith.


    The mutant growled, "Brave."


    Arlen got escorted deeper into the village, but here too they made him stop building and step onto the boggy earth. He tried not to make a face as it squished underfoot. The town had a haphazard approach to construction, mostly crude houses of unworked logs and vines, insulated with moss and mud. Insects buzzed everywhere.


    A crowd of unfriendly townsfolk had gathered at a wide platform with long benches. While the escorts made Arlen wait, a whole tribal court convened. In the center sat an alchemist wearing clay jars of various scents, a tough guy that Arlen recognized from Thoko''s smithing group, and a feral hunter with many scars and with a busty gal hanging on his shoulder.


    Arlen made his case as he''d done with the former chieftain. He added, "Besides fixing the poison of this land so that your people won''t be harmed so much, I can help you directly with my powers."


    Argument began among the leaders. What stood out in the confusion was the sharp-eyed man with the jars saying, "Who do you think you are, making demands of us? Nobody''s seen these monstrous folk from beyond the storm, but for the bones old Thoko collected."


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    The hunter spoke through a mouthful of fangs. "The changes you speak of are a blessing. Our source of power." Most people as hairy and hunched as him didn''t talk much.


    Arlen first conjured a fine little stone jar. "I can give you tools for your craft, and hints of lost alchemical knowledge that can make you more powerful. Do you know for instance of a yellow stone that smells foul?"


    The man with the bottles frowned, then spoke a word that translated as "Sulfur".


    "Yes, I definitely know a recipe you''ll be interested in." He smiled. He was thinking about gunpowder -- but that could wait until there was some more trust. "Besides that you will have fine mixing bowls and sturdy furnaces."


    Then Arlen drew his sword and showed it off. "I share weapons and armor with my friends as well."


    The woman on the warrior''s shoulder was the first to get the implication. "We''ve given no iron to you!"


    "Why no. I have no need of Mirefolk iron. So you''ll need to rethink what you offer and threaten other islands with." He casually transformed a bit of the platform into pure metal and held it up, then dropped it again.


    "Impossible," the alchemist muttered.


    "All I ask is that you cease raiding your neighbors. If you recognize Voz as the new high chief, good; we can trade. If you''re willing to fight a possible battle in the near future, we''d appreciate you standing ready for it. You can be richer than ever before, and you will be healthier." Arlen shrugged. "And if you don''t cooperate, we''ll leave you alone. Unless you attack, of course."


    The scarred fighting man stood up. "You say you have the favor of the spirits. I say you''re a fool. You couldn''t beat even one man."


    Arlen sighed. "Is that how you decide everything? I''m tired of killing people who threaten me."


    A woman who''d been hanging back, spoke up. "I saw him on Opaline. He''s a tricky one, so that pounding him with an axe won''t help you. Outsider, fight me instead."


    She was taller and tougher-looking than some of the men, with a hint of the savage look of the tribe''s berserkers. She wore leather wraps and had scars suggesting claws and bites. A hunter, maybe.


    Arlen asked, "For what? My offer stands."


    The warrior grunted. "Let''s see if you can back it up."


    Arlen wasn''t eager, but this was how they did things. "All right. Where should we fight?"


    There was a low area, flooded with three feet of murky water. Lovely. Arlen reached into it and began making a sturdy platform.


    "Hey, what is that?" said one of the onlookers.


    "I''m your guest. You''ve chosen the location. I''ll choose the arena." Without waiting for a ruling, he rapidly raised the ground and made it rumble. A square around sixty feet wide emerged over several minutes.


    The huntress stared at this preparation, one hand on a knife hilt. "Weapons..."


    "You can back down if you like." Maybe she hadn''t grasped how dangerous Arlen was in the presence of rocks. He was mostly worried about how to avoid killing her.


    "I have magic of my own. Put that sword down. Knives only. To surrender."


    Arlen thought that traditionally the weapons would be his choice, but he''d already pushed his authority. He theatrically made his sword sink halfway into a boulder, then made himself a knife with a crosspiece, similar to her Bowie-style weapon. He kept his iron breastplate.


    He bowed. She didn''t seem to recognize the gesture but did a similar salute. She took a fighting stance and said, "You face Agni the Huntress. Begin."

 Swamp Brawl

    His opponent was using a version of Drowning Tide Style, knees bent and turned partly to one side like a surfer. Arlen stepped forward and made the arena jut upward in three spots, sharp enough to hurt but not impale.


    Agni leaped and water flowed from beyond the arena to pass under her feet, carrying her into his path. He sidestepped but the wave arced sideways without its rider. It crashed into him with such force, he toppled and fell backward into the muck beyond the ring. He crashed and got a hard slap to his back and tail.


    The hunter flung a blade of ice at him, bigger and sharper than most casters''. Arlen ducked so that the water shielded him from all but a scratch. By instinct he thrashed his tail and surged up onto the platform again, rolling to avoid another icicle. He countered with a thrown stone rather than a strike from below. It caught the huntress off guard and bruised her arm.


    She charged, he tried to spear from the ground, and she switched direction, now circling and pelting him. Weak snowballs? What was that supposed to be? He learned quickly when she switched to more blades. One glanced off his armor but another jabbed deep into his left thigh. He staggered in pain. She rushed him. He grabbed her slashing knife arm and yanked forward, crashing her down onto the stone floor. He brought his knife up and said, "Surrender."


    She rolled and tripped him on his injured leg. He winced, buckling. She tried to tackle him but her weight only made him stagger backward without falling over. He kicked Agni aside, then reluctantly made the ground jab up at her. A blunt blade whacked her in the stomach. She stood with her hands on her knees, coughing.


    "No," she wheezed. With renewed fury she slashed at him, fast but unable to connect for more than a close shave. She kicked and caught him in the good leg. Before he could counter, she''d whapped him with an ice ball that struck his back and made him topple into the water.


    "Stop doing that!" he said.


    She responded by hopping down and grabbing him, wrestling his knife away. He had strength but was fighting in the water, where she could wriggle and pin his arms. He wrenched one arm free but couldn''t get up to the surface to breathe. She grinned fiercely as she kept his head underwater.


    So he kissed her.


    She slackened her grip in surprise. Arlen shot away and let the water flow with him, up to regain his footing on the arena. He stood in a tense pose with frost around his fists, watching Agni get one arm up on the stone and begin pulling herself up. She was fast, tough, skilled.


    He said, "Well? How do you want to end this?"


    Agni coughed. "What was that?"


    Arlen stepped closer and reached down to offer one hand. There was an audience of tribal wise men judging him, but he didn''t care. She might be about to stab him again.


    The huntress took his hand and let him pull her up. "Good enough," she said. "Teach me?"


    The two of them went off to the village outskirts to discuss an alliance in more detail.


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    #


    Arlen returned to the first Mire village he''d reached, to pick up his remaining guards. The rest and Meadow had gone back to Decim as planned. "You look pleased," said one of the men.


    "They agreed to leave off the fighting for now. I owe them some weapons soon, if they behave. Meanwhile, they''ve got the best road they''ve ever had, and more housing."


    He sailed back to Decim to report to high chief Voz. After a long ride, he arrived to find the smithy bustling. He had recently produced hundreds of pounds of bars and ingots to play with, and given advice on how to use them.


    The smiths he''d first met on the island had scrambled to keep themselves in charge. They legitimately were the most experienced around, so after some grumbling they''d listened to his ideas and decided to be the most enthusiastic teachers rather than the best of an obsolete style.


    Arlen had insisted on letting girls train. When he arrived he found a rivalry in progress, with two nearly complete work stations. "What are you making?" he asked.


    The male apprentices said, "A whole other set of tools. A better one. They broke our best hammer."


    The three girls trying to develop their own parallel smithy were also making tools, and accusing the boys of wrecking the good tongs. Arlen rolled his eyes and gave a quick lesson on safety and crafting. The rivalry might do the group some good. Unfortunately he hadn''t had time to develop smithing schools on the other islands, but that could wait.


    Meeting with Voz could not. Arlen soon went to the palace, where the high chief was overseeing a tedious land dispute. When it was dealt with, Voz dismissed the court so he could speak privately. "Your guards said your trip was a great success. You actually found a Builder alive?"


    "Yes. The most important thing for now is that the Mire is less awful now, and less of a threat. Over time, the old Builder might be great for making useful things."


    "And their language? You''d sent back plates with a translation."


    "Ah! I''d forgotten. That''ll be useful too."


    "Any amazing new powers?" asked the chief, grinning.


    "No, but I got instruction from Sachin, the Builder, and that might help. I''ve hardly had time to practice."


    Voz said, "I can still hardly believe it. I did take an afternoon to visit the spirit cave and see if the spirits would advise me any more clearly. What I got from them was that they sensed an improvement to the Mire, and wanted us to stand on guard."


    "We''re on the way to a better future for everyone here. What''s next, then? More smithing? Or Newshore?"


    The ruler climbed down to Arlen''s level and paced. "I''ve been thinking about this vague threat you speak of. When it arrives, I''d like to be able to show any foreign people what Newshore looks like. Let them see the horror as an example of what can go wrong if we fight."


    "Did the spirits say that?"


    Quietly, Voz answered, "They want the problem dealt with, I think. But it should wait. Go and help, but don''t get yourself killed trying to solve it all, not today."


    Arlen went outside and made a triumphant public appearance at Voz''s side to assure everyone both of his victory and of his loyalty to the high chief, who had wisely directed him to begin fixing the worst problem in the isles. Voz repeated the new order to "aid the Newshore people and make sure anyone can come and go freely", and Arlen bowed.


    From Arlen''s point of view, he had no desire to personally rule when he could be the adviser to someone less ruthless than Thoko. He also didn''t want to find out what ticking off the spirits might do. Nor was he eager to be cooped up in a palace, however nice. There was too much to do!


    In private he asked, "What are you doing with your own power? The spirits blessed you strongly."


    He conjured an orb of water floating above his hand, and stared into it. "I have some intuition now about how the Roaring Storm worked. It repelled and channeled wind and water, including clouds. I think that with the right enchantment I might improve a boat so that it cuts through the waves and wards off some of a storm''s danger. I''ve been studying the idea. Besides that, though the spirits most wanted me to fight you, I''ve learned more about healing. It''s something I want to spread knowledge of."


    "That''s a good idea. And writing?"


    Voz laughed. "I support the idea of teaching more people, but I can only cast so many nets into the sea at once."


    "Fair enough. Soon, I hope!"

 The War On Ghosts

    Arlen took an iron-hulled boat to Newshore, imitating the common hull shape and varying only the material. This wasn''t the time for major experiments. He came with a few friends and relatives of the exiles, wanting to visit their kin. It was quite a change from before, when the only travel was either one-way or made as supply runs.


    He arrived to find the uneasy truce had persisted. Former guards had begun to be trusted to fight, on the assumption that Arlen would come smite them if needed. Besides, those men were the best trained on the island. One prison guard in particular had "met with an accident" and Arlen got told to leave the matter alone. He didn''t press. The rest of them had found enough peace for now.


    They''d appointed a de facto chief from among the toughest convict warriors. Not the hulking guy with the iron axe who stood nearby, but someone more careful-looking, and taller. He said, "Glad you''re here, war-chief. We rescued a razorback from the woods, and we''re looking to set it loose again to draw them out."


    Nearby, a stone building predating Arlen''s arrival had an animal stink and frustrated growling coming from it. Arlen peeked in at something resembling a horse-sized stegosaurus, in a bad mood. He backed off. "Have you done this before?"


    "Twice, over the years. We can take the lead. Thin them out for us."


    Arlen nodded, then took the leader aside. "I''m not planning to try destroying the source of these ghosts, yet."


    The man frowned. "I wasn''t expecting it on this trip, but maybe that you''d find a way before you go."


    "We''ll thin them out, as you say. And make progress toward exploring more safely."


    Arlen consulted with the locals. When they talked about landmarks he made them draw everything out as more of a proper map. They already understood the concept a little from their forays over the years, but still needed coaxing. It just wasn''t how they understood the shape of the world. With a first-draft sketch in a format he could grasp, he listened to their ideas on what direction to head beyond the wall.


    The practical problem of the big monster ended up dictating the route. They let it through the biggest gate into a streambed where it could be kept from turning back to smash the town''s barrier. It lumbered onward while fighters harried it with pikes and swords. Just beyond the wall, it began running. Everyone in the dozen-strong hunting party followed. Arlen marked the way by stopping every so often to pull up a temporary spike.


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    The ghosts closed in within minutes. On this misty, humid day their tortured shapes stood out as stirring currents. Swarms came from above and inland, moaning and snarling. The poor spike-backed beast didn''t know where to turn, with the mortals at its back and the ghosts ahead.


    Arlen stamped and pointed one fist. The ground stabbed upward into ghost-flesh. Without iron the hits didn''t kill them instantly but still tore into them. The fighters went to work with iron arrows first, then dropped their bows and began a slaughter with metal swords. Translucent claws clutched at faces but met blades and shields that stung them. The impacts were solid. Two floating spectres closed in on Arlen. He backpedaled, raised his shield, and gashed the edge of one. His allies managed to kill them and free him up to keep lashing out with stones.


    The sheer number of the monsters was more than he''d thought. But many were eager for the blood or warmth of the stegosaur, so that it reared up and lashed its tail in a desperate attempt to escape the swarm. Arlen told himself it was a better sacrifice than his people. He fought on through whirling, howling ghosts that tried to rend every living being.


    Something in the distance screeched and hissed, making Arlen''s ears flick backward. Someone darted in front of him and jabbed a ghost. That was practically the last in sight. a few more attacked without cunning or numbers and got cut apart in moments. The forest was quiet again.


    Two men were down and bleeding, and there was dented armor and dropped weapons, but nobody had died. Arlen and a soldier with magic began applying their healing skills while another man with mundane medical knowledge drafted two men to carry a stretcher. Arlen looked up from tending to the worst-off man, who''d gotten some deep gashes but would recover. "What was that thing out there?"


    The local leader said, "We should head back."


    "Right. Sorry."


    Along the way they told Arlen, "We call it the Walker in Shadow. It never comes close enough to fight, except on dark nights when we can see its great big eyes." The speaker shuddered. "We put a few arrows into it and drove it off, howling."


    Arlen took a few brief pauses to place sturdier waypoint stones. "Is it the source of this ongoing haunt?"


    Nobody knew, or wanted to deal with it today. But Arlen said, "I want to go looking for it tomorrow. Just to learn."


    #


    That evening, Arlen shared the company of Newshore and felt that it was a transformed land already.


    Some measure of justice or vengeance had happened, and the remaining people who couldn''t get along knew they could get away, and in some cases already had. Those who remained were a team taking pride in what they''d accomplished here at great risk. With new firepower to back them up, they had a chance to push toward a lasting victory, and earn it together. The non-fighters even seemed to be working harder at the cooking and cleaning. He made a point of being extra grateful. Someone mentioned iron cooking pots as a recent invention, and he made several.

 Conquering the Void

    The fighting party went deeper into the forest this time. More of them were along today due to feeling confident. A few of the ghouls drifted in but only in ones and twos, easily dispatched. Every so often, they stopped for Arlen to place permanent markers and build a little fort. The presence of anything manmade stood out against the ever-present smell of plants and the crowded feeling of the dense trees around them.


    "Can you scatter some metal too?" asked one soldier.


    That worked fairly well. He embedded bits of iron where he could stab with them for some extra punch. "Why does iron help against ghosts, anyway?"


    They didn''t know, but they''d tried various rituals and substances like salt with little effect.


    The next time a few ghosts came at the party, it was a chance to test tactics. Everyone retreated to the nearest fort a short jog back, then battled from behind pillars and awnings with the option to fall back into a little building. Worked well.


    They had to stay on offense. By afternoon they''d charted more of the island''s depths, and at last they spotted a ruin. It barely stood out in the fog: a dome of hazy light around a squat stone building large enough to have been an ugly mansion. Nothing more besides the overgrown suggestion of a road or wide foundation.


    From behind it, large yellow eyes peeked out in an inky cloud.


    "Back off," Arlen said, but everyone was already enthusiastically doing that. Arlen raised another fort quickly, focusing on one wall at a time to get some kind of defense up.


    The Walker in Shadow flowed from behind the ruin. It rumbled and stretched, arching its back until it looked taller than an elephant.


    "Let''s go back!" said one warrior.


    Arlen rushed. He had a wall, part of another. "What is that thing?" he asked without looking again.


    "It''s big."


    Another guy said, "More solid than the ghosts. But smoky?"


    "It''s coming this way!"


    Arlen couldn''t help but look now. The looming shadow moved with a low rumble he hadn''t noticed while casting his ground-moving spell. "Don''t run yet. Back off slowly." He reached into his backpack and pulled out a chunk of roast meat he''d been saving, then lobbed it toward the creature as a distraction. If it was more like a wild animal than a ghost, maybe that''d help. He backpedaled. Maybe the group could make it to the next complete fort.


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    The beast stopped, then rippled sideways and lowered itself to peer at the meat. It looked up and aside, paced indecisively, then pounced on the offering and devoured it.


    "That worked?" said a hunter. He grabbed his spare food and threw that too. The Walker went for it. They were buying time. "Everybody, your food."


    The creature''s body was indistinct, but when it lowered itself again Arlen had the impression of an animal sitting. Somewhere within that darkness, behind the eyes, another creature floated. Trapped, maybe.


    The group backed off, but the Walker wasn''t outright threatening them now. It stood, stretched, and rubbed its inky side against the incomplete fort Arlen had abandoned. Then it purred.


    Arlen blinked. "What?"


    "It''s still coming after us!" someone said.


    "Shush. Just walk. No sudden moves."


    The group had reached their last waypoint and had a good defensive spot now. Everyone was a little more confident due to that, but also the Walker had failed to attack them. It had only followed. "Now what?" asked a hunter.


    "Can we get back home before dark?"


    "Yeah, even walking."


    "Anybody got meat left for it?"


    One guy had held out. Arlen made him toss his supper toward the giant monster. It sniffed and devoured this treat too. "Maybe it''s not hungry now?" said the man who''d donated.


    Arlen said, "It''s like a cat!"


    "Are we the mice?"


    Arlen shivered. "Stay here. I''m going to try something stupid."


    He left the shelter of the fort and slowly approached the towering monster. It tilted what passed for its head, mostly visibly by the angle of its golden-coin eyes. In the shifting depths of darkness, he saw a floating black cat. The body around it moved like a puppet. Hesitantly Arlen reached out and touched the shadowy substance along its side. It felt like a chilled pillow. The great head stared at him but made no effort to eat him. The whole body rolled over. Arlen petted its back in long strokes, and the Walker in Shadow purred.


    "Um, sir?" said one of the men.


    "Sometimes when you stare into the darkness, it trots up to you for petting and food."


    #


    Arlen left the island of ghosts behind. Everyone was well equipped and had a new ally of sorts. The feline Walker had followed them all the way to town without bothering anyone, and had come back the next morning to utter a deep and echoing meow until someone left it a hunk of smoked meat.


    Arlen sailed to Decim to report to Voz about the discovery and the continued cleanup. His main focus right now was farming: getting everyone to tend the expanded gardens he''d encouraged every island to grow in a hurry, to make up for the ruined crops caused by the hurricane. Food would be tight for another month before new vegetables came in, but the fish supply held out for now.


    Arlen publicly bestowed his "magical" gun on Voz as a show of support. In private he asked, "Whatever happened to the Black Arrows?"


    They''d met in one of the side rooms of the expanded palace. The building now had a four-story tower, a stone wall, and a whole wing of storage and housing for whoever might need them. Arlen had tried to give the place a style that didn''t clash with the original palace too much, but his stonework was different from anything in this island''s tradition. So he''d consulted with some people from Catacomb and Stormhowl and tried to work a bit of their style in.

 Sails

    The high chief said, "The Arrows'' exact nature was a secret that died with some of Thoko''s rival chiefs. Even I was never trusted with the things. Three flesh-seeking arrows, two still bloodied. I''m not sure that I want them back in use after being so frightened of them."


    Arlen laughed nervously; the blood was his own. "We have enough weapons anyway. But save them, just in case. Best if everyone thinks they''re still usable."


    Voz nodded and paced. "I''m pleased that with the Newshore and Mire problems handled for now, I haven''t got any urgent work for you. Go do what you think best."


    Arlen started off by working with the smiths again, and the potters and stone tool-makers. Then he headed for Opaline. Along the way, he and his two passengers reached the underwater base he''d used for the assault on Thoko.


    One of the men said, "So this is where the warband rested on the way to strike him down. Guiding Reef must be that direction there, where the boats were moored."


    The other nodded. "And you can still see the little tower there, so Decim is back that way."


    Arlen smiled and talked about how he''d laid the ambush. Then he asked, "What do you think about expanding this place? I could bring it up above the water and make room to sleep in. Even space for a garden, maybe."


    One man looked uncomfortable about that. "You don''t really stop on the way from Decim to the reef."


    The other said, "But we''re doing it right now. Why not make it better?"


    Arlen gave it try. The sunken room had been dank at best, and water had puddled inside. He filled it in with solid stone, steadied its foundation, and made it grow. Silt and water shuddered all around. The cold created by his spell created a chilly mist rising from the sea. Gradually an island around forty feet on a side rose beneath Arlen and climbed until he stood ten feet above the waves with tapered sides all around.


    His two crewmen, still on the boat, stared. Arlen took a while to notice them, and he waved. He began sculpting a stairway into one side. "Help me decide where to put everything!"


    Since they still hung back, he played. He raised walls around half of his island, then a roof, poles to tie up boats, and a firepit with chimney. It took half an hour. The boatmen only dared to come ashore when he''d finished the largest work on the shelter.


    Arlen said, "Now it can be more comfortable for everyone to travel."


    The first man still looked like he expected monsters to rise from the stone, but the second said, "Could you heap up dirt on this?"


    "I''m not sure. It might blow away if it''s too fine, and I haven''t tried turning rock into dirt that wasn''t ever soil before."


    The skeptic frowned, but said, "What about what they do on Stormhowl? They pile up seaweed and sand and fish guts, and let them rot together until there''s a kind of muck they can use."


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    It seemed like a good idea to adopt _something_ here that the people found familiar. Arlen answered, "Let''s try that, first chance we get."


    His other sailor said, "I can try fetching some coarse sand." He dived and went to scoop up what he could, for testing.


    By the time they left, the island was sixty by sixty, with a slight drainage slope, a sandbox with seaweed in it, shelter for dozens in a pinch, and a dock at the waterline. People could rest in relative comfort now. He made markers pointing to the other islands. Given time, he could make more rest stops like this. His followers were quiet as they all left together. One of them eventually said, "What does this mean?"


    "It means easier trade and travel from now on. This place is part of your home."


    "The spirits..." said his skeptic. "Well. They wouldn''t let you get this far, if they were angry."


    When he got to Guiding Reef a while later, he joined in on talking about how it was discovered.


    #


    On Opaline Island, the main problems didn''t need his attention. The people were focused on their farming. He handed out hoes and began talking about plows, but nobody was interested in experimenting with new techniques right now. Nor did they have draft animals. He fantasized vaguely about domesticating big lizards, but the disinterest was right: this wasn''t the time.


    He made simple iron-hulled boats to add to the fishing fleet for however long those lasted. So far his crude designs had held up surprisingly well in seawater, even without paint. He''d had the impression that they''d start breaking down within a week, but his impressions were based on century-old shipwrecks.


    There was one change he''d been wanting to enact on Opaline: a road. The island had two main villages on near-opposite ends. So he began walking and pulling the ground up beneath his feet. A few miles of hiking took him up a gentle slope that avoided the island''s biggest hill. Behind him he left a wide path of smooth stone, steering past trees or narrowing in a few spots. Each mile or so he left a rocky canopy for travelers. Chilly mist lingered around his creations and gradually dispersed.


    Being out here alone helped him get away from thoughts of the war he''d butted into. He could keep making things, teaching people. Maybe it was time to settle down.


    When he reached the far side of Opaline he met with some confused farmers who hadn''t expected a new road. "Uh, all right, but why not just sail around?"


    Arlen shrugged. "You have another choice now, especially on stormy days. And if you don''t like the location I can change it."


    He made a wide stone plaza and a few houses, but for the first time realized he was disrupting the way new homes were usually built. There was some ceremony to it, at least on some islands, similar to what he thought of as a "village barn-raising". He''d utterly ignored that team-building process and assumed he was doing everyone a favor. Really he was, but when the chief took him aside and explained, Arlen grimaced. "I was foolish," he admitted.


    The chief slapped him on the shoulder and laughed. "Everything has to change, doesn''t it? It wasn''t long before you came that a kid came up to me and asked if Thoko had always been the ruler of everyone, or always would be. For now, I suggest laying off from the construction and getting Voz to call a meeting of chiefs about it. There''s plenty else to discuss anyway."


    "I''ll do that."


    Soon, Arlen met a party of four farmers about to leave home. "Where are you off to?" asked Arlen.


    One said, "Trying to go after some annoying birds. They swoop down trying to swipe seeds we just planted, and they''ve needed thinning out for a while."


    "Want me along?"


    They did. Arlen followed the party up a winding trail, higher until the weather began to grow cool and the ground was a curious pebble-strewn land gouged smooth as by an ancient glacier. The pesky birds'' rookery was up on a plateau nearby; some screeching and cawing echoed around the next bend.


    Arlen was thinking about the ecology of the isles when one of the hunters looked out to sea and said, "What is that?"


    Far out on the horizon, a bright yellow sail had appeared.

 Planting the Flag

    Arlen said, "Down to the beach, quick!"


    They hurried. There might be hours before the newcomers arrived, what with the currently fickle wind and whether they tried exploring instead of heading straight for shore. When his party reached the nearest town, he called out, "The outsiders are coming! Listen to me as war-chief! I need messengers running to the chief and more to send word to high chief Voz right away."


    He''d come to the village while most people were busy farming and cleaning. He got blank confusion from most of the residents. Somebody asked, "The who are coming?"


    "Big ships from beyond the Roaring Storm!"


    "I don''t see anything," said one woman.


    Arlen smacked his forehead. The hunters explained it better, that they''d been looking from high in the hills. Still, Arlen was talking about something clearly impossible and probably too dangerous to contemplate. It took several minutes of coaxing to get anybody moving in any useful way. It ended up being the hunters who made themselves the most useful, by dragging their friends to the beach. They began launching messenger boats and had somebody run across the new road to the chief''s home.


    "Thanks," Arlen said, and got to work. He gauged roughly the area where the ships might arrive -- they weren''t yet in sight from sea level -- and built there, just offshore. Low tide would form a walking path to the fort he was making. Sixty feet wide and ringed with low walls against the sea, it''d hold several bare buildings with two stories of space for housing and storage and leisure.


    He was arranging it how he''d like, enjoying the design he''d been vaguely planning for a while, but a crowd was watching. A kid asked, "What''s all this for?"


    Arlen said, "When people arrive from outside, it''s very important that they stay right here for a couple of days and not visit other islands. So I want them to have a home."


    "Why?"


    "To keep everyone safe while we learn about them," Arlen said, and that wasn''t the whole truth. Because there was a fair chance that Voz''s healing abilities were going to be extremely useful soon after first contact.


    #


    Arlen had built a Potemkin village by the time the ships, two of them, were in plain view. He''d finished the fort and had someone watching from its rooftop. Then he put up a few outlying stone buildings for the actual town, then focused on changes that were lower to the ground. If he''d put up a giant tower at this point the outsiders might catch him doing it, and he wasn''t eager to reveal what he could do, yet. So he went a little inland and built a little plaza, then a well-hidden entrance to a pit. Which connected to a tunnel. Which led beneath the beach through sturdy walls, and most of the way into the fort''s basement. If he needed to get in there quickly, he could.


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    The islanders were on the beach, staring as the giant ships emerged over the horizon, a direction that everyone knew to have nothing at all in it. Some of the men brought out their weapons and armor, and looked to Arlen.


    Arlen said, "I think I know what will happen. There''s no need to fight, yet."


    "Outsiders," one man said.


    Men stood on the ships, and Arlen thought he made out one with a spyglass. They were coming dead-on, but the hulls and triple masts suggested a people well versed in long sea voyages. What else could he do to prepare? He''d left a supply of iron ingots at the smithy, given swords to all who wanted them, gathered trinkets for a greeting ceremony, and sent word to the authorities who understood the situation worse but in whose hands the islands'' fate ultimately should rest.


    What he could do right now, was sit cross-legged on the beach and calm his mind, while all the fevered imagination of the islanders swirled around him.


    The ships anchored a hundred yards or so offshore. One was the bigger sister, bearing more sails but tattered. Each lowered a boat into the water and came right for shore, the faster not waiting for the other.


    "Pushed by water magic," said one keen-eyed scout on the beach. "How? They''ve never seen the spirits. How would they have the gift?"


    "They might have their own," Arlen said. That answered one of his many questions. Magic didn''t necessarily come from a supposedly divine patron.


    The boats were crowded. Between them they brought a party of around twenty, all male, most dressed in metal breastplates and plumed helmets. And were those pistols worn along with their swords? The design puzzled him but he assumed so. Their clothing was billowy white and yellow. Three seeming officers led the way. The one from the larger ship was a man with a magnificent plate-and-chain top with stylized wings at the collar. The second boat brought someone lightly armored but in fine, fresh pleated clothing with silver chains. The third, sharing that boat, bore only a book in his yellow-robed arms. The group was mainly dark-haired and ruddy-skinned, squinting ahead at the unknown land.


    "No ears, no tails!" said several watchers. They looked to Arlen, who''d hardly noticed at first that they weren''t "normal" humans.


    Arlen said, "Hey, maybe they''ll get their own." That got a few chuckles anyway.


    Arlen got up and approached. He felt everyone behind him keeping their distance. The boats thudded onto the beach. The nobly dressed man stirred but the lead captain shot him a look and he sat back down. So it was the leader who first waded ashore, leaving bootprints on the sand. He surveyed the frightened crowd and laid eyes on Arlen again, looking him up and down. These days Arlen was dressed about the same as anyone else, in light clothes of palm fiber under his armor. Only the basket of gifts beside him and his off-color, pale complexion clearly stood out.


    The captain knelt, clasped his hands, and muttered. Then he gestured to one of the men in the boat behind him. That was the one who handed him a flag, which the captain stabbed into the beach.


    Saw that coming from a universe away, thought Arlen.

 First Contact Problems

    The design showed a stylized brazier, red on yellow. Tasteful.


    Behind Arlen someone said, "What''s happening? What are they doing?"


    Arlen turned back and answered, "Being ignorant. We''ll correct that."


    Arlen smiled broadly and pulled two iron mugs out from his basket of props. He poured rum from a clay jug into both, sipped one, and offered the other. Why yes, we have ironworking.


    The captain considered for a moment, then took the drink and sipped. He spoke a few words as he handed the cup back. The rest of his two-boat party stepped ashore at last.


    Arlen puzzled over the words. He had no convenient gift of understanding in this case, but the language reminded him of the Builder tongue. He first said, "Do you understand me?" in the Echoing Isles language. When that got him only confused looks he tried the same words as taught to him by Sachin, over in the ruined chemical plant.


    This time, the robed priest stood up straighter. "Hark! Ken thou this?"


    "Yes." Arlen''s had nearly reached his limit for being able to speak Builder without careful planning. He tried saying, "This place, island home."


    The nobleman stepped forward to speak. "Here, this." He had one of his minions bring out a fine little treasure chest full of jewelry. There were strings of glass beads, a few pearls, even a silver necklace with amythysts. Several bright-polished coins as well, with the likeness of some king. Shiny. Then came a bundle of clothes including a silk-like blue robe and a belt woven with feathers. The man with the gifts gestured grandly as he offered the hoard to Arlen and had it all placed on a sheet on the beach.


    "Gifts?" said Arlen''s entourage.


    Arlen told them, "These people are at least making an effort."


    One of the men said, "Which of them is really in charge? Three chiefs, maybe."


    "Looks that way. Anybody speak Builder language at all?"


    A woman said, "A little of their jabbering sounded familiar." She stepped up to try helping Arlen stumble through some translation.


    Arlen tried to offer equal attention to the three foreign "chiefs". The priestly one was the best at finding a useful phrasing for what the others were saying. Through him they conveyed, "We, the Together-Singing of Mariv. Thou, Storm-Blinded Lands. We bring gifts to --"


    The rest of the intro was hard to convey, and several of the islanders had to pitch in with some creative sand-drawings. Eventually the outlanders nodded at some designs and pointed to the shiny coins. "We bring gifts to thee, lost children of the King."


    Arlen smiled wider and nodded extra hard. "Our King brings gifts to thee." Then, he uprooted the flag the foreigners had planted on the shore, and carried it to the great big stone fort that had a flag-holder built right into it. He inserted the flag and waved to make it clear he was offering the whole little patch of real estate. Rather than everything around it.


    The entire delegation halted and murmured. The nobleman leader spoke sharply to the others. The lead captain held up a hand and answered him more carefully, while the priest reddened and muttered.


    Arlen began drawing and cobbling together what words he could. Expressing, "We will give food and drinking water. You stay here or on ships, ten days. Stop sickness."


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    The ancient, mad Builder hadn''t taught him a word for "quarantine", but Arlen did his best.


    The sailors looked to each other uneasily. Their leaders conferred. The captain said with some difficulty, "We rest here."


    "Ten days. Then you see more islands."


    He exchanged confused talk with the priest. "Hmmph. Ten days."


    Arlen nodded. "Would a few of you like to hunt birds with us?"


    #


    Arlen had worked things out with a few brave hunters. He''d explained they were risking themselves for the safety of everyone, by being near people who might be bringing strange diseases. Since high chief Voz was alerted, he''d be in a position to help them if problems emerged.


    Arlen was worried he was a canary too. His bond to the Builders'' power had done wonders to protect him from injury, but he had no assurance he was immune to whatever these new guys carried, and wasn''t even sure his DNA counted as fully human anymore. The possible species difference worked in the islanders'' favor, as did their past contact with outsiders. This was a case where he legitimately knew more than anybody else around and had no qualms about being bossy.


    He set out with two islander hunters and a party of three from the ships. He''d suggested bringing a few more, but some kind of argument had broken out and they''d insisted on exactly equaling his group.


    One of their three was the nobleman, struggling to understand and speak.


    "You are the leader?" he attempted to say.


    "I am war leader. We have another for peace."


    "You are... big fighter?" Though the man asking the question wasn''t obviously brawny himself, Arlen wasn''t the mightiest looking man in the bunch either.


    Arlen laughed. "I can fight. What''s your name?"


    "Joop."


    They ascended a trail into the hills, exchanging a few words, trying to understand and mostly pointing at things. "Rock. Tree. Island. Sun."


    Talk of the sun and of directions made Arlen want to gather more information. The group paused near a waterfall, where three bright red parrots watched them.


    "These birds?" asked a sailor. That one had brought out a scroll of parchment and was sketching a map from up here, with much of the coast in sight.


    "No, farther on." Arlen sketched in the dirt and gestured to the sky to illustrate something. "You, have time tool? Thing like this to say time?" He drew a sundial, an hourglass, a clock face. Though come to think of it, the exact design of the mechanical clocks he knew was based on obscure Babylonian measurements.


    The crew crouched to study the drawings. Joop pointed to the sundial and hourglass, saying, "Yes, this."


    A bush rustled. An islander man burst up from it, hurling a spear. He charged, throwing one knife and drawing another before anyone could react.


    The spear thudded into a man''s side and the knife clipped Joop''s arm. Arlen threw himself at the attacker and his fist glowed with ice as he punched. They both went down.


    A gun went off. Only Arlen recognized the sound. "Down, everyone! Stop!" He shoved himself free of the man he''d punched. Metal scraped against someone''s scabbard. He looked up in time to hear another bang and feel a musket ball crash into his left leg, sending him sprawling. Swords clashed with spears.


    "Stop!" yelled Joop, sword and gun in hand. By the time Arlen could stagger upright, the fighting had stopped but the two sides faced each other with weapons out.


    Arlen pointed to the assassin. "Grab him. You! What were you thinking?"


    That guy started running. One of his men chased and tackled him, and Arlen''s other guy ran to help. Arlen was now alone with the three foreigners, one on the ground with a spear in his ribs and a smoking pistol in his hand.


    Arlen spread his hands, then slowly knelt by the injured man. His own thigh burned from a nasty bruise but he tuned it out. The wound was deep, and a dark green poison had been smeared on the blade. He swore. This was a barbed hunting spear, too. He forced down his urge to retch and gestured for the others to hold their companion and help him remove the spear.


    They helped. It was awful and messy, and they used up their canteens trying to wash the wound while their man cried out. Arlen cast a spell of water to conjure more of the stuff and flood out as much as possible of the vile goo.


    The other islanders returned, hauling the assassin with several knife wounds on him. Joop took a moment to scream incoherently at him. Arlen gestured "Down", and the islanders threw the man to the ground and stepped on him.


    The assassin said, "Idiots! They''re going to kill us all unless we get them first. Arlen, you''re not doing your job. I heard them talking. They think we''re stupid, and weak, and they can take everything."


    Arlen grimaced as he tried to clean the wound a little more. This was beyond him. He said, "Then we''ll correct their mistake. And give them a gift of one moron."

 A Trade of Ideas

    They hauled the wounded sailor and the prisoner back to shore. By then, the chief and the doctor who''d first treated Arlen had arrived to gape at the bizarre horde of foreigners and their ships. The doc got busy right away, asking few questions.


    The lead captain had more. He barked for Joop to come over and explain. Arlen went with him, and pointed to the culprit that the doc was tending for his own slashed. Arlen said, "He''s yours. Do what you want."


    The captain -- Joop was calling him Huygens -- fumed. He paused, listening to the tale, and finally waved off the offer to keep the prisoner for his own justice. "Yours."


    After the immediate tension broke up, the sailors and islanders still kept their distance. Probably wise. Opaline''s chief got the full story from Arlen, then said, "The cross-island road helped. You really gave them a palace?"


    "A barren one, chief. Trying to keep them there, as I said." He mentioned the secret tunnel and added, "But it''s your island. What do you want to do?"


    "They seem to care a lot about gifts. The head of their monster-ships was passing out shiny metal trinkets like we''re a bunch of hoarding rats. So I want to give them something good in return."


    "I left some iron at the forge if you want to present that."


    "Good. Now... are you expecting us to sicken and drop dead?"


    Arlen winced. "I doubt it, but let''s make sure any harm is contained to Opaline. Nobody should leave the island for a few days, now that we''ve come close to the outsiders."


    The chief said, "They somehow have magic, but how much? You revealed that you''re tougher than an ordinary man, considering they have a weapon like your wondrous metal-shooter."


    Arlen had forgotten that detail. He''d taken an ugly bruise but was only limping and would recover. "That''s true. The good news is, their version probably takes a long time to load after it''s used once. Watch out for anybody carrying more than one. Iron shields will probably block the shots, and the accuracy is bad."


    They brought the doctor over to consult with them. He said, "What I''ve seen and heard so far is that some of these people can cast a few spells like ours including healing, but the technique is different from anything I''ve seen. If they''re more powerful or like you and Voz, they''re hiding it. I''d like to compare."


    "Maybe a contest?" said the chief.


    Arlen said, "Good idea. Might learn something."


    The outsiders seemed eager to arrange one, for the same reconnaissance reasons and to defuse the tension. Arlen watched. There seemed to be over a hundred explorers from the two ships, most of them now ashore. Of these, fifteen came up to demonstrate elemental skills of water, wind, stone... and fire, and wood.


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    "How?" said the Opaline chief at Arlen''s side, as startled as most other natives.


    Arlen had been wondering at the "missing" fire element, because of his background, and apparently the whole truth wasn''t the four-way system he found most familiar. "The outsiders are willing to reveal that. Hmm."


    The teams were playing something like volleyball now, knocking a ball around with spells. The priest approached Arlen and said, "What about you? What can you do?"


    Arlen shrugged and demonstrated the basic ice spell again. Then hesitated, and showed off a hovering stone. "I''d like to learn more about how magic really works."


    After some frustrating translation the priest drew the fort. "You made this?"


    Arlen had been caught. Too many people had been talking, for him to conceal everything. He demonstrated shaping the rock he held.


    The priest, named Singer Alfons, managed to say, "I''m not sure Captain Huygens or Captain Joop knows. I want to know, have you seen marks like this?" He drew writing, in something like the Builders'' octagonal glyphs.


    "You have!" said Alfons, seeing Arlen''s interest. "Where?"


    Arlen said, "There are places." Without specifying, he began using writing on the sand to gauge the similarity. The priest allowed himself to be distracted from asking about ruin sites, maybe so that he could get more general knowledge. The comparison of old Builder and modern Mariv was good enough to help with an awkward translation. He asked something like, "What get you here?" As in, "Why are you here?"


    Alfons answered carefully. "I get more of this." He tapped the writing. "I see things here, and I tell my people."


    A discoverer, then, or a scholar. Arlen asked, "And Huygens, and Joop?"


    The priest sighed. "There are... groups of people. Some Singers, like me. Captain Huygens is a sword-man. Captain Joop is a... has-things man."


    Arlen laughed. "Shaman, warrior, trader." He mimed trading.


    Alfons nodded. "Bad things happened to Huygens in sword work. He wants to tell my people he did brave things here, so they will speak good about him. Joop wishes to be... chief of the islands."


    Arlen calculated what the real situation was. Social classes, trying to prove themselves and seek personal gain, including the priest. The head captain was apparently trying to redeem his reputation after some failure. Alfons'' willingness to fill Arlen in suggested they weren''t quite on the same team.


    Arlen thanked him, and kept trying to swap words.


    #


    That night, there was a public dinner around a fire, as usually happened. This time much of the crew joined in and contributed the terrible hardtack and preserved vegetables they''d brought. From what Arlen had gathered, the kingdom was about two weeks away by sea and these islands had been a navigation landmark, what with the big obvious storm in a fixed location. There was an evil empire not too far from the holy kingdom of Mariv, and a land of savages with fine wood and furs in the other direction. When Arlen asked for a map, they seemed surprised he''d thought to ask.


    Joop was the most enthused about providing one. He had actual paper, far better than the improvised chalkboards and papyrus-like stuff local to here. He showed off an ocean map, then asked Arlen to draw the Echoing Isles and point out all the interesting places.


    Arlen deferred to the Opaline chief, whom he''d quietly updated on what he''d learned. The chief grunted and took Arlen off the hook, saying, "Ten days. Then maybe we show you."


    Joop said, "Come, man, it''s a trade. We offer things, yes?"


    "Soon."


    Captain Huygens seemed to pay more attention to Arlen than to the chief. With some trouble he said, "Do you have enemies here? We can fight them."


    Magellan had tried to impress certain islanders in the same way. Didn''t go well for him. Arlen said, "Yes. Maybe the Mirefolk, and the ghosts. The... angry dead men."


    The three foreign leaders struggled to understand. Huygens wanted to know where, Joop who, and Alfons why.


    "We believe some were the Builders. The people who made these signs." Arlen pointed to some writing. "Where did they go? We don''t know."

 Broken Quarantine

    That night, a nosy islander reported to Arlen, "Some of the sailors wandered off with the girls."


    Arlen rolled his eyes. Should''ve seen that coming. "Thanks. Are they causing trouble? No? All right."


    He was more concerned about the general sailor population. They''d been given their fort and those who remained on the ships had a lot more space for now. Some had moved their bedding, such as it was, or gotten local goods.


    In the morning, the chief called him over to the hut he''d borrowed. He presented Arlen with a scroll, saying, "What can you make of this?"


    It had a very incomplete sketch of the islands'' outer edge. Arlen puzzled out the writing. "Their version, not Old Builder. Something about... no, I can''t read it. Let''s copy it. Where''d you get it?"


    The chief grinned. "The ships aren''t that secure tonight."


    "That''s a dangerous trick, chief. That scroll needs to go back before it''s noticed."


    "We''ll plant it in their bags."


    Arlen had to trust him, but it was a cavalier move and he couldn''t personally help much. He quickly copied the text onto one of the sheets of paper he''d traded for, and handed back the original.


    #


    High chief Voz wouldn''t arrive until around contact day three. Arlen and the Opaline chief were stuck trying to manage the situation. They studied language with Singer Alfons, spoke vaguely to Captain Huygens about the islands'' history, and discovered that the other captain, Joop, was missing.


    "Where is he?" Arlen asked Huygens.


    The senior captain blinked, then barked questions and orders to his crew. "Not here! I will find him."


    "I said, ten days here!"


    The captain waved him off and left to speak with his crew again. Arlen cursed and did his own investigation. How many boats did the twin ships have? Two each. How many were present now? One was missing, along with a few young and adventurous islanders. Ignorant ones who didn''t know how much harm they might''ve just caused. And off to where? Catacomb, as of hours ago.


    Arlen found the chief right away. "What should I do? This is a danger to everyone."


    "This damned horde isn''t following our rules. They must think they don''t need to, and we can''t do anything about it. I say, hurry after them and leave me to keep order if I can."


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    Arlen nodded. There was a chance the dam of quarantine wouldn''t completely burst. He worked with the chief to grab a couple of good sailors and a boat and hurry out.


    Hurrying was relative. The overzealous sea captain would have a long head start. He worried aloud all the way to the far island.


    When he arrived, the chief had acted intelligently. Since the lady had heard the news of first contact and Arlen''s initial warning about it, she''d had the new arrivals (Joop, two crew, two natives) strongly invited to spend the next week or so in one of the new buildings.


    "Thank you!" said Arlen, standing outside her home.


    "I can''t rightly blame them for wanting to explore. You yourself should keep away from everyone local, including me."


    He took his leave. But he went with his sailors to go see Joop and bring him food. The captain wasn''t pleased to be trapped with his four crew in a twenty-foot stone room. Arlen said, "You are Opaline Island''s guest for now. Why did you come here?"


    The islanders said, "Arlen, let us out. We didn''t mean any trouble."


    "You know why you''re here. You''ll be allowed out soon, if you''re patient and follow the rules this time. Now, why''d he get you to do this?"


    Joop spoke for himself. "We are not sick. This is a... not-needed delay. This is what you give us? A box?" He gestured at his cell.


    "I stop you from making others sick. Wait. If you leave, I will stop you."


    The man''s next word was probably "Nonsense!" or a curse. "This island has valuable old things. I want to see."


    "Did you hear me when I said ten days?"


    "Yes. Not needed."


    "Ah. You think you are my high chief, then?"


    Joop fumed, thinking. "In Mariv, the king is high chief of all."


    "Are we in Mariv, Joop?"


    The man pretended not to understand. Arlen pressed. Finally he said, "To give gifts is very important. We give you fine things, and knowledge of the wider world, and knowledge of the true way. You give us a home here."


    The wording was sloppy and ambiguous by necessity. Arlen interpreted it as he pleased. "Yes, I gave you a very big stone home, for all of you! And a small stone home here. If you give us sickness in return, how should I repay that?"


    The captain was sullen and had nothing useful to say.


    "If you leave again before this island''s chief says, you will be repaid." He showed off a knife, then explained in more detail to the islanders shut in with him, saying, "The safety of all your friends and families is at stake, you two. Put up with it for now."


    #


    The captain had created a headache for everyone. Guards had to watch the five and _they_ were ordered to limit contact with anyone for days. Arlen was tempted to wall them in by magic, but didn''t want to reveal that card yet. Back on Opaline who knew what was happening? Arlen had another distant, awkward exchange with the chief, then sailed straight back there.


    By the time he arrived, Voz had come. The official ruler of the isles looked grim, and had brought all his shamanic tools for healing. The two boats he''d brought were loaded too with animal pelts and other gifts.


    Arlen explained the latest news but Voz had heard the basics from the first message and from Opaline''s chief. He said, "I wish I could come at this as a simple scholar and not have to make the decisions."


    Arlen grinned and patted him on the shoulder. "Have fun. What now?"


    "I should meet with these leaders and work on the language problem. Including that copied note. I''ll need to stay here anyway."


    Diplomacy proceeded. That meant Voz coming along to be introduced as Arlen''s superior, in front of Captain Huygens and Singer Alfons. Huygens said, "Happy to meet you. Where is Captain Joop?"


    Voz explained. Huygens fumed but said, "Then he will stay there for now. When the time passes, I want to visit this island of monsters, New-Shore."


    "I''ll allow it," said Voz. Then he spoke quietly to Arlen about a preparation he needed to make.

 Trying To Fix It

    On the eighth day, three men and two women sickened. Arlen swore. The people telling him this reported with wide eyes, telling him of people waking up feverish and weak. "We all might be next!"


    "Stand fast," Arlen said, with more confidence than he felt. "We have healers and the knowledge to minimize the harm."


    Voz had commanded Arlen to make a hospital shelter. He''d worked with the chief to scout out a remote area on the island, in fact the place where there''d been a hermit''s hut with an arrow in it, and try to make sure no foreigners were watching. With them screening him, Arlen raised a living space for a hundred unlucky souls. Now that it was complete, Arlen and Voz led a party to carry the sickest ones on stretchers. They passed along the new cross-island road and set people down in the strange building.


    An exhausted man leaned against the wall, saying, "What do we do? I''ve never seen so much effort go into healing. A whole palace!"


    Arlen smiled reassuringly. "In other lands this is a way to protect everyone and make sure healers can tend to everyone. Once you''re better, you can help treat others. Especially if you know how."


    "I''m supposed to be out there fishing."


    Voz said, "Give it time. There''s no shame in letting yourself recover."


    That was the first batch. Voz had them settle in with food, water, and blankets, and Arlen set them up with a board game, a ball to kick around, and some wood and whittling knives and basket-weaving reeds. Outside, he said to Voz, "Another advantage of learning to read: having plenty to do while bedridden!"


    Voz said, "I could always review the old medical texts and myths, I suppose. We might be lying there in bed within days ourselves."


    "I hate to suggest it, but there''s the danger of our guests taking advantage of that."


    "Then I''ll pray for your health."


    #


    Over the next two days, dozens of the islanders sickened. Voz was hard pressed. He had healing that much surpassed Arlen''s magic in that area. While he and Arlen themselves remained healthy, the island''s best doctor was down and barely useful. So were his apprentice and the island''s chief. Really, nobody knew much about disease except in vague terms of evil spirits, of the invisible kind. Arlen had explained what he knew, of course, but he was no physician and couldn''t be sure that disease even worked the same way in this world. His advice got received with some skepticism but the docs pretended, when anyone was listening, that he''d brought a miracle cure.


    The foreign sailors lived in their fort and aboard ship, watched by spies working for Voz. It was on the third night that a man ran to Arlen''s hut by the hospital, and said, "There''s been a fight!"


    He ran toward town and arrived wheezing. The outsiders had retreated to their fort and were perched on the low walls, brandishing their guns. Six islanders had been pulled to the treeline to be treated by what few medics were available.


    Arlen shouted for attention. "What is this?"


    "They''re trying to kill us all!" said one of the wounded.


    Arlen went over to them to apply what treatment he could. Gunshot wounds and stabbings and lesser injuries. The primitive guns used big, slow round bullets that cracked bones. He focused on removing the lead balls and stopping the bleeding. Rum got splashed around liberally as anesthetic and antiseptic. Only when the patients had all gotten some magical treatment did he turn back toward the fort.


    The sailors had already sent an emissary. The unarmed man was coming closer, waving a circular thing as some kind of truce symbol. He said, "Arlen! No hurt!"


    He handed Arlen a written message in their cobbled-together Mariv/Builder/Islander pidgin. It said, "Mariv not why disease happened. No harm wanted. Let us heal you."


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    An offer of medical help. The men around Arlen had explained their perspective: they''d caught a sailor group doing some suspicious ritual with glass instruments (probably just surveying) and accused them of causing sickness by magic. Several guys got stabbed.


    There was a ticking bomb on Catacomb Island, too, even if contact had been minimal. _All_ the islands were basically doomed to have a medical crisis and it could, at best, be delayed so that a team of immune or recovered medics could be on hand to minimize the harm. In the days of treatment and study, Arlen had gotten no clear sign of a way to do even a crude vaccine or other preventive measures. No convenient blisters or the like.


    Arlen told the messenger, "Bring your healers."


    #


    Voz and Arlen left Opaline behind in the care of the sailors'' few medically trained people. The agreement was that there''d be no retaliation for the brawl. Singer Alfons the priest was one of the magic-users who''d stay to tend people. He was also the best so far at understanding the island language. Before Arlen left, the man told him, "We''ll do our best here, but some will likely die. If you hear anyone say that the gods want to wipe the islands clean and give them to us, we don''t all believe that!"


    "Who believes that, exactly?"


    Alfons hesitated. "Captain Huygens has muttered it. He hasn''t been the only one."


    Voz was nearby. "What do you want, priest?"


    "I want to understand the Builders. And to teach you of the gods."


    "What a great introduction we''ve had to their kindness!"


    The priest''s cheeks burned. "The sickness isn''t their doing. We''ll fix this, in their name."


    #


    The trip back to Catacomb took time. During a lull with uncooperative wind, Arlen dived and created a tiny waystation island. "Some comfort to future travelers, anyway."


    Voz said, "Would you put these things everywhere?"


    "So long as they''re not a navigation hazard and don''t tear up much of the seabed, why not?"


    "These outsiders think they can come here and lecture us about their gods even while they''re getting us killed."


    Arlen turned to speak to him, but Voz was already holding up one palm, placating him. "I don''t mind what you''re doing. What would have happened if you hadn''t demanded this travel restriction? It sounds like, the plague would''ve hit everywhere at once and collapsed our society. Nobody knowing what''s happening, nobody available to bring food and water." He shuddered. "If we must suffer through this, I''m grateful we at least have you to ease it."


    Arlen nodded. "Given that Mariv had the curiosity to come here, and they know hardly more about medicine than our people do, the disaster couldn''t be prevented. Once we get through it, I want peaceful trade. It should be up to you and the island chiefs how much contact you want with Mariv. Which means you must be strong enough that they can''t dictate the terms. Especially not while we''re down on one knee from sickness."


    #


    Meadow was the one to greet him when he approached shore, and she looked pale and frazzled. Using a sound-amplifying wind spell, she said, "That bastard Joop managed to spread the disease anyway! We need help."


    They landed. The island was eerily quiet. The golems, once a fixture of the place, weren''t in sight but for one that sat idle. The fields of recently replanted crops went untended. Voz asked Meadow, "How many?"


    "Over a hundred sick already. The chief broke all contact as soon as she found Joop and his idiots got here, and tried to push away everyone they''d met, but that didn''t totally prevent this. They''ve got some fishers on the far shore and that''s about it."


    "Did anyone travel from here?"


    "Not yet. We think."


    The chief had to be helped outside by one of her nephews, who was himself looking pained. "This plague got to me anyway, somehow. Your storm shelter is our healing hut; get to it."


    Voz and Arlen got to work. Scores of people were quietly moaning and murmuring in the stone building or in nearby huts and tents. The two magic-users had help from the local people who''d been the least harmed, who were trying to comfort everyone. Healing spells didn''t outright purge this ailment but were good for cleaning, fever, and general well-being in a way Arlen didn''t understand. He did what he could.


    It began to rain again. Not a monstrous storm this time, but enough that he decided to expand the hospital. Despite the noise he went out and added new rooms that he pulled up from the earth. That let people spread out more. But there''d be more, possibly far more, before it passed.


    He went to Captain Joop. He, his two sailors, and the two natives who''d come with him were still confined to a single hut. The islander duo were the only sick ones. Joop himself looked ragged from lack of sleep and from confinement. He said, "Let me out so I can fix."


    "Do you understand what you did, by being here?"


    The captain looked aside. "The islands would be hit anyway. The longer you wait, the more pain."


    "You don''t understand. Stay, then, till the people here heal." Arlen turned away.


    The islanders with him protested. "We get it, war-chief! We''ll stay on the island and only help tend the sick."


    "Yeah, all right. You two, come out."


    Joop and his sailors tried to push their way out with them. Arlen fumed. This idiot wanted to be a big shot? He asked the islanders, "Do these three have magic?"


    "Joop uses wind."


    Arlen began shaping the stone prison, forming bars. Joop said, "The kingdom will hear of this!" and only a spearman at the door kept him from escaping. Arlen trapped the three.


    The good news was that the pair of islanders, hardy men who''d been exposed earlier, said they were feeling no worse today. "Maybe it''s not the end," one said.


    "We''ll make sure it''s not."

 Death Toll

    That night there was wailing from the chief''s home. Arlen hurried there to find Voz stone-faced, trying to calm the family of the elderly chief who''d passed away at sunset. She wasn''t the only one, either.


    Voz muttered, "Everything I could do..."


    The five relatives gathered around were in a mix of weeping and silence. One young man said, "The death-bringing outsiders only got here because of Arlen. He somehow made the storm stop."


    Voz said, "It was the spirits'' will that --"


    "The spirits? They had us fight and kill one another!"


    "Stop that talk."


    "You''re no chief! You''ve got no right to live on this island. Get out, both of you!"


    The man''s relatives were trying to restrain him, with muted enthusiasm. Arlen said, "We will treat the other sick ones and limit the harm to anyone else."


    Voz added, "I''ve been learning more and more. I will protect the islands from anything worse happening."


    "Out!" said the man, reaching for a knife. Voz and Arlen decided to leave the building.


    They went back to treating people.


    That night, there was another commotion. Arlen ran to the prisoner hut and found the chief''s nephew stabbing a spear through the stone bars again and again, while screams came from inside.


    Arlen made the ground erupt. Blades of stone slammed the man from below, gashing and bruising him and knocking him backwards. He and an islander subdued the nephew, and then he waved and made several prison bars snap free.


    One of the sailors wriggled out, trying to stomp on the fallen assassin. Another native who''d arrived grabbed him, saying, "What is this?"


    "You, fetch Voz!" Arlen told him.


    Voz was already coming. He hurried to treat Joop and the worst-hurt sailor. The sailor wasn''t so lucky; he''d gotten a spear to the throat and chest. With Voz'' skill, it looked like he''d survive. Joop had been gashed in the ear and cheek, and had several cuts and punctures where he''d raised his arms.


    Captain Joop grimaced through the pain. "Coward! I said, fight me like a man!"


    The would-be killer was on his back with a man stepping on his chest. "Did he challenge me? Is that what he said?"


    Voz cursed. "We''re not doing any duels. There''s nothing to prove."


    Joop said, "No, I like this. I''ve had people saying I made all this happen. That I killed people. Fools! Let me fight him."


    #


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    So the next day, after much clamor for it, Captain Joop fought the chief''s nephew. Arlen and Voz watched the two injured men go at it with spears and shields, by traditional rules. It was worth seeing if the outsider could handle it.


    Joop acquitted himself well, taking a small wound to one leg and using his final thrown spear for a deliberate missed blow, which only enraged the challenger. The onlookers had to restrain him from jumping in and making things worse. When it was done, Voz and Arlen and the other healers had to tend to both men but the two had at least stopped trying to kill each other.


    The next day, sailors came from both Decim and Gull Crater, hours apart. Both times, the locals warned them off at a distance, explaining the situation. Joop was present both times, his mouth a hard line. The second time he said, "I want to visit the Builder ruins. Let me get some good from this mess."


    "Is that what you endangered everyone over?" said Meadow.


    After a long pause he said, "Yes."


    She said to Arlen, "We should send him away and never let him see."


    "Tempting," Arlen said.


    The island''s new chief wasn''t of the old one''s family. He was a skilled boat-builder by trade, known as a mediator, and he''d been present at the recent battle of Decim. He''d apparently been chosen by agreement among the island''s strongest families, who''d dared Voz to countermand them. This new leader was suffering from the plague himself, hobbling with a cane and grumbling about feeling old. He said, "Yes. I forbid it until all the islands have passed through this shadow and lived. When that''s done, his hasty curiosity can be satisfied. Is that fair, high chief?"


    "Completely," said Voz. He translated for Joop, who fumed.


    #


    Catacomb''s illness spread through the population, only halted by the sea around the island. That kept Arlen and Voz busy. But most of the afflicted began to recover. There was a growing population of people who''d learned the drill of caring for mass casualties and had nothing further to fear from the infection. Arlen wasn''t sure whether they were still contagious and the new chief was treating them like they were, which crippled trade but didn''t totally prevent it. Visitors from afar could at least drop things off. A few offered to stay as brave guests who wanted to get it over with. No sign of the plague hitting the other isles yet.


    Voz told Arlen to head back to Opaline. The latest word there was more squabbling with the outsiders. So Arlen sailed, hoping not to walk in on another disaster. Joop and his men went with him.


    Voz warned him on the way out: "By the way, Joop now knows more about your powers."


    "True, but the outsiders probably have heard from others by now."


    #


    Opaline wasn''t terrible. The priest Alfons was busy aiding the sick, and the death count was low between magic, quarantine, and the cooperation of the ships'' crew.


    But something had changed. The chief quietly told Arlen, "They have only a few of those heavy weapons you call cannons, maybe four per ship. We saw them move two off of the ships and into the fort. You gave them a resting spot and they''re making a fortress of it."


    "I doubt they''ve checked how thin the walls are." Arlen had left the outer wall hollow in case of such an event. Not something that a bow could shoot through, but it''d be surprisingly quick to collapse. "I''ll check on the hidden tunnel too."


    "Do you think they mean to attack?"


    "No. I''d pretend you don''t know, for now."


    Captain Huygens summoned Arlen to visit the fort anyway. The oddly curved bronze magical weapons from the ships -- cannons was just how Arlen thought of them -- weren''t on display. The crew had made themselves at home with bedding and piles of supplies. Arlen had secretly inspected the hidden tunnel and confirmed it was still there if needed.


    Huygens worked with a pair of interpreters to say, "It''s been nine days. The worst is over now."


    Arlen told him of Catacomb''s news. "Voz and I need to gather information. Will you come with me to the Mire? If you want danger, it''s a good place."


    Arlen had planned this step out with Voz. The captain listened to Arlen''s description of isolated villages and hints of Builder ruins, and grew interested. "I''ll go there myself."


    Singer Alfons said, "I want to see it, but I''m busy treating people."


    "Then Joop is in charge. Not you."


    "I see."

 Introduction To the Ancient One

    The next day, an expedition set out. The names of the ships, Arlen finally learned, were the flagship Righteous Arrow accompanied by Pillar of Faith. Arrow raised anchor and headed with a skeleton crew to the Mire. Arlen rode along while a pair of native assistants took a sailboat to guide them.


    Arlen inspected the ship to the extent the crew would let him look around. Nothing he saw surprised him, and his lack of confusion probably told the outsiders something.


    Arlen''s improvised dock and road still stood. Huygens anchored well off of the muddy, treacherous shore. "Who built that road?"


    "Stone-shaping magic can do amazing things over time. The Mirefolk have bad land."


    Arlen lowered himself by a ladder and went ashore with the sailboat crew. They went first, trying to get the locals'' attention. It didn''t take long; a fishing boat drew into sight and retreated, summoning other people by land.


    A party of hunters hailed Arlen. "What are you doing with that monstrous ship? Are you bringing your filthy sickness here too?"


    Arlen spoke from a safe distance. "I must get to the ruin and ask about a cure. These outsiders want to see the Mire. You can keep them away from your towns, if you want."


    "For all we know, you''re sick yourself."


    "I don''t think so, and I''ve been around them. Let me pass and avoid me if you want to avoid the risk for now. It might be best."


    The hunters conferred. "Stick to your road. Keep away from us."


    Right now, the road ran directly to town because Arlen had been led to it, with a minimum of the aggravating twists and turns of their navigation style. Arlen pointed this out. They said, "Then go around. This isn''t hard for you."


    Harder than they knew. The captain was eager to go ashore and see the place, since he''d come all the way to the islands only to be ordered to stay in one spot just because of a little plague. Arlen sighed. He returned to shore and beckoned for the shore party, which he told, "We''ll be wading part of the way."


    They gave the village a wide berth. The nice, sturdy stone walkway only took them so far before they had to detour around suspicious, hostile Mirefolk. They all waded through the murky water.


    Captain Huygens asked quietly, "Those beastly ones. Are they your enemies?"


    "They''ve agreed not to attack, while we have guests. Best not to upset them."


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    Huygens wanted to do Arlen a favor and impress him by fighting. He went along sullenly. The expedition slogged deeper and deeper into the island, so that all four of Huygens''s men had their hands on their swords and pistols. It took hours to reach the ruined chemical plant.


    Huygens sized it up. "This much of an ancient base was here all along?"


    "It was leaking poison. The water''s cleaner now. Wait here; I''m going in first."


    "How long ago did it stop?"


    "Only this year," said Arlen, distracted by trying to find the entrance he''d used before, and the stone walkway he''d built up to it.


    He went in, and quickly got out of sight. His target was old Sachin the Builder. The muggy world of splashes and insects faded out as he went deeper into the ruins.


    He reached the laboratory. "Sachin, we need your help."


    The creature in the glass tank squirmed. "How long has it been?"


    "Not very long. Outsiders have come at last, and a plague is sweeping through the islands."


    "Really, now! Fascinating. Tell me about both."


    Arlen did, and described the costly but effective treatment methods. "Can you provide a better cure?"


    Sachin burbled. "This sounds like one of the diseases from last time."


    "What?"


    "When my people first arrived, yours sickened and died. They weren''t the same species, so that helped, but still there were three terrible plagues at once. Very interesting interaction between those; it gave my department some ideas."


    Arlen grimaced. "Did you cure them?"


    "For the most part the people survived and became immune, after minimal treatment. Anti-fever drugs, pain-killers and the like. The most stubborn of the three never quite went away. I suspect this is a new strain, brought to you from outside. But then, you''d have no idea what any of this means, would you?"


    "More than you''d think."


    "Strange. Let me see your blood, if you''re seeking a cure."


    Arlen subjected himself to having a needle in his arm. It had to jab harder than he''d have expected, due to his effectively armored skin. The Builder was able to fill a vial with dark blood and pull it into the lab''s machinery.


    "While you''re working on that," said Arlen, "I brought you a message. What is this?"


    He showed off the note that''d been copied from one stolen from the Mariv. Sachin scanned it and said, "The scribblings of stupid children. Debased dialect. What are they paying teachers for, these days?"


    "What does it say?"


    "These guests of yours seek knowledge of ''legendary'' lost treasures. Ways to control the weather and smite their enemies. They believe in a vast control center on an island showing signs of heavy fighting."


    "That would be what we call Newshore. Is there a control center, then?"


    "I''ve told you, I never had full knowledge of what was here. But the battle on that island wasn''t for nothing."


    The lab went quiet. Sachin finally said, "Excellent. I have a solution. Your terrifying plague should respond well to a standard drug. As soon as the next materials shipment arrives, we can produce it."


    Arlen said, "You can''t make it right now with what''s on hand?"


    "Of course not. Most of the equipment hasn''t been properly maintained in... in... some time."


    Over the agitated bubbling of the old one''s tank, Arlen asked, "Is there a magical method?"


    "Harder, but... yes. I''m no expert. Let me send a recipe to your shaper field." Again a vine uncurled and presented Arlen with a circuit-like rod meant to interact with the energy that Arlen had absorbed.


    The connection burned Arlen again, making him stagger and wheeze. When he recovered, Sachin said, "This isn''t the ideal drug, but a cruder version. You should be able to generate it from the dirt and pond scum around here. There are certainly interesting chemicals at play already."


    "Thank you, Sachin! You may have saved many lives."

 Introduction To the Walker In Shadow

    Sachin the Builder briefly discussed the details of this treatment. Arlen said, "I''ve brought several of the newcomers. Would you like to meet them? I''d prefer that you not discuss the shaper field."


    Sachin''s voice grew tense. "Non-local life forms? Civilians aren''t authorized here, even if they''re using some terrible dialect of our language. It could be the enemy, barely learning it!"


    "Probably not the enemy, no."


    The Builder had worked himself up anyway. "They''re a security risk!"


    "All right, all right. I''ll keep them away from anything important like this lab. I''ll distract them if I need to."


    "Fine. I''ll log the intrusion. And Arlen... How is it that you understand these things as well as you do?"


    Arlen bowed his head. "I come from a culture that has hard-won experience, and I haven''t turned my back on it."


    He left the lab. The door sealed behind him. He went back out to find Huygens and his men impatiently keeping watch in the forest. "Looks safe enough," he said, and gave them a tour of all but the most important part.


    The sea captain marveled at the ancient machinery but hardly recognized it. "What was its purpose?"


    Arlen tried to find the right words. "A kind of alchemy. From looking at this place again, I have an idea about the medicine we need."


    "This stonework looks new. Someone was in here recently. Why?"


    "Exploring."


    "Are those bones, sealed off in the corner?"


    "Looks like it."


    Huygens looked over one shoulder at Arlen. "I can take it no longer. Why are you hiding it? What''s your game?"


    "Why are there cannons in the fort I gave you?"


    The captain glared. "Our safety."


    "Safety, yes."


    "You can shape stone, quickly. Did you make this road? And the fort?"


    There''d been enough hints that Arlen didn''t bother denying it now. "I did. Good, because we''re friends, yes?"


    #


    For the captain and company, the trip was only sightseeing. They went back to their ship looking rattled by how dangerous their "friend" was.


    Arlen asked for a barrel. He put his hands into the swamp water and magically felt around, sensing something new in his library of creations. The liquid frothed and discolored, working with his own limited water-control power to create a trickle of some new, orange-tinged chemical that flowed into the keg. He was a one-man chemical factory!


    Using a specific recipe that he didn''t know, coming from a guy specialized in chemical warfare. Sachin tolerated the "native life-forms" and had no clear reason to betray them, and Arlen was his key to getting the factory running in any way he''d value. So Arlen was going to trust him, warily, by administering this drug.


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    He collected what should be enough for over a hundred people, for now. The barrel went aboard Arlen''s little sailboat, he explained the situation to some Mirefolk onlookers, and they set off again for Opaline.


    Back there it seemed that the worst was over. Voz had gotten better with his healing and several lesser mages were imitating his techniques with less power but growing expertise. Arlen reported to him with the drug.


    The high chief had taken up residence in a hut next to the hospital, near the island''s center. He''d made no effort to enrich himself with the shiniest objects, and looked ragged from the last few weeks of fighting and desperate work. He said, "Good. We''ll try it on the worst-off first, just in case. I''ll need you to get more as the problem spreads to other islands. Hmm... the outsiders know by now about the spirits'' homes, and want to speak with them. Instead, I propose that you take their shaman Alfons off to see Newshore."


    "Isn''t he important to the medical treatment?"


    "He is, but the outsiders are still dangerous. At this point I want Newshore''s fighting men exposed and recovered as quickly as possible. Keeping our moment of weakness short. Their religious man will help you get that done, and you can show him the ghosts to impress him with where a big fight might lead."


    "How much of a problem is Captain Joop?"


    "He''s been talking with the younger people, telling them about their distant chief and how much better life will be once the isles are under his rule. I''m tempted to make sure he has an accident."


    "Most likely the rest would use that as an excuse to attack us."


    The high chief nodded and his ears flicked low. "They showed off, while you were gone. They built a fake hut, then blasted it to splinters from one of their ships! In the long run, what can we do, if they have many more ships and men and weapons and they want to take over?"


    "I could arrange a demonstration of my own -- but I''m just one man that they might kill with a knife in the dark. The best way is to make sure they gain more by peace."


    "Ha; the war chief says this?"


    "Call me lazy."


    #


    Arlen sailed again with Righteous Arrow and two boats. Singer Alfons and Captain Huygens were along this time. The destination: Newshore.


    The arrival was another cautious one. Arlen approached alone, swimming up to his old attack jetty. He warned of the sickness and advised that only a few locals come close and be prepared to isolate themselves. He''d brought most of the questionable drug from the Mire, to reduce any danger.


    "Medicine, from the swamp?" scoffed one of the former prison guards.


    "Strange, isn''t it? Their poison proved to be good for killing foul things."


    With that settled, the tourists came ashore in one of their rowboats, leaving only a few guards aboard out of suspicion. Arlen had to quell some fear among the natives too, what with their first sight of the huge ship.


    Alfons practiced his mastery of islander language. "You see monsters here?"


    The greeting party said, "Come, look." They led him and the rest to the wall. Deep mist filled the interior. From the parapets they talked about the undead and boasted about pushing them back by the week. "There''s one!"


    Alfons startled. Deep in the woods, a blurry human shape drifted. The priest made a holy gesture like an upward arc across his chest. The captain and crew imitated it.


    Huygens said, "It can''t be."


    Alfons told him, "You practical men see what you want to."


    Arlen asked, "Have you seen such things before?"


    He looked shaken as he watched the monster in the distance. "In terrible places. These will need to be purged, in the gods'' name. I''ll help."


    Arlen turned to the soldiers who''d risked getting near the foreigners. "How bad is it today?"


    "It''s awful, war-chief. Almost as bad as we''ve ever seen it, once you get out of sight from here. These days we rarely see the ghosts get close enough to point out like this, but today... don''t go deeper unless you''re ready to fight. Our scouts this morning barely made it back."


    Another soldier asked, "Maybe they''re stirred up by these outsiders."


    Arlen rubbed his chin. "Could be. How about if we train today, pick off any that get close, and see how things look tomorrow?"


    The Marivs were all right with that, even Huygens with his eagerness for battle. Observing the enemy and making very short patrols beyond the wall was enough for him today.


    That meant introducing them to the Walker In Shadow. The fighters had learned to lure it with meat. So when it showed up, rumbling low enough to make the wall vibrate, the foreigners drew back in fear.

 Slayer of Ghosts

    As the newcomers gaped at the giant shadow cat, the islanders grinned. "We tamed this one."


    The priest said, "It''s an abomination!"


    "It kills ghosts. We''ll leave it alone for now."


    "But that''s... how can that be?"


    Arlen explained, "Look closely. There''s an actual cat inside it, somehow."


    The outsiders stared, muttering in confusion. Alfons still prayed.


    He also studied the warded wall, and this pleased him. "This is a version of a proper holy symbol. It''s as though the gods have spoken to you indirectly, to guide you."


    Arlen didn''t answer. The islanders said, "Our spirits gave us the idea."


    "Then whatever they gave you is flawed. Look; here is a better way." He drew a more complex design, abstract and reminding Arlen of the circuit-like tracings in Builder ruins.


    The locals studied it, uncertain. When Alfons turned to Arlen again he said, "You should have them build this and bless it properly."


    "It''s not my place to decide that."


    "But you are war leader."


    He''d been steadfastly punting on the topic of Mariv religion. As a double outsider he knew that the island spirits had some kind of reality, but had never felt moved to pray to them as more than a transaction of advice and magic and promises. Now, the preacher wanted to use him to push an entire belief system to which Arlen was indifferent. To say nothing in response was an answer in itself.


    Arlen said, "There''s much to learn. Come along and see what else there is on this island, so that we better understand one another."


    #


    The next morning they marched. A party of eight armed sailors plus Alfons and Huygens joined Arlen and nine locals. Even the Walker was hanging back today from the sense of undirected hostility in the forest, though it did follow the expedition as though not really interested. "Stay close," Arlen said, and set out through the fog.


    They began passing the markers and shelters of the outer perimeter. "He made these?" whispered one sailor, but he got shushed.


    The captain spoke up. "No, I want to hear. Arlen, tell us at last. What can you do, exactly?"


    In the distance, a few of the groaning undead drifted along the ground. Some wild animal squealed as it fled or died out there. Probably the former; the wildlife mostly seemed to be left alone.


    Arlen beckoned everyone onward to the next shelter a hundred yards off. "Watch. Be ready to fight." He stamped the ground and made it rumble and rise, rapidly creating exposed stone that began as a patio next to the little building. He started work on walls for it. He''d gotten faster with practice and the patterns given to him by Sachin. The air chilled with manipulated energy, adding to the ever-present fog.


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    When the walls were two feet high, mere seconds later, the captain exclaimed, "How!"


    The priest was watching, studying. "Captain, it''s like the legend."


    The islanders raised their spears and warned, "They''re coming."


    Dozens of the ghosts drifted closer, drawn as usual by living men but maybe by the magic too. Arlen dropped his spell, gauged the distance, and began ripping into them from below. Stone spears erupted and tore up plasmic flesh. The sailors feared this too, but the spearmen shouted at them to keep ready.


    Half of the swarm shifted paths and evaded Arlen''s strikes. The iron-tipped spears and metal swords came into play now. Arlen kept attacking in a more scattershot fashion now that there wasn''t a single easy mass to break. In a frantic minute of shouts and slashing, the swarm had faded into nothing.


    A soldier clutched his arm where he''d been gashed by phantom claws. "They were cold!"


    The priest tended to him and the few others who''d had significant wounds. Huygens waved off an offer of treatment from Arlen for a minor scrape, and said, "So you really have been holding back in front of us. How do you have this much power?"


    Alfons said, "I''m more concerned with those monsters! Those looked like soldiers. Did you see those hints of uniform? It''s like the old carvings, of them and the Enemy."


    "Let''s focus on the present. Arlen, how did you do that?"


    "I won''t say, for now. But I can help you with construction, repair, and battle. If you''ll cooperate with my people in return."


    The captain stroked his chin. Arlen''s answer implied that there was a way to get such power for himself, and there was a chance it was even true. Better for the islanders to hold out on any secret they had until there were clear friendly relations; better for the Marivs to squeeze every advantage for themselves. Huygens finally said, "Then we will continue to explore."


    "Here? Today? It sounds like there are many more ghosts."


    Singer Alfons said, "Captain, I want to visit their spirits'' supposed home. Gull Crater. Your team can gain experience in defense against the ghosts here while I make that side trip."


    "I need you here on healer duty."


    "In the name of the Holy Church, this is important. You''ll survive here, especially if you let the locals guide you. Maybe you can talk them into redoing their warding wall."


    Arlen wondered at their true chain of command and suspected they weren''t sure of it themselves. But Huygens said, "Fine. Learn what you can. I assume you''ll take him there, Arlen?"


    "I will. But after a brief trip to the Mire."


    #


    Alfons had grown to enjoy the small, responsive sailboats of the islanders. He joined in with the work of the few other islander sailor, asking to work the sail or the tiller for a while. "You know, there are better ways to build a sail."


    Arlen laughed. "I''ve said so myself. I''ve been so very busy lately, I haven''t had time to try it."


    They were heading for the Mire to create more of the drug. Early tests of it showed it to be useful, so that the inevitable spread of the plague would continue being managed well.


    The priest said, "We saw you somehow harvesting that concoction from the foul water. So you can make things beside stone. What else do you make?"


    "Iron. Maybe other things I don''t know yet. In fact, watch."


    He paused to dive overboard and create a tiny island in minutes.


    Even having seen the fortification work, Alfons marveled. "A port, from nothing! And these other structures I''ve seen were your work too!"


    "Easiest in shallow water." He then transmuted a chunk of the new pillar-island into pure iron.


    Alfons whistled. "You are truly blessed."


    The trip took unusually long due to the Mire detour, where Arlen took three borrowed wooden casks and used the tainted water to produce more medicine. Alfons watched the process enviously. "But how do you know how to make this specific drug? You only did this after visiting the Mire ruins."


    He didn''t have a great answer to that without revealing the existence of Sachin, who wouldn''t trust them. "I''m sorry, but we still don''t completely trust you. I won''t lie but I won''t tell you everything yet."


    The preacher was frustrated, but seemed to accept that for now.

 The Island Spirits Speak

    When they finally reached Gull Crater, once again Arlen explained the idea of having a few hardy men willingly be in the presence of himself and Alfons while everyone else kept away. He delivered one of the medicine kegs.


    The island''s people had reacted to the news of invasion and plague by preparing as for more war. They''d been salting fish and training in the "Western" fighting style, all while trying to recover from the hurricane damage and a near-total shutdown of inter-island trade. Arlen praised their fortitude and gave them iron.


    He had some limited, awkward contact with the chief, old man Hassna. He still looked worn out and sickly but no worse than before the outsiders came. Fearing for his own life, he kept his distance and relayed that he wanted this visit to be a short one.


    Alfons told him, "I come in the name of the gods, to make peace with your spirits."


    The chief waved him onward, up the mountain.


    Arlen escorted Alfons. The priest said, "Fighting in the name of the gods has defined my people. The answers we seek might be here. If I can learn more about our past, that''s good for everyone."


    At the crater rim, Arlen said, "Hear me. I want to know your will, and tell you what I''ve seen of the foreigners. This man wishes to speak too."


    The crater rumbled and seethed. Steam rose from it. Alfons took a step back in fear. The spirits spoke in a chorus of hissing voices. "Arlen, first, what is your will? Would you go back to your true home, if you could?"


    "I would explore this world instead, focusing on learning about the lands beyond here and bringing their secrets back to enrich the islands. I don''t need to remain an outsider forever."


    "The storm must be re-sealed to protect us!" said one spirit voice.


    Another said, "Let him leave but seal it behind him."


    "The enemy is already within our lands!"


    A third spirit said, "Harness the storm''s power instead for our own land and sea and sky."


    While they bickered, Arlen asked, "Can that be done? Taking whatever force maintained the storm, as a power source?"


    "We do not know. The foreign presence here is more important. The cursed battlefield''s anger grows as the bloodline of the Builders returns. You must stop it."


    Alfons stepped back up. "Greetings to you, oh spirits of the islands! I come from a faraway land to bring the blessings of our kind."


    The answer he got was an incoherent ripple of voices. Finally they told him, "You understand us? The cursed battlefield must be sealed, tailless one."


    "If we do this, will you listen to the tale of the powers that rule my people?"


    "Your gods?" They spoke with curiosity and scorn and disbelief all at once.


    "Yes. I would speak of them."


    "The islands are ours! Ours!"


    "What do you require of your people?"


    "That they keep the old ways."


    "I see," said Alfons, turning away to think. He said to Arlen, "I''m amazed that they speak so plainly. Almost like men."


    "They puzzle me too," Arlen answered. "Only some people seem to get an audience."


    Alfons said, "Again, if my folk do this favor of cleaning up your past, will you listen fairly to us about the future?"


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    After a long while, the seething ghosts of the crater said, "Yes."


    They retreated downhill and spoke again with the local rulers. They feared the very presence of the outsiders, for good reason, but had the support of its chief and war-chief at least.


    #


    Back at Newshore, Alfons consulted privately with the expedition''s captain. Huygens came back from that meeting looking determined. He said, "The men and I have been testing ourselves against these ghosts. They haven''t let up, much."


    One of the native officers snapped, "Arlen, the outsiders can fight, but we''re going to be overrun at this rate! The monsters grow bolder and even our strange shadow-cat seems afraid."


    Arlen said, "Then shall we try to finish off whatever is out there?"


    Huygens, Alfons, and the troops agreed, so long as they could go about it cautiously. There''d be eighteen men traveling with Arlen, an island office, and the two foreign leaders. Once again the Marivs insisted on parity.


    So far, nobody had dared go all the way back to the ruin Arlen had reached deep in the island. Arlen provided more iron, openly using his powers now, and he helped keep the mystic wall in good repair before setting out. Once they marched, they found the Walker slinking alongside them protectively. The two groups were slightly reassured by having the abomination on their side.


    The trail ahead was quieter than they expected, now. They followed the markers while keeping a lookout. Arlen stopped at one of the shelters he''d built and expanded it, wider and taller, with some iron bits scattered around. He transmuted parts of the wall itself into iron.


    Alfons prayed over his efforts while he worked. He''d gotten the idea that he understood the village wall''s sigils and could do just as well. Arlen figured the prayers couldn''t hurt.


    Whether it was the consecration or more likely, the presence of this many live bodies drew attention. The mist stirred, and shapes began to condense in the distance.


    "Arlen!"


    "I know!" he said, hurrying to finish a two-story tower. He enclosed it and peeked out from its window to see a horde. Flying ghosts, and an army of indistinct walking ones. Behind them came something whose footsteps splashed along the ground as though made of inky smoke.


    "Rip into them!" he said, and began striking with distant stone attacks.


    A few iron arrows flew. The spells did more harm at this range, thinning the ranks. Alfons continued his prayers and the sailors held back, their pistols no good at this range. Soon they had an easier time and could hardly miss. Everyone opened up. Explosions from the arcane guns sent a few pellets crashing into the swarm and penetrating two or three of the shades at once. More arrows found their mark. Arlen wreaked havoc in the center of the mob.


    They''d been standing mostly outside the shelter but now made a fighting retreat into it. They struck from narrow windows and a doorway. The forty-foot space made for a kill zone against mindless foes. Not as much against the largest one.


    It either grew or distorted light around it as it approached. Elephant sized, no, bigger! Arlen, the only one who''d seen an elephant, continued the assault with jagged spikes everywhere. Even the shadow cat hung back from it and focused on swatting the lesser undead. The great beast slammed into the wall like a wave, its inky flesh flowing and recoiling. On the second impact the thin wall broke. Rubble crashed through onto the defenders. The tower tilted.


    Alfons and other men shouted from up there. Arlen stared wide-eyed into the face of the giant, eyeless thing and threw a stray iron chunk. A low, bone-shaking rumble came from it but its liquid-ink body hadn''t been damaged much.


    The Walker In Shadow pounced, hissing. The two great beasts tumbled and brawled while men fell back, breaking formation, trying to defend against the ghosts they could handle. Captain Huygens bellowed for order.


    Arlen reached toward the tower, willing it to stabilize. Ghosts were pouring over the breach in the wall now. Arlen''s attention was divided. He pelted the behemoth with stones and iron, distracting it from the big cat''s assault. The ghostly wrestling pair crashed into the walls again and threatened to crush everyone in the tower. Those inside screamed for help. Arlen winced and with a gesture tore open a chunk of one damaged section to make enough room for people to jump out. The rock flowed down into a crude ramp to shorten the fall. Quick, rickety work.


    The claws of the ghosts cut through men. The armor and shields helped but blows got through. One of the undead grabbed Arlen and he glimpsed an almost real face contorted with rage. Someone slashed through it and the beheaded specter wobbled backward. Arlen fought on. The tower crew dropped to ground level and joined in with melee.


    The monstrous horde thinned. The shadow cat tore apart the great beast. Unearthly moans filled the battlefield but faded into silence at last.


    Alfons didn''t immediately tend to the wounded. Instead he steeled himself, went up to the Walker, and prayed while casting a spell of light.


    "What are you doing?" said Arlen.


    The beast''s titanic form melted away, its darkness fading. What remained was a wounded, weakened black cat. "I think I understand now," Alfons said. "The old darkness here was strong enough to feed on itself and echo endlessly, but some bit of life remained."


    Everyone not busy with the healing fussed over the doom cat, which sat there bewildered and smug.


    Arlen asked, "Was that giant the source of all this awfulness?"


    "That, I don''t know. I think we''re done for today. Let''s see what tomorrow brings."

 Dark Treasure and Dangerous Bargains

    There were attacks the next day, but nothing serious. If the ghosts were still regenerating endlessly, they were at least depleted. "Worth exploring further?" Arlen asked after a wary afternoon watch.


    So, the day after, they headed out to an eerily peaceful day. Even the fog looked thinner. They went deeper, pausing every so often to make sure a decent fort was always nearby. Huygens said, "You do that so easily. We could use that kind of work on our own border."


    Arlen said, "I might be willing to help later." He figured, though, that these people would''ve preferred to have that power in their own hands.


    A few of the minor ghosts harassed them but fell quickly. The way was relatively open today, leading to the old, warded building that stood buried in dim forest where Arlen had left it. "The cat was here last time. So was this barrier." He pointed to the shimmering dome of force that he hadn''t tried to penetrate.


    The group circled it, tossing pebbles and seeing how they bounced off. An annoying hum filled the air. Arlen offered, "I could try digging, to see if it''s a sphere."


    Captain Huygens smiled. "As many surprises as you''ve had for us, we have one to show you in return." He snapped his fingers, and one of the sailors came forward with a box holding an intricate cylindrical device.


    Arlen and his men instinctively backed off from the Marivs, fearing treachery. The captain ran his hands along a set of notches in the artifact. Much like one of the circuit-pillars found in the Catacomb. The gadget hummed in harmony with the shield, making it flicker and vanish.


    Huygens said, "Never in all your isolated centuries were you able to do that, were you?"


    "We have not."


    With the barrier down, they found a two-story vault or hangar. Its walls were charred and spattered with slag and soot. Inside, a long-ruined office held another door that hummed in response to a certain prayer by Alfons.


    "What are you after?" said Arlen.


    "Knowledge," said the priest. He pushed the door aside.


    The central room held only one clearly intact thing: a pillar made of the same Builder technology, marked with sigils that made Arlen draw in a sharp breath. "It says ''Danger. Deadly. Keep away.'' If you touch that thing before we talk about it, I will stab you. Understand?"


    The Marivs kept their distance from it but took a step back. "Fine," said Huygens.


    "Then what the hell is this? What do you know?"


    Alfons shivered. "Builders'' work, obviously. It''s a thing of darkness. There is..." The priest struggled to find the words, and his hands wove through the air. "A disagreement, about the nature of our ancestors. Some venerate them as the greatest of heroes. Perhaps they were. But this pillar suggests there was more to them."


    "They sought power to defeat their enemies. As you do, it seems."


    Huygens said, "You, too, have power from the Builders. Don''t you?"


    "I do."


    Alfons said, "Now that we know this terrible thing is here, we have some idea of the price they paid. Something went wrong, but it was designed to do something incredibly dangerous."


    Huygens commented, "The ghosts have few distinct features, but they seem to have the look of two long-gone armies. Maybe this pillar was meant to create a horde of screaming, ever-reborn ghosts but in an enemy city. And it was set off while this place was being invaded by enemies."


    "It''s possible," Arlen said. "Can it be destroyed?"


    Right now it was holding up the roof, so it wasn''t safe to smash even aside from its enchantment. Alfons said, "I believe its magic is still active. That''s good."


    "How so?"


    "Because the ghosts might go away if we stopped it."


    Huygens said, "Could it then be woken again?"


    The stolen document Arlen had gotten translated, said the sailors were chasing vague rumors of devices like this. He asked innocently, "Why would you want to do that?"


    "To learn as much as possible about it."


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    The priest searched the area and found bits of Builder writing, marking this structure as a restricted workplace. He didn''t comment on the captain''s plans.


    #


    Arlen dropped everyone off again at Opaline. There, Voz the chief had just returned from handling the disease outbreak on Newshore. When Arlen reported to him privately, the ex-shaman said, "I''m not too surprised. Not by the foreigners'' intentions, nor by ancient devices being behind the awfulness." He sighed. "Death weapons, poison weapons. How terrible were the Builders?"


    "They were at war, and at least one of their projects was for building things."


    The high chief nodded. "When we''ve settled things here, I''m not sure what we should want to have happen. I''ve been speaking with everyone I can, through awkward arms'' length messengers sometimes. Some of the chiefs want to restore the Great Storm if we can, and go back to isolation.


    "I''m not sure that''s possible."


    "Others want to go exploring, to see more of the world. Still others want a few of the outsiders to stay, to teach us."


    "A manageable number, I hope. The island ways won''t exist for long if this outsider kingdom sweeps in and -- why are you laughing?"


    Voz sounded tired and bitter. "Before you arrived, our situation was unhappy but we were gradually improving. We could have lived through the worst of what Thoko did to us. You made it change. Now we''re weathering problems that could wipe us all out or make us all hostages to a completely different chief we''ve never seen."


    "But in return, we could get access to the whole world."


    Voz looked way out to sea, and nodded. "As bad as things got when you showed up, we gained from the experience. Now we can gain again if we''re careful."


    The two chiefs toured the island. To some extent the natives and sailors were getting along better, without the quarantine. There was a ball game of some kind going on, and an absurd attempt at acting. Someone had put up a stone planter on the ground and stuck the Mariv flag in it, on the shore.


    "Is that new?" said Arlen.


    Voz said, "Didn''t see it this morning."


    Arlen yanked it and found it was anchored in stone, which delayed him for a few seconds. He marched right over to the fort and methodically carved through the nearest wall, with Voz at his side.


    A sailor called out, "Hey, what are you doing?" Several more gathered.


    Arlen finished opening a man-sized passage and walked in, to set the flag down respectfully by a building. "You left this outside."


    Captain Joop, the third master of the expedition, stepped out from the shelter he''d claimed for himself. "Chiefs, good to see you. How goes the dispensing of healing?"


    Voz said, "It goes well. Now take this scrap of cloth back. You have no claim of ownership here."


    "I have given gifts in return. I am a chief among my people, and I have been open-handed. Your island''s chief made me a present in return, which I in turn will give to our wise king."


    The sailors'' garrison had come closer to listen. Alfons and Huygens had been nearby, and they arrived to see the disturbance.


    Voz said, "The chief of Opaline could not have given you an island."


    "No, only a portion of one, a fit place to build homes and ship repair places. It is what we''ve discussed before. Why are you surprised?" Joop smiled.


    Arlen had briefed Voz on what to expect when the sailors one day arrived. Though Arlen didn''t know all the details of the new culture himself, he knew of the gift exchanges and of Joop''s desire to rule. Arlen said, "The chief here does not understand the nature of the trade you intend."


    "Is that so? Let me explain. Those who give generous gifts are understood to be strong and wise. They receive some small thing in return, and the understanding that they will manage those they trade with. I''m sorry if that''s not clear enough."


    Arlen said, "I gave you a fort. You gave us sickness."


    "We gave you protection from the sickness! We respected your customs so that you will endure it, and be safe the next time anyone comes here. Ah, Singer Alfons, you''re here. Didn''t we bring them the true faith as well? That''s a gift beyond measure."


    Alfons looked uncomfortable. "It is not a gift belonging to any man. We owe the gods for it, not those who carry the message."


    "But we do pay messengers. Besides bringing that, we''ve brought other gifts such as knowledge of our land, a far wider place than this little island chain."


    Voz answered, "Yet you find this place fascinating. Knowledge about us is valuable to you."


    "Information that you''ve withheld. We''re very interested in learning more over time, but for now I accept the small grant of land."


    Huygens said, "Joop, this sort of trade isn''t what we discussed."


    A rapid-fire argument followed among the three leaders, too complex for Arlen to follow.


    Arlen found that he was in a contest of measuring gifts. He rolled his eyes and interrupted. "In any case, whatever your gifts, we don''t accept your leadership."


    Huygens was still processing whatever Joop had told him. "A ship? You gave them your ship?"


    Joop said, "We have two. Righteous Arrow is my family property, to dispose of as I choose. You, Huygens, have your own royal backers and an obligation to return to report in person. Since yours is the only ship remaining to the expedition, it can''t be sold as I sold mine for land."


    Huygens balled his fists. "Any land claim is to be made in the King''s name."


    "As we saw, the natives rejected it. This is a mere private transaction. I''m certain that future negotiation will help, but this was the first step."


    Joop wasn''t trying to be overheard with that part, but Arlen grasped that much of what he said and wasn''t at all surprised. The ship, though? The big wooden vessel was sturdy enough to travel to the faraway kingdom, but even with his otherworld knowledge he barely understood how to sail it and not how to work the rigging.


    Voz stared out to sea at it, too. "The kind of mighty ship that Thoko wished for."


    Joop nodded. "You see? It''s a generous trade."


    It really was, if seen purely in terms of immediate value. The finest sailing craft that the islanders had ever seen, versus a plot of empty land that would be developed into a trade outpost and port potentially good for everyone. The trouble was just that it was an obvious wedge for this kingdom to claim total control before long, and to advance the fortunes of Joop personally.


    Arlen conferred with Voz for a minute, then addressed the Marivs. "You''ve said that the secrets of the islands are valuable to you. We''ve already shown you one. I offer you access to something else we''ve hidden. Will you accept?"

 Hiring Some Interns

    Huygens stayed behind this time, keeping the sailors from running off too quickly to other islands. At this point they were allowed to visit Catacomb Island, by Voz''s say-so, but with the stern warning that the local chief had died from the plague and the outsiders might get a less than welcome reception.


    Arlen and Voz also had to speak with Opaline''s chief about his naive acceptance of a ship for land. The man hadn''t understood the power play going on with this exchange of gifts.


    He said, "That doesn''t mean they own us, though! They haven''t got hostages or anything."


    "I hope to keep it that way."


    He took Captain Joop and Alfons along this time to the Mire. There, the sickness had come upon the people but the first sufferers had weathered it and were available to help the rest. Arlen refilled their medicine supply and escorted the outsiders deep into the island. They met silent anger from the natives who''d been watching their villages get struck with an invisible hazard that killed a few people despite all their effort. With Arlen along there was no violence at least.


    At the chemical plant''s ruin, Arlen said, "Here, then, is your gift. Let me show you what I kept hidden last time."


    Joop said, "If this is some trap --"


    "It''s a negotiation. Come along."


    Arlen led them to the sealed lab. "Sachin, I judged that potential security risk. I know you were considering eliminating them, but they''re with me now."


    Joop and Alfons stared at the tarnished but advanced equipment for plants and medicine and chemical war. They saw the dim view of the creature in the glass tank and recoiled, muttering prayers.


    Sachin said, "I said they''re a danger! Civilians aren''t allowed! This must be reported immediately. Seize their weapons."


    Arlen turned to the guests. "This is Sachin, manager of what he calls Project Flask. Do you understand him? He sees you as a threat and says you must give up your weapons."


    "Treachery!" said Joop, reaching for his pistol.


    Alfons grabbed his arm. "You fool, he''s not capturing us. This is an ancient secure base! Arlen, tell him."


    Arlen said, "Yes, this was a hidden place during a war. You are here as my assistants, correct? Because if you''re not, you''re probably intruders. Does that translate?"


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    Sachin''s barely visible eyes darted back and forth. "Assistants? Intruders?"


    Alfons took the hint. "Yes, we are assistants to Arlen. Joop, confirm it."


    Joop seethed. "Assistants. Yes, we''re working for him."


    Arlen bowed theatrically. "You have a chance now to speak with one of the Builders, possibly the last of their kind. He recognizes your speech as a poor dialect. Think of all that you can learn from one another!"


    The ambitious captain looked around, beginning to understand the connection between the poisonous swamp, the advanced technology, and having a living relic capable of talking. He swallowed, then said, "We are his assistants. We mean no harm. We''d like to learn what we can."


    It took some more bluffing about filling out a suspicious activity form and reporting the emergency civilian hirelings to a long-dead commander, but Sachin tolerated the outsiders. Arlen let them parlay for an hour.


    To his surprise, Sachin next addressed him by saying, "They want dyes. You can provide a simple one. For this transmutation you''ll want soil as the base material. I will include glass in the recipe package." The room''s machinery presented him with the circuit system again.


    Arlen touched the glowing pillar, and his arm grew warm. "I''ll try this outside."


    "Now would be a good time. Employees Joop and Alfons, you may only enter with an authorized worker."


    Joop said, "You mean Arlen?"


    "Any remaining authorized worker. Arlen, you may wish to hire someone who lives on-site, to reduce your commute. Off-base housing increases the security risk."


    "I''ll look into it."


    They left the old Builder there and returned to the swamp. Alfons gestured excitedly. "The language translation is a scholar''s prize by itself!" He''d been given yellowed sheets of printed paper notes, fabricated by Sachin''s partly repaired equipment. "And the knowledge of alchemy!"


    Joop said, "They made weapons of poison here."


    "Yes. Well. That''s over now."


    Though Joop had seemed as intent on the conversation as the preacher, he now said, "It''s a monstrous place. The Builders did terrible things here. Ghosts and venom are their legacy."


    "And a surviving native population! They would have died out long ago. Their resistance is probably due to their past contact with the Builders."


    "Their resistance? Yes, they''re fairly good at that." He glanced back at Arlen. "He said he could give you the power to make dyes as well as medicine."


    Arlen crouched and touched the soggy, tainted ground. "So far it''s been a limited set of recipes." He tried activating the latest one, willing some part of the dirt to change. It stained itself a vivid blue shade that immediately sank into the earth.


    Alfons said, "I suppose you''ll need a container."


    "I''ll take some of this dirt to the beach on another island. I might need sand; I can''t seem to make glass easily without it." He fabricated a thin stone pot and filled it. "Now, shall we regroup on Opaline?"


    Joop said, "We''re not your workers."


    "You lied to one of your own cousins, then?"


    "You know perfectly well we had to maintain appearances!"


    Alfons got between them. "I understand the game, Arlen. Let''s leave it aside. The knowledge we can get from your friend is a treasure, and that particular dye is valuable to my people." He turned toward Joop and added, "Well worth trading honestly for, isn''t it? As equals?"


    "Equals! You''d compare the kingdom to --"


    "I would watch my words."


    Arlen raised one eyebrow. "Yes, what were you going to say?"


    Joop went quiet. Alfons said, "The land of Mariv is large and rich, Arlen. Quite powerful in war. But we have a saying, ''A fool throws away silver and demands gold.'' Isn''t that wise, Joop?"


    The captain slowly nodded.

 The Volcanos Hidden Depths

    Back on Opaline the three expedition leaders conferred. Arlen experimented and found he could manufacture glass at will from the beach, or even from the seabed. Suddenly he had the ability to make crude windows for everyone. He could also make jars and stone-stoppered vials and fill those up with Sachin''s medicine or the glittering blue dye. He asked to use it on a local weaver''s palm-fiber cloth, then delivered samples to the sailors'' settlement while traveling with the weaver.


    The sailors laughed. "That man''s dressed like a noble!" The cloth maker had a sash freshly stained with blue.


    Arlen said, "Good. It seems we''ll all be well dressed by your standards. And you''ll be rich, so long as we get along."


    The trouble, as the Opaline chief pointed out, was that some of the riches depended on Arlen personally. The islanders had no idea how to produce the dye normally. Without him, the trade was going to have to depend on products like fish, tourism, a port for Mariv''s further naval exploration, and oddities like rare bird feathers. He wanted the place to be strong enough to defend itself and rich enough to encourage peaceful trade.


    It was time to gather all the chiefs to figure out what came next.


    #


    He set sail from Opaline days later after messengers went out to all the isles. With the plague under control and the outsiders busy counting coins before earning them, there was a chance to make plans.


    The priest Alfons came along as a guest, with the understanding that he wouldn''t be in on the discussion. He wanted to see the spirits of Gull Crater again, now that he was more aware of the situation with the Builders'' lost projects. Boats converged on the mountainous shore. Voz had arrived first to greet everyone. The foreign priest stayed behind.


    The clouds hung low and dark; they''d been gathering all day. The chief of Stormhowl said, "It''s familiar to me, but not here. Maybe the spirits are angry about everything we''ve stirred up." He looked toward Arlen.


    "I''ll try to reason with them."


    The man from Newshore was actually elected, a new thing in the isles. Arlen had encouraged it. The voters had been all the adult men (there was only so much Arlen could change quickly) and had selected a tall warrior with a good smile and amazing hair. That man said, "Maybe what we need is to calm things down. Get the sailors out of here, finish cleaning up the stray ghosts, and seek the spirits'' favor."


    The new Opaline chief looked grim. She was a relative of the old one, felled by the plague. "I''m not sure we can expel them now. Peacefully, anyway. Arlen, can you topple their ships?"


    "If I have to. Let''s see if there''s an alternative."


    Rain fell, gradually strengthening. Decim''s local chief said, "Arlen is the biggest outsider here of us all! He made himself overlord and it''s been chaos ever since."


    Arlen knelt before Voz and said, "You are the high chief. Tell me to get on the Mariv ships and never return, and I''ll obey."


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    Voz sighed, then looked at the other chiefs. "Do you see? He''s one of us now, and he''s done plenty for the islands. It''s been difficult but we''re stronger for it. We will consult the spirits and learn their desire."


    They all marched uphill, through the rain. Voz''s magic provided partial cover that made the water fall away to either side.


    They reached the crater rim after a long walk. Right away, the pit before them boiled and seethed. The chorus of voices spoke. "Treachery! They seek to steal our power!"


    "How?" said Voz.


    "The outsiders came to the Catacomb. They sniffed around the Mire. They reached their covetous hands toward Newshore. They would take from us on purpose, just as Arlen did through ignorance."


    "Is it true that I took the power of the Roaring Storm, then? The same power that you had used to trap everyone here?"


    "To protect them!"


    "But the wind and rain blow now. Do you have power over this weather right here?"


    "Not enough, not enough!" howled the spirits. The other chiefs stepped back in fright, seeming not to understand the conversation.


    One of the spirit voices said, "We were wrong to empower Voz. We should have husbanded our strength against the true threat, the Marivs."


    But another of the chorus said, "We could have struck their ships right away. Too slow, and they could have fled."


    "It would have worked!"


    Voz stamped the ground. "You''re supposed to be our guardians! I''ve been using my power to help the islanders. What have you done with it lately?"


    Sulfurous smoke answered him.


    Arlen said, "You said you''re somewhat aware of what''s on Newshore. How do we stop that pillar from doing anything else?"


    "Give it to us," said the spirits in rare harmony. "It contains another shard of magic that should be ours."


    "Were you stronger before it was built?"


    "Yes!"


    "When did you realize the human outsiders were harming you?"


    "They were tricky, sneaky. But we saw through them quickly, with the tainting of the Mire''s land and the building of Catacomb and other things."


    They were talking about before, when the old Builders arrived.


    Voz asked the follow-up question. "Then you were so strong, you could create a permanent raging storm even after your power was sapped by that undeath pillar. And at the time, you knew the Builders were weakening you. So why didn''t you drive them away at the time?"


    No answer.


    The assembled chiefs were fearful. "Voz, Arlen. What does this mean? Why are you questioning them?"


    Arlen said, "I think Voz and I are on the same track toward understanding what''s really going on here. The storm, the Catacomb, the poison workshop, and the pillar of ghosts are all related, all wonders established by the Builders. So..."


    He turned back toward the crater. "Give us a sign, spirits. The chiefs have assembled, but they do not hear you clearly. Do you wish us to drive the outsiders away?"


    The spirits hissed and sizzled among themselves. Overlapping voices made themselves heard: "Banish them! Kill them!"


    Arlen raised his arms. "Then let this mountain tremble and give forth seething lava to show your displeasure for everyone, even the foreign priest who waits on the shore. Let them see the glow of fire at this peak and know their doom, and your might!"


    Voz was wide-eyed. "Arlen, I wouldn''t ask for that!"


    "I can protect us with stone, and you with water. We don''t need an explosion, only a clear sign that the whole island can see."


    The crater spoke. "You know our will, war-chief and peace-chief. That is enough."


    "But the people must unite against the intruder, and not trust just a handful of chiefs."


    Voz began to understand, too. "Yes, oh spirits. Give forth the lava!"


    "We choose not to." Meanwhile, the storm grew all around them.


    Arlen exchanged a grim look with Voz, and then began reshaping the stone ground to slope downward as a staircase. Into the crater.


    The chiefs said, "Are you mad? What are you doing?"


    Arlen ignored the outrage of the voices below. They fumed and steamed, but there was no killing heat, no poisonous smoke. He said, "I will go to the home of the spirits to learn one more answer. Come if you want to learn, too."

 Spirits Core

    Arlen and Voz took the new stairs down into the volcanic crater, calling the spirits'' bluff. The masters of the islands didn''t answer with deadly force. Arlen tore open the stone at the base of it and braced himself, fearing a geyser. But his bet paid off: there was a buried stairwell of a more ancient and advanced style, leading to a lost facility of the Builders.


    Voz''s voice echoed in the depths. "So this whole time, the ones guiding us were another project of the Builders. No supernatural wisdom."


    "It''s not necessarily bad," Arlen consoled him. "I want to know the truth."


    The chiefs of the Mire and Gull Crater had followed them. "How can this be?" asked the Mire man.


    Arlen said, "It''s possible to build a creature that talks. How smart, I don''t know. But maybe it can give good advice sometimes, and call itself a collection of spirits."


    A version of the golems of Catacomb pulled itself up from a rubble pile, and lurched as though being thrown by a child. Arlen had seen the movement early and began pulling the floor and walls inward. The beast rattled against this barrier. Arlen trapped it by flowing more stone around its body.


    In response, it spoke. Or some device built into this old tunnel did, in the spirits'' voices. "Voz! We require back the power that we once granted you. Give yourself to us. We will grow strong enough again to restore the storm and drive the intruders away."


    Voz recoiled. "What about the undeath pillar, and its power?"


    "It should be brought to us too." Another voice chimed in, "Along with Arlen! His power is another aspect of what was taken from us. When we have it all, we will be true protectors of the islands."


    Voz shuddered and said, "You ask for our lives."


    The two chiefs behind them had their hands on knives at their belts. The Mire man looked like he was considering trying something. Gull Crater''s chief said, "But Arlen got his power from old ruins, not from you."


    Arlen shouted at the trapped stone monster. "You don''t need all of this! If you take away me and Voz and the outsiders, what will you have? A perpetual storm hiding you from the world. The islanders will know there''s an ocean of things to discover, that they''ll never get to see."


    The two chiefs restrained one another, both now seeming unsure about the spirits'' demand. "You want to defy them?" asked the Mire chief.


    Arlen addressed the chiefs including Voz. "I know a possible future for the isles, where you learn and build and ultimately you don''t need me. But you won''t get there if all you do is hide. You''ve been given a gift by the Builders, who protected you from plague and made you tougher than you ever would''ve been without them. That''s just part of the discoveries ahead of you."


    One chief said, "The Builders also gave us the mass haunting of Newshore, and the crazed golems, and the poisoning of the Mire!"


    "Yes, some of it was terrible. I tell you, even if you do get the storm back, the outside world will intrude on you someday, anyway. If you''re weak and ignorant, your descendants will be conquered and ruined. I helped make you strong enough to decide on your destiny today."


    "If the storm returns, we won''t need to fear. Nothing can get through it."


    "I did."


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    They couldn''t refute that. Arlen was from somewhere else, after all, even if they didn''t understand just how far away.


    Arlen wanted to know how he''d arrived, really, and he now wondered if the cause was the same as all the other strangeness on these islands. He cracked his knuckles, then concentrated and made the stone walls smash and rend the golem that stood on his way. "I''m going farther in. You can''t stop me from trying."


    "It''s heresy!" said the Mire chief. The others looked less certain.


    "Voz, if you think I''m wrong to investigate, I''ll understand if you want to banish me afterward. But for now, I want the foreign priest to come down here and join us in seeing the truth."


    #


    Arlen waited in the depths. The spirits'' voice was muffled down here once the golem was gone, and they hadn''t summoned another. First the individual island chiefs turned tail and then Voz left, speaking quietly. "I''ll come back. I''d rather know what''s going on, than tell myself I already know."


    Arlen trusted him, and besides, Arlen was the one who knew how to make tunnels collapse on people. He waited in the depths with only distant sunlight and a small glowing spell.


    Alfons came down bearing a lantern, accompanied by Voz. They were soaked from the howling wind and rain that the spirits might be controlling as a weak but dangerous version of the one that had lashed the isles so recently.


    The priest said, "So the ruling spirits of the land are another creation of mankind. Meddling would-be gods who care only for themselves."


    Voz said, "You don''t know anything. Don''t lecture us."


    Arlen suggested, "They''ve granted magic to many people over the years and offered advice. Maybe their advice is only flawed."


    The priest said, "Then they don''t deserve worship."


    "Respect, at least. As Voz says, you should learn more before passing judgment."


    Deeper into the tunnel network, they found more areas that were part of a Builder facility. Much like the stonework in the Catacomb, this place had once been a living or working area.


    Voz said, "These markings look like some of the old ceremonial designs."


    Alfons looked around at long-collapsed furniture, saying, "I recognize an old temple in this same style, from back home!"


    To Arlen it all had a spartan military look, long abandoned so that the secure doors had failed and any bodies were long gone. But then they passed through some type of air-maintaining barrier into a room like a library. Glittering shelves of stone filled the warm space and the circuit tracings flickered like stars.


    Arlen laughed. "Server room."


    "What?" said Voz and Alfons.


    "I''m pretty sure this equipment contains the minds of the spirits."


    The chief paled. "How would you know that?"


    "I''ve seen similar things. And it''s more intact than anything else here, still doing something."


    Voz prayed, but got no response.


    Arlen said, "If I''d built this place, I would''ve make sure that the spirits inhabiting it had little direct control in here. Similar to the chemical plant."


    Alfons dared to reach toward the lights and touch one. He gasped and drew back from an inch away, saying, "Highly charged! I don''t advise touching it yourself."


    Voz looked around, and said, "That old Builder crest is here, as at the other facilities. And three symbols of Sea and Sky and Land."


    Alfons added, "I believe this rod here extends out of the cave, toward the crater. Maybe concentrating power so that the spirits can appear and speak from there." He turned toward Voz with a sympathetic look. "Chief, I see all this as evidence that your spirits are no more perfect than the Builders themselves, who fought and died."


    Voz shut his eyes and thought. "But they fought and died for us, partly. That''s worthy of respect. And they gave the spirits to us."


    Below the spirit-server room, they found something stranger still. Much like a temple but to gods or spirits unknown to any of them.


    Alfons had the most insight. "Some of this reminds me of certain heresies from our ancient past." He cursed, startling Arlen.


    "What?"


    "It''s complicated; it would take an hour to explain the symbol here. I think my sect was wrong this whole century about a certain bit of doctrine."


    "And you''d admit it?"


    "I want to know the true path."


    Voz showed no glee in catching the foreigner''s error. "The Builders had spirits of their own, then? Some different set?"


    The priest said, "My friend, you are long-lost cousins. My people should be working with yours."


    Arlen asked, "As equals?"


    Alfons struggled to explain, finally repeating, "It''s complicated."


    Arlen saved that discussion for later. "We can bring others here to testify to what''s down here."


    Voz said, "Right past the home of the spirits?"


    Alfons said, "Arlen can dig around it for their safety."


    "That''s not the point."


    Alfons assured him, "Whatever happens, our gods will want to know you again."

 A New Era For the Isles

    Poking their heads into the only unexplored hall revealed a long tunnel, then a freestanding cage or gazebo, much like where the earth-shaping artifact of Catacomb had been tested and empowered over many years. This one bore recent-looking cracks and soot that also marred a golem that rose to meet them.


    It slipped out of the room with surprising speed. Arlen and the rest backpedaled, trying to seal it off. Arlen flung up one set of spikes after another. Finally he timed his wall-making to go off right where he was running, so that he barely had time to dodge. The barrier became complete enough that the golem couldn''t crash through it in a single move as with the last few. Arlen spun and thickened the stonework. The creature thrashed but couldn''t crack multiple feet of rock.


    It spoke in a different, echoing voice from the spirits themselves: "Alert. Intruders in the Emergency Summoning Chamber."


    "Summoning?" said Alfons.


    Arlen had a last glimpse of the burned-out hardware before he walled it off for now. "That would help explain a few things."


    The group retreated to near the crater entrance. There, the spirits could speak to them. They began with enraged hissing and special effects.


    Voz looked into the steam and water of the spirits'' home, seen from beside him instead of below. "Oh spirits, we want to know at last. Who are you, really?"


    Arlen added, "There''s no need to fight us anymore. You can go on existing and having power in the isles. You just won''t be in total control."


    The spirits spoke in discord. "This is your fault, Arlen! It was never working properly, and then you set it off and unbalanced our energy across the isles!"


    "Set what off?" said Voz.


    "The Emergency Summoning Chamber. A device for the Builders to summon help. Yet another experiment. It should have brought an ally. Instead we had only a treacherous outsider."


    "A summoning..." muttered Voz. "Was it Arlen that you brought from far away?"


    Alfons startled. "Arlen, you''re not from the islands at all? Your accent and your look are strange."


    Voz laughed bitterly. "It may have been my fault, then. All of it. I had spoken to the spirits, uttering old prayers, asking for someone to resolve our feuds. It happened at about the time you appeared, Arlen."


    Arlen went quiet. This island shaman might have activated some barely-remembered command to activate a barely-working device, to fetch someone from beyond the world of the Builders. Someone who could understand Builder technology and the islanders well enough to have some chance to help them.


    He breathed hard, looking at his webbed hands, thinking about the battles he''d fought and the world he''d lost. "I... should take it as a compliment. I''m not the best person for the job."


    Alfons said, "I have questions."


    Arlen didn''t even try to explain to the Mariv priest, not yet. He addressed the spirits instead. "It seems I''ve been chosen by your creators. I wish to see the device in more detail. May I approach it without having to attack your machines?"


    "That facility is off limits!"


    "Off limits. Forbidden. You tend to say these things often. You were built to defend the isles, weren''t you? For a long time you did a good job. But the enemies of the Builders are long gone."


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    "There are new intruders!"


    "Descendants or cousins of your makers."


    Voz broke in. "In the absence of the Builders, who do you answer to? Are you blindly following your last orders? Or shouldn''t you be following the present-day inhabitants, or the one called Sachin who is still one of your people?"


    The spirits warred with each other by voice. Between them they declared, "Sachin does not command us. Managers of parallel projects do not have authority over us."


    "Then who does?"


    Alfons said, "Why not a living descendant of the Builders?"


    "Genetic correlation does not grant authority." Arlen was the only one to understand.


    Arlen said, "How about the person who was summoned by your help-getting advice? The Builders obviously intended to trust whoever your portal called."


    "No. In the event of contact being lost with Command, authority devolves to the highest ranking official who has worked with all six primary Builder projects."


    Arlen saw his chance. He thumped his chest and said, "Project Flask was the chemical plant. Project Ring was apparently what we called the Roaring Storm, the great circle of wind and waves. Project Catacomb was the shifting geomancy maze that created the stone-shaping artifact. Then there was the summoning device. I don''t know the names of the rest, but there were two more: the undeath pillar on Newshore, and you spirits. I have worked with all six."


    The spirits said, "But you are not an official!"


    Alfons said, "But Arlen was recognized as being allowed to activate the Catacomb project, and he was granted repeated access to the chemical plant."


    "Sachin recognized me as a colleague and let me work with him. So yes, I have more authority over all Builder projects than anyone else here. I also have unique insight into your design that I doubt anyone in this world can match." Arlen conjured a showy water spell in one hand. "You seem to have some flexibility in interpreting your rules. I meet the requirements you stated. And the alternative is that I have to stop you from being a threat to the islands. What will it be?"


    The spirits said, "You will not deactivate us?"


    "I will not."


    After a long pause the voices said, "Ar-il-en is hereby granted administrator access. Welcome, Director."


    "Deactivate the storm."


    There was a distant peal of thunder. "Done."


    "How do I alter the behavior of the golems of Catacomb?"


    "As director, you can order them to avoid desired parts of the island. Further details are available to one with your access from within the facility."


    "What about disassembling the undeath pillar?"


    "We do not have detailed information on it. It can likely be disassembled."


    Alfons said, "We might learn more from the documents we found."


    The spirits urged, "It should be de-powered and its energy used for our own power system."


    Arlen said, "That might be a good idea. I want you to work with Alfons here to figure out how to do that. The outsiders from Mariv are to be watched for trouble."


    "Yes, Director."


    "It seems we''re starting to talk about peace. These will be your decisions, Voz. Spirits, grant administrator access to Voz. We can appoint deputies later, yes?"


    "Granted. Yes."


    Arlen turned to the others and smiled. "Well then, we have a lot of work to do, but it''s happy work now."


    #


    Outside once again, the soggy ground squished underfoot and dark clouds slowly fractured. People had begun to peek out from their houses and look up toward the hill slope, where the two chiefs and the foreign priest had emerged from seemingly being devoured.


    Arlen waved as the trio made their way downhill. "We''ve made peace with the spirits. You will have a new pact with them, to cleanse the land of its old evils and work in harmony with the outsiders."


    Voz spoke to the growing crowd. "We are blessed with powerful magic, but there''s much more to do. Let us repair our farms, restore everyone''s health, and prepare to learn more about the outside world."


    In a private meeting, Arlen told Voz and the lesser chiefs, "We will need to be strong to defend our homes. That means changing how they live, starting with being well armed and trained and with having warships of their own."


    One chief said, "I think we should reactivate the storm."


    "That might still be an option. Let''s make sure we learn how, in case we need it. But so long as the Marivs behave, why not benefit however we can?"


    Voz said, "Are you thinking about traveling with them?"


    The islanders officially now owned one of the two ships, as part of the gift-giving diplomacy. The crew and officers had suggested coming along to Mariv lands to see and be seen. And not coincidentally to help them build, using Arlen''s powers.


    Arlen nodded. "I should go and see their kingdom, but not today. There''s plenty to do here first. Handling the Mire''s factory, teaching more of the smithing art, trying to spread magic, handling the undeath pillar. Finishing the cleanup work here on Gull Crater. Stabilizing the Catacomb and looking deeper into it. Oh, and literacy! I''ve hardly brought that up! What would you have me work on first, Voz?"


    The high chief of the isles laughed, and began making plans for a new era.


    The End