The Other Mother’s revelations had strengthened the hand of native separatists, who argued that the only way that they could be certain of taking charge of their own destiny was to cut all ties with humans. A special council was convened; the treaty was redrawn. Humans would be allowed to withdraw to the Gathering Place and its neighbouring islands, and natives would be given free access to human archives and decide how to integrate new techne with the customs and laws which kept the peace between their tribes and maintained the balance between civilisation and the natural bounty of Mother Earth.

Ysbel had played a small role in rewriting the treaty, and she met Goodwill Saltmire for the last time in the congress building where most of the talks had been held. They had attended the same interviews and depositions in the first days after returning from the Dreaming, but after their stories had been wrung dry they’d gone their separate ways. Goodwill had used his fame to become one of the leading voices in the campaign for full independence of the New Territories. When Ysbel met him that last time, he was cool and reserved. Their friendship, if that was what it had ever been, had not survived the changes triggered by the fall of Mother.

One night, seventeen stone carvings that depicted meetings between humans and bears were left at the main entrance of the Library of All People. Slabs and stelae standing in a neat row, with a plastic box containing Pilgrim Saltmire’s map and a copy of his monograph set on top of the last. A last gift from the Other Mother. The things she had saved from the bonfire of her sister’s vanity. After a short debate, the Library’s council and the Committee of the Five Hundred decided that they should be exhibited in the main hall of the congress building. Before the exhibition was opened to the public, there was a preview for human and native delegates to the treaty discussions, and that was when Ysbel found Goodwill standing in front of the map.

‘There it is,’ she said.

‘It’s smaller than I thought it would be,’ Goodwill said.

The ragged square of goatskin was at the centre of the display, mounted between sheets of glass. Ysbel’s and Goodwill’s reflections faintly overlaid its touchingly inaccurate representations of rivers and mountains haunted by fabulous beasts, the mounds and pyramids of cities. The figure with the blank, bulbous head and lightning-topped spear was no larger than the last joint of Ysbel’s thumb.

She asked Goodwill whether his tribe was going to reclaim the map.

‘They have agreed to donate it to the Library,’ Goodwill said. ‘I like to think that Pilgrim would have approved.’

‘Did you ever bring Joyous Hightower to account?’

‘He gave up everything he knew in exchange for immunity. It wasn’t much,’ Goodwill said dismissively. ‘He was only ever a go-between.’