Perhaps it had once been a place of worship. It had that air, that almost reverential way in which walls met and windows glared. Even below the carpet of plants, Ramus could see a row of stone seats, all facing toward the back wall of the building, which was curtained with a bright red-flowering plant. The other walls were somehow bare of plant growth, and on closer inspection he knew why. There were shapes carved into their surfaces, and these seemed sharper and more recent. He squinted against sunlight leaking in through the shattered roof, and then he saw what one spread of shapes went to make up: a face. It was long, bearded, and the eyes were stained black, but it was definitely a human visage. He looked around the walls and saw other places where this face was carved or scraped—a mix of large and small images. All of them seemed to represent the same person. Black eyes, heavy beard, mournful mouth. The representations were not expertly drawn, but Ramus had the sudden, chilling idea that he knew this person.

He blinked slowly and shook his head.

“What is it?” Lulah asked.

“Strange face.”

“Looks human to me.”

“I'm sure he is.” Ramus looked again, trying to ally the face with a memory, but nothing came. Of course not, he thought. We're the first here. But that suddenly seemed less than certain.

Lulah walked between the stone seats and approached the spray of red flowers. As she touched one thick stem and lifted it aside, a swarm of flies erupted from the plants, weaving and flexing through the air like one organism. They circled Lulah's head without landing, then came to Ramus. He felt the breeze of thousands of wings, but not one of them touched his skin. When they exited the open roof he could not shake the sense that he had been examined.

“Here,” Lulah said. “This one's definitely not human.” She lifted aside some of the heavy stems to reveal an intricate design on the wall, colors still vivid, shape stark.

Ramus caught his breath. There it is. It was more a series of diverse shapes than a single discernable form, but he knew straightaway what it was meant to represent. The swirls and curves, the spirals and twists, as though illustrating limbs curled in on themselves, back twisted around a sleeping form. An endlessly sleeping form.

He saw the stumps of wings, and thought, Fallen, but a throb of pain behind his eyes drove that idea down.

“Your God,” Lulah said quietly.

Ramus glanced at her, but he did not see the disrespect he 3 heard. Maybe it had been fear. Her eye was wide, and her dark skin seemed to have paled.

“That's it,” Ramus said. “But . . .”

“But where are its worshippers? My thoughts exactly.” She let the plants fall back into place, wiping her hands as if to rid them of something distasteful. “Maybe it's already woken up.”