She glanced back at the old temple. She could just see him past one of the tumbled walls, sitting on a fallen stone with the book open on his legs before him. He made me a part of his title, she thought. He's making me a part of his book. The urge to learn to read was strong, and perhaps when this voyage was over she would do just that. The fame would ensure that she would never have to work again. But the thought of sitting in dusty old libraries poring over the yellowed pages of books written centuries before she was born . . . she could find no allure in that. She'd much rather come out into the world, sit around a campfire and hear history related by the likes of Konrad. Tonight the Serians would tell another story, and tomorrow morning she and Ramus would know more than they had before. She had always thought word of mouth a more honest, immediate method of relaying history down through the ages.

Ramus seemed to drop the book and lean forward to pick it up. Then he leaned back and looked around himself at the walls, the ruin, the sky.

Nomi turned her back on Ramus and stared up at the lip of the ravine. The wall before her was sheer, speckled here and there with tufts of moss and heather, and she could see a few birds' nests gripping the small ledges. The birds themselves were keeping well out of sight. She wondered whether their ancestors had nested here and watched this temple being built, and the richness of time washed over her. She wondered what language the builders had spoken, whether they had used slave labor, what they had looked like, what clothes they had worn. And for an instant, she considered that a Sleeping God itself may have overseen construction.

Nobody knew just how long ago the Sleeping Gods had supposedly gone down.

She looked at Beko where he stood at the mouth of the ravine. Ramus called him my captain, she thought. Perhaps I'd like that to be so.

There was a sudden movement at the ruin and Ramus emerged, carrying his blank book by one open cover like an injured bird. He looked around, lost and frantic, until he set eyes on her.

“You were quick,” she said, but she could see that something had happened.

Ramus stared at her for a heartbeat too long before smiling and shaking his head. He looked down and closed the book slowly, deliberately, taking too long. Composing himself, Nomi thought.

“Not much new here,” he said.

“Except?” Nomi hurried to him, ignoring the flutter of activity from the Serians listening to their exchange.

“Except nothing,” he said.

“Ramus?”

He shook his head. “Just a funny turn.”

“You feel unwell?”

“No. Maybe it's the heat, or . . .”

“This place.” She smiled and touched his arm. “You always get so involved.”