The woman laughed, moving forward to hook a bony finger around Nadin’s necklace. “Well, that’s a tall task, kyrin.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “And that trinket won’t get you far here. We have little use for the geroi’s castes in Elytherios.”

“Wait a moment, Marin,” another, younger woman said. “Nadin—that’s the one Gitrin said we should be expecting.”

“Gitrin?” Nadin’s voice sounded raw, almost wild.

They ignored her. The first man tugged his earlobe, looking at the woman who’d spoken. “Right. We’d better get the two of them back to the village, then.”

He took Nadin’s arm, and one of the other men grabbed mine. He glanced appraisingly at me. “Marin,” he said. “Have a look at this at this one. Doesn’t he…?”

The elderly woman came over and stared at me. Her green eyes were piercing. “Yes, he does,” she said after a minute. “Boy, can you understand me?”

I glanced nervously over at Nadin. She looked as confused as me. I said, “Um, yes. I can.”

The woman grinned, her gapped teeth magnified by the clear breathing tube over her mouth. “Excellent. You might be of some use to us, then.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, but nobody answered. The five strangers led us, gurzas trotting happily behind, up the slope of the mountain.

Chapter 28

The five anarchists guided us some distance up the slope, winding around as we ascended to the south face of the mountain. Here the barren rockiness began to give way, and patches of scraggly shrubs, fed by the southern sun’s rays, were visible at intervals. The smooth slope became rougher, with more crags and crevices. The gurzas’ clawed feet made the going easier for them than for us humans, and they hurried on ahead of us. On the top of a ridge just over our heads, Isaak’s gurza looked over its shoulder down at us, as if to ensure that we were still following. Then it darted forward and disappeared into a clump of thick fraouloi.

The man pulled me forward by my arm and I stumbled. The slope was not overly steep, but it was still difficult to climb without the gurzas. Crude steps had been cut into the ground at intervals, but they were uneven, which did not help matters.

When we reached the ledge where the gurzas had vanished, I saw that behind the tall fraouloi there was a gash in the mountainside.

“This way,” said the man holding my arm, guiding me into the crevice.

I expected the cave to be dark, but even after the light from the entrance should have faded, the tunnel was bright. It wasn’t the neon glow of phosphorescence or even the clinical white of the artificial lights in Hope Renewed, either—this looked like real sunlight, like I remembered from my childhood, before it was filtered through a thin red sky.