“I will.” He understood the uneasy agreement, one in which Aigyan had only moderate faith. Aigyan challenged him, since he had made the gesture to come up here and assert direction of the caravan. He had made himself Aigyan’s equal, if he was not the Ila’s, and he had not gotten full courtesy out of Aigyan… being an upstart, in Aigyan’s eyes. The tribes were here for kinship’s sake to the dead, and for rivalry to each other, but not to rescue him. Marak, Marak, Marak, his voices said, urging him to the east. And he defied those, too. “Pori,” he said. “If we get there, those can stay that want to and those can part that want to.” Those that stayed or parted from them would die, he was convinced of that. His responsibility was to the caravan, and east, the voices urged him, no matter that east of here was a long, uncrossable ridge and a drop down a cliff. Pori, he insisted, and reined back, dropping back through the ranks. “I’ll see you, father-by-marriage. I’ll see you there.”

He fell back, dizzied, beset by contrary voices, having lost all capacity to argue with Aigyan: but no matter the Ila’s whims, no matter the priests, no matter Luz’s will, he had delivered their chief guide his direction, and meant it. The au’it who had followed him up in the ranks followed his retreat, struggling to rein back her besha, which wanted to follow the others. But he simply rode slower and slower, let beshti pass him, one after another, until finally he found Norit and Hati.

By now Patya was riding beside them, doubtless wondering whether he had gone mad again.

“What did the Ila want?” Hati asked him. “And what did Aigyan just have to do with it?”

“A courtesy, in both cases. They wanted to know how great a fool I mean to be after this. But I can’t offend Menditak, either. I’ll be back.” He threw a look at his sister Patya. “Stay with them. Keep where Hati and Norit can see you, at all times, hear me? If our father lays hands on you…”

“You’re the crazy one!” Patya shot back. “Be careful!”

“You’re right,” he said, while the au’it wrote, mercilessly recording, making casual utterance into lasting record. “I won’t do it again. And don’t you be as crazy. Hear?” He remembered what Patya could not: his mother’s worry when Patya was born a daughter; Tain sulking and drinking all night and breaking crockery because he had a daughter and not a second son.