Too many of the slaves had died this time, killed by Empire weapons, killed by the Paws, but still most of the Quitob survivors refused the offer of freedom.

Lilla wanted to shake sense into them; his fists itched to hurt them, but he didn’t. They were still bound in their hearts, holding firm to the habits of invisibility and obedience that had seen them survive this long. He had no idea whether their stated love for Empire, Singer, and song was a survival mechanism or the truth; all he did know was that he was faced with the same dilemma as before, only with almost double the number of slaves. People, not slaves, he reminded himself. It’s not their fault.

Yet when Lilla tried to put himself in their position, he couldn’t. He’d fight until he died. He wouldn’t surrender and end up like this – broken and meek, stinking of fear-sweat, expression glazed with hopelessness. The slaves made him profoundly uncomfortable and he began to understand a little better why Dakto wouldn’t go near the Xentib. What would he do if he saw a Toko wearing a collar and a brand, after all? He shivered, head to toe, at the idea.

This is why we fight, so that this doesn’t happen to any more people – of any tribe. It’s not just survival now, it’s to free slaves and help them find themselves again, help them return to the world and reconnect with their ancestors. Help them to be themselves again.

‘If we let them go, the same thing happens,’ he said to Kux as they rested, several sticks from the pyramid clearing.

Dakto was sitting halfway up a tree above them, keeping watch and idly carving patterns in the branch. ‘You know my thoughts,’ he muttered, as if to himself. ‘Sooner or later they’ll lead us to a force that outnumbers us and that’ll be it. Lead us to our deaths.’

‘We’re not killing them,’ Lilla said, sharp with irritation.

‘Then let’s send them to the Sky City under the … protection of one of the Paws,’ Kux said. ‘We can keep pressing forward with only nine. They can escort the Quitob to your city and, I don’t know, keep them well fed and secure and healthy. Not prisoners, but definitely not slaves. The longer they’re out from under the song and among free people, the faster they will … recover.’ She didn’t sound sure, though.

‘People like that will never recover,’ Dakto said. ‘They don’t know how.’

The decision among the Fangs was unanimous. The Quitob would be escorted to the Sky City by a Tokob Paw. The slaves – the Quitob – and those thirty lucky Tokob would be home and be safe, if only for a while. Lilla stared south into the dappled greens of the jungle. Where he was going, nothing was safe.