The damage was obvious as they pushed their way through the city. The living roofing had blown down in many places and the walkways were strewn with the broad leaves. There was a wailing from a foodpen as they passed and Stallan saw that one of the deer had broken its leg in panic during the storm. A single dart from her ever-present hèsotsan silenced it.

“It is bad, but not as bad as it could have been,” Vaintè said. “This is a strong city and growing well. Will the windstorm strike again?”

“Probably not—at least not until next year. There is wind and rain at other times, but only at this time of year does the windstorm blow.”

“A year is all that we need. The damage will be repaired and Vanalpè will see that all the growth is strengthened. This new world is cruel and hard—but we can be just as cruel and hard.”

“It will be as you say, Eistaa,” Stallan said, and her words were not simple agreement but were strongly colored with the knowledge that Vaintè meant exactly what she said—and would accomplish what she set out to do.

At any cost.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Alpèasak grew—and healed its wounds at the same time. For days Vanalpè and her assistants had clambered about the city making careful records of the damage done by the storm. Hormone applications speeded the new growth until the roofing leaves spread their overlapping patterns anew, while additional tree trunks and aerial roots strengthened the walls. But simple rebuilding was not enough for Vanalpè. Sturdy vines, tough and elastic, now twined up through the walls and across the roofing.

Not only was the city stronger, but it was growing safer with every passing day as the cleared fields bit into the surrounding jungle. This expansion, although it looked haphazard, was silent and efficient, carefully planned. The most dangerous part, the spreading of the larvae in wild jungle, was done by the Daughters of Death. Though they were protected from most of the wild creatures by armed fargi, there was no protection from bruises and accidents, wounds from the thorns—or snakebite from the serpents hidden there. Many were injured, some radically, a few died. The city was as uncaring as Vaintè at their fate. The city came first.

Once the larvae had been sown the death of the jungle was certain. The voracious caterpillars that emerged had been crafted for this single purpose. Birds and animals found their taste bitter and repellent; the caterpillars found all vegetable matter to their liking. Blind and insatiable they crawled up the tree trunks and through the grass, destroying everything in their path. Only the skeletons of trees remained after they had passed while the ground was foul with their droppings. As they ate they grew until the repulsive, bristle-covered creatures were as long as a Yilanè arm.