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You eat, he sent again, signaling one of the sitters with those curious
finger waggles. The man stood and brought over a bowl for Jakkin.
Jakkin sniffed at the bowl. It smelled like dragon stew. Hungry as he was,
Jakkin s stomach revolted. He could not eat such a meal. Dragon? he queried.
Then, remembering, he added, Great Mother?
The sending that came back to him, so solid and unemotional, chilled him.
What else?
He put the bowl on the nearest table and shook his head. No!
You insult Great Mother s gift? Even the sleepers stirred at that sending.
I m not that hungry. I can t eat. How could he explain to these crude cave
dwellers that once he d made full contact with dragons, eating their meat was
impossible. His stomach chose that moment to growl again.
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The bubbling response of the men was far out of proportion to the joke, and
Jakkin suddenly wondered if any involuntary body noise was funny to these
silent men. He tried to explain his refusal to eat meat as clearly and
directly as he could. My& people& do not eat Great Mothers. It was not
exactly a lie. He and Akki were a separate people now.
Ancestors warn of such people. Makk s sending seemed tinged with an emotion
other than anger for the first time.
Your ancestors. Tell me. Maybe, Jakkin hoped, careful to keep the thought
hidden, maybe here was a real clue, a way out of this place.
Makk s face softened, as if the question somehow pleased him. His sending
began and it had the rhythms of a story long rehearsed and often told. First
were The Men. Strong Men. Men of Bonds. He held up his wrists, and for the
first time Jakkin noticed he wore metal bracelets.
Metal! Jakkin gasped aloud. There was so little metal on Austar that what
there was had to be carefully husbanded for use in the cities. The cost of
metal was far beyond the ordinary bonder. Even most masters could afford
little. He remembered the grillwork under the great pots in the fire cavern.
And the pots themselves. And the sticks!
They were all metal. How could he have been so blind? These strange men had a
secret the outside world would love to have-a secret metal cache. If he
listened carefully, perhaps he could find out more.
Makk was continuing. One man, First Makker, knew to take Stone. Knew to turn
Stone to Ore. From
Ore comes The Fire That Is Water. From The Fire That Is Water come Bands. For
we were of Bonds who now are of Bands.
There was a poetry in Makk s sending that almost obscured the story he told.
Drawing a curtain between
Makk s mind and his own, Jakkin tried to find the real meaning. Could First
Makker have been an escaped prisoner back in the days of all their
grandfathers? Someone with a working knowledge of metal making who had somehow
managed to live through the deadly cold. Jakkin knew that not all the early
prisoners were murderers and thieves. A few had been political prisoners sent
away from Earth or other planets to the metal-poor desert world of Austar.
Some of those prisoners must have had skills beyond the ordinary. What if that
First Makker was one? And what if other escapees had joined him and remained
hidden within the bowels of the mountains, generation after generation? It
made sense. Makk said they were Men of Bonds. And if the secret of the metal
making had passed down from father to son over the years& He suddenly realized
Makk had stopped sending and was staring at him. Jakkin stared back, the wall
around his thoughts carefully constructed again.
Makk nodded and the sendings came again. We Men of Great Mother, Flesh of her
flesh. Blood of her blood One day go to place of Bonds and throw them over.
The sending was dark red, the red of anger and fire and blood, but Makk s
hands were raised as if in ecstasy.
Jakkin didn t understand what that meant at all. Some ritual of eating,
perhaps? M%at if they insisted he eat with them? Could he do it? Did he dare
refuse again? And if these strange men really did plan to go
outside and fight, shouldn t he warn the outsiders? After all, the closest
civilized place to these mountains was Sarkkhan s Nursery, where he had grown
up. His friends were there. But if he managed to get out, the last place he
should go would be the nursery. Surely any searchers would have spies there.
His mind in a turmoil, he drew in a breath and carefully drew aside the
curtain over his thoughts to let a sending out. The Great Mothers, where are
they? And where is the Place of Women?
Makk lowered his hands and came close to Jakkin, touching him on the shoulder.
What place you? Too high for here. Too thin for here. No Bands. Yet speak
without noise. Not like Others.
Others? What others?
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Long ago Others. He did not elaborate.
A man who had been sitting at the far end of the table stood up and came over
to Jakkin, placing his hand on top of Makk s. What place?
Jakkin thought a long time before answering, careful to cloak his mind till
the last. Sweat beaded his forehead. I come from another Place, another
mountain, another cave. He knew suddenly that to admit being from the outside
was inviting death. There we wear no Bands but we, too, know the Great
Mothers. I am blood of the blood with a great red He wouldn t tell them how
he d shared the dragon s blood, though her rainbow sign broke across his
sending, a memory of that generous spirit he couldn t keep out.
The colorful sending seemed to startle the men. Makk s hand dropped from his
shoulder and everyone drew away mentally. Jakkin wondered if it was the color
or the joy in the sending that had so provoked them. Then he shook his head,
continuing:
I came to your place with my& woman. He bet Akki would be furious if she
knew he d called her that.
Makk nodded, but still kept his distance. Yes. We know this. She in Place of
Women.
It was Jakkin s turn to be startled. He walked over to Makk and put his hand
on the man s broad shoulder. At the touch he was able to see right into Makk s
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