Tewl Ben smiled. Of course . . .
For the next hour he worked patiently through the file, learning the basics of the language, giving himself enough of a vocabulary to go back to the tape again and listen, this time with an ear attuned to what the elders were saying.
Today. They wanted to attack today. This very afternoon. To go from here—ammo,—into the valley—nans—while it was still bright—golotv. But there were those who wanted to wait—gwaytya— until it was dark—tewl.
And Tewl, the dark man himself, what did he want?
Ben watched the chieftain consider what had been said—watched him a second time, understanding this time why his eyes narrowed, why his frown intensified. And then that tiny, hesitant nod of the head. They would go in early, before Virtanen's men, and consolidate their position, because Tewl, like many there, did not trust the Major.
And because they were warriors, unbowed beneath the sky; ashamed to skulk like rats beneath the cover of darkness.
Meg touched his arm, drawing him back from his reverie. "And the Shell, Ben? Are we going to work on it today or not?"
He looked up at her, the image of the tall, dark-robed chieftain still vivid before his eyes, then nodded.
"Yes," he said, a smile forming on his lips. "But there are a few things I have to do first. Some preparations."
"Preparations?" she said, eyeing him warily.
"Trust me," he said, his smile suddenly like the Cheshire Cat's, dark and enigmatic. "Just trust me."
MEG SAT on the turn of the stairs, eating an apple while she slowly turned the pages of the book. Beside her, the tiny casement window was open, the late morning sunlight filtering down through the leaded squares, misting the dark fall of her hair with gold. It was a warm, still day, the air filled with birdsong and the low hum of insects, while from below came the sound of Ben, moving from room to room.
It was a perfect day. A day for thoughtless dreaming. But in that instant Meg was unaware of it. For a moment she was there, outside herself, the weather cold and bleak, the hillside bare, exposed to the harshness of the elements. For a moment she saw the faces of the villagers clearly, etched starkly in the fierce light of the great bonfire, like wooden masks, moving from dark to light, from light to dark.
Catching her breath, she looked up, one hand resting briefly in her tightly braided hair, then called down to him. "Ben?"
There were footsteps, and then his face appeared at the foot of the stairs. "What is it?"
"This book IVe found. It's wonderful. Listen."
She looked down at the page, then began to read, tracing the words with a finger.
"Not a plow had ever disturbed a grain of that stubborn soil. In the heath's barrenness to the farmer lay its fertility to the historian. There had been no obliteration, because there had been no tending."
His voice cut in, low but resonant.
"It seemed as if the bonfire-makers were standing in some radiant upper story of the world, detached from and independent of the dark stretches below. The heath down there was now a vast abyss, and no longer a continuation of what they stood on; for their eyes, adapted to the blaze, could see nothing of the deep beyond its influence."
She stared at him, then nodded. "You know it, then."
"And the rest," he said, smiling up at her. "But it does give me an idea. Maybe we could use Hardy's scene. Rework it and use it as a kind of counterpoint to the burning of the inn."
She looked down. Something was going on. The very vagueness of his suggestion told her as much. Why else would he want to distract her?
"The preparations ... are they done?"
He laughed. "No. Not all of them."
"So what were they for? What's going on?"
She saw his lips begin to form the shape of the word; saw him hesitate, then look away, and knew she had been right. Nothing, he'd been about to say, but, faced by her, he had been unable to lie to her. She looked down, smiling.
"It's like this . . ." he began. Yet even as he said it, the air was rent by the sound of an explosion; a low, reverberating noise that shook the house and rattled the casement window.
She stood, dropping the book. "What in God's name . . . ?"
But Ben was smiling, grinning almost, with delight. "It's begun," he said, turning away from her. "It's finally begun."
BEN STOOD in the sunlit meadow, the glasses to his eyes. To the far left, where the valley tapered to a point, a plume of smoke rose slowly, dark against the pearled whiteness of the City's walls.
"What is it?" Meg asked, leaning gently against his back.
"The seal," he answered. "TheyVe blown the seal."
"Who?"
Ben shook his head, then laughed. "I'm not sure. But I'm going to find out."
She watched him turn and walk back toward the house, knowing he was holding something back. But why? She looked back at the slowly climbing coil of smoke, frowning at it, then, knowing she had no choice, she turned back, running up the slope after him.
Ben was upstairs in their father's old room, staring down at the flatscreen, his fingers flying across the console.
She stood there a moment, looking across at him, conscious of a strange, almost feverish excitement in the way he crouched there over the keyboard, then went across. "What's happening, Ben? Come on, you have to tell me!"
He turned. "It's happened, Megs. After all these years, it's finally happened. Someone's come for us."
"Come . . . What do you mean, come?"
"WeVe been invaded, Megs, that's what. The communication lines to the guard houses are dead, the seal's been blown, and there are intruders at the river's mouth."
She stared at him, appalled. "Then you must let the General know. He must get someone here, at once."
"No." He said it clearly, firmly, then turned back to the screen, beginning to tap out a new sequence on the keys. "I want to deal with this myself."
She let out a tiny moan. "For God's sake, Ben, what do you mean? There are intruders in the valley. They have to be dealt with. We can't do that. We don't know how!"
"1 didn't say 'we.' I want you to lock yourself in the cellar."
"You want. . ." She stopped suddenly, another thought dislodging what she'd been about to say. "Where's Mother, Ben? Where in God's name is she?"
"IVe sent her away," he said, concentrating on the message he was typing onto the screen. "I asked her to get me something from the City. She left two hours back. So you don't have to worry . . ."
"Don't have to worry?" She gave a high-pitched, nervous laugh, horrified by what he was saying. "Don't you understand what's happening, Ben? We're being attacked! The Domain is being invaded!"
"I know," he said calmly. "And I promise I'll be careful. But you needn't worry. I'll deal with it."
She shuddered, looking at him as if she didn't recognize him, then shook her head, for the first time in her life surprised, genuinely surprised at him. "So what are you going to do?"
He turned slightly, tapping the SEND button as he did so. "I'm going to fight them, Meg. That's what I'm going to do."
"Fight them? How?"
He looked away, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "Something like this doesn't happen every day. IVe got to take advantage of it."
She stared at him, sudden understanding dawning on her. So that was it. He was going to film it all. To make a great adventure of it. She shook her head. "No, Ben. You can't."
"No?" He cleared the screen, then turned back to her, his eyes piercing her with their intensity. "Just watch me."
For a moment she thought of fighting him, of going behind his back on this and letting the General know, but standing there, looking back at him, she knew she wouldn't.
"Okay," she said quietly. "Fight them, if you must. But you have to let me help you, Ben. You have to."