Arlen's experience was harrowing, but useful both for his skill and his reputation. On a sunny morning with seagulls squawking overhead, he felt calm for the first time in several days.

As war-chief, he'd continued teaching the troops. They hadn't even made full use of the tricks and traps he'd wanted to use, like retreating properly to fight from behind pit traps or convincing some of the women to at least lob a few stones from a distance. He'd even fantasized about making crossbows but that was too big a project.

He really wanted to do big but peaceful things for the isles. It seemed like life wouldn't get much better for anyone involved, until he'd beaten Thoko... the man who wanted to build and improve.

There was no way to be sure when Decim's forces would attack in earnest, or sic the Mire on them again. Opaline's chief fretted too; he was a strongman like most of the chiefs but understood that Decim had sheer numbers and the Mire had ferocity. "We need something more."

Arlen nodded. When the Catacomb people requested to work with him again, he saw it as an opportunity.

He sailed to the island of golems and ruins. There, he heard how the locals had ambushed and killed three warriors of Decim who'd come to seize Arlen, thinking he was there. Arlen feigned enthusiasm for the killing. But when they kept boasting, he finally said, "Thoko has made everyone obey him because he's strong and he's willing to do whatever it takes to get his way. I want to be better than him."

One of the best fighting men on the island said, "You'd rather be weak?"

"I want to match him blade for blade, so that he's forced to respect you. He's not so wrong that it's worth a huge war."

Meadow the ruin-delver had been impatient to see him again. She said, "What about everything on Death Island?"

Arlen asked his hosts, "How bad is it there, really?"

Few had ever been there. The Catacomb chief simply said, "It's the reason we have empty houses to spare."

Meadow changed the subject. "Since you were last here, the golems shifted their territory and the room layout again. It happens every so often, but I have to wonder if it's you they're reacting to. Since you're a Builder."

"Me? I'm not from that culture. I just recognize some of the ideas."

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"Maybe you're their descendant?"

"Doubt it, unless there's a lot more cross-world traffic than I'd thought." Heh, he'd had an engineering classmate who'd get a kick out of the situation. He wondered what Tom was up to these days.

The chief said, "Even so, we've mentioned that the ruins seem to try harder to force us out, the longer we stay. What does that suggest?"

"That they were built by people like me, who saw you as... different. Friendly, maybe, but not fully welcome."

"So we think. And you might be allowed farther than we are."

Arlen wasn't sure of that, and if the chief was right, that irritated him. Had the Builders set up a security system that identified people by the most blatant differences, when they had such advanced equipment? Though really, their technology was a strange mix.

He said, "I've heard only vaguely about the Builders. They came, they left these buildings on your island, and they killed each other off and were gone?"

An old man related, "In the first days, they taught us the signs used by our shamans to make pictures that speak, and how to avoid diseases of filth, and the use of carts."

Writing, sanitation, and the wheel. That made sense. The islander culture had recognized these things as good. It was a backhanded compliment to praise the islanders for being "willing to learn", as though they absolutely needed outside help, but really they did have a spark of innovation and curiosity he could admire. Unfortunately the biggest innovator of his generation was Thoko.

The storyteller talked about the Builders traveling across the islands, asking questions, asking for help with strange tasks, being given gifts.

Arlen said, "What about the Roaring Storm, though? Did they create it, or pass through?"

"That, nobody's sure of. Which means we aren't sure of our own past. Did we come here from some faraway island?"

The chief said, "One story says we're from the sea itself." She shrugged. "So, Arlen, we have several reasons to want you to enter the Catacomb again. Maybe you'll find something to help us against Thoko. But we also want to know what's out there, and you're in a position where you might find what we can't."

#

Meadow accompanied Arlen to the Catacomb gate in the mountain. He carried one of charged gems from Opaline as his entrance toll. He said, "The fact that the door would react this way suggests the Builders were using your people to collect the gems. Show up with one to give away, and they'd let you in for a while."

"Thought about that," said Meadow, as the door slowly opened. "But why not meet with us personally to trade? And what did they let us in to do, just walk around? All we've ever had are hints at some greater meaning to it all."

That deposit box in the door hadn't opened. Arlen looked at the gem he held, still a radiant red-purple as bright as a flashlight. "Doesn't want it this time?"

"You're the one holding it."

"Free ride. Want to come along?"

Meadow twitched. "I really want to, but now I don't want to spoil things. It's treating you differently, maybe opening different doors for you. So go, and tell us what you find."

Impulsively he took her hand and squeezed it. "All right. Be back soon."

He set off alone into the stone halls of the Catacomb.

The walls glowed where they met the ceiling, and at first he found only empty halls and more of the odd zigzags. He hefted a mace and shield, and stuffed the gem into his woven backpack.