Lifting dripping spears above their heads, the Yatsill chorused: “Tokula Pathamay! Tokula Pathamay! Killed unseen but untaken! Untaken! Untaken! Tokula Pathamay shall be given unto Phenadoor!”
I turned to Kata. “What do they mean?”
“The Saviour did not witness Tokula Pathamay perish,” she answered. “Even so, it is better for a Wise One to die thus than the other way. The remains will be carried with us to Yatsillat and there deposited in Phenadoor. It is a rare honour for a Wise One.”
“Other way?” Clarissa asked.
“Yes. Tokula Pathamay will never be other than Tokula Pathamay.”
With that incomprehensible reply, Kata turned away, and she and her people repositioned themselves around the children.
The Wise Ones spread out, and after retrieving the rope from their fallen comrade, left the corpse behind and led us farther into the cave.
For what felt like hours, we descended along the path, our party illuminated from all directions by the millions upon millions of tiny beetles, so bright now that the mist itself glowed blue as it thickened around us. The sound of bubbling water increased, echoing from the walls and ceiling.
“I can’t keep this up for much longer,” my companion said quietly.
“Are your legs paining you, Clarissa?”
“Dreadfully.”
Kata, overhearing this, pointed ahead. “The place of Immersion.”
I guided Clarissa to a rock, and as she sat on it, told her, “The path has ended at the edge of a pool. Steam is rising from it and I cannot see the far bank.”
Tsillanda Ma’ara approached, the ends of its four legs click-clacking over the rock. “You are strange,” it said, “and this is a sensitive time, therefore I shall assign to you no duty other than to keep watch and alert us should another Amu’utu draw near.”
I nodded.
The Yatsill reached over its shoulder and pulled a spear from its harness. “Take this.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I have no experience with weapons.”
The creature’s black, expressionless eyes glittered. It pointed a finger. “This is the sharp end. Stick it into any Amu’utu that comes close enough.” And with that, Tsillanda Ma’ara pushed the spear into my hands, snapped its fingers together in what I took to be a sign of dismissal, turned its back, and stalked away.
“Was that humour?” Clarissa asked.
“I haven’t the foggiest notion.”
I watched and kept up a running commentary as Kata and the other islanders shepherded the children to the edge of the pool. Yazziz Yozkulu stepped forward with the long rope in its hand, tied the end around one of the juveniles, and said, “It is your time of Immersion. You will emerge from the waters Wise or Shunned.”
The child turned its head and looked at the Yazziz, and though in size and form they were a match, with nothing but minor details to distinguish them from one another, there was something in the youngster’s countenance that I was surprised to find myself interpreting as a sort of bemused innocence.
Could it be that I was starting to recognise expression in the ghastly features of the Yatsill? It seemed impossible, for they were entirely inhuman, yet, indisputably, something about the child struck me as immature and ingenuous.
Yazziz Yozkulu pushed it into the steaming water and it sank like a stone.
Perhaps two minutes passed, then the Yatsill hauled on the rope and pulled the youngster out of the pool. It stood meekly while he announced, “You are Shunned. Do not feel sad. You are favoured with a place in Phenadoor.”
The process was repeated with a second child, then a third. They both joined the Shunned, though why Yazziz Yozkulu made this decision eluded me, for they both left the water exactly as they’d been upon entering it.
However, when the fourth child was dragged from the pool, it emerged limp and unconscious.
“Tsillanda Ma’ara, this one has been made Wise.”
Tsillanda Ma’ara answered, “Denied a place in Phenadoor. Now a vehicle for the Saviour. Responsible for the protection of all. It is a sacrifice. It is an honour.” The Yatsill signalled to Kata. The Koluwaian and three of her fellows stepped over to the stricken child, gently lifted it, and carried it away.
The ritual continued until every child had been in the water. Of the nine, six were declared Shunned. Three were pulled out unconscious and Wise.
“As ever, fewer and fewer each cycle,” Yazziz Yozkulu muttered. “I pray those who travelled ahead of us have met with greater success.”
“I feel it is unlikely,” Tsillanda Ma’ara responded. “However, we cannot know what the Saviour intends, and can but trust that there is purpose behind our dwindling