the world, Rodriguez had once told him, is accomplished without love and hate.
I am alone, thought Brenner. The only friend I ever had is gone.
“Grief!” said a Pon.
“Sad, sad, terrible, terrible,” said another.
To be sure, Brenner understood that their wailing, their keening, their misery, might not be all on the account of Rodriguez, a stranger, one not even of their own group. They might be frightened for themselves, as well. The meretricious nature of the “pact” might have finally become clear to them. Perhaps they now understood, for the first time, the nature of the totem animal. Poor Rodriguez, thought Brenner, how confident he had been in his theories. How little he had been afraid. He could have remained within the palisade, for what protection that might have been worth. No, he had gone on with his work, and then, on the way back to the village, it seemed, he had learned, if he had had time to learn it, that he had been mistaken, that there was no pact, that the beast, after all, was a beast, only that, and that it might be hungry, a force of nature that might be hungry, and that it was no more to be trusted than rushing water or the stroke of lightning.
“When did this happen?” asked Brenner.
The Pons looked at one another, puzzled.
“Where did it happen?” asked Brenner.
Two of the Pons gestured back toward the village. “That way,” said one.
“You found the body?” asked Brenner. He had seen, after all, only a bloodied, torn shirt, and the pack, also with blood on it.
“Yes,” said one of the Pons.
“Come, come,” said another.
“Pieces,” said another.
“Not all gone,” said another.
The beast, Brenner thought, did not even drag its prey into the forest, to eat it in secret. It was such a lord, such a king, it would feed on it where it laid it low. It had not even, apparently, like certain of the beasts of the forest, dragged it into the branches of a tree, to keep it for later, to keep it out of the reach of others, such as the humped, crested ones. Was it such a hunter, Brenner wondered, that it could feed when it wanted, and eat only fresh meat, and only parts which pleased it at the time. Was the forest such a vulnerable, plenteous larder for it?
“Grief!” wailed a Pon.
Their world may have collapsed, thought Brenner. But perhaps not, he thought. Rodriguez was not of the Pons. Their sorrow may actually be for Rodriguez, or perhaps even for me. It was not as though it had taken a Pon. But what if they thought that Rodriguez had included himself within the pact, and had nonetheless been seized and killed? That would surely undermine their confidence in the pact.
But surely they could find some way to explain it away. Could that not always be done?
But sometimes such explanations do not, truly, satisfy even their propounders.
Are the Pons now as alone, and terrified, as I am, in the forest, Brenner wondered.
“Do not cry,” said Brenner, standing up.
“No, cry, cry,” said a Pon.
“We will mourn,” said another.
“We will love,” said another.
“I do not understand,” said Brenner.
“Come, come!” said Pons, tugging at his clothes.
“Why?” asked Brenner.
“See pieces,” said a Pon.
“They may be gone now,” said Brenner.
“No,” said a Pon.
“See beast!” said a Pon.
“You know where it is?” asked Brenner.
“Come, come,” said a Pon, earnestly. Torches were lifted.
Clearly in evidence was the agitation of the small creatures, “The beast?” said Brenner.
“Yes, yes!” said more than one of the Pons.
Brenner blinked against the light of the torches. Then the hair on the back of his neck rose.
“You have cornered it, you have trapped it?” asked Brenner, suddenly. That might be possible, with the torches. Many animals fled fire.
“Come, come!” urged the Pons.
“Kill!” cried another suddenly, shrilly.
“Kill the beast?” asked Brenner.
“Yes!” said the Pons.
Yes, thought Brenner, in sudden cold rage, kill it. Kill it.
But how?
“Come, come!” urged the Pons.
Brenner then accompanied the Pons. In a few minutes, to his surprise, and trepidation, they had led him within the gate of the palisade itself.
Chapter 28
“It is permissible for me to enter here?” asked Brenner.
“Please!” said one of the Pons.
“Please!” said another, gesturing with the torch.
Brenner stood at the door to the temple, that reached from within the palisade of the Pons. In his hands, he gripped a long, pointed stick. It was the nearest thing to a weapon he could find.
“You are sure it is within?” asked Brenner.
“Yes,” said one of the Pons.
How terrified they