could not believe his ears when they were presented to him—always with a demand for confirmation or denial. The truth of what had happened that night was, of course, not one that he wished to be known. Walksfar went down into the town with Adam, and settled the people down by explaining that Camp had always been a place of queer folk and queer doings and that there was little gain to be had in concerning oneself overmuch about it.
One morning Mab awoke them with the news that, in the forested valley to the east—the place of the wolves that divided Elkirk from the sea of grass—many campfires were alight. Adam crossed the river to Eltown, where later that day word reached them that Honey had at last returned to Elkirk, and that she was in the company of a host of souls, unlike any in Eltown or even in Camp. They had come across the grass from El’s Palace, moving at unusual speed because they had learned to bestride large animals: four-legged beasts of a kind not before seen in the Land, perfectly adapted to the task of carrying two-legged souls on their backs while subsisting on the grass itself.
Later in the day, a queue of these creatures became visible picking its way down the long series of switchbacks that connected the kirk to Eltown. Everyone watched them come, fascinated by the sight of the two-legged souls bestriding four-legged beasts, as if the two kinds of creature had been merged into one. The creatures of the riders did their job so well that the new arrivals were able to manage the tricky and tedious descent in half the usual time.
And so just like that the riders were at large in the streets of Eltown. Once they descended from their mounts they were of the same general form as other souls. They were tall and symmetrically formed, like Adam and Eve, Thunk, and Walksfar. Their hair was long and fair, swept back from high brows, and their clothing, though somewhat darkened from travel, was also fair. They carried long poles with sharp tips of iron, which Adam guessed were made to keep wolves at bay, and at their hips they had long blades, like the one that Messenger of El had carried when he had changed over into the guise of a human. In sum, they were obviously patterned after the angels of El’s palace, but without wings. Adam had never seen their like when he had dwelled in the Garden with Eve, and so he judged it likely that they were a fresh creation of El’s.
As much was soon confirmed by the name that the riders used to set themselves apart from the ordinary people of Eltown. They called themselves Autochthons, which was a word meaning “one who sprang naturally from the Land.”
The Autochthon at the head of the column spied Adam from a distance as they rode slowly through the streets of the town, thronged by curious souls who crowded around to behold them and to touch the muscled legs and flanks of the mounts. This soul, who as they would later learn was called Captain, met Adam’s gaze with no particular emotion, save perhaps curiosity. He turned back to say something to the one behind him, and as he did he lowered the tip of his lance to point it at Adam. Word spread back down the column, and the Autochthons all looked at him.
“They are here to replace us” was the verdict of Eve, when Adam told her the story later. “We failed in the eyes of El. He said it himself when he threw us out of the Garden; the taint of the Alpha and Beta worlds could not be scoured away from us and so he gave up on ever making us all that he had hoped for. It is obvious what his next step would have been: to fashion altogether new kinds of souls, free of any such taint, in El’s own image, and send them out into the world to achieve what we failed at.”
Adam was less glum than Eve, but he had to admit that there was something to her words. “I had been wondering,” he admitted, “why El did not send out more angels to cut me, as Messenger of El cut our boys. Now I see it. He can make as many of these new souls as he chooses. We, and our offspring, simply do not matter; we may