"Follow," the old one commanded as he turned slowly and retraced his steps. Brappa followed the glum elder into the antechambers. Vaulted arches and delicate columns of wondrous craftsmanship stretched ever higher as they progressed down the widening hallway; intricately carved alabaster and jade mosaics lined polished alcoves. The domed assembly hall, a cavernous amphitheater over fifty spans square, opened before them, illuminated by the yellow glow of guttering spirit lamps.
Brappa had attended assembly before; but the young hunter was conditioned to the anonymity of the crowd and to the hushed babble of the masses. On this morning the great hall was empty, all but silent; water gurgled through aqueducts, and echoes of their shuffling footfalls seemed deafening. Brappa' s talons clicked on the sparkling stones inlaid in the black marble floor. The brittle stillness discomfited him, but as a hunter—even if only a sentry—he displayed courage. With repressed disdain he noticed guild apprentices pushing mops and sponges, laboring to stay ahead of the natural humidity of their labyrinth. Hunters did not push mops.
Brappa and his escort skirted the grand hall and mounted a divided stairway curving around each side of a cantilevered marble balcony. Atop the stairs the elder signaled for Brappa to wait, languidly waving a bony hand toward the balcony as he disappeared from sight behind staggered rows of columns. Brappa squatted on a varnished wooden perch, intrigued by the intricate drainage system running about the periphery of the great hall; most of the channels were not visible from the lower levels. He traced the paths and confluences of the aqueducts and cascades as they drained the upper levels and brought the water out of the rock for use by the commune, both as aqua vitae and as natural art.
* * *
Braan, leader-of-hunters, stood in the stone dock. The old one entered and took his ordered position at the inferior end of the black marble table. The old gardener had seen over a hundred winters, yet he was still the youngest of the eleven ancients. There were no hunters on the cliff dweller council, for hunters did not live long enough. Cliff dwellers, hunters and guilders together, had no leader, only the eldest: Koop-the-facilitator, wearing the green jade of the fisher guild, was exquisitely ancient, his unruly fur completely turned to radiant white.
"Braan, clan of Soong, leader-of-hunters, speak thou for the sentry?" twittered old Koop.
Braan, snout gruesomely scarred, his head fur streaked with white, was not the oldest hunter, yet he was the leader of all hunters, for he was the most able. As leader of all hunters, Braan frequently addressed the elders. A leather thong adorned his neck, symbol of his rank.
"He is of my blood. His words art mine, Excellency," said Braan.
"What of the news?" Koop asked directly, rudely.
Braan was not offended, for the facilitator was old and meant no harm. "Facilitator, I know only rumors. Truth can best be defined by those who bear witness. I confess impatience. I fetch the sentry." He did not wait for permission but hopped from the dock and darted through the maze of columns. The hunter leader found the alert sentry on his feet, bowing respectfully. It had been a full cycle of the large moon since Braan-the-father had left on the salt mission. It was the father's first opportunity to see his son since his return. He solemnly returned his scion's honorable bow and then chucked him under his long chin. The son looked up and displayed multiple rows of tiny, razor-sharp teeth in joyful grin. Braan slapped his son's back and pushed him firmly into the chambers.
Braan' s pride was well served. Brappa, son-of-Braan, took the dock with great poise. The novice delivered his scanty details firmly and was not shaken when the elders, particularly the steam users and stone carvers, asked probing questions. Braan listened silently, for the facts were confusing. His son, the lead morning sentry, had seen flying creatures that were neither hunter nor eagle, nor were they the angry sounding machines of the legendary bear people. A manifestation of the gods? The perplexed elders slumped on theirperches and whispered among themselves. Brappa, son-of-Braan, stood silently, awaiting.
Unbidden, Braan moved before the council. "Elders, my thoughts."
"Proceed, hunter," said Koop-the-facilitator, sorely fatigued.
"It is feared gods have descended upon the land, or perhaps bear people have returned. This must be investigated with a hunter reconnaissance. If gods or bear people have descended to the ground, we will find them. If bear people, we will defend ourselves. If gods, then we will show reverence. Long life." Braan pivoted, chirped for Brappa to follow, and marched from the chambers, talons clicking with impunity.
Braan strode swiftly through the assembly hall and proceeded onto the wide terrace, pausing only to shake out his membranes. The hunter leader marched up a stone ramp onto a crenellation in the flower-bedecked wall and pushed himself gracefully out over the steam-filled abyss. Brappa, but two steps behind, duplicated every move. The hunters, father and son in tight formation, settled into a swooping glide, searching for rising currents of air. Picking up speed, they banked sharply downriver, leaving the wide terrace in the foggy steam.