The Vien refugees marched and stumbled all that day, until once again the sun set in a pink blaze in the west, the first time in weeks they had not seen it set over the water. The further inland they went, the more soil covered the rock, but it only grew pale-looking grass and thorny bushes. Another clear night followed. The stars shone distant and cold to Vah's weary eyes. Most of the day, he had trailed along at the rear of the line, as much out of weariness as an attempt to keep an eye out for any stragglers or those who might need help—not that he had much strength to lend. Yet the others all marched doggedly forward; he felt like the only one who wasn't aware of some looming presence that drew them on. All he knew was an increasing sensation of dread.

He must have trudged while half asleep, for his first awareness that they had stopped was heralded by voices ahead. He heard excitement in the tones. The people were spreading out along the crest of a rise. If he'd had enough strength left, he would have run to join them as they looked down the slope beyond, but he didn't have any such energy. He was the last to see what lay in the shallow vale below them.

Churning at the center was a large pool, almost a perfect circle. The water was moving, bubbling up from beneath, and steam rose in a pillar above it. In its disturbed surface, there were glimpses of the flickering reflection of the stars and the swirling white vapor. Warm air blew from the vale on a wind that rose up the slope to meet them. It was damp, and there on the hill where the warmth and cold met, droplets formed on Vah's skin. He had not been warm in days. Near the edge of the pool, moss and grass grew deep, and the rocks at the edge of the water looked slick and orange from some kind of algae.

It was a strange place, and while it gave Vah an uncanny feeling, he couldn't help but notice the expressions on the faces of those around him. Many were smiling. Others had tears flowing down their faces. He heard a laugh down the line, as if they did not look down on bubbling water but a feast spread out for them.

Vah looked down the line, searching for his brothers. It wasn't hard to find them; they stood a few paces ahead of the rest, just down the slope. He limped over to them, his feet complaining with every step. His sandals had worn away months ago, and though his soles had hardened, they were still cut and bruised and sore like everyone else's. Even their clothes, woven from the plant fibers of home and repaired many times along the way, hung ragged on their thin frames.

"We're here, Vah," Findel said at his approach. His brother hadn't even looked at him. Both he and Isecan stared down at the spring as if they were seeing the ghosts of their ancestors in paradise.

"It is wet. We should camp out of the wind."

"We should go closer," Findel said.

"I don't know," Isecan replied. "It's almost too much, now."

"Would you leave?"

"No."

"Why is this important?" Vah asked. "We need food, not water. We can drink and move on. At least on the coast there was seaweed."

Findel was silent, but Isecan managed to pull his eyes away from the water and look at Vah.

"I don't know what it is," he said. "But this. . ." He shook his head.

***

Despite Vah's weak effort, the people stayed upon the rise that night, in full force of the wind. The baby cried, and Tessiel held him to her breast beneath the rags she wore, though it was unclear if she had anything left to give him. Tears fell down Vah's face before he slept in exhaustion, the damp lines the tears left felt cold in the wind. All around him, the others sat or stood or lay and stared down at the disturbed waters. Sleeping on the ground was one of the worst things about their exile; the Vien were not meant to sleep on the ground, but in the hammocks and fiber nets they wove in the canopies of the jungles, where it was safer and the breeze blew, rocking them to sleep, and the stars twinkled above. Climbing was their natural love, living in the trees and picking fruits, making use of their long slender arms and easy balance. In their homes to the south, it was safer sleeping in the trees where the air moved, away from the damp—and away from the great snakes.

Cold and still exhausted, Vah awoke the next morning. The people around him looked much the same. There was rime on the grass and on the exposed rock, but when Vah touched it, it dissipated, leaving his fingers damp.

Findel and Isecan remained in the same spot as before, only sitting instead of standing. They were murmuring to each other in low voices, leaning close. Vah was hungry. It was always worst in the morning. Some days, he hardly noticed the hunger at all anymore, but this morning he felt an emptiness that passed through him. He was thirsty too, and at least he could fill himself with water. If his brothers had led them on a death march to come to this churning pool amidst desolation, he could at least die without being thirsty.

As he pushed himself up into a crouch, a wave of dizziness passed over him. He waited until it passed before rising to his feet. Carefully so as not to fall, he started down the slope.

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Halfway down, he heard Findel's voice:

"Vah, stop."

"I'm thirsty."

"No. Be careful!"

Careful? Careful of water. Did he look so weak his brother feared he might fall in and drown? He had never seen bubbling water like this before, but there was little esteem left in his heart for his brother's judgment, and even less of a sense of self-preservation remaining to him. The steam rising told him that the water was at least warm, and he so wanted to feel warm inside again. He reached the bottom of the vale. It was narrow, perhaps only a hundred yards across, but was longer than it was wide, letting a little steaming stream flow out through a gap in the ringing hill. The only sound was the bubbling and flowing water. The slick orange algae was thick along the shore of the pool and the stream.

"Vah, wait!"

Ignoring the call, Vah approached the edge of the pool. He heard a rock tumble down the slope and knew that his brother was approaching. Feeling his joints complain, he knelt down at the edge of the water. For a few feet, he could see the rocky bottom, but it must have grown deep rapidly, for even though the water looked clear enough, all was darkness further out. He reached out his hand.

"Vah! No!"

He was so thirsty. He dipped his finger in the water. It was hot, but not scalding. He cupped his palm, lowered it into the swirling water, and raised it to his lips. Even as his brother rushed up beside him and grasped his shoulder, he drank. The water nearly burned his mouth, and the heat hurt a little going down, but otherwise it tasted and felt like any good spring water. He looked up at his brother. Findel stared at Vah with wide eyes, and now Isecan was hurrying up, trying to keep from stumbling on the jumbled and slick stones along the edge of the water. A few of the other Vien were cautiously edging their way down the hill, apparently unsure, as if some kind of wild beast that might be either friendly or vicious awaited below.

"Are you well, brother?" Isecan asked.

"No."

"What's wrong? What do you feel?"

"I'm hungry. I'm starving."

"But you drank."

"It's not food." Vah reached down and took another handful of water and drank again.

"How does it taste?" Findel asked, staring at the dark depths. The steam swirled in the wind. Vah's skin was damp with it.

"Like hot water."

Vah brought a third handful to his lips, even as Findel and Isecan stared with gaping mouths.

At last, Findel spoke:

"I will drink."

He knelt down next to Vah and hesitated. Taking a breath, he braced himself and dipped his hand within, quickly, as if he didn't trust himself. A spasm crossed his face as he raised his hand up and tipped it into his mouth.

Findel convulsed backward, his back arching as if he would snap. His scream was cut short, and he fell, his legs folded beneath him. His eyes bulged, open and staring at the pale sky.

"Findel!" Vah shouted, grabbing his brother's shoulder and shaking him. Isecan knelt down as well, slapping Findel's face to rouse him, but both saw it at the same moment and stopped.

His lips were blue, a dark indigo blue, and iridescent green paths of color streaked away from his mouth as if left by water dribbling down his face. In places, the color shifted from green to silver tinged with blue. Vah looked at his brother's hand and saw the same—everywhere the water had touched. Without thinking, he reached out and touched the marked hand, trying to rub away the color. The skin itself had changed. It was rougher, veined and pocked almost like the skin of a leaf or the frond of a fern. Vah looked at his own fingers, but the color had not marked him.

"What has happened?" Vah asked. "What is it?"

"I don't know what it is," Isecan answered, looking back at the dark waters. "But it is from the spring."

They dragged Findel away from the water's edge. Vah listened to his heart, placing his ear against his chest. It beat quickly, but it beat. Findel's breaths were shallow. A few of the braver Vien came down into the vale and stood around him, but most stayed up on the crest despite the wind. It was evening when Findel's eyes finally fluttered open.

At first, he just lay staring at the sky, despite Isecan gently shaking his shoulder and saying his name. At last, his gaze focused, and he turned his head to look at his brother.

"Are you well?" Isecan asked.

Findel struggled to sit, and Vah helped him, putting an arm behind his shoulders. Still, Findel said nothing, staring fixedly at the water instead.

"Brother?" Isecan nudged Findel's shoulder.

"I do not know what has happened," Vah whispered to Isecan, low enough that the others nearby could not hear. "But we must find safe water and food, or we will all die soon. It might already be too late for some."

Isecan met his gaze. His middle brother's expression was not so blank and stuporous as it had been the past days. Was he shaken alert by Findel's plight?

"It is so," he said. "What would you have us do?"

"The strongest must go search for a place to rest out of the wind, and for water and food."

"Then make it so."

"They will not heed me," Vah said. For a few moments, Isecan stared back dumbly, but then he roused and looked around at those who had ventured down into the vale.

"Elnwë," he said. "We need a place to camp, water, and food. Take these and go."

Elnwë stood, uncertain.

"You may stay as close as you can," Isecan said. "But go. Findel needs sustenance."

If his own wellbeing wasn't enough to stir him to action, then Findel's was. Elnwë nodded and tore his eyes from the pool. Soon, he and the others who had ventured down—mostly the strongest and youngest of the refugees—split into twos and departed, leaving the vale empty but for the three brothers.

An hour passed, maybe more. Nothing changed. Vah cradled Findel in his arm, and Isecan knelt watching his brother who in turn stared at the water.

"I know I am starving," Isecan whispered. "But I feel stronger than I have. . . stronger even than. . ." He trailed off.

Perhaps, Vah thought, this is just what happened to people as they neared the end of their strength. He had never watched anyone go through it before, starving slowly over many months. Maybe it was too late. Maybe they should lie down and at least rest to the end. Vah closed his eyes, still kneeling and cradling his brother.

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