Piacho sat in the gloomy cell with its four grey, stone walls, and pondered. Every now and then he could hear the sound of somebody outside, along the corridor. He couldn't hear what was being said, though sometimes the voices were loud. It was frightening, but more than fear, he felt worry. Worry especially for Selentaya. Where was she?
Was all this his fault? He couldn't get it out of his head that he had done something that he shouldn't have done. Herelina had seemed like such a good, useful substance, but thinking back, there were always dangers. Amplifying human energies in order to overcome natural forces. That was what herelina did. He didn't entirely understand it. Nobody did. But was that how the people from over the mountains had found them? Had they been drawn to the forces released by the herelina? It was possible. And the business with Ralkino. Was his disappearance linked somehow to the power of herelina? In theory, again, it was possible. He knew that there were other things herelina could do, apart from allowing you to overcome gravity. If only he had taken more time to investigate those things. Yes, it was possible that Ralkino's disappearance was caused by herelina. He had never told anybody in Seren-ila that. But he had given up his status as a Trowster wearing Wise One, and he had tried to make sure that wrist-flyers were used very carefully, limiting the energy. Perhaps he had not done enough. The disappearance of Ralkino should have warned him. There could be disastrous consequences from some devices.
On the other hand, perhaps it was nothing to do with the wrist-flyers. Or maybe only indirectly to do with them. Because something happens after something, it doesn't mean that it happens because of that thing. Though we often think it does. We can't help thinking so. Young Herago had learnt that lesson, using it to trick the mind and eye into deciding that the things they were seeing were caused by the actions he showed, whereas really they were caused by something entirely different. It was such a clever idea. And so clever of Liana to make it all mean something.
Perhaps the people over the mountain, the Bartyronians, had somehow managed to see people when they were using their wrist-flyers, and that had drawn them to Seren-ila. Not the emanation of the forces. But in that case it was still all his fault. Though he couldn't have known that it would happen.
What did they want from him? And from Selentaya? And where was she?
The Bartyronians had caused him pain. Physical pain. He was used to pain – he had gone through a lot of pain after he fell from the mountain – his own fault, of course. And there were times when he had caused himself pain in his workshop. He tended to try things before thinking too much about the consequences. Those pains were something he could deal with. Even if they hurt a lot.
But he was not used to the pain that another human being can bring about. Deliberately. That was different. Of course, it sometimes happened in Seren-ila, particularly – almost entirely – among small children. They would sometimes push one another, or hit out with arms or legs. But they were discouraged, and eventually they grew out of it. If people persisted in doing such things beyond childhood, it was clear that they had some sort of illness, an illness of the brain, and help was given to them which sometimes cured them. Not always.
Piacho was very happy to tell the Bartyronians about wrist-flyers, which is what they were most interested in. But the more he explained about the special structure of the herb, herelina, the more they disbelieved him, and the angrier they got. And the pain they inflicted was definitely deliberate.
Was this what was happening to Selentaya now? He worried about her.
It seemed that the Bartyronians now had all the Seren-ilian wrist-flyers. He had seen piles of them in the flying machine that had brought him to this place. They were welcome to them. Having taken them, they would leave Seren-ila in peace, and Herago and Liana would get on with their lives, perfecting their Impossibles. But why had Selentaya been brought here? She had done no harm to anybody.
More voices outside.
The door of the room swung open and a person was pushed roughly in. It was Selentaya. She had cuts on her face, and her Trowster cloak was torn.
'Those people are extraordinarily unwell,' said Selentaya. 'But fascinating nevertheless.'
'Ha! Indeed they are,' Piacho said. 'But I am very glad to see you.'