Gilf ran forward, his heart hammering hard against his chest, like
the rabbits he chased ever since the warm season of his seventh
turn. Catching them in his hands he could feel the rhythmic
pounding of their tiny hearts throbbing against his palm for the
brief moment before he let them go. He caught himself, realizing
that if anyone got close enough to feel his heart beat like that
they wouldn't be nearly so kind. He ran harder.

Why had he done it? Why had the stolen the thing they called a
"zurgan"? He didn't even know what it was. The way they had talked
about it in hushed tones, peering covertly from beneath the hoods
of the maroon robes that were the symbols of their office, arguing
fitfully over the small tube, Gilf knew all he needed to know. The
zurgan, whatever it may be, was important to the Abacs, and Gilf
hated Abacs. All of them. He was already in danger of a horrible
beating if they caught him spying on them from the edge of the
tent. Moshu knows they had beat him for less, he thought. It
wasn't until he heard them talking about attacking the Zeniks,
Gilf's people, that he found the cold piece of stone the color of
silver in his hand. It was heavier than he expected, heavier than
any rock that size, and strangely smooth over the whole surface,
not rough and gouged like a stone would be. He was staring down
the blackened hole in its end when they saw him. He was scrambling
off at a full run before the outraged shouts turned into outraged
pursuit, the all but forgotten zurgan clenched tightly in his left
hand as he ran for his life.

Gilf took off toward The Badfields where he had spent his days as
a child. There was really nothing wrong with The Badfields beyond
the fact that they were too rocky to farm, which was bad enough in
a town whose economy relied on agriculture. He knew every inch of
them though. He had played there his whole life, it being one of
the few places he could get away from everyone else. Gilf knew The
Badfields held secrets no else knew about. If there was anywhere
he could lose the Abacs, it was there.

Besides that, The Badfields were Zenik land. Even if Abacs didn't
like Zeniks, (and the feeling was mutual), they respected their
territory. They had to, lest a Zenik elder scorch their pretty
maroon robes with a well placed fireball. Gilf himself had seen
two Abacs get worse than that. His mother tried to keep him away
from the bodies but Gilf had slipped away one day when --

Suddenly Gilf trapped hard, falling headlong into the dirt. Thorns
scratched long wounds in his unprotected arms, but as he scrambled
to his feet again Gilf saw what he had been looking for. Just
ahead of him was a patch of brush concealing the entrace to a
cave. He ran madly for the hole, throwing himself inside, ignoring
the tears in his tunic and his skin as he forced himself into the
cool air of the cave.

"Safe!" he thought. Maybe. He walked as quickly as he could off
the small rock ledge onto a thin pathway spiralling downward into
the inside of the cavern toward a clear pool at one end of the
rocky floor. Small stones skittered to a stop at the bottom just
before he did the same a few minutes later. Dropping down to catch
his breath Gilf pressed his back against the cold wall. Then he
realized his mistake. There was only one way out of here - The way
he had come in, and there was nowhere to hide in this huge cavern.
Still, he might escape, Moshu willing. He had enough lead on the
Abacs. They couldn't have seen him come in. He doubted another
living soul knew about this place. Certainly no Abac did. He would
bide his time, wait for them to go away, and then slip out after
dark.

His sweat dripped down his body and mingled with the dust of the
ground between his knees. He waited. The light coming through the
cave entrance moved across the wall and slowly faded. The
temperature dropped. Still he waited.

Over half a bek had passed since the light had left Lanjiis. His
mother would be missing him by now. He was supposed to be stealing
food from the marketplace, not Abac relics he reminded himself. If
he got himself killed his mother wouldn't have anyone else to help
her. He could barely recall a time when his family wasn't
spending every minute of the day just trying to survive. They had
actually been happy once, he remembered. His father was High
Shabal of their tribe, and the whole village paid their respect to
him through gifts of food and service. His family ate the best
food, and they lived in the best tent. Until his father had been
killed by the Abacs. Two turns old and without a father. Suddenly
they were just like everyone else, barely surviving from day to
day, accepting rotten food so that the new High Shabal would have
only the best. Gilf had been too young to appreciate the irony
then.

Three turns later things got better when his sister, fourteen
turns old was chosen as consort to the High Shabal. His mother was
paid well for Kataya, but they never saw her again. Two turns
later all the money was gone.

Gilf woke up from the light sleep he had fallen into by sounds
outside. "Knar!" he cursed under his breath. They had found him.
He had been a fool to stay here this long. They had probably gone
back to their village and gotten some device to track him down, a
r'dar or something. Whatever it was, it had worked. Science was
almost as good as magic he realized. In another turn he would have
been old enough to learn spells that would have blasted these
Abacs to bits, or made him invisible so he could slip by them, or
simply teleported himself home. Little good that did him now. He
sighed. He could hear footsteps coming towards the cave opening
and he knew he was in trouble now. He looked at the zurgan. "Come
on little rock!" he thought, "Tell me why you're so important!"
Not surprisingly, the zurgan didn't answer. Some rocks talked, at
least to Zeniks, but this was obviously no rock. It looked like it
had been sculpted, maybe by one of the Icenders to the far north.
"I can figure this out", Gilf told himself. "I have to." He looked
at the discolored hole at one end. Obviously something went in
there, or came out of it. The stains at the edge of the hole
looked just like the support stakes on their tent from around the
opening where the smoke of their fire escaped. Maybe someone had
dropped this in their hearth. He could see nothing in the hole. He
turned the zurgan over in his hands. When he had been running with
it and not thinking at all, he had unconsciously held it in the
most comfortable position he could, one that seemed almsot
natural. He held it that way now, one knobby end in his palm, the
other end, the one with the hole, facing outward. In this position
his forefinger rested against a switch that he hadn't noticed
before. As he pushed against it lightly, it began to move.

The cavern grew suddenly bright as a torch came in through the
entrance, followed quickly by the hand and body of the Abac
carrying it. Startled, Gilf's hand clenched hard on the zurgan. A
red light shot out of the zurgan's hole in a thin spear towards
the Abac, who let out a bloodchilling scream that was cut short
only a moment later as he stiffened, arching his back as the light
passed right through him. He fell forward, the torch flying from
his grip, twirling end over end into the pool at the north end of
the cavern. Everything went dark again. Gilf was too shocked to do
anything before another torch entered, targeting the Abac who
carried it. Gilf smiled coldly and squeezed the zurgan again. This
was easy.

---