In actuality, Gulldune was a strangely settled mishmash of influences where one could live indefinitely, though not excessively. Balanced lifestyles were enforced in order to keep the peace. Anyone who owned a skiff, for instance, could not also own a trap for catching vermin. Those who had no offspring were given someone else's to do their chores. Poor parcels sat beside lavish ones, but the fresh water basins behind the better-looking lots were always smaller. Residents were neither overly friendly nor greatly at odds with each other. Tolerance was key to lawful coexistence. Clans congregated tightly within their small spaces, or busily flocked about. Complaints were voiced and quickly settled in public. Filth offset by sparkle, stillness never far from activity, possessions somehow totaling the same thing, balances were kept. Even the pure of species lived alongside those whose features were mutated by crossbreeding, and nothing was said. Such contrasts were expected in a congested society. Gulldune served as a refuge for just about anyone.

Hundreds of unlikely species had banded together there ever since forever because of its natural defenses, proven to spurn the attacks of Raiders. Directly behind Gulldune, to the east, stood the towering heights of Lepo, its salt-stained slopes reached two thousand four-hundred falos above sea level. Directly in front of the port stretched its retainer wall, armory pits, and guard sheds. Three thousand falos-worth of felled stone blocks had their sharp edges worn smooth by Myov's relentless black waves. The lowlands to the north were perilous, concealing bottomless mud pools.

To the south, beyond the port's defense lines, laid open territory littered with the gutted remains of small gatherings-established and briefly occupied then systematically raided and abandoned. The smart survivors of raids fled north to the safety of Gulldune, while the foolish ones ventured further inland-deeper into Raider territory-or west toward the Myov Sea.

Ray wasn't smart enough to run toward Gulldune, not at first anyway. He always figured that running fast was more important than knowing which direction was best. He was right, of course, and he fled toward the sea after Raiders had burnt the gathering to the ground. He and five others managed to outrun them that morning. They reached Promise Point where Ray quickly procured a skiff for himself from one of the opportunistic Skiffers there-said to be bonded to the Raiders. The cost for Ray's escape equaled half the crystals in his satchel. An outrageous fee, but he didn't haggle for a better price. The youth was at least smart enough to grab something of value before making a run for it. Without payment for a skiff at Promise Point, survivors of raids were auctioned off as servants among the Skiffers, or handed over to the Raiders at their request.

Skiffs were crudely carved from cobble roots, which grew abundantly along the coastline of Theor and boasted tall red spikes. A rich harvest of the large oblong roots covered a broad area of Promise Point where they dried in the sun in preparation for carving. Another area contained canopies and sails that were woven from their stiff red foliage. Still another operation turned stone wheels that mashed the root shavings in order to extract their oil for cooking. Finished skiffs were always kept at the water's edge just in case quick bargaining was needed, for Raiders were known to chase their victims right into the sea.

Ray was inspecting his purchase when a young female rushed up behind him. She begged Ray to take her with him. He recognized her long dark limbs and colorful headdress. She was one of the ones from the gathering. After explaining how she had no crystals to barter with and would not have known how to sail a skiff if she had any, Ray snarled viciously at her.

She took a good look at him and backed off. "Where could someone like you go?"she asked him with contempt. "Certainly not to Gulldune."

Ray eyed her suspiciously. Her mottled complexion and raspy tone were usually preludes to courtship, but he knew better than that. They had both done some hard running. Her deep blue eyes nearly devoured him. "What would you know about someone like me?" he asked.

"Nothing, but take me as a voucher," she proposed. "I'll claim to be your mate or your sibling."

Ray balked at her pathetic offer of payment. "I don't need anyone to vouch for me," he said. "You'll only sink my skiff."

"The port guards at Gulldune will sink it if you try to land there alone," she said and withdrew.

Ray wondered if she knew something that he did not. "Why should they do that?" he asked.

She stopped after having taken only a few tentative steps away from him. Her blue-green decorative plumage twitched in a submissive gesture down the length of her spine. "Let's not fool ourselves. I'm a female on my own; I know what that'll get me. But you'll do no better. Gulldune has seen its share of young rogues, hoping to swindle the inhabitants out of their valuables, maybe even convince their females into going away with them. Having me with you would get us both safely ashore. Once nightfall comes we could split up, go our separate ways."

Ray had no intentions of going to Gulldune, but he considered her point just the same. It was true that lone males were not welcome in most regions. Several Skiffers stood above the sand dunes, limbs crossed as they patiently awaited the outcome of his conversation. If the female wasn't going with Ray then she wasn't going anywhere. "No," he said to her sternly. Satisfied with his purchase, he shoved the skiff toward the surf. "Besides, I'm heading south to Rensk."

"Rensk?" The female shook her head. Her eyes grew large, turned green, and became sad.

A good attempt, Ray thought, but she could have been clutching two egg sacks and the answer would still have been no. He borrowed the Raider's code: showing no mercy guarantees survival.

"Wait. You're hurt. Let me take care of your burns," the female called after him, indicating the white patches of scorched flesh on Ray's lower limbs.

"What? Oh, that fire at the gathering tried to use me as kindling, but I got away and made it here, didn't I? So I don't need your help or anyone else's. Salt water and freedom will heal all of my wounds," he declared. He and his skiff were now in the water.

Promise Point sat in a shallow cove where the sea and wind were made calm by a curved spit of land that jutted out a few hundred falos then sank into blackness. Ray had no trouble jumping into the skiff which sat surprisingly high in the water despite his weight. The lack of provisions did not concern him, since by nightfall he would be back on land. He pointed the bow south and quickly rowed out past the breaker where the sail could catch a decent breeze.

The wind came up and the sail and sea swelled. Unfortunately, the skiff was promptly turned about and dragged back toward the north. Ray was agitated but saw no point in fighting it. Gulldune would be the only sensible place for him to land. If he overshot it and tried to land along the lowlands he would be unable to walk inland through the mud pools; they would swallow him whole. And beyond the lowlands was nothing but wide-open seas. Impossible. It was as if the Raiders had control over the elements themselves.

Ray's skiff moved smoothly along the top of the water once he resigned himself to the fact that he was heading north and not south. Rensk would have to wait. He decided to stay close to the shoreline rather than go further out to where the deeper black water was. He had never seen such vast waters before. Myov was as much a savage wilderness as Theor was, and Ray was not eager to meet up with any Sea Raiders. He had seen enough Raiders to last him a lifetime.

Angry shouts from the beach at Promise Point caught Ray's attention just then. He saw Skiffers near the water, waving their limbs wildly, and yelling something. Ray held firmly to the ropes of the billowed sail, ignoring whatever it was they were saying. He had paid for his skiff and was free to leave. A splash midway between him and the beach caused him to loosen his grip. The sail went limp as he squinted at the water's surface. He soon saw what all the fuss was about. The female was on her back, her long dark limbs reaching and kicking in even alternating patterns. She was not watching where she was going so much as where she had been. Ray thought he saw someone swimming closely behind her; a large object was matching her speed, but then he realized that it was the thick sponge post that his skiff had been tied to. She must have yanked it free from the sand, carried it to the water, and was dragging it behind her with its rope around her ankle.

Her course was not in line with Ray's position. She would reach open water far behind him. He yelled out to her several times, but she kept up her expert steady strokes. Only when she was satisfied that the Skiffers were not pursuing her did she stop swimming and quickly haul in the sponge post. Ray watched as she hurled herself onto it and paddled the rest of the way out of the cove. Once she cleared the breaker, the wind tugged at her long plumes. She raised them high above her head in a broad fan that formed a brilliant blue-green sail.

Ray was impressed. He decided to stick around long enough for her to catch up with him. When she reached his position, she was smiling, her eyes were pale blue, and the spots on her flesh had faded. Her thick plumage was working well as a sail, though Ray doubted whether she could keep them raised all the way to Gulldune. "Throw me the rope and I'll tow you," he heard himself saying.

"Ah, but you were headed to Rensk," she said.

Ray opened his limbs widely. "Greater forces made other plans."

"I thought everyone knew that the winds and currents flowed north at this time of year."

He hadn't known that, only that they sometimes flowed south toward Rensk. His plans were in ruins, but he wasn't about to let it show. He shrugged his shoulders. "Gulldune it is then."

The female lowered her headdress and threw Ray the rope, expecting him to tie it to the stern in order to tow her. He pulled her alongside his skiff instead. "Get in," he said, a reckless hunch that rang of imminent trouble in his ears.

With an uneasy smile she decided to abandon the sponge post for the dry skiff. Ray hadn't felt it lean under her weight when she got in. "My name is Weann," she said in a shy voice.

Her narrow body was wedged beside Ray's with only the rudder's handle between them. "I'm Ray," he said flatly. "So . . . what do whole clans do to fit into one of these skiffs, I wonder?"

"The males hang over the sides, of course," Weann replied earnestly.

Ray looked at the sponge post and thought about getting dragged through the sea on a daylong trip up the coast. He shook his head. "No thanks, but- " A cold thought had occurred to him.

"What is it?"

"The other four who were with you . . . why haven't their skiffs gotten under sail yet?"

Weann's vigor seemed to melt. She and Ray looked back toward the beach at Promise Point. None of the other skiffs had moved from their posts near the shoreline, and no Skiffers or survivors were anywhere in sight. She knew there were three males and one other female when they fled the gathering. "I don't know. I guess they had no crystals to barter," she whispered.

They waited there a short while longer, the skiff bobbing high in the water, but there were still no signs of the others. Finally, Ray tugged at the ropes, making the sail open. He held the rudder straight until they gained speed. Then, looking directly into Weann's gloomy green eyes, he pushed the rudder hard to the left. He hit her in the chest. "Forgive me," he said. The skiff veered back into the cove. "Look over there!"

Weann sat on the rim of the stern above Ray. "Yes, I see them, but I can yell louder than you." Suddenly there was an ear-piercing screech, and Ray instantly cringed under its lethal force.

Several figures appeared high above the shore to the north of Promise Point, running in the direction of Gulldune. The female, pulled by one of the males, were the first to turn down toward the water. The other two males covered their retreat by hurling rocks and insults at the bulky Skiffers who couldn't keep up the chase. The survivors quickly scrambled onto the beach. As the four of them swam out to the skiff, Ray hauled in Weann's sponge, looped the rope around both ends of the post, and slung the center of the rope over the sternpost. "Could you hold the sail open and keep the rudder straight?" he asked Weann.

"Yes, I could do it now that I've seen how they work," she replied.

"Good, I'll be right back," Ray said and dove into the water. The second female was tired and struggling. The males stayed with her. Ray swam out to meet them. He caught hold of the female and pulled her along. He and Weann hoisted her exhausted body into the skiff shortly afterwards. All the males then grabbed onto the sponge post floating several falos behind the stern.

Weann smiled back at Ray. She pulled on the sail ropes, but nothing happened. They were too far into the cove to catch a strong enough breeze. Several Skiffers were sailing out of Promise Point to go after them. Weann dropped the ropes and grabbed the oar instead. The males kicked until the sponge post met up with the stern of the skiff. They carefully slipped it under the rudder and pressed it against the cobble root hull. Weann paddled while they all kicked. Soon they were free of the cove. When the wind came up, the males lowered the post back under the rudder and let themselves drift behind the skiff. Weann tugged on the ropes again. That time the sail opened wide. The skiff gained speed slowly, since the extra drag from the males made it sluggish, but they were soon out of range of their pursuers. All six survivors were headed north to Gulldune.

* * *

Behind them stood a grizzly row of poles from which slain Raiders were hung. Twenty beaten bodies faced the open territory to ward off the bands of Raiders who dared to attack Gulldune from time to time. Weann stared at their wicked tattoos-the telltale mark of a Raider. Each of them bore the same ghastly symbol on their lower right limb, a headless hatchling set ablaze.

The guards strode along the stone wall above the skiff. Their orange neck bands turned deep red with anticipation as they eyed the drenched males warily and the two young females with favor. Weann had heard how the males of Gulldune prized females from the outside above all other things. Anyone of these sentries would have given her all they owned if she agreed to become their mate. Had she arrived by herself they would have fought for her favor, but since she was accompanied by males they would attempt to buy her. The other female with her was still unconscious from fatigue and her color looked bad. Weann became nervous. "Ray?"

"Just tell them your sister is ill and needs tending to," he whispered from down behind her.

The guards lowered their barbed spears at the mention of a sick female. They motioned for Weann to turn the skiff into one of the narrow slips where several sea crafts of all sorts were tied up. A lesser guard was stationed above the slips, an old male hired to keep an eye on someone else's property. He offered the drenched males a rope ladder. Males were made to come ashore first in order to get checked over. One by one they abandoned the sponge post and made their way onto the dry stones. Their scant coverings could hardly have concealed any weapons and so they were cleared. "We're survivors from a raid on Fleet's gathering,"one of them said.

"Fleet's?" the little old male asked. "We had two others arrive here on foot just before you did."

Ray turned to help Weann get out of the skiff. One of the port guards went down and lifted the other female up to the stones. Her frail body hung limp in the arms of a stranger as he carried her off to a nearby shed without a word. One of the males from the gathering accompanied them.

"Someone there will tend to her," the other port guard stated. "Who owns this skiff?"

"I do," Ray replied.

The guard handed Ray a stone that had something scratched upon it. "That sign matches the one on the slip where your skiff is tied up. Show the stone whenever you sail it, or you'll be taken."

Ray didn't want to appear ungrateful for the offer to keep his property secure, but he didn't like the sound of "being taken" either. "Thanks, I'll try to remember that," he said.

Then the guard looked fondly at Weann. "Welcome to Gulldune," he said in a raspy tone.

"Weann is my mate, and she's not for sale," Ray insisted. His short plumage ruffled slightly.

The guard bowed in acknowledgment of Ray's claim then turned to question the other two males. One of them quickly declared himself Ray's brother, while the other said he was on his own. "Come with me," the guard instructed the latter. Ray understood Weann's warning then as the lone male was escorted to a different shed from the one used to process newcomers. The males had been sorted, two were with guards, and Ray and his newfound brother stood beside Weann on the threshold of the biggest and most curious gathering they had ever seen.

A sprawling patchwork of parcels were anchored at the base of Lepo, their dimensions and owners carefully measured up and consented upon by neighbors. How far up the coast they had already extended was hard to determine, since the cooking fires created a heavy layer of sour smoke over everything despite the strong wind coming off the water.

"Are we free to go now?" Ray asked the old one who had returned to his bench and fishing pole.

"Sorry, not tonight. It's too late to enter Gulldune. In the morning we'll hold a traditional collection for you. That's when we announce your arrival to the whole community, and they donate material for you to build shelters with. You can go up and claim a parcel of your own then, or buy whatever else you need if you have crystals. Besides, don't you want to see the other survivors? They're being held for the night, too, in the shed where the sick female was taken."

Ray shook his head. But the male claiming to be his brother went off to see them, saying their clan knew many of those who occupied the gathering. Weann gave the impression of wanting to see who the other survivors were too, but Ray held her firmly by the waist. He walked slowly with her toward the shed, his damp limbs around her warm body. "Haven't I already done enough for the survivors?" he whispered. "I just want a fresh start, no looking back."

Weann studied Ray curiously. "But you heard the old one. We have no choice but to spend the night down here. They have rules, so don't make trouble. Tomorrow you will have your own place, a fresh start, and the means to build it with. Are you so eager to be rid of me that you would pass up free material?"

"I don't want to be rid of you, Weann. I want my place to be yours as well. I really want you for my mate, not as a mere voucher to repay me for helping you get here." Had his hunch paid off?

"I could have any male I want in Gulldune," she stated bluntly. Her vivid headdress shimmered in the last glow of the setting sun. "I want a male . . . I want a male who's more important than the sun in the sky."

Ray suddenly realized he had no chance with her. His eyes grew large, turned green, and became sad. He loosened his grip on Weann, took a step back, and told her to go.

She didn't move. "That was a decent thing you did for us back at Promise Point. Really. We could have been captured and made to serve the Skiffers if not for you. You're a good male."

Ray's color turned pale. "No, Weann, I'm not all that good-"

"Come on, you two, get inside," one of the port guards demanded from the doorway of the shed. "No newcomers go up there until daylight."

Ray was tempted to turn around, knock over the old male, and run up toward the pungent haze of Gulldune where he could hide in the shadows. Instead he followed Weann into the dimly lit shed where they were given water, food, and a place to rest. The shaken pair of survivors bowed in greeting to them, but were too exhausted to talk of their ordeal at the gathering. The sick female was sitting up. Her male was helping her to eat. Ray slid behind Weann on the bedding after they had refreshed themselves. He buried his head in her soft plumage. She reached back and held him close, her padded talons surprisingly gentle. The shed remained under guard until dawn.

* * *

The door to the shed was unlocked and opened. Weann woke with a scream, startled by the deep voices of the guards who ordered them all outside. Ray patted her cheek then went ahead of her as they were escorted to an elevated slab of stone. Each of the survivors followed, looking uneasy but well rested. No one spoke. The lone male from the other shed was brought there too. He appeared unharmed.

From where they all stood on the slab they could see the various faces of those who brought them donations. The survivors noted that the residents of Gulldune were also better able to see them this way. Guards remained near the slab, while some of the eager onlookers moved in for a closer view. There were creatures there of all species, and of mixed species. The six survivors had never seen such diversity in a gathering. Everyone seemed enchanted by the shy beauty who stood beside Ray. Several males had stared at Weann for so long that she lifted her headdress in its full array of blue-green plumes and shook it at them furiously. The crowd laughed as the males barely escaped the acidic spit she shot at their faces. It would have left them blinded for hours.

Ray felt something cold touching him while he was trying to calm Weann. He looked down to see an old female spreading ointment on his lower limbs. He pulled them away from her, though the substance felt soothing. "These burns are serious," she stated. One of the port guards came over to take a look. "Why weren't these treated right away?" she asked the guard angrily.

"I'll tell you why," the lone male announced. His swollen eyes showed signs of fatigue. The guards may have kept him up with questions about his intentions all night. "He hid them, because he's never lived at Fleet's gathering. I would have seen him before yesterday. I've seen her before, and I know she's not his mate. Ask him who he is."

"What is he talking about, Ray?" Weann asked. The male who claimed to be Ray's brother pulled her away from him. She went but reluctantly.

Two more guards came over and asked what was wrong. The lone male went up to Ray and examined him closely. "I'll tell what's wrong. Look at the Raiders hung on those poles, and then look at this one. See their tattoos and where his burns are? He tried to hide it by burning off his own flesh. He's a Raider!"

Everyone gasped with disbelief. Their neck bands turned dark red, and their plumage trembled. Screeches were heard from nursing females as they snatched up their hatchlings and ran back up the hill. Suddenly there was yelling, spitting, and objects being thrown at the newcomers. A few outraged males hoisted a pole onto their shoulders and were clearing a path toward their victim when a thunderous plea from the crowd hollered, "Stop!" Heads turned in recognition of that voice. It was the little old male who watched over the skiffs. "Be silent," he added sternly. The massive crowd fell dumb as the old one slowly made his way past their anxious faces. The port guards bowed low to him as he approached the stone slab. Ray's heart sank into his stomach as he realized that this was their magistrate, the one he nearly knocked off his bench and into the sea.

The old one paused to discuss the marks on Ray's limbs with the female who administered the ointment. He asked Ray to show him his burns, and he did so without making a fuss. Guards held barbed spears at him just in case he tried anything foolish. The crowd strained to keep silent as ordered. The old one nodded his bald head after a time and asked, "What have you to say for yourself, young Raider?"

Another gasp leaked out of the appalled onlookers.

"I am no Raider!" Ray shouted loud enough for all to hear. "I am the eldest son of Plecot, ruler of Rensk," he proclaimed. "Eight years ago my older brothers and I were patrolling the outskirts when Raiders ambushed us. They killed my brothers and took me to serve them. And I served them well. They considered me to be one of them. Their leader, Briola, had me tattooed and took me with him on yesterday's raid. I never intended to help him destroy that gathering. I will admit to stealing this satchel of crystals and to burning this tattoo off my flesh, but I never set fire to Fleet's gathering or harmed anyone there. I only wanted to reach the coast, to buy a skiff, and to sail south to Rensk. I only wanted to go home." Ray stood there alone with his back straight.

The old one nodded again and walked away through the crowd without saying another word. Everyone bowed respectfully as he shuffled along. Somehow Ray felt better when he was standing there between him and all those accusing eyes. He couldn't bring himself to look at Weann. He fell to his knees and waited for the pole to come.

Murmuring spread among the individual clans assembled there. No one threw anything else at the stone slab. The crowd's attitude was now one of serious discussion over Ray's statements. A flood of calm questions were being directed at him, and he wasn't sure what to do. These sudden mood shifts were unexpected.

"Are you willing to tell us everything you know about this Briola and his Raiders, so we may flush them out and destroy them?" someone asked.

"We can't trust him. I say we kill him," another shouted.

"But the code of Gulldune is to grant asylum to anyone who asks for it," a female stated.

"And he saved the five of us from the Skiffers at Promise Point," Weann added. "I trust him."

A guard instructed Ray to stand up and answer the question. He smiled back at Weann. "Yes, I suppose I could tell you many useful things about them. There are thousands of Raiders, although their numbers are scattered between ten distinct regions of Theor. I could make a map of where these ten hideouts are located, but I don't see how you could hope to defeat them all."

"How could they communicate with each other over such vast distances? Their attacks are too well organized to be random," another inquired.

"Actually, they communicate through an elaborate system of scents that are carried on the wind. During part of the year the northern Raiders send scented messages to the southern Raiders, and when the winds shift they reverse roles. Their attacks are not random. They use this system to exchange information about the various gatherings throughout Theor: how many males and females there are, what provisions they have with them. And so on. Raiders produce nothing for themselves, so they rely upon these small gatherings for everything they have. That's why they leave settlements alone for such a long time before they raid them. The longer they wait the more they'll get. But they don't allow their defenses to be built up like Gulldune's or Rensk's. Briola decides when to attack a gathering, and which of his ten divisions will get the spoils. This way they're not all in one place where they could easily be found, and they're not competing with one another in order to survive."

The assemblage looked intrigued by the extent of Ray's knowledge on the mysterious Raiders. He was releived to see their smooth plumage and orange neck bands return once again. "Could these scents be copied or masked over somehow?" an old female inquired.

"Copied, no, only Raiders can produce these scents. Masked over, perhaps. When the winds change from north to south you'll have the heights of Lepo to use as a far reaching torch. You can burn whatever that stuff is you use to make cooking fires with." Ray scrunched up his nose in disgust to everyone's amusement.

"We call it Jupe. It's dried sea fibers," one of the guards explained. "There's plenty of it floating off shore. We know it stinks. I thought everyone knew the winds blew south from Nu to Ly."

"Well then you could haul Jupe to the top of Lepo and burn it from Nu to Ly. Once Briola's lines of communication are broken, his Raiders will be confused. It would be the best time to attack them, but you don't actually plan on going after them without help, do you?"

"If you truly are a prince then ask your father for soldiers to join us," someone yelled.

"Yes, of course, I could do that." The thought of going home as a true prince rather than merely a liberated prisoner shook Ray deep within his being. "Does this mean I can stay here for now?"

No one answered him. The horde of mute faces he looked into said all he needed to know. These clans were through with hiding out and being afraid all the time. Ray realized then that he would soon lead this mixed band of refugees on an all out assault against Theor's greatest oppressors. It all started when he helped rescue five survivors from a raid he should never have been at. Gulldune's first resident Raider and a prince of Rensk--the second largest shelter for weary travelers in all of Theor--was about to amass a great army, and perhaps even become more important than the sun in the sky. The questions continued as donations were carefully placed at his feet.