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would be miserable, and a couple of days would be lost.
    Shonan glanced up at the stars and saw that dawn wasn’t far away. A little good luck to take the edge off a lot of bad luck. It happened sometimes. A hard rain would pound the mountains several ridges over, where you couldn’t see the clouds. The river would rise in its narrow canyon, and the few wide camping spots would get flooded.
    A hand touched his elbow. Salya. “I’m sorry, Father, it’s my fault.”
    True enough. If Salya hadn’t pulled her trick, if they’d started on time, they would be in a fine campground downstream, where the mountains opened into foothills, and the riverbed was wide enough to stand some flooding.
    Shonan said to his daughter, “Just help take care of things.”
    In the early morning light the men scrounged up enough tinder to get fires started. People stripped out of some clothes—nudity was no issue among the Galayi—and got into others. They ate the mushy corn which had once been parched, because it wouldn’t last anyway. The grass seed they’d ground into flour they threw away. They laid their soggy meat stripsacross branches—in a couple of days the meat would dry out fine, unless it rained again.
    Spirits were as soggy as the ground, emotions muddy. Salya made tea, and Shonan’s little family gathered around to warm up from inside. Aku stuffed his belly with corn mush. Kumu munched idly, looking distracted, and then addressed Shonan.
    “War Chief, let me run back to Tusca and get us food.”
    Salya caught her breath. Clearly, she hadn’t been warned.
    As he spoke, the early sun caught Kumu’s twisted tooth and he looked silly. But Aku knew this clown was serious. He had watched Kumu play the ball game. He was a natural athlete. More important, he played like a demon of determination.
    Shonan looked at the man who wanted to marry his daughter. Kumu had a good idea. The party could walk slowly, underfed, to the Equani village and ask for food. Any Galayi village would help out. But Shonan didn’t want to come into Equani as a beggar. He wanted this journey to be a triumphal march, a procession led by a strong leader to benefit the nation. And Kumu wanted to be the hero of the moment.
    “I can be up there tomorrow before the sun sets, back here by the end of the next day.”
    That was a stretch—the first half of the journey was uphill, and on the return trip he’d have a load. Still, Kumu might do it. “I will send six other young men along,” said Shonan. “You will lead.”
    Kumu resisted smiling.
    “But this is a trade.”
    Both Salya and Kumu frowned.
    “You go home.” That word struck Aku as odd. “Tellpeople what happened. They’ll see to it that you get food. Then, when the party returns, six men come back and you stay in Tusca.”
    “Father!” snapped Salya.
    Shonan held up a placating hand.
    “If you will grant me this favor, I will give permission for the two of you to be married at the Harvest Ceremony.”
    Salya still looked mad, but Kumu’s eyes lit up. The three great annual ceremonies, the Planting Moon, the Harvest Dance, and Sun-Low Dance, those were the traditional occasions for weddings, with all the Galayi people there to celebrate.
    Before Salya could object again, Shonan said, “Aku and I have a surprise for you.”
    Aku told his twin sister and Kumu about his lover, Iona, daughter of Oghi, seer of the Amaso people. “When I saw her the first time at the Planting Ceremony,” Aku said, “we …” Salya put her hand on her brother’s and squeezed it.
    Shonan said to Salya, “I had intended to give you to the grandson of the chief. But I am willing, instead, to give Aku to Iona, the daughter of the seer.”
    Salya covered her face with her hands.
    Shonan turned to his son. “But you can’t be like these two, and spend every night together before the ceremony.”
    Aku grinned and nodded. He thought, The afternoons will do fine .
    “Let’s do it like this. We’ll have two