They reached the village two days later. Unlike the reception that had greeted the returning party during the feast a short month or so ago no one descended the hill to welcome them. They toiled up the hill alone, seeing only one or two figures moving between the buildings above.

Eselwol and the other two members of a different Family split off as soon as they reached the plateau on which the village lay, heading to their own compounds. Brin, meanwhile, led his charges to theirs.

The doors slid open jerkily, lethargically, and Rial got his first good look at the state of the people who had remained in the mountains during his journey.

The servant who had opened the door was deathly pale, dark bags beneath sunken eyes. He had painfully cracked lips, and his hands shook where he held them at his sides. He seemed distracted, confused, hardly acknowledging the arrivals.

Rial saw more like him as they made their way towards the courtyard. Not all were as sickly, but most exhibited some degree of the same symptoms. A handful were worse, sitting heads in hands on the edges of the walkways, mumbling quietly to themselves.

"What's wrong with everybody?" asked Rial quietly as they walked.

Trian, walking beside him, sniffed the air and answered.

"Can you smell it? It's stronger now."

Rial took a deep breath, drawing the air through his nostrils.

Trian was right; there was a metallic tinge to the air, a coppery taste that reminded Rial of the small blacksmiths not far from the compound. It was faint, but all around.

"What is that? It smells like... blood."

Trian cocked his head quizzically to the side as he looked at Rial. Even now, he grinned wryly.

"Great way to put everyone even more on edge, Rial," he said. "Exactly what we wanted to hear."

Indeed, Gryrne and Tamarla were looking around nervously, eyes darting from corner to corner.

"It's the water," continued Trian. "Something's wrong with it."

"It started the same day you were..." Tamarla hesitated. "The same day you were taken."

She rattled the words out hastily, as if to get them as far away as possible as soon as possible.

Gryrne picked up the thread.

"Some people say it's our punishment, for abandoning you."

Rial kept looking forward, unsure what to say, the fresh scar of recent events threatening to reopen.

"The gami do not punish the many for the sins of the few," said Brin as they reached the sliding doors that led to the courtyard.

All except Rial nodded; he wasn't so sure. In fact, it sounded exactly like something they would do. Thinking on the many tales that were used to explain local disasters - quakes, storms and floods - Rial came to the conclusion that there was more evidence for than against such collective retribution.

He did not say so, however.

They all gasped as the wall slid aside to reveal the courtyard. Everything stood as it always had, yet nothing was the same.

At first Rial thought it was something to do with the lanterns. The whole area was cast with a red pall, contrasting deep shadow with soft light. Where the white light of the lanterns usually revealed, this crimson light obscured and altered.

The faces of the stone khiladri all around were dark, fanged, their usually protective expressions now ones of suppressed power, of violence waiting to be unleashed. The swept gravel of the edges was no longer a representation of the mountains and valleys around the village, but a sea of shadows topped by waves of ochre, a surface that promised to draw down and drown the unwary traveller.

In contrast, the vivinder stood tall and bright, blossoms thicker and denser than Rial had ever seen. The tree was somehow impervious to the darkened surroundings, the blues of its leaves shining as if lit from within. The thousand-suns old organism had grown in the past few weeks, reaching up past the eaves of the surrounding walls and stretching out wide enough to blot out most of the natural light.

It wasn't the lanterns that cast the pallid red glow, Rial realised, it was the light's reflection off the water beneath.

The water that ran around the square was a deep rust colour. Rial could see the silt that filled it as they crossed over the bridge, microscopic particles floating within and clumping together to make a rank, oily film that clung to the rocks at the bottom and to the sides of the flow. A thick, glutinous foam built up at the water line where liquid met rock, the same dark colour as the stream.

The Kotaku stood staring down into it.

He was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, dressed in his usual ceremonial robes, made strange and alien in the light. The golden serpents that decorated them were less apparent, less clearly delineated, becoming one long black thread of exposed fangs and claws.

He turned as the group strode over the bridge and formed a line, bowing in greeting.

Rial did not return the bow.

"You return late," said the Kotaku. His gaze took in the group one by one, and he gave no reaction on seeing Rial. The same calm look fell on the returnee as all the others, before finally the Kotaku faced Brin.

"We have returned with Rial," said Brin, matching the Kotaku's stare.

"Yes..." said the Kotaku, eyes drifting upwards as if thinking on something else.

"Lord, the village..." started Brin, to be interrupted.

"...grows worse every day," continued the Kotaku. "The water does not... Tell me, have you seen my daughter?"

Rial's resentment at the man was suddenly swept away in shock and realisation. The Kotaku was sick. Very sick.

He must be struggling to hide it, to hold himself in check, but it was clear the man was having trouble keeping a grasp of his surroundings.

His hands, fingers barely visible under the long sleeves of the robes, were shaking violently, and he blinked erratically, eyes flickering in short, rapid motions before refocusing on Brin. It was difficult to say in this red light what his complexion was, but Rial expected it would not be a healthy one.

"I am here, father," said Tamarla, stepping forward with concern in her eyes.

"Ah, yes. And Brin," said the Kotaku, turning briefly to Tamarla and reaching out to touch her hand, an intensely familial action that was not usually performed in public. Tamarla shifted uncomfortably, though whether through embarrassment or worry Rial was not sure.

"My lord, the village is sick. The water for days around is fouled with the same crimson muck that pollutes our springs," said Brin, firmly. "We must send people out to collect clean water from other sources."

"Yes, yes," said the Kotaku. He looked old, older than Rial had ever seen him.

The Kotaku coughed, and seemed to gather his strength.

"Yes. We must have clean water. So hard to focus with this malady that is affecting us all. The heads of the Families have already discussed this..." he said, pausing in mid-sentence.

"They have, father?" said Tamarla, unable to keep quiet though it was Brin's place to speak.

"They have?" The Kotaku stared confusedly at his daughter. "Yes, yes they have. The Families met, and we have sent a score of villagers out already to gather as much as they can."

"We must send more, lord," said Brin.

"No, Brin. No. Yours is a different task. You must find the source of this pollution. Find out what is poisoning our water. This is your task."

Brin blinked at this new information, and nodded.

"That is a... good plan, Kotaku. How many may I take with me?"

The Kotaku smiled suddenly, an affable, delighted smile that reminded Rial of the times of his youth.

"Why, Brin, as many as you like!" The Kotaku clapped his hands loudly together as he spoke.

The rest looked at one another, mystified. The Kotaku was… elsewhere. Still, he had made his decision clear.

"Oh, and take that Rial boy with you, would you? A good young man, he is. Strong. Could make something of himself."

Rial was aware of the group's gaze falling on him. The Kotaku, clearly unaware who he was and oblivious to the other's reactions, continued on.

"Take who you need, Brin. Now, have you seen my daughter?"

As Tamarla stepped forward to take her father's hand, trying to hide the tears welling in her eyes, the rest of the group silently and quickly departed.