The Astrate is a cold, hard land. Situated upon the plateaus and cliffs at the top of the northeastern mountains, it has the highest elevation of any place inhabited by mankind. The ground is smooth, frigid stone, weathered enough to be covered with a thin layer of gray sand. Only a few hardy plants add color to the gray landscape, most prominently the tough and useful shrub hyra. The atmosphere is thin, the wind constant and brutal. The only time the elements relent slightly is during a brief period at the peak of high summer, which was still three months away.

The people of the Astrate mirror their environment. Fierce, stoic, humorless, they live outside, needing no shelter against the violent wind. The Astrateals form one nomadic tribe, always moving in search of water and game to hunt. Food comes mainly from small mammals and cliff-dwelling birds � all except the eagle. Eagles are sacred to Astrateals, and their main god, known as Sa'Kero, takes the form of a giant golden eagle.

From the dawn of their lives Astrateal children are trained to be hardworking and disciplined, with little time for play or relaxation. The entire purpose of childhood is preparation for the main ritual of a person's life, performed when the child enters womanhood or manhood. The ritual is a test, called Sagreu, that involves making a leap over a massive cliff, too tall to see the bottom. To fail is to die. The Astrateals believe that the will of Sa'Kero determines who passes the test � he will carry those worthy of living across on his back. Anyone who has not succeeded at Sagreu is considered less than a true human; therefore those who attempt it and fail do not deserve life.

After completion of Sagreu, life changes dramatically for an Astrateal. For a woman, life becomes the total opposite of what it had been to that point � she is pampered and treated royally, almost worshipped. Men often choose to enter into a period of intense physical training, during which a group leave the tribe and do not return for two to five years. After this, they are assigned by ritual to women as fealtains, dedicating their life to protecting her from all danger. A woman is assigned her first fealtain immediately after completing Sagreu, and she may acquire many more throughout her life. A man, however, may be sworn to one woman only.

Rituals centered around Sagreu, also the name for the cliff, have caused considerable conflict between the Astrateals and the people who live in the mountains literally below them, called the Petrogeans. Sa'Kero is believed to reside in depths of Sagreu, and sacrifices of food, material goods, and occasionally people are delivered over the Cliff to him. Petrogeans, having discovered the place and the rituals that occur there, will wait below with massive nets stretched across the gorge, to capture whatever food or goods are thrown over. Petrogeans are an efficient race, as well as a strictly moral one with no love for Astrateals and their savage ways. Astrateals are enraged to the point of war by the Petrogeans' blasphemous actions. Besides stealing sacrifices, the Petrogeans will also catch young females who fail Sagreu and subsequently enslave them, but this doesn't anger the Astrateals quite as much because these girls are unworthy of life anyway. Nevertheless, the two mountain peoples have hated each other and been in conflict for all of remembered time.

Three humans had recently entered the Astrate. Two were native Astrateals returning to their homeland. One of these was a seventeen-year-old woman named Det; the other her fealtain Naverwepol. Three months earlier Det had been summoned away from the Astrate to the Ground Earth, the flat land at the base of the mountains. Naverwepol had been ritually assigned as her guardian, much to Det's dismay. In the Ground Earth the two had met people from all the regions of the world, called in the same manner, and learned much, though the reason for their mysterious summons was still unknown. However, in the Ground Earth they had discovered that the entire world was in grave danger. A new race of people, who actually lived beneath the ground, had emerged from the underworld with ambitions of taking the earth for themselves. They were more numerous and far more powerful than any race known to exist, and to combat them in attempt to protect their homeland, all the other races would have to join together. That was the reason Det and Naverwepol had returned to the Astrate now � to try to persuade their people to unite with those from the earth's other, lower, lands.

The third person in their party was a Petrogean. Mathielan Bel-Evan and Wyndan Gara-Luxan were two of those the Astrateals had met in the Ground Earth, and despite an initial instinctive hatred of each other, the four had become excellent friends during their travels. Now they were all returning to their highland homes for the same purpose. The group had climbed the mountains to Petrogea first, and things had gone badly there. Wyndan had been taken immediately back to her family, and Mathielan arrested and banished for her kidnapping, though Wynd had chosen voluntarily to leave. His bringing two Astrateals back with him had further worsened Mathielan's situation, and his people had elected to have him killed. Between him and Naverwepol, they had escaped � Astrateal fealtains are the world's most skilled fighters. So, having nowhere else to go, Mathielan now accompanied Det and Naverwepol to their homeland, hoping that in the Astrate they would fare better.

As the three had made their way up through the mountains, Mathielan's thoughts had been torn between fear of where he was going and bitterness at his exile. His mind turned to one of the other people they'd met in the Ground Earth, a professor of history in an earthling city. Dr. Chandler was actually half Petrogean and half Astrateal, born of the rape of an Astrateal slave by a Petrogean. Both father and son had been exiled from Petrogea when they were found out. Mathielan wholeheartedly agreed with the sentencing: the father's for his evil act and the son's for being a Petrogean and an Astrateal in one person, which was just disgusting.

Now the three walked across the desolate Astrate, their footsteps scraping on the sandy stone floor. Det used Naverwepol's heavy spear as a walking staff. Through the howling mountain wind she heard the shriek of her eagle friend, Tlen, and she smiled and turned her eyes skyward. She'd been given Tlen four years ago when she'd completed Sagreu and been born as a true human, or sabaent woman. Though Tlen flew free, she visited Det often, and the two had a close relationship. On the way down to the Ground Earth Det had felt more companionship from Tlen than from Naverwepol. Det had been very disappointed when Naverwepol was the fealtain assigned to protect her on this journey � he was the newest of her fealtains, and the youngest, and the one she deemed least worthy of her. She'd spent much of the trip attempting to escape him, though of course he never, ever let her alone. Strangely, though, Det found herself appreciating his presence for the trip back.

Naverwepol was little more eager to locate the tribe of Astrateals than was Mathielan. Once they found their people, Det would reunite with the rest of her fealtains, and she'd have no further need for him. Naverwepol loved Det with all his heart and mind and life, as all fealtains did their women, but somehow he felt his love surpassed that of the rest. Though a kind word from her was rare and most of what he received for his efforts was scorn, he'd enjoyed having her to himself for these three months, enjoyed them more than any other time of his life. There was nothing he could do to prolong it, though � only duty was meant to be fulfilled, not personal wishes or desires.

The first sign that they were nearing the Astrateal tribe was a sudden knife that spun through the air just feet above Mathielan's head. He froze, and the others jumped around to face the direction from which the knife had come, scanning the area.

"There." Naverwepol nodded to a nondescript cluster of rocks about fifteen meters away.

The others looked. Det nodded; Mathielan saw nothing. Det moved in front of him, planting herself between him and the rock cluster. When he tried to push her away, behind him, she explained, "They will not attack again. They missed intentionally, so as not to chance hitting me. They only want to stop us from coming any closer to the tribe."

Astrateals began emerging from the rocks, as Naverwepol had predicted. Four of them walked over, and none of the travelers discounted the idea that more could be there still. All were dressed as Naverwepol was: loose leather shirts belted at the waist, hyrin leggings, and moccasins. All had blond hair and the piercing blue eyes characteristic of highlanders. Feathers decorated the attire of all but one, who looked the youngest of the group. Knives hung from their belts. Mathielan did not understand how Astrateals survived in their mountaintop environment wearing so little � he was shivering with cold even in his heavy Petrogean clothing.

"Det." The four men each recognized her and bowed. "Naverwepol." They glared at him accusatorily. "Why have you not killed this intruder?"

"He is no intruder," Det explained. "Nor is he an enemy. He is no longer a Petrogean. His own people have banished him from their land."

The four Astrateals considered this. "Why did they not kill him, then?"

"With our help, he escaped them."

The men looked unconvinced, but dutifully submitted to a woman's authority. They still looked at Naverwepol as if he were a traitor for not killing the Petrogean before he'd come this far. One asked Det's permission to kill Mathielan. Of course, she refused to grant it, still shielding him from the four of them.

"Then we must take him to the chief," one of the Astrateals said. Det and Naverwepol both nodded. "Yes," Det told him. "We must all see the chief. Will you accompany us?"

It was more an order than a question, and the four men all bowed in obedience. One whistled, a sharp sound that pierced the thin atmosphere, and ten more Astrateals emerged from various places among the rocks to join them as they followed Det deeper into the Astrate.

* * *

Scattered vestiges of civilization � ashes from fires, unraveling clothing, discarded weapons � indicated that they were approaching the center of the area the Astrateal tribe was currently using as their base. Mathielan could hardly see any of the place, as the Astrateals had him completely surrounded and most were taller than he was. It was all right; there wasn't much to see. Bleak, cold stone stretched in every direction, and gray sand from its weathering by the vicious wind covered the floor. Among the earthlings his land had a reputation for being cold and barren. The Astrate was even more of a Rock Land than Petrogea was.

Naverwepol spotted the tribal chief up ahead, wearing a hyrin dress dyed a deep blue and laced with eagle feathers. Feathers also hung from the leather cord around her head. Fifteen men flanked her; fourteen fealtains and one man so old his hair was white. This man was the elder, the oldest Astrateal alive. Det walked calmly up to the chief and bowed. All of the Astrateal men who'd come behind her knelt, lowering their heads to the dusty floor, and Naverwepol pulled Mathielan down to do the same.

The chief noticed the Petrogean in the group but made no mention of him. "I welcome you home, my daughter Det, and am glad to see you've returned safely from the hostile lands below. Your young fealtain has done well."

Det shifted her feet, never liking to admit that Naverwepol did anything well. Naverwepol's cheeks grew warm with embarrassment at being complimented.

"Why have you come to me now, my child? And what have you brought with you?"

Det took a deep breath. "Your highness, I've come to report to you the happenings I've witnessed in the Lowlands. I have seen and learned much in the Ground Earth, as they call it. We�we cannot confine ourselves to the Astrate any longer, nor fight against the Petrogeans. We are needed to fight a much larger battle, far below, for the entire world."

A murmur ran through all of the men, both those on the ground and those guarding the chief. She held up her hands to silence them all, and took a step toward Det.

"Your request is ridiculous, my daughter," she admonished calmly. "The Petrogeans must be stopped, or they will destroy us all. I will speak to you at length about voicing such a suggestion in front of a chief and elder." Det hung her head, then looked up when she heard Tlen shriek overhead. The chief continued, "Now what of the second matter? This Petrogean scum you've brought back with you?"

"Your highness, I have befriended this man during my travels. He is no longer a Petrogean � he has been exiled from Petrogea. I would like for him to be allowed to remain here."

This brought a ripple of dissent even larger than the first one. Det heard several of the chief's fealtains ask her permission to kill the Petrogean. Without lifting his head, Naverwepol grasped the handle of one of his daggers. Next to him, Mathielan just shuddered.

The chief signaled for silence again, then said to Det, "My fealtains have requested to kill this Petrogean. I am inclined to grant their request. Can you give me a reason why I should not?"

An idea began to rise in Naverwepol's mind; a crazy, impossible idea that just might have a chance of saving his friend's life. But he could not rise or speak out loud to make it known without permission.

"I�" Det's voice was helpless. "I repeat, your highness, that he is not a Petrogean any longer, despite his appearance and dress. He has defended me in battle, even against his own people. I ask that he not be treated as one of them."

"He may not consider himself Petrogean, child," the chief sternly informed her, "But he is no Astrateal, either. Certainly no sabaent. He has done nothing to deserve for his life to be spared."

Naverwepol tried to will Det to realize his idea, to force it into her mind. He looked up and focused his piercing blue eyes on her. And when, in desperation, she looked back at him, he silently mouthed the word to her. Sagreu.

Det's own eyes grew wide with the realization. Above the bloodthirsty rumble of the crowd around her, she shouted out, "Sagreu! This man, this Petrogean, will attempt Sagreu! He will become a true Astrateal, if it is within the will of Sa'Kero. The right to try cannot be refused anyone!"

This time a loud protest swept through the crowd, and several kneeling men stood. The Astrateals were plainly outraged that any Petrogean could be allowed to participate in their most sacred of rituals. Naverwepol was torn between rushing to protect Det or Mathielan. Tlen shrieked again.

"Silence!" the chief bellowed, and all the male mutterings cut off immediately, leaving only her ringing, majestic voice echoing among the cliffs. She turned back to Det.

"My daughter, you are correct that no one is ever refused a chance at Sagreu, an attempt to be proven a sabaent, but certainly no Petrogean has ever asked it before. I will consult with the priestess to decide whether to grant your wish." She spun and left them, her fourteen fealtains following, all shooting menacing looks at the lone Petrogean in the crowd. Det bowed to the chief's back as she walked away, and the men behind her began to stand, and talk among themselves.

Mathielan was shaking as he turned to Naverwepol. He understood none of what had just happened, beyond that he was still alive. "Pol, what did she just say I'd do?"

"Don't call me that!" Naverwepol hissed. "Especially not in front of other Astrateals!" His voice mellowed. "In order to become a true human, an Astrateal must pass a test called Sagreu. If you succeed, they will not harm you. If you choose not to do it, they will kill you today."

"What if I fail it?" Mathielan whispered back.

Naverwepol shook his head. "Then you will be dead," he said. "But do not speak of that."

The tribe's chief returned, leading a shorter woman wearing fewer feathers along with her. Everyone silenced again.

"Clear a path to the Petrogean," the priestess ordered, her voice quiet but firm. The men quickly moved aside. Naverwepol clasped his friend's shoulder in a brief gesture of encouragement before stepping away.

The priestess walked through the crowd right up to Mathielan, disgust but not fear evident on her face. No fealtains followed her. She held a knife up in front of her. Mathielan eyed it warily but did not step back.

"This test will require a lock of the Petrogean's hair," the priestess explained, speaking to the Astrateals surrounding them rather than to the man right before her.

She pinched a large clump of his hair between two fingers, contacting it as little as possible. The expression on her face showed her revulsion at touching a Petrogean. She raised the knife (it made Mathielan quite uncomfortable to have an Astrateal holding a knife that near his head), and began sawing gently at the hair in her hand. Mathielan relaxed a centimeter.

Suddenly a sharp pain shot through Mathielan's head, and he gasped and jumped away from the priestess' grasp. Five Astrateals immediately seized him, while others moved in to protect the three women.

"No, no, no!" the priestess shouted, fighting her way out from behind the men. When she stepped back into Mathielan's view, he saw that she was clutching a handful of his own dark hair. He breathed a sigh of relief � the piercing pain had not been her knife entering his head, only his hair being pulled out. The priestess peered at him. "What is your name, Petrogean?" she asked.

Mathielan was surprised to be addressed and it was a moment before he could speak. "My name is Mathielan Bel-Evan," he finally managed to say. The priestess turned back to the crowd. "Mathielanbelevan has passed the test. He did not cry out when struck with pain, an important trait for a sabaent. His ceremony will take place at sunrise. Release him."

The rough arms binding Mathielan loosened; the knives held against his neck lowered. Det and Naverwepol stepped forward to him. Mathielan thanked the Overlord that during the test he'd been too panicked even to find his voice.

"Is that it?" he asked Naverwepol. "Was that the Sagreu? Did I pass it?"

Half of those who heard looked at him in disbelieving scorn; from the other half came a very rare sound, the sound of Astrateal laughter.

* * *

News of Det's return and the excitement that had accompanied it spread quickly through the tribe. Before the gathered crowd had completely dispersed, under strict instructions from both chief and priestess that the Petrogean was not to be harmed, the four of Det's fealtains who'd remained in the Astrate while she undertook her strange journey had found her. Det was happy to see them, to see the men she'd loved and trusted to protect her for the last four years, and they were beyond relieved that she was back safely. She left Naverwepol and Mathielan and let her fealtains carry her off into the evening. Tlen screamed above her, and on some strange impulse Det looked back at the two men with whom she'd come. Naverwepol's face was, as usual, resolved into that idiotic longing gaze. But this time Det almost felt as if she wanted to return the look, as if she actually wanted Naverwepol with her instead of all the rest. She shook off this confusing thought and turned back to her fealtains.

Utterly dejected, Naverwepol stared off as his love was carried away on the shoulders of her other men. He was a fool, he told himself. For all the shame and disdain and belittlement that were all she'd ever given him, he'd dared to hope that during their journey her feelings had changed. Dared to hope that his love might someday soon be returned. He was a fool.

Det did not return until nighttime, when the three walked a distance away from the main camp to sleep. They all felt safer with as much ground between the Astrateals and Mathielan as possible, and none of the Astrateals wanted the Petrogean close by, either.

Astrateal nights make Astrateal days seem warm and mild. It didn't bother Det or Naverwepol at all. Mathielan could not have slept that night in any conditions, since Naverwepol had explained to him what Sagreu entailed, but he still wished the relentless wind and cold would ease off a few moments. He clutched his layers of heavy clothing around him tightly, and tried to distract himself from nature's harshness by asking his friends questions about the impending test.

"Can you two give me any advice? Having passed Sagreu already and all?"

Det and Naverwepol exchanged a glance. "No." Both shook their heads. "The secrets of the Sagreu remain at the Cliffs," Det said, and Naverwepol added, "Your help in the test must come only from yourself and Sa'Kero."

Mathielan sighed. "I'll need more help than that, Pol."

"Use my full name, Mathielan, or don't address me at all."

Mathielan just shook his head. "If I somehow do pass, and become a sabaent, will I have to shorten my name?" he asked.

Det laughed. "No, only women do that. Men leave their names long and awkward, to dissuade people from speaking to them unless absolutely necessary. It reminds them of their low worth."

"Don't worry," Naverwepol added. "You may not have an Astrateal name, but 'Mathielan' is awkward enough to say. They'll let you keep it."

"Thanks." Mathielan wondered if Pol were serious or if he'd chosen that moment to develop a sense of humor. Probably he was just thrilled to be sleeping next to Det, Mathielan reasoned. "You're sure there's no way around this? If I refuse to jump I'll die immediately on their spears? I suppose being smashed on the ground below is at least a better way to die. But this is hopeless � I'm doing this all to try to convince the Astrateals that Petrogeans are people too, and really not all that bad, and we should all join forces and become friends. What do you two think the chance is that that'll actually happen? Every other sentence I hear here is another man asking to kill me!"

"Once you are a sabaent, that will end," Det promised.

Mathielan stared at his friends with his own piercing highlander eyes. "I am going to die!" he cried.

"All Astrateals must prove that they are worth their life," Naverwepol said simply.

"I AM NOT AN ASTRATEAL! I don't want to be one!"

"But you must become a sabaent, or your life truly is worthless. You've got a good shot at making it. I survived it three years ago. Det did it four � she was barely more than a child."

"You'd spent your entire lives to that point preparing for Sagreu, though. Everything you did went toward that purpose."

Naverwepol shrugged. "That isn't what ultimately determines whether a person survives or falls. It depends on the will of Sa'Kero."

"Pol � Naverwepol � no invisible god shaped like a giant eagle is going to lift me up and carry me across those cliffs!" Mathielan said, exasperated.

"Do not speak of Sa'Kero in that tone, Mathielan," Naverwepol said sternly. "Especially not the night before you attempt Sagreu." His voice softened. "Have faith. Faith can carry you far."

Mathielan shook his head, but as he opened his mouth to argue he froze, at the clang of steel inches from his face. By the time his head had turned enough to see his attacker Naverwepol was up and dueling with two armed men. Mathielan could barely follow their fight in the darkness. Finally, Naverwepol won out and sent the others away. He returned and sat on the ground, breathing the cold air in heavily. "They will not be back tonight," he managed to say. "But let's stay on our guard."

"Pol, I�" Mathielan began, but Naverwepol cut off his thanks with a shake of his head, as if none of this were out of the ordinary.

"You should sleep, Mathielan. It's only a few hours till sunrise, when we'll all travel to Sagreu for the ceremony. I'll protect you."

"As will I," said Det, lying down just beside him. "No one will dare attack you if it means a risk of harming me." She leaned up close against him. Mathielan felt a hint of comfort.

Naverwepol stared down at them for a full minute, his mouth hanging open in a protest he never made. Then he shrugged, accepted losing his night next to Det, and lay down on his stomach on the cold stone nearby, keeping a careful watch on their surroundings the whole time.

* * *

Attackers came twice more during the night, but all were turned aside with no harm done. Mathielan did not sleep at all. Shortly before sunrise, Det turned to him and whispered, too softly for Naverwepol to hear, "Close your eyes as soon as you jump, to avoid flinching and hesitating when you look into the sun. You have to conserve as much momentum as possible." Then she announced to all of them that it was time to go to the priestess.

As they walked back through the frozen morning Mathielan prayed to the Overlord that he'd live to see another night. They reached the area where most of the tribe had slept, and found the priestess with the chief and elder. Then Det and Naverwepol released their Petrogean friend into her hands.

Apart from the rest of the tribe, the priestess began preparing Mathielan for the ritual. She told him to strip off all of his Petrogean clothes, and gave him only a hyrin loincloth to wear instead. Then she sat him on the ground and poured water over his head, saying some unintelligible prayer or chant as she did so. The water had been melted from snow, and might as well have been ice. Mathielan clasped his hands to his bare shoulders and shivered in cold and fear. Then the priestess once again raised a knife to his head, and this time began to shave all of his dark hair off his head in strips and clumps. He sat through it stoically, trying to control his shaking.

After speaking with Det and Naverwepol, the chief sent one of her fealtains off for a long horn of hollow bone. When he brought it she blew into the mouthpiece, and the sound echoed through the mountains, calling everyone to gather together and begin walking in the direction of the rising sun, to Sagreu, for the ceremony.

Though the chief's fealtains surrounded Mathielan closely to assure he could pose no threat to their woman, it was Det and Naverwepol who stood closest to him on either side, as they trekked toward the massive cliffs called Sagreu. At one point Naverwepol whispered in his ear, "Reach your arms out in front of you when you jump, Mathiel, to make your body into a wedge shape. Many put theirs out to the sides, like a bird's wings. It works better to minimize the air resistance going forward than to attempt to brake your downward fall." Mathielan swallowed and nodded, grateful for the forbidden hints his friends were giving him.

A moment later the priestess ordered them all to stop marching. Far in the distance, the edge of the Cliff was visible. The other side was not. The priestess, at the front of the group, turned to face Sagreu.

"O great Sa'Kero, powerful beyond power and free beyond freedom, we call you to your sacred Cliffs. We ask for your discernment, great lord, in determining whether this man, Mathielanbelevan, will be a sabaent. Come speedily to us and save his life if he is worthy to keep it; destroy him if he is not. Only you, Sa'Kero, in your great wisdom, can know the truth." She spread her arms wide. "Let Sagreu commence!"

The chief sounded her horn again, and all of the Astrateals stepped back from around Mathielan. The priestess signaled him forward. Free of the crowd, he could finally see the leap he would have to make, squinting into the sun to make it out. His heart sank as he realized the distance between the two sides of the Cliffs. For a while he'd believed he actually had a chance, actually thought he was going to live. But this leap was impossible for any human! Impossible! He wanted to cry or beg, but knew the Astrateals were a people without mercy; wanted to run and hide, but there was nowhere for him to go.

Have faith, have faith, Mathielan tried repeating Pol's words of advice to himself. It was useless. He had no faith, not in himself, not in this eagle-god Sa'Kero, not even that his own Overlord would save him. The jump was just too far.

Naverwepol willed Mathielan not to give up. He wanted desperately for the Petrogean to make it, not so much because it was a start toward uniting their people, and therefore the fate of the world could depend on his succeeding, but because the two had become true friends in their time together and he didn't want for his friend to die. Suddenly Naverwepol felt a warm hand clutching his. He looked and saw Det standing next to him, willing their friend to survive as strongly as he was. Tlen screeched overhead, and the energy that coursed through Pol at that contact was enough that he could have leapt over five Sagreus. And all he wanted to do was pass it on to Mathielan.

The chief, for a third time, raised the trumpet to her lips, and gave the signal to go.

Mathielan ran, for all his life was worth, toward the sun rising against the jagged horizon. A thousand tiny dust particles bore into the exposed skin of his face and scalp and chest and the thin, frigid air at which he gasped stabbed his burning lungs. The edge of the Cliff was ten meters away. He was upon it. He jammed his bare right foot into the sharp ground and hurled his body up and out. He closed his eyes to avoid flinching at the dazzling light, and reached his arms straight forward as far as they'd go. For four seconds that felt a lifetime, his feeble human body hurtled though the frozen open atmosphere miles above the ground.

Then he began to fall. The rushing air suffocated him and he closed his eyes, unable to scream; unable to breathe; afraid to think. And in a fraction of a second, the fall ended.

Mathielan's body was crushed against the stone and he skidded across the dusty floor. His bare skin was scratched and scraped and he bled out onto the cold ground, on the far side of Sagreu.

Det and Naverwepol jumped into the air and shouted in victory. Their companions looked at them darkly. At most Sagreu ceremonies the crowd's reaction would have been the same as Mathielan's friends,' but clearly most of the Astrateals had been eager for the Petrogean to fall. Whether they liked it or not, though, now that Mathielan had been proven a sabaent, they would have to accept him as their equal.

The priestess led the trudging crowd around the Cliffs the long way, Det and Naverwepol still hand in hand. Mathielan was so overwhelmed with pain and emotion that he could hardly stand upright. Even with it over, he could not believe that he had done it.

He spent the rest of the ceremony in a bit of a daze, as the priestess proclaimed his birth as a sabaent and the chief announced that he would from now on be allowed to exist among the Astrateals, as one of them, if he so chose.

As one of the Astrateals, Mathielan thought as she spoke the ceremonial words. A Petrogean and an Astrateal in one person. He suddenly expected that it would take him a long time to fully understand what he had become. And to fully understand the consequences of this morning's events, for the entire world.

"You've done it, Mathiel," Pol whispered to him when the ceremony was done. The crowd had begun to disperse, but the shock on Mathielan's face had not lessened. "You are alive. You've succeeded. And our first step toward unity has been made."

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