I now undertake to tell my master Hakatri's story, or at least the parts of it that I myself witnessed, but even before I have begun I am already full of doubts. I cannot tell my master's tale without telling some of my own, but I am not the same person who journeyed so long at his side. The things that happened to us changed me almost as much as they did him, and I can scarcely remember now the person I was then. Still, this Pamon Kes will do his best to tell of what that Pamon Kes saw, heard, and felt during that fateful time.

I have no idea who will read these words, but I feel I must set them down. The years are passing; death will eventually close my eyes and still my tongue. The knowledge of such important events does not belong to me alone, but to all the heirs of the Lost Garden.

Still, it is a painful thing to tell unhappy truths, even from behind the shield of honesty. Many will scorn my words because of what I am-Tinukeda'ya, though we are often called "changelings" and thought by many to be a lesser kind of creature than our Zida'ya masters. But I beg those who might be angered by my tale to understand that despite all that happened, I still feel loyalty to the House of Year-Dancing and the people of Asu'a. The only way left for me to demonstrate that loyalty, and to celebrate my master, is to set things out just as I remember them, without care for the unhappiness that some might feel at seeing them revealed.

"Duty is honor," my stern father often used to tell me. "And honor is all."

But I would amend his saying. I have learned that our first duty is to truth, because without truth, honor itself is hollow.

It was in the last days of the Serpent Moon, early in the Season of Renewal, just as the weather began to turn. Everything seemed ordinary for that time of year: the sky was cold but bright above the city, as it had been for several days, and many birds sang.

After I had arisen and offered a prayer to the Lost Garden, I went to the great palace stables to oversee the care of my master's horses and watch the morning feeding to see who was fit and who was nursing some woe or wound. It seemed like any other day. All around me Tinukeda'ya of lesser rank and status than mine, mostly grooms and stable hands, hard at work even after the horses had finished eating; busy currying the beasts' fine coats, walking them out to exercise on the white sand of the great courtyard, and ministering to them in a hundred other small ways. The stables of Asu'a are filled with old, proud bloodlines, and those who tend them are proud, too.

Yohe, armiger to my master's brother Ineluki-what the mortals of the south would call a "squire"-was the only Zida'ya in the stables when I arrived. Yohe was lean even for her slender race, strong-fingered and practical, wearing her hair always close-braided so it would not interfere with her work. She was singing quietly as she introduced a nine-season foal to the moth bridle. Our eyes met, but she gave me only a curt nod of greeting. I was an armiger, just as Yohe was, but none of the Zida'ya squires ever wasted much time being courteous to me, though Yohe would at least acknowledge my presence. She also had an excuse for her less than friendly greeting: the first time introducing a young horse to the bridle is a delicate moment. Our mounts do not like having anything on their faces, even a restraint as light as a moth bridle. (I have never understood how mortals can put a bit in their horses' mouths. Our Asu'a steeds would never put up with it.) I watched for a moment as Yohe raised and lifted the "wings" of the moth with each gentle pull on the reins. The foal shuffled a little, but Yohe had a light touch and the foal remained calm, lulled by her ancient song. I returned to inspecting my master's horses.

As I was removing a stone from pale Seafoam's hoof and wondering whether to have the bronzesmith make her a new shoe, a young Tinukeda'ya stable hand came running in from the courtyard. It was Nali-Yun, his face flushed with excitement.

"Master Pamon, there are mortal men in the palace!" he announced loudly.

Yohe turned on him. "Are you witless?" she hissed at him, trying to soothe the startled foal. "Roaring like some animal! Have a care, changeling!"

I pulled Nali-Yun aside. "When are there not mortal men in the palace?" I asked him quietly. "They line up at the gates before dawn every day with things to trade or sell. They lurk around the Visitor's Court creaking like crows at everyone who passes by, hoping for an audience with the Sa'onsera and the Protector-an audience they will never get. We can scarcely take a step out of the inner palace without stumbling over some mortal or other. Why do you shout about such ordinary things?"

"You are as stiff as a stick, Pamon Kes," he complained. "My news is nothing ordinary."

"Neither is shouting in the stables." But I disliked chiding another Tinukeda'ya in front of Yohe-she and the other Zida'ya squires already thought little of our kind. "So tell me, why is the arrival of more mortals anything unusual?"

"Because it is a whole company of mortal men from the west. They have come seeking an audience-and Lady Amerasu has granted it to them. It will begin when the morning bell rings. You must go swiftly!"

"Do not make me ask for quiet again," Yohe warned him sternly.

I did my best to keep my temper with the young groom. "Why should I rush? To see a few mortal men? That is nothing new."

"Well, you still might want to hurry," he said with a grin. "Because your master Lord Hakatri wants you to come to him in Thousand Leaves Hall."

"You fool." I was truly irritated now. "You should have told me that first."

I immediately cleaned myself as best I could and hurried to the great hall, but the groom's nonsense had delayed me. By the time I reached the antechamber of the great hall the other folk of the court had already begun filing in. The largest number of them were golden-skinned Zida'ya like my master, but I could see a few bone-pale Hikeda'ya-the Zida'ya's sister clan-among them. (We Tinukeda'ya also have golden skin, but it has a less robust hue than that of our Zida'ya masters, like wine that has been watered.) The Hikeda'ya were now scarce in Asu'a-most of them had followed their self-styled queen Utuk'ku north to her mountain city of Nakkiga-which only made those remaining, with their eyes like black onyx and their skins pale as scraped parchment, stand out from the rest of the crowd. The Hikeda'ya who stayed had chosen their lives in Asu'a among the Zida'ya over blood ties, and though their northern relatives might despise that choice or even think them traitors, the Hikeda'ya of Asu'a still mingled freely with my master's folk, as if the great separation of the two clans had never happened.

As I entered, the day's first light shone from the high windows of Thousand Leaves Hall, splashing down on the myriad hues worn by the Zida'ya, both in their clothing and in the fanciful shades of their hair. Far above our heads, the light also struck brilliant gleams from the wings of the countless butterflies clinging to the sides and slender roof-beams of the sacred dome known as the Y‡sira as they slowly stirred into morning life.

On the da•s beneath the open-air dome sat the leading members of the House of Year-Dancing -most of them, that is. Pride of place of course belonged to Sa'onsera Amerasu and Protector Iyu'unigato, my master Hakatri's parents. My master's wife Briseyu was there too, holding their little daughter Likimeya, who did not seem to want to be held. Even my master's younger brother, Ineluki, had arrived and joined his family. The only member of the Year-Dancing root and bough not on the da•s was my master himself.

As I craned my neck to look around the great hall-Hakatri was usually the soul of promptness-I finally noticed the half-dozen figures kneeling at the foot of the da•s, gazing up at the masters of the Year-Dancing Clan like prisoners of war hoping for mercy. These mortals were tangle-haired and bearded, as was common among the males of that folk, dressed in rough garb made from wool and animal hides. In truth, between their unkempt hair and thick furs, I thought they looked little more than animals themselves.

The one I guessed to be their leader looked young, but he was as shaggy and unshaven as the rest, and his eyes seemed small and secretive compared to those of my master's folk-or to those of my own people, for that matter. His hair and whiskers were a fiery shade of red I had seldom seen on a mortal before, so bright it might have been dyed. I also thought I saw something open and inquisitive about his face-an unmistakable intelligence that belied his savage appearance.

Amerasu Ship-Born was also observing the newcomers, her expression calm and benign, like someone at prayer. The Sa'onsera wore her usual modest robes, gray as rain clouds or the velvety breast of a dove, but they did not make her invisible-far from it. Even her husband, great Iyu'unigato, chief protector of all the Zida'ya clans, seemed to recede into the shadows beside her. Amerasu's wise, gentle face drew the eye like a candle flame in a dark room.

Then she raised her hand and those gathered in the hall fell silent. "We give you welcome, men of the west." Her voice did not seem much more than conversational but it carried across the great hall. "You are guests in our house and need fear no harm." She then turned to the mortals' young leader. "Tell us your name and your errand."

The chief of the delegation bowed his head. "Thank you, Majesty. We are grateful that you and your husband have agreed to hear us. It is a great honor to come before the king and queen of the Zida'ya."

Amerasu's smile was gentle, but those who knew her might have recognized a flicker of...