“Mii-an talks about a spot far Upriver where the Skar undergoes … he called it a dramatic change of personality. It’s like the Tsla to ascribe such traits to inanimate objects, and he was very clear in his description of this place. It’s called the Topapasirut.”
Homat’s extreme reaction was unexpected. His eyes went very wide as he executed a half dozen powerful signs designed to ward off dangerous spirits.
“It means,” Lyra told her husband, “Cleansing Place of all the Waters.”
“That doesn’t sound very threatening.”
“I agree, but Mii-an insists we can’t pass beyond it with the boat. Hence his insistence that we accept porters.”
“Another waterfall? Satellite topographics don’t show any large waterfalls in the northern region of the Barshajagad, though admittedly pictures are less than perfect.”
“No, not a waterfall. Something else.”
“Five Tsla, Homat?”
“I dislike the presence of so many strangers on board the spirit boat, de-Etienne, but it seems we must tolerate all to gain the knowledge of one.”
Etienne Redowl considered, said finally, “Tell the one called Mii-an we accept his generous offer, but that all the porters are to be under your command.” The Mai seemed to grow several centimeters.
“They won’t stand for that,” Lyra argued.
“Won’t they? Surely your high and mighty Tsla can take orders from a mere Mai. Don’t tell me they’ll argue about it.”
“Tyl is an important scholar.”
“I said that the four porters would act at Homat’s direction, not Tyl. You’ll just have to explain to Mii-an that Homat’s been with us a long time, that he’s familiar with our boat and its workings, and that he’s our right arm. Or left, whichever they accord more weight to.”
“Neither. They’re physically as well as mentally ambidextrous.”
“We need a chain of command. It’s going to be crowded on the boat. As for letting them inside the cabin with us, I understand the need but are you sure we can trust them?”
“I trust Tyl completely, Etienne. And the porters will look on their work as the Buddhaistic equivalent of making a pilgrimage for merit. So they’ll work their hardest to make sure the expedition’s a success.”
“Tell them to hurry themselves along then, Homat. We have a long way to go.”
“To the river, de-Etienne, and to real weather! I will hurry them with delightment!”
IX 
Compared to the long climb up from the shore of the Skar, the descent was as pleasurable as an afternoon stroll through the gardens of New Riviera. In addition, the loads had been distributed among twice as many porters, the Tsla shouldering their new burdens alongside but separate from their Mai counterparts.
The Tsla joked amiably among themselves, their evident good spirits proof enough of Lyra’s claim that all were willing volunteers. Whenever Tyl moved among them they deferred to him as they would a superior, but without any of the bowing and scraping common among the Mai. The porters recognized and honored him as their mental and spiritual superior. He, in turn, did not use his position to lord it over his fellows.
There was something of a subtle hierarchy among the porters, however, as if each one knew his place without having to be reminded of it. At the bottom of the pecking order was one exceptionally large, powerful, and mentally slow individual named Yulour. He hardly spoke at all and was often the butt of gentle, nonmalicious humor on the part of his companions, to which he invariably responded with a smile. It took a while for Yulour’s slowness to manifest itself beyond a doubt, at which point Etienne slipped back from the head of the party to take Tyl aside.
“Yulour?” Etienne wished he could see if Tyl was smiling, but that weaving flexible snout concealed the lower half of his expression. “He was orphaned in the mountains, his parents slain by some carnivore he could not well describe to us. Perhaps the terror of that moment stopped his mind from growing.” Tyl made a gesture Etienne did not recognize.
“He was raised a part of Mii-an’s extended family, but it did not help him here.” Tyl tapped the side of his head. “For all that he is a goodly soul, with a kind heart, and his back is strong if his mind weak. He will gain much merit from this journey, perhaps even enough to admit him to the afterlife.”
“It’s not my specialty, more my wife’s province, but I didn’t know that the Tsla believed in an afterlife.”
“Not all of us do. I do not know if Yulour does, so I try to believe for him. He appears content with his lot, unfair as life has been to him. There are many I know who envy him his unshakable contentment. On this journey of discovery he is my greatest responsibility—save for thee and thy mate, of course.” There was no guile in those warm brown eyes.
“If he were to wander away from us he would never find his way back. Indeed, though he has lived there all his life, he could not find his way back to Turput from this spot. He would not have enough sense to follow the road.” Tyl waited and when no more questions were forthcoming, fell back among his fellows.
Everything Lyra claimed for the Tsla was borne out by each new experience. They were a kind, likable people. So why did he persist in trying to find a reason for disliking them?
He knew the answer to that one. Lyra was not fond of the Tsla. She was absolutely infatuated with them. But was that the root of his problem? He pressed on with his internal argument. No, it was something else. There was one Tsla in particular, one she spent all her spare time with, one she looked up to and turned to with every new question: Tyl.
Now there was a bizarre thought, he told himself. No question about it, Tyl was an impressive specimen of mammalian life. It wasn’t the first time Lyra had grown personally fond of some object of study.
Patrick O’Morion’s space, I’m jealous of an alien aborigine, he told himself. The shock of realization so numbed him he nearly wandered off the road toward a hundred-meter drop. Lyra noticed the dazed look in his eyes.
“Etienne? Are you okay?”
“Sure. Yeah, I’m okay.” He blinked, extended his stride until he once more assumed the lead. Lyra stared at his back, shook her head in puzzlement and hurried to catch up with him.
The Tsla brought up the rear. Tyl stood next to Yulour, dwarfed by the porter’s bulk. “Yulour?”
“Yes, Learned One?”
“What is the sign made by crossing the Oo and the Strike?”
The porter’s brow did not furrow. There was no point in straining his capacity over the mildly complex concept.
“I do not know, Learned One.”
“That’s all right, Yulour. It’s not important. Tell me, what do you think of our new friends?”
