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"Do not worry about it," Trima said. "There are other things you can help with. A runner has come and said the traders will be here by nightfall. We need to build a fire and prepare the feast. Perhaps you would be more use assisting there man being engrossed in painting pots."

He looked at her closely. Her voice was dead serious-but was that a hint of a twinkle in her eye? Did Trima actually have a sense of humor? He was probably imagining it. But he would have bet his pots would make anyone laugh. Well, except maybe for Resul.

"Happy to help," he said, getting to his feet. "Let me wash the evidence of my crime from my hands and I'll be there in a moment."

The minute the words left his mouth, he desperately wished them back. Trima did not react, but he sensed something-a chill in the air, where before there had been camaraderie and even humor. He forced a smile and went to rinse off his hands. She left without saying anything.

The water in the basin turned a blue-black color. There wasn't enough to completely rinse his hands, so he wiped them dry as best he could with a makeshift towel and headed outside.

Did Trima know what had really happened to Matroci? Certainly, directed-energy technology wasn't something that the Culilann encountered on a day-today basis, but they weren't ignorant of its existence, either. The Ice Princess had always struck Tom as being a little more savvy than some of the other inhabitants of Sumar-ka. She might know enough to realize that Matroci's death wasn't just caused by smoke inhalation.

By the time he reached the central, cleared area where he and Chakotay had been guests at a feast in their honor, many of the villagers were assembled. The fire was already going. Laughing, several women prepared a roast something-or-other-Tom still couldn't keep the names of the wildlife straight-by rubbing it with oils and herbs.

He called a welcome and was rewarded with smiles. Paris plunged in to help eagerly, and soon his skin was

covered with soot and perspiration from working so near the fire.

"So," he said to Winnif, who was peeling fruits with which to stuff the Something-Or-Other prior to roasting, "it seems like everyone is anxious to meet with the traders."

"Of course we are!" laughed Winnif, a hint of "silly boy" in her voice. "It is the only time we get to meet Strangers, except when they arrive unexpectedly like you did. We will have new fabric with different colors, and pottery of different shapes, and new foods to enjoy. Sometimes, they even bring the young of certain animals, that we may breed them and either use their fur or their flesh."

"Will they undergo the Ordeal as well?'

"Only rarely. They usually come from the nearest village, and they will bring a token from the Culil which shows that they have been determined to be acceptable to the Crafters."

"Lucky them," said Tom, and smiled. Winnif didn't seem uncomfortable by his alluding to the Ordeal. It was just a part of their culture. They were not embarrassed. Only Soliss had expressed remorse and resentment over the tradition. Soliss, who was the only Culilann who had a counterpart in Alilann society. Could he have pressed a weapon to Matroci's chest and coldly left him to die? It did not gibe at all with what a healer stood for. But people had been known to do things that went against what was expected of them before now.

"What about the runner who came earlier?"

"He stood at the edge of the jungle and shouted his news. He didn't come into contact with anyone. He'll join the rest of his group when they arrive. By the way," she added, looking up at him, "I saw Resul on my way here. She wants to know if you are done painting her pots."

Far too slowly for the people of Sumar-ka, it would seem, the suns finally sank below the horizon. Blue skies turned to purple, then faded to gray after a few moments of a spectacular sunset in which scarlet, gold, orange, magenta, and lavender spread their glorious hues across the skies.

Paris helped light