n groups. And that is why you are here, Jak: we
want you to go back to your people and tell them what you saw."

I shook my head. "What you say isn't logical. So what if the statues are
never in pairs or groups? We've only seen a few, when once there must
have been many. Also, when your artists do their magic with dyes and
create portraits, are they generally done one at a time or in groups?"

"One at a time, so the artist may capture the personality in each face,
naturally. I have seen group portraits, but I think they are silly
things."

"Exactly." Now I was triumphant. "Exactly as the Makers thought, which
is why the statues are always single--"

"But it is impious to say there was more than one Maker! He had all the
knowledge in the world at his fingertips, and so there was no need for
more than one. More than this world, even: he went to the stars. Or
don't you believe that?"

"Of course I believe it. Only, _they_ went to the stars, the thousands
of Makers. It isn't impious, because if you can think of one being as
great as that, try to picture thousands. Yes, thousands. That makes me
thousands of times more pious than you Onists."

He shook his head wearily. "What's the use? It is for this we are
fighting our war, and we thought if we took one of you here, showed him
the undeniable truth of our statue.... Well, will you at least return to
your people with a tale of what you have seen?"

I agreed readily enough: probably, the alternative was death. Although
Pluralists on rare occasions have been known to take Onist women as
their wives, an Onist prisoner of war was an unwanted thing. The reverse
would also be true.

* * * * *

They all bid me goodbye, except for Nari. I could not find her anywhere
in the village, and a little sadly I set out on my long journey back to
the Sunset Land. By now our raiding party had finished its work on the
small Onist village on the rim of our country, and I could do nothing
but return to my people, where we might plan new strategy against the
unbelievers.

But I had wanted to bid Nari farewell.

I met her in the woodlands, a travel bag slung over her shoulder like a
male's. "I wanted to say goodbye privately," she told me.

"Good," I said, but I knew she was lying. Else why the travel bag?

"Goodbye," Nari whispered, but she was not looking at me. Looking,
instead, behind her, at the land of her people.

"Nari," I told her, "I have to