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that someone had arranged the unfortunate accident.
    Ussa almost hadn’t come to Creck at all. It seemed foolishly risky. But there was another, too, who’d contacted Ussa. A Sangheili who called himself ‘Quillick, which was an ancient word, from Sanghelios, for “small hunter,” a little animal known to catch mammals for farmers. Clearly it was this Sangheili’s code name. ‘Quillick’s communication was folded in with Muskem’s: There isa place where much can be found to help you. It is a world no one knows. But I know . . . I fought beside your uncle at Tarjak, under the stone trees . . .
    What could this mean? Was this the fantasy of some eccentric? But the remark about Tarjak and the stone trees referred to a story his uncle had told him—one his uncle was reluctant to tell. Covenant agents were unlikely to know about Tarjak and the stone trees—the gallery built of petrifactions, a long-extinct forest. There a small but vicious battle, clan against clan, had gone on for several bloody cycles.
    The note had promised a place where much can be found to help you. It is a world no one knows. Ussa had been intrigued enough to take the risk of visiting the colony at Creck.
    He had little hope in finding this ‘Quillick now, and it was difficult to know who else to contact here. No sane Sangheili would talk openly of joining the resistance to the Covenant—and few would talk even secretly. The Writ of Union is written , was the phrase Ussa had heard so many times that he wanted to scream when it was repeated to him. It cannot be unwritten .
    Now Ussa repeated the trite point to his mate, but his voice was bitter. “The Writ of Union is written—it cannot be unwritten. This was said over and over. Someone has gotten to these Sangheili.”
    â€œHow can you be so certain?”
    â€œTo hear them all repeating the same declaration—they have been told to do so. And every Sangheili I spoke with appeared miserable. They knew they were being dishonorable cowards.”
    Sooln tapped one of her mandibles thoughtfully. “What else can they do? It’s not as if there is some clear enemy of Sanghelios left to fight. If that were the case, they would be there in the heart of battle. But this is the Council of City States—it is Sangheliositself, threatening them. Yet they know we should not be surrendering to the San’Shyuum.”
    â€œAnd Muskem was our contact for finding ‘Quillick. Our visit here could be a waste of time.”
    The lift hummed on for a few moments, getting cooler almost by the second as it left the zone of active volcanism. Then Ussa looked fondly at Sooln—compact, perhaps a bit uppity and bold for a female Sangheili, but also delicate and petite . . . or so it seemed to Ussa. Her mind was quicker and more analytical than his, he knew; she had a genius for science that he lacked. “Sooln, perhaps you’re speaking this way about the Writ of Union to please me. Perhaps you wish, for the sake of our lives together, that I would accept the Covenant . . .”
    She clamped her mandibles in amusement. “I believe as you do. I do not trust the San’Shyuum. Their vision of a Great Journey is fantasy.”
    â€œI fear that I should not have brought you. Do you believe anyone has detected us? The death of our contact concerns me . . .”
    â€œI haven’t noticed any drones following us; I haven’t seen any spies lurking about watching us. There was that elder Sangheili yesterday, but—he never spoke to us . . .”
    â€œWhat elder Sangheili?”
    â€œYou failed to notice him? He followed us from the mines, back toward the spaceport. But he was slow, weary, scarred . . . He could not keep up. I thought perhaps he wanted to join us, but when I looked back again, he was gone. He seemed too feeble to be a Covenant