At the top of the hill, Abra could see why the river in the valley behind him widened--there was an irrigation dam between the hills so the widening of the river was really a pond behind the dam. The drop wasn't very severe, though, and certain sluices were permanently open so that the river flowed permanently into three channels. One was the original riverbed, and the other two carried water through slightly higher canals skirting the north side of the valley. Here on the south side of the river, the canals were permanently empty, and so Abra could easily see the difference that the irrigation made. Both sides of the lower valley were lush with life, but on the wet side, trees were growing, and on the drier side, it was grass and low shrubs.
But as he gazed at the south side--the grassy side--he realized that there was something wrong with the landscape. Instead of being a smooth flood plain, like the upper valley behind him where Ender was, there were several mounds in the plain below him. And there was nothing natural about the way they were laid out.
The formics had to have built them. But what were they for?
And now that he looked closely, he could see that there were even-more-artificial-looking structures here and there. They didn't look like normal formic buildings, either. This was something new and strange, and even though they were overgrown with grass and vines, they were still plainly visible.
Abra scrambled down the slope--not running, because it was unfamiliar ground, and the last thing he wanted was to sprain an ankle and become a burden on Ender. He came to the largest of the artificial mounds. It was steep-sided but covered with grass, so climbing it wasn't very hard. He reached the top and realized that it was hollow inside, and there was water gathered in it.
Abra walked the ridge line and found that at one end, two ridges extended out like legs, making a widening vale between them. And when he turned around, he realized that there were also low ridges that could be arms, and where a head would be, a large white rock glistened in the sunlight, looking for all the world like a skull.
It was shaped like a man. Not like a formic--a man.
He felt a thrill go through him--of fear, of dread, of excitement. Such a place as this could not exist. And yet it did.
He heard a voice calling his name. He looked up and saw that Ender had driven the skimmer over the ridge from the other valley and was looking for him. Abra waved and called out, "Ho, Ender!"
Ender saw him and skimmed over to the base of the steep hill where Abra had climbed. "Come up," said Abra.
When Ender had scrambled up the slope--displacing a few turves in the process, since he was bigger than Abra and weighed more--Abra gestured to the body-like structure of the artificial hills. "Can you believe this?"
Apparently Ender didn't see it the way Abra did. He simply looked, and said nothing.
"It's like a giant died here," said Abra, "and the earth grew up to cover his carcass."
Abra heard a sharp intake of breath from Ender, so he knew now that he had seen.
Ender looked around and pointed wordlessly at some of the smaller, vine-covered structures. He pulled out his binoculars and looked for a long time. "Impossible," he muttered.
"What? What are they?"
Ender didn't answer. Instead he walked the length of the hill, toward the "head." Abra scrambled down onto the neck and up the chin. "Somebody had to build this," Abra said. He scratched at the white surface. "Look, this skull place, it's not rock, look at it. This is concrete."
"I know," said Ender. "They built it for me."
"What?"
"I know this place, Abra. The buggers built it for me."
"They were all dead before Grandpa and Grandma even got here," said Abra.
"You're right, it's impossible, but I know what I know." Ender put a hand on Abra's shoulder. "Abra, I shouldn't take you with me."
"Where?"
"Over there." Ender pointed. "It might be dangerous. If they knew me well enough to build this place, they might be planning to--"
"To get even with you," said Abra.
"For killing them," said Ender.
"So don't go, Ender. Don't do what they want you to do."
"If they want to get revenge, Abra, I don't mind. But perhaps they don't. Perhaps this is the closest they could come to talking. To writing me a note."
"They didn't know how to read and write." They didn't even know the idea of reading and writing--that's what Father said. So how would they know about leaving notes?
"Maybe they were learning when they died," said Ender.