Painful, but nothing compared to these past few days. Everything was falling apart. Gaballufix stole Wetchik’s fortune and tried to kill his sons—including both of Rasa’s own sons. Then the Oversoul commanded Luet to lead Nafai—of all people, Nafai, a mere child—down to the forbidden lake, where he floated on the water like a woman—like a waterseer. That same night, no doubt still wet from the lake of peace, Nafai had killed Gab. In one sense it was fair enough, for Gaballufix had tried to kill him. But to Rasa it was the most terrible thing she could imagine, her own son murdering her former husband.

  Yet even that was only the beginning. For on that same night, she had found out exactly how monstrous her two daughters were. Sevya, sleeping with Kokor’s husband—and Kokor then lashing out and nearly killing her. Civilization didn’t even reach into my own home. My son a murderer, one daughter an adulterer and the other a murderer in her heart. Only Issib was still civilized. Issib the cripple, she thought bitterly. Perhaps that’s what civilization is composed of—cripples who have banded together to try to control the strong. Wasn’t that what Gaballufix said once? “In a time of peace, Rasa, you women can afford to surround yourselves with eunuchs. But when the enemy comes from outside, the eunuchs won’t save you. You’ll wish for real men, then, dangerous men, powerful men—and where will they be, since you’ve driven them all away?”

  Rashgallivak—he was one of the foolish weaklings, wasn’t he? One of the “eunuchs,” in the sense that Gaballufix meant. He hadn’t the strength to control the animals that Gaballufix had brought under harness. And then Hushidh cut loose that harness and the city began to burn. In my own house it happened! Why, again, am I the focal point?

  The last insult was the coming of General Moozh, for Rasa knew now that it was he—it could be no one else. So audacious—to march to the city with only a thousand men, coming at a time when no enemy could be resisted, and when anyone willing to pretend to be a friend would be invited in. Rasa was not fooled by his promises. She was not deceived by the fact that his soldiers had withdrawn from the streets. They still held the walls and the gates, didn’t they?

  And even Moozh was tied to her, just as Wetchik and Gaballufix and Nafai and Rashgallivak had been tied. For he had come with her letter, and it was by using her name that he had first gained entry into the city.

  Things could not possibly get any worse. And then, this morning, Nafai and Elemak had come into her house—from the forest side, which meant that they had both been creeping through lands that were forbidden to men. And why had they come? To inform her that the Oversoul required her to leave the city and join her husband in the desert, bringing with her whatever women she thought might be appropriate.

  “Appropriate for what?” asked Rasa.

  “Appropriate for marrying,” said Elemak, “and bearing children in a new land far from here.”

  “I should leave the city of Basilica, taking some poor innocent women with me, and go out to live like a tribe of baboons in the desert?”

  “Not like baboons,” Nafai had said helpfully. “We still wear clothing, and none of us barks.”

  “I will not consider it,” said Rasa.

  “Yes you will, Mother,” said Nafai.

  “Are you threatening me?” asked Rasa—for she had heard too many men say such words recently.

  “Not at all,” said Nafai. “I’m predicting. I’ll bet that before a half hour goes by, you’ll be considering it, because you know the Oversoul wants you to do it.”

  And he was right. Not ten minutes. She couldn’t get the idea out of her mind.

  How did he know? Because he understood how the Oversoul worked. What he didn’t know was that the Oversoul was already working on her. When Wetchik first left for the desert, he asked her to come with him. There was no talk of other women then, but when she prayed to the Oversoul, she was answered as clearly as if a voice had spoken in her heart. Bring your daughters, said the Oversoul. Bring your nieces, any who will come. To the desert, to be the mothers of my people.

  To the desert! To be animals! In all her life, Rasa had tried to follow the teachings of the Oversoul. But now she asked too much. Who was Rasa, outside of Basilica, outside of her own house? She was no one there. Just Wetchik’s wife. It would be men who ruled there—feral men, like Wetchik’s son Elemak. He was one frightening boy, that Elemak; she couldn’t believe that Wetchik couldn’t see how dangerous he was. It would be Elemak the hunter that she’d depend on for food. And what influence would she have there? What council would listen to her? The men would hold the councils, and the women would cook and wash and care for the babies. It would be like primitive times, like animal times. She could not leave the city of women, for if she did, she would cease to be the Lady Rasa and would become a beast.

  I only exist in this place. I am only human in this place.

  And yet as she walked into the council chamber she knew that “this place” had ceased to be the city of women. As she looked at the frightened, solemn, angry faces in the council, she knew that Basilica as it once had been would never exist again. A new Basilica might rise in its place, but never again would a woman like Rasa be able to raise her daughters and nieces in perfect peace and security. Always there would be men trying to own, to control, to meddle. The best she could hope for would be a man like Wetchik, whose kindness would temper his instinct for power. But was there another Wetchik to be found in this world? And even his benign interference would be too much. All would be ruined. All would be poisoned and defiled.

  Oversoul! You have betrayed your daughters!

  But she did not cry out her blasphemy. Instead she took her place at one of the tables in the middle of the chamber, where non-voting counselors and clerks sat during the meetings. She could feel their eyes upon her. Many, she knew, blamed her for everything—and she could hardly disagree with them. Her husbands, her son, her daughters; her house where Rashgallivak lost control of his soldiers; and, above all, her letter in the hands of the Gorayni general when he came into the city.

  The meeting began, and for the first time in Rasa’s memory, the rituals of the opening were rushed, and some were eliminated entirely. No one complained. For they all knew that the deadline the council had imposed on the Gorayni to leave the city now loomed as a deadline on themselves—for it was clear now to all of them that the Gorayni did not intend to leave.

  The argument soon raged. No one disputed the fact that the Goryani now were masters of the city. The city debate was whether to defy the general—some called him Moozh, but only in ridicule, for he refused to answer to the name Vozmuzhalnoy Vozmozhno, and yet told them no other name to use for him—or give his occupation a legal gloss. They hated the idea of giving in to him, but if they did, there was a hope that he’d let them continue to govern the city in exchange for letting him use Basilica as a military base for his operations against the Cities of the Plain and, no doubt, Potokgavan. Yet by making his occupation legal, as he had requested, they gave him power in the long run to destroy them.

  Still, what was the alternative? He had made no threats. In fact, all he had sent them was a very respectful letter: “Because my troops have not yet succeeded in abating the danger in Basilica, we are reluctant to abandon our dear friends to the return of such chaos as we found on our arrival. Therefore if you invite us to stay until such time as order is fully restored, we are willing to become your obedient servants for the indefinite future.” On its face, the letter portrayed the Gorayni as being docile as lambs.

  But they knew by now that nothing with the Gorayni was what it seemed. Oh, they bowed to every order or request of the city council, promising to obey. But only the orders that suited their purpose were actually carried out. And the city guard, too, was unreliable, for their officers had begun practically to worship the Gorayni general, and now were following his example of swearing obedience and then doing as they liked. Oh, the general was a clever man! He provoked no one, he argued with no one, he agreed with everything that was said . . . and yet he was immovable, doing all that he pleased, while never giving them anything they could attack him for. Everyone in the council chamber must have felt it as keenly as Rasa did, the slipping away of their own power, the centering of the city on the will of this one man, and all without any overt word or deed of his.

  How does he do it? Rasa wondered. How does he master people without bluster or bullying? How does he make people fear him or love him, not in spite of his ruthlessness but because of it?

  Maybe it is simply that he knows so clearly how he wants things to be, she thought. Maybe the fact that he believes in his vision of the world so intensely makes it impossible for those around him not to believe as well. Maybe we’re all so hungry for someone to tell us what is true, what we can count on, that we’ll accept even a vision that makes us weak and him strong, just for the sake of having a secure world at all.

  “We are only a few minutes from the deadline,” said old Kobe. “And in all our discussion this morning we have heard nothing from the Lady Rasa.”

  A murmur of approval arose, but it was immediately drowned in a growl of anger. “We shouldn’t hear from her except at her trial!” cried one women. “She brought all this on us!”

  Rasa calmly turned and looked at the woman who spoke. It was Frotera, of course, the lady of another teaching household, who had long been envious of Rasa. “My Lady Frotera,” Rasa said, “I fear you may be right.”

  That silenced them.

  “Do you think I haven’t also looked and seen what you all can see? Which of the calamities that has befallen us has not been tied to me? My son is accused of murder, my daughters have betrayed each other, Rashgallivak tried to drag them from my own house, my beloved city has been torn by riot and fire, and the army that squats in the gates of Basilica shows you a letter that I wrote. And I did write it, though I never dreamed that it would be used as he has used it. Sisters, all of this is true, but does it mean I have brought all of this upon us? Or does it mean that it has fallen more heavily on me than on any except those whose loved ones perished in the rioting?”

  It made them think; ah, yes, she still had the power to tell them a story and make them see, at least for a moment, through her eyes.

  “Sisters, if I believed that I was truly the cause of all the evil that has come to Basilica, I would leave at once. I love Basilica too much to be the cause of its downfall. But I am not the cause. The first cause was the greed of Gaballufix—and he married me as his first attempt to make an inroad against our ancient laws. Was it my husband who brought private soldiers into this city? No. It was a man whom I had refused to have as my husband. I repudiated Gaballufix while many of you on this council kept voting to tolerate his abuses! Do not forget that!”

  Oh, they didn’t forget, as they shrank back in their seats.

  “Now the Gorayni have come with my letter. But I wrote that letter to help a young Basilican guard obtain refuge with the Gorayni. I knew he was in danger from Rashgallivak’s mercenaries, and he had been kind to my son, so I gave him what small protection I could. Now I see that this was a terrible mistake. My letter alerted them to our weakness, and they came to exploit it. But I didn’t create our weakness, and if the Gorayni hadn’t come, would we be in better condition this morning than we are now? Would we even be holding this meeting, or would we all be victims of rape and plunder by the Palwashantu mercenaries? Would our city be in ashes? So tell me, sisters, which is better, to be in a bad situation, yet with some hope, or to be destroyed, powerless, utterly hopeless?”

  Again a murmur, but she was carrying them. Only rarely had she spoken at such length or with such force—she had long since learned that she remained more powerful by never openly committing herself to anything, but rather working behind the scenes. Still, she had spoken often enough to know how to bend them, at least a little, to her will. It was a power that would be less effective every time she used it, but this was a time when she must use it or lose everything.

  “If we defy him, what will happen then? Even if he keeps his word and leaves, can any of you say that our city guard will be as docile as they once were? And I don’t believe that he will keep his word. Have you ever heard of General Vozmuzhalnoy Vozmozhno giving up one village, one field, one pebble that he has conquered?” A growing murmur. “Yes, it is General Moozh—we’d be fools to imagine otherwise for a moment. What other Gorayni general would have the audacity to do what he has done? Don’t you see how daring and brilliant his plan has been? He came here with only a thousand men, but for a few crucial hours we believed he had a hundred times that number. He has been subservient and obsequious, and yet he has deployed his soldiers where he wanted them, seduced our city guard, and seized whatever supplies he needed. Always he apologizes and explains. Always he keeps us believing that he means well. But he is a liar with every breath he takes, and nothing that he says to us is true. He means to add Basilica to the Gorayni Empire. He will never let us go.”

  Loud muttering filled the room as she waited. Several of the women wept. “Defy him then!” one of the councilors cried.

  “And what good would defiance do?” asked Rasa. “How many of us would die? And to what purpose? A fifth of our city is already in ashes. We have already huddled in terror as drunken men rampaged through our city. What would happen if now the plunderers were sober? If they were the same disciplined killers who nailed the rioters to the walls with their own knives? There’d be no refuge for us then!”

  “So . . . what do you propose we do, Lady Rasa?”

  “Give him what he has asked for. Permission to stay. Only make provision for his soldiers to be quartered outside the walls of the city. Make them take the same oaths that men are required to take when they become our husbands—to stay out of the forbidden parts of the city, to refrain from attempting to own any real property, and to leave when their term is up.”

  A murmur of approval.

  “Will he accept it, Lady Rasa?”

  “I have no idea,” she said. “But so far, he has made an effort at least to seem to comply with our wishes. Let us make our offer as public as possible, and then hope he’ll find it more convenient to adhere to its terms than not.”

  Rasa’s exhortations were too successful by half. Yes, they approved her proposal, almost unanimously. But they also appointed her the ambassador to deliver their “invitation” to General Moozh. It was not an interview she looked forward to, but she had no time even to wonder what she ought to say or how she ought to act. The invitation had to be delivered personally and immediately; it was printed out, signed, and sealed on the spot, and the council watched as she left the chamber with the document in hand, minutes before the deadline that they themselves had set.

  It was not Mebbekew’s finest morning. He had dutifully trudged through the forbidden slopes of Basilica as Nafai led the way, just as he had followed Elemak all the way from the desert around the city to the northern woods. But when they came within sight of Rasa’s house, Mebbekew slipped away. He had no intention of being a pawn in their plans. If they were here to do some wife-finding, Mebbekew would pick his own, thank you kindly. He would certainly not tag along behind his older brother, taking second choice forever; nor would he swallow the humiliation of going into his little brothers’ mother’s house and pleading with her to give up one of her precious nieces. Elemak had his heart set on that porcelain doll, Eiadh . . . well, that was his privilege. Mebbekew preferred women with blood in their veins, women who grunted and growled when they made love, women of vigor and strength. Women who loved Mebbekew.

  Well, he found out about vigor and strength, right enough! The fires had been worst in Dolltown and Dauberville, so few of his old lovers were in the houses where he had known them. The few that he could find were glad to see him. They were all over him with tears and kisses, eager to have him stay with them. Stay with them where? In a half-burnt house with no running water? And why did they want him? So he could do all the brute man-labor required to rebuild, to repair; and so he could be their guardian. What a joke! Mebbekew, standing guard over some poor frightened girl! No doubt they would have rewarded him generously with their bodies if he had played the role they scripted for him, but it wasn’t worth it— no woman was worth it right now, if her needs were even greater than his own. He wasn’t here to be a protector or a provider, he was here to find protection and providence.

  So he left them with a kiss and a promise, without even staying long enough to bathe or eat, because he knew that if he once got within their clinging embrace these women-in-need would make of him a husband. He had no intention of husbanding himself to women who had nothing to offer him but work and trouble!

  As for suggesting to any of his old lovers that she give up everything in Basilica and come wander with him in the desert until they found a promised land, meanwhile having a passel of babies in order to populate their new home—it never seemed to come up in any of his conversations. Not that some of them wouldn’t have done it. As they surveyed the ruin of their once-frivolous lives in Basilica, as they remembered the fear of that awful night of rioting, and then the horror of the dead bodies pinned to the walls by the Gorayni, the idea of striding out into the desert with a real man to lead and protect them would appeal to some of them. For the first few days, anyway; then they’d realize that the desert was lonely and no fun at all, and they’d be as eager to return to Basilica, ruined or not, as Mebbekew himself was.