Strength to rule, mighty and bold, Bringing back the father's way, As in human days of old, Strength to rule, their legacy.

By the light of Wengel's pyre, Taking fiercely, eyes aflame, Came the bloody men of fire, Summer's empire to proclaim. . . .

Sometime between the Great Defense and the Era of Repose — perhaps more than a thousand years ago — rebellion had raged across the Mother Ocean. Emboldened by their recent high renown, after the repulsion of terrible alien invaders, a conspiracy of males had vowed to reestablish patriarchy. Seizing sea-lanes far from Caria, they burned ships and drowned men who would not join their flag. In the towns they captured, all restraints of law and tradition vanished. Aurora season was a time, at best, of unbridled license. At worst, horror.

. . . Summer's empire, never chosen, By the women. Cry at fate! For a destiny unfrozen, Cry for vigilance, too late!

When Maia had once asked a teacher about the episode, Savant Claire had smirked in distaste. "People oversimplify. Perkies never talk in public about the Kings' allies. They had plenty of help."

"From whom?" Maia asked, aghast.

"Women, of course. Whole groups of them. Opportunists who knew how it had to end." Claire had refused to give more detail, however, and the public library posessed but scanty entries. So curious had it made Maia, that she and Leie tried using their twin trick to feign clone status, briefly gaining entrance to a Perkinite meeting — until some locals fingered them as vars, and tossed them out.

During the lengthy ballad, Maia watched attitudes chill toward Brod. Women seated near him found excuses to get up — for another cup of stew, or to seek the latrine  — and returned to sit farther away. Even the Quinnish sixer, who had flirted awkwardly with Brod for days, avoided his eyes and kept to her mates. Soon only Maia and Naroin remained nearby. Bravely, the youth showed no sign of noticing.

It was so unfair. He had had no part in crimes of long ago. All might have remained pleasant if Charl and Tortula. hadn't chosen this damned song. Anyway, none of these vars could possibly be Perkinite. Maia contemplated how prejudice can be a complex thing.

… So to guard the Founders giving, And never the fate forget, Of those future, past, and living, To be saved from Man's regret.

No one said much after that. The fire died down. One by one, tomorrow's adventurers sought their beds. On her way back from the toilet area, Maia made sure to pass Brod's shelter, separate from all the others, and wished him goodnight. Afterward, she sat down again by the coals, lingering after everyone else had turned in, watching the depleted logs brighten and fade when fanned by gusts of wind.

Some distance away, toward the forest, Naroin lifted her head. "Can't sleep, snowflake?"

Maia answered with a shrug, implicitly bidding the other woman to mind her own business. With briefly raised eyebrows, Naroin took a hint and turned away. Soon, soft snoring sounds rose from scattered shadows on all sides, lumps indiscernible except as vague outlines. The coals faded further and darkness settled in, permitting constellations to grow lustrous, where they could be seen between low clouds. The holes in the overdeck grew narrower as time passed.

Without stars to distract her, Maia watched as sporadic breezes toyed with the banked campfire. Stirred by a gust, one patch would bloom suddenly, giving off red sprays of sparks before fading again, just as abruptly. She came to see the patterns of bright and dark as quite un-random. Depending on supplies of fuel, air, and heat, there were continual ebbing and flowing tradeoffs. One zone might grow dim because surrounding areas were lit, consuming all the oxygen, or vice versa. Maia contemplated yet another example of something resembling, in a way, ecology. Or a game. A finely textured game, with complex rules all its own.

The patterns were lovely. Another geometry trance beckoned, ready to draw her in. Tempted, this time she refused. Her attention was needed elsewhere.

Quietly, without making sudden moves, Maia took a stick and rolled one of the stronger embers into her dinner cup. She covered it with a small, chipped plate from the supplies left by the reavers, and waited. An hour passed, during which she thought about Leie, and Renna, and the ballad of the Kings . . . and most of all, about whether she was being stupid, getting all worked up over a suspicion based on nothing but pure logic, bereft of any supporting evidence at all.

Eventually, someone came to sit by her.

"Well, tomorrow's the big day."

It was a low voice, almost a whisper, to avoid waking the others. But Maia recognized it without looking up. Thought so, she told herself as Inanna squatted to her left.

"Wouldn't of expected you being too excited to sleep, seeing as how you're staying behind," the big sailor said in casual, friendly tones. "Will you miss the rest of us so much?"

Maia glanced at the woman, who seemed overly relaxed. "I always miss friends."

Inanna nodded vigorously. "Yah, we got to choose a mail drop, maybe in some coast city. One time or another, we'll all get together again, hoist brews, amaze the locals with our tale." She leaned toward Maia, conspiratorially. "Speaking of which, I got a little something, if you want a nip." She pulled out a slim flask that swished and gurgled. "The Lysodamn reavers missed this, bless 'em. Care to lift a couple? For no hard feelings?"

Maia shook her head. "I shouldn't. Alky goes to my head: I'd be no good when you need help launching."

"You'll be no good if you're up restless all night, neither." Inanna removed the cap and Maia watched her take a long pull, swallowing. The sailor wiped her mouth and held out the flask. "Ah! Good stuff, believe it. Puts hair where it belongs, an' takes it off where it don't."

With a show of reluctance, Maia reached for the flask, sniffing an aroma of strong mash. "Well . . . just one." She tipped the pewter bottle, letting a bare trickle of liquor down her throat. The ensuing fit of coughs was not faked.

"There now, don't that warm yer innards? Frost for the nose and flamejuice for the gut. No matching the combination, I always say."

Indeed, Maia felt a spreading heat from even that small amount. When Inanna insisted she have another, it was easy to show ambivalence, both attraction and reluctance at the same time. Despite her best efforts, some more got by her tongue. It felt fiery. The third time the bottle went back and forth, she did a better job blocking the liquor, but heady fumes Went up her nose, making her feel dizzy.

"Thanks. It seems to … work," Maia' said slowly, not trying to fake a slur. Rather, she spoke primly, as a tipsy woman does, who wants not to show it. "Right now, how-ever, I … think I had better go and lie down." With deliberate care, she picked up her plate and cup and shuffled toward her bedroll, at the campsite's periphery. Behind her, the woman said, "Sleep well and soundly, virgie." There was no mistaking a note of satisfaction in her voice.

Maia kept the appearance of a tired fiver, gladly collapsing for the night. But within, she growled, now almost certain her suspicions were true. Surreptitiously, while climbing under the blanket, she watched Inanna move from the fire ring toward her own bedroll at the far quadrant of the camp. A dimly perceived shadow, the woman did not lie down, but squatted or sat, waiting.

I never would have figured all this out before, Maia thought. Not until Tizbe and Kiele and Baltha — and Leie — taught me how sneaky people can be. Now it's like I knew it all along, a pattern I can see unfolding.

It had started with the debate, soon after their internment, over whether to build one big raft or a couple of small boats. Naroin had been right. In this archipelago, a dinghy with a sail and centerboard might weave in and out past shoals and islets with a good chance of getting away, even if spotted. A raft, if seen, would be easy prey.