Ritva grinned.?You?re willing to let him do the talking? Must be love.? ?Well, yes, but it hasn?t turned my brain to mush, sis,? she said.

The Southsider women they?d called drifted in and squatted in front of her, the light of the fire turning their faces ruddy and lying warm on her own back. A few were holding toddlers or nursing babies, which would make her next talk a bit easier. She?d done similar ones with young Rangers… but at least they didn?t have to be introduced to the concept of soap. Not most of them, at least-you got some very odd recruits from little hole-and-cranny parts of the Willamette and the mountains southward towards Ashland and the old California border. ?Now,? she said, when they had gathered.?Remember how I told you the Lady?s Cauldron is the source of everything??

At the blank looks, she went on:?The belly of the Big Strong Bitch? It?s, ah, like a pot. Things come out of it. The whole world, all the people and animals and things.?

That brought more nods; they?d gotten that much from the talks on the Old Religion, and they were pathetically grateful for a story that made sense of the world as something but malevolence and chaos. ?Well, we?re women, you see. So we have a special link to Her. We?re Her made manifest in the world. And like her, we can give or withhold the fertility of our, ummm, pots.?

Frowns of puzzlement.?You mean, tell the studs they can?t fuck? They wouldn?t like that,? one said; she thought it was Jake?s woman.

A pause, and the Southsider went on:? I wouldn?t like that.?

Ritva had enough exposure to the tribe?s dialect now that she could follow it; her mind translated it into more-or-less standard English. And they?d already modified their way of speech a little in return, though it was complicated by the way they did their best to imitate Rudi and Edain. ?Ah… yes, but not just that. We can give or withhold the gift of children because we?re sovereign… because we have… ah, because we can do magic like the Big Strong Bitch.? ?You mean spook-stuff so you can fuck and not get littles unless we want?? ?Yes! Exactly!?

That brought an eager brabble. The Southsiders lost so many of their children, especially the ones born in the winter, that the thought of spacing them to match the seasons was alluring. From books she?d read in Larsdalen and Stardell Hall, wandering hunters had always done that, even if farmers often didn?t. A woman couldn?t deal with more than one infant who had to be carried at a time. In this as so much else the Southsiders were worse off than the most primitive human tribes of ancient times.

Eyes went wide as she held up a small coil of copper beads with a dangling silk thread below. ?Now, you see how this looks like the sacred serpent I showed you? What you do is put this-?

THE WILD LANDS (FORMERLY ILLINOIS) NEAR THE RUINS OF CAIRO OCTOBER

?Like a golden chain, girdling the Earth,

Is the Unseen Hierarchy of the Ascended Lords…? ?High Seeker? Master Dalan?? Major Peter Graber said, as the chanting faded.

He was glad he?d waited until after the evening prayer to talk to the priest; the sun was down beyond the trees in the west, and it would make their conversation more private. The morale of the Sword of the Prophet was like iron, the men were ready to die as they were commanded… but even iron had flaws.

And I always liked this time of day, he thought inconsequentially.

The magic blue and green of it, and the slight hush that fell as the breeze died and the birds sang their last, and then the first stars blossoming in the east. Today there was a thin crescent of moon as well, high and ghost-pale southwards. It was a moment when the spirit could fly free. He sighed and returned to the business of the Church… which was also the business of the spirit, after all.

The man who called himself High Seeker Dalan had always been a little more solid-seeming than the most of his kind, who usually looked gaunt and scrawny. Right after the fight in Dubuque this one had been like a ghost for days, eating and drinking if you put food in his hands, but otherwise motionless.

Now he just looks like he?s dying, instead of already dead, Graber thought.

He fought down resentment at how many of his men had died on this trip; he?d crossed the border into the Sioux territories with two hundred effectives. Currently he had eighty-four… and that included two men who probably wouldn?t recover.

The burden he bears for the Ascended Masters is far higher than mine. ?We must consult,? he went on.

A jerky nod.?Yes. Come.?

The bitter smoke of the burnt ship drifted this far, but he didn?t think the crews of the Iowan warships would pursue; the ruins of Cairo weren?t far away, and they?d already had a brush with an Eater band. They?d also shot several deer, fat with autumn, and a wild pig, and the carcasses of the beasts were roasting and stewing with foraged herbs and roots as the leaders talked. He judged the men were cheerful enough, except for the handful of Iowan converts; the Sword of the Prophet was always tasked with the most difficult missions, including the ones where death was almost certain. They knew as well as he that their lifestreams would be bright among the Ascending Hierarchy if they fell in the Church?s service.

His stomach rumbled at the smell of the meat, and the scent of wheat cakes cooking on the griddles, but he ignored it; a man of the CUT learned to command the flesh by the power of the atman, though only the adepts had the ultimate mastery. The soulless were the slaves of their Sthula-Sarira, the gross and merely material body, which meant they were little more than walking corpses. One more sign that their only reason for existence was to serve the True Spirit and the community of believers. ?Hail Maitreya!? he began, when they?d walked a little way from the fires-but well within his perimeter of hidden scouts.

The blessing was always a safe opening gambit with the clergy. ?Master Dalan?? he went on. ?Hail… to the Youth of Sixteen Summers.?

The priest made the proper reply, his voice starting out rusty, as if he was remembering how to speak. ?We have to decide what to do, High Seeker,? Graber said carefully.?Should we try to push through to this Nantucket place and wait for the soulless misbelieving sons of the Nephilim? Or should we try to intercept the enemy again??

They?d tried that and failed repeatedly, though by narrow margins. Graber wasn?t particularly disturbed; if you kept trying, eventually you either succeeded or died. He hadn?t died yet. The High Seeker?s head turned to the north, as if his bruised-looking eyes were probing through the substance of the densely wooded hills. ?They may try to take the northern route,? he said.?They will not come up the Ohio, not when we might be waiting for them.?

Graber waited. That was a military judgment, and as such it was his to make. As it happened, he agreed. Catching Artos has been like trying to grab an oiled rattlesnake with his bare hands; nearly impossible, and deadly dangerous when you finally did it. And the others with him were nearly as bad. Not least, they all had a damnable talent for getting locals to fight for them. ?Bring me a prisoner,? Dalan said.

The officer turned his head and barked a command. Soon two of his troopers frog-marched one of the Eater captives between them. He had his hands tied before him, and a sheathed shete thrust through between his elbows and back; they steered him with it. Graber?s nose wrinkled; everyone smelled after a while in the field-this was the first opportunity they?d had to boil water in some time-but the savage was rank even by the standards a soldier learned. Worse than a High Line cowboy in midwinter.