It occurred to me, he might have been glad for an excuse to dress Steck as pure woman.

"Do you want to take care of that, Steck?" Rashid asked. "You and Cappie?"

For a moment Steck paused; then she shook her head. "The mother will want to see faces she knows. Not strangers."

"I'll get Leeta," Cappie said. She gave Steck a little smile, but the Neut only responded with a nod. I realized it was hard for Steck, turning down a chance to do priestess work after so many years.

My mother is sad, I thought; my mother is a sad woman. I couldn't help remembering how Zephram had visited her during the Silence of Mistress Snow. Out of all the doors in the village, Steck's was the last one for someone to enter.

Cappie went to pick up Leeta. Together they would break the news to Bonnakkut's mother, Kenna.

As for me, I got conscripted to escort Rashid to Hakoore's, while Steck stayed with the body. I expected Steck to protest, but she didn't. She seemed subdued, possibly thinking how she had lost the chance to become comforter to the women of our village… possibly thinking something completely different. I couldn't read my mother's mind.

It was only a minute later, as I was leading Rashid up the trail, that it occurred to me Steck might be happy for a chance alone with the body… if she'd had anything to do with the murder. She could check to make sure she hadn't left behind any clues.

"You know she's my mother," I said to Rashid.

"Who?"

"Steck. Maria. Whatever you want to call her. She's my mother."

"You're joking."

"She's from Tober Cove. She has to be someone's mother."

Rashid stopped walking. "I never thought of that. You all have children, don't you?"

"Yes."

"No exceptions?"

"Some girls turn out to have medical problems. But Steck wasn't one of them."

"And you're her…" He didn't say the word. "Is that why she wanted to kill you last night?"

"It was why she went to the marsh to find me — she knew it was my year to be there. The knife fight was just an impromptu thing."

"Because you tried to kill her first."

I shrugged. "Cappie overreacted."

"For a quiet little village," Rashid said, "Tober Cove has a wicked taste for blood."

"We're fine when Steck's not around."

"Don't speak ill of your mother." He paused. "She's really your mother?"

"Steck didn't tell you?"

He didn't answer. He didn't have to.

I'd never met anyone as important as Rashid, but I'd heard plenty of stories: official ones taught in school, as well as campfire talk at sunset. Bozzles weren't supposed to keep secrets from their masters. There should be a lake full of trust between Bozzle and master, with no one quietly peeing when the water's over your waist. Too much of that starts killing the fish.

Cappie once told me I should stay away from metaphors.

"I just wanted you to know," I told Rashid, "Steck had an ulterior motive getting you to come here."

"To watch her child Commit," Rashid answered after a pause. "That's no crime, Fullin. It's an important day in your life, isn't it?"

"The most important."

"What kind of mother would she be if she didn't want to see you? Perfectly understandable… perfectly natural." His voice was getting stronger, more definite. "This shows quite a positive side to Steck's character."

"You're making excuses for her," I said. "Is she your lover?"

Rashid coughed. "Where I come from, boys don't ask that about their mothers."

"Where I come from, they do. Do you love her?"

"You tell me," he answered. "How do you feel about her? One minute you're screaming, 'Kill the Neut,' and the next I can see you thinking she's not so bad."

"One minute she acts hateful, and the next she lets on she might be a human being."

"That's Steck," Rashid admitted. He started walking again, the plastic soles of his boots clicking when they touched any pimples of limestone poking up through the soil.

I fell in behind him. "My father still loves her," I said. "At least I think he does. Or maybe it just pains him she's lonely."

Rashid murmured, "Sometimes that kind of pain passes for love."

I couldn't argue with him. My mother seemed to have the same effect on a lot of people.

The village streets had come alive with children and parents. Breakfast was finished, and everyone wanted to squeeze in some playtime before the gods arrived at noon. The most popular game had to be Catch: Catch with bright rubber balls bought down-peninsula, or floppy homemade pouches stuffed with dried corn kernels. Mothers threw easy lobs straight to their children's hands, while fathers made the kids run, work for their successes. But all the parents were watching with keen bright eyes — trying to memorize how their boys and girls used their bodies, because it was all about to change.

I've already mentioned how my female half felt awkward in my male body the night before. The same thing happened every year at the solstice switchover… except that it was more confusing when you were only five or six. Your hands were bigger or smaller, your eyes weren't the same height above the ground, and it always looked like your feet weren't the right distance away. It was worse come puberty: the presence or absence of breasts, the difference in how your weight sat around your hips, and of course, the variations in sheer muscular strength and stamina — not that your male half always had the physical advantage. Female-Me went into a growth spurt at thirteen, and Male-Me didn't catch up until sixteen. My two halves had a full head difference during those years, and that meant embarrassing clumsiness for weeks after each transition. Parents found that kind of awkwardness amusing and endearing… which is why they made a point of testing their kids' coordination just before changeover and would repeat the same games when the children came home again.

The kids checked themselves out just as thoroughly after each change. You just couldn't help staring at yourself. A whole year had passed since you had occupied your other self, and even if the body had just been sleeping in Birds Home, it had still been growing — changing — while your eyes and brain had been living elsewhere.

You heard a different voice echoing in your head.

So you marveled at your arms: they had hair or they didn't, and all the moles and freckles you'd been used to were now replaced by a different set, ones you vaguely remembered from a year ago but which seemed darker or bigger… more noticeable anyway, and you thought all the other kids would gawk at these strange marks on your skin.

And my oh my, your skin… especially once you hit puberty. You couldn't help touching your skin. It was skin exactly like the skin you lusted after just days before. I don't know why my skin had such an effect on me. Of course, there were also the overtly sexual body parts, and yes, a lot of teenagers (including yours truly) held solitary Orgasm Derbies every day for a week after each gender swap; but for me, having different skin was always the most arousing change. Male in a male body, I might find myself remembering how my female half had longed to stroke a boy's chest or thighs, to feel muscles close beneath the skin, the hard warmth… and female in a female body, I still recalled the pure lust that boiled in my brother self at the sight of a mere bare shoulder…

You felt sexy. That's the simple truth. You looked at your skin, your legs, your body, and you knew you were sexy. You knew how the opposite sex burned in your presence. And for a few weeks, until you got caught up in your own new burning, you knew you were wonderfully, powerfully desirable.

In those few weeks, lovemaking was always lazily relaxed — enthusiastic to be sure, because you'd slept for a year and were juiced up now with the urge to take your newly regained equipment for a ride. But for a while, you never asked, "Does he like me? Does she want me?" You possessed a comfortable confidence, knowing you had what your bedpartner craved.