On the other hand, the worship of the alien god Nakhaba had been integrated into the life of the tribe after the union with the Bengs, and that seemed to be permanent. And other creeds had come into fashion from time to time, centering around the stars, the sun, the great ocean, and even less likely things. Boldirinthe had heard it whispered around that Nialli Apuilana was a worshiper of hjjks, and kept some holy talisman of theirs in her room in the House of Nakhaba.

Well, so be it, thought Boldirinthe. She was a godly woman, devout enough to understand that there is godliness in everything. The Five Heavenly Ones weren’t necessarily the only repositories of the sacred. They were simply the ones that she had sworn to serve. It wasn’t that they were true and the other gods false: just that to her they were the most efficacious, the ones who partook most fully of the holy. If these children wanted to make offerings to the memory of Kundalimon, so be it. So be it. Worship is worship.

“Hurry,” Boldirinthe said to the guardsman. “Can’t you make that xlendi of yours go any faster? Nialli Apuilana is very weak, you know. She needs me urgently.”

“But you just said—”

“If you won’t use the whip, give it to me. You think I’m afraid to hit with it? Go faster, boy. Faster!”

Nialli Apuilana lay on a pallet in one of the upstairs rooms of the chieftain’s residence, her eyes closed, her breathing slow and shallow. Her fur was matted and damp. Now and then she muttered something unintelligible. She seemed lost in some realm beyond consciousness, farther than sleep but just this side of death. Seeing her thus entranced, Boldirinthe was reminded of something out of her distant youth, out of the cocoon days: the strange being — Hresh said he was a human — whom the tribe had called the Dream-Dreamer, who had lain for years deep in unending sleep, only to awaken and die on the day when the People received the omens of the Going Forth. He had slept the same way, as if he were more in another world than in this one.

A somber little group surrounded Nialli Apuilana’s bedside. Taniane was there, of course, looking taut and drawn, as though about to crack. Hresh, too, seemed to have aged years in a few days. And also Husathirn Mueri and Tramassilu the jewelry-maker, and Fashinatanda, Taniane’s blind and doddering old mother, and the architect Tisthali and the grain-merchant Sturnak Khatilifon and his mate Sipulakinain, who was ill, a mere charred ember of herself, with death’s hand practically at her shoulder. And there were still others, some of whom the offering-woman couldn’t place at all.

What such a mob as this was doing in a sickroom was beyond Boldirinthe’s comprehension. No doubt they all wanted to offer help. But they were pressing too close on the poor girl, overheating the air, draining the room of vitality. With quick impatient flutterings of her hands Boldirinthe cleared them all out, all but Taniane and Sipulakinain, whose presence seemed somehow significant. She let old Fashinatanda stay also, silent in a corner, seemingly unaware of anything that was going on.

“Where was she found?” Boldirinthe asked.

“In the lakelands,” said Taniane. “Lying on her face in the mud beside a little pond, according to Sipirod, with a bunch of animals grouped around her and watching her closely, some caviandis and stinchitoles, a little herd of scantrins, a couple of gabools. Sipirod said it was the most amazing thing she had ever seen, those animals gathering around her. It was almost as if they were guarding her. She must have been there two days or so. Burning with fever, said Sipirod. She must have been drinking the pond water. And of course she had no food.”

“Has she been conscious at all?”

“Delirious, only. She babbles sometimes — the Queen, the Nest, all of that. And calls Kundalimon’s name. They were lovers, did you know that? They were going to elope to hjjk country together, Boldirinthe!”

“Poor girl. No wonder she ran.” But then the offering-woman made a grunting sound of dismissal. None of that mattered now.

“Bring that table over here, will you? Set my satchel on it. There, where I can get at it. And give me something to sit on, beside the bed. It’s all I can do to keep myself on my feet, you know.”

She lifted Nialli Apuilana’s arm and ran her fingers along the length of it, feeling for the life-currents. They were very feeble. The girl was warm but her soul-river was flowing sluggishly, like quicksilver beginning to congeal. Boldirinthe turned her face away from Taniane, not wanting the chieftain to see the extent of her concern. Another few hours in that swamp and there’d have been a dead girl here. It was possible that they would lose her yet.

No. I won’t allow it, Boldirinthe thought.

From her satchel she drew the two great wands of healing and laid them alongside Nialli Apuilana, who barely stirred. She took out her herbs and ointments, and set them in a row on the table. She placed the talisman of Friit the healer at Nialli Apuilana’s head and that of Mueri the comforter at her feet.

To Sipulakinain she said, “Bring me that brazier. We’ll burn the leaves of Friit in it, and see to it you breathe the smoke yourself. It’ll do you some good too.”

“I’m on the mend, Boldirinthe,” said Sipulakinain.

The offering-woman gave the grain-merchant’s mate a skeptical look. “Yissou be praised for that,” she said without conviction.

Together they worked to light the aromatic herb. Taniane watched, silent, motionless. In the far corner the old woman Fashinatanda prayed in a toneless mumble, seeing nothing. Purplish smoke curled upward.

“More,” Boldirinthe said. “Another five sprigs.”

Sipulakinain’s hands trembled. But she fed the herbs to the blaze. Boldirinthe took Nialli Apuilana’s ankles and held them. She felt the congestion in the girl’s lungs, the weariness in her heart. Her soul-center was chilled and enfeebled. Nialli Apuilana was strong, though. These weaknesses could be driven from her.

The smoke grew thick in the room.

Now the gods became visible.

Boldirinthe had long had the skill of seeing the Five Heavenly Ones clearly. It was not something she ever spoke of to others, for she knew that the gods, real though they were, had never appeared to anyone else in actual manifestations, only as powerful abstract presences. It was different with her. They had forms and faces, familiar ones. Mueri the Consoler was much like Torlyri to her, a tall strong handsome woman whose dark fur was marked with white. Dawinno the Destroyer had the look of Harruel, a fierce red-bearded giant. Yissou was wise and remote, sparse of fur, almost like a human. The Provider, Emakkis, was fat and jolly. Friit the Healer was very serious, and frail, a little like Hresh. They stood now by her side. She indicated the sleeping girl, and they nodded, and Friit told her what must be done, and Boldirinthe, though she felt a stab of uneasiness, made ready unhesitatingly to do it.

“You have to leave the room now,” she said to Taniane.

“I—”

“There’s too much strength in you. We want only the sick and the old and the fat in here now.”

Taniane’s mouth opened, and closed again. She gave Boldirinthe a look of astonishment and, perhaps, anger. But she went out without a word.

Boldirinthe applied the ointments of healing now, one to Nialli Apuilana’s lips, another to her breasts, a third to the place between her thighs. Nialli Apuilana stirred and murmured as the heat of these herbal creams began to penetrate her skin.

“Get the old one,” she said to Sipulakinain. “I want her sitting on the bed, with her hands on the girl’s feet. You sit up there, and take her head against your bosom. I’m going to twine with her.”

Sipulakinain nodded. Though she was weak and uncertain on her feet herself, she slipped her arm around the shoulders of the trembling old grandmother and led her to the bedside, and placed her in the position Boldirinthe had requested. She lay down then and cradled Nialli Apuilana’s head.