Never, before or since, had I seen a stretch of coast as devoid of humanity. Even the animals that lived there rang sharp and odd against my Witsense. The physical aspects of this coast were as foreign to us as the savor of it. There were bogs that steamed and stank and burned our nostrils, and lush marshes where all the plant life seemed twisted and deformed despite its rank and luxuriant growth. We reached the Rain River, which the folk of Bingtown call the Rain Wild River. I cannot say what distorted whim persuaded me to follow it inland, but I attempted it. The swampy shores, rank growth, and strange dreams of the place soon turned us back. Something in the soil ate at Nighteyes' pads and weakened the tough leather boots I wore until they were little more than tatters. We admitted ourselves defeated, but then added a greater error to our wayward quest when we cut young trees to fashion a raft. Nighteyes' nose had warned us against drinking any of the river water, but I had not fully appreciated what a danger it presented to us. Our makeshift raft barely lasted to carry us back to the mouth of the river, and we both incurred ulcerating sores from the touch of the water. We were relieved to get back to good honest saltwater. Despite the sting of it, it proved most healing to our sores.

Although Chalced has long claimed rightful domain of the land up to the Rain River, and has frequently asserted that Bingtown too lies within its reign, we saw no signs of ! any settlements on that coast. Nighteyes and I traveled a long and inhospitable way north. Three days past the Rain River, we seemed to leave the strangeness behind, but we journeyed another ten days before we encountered a huj man settlement. By then, regular washing in brine had healed many of our sores, and my thoughts seemed more my own, but we presented the aspect of a weary beggar and his mangy dog. Folk were not welcoming to us.

My footsore journey north through Chalced persuaded me that folk there are the most inimical in the world. I enjoyed Chalced fully as much as Burrich had led me to believe I would. Even its magnificent cities could not move me. The wonders of its architecture and the heights of its civilization are built on a foundation of human misery. The reality of widespread slavery appalled me.

I paused in my tale to glance at the freedom earring that hung from the Fool's ear. It had been Burrich's grandmother's hardwon prize, the mark of a slave who had won freedom. The Fool lifted a hand to touch it with a finger. It hung next to several others carved of wood, and its silver network caught the eye.

“Burrich,” the Fool said quietly. “And Molly. I ask you directly this time. Did you ever seek them out?”

I hung my head for a moment. “Yes,” I admitted after a time. “I did. It is odd you should ask now, for it was as I crossed Chalced that I was suddenly seized with the urge to see them.”

One evening as we camped well away from the road, I felt my sleep seized by a powerful dream. Perhaps the im' ages came to me because in some corner of her heart, Mollystill kept a place for me. Yet I did not dream of Molly as a lover dreams of his beloved. I dreamed of myself, I thought, small and hot and deathly ill. It was a black dream, a dream all of sensations without images. I lay curled tight against Burrich's chest, and his presence and smell were the only comforts I knew in my misery. Then unbearably cool hands touched my fevered skin. They tried to lift me away, but I wiggled and cried out, clinging to him. Burrich's strong arm closed around me again. “Leave her be,” he commanded hoarsely.

I heard Molly's voice from a distance, wavering and distorted. “Burrich, you're as sick as she is. You can't take care of her. Let me have her while you rest.”

“No. Leave her beside me. You take care of Chiv and yourself.”

“Your son is fine. Neither of us is ill. Only you and Nettle. Let me take her, Burrich.”

“No,” he groaned. His hand settled on me protectively. “This is how the Blood Plague began, when I was a boy. It killed everyone I loved. Molly. I couldn't bear it if you took her away from me and she died. Please. Leave her beside me.”

“So you can die together?” she demanded, her weary voice going shrill.

There was terrible resignation in his voice. “If we must. Death is colder when it finds you alone. I will hold her to the last.”

He was not rational, and I felt both Molly's anger and her fear for him. She brought him water, and I fussed when she halfsat him up to drink it. I tried to drink from the cup she held to my mouth, but my lips were cracked and sore, my head hurt too badly, and the light was too bright. When I pushed it away, the water slopped on my chest, icy cold, and I shrieked and began to wail. “Nettle, Nettle, hush,” she bade me, but her hands were cold when she touched me. I wanted nothing of my mother just then, and knew an echo of Nettle's jealousy that another child claimed the throne of Molly's lap now. I clutched at Burrich's shirt and he held me close again and hummed softly in his deep voice. I pushed my face against him where the light could not touch my eyes, and tried to sleep.