young, but they gave her a world-weary hint of tragic beauty and inner wisdom.
Looking at her now, Chandra thought it seemed a bit less strange that this girl was the village wise woman.
Gideon said, “Please believe that I mean no insult or disrespect when I say that you seem very young to be a wise woman.”
Falia looked puzzled. “I do?”
Gideon asked, “How is the wise woman-I mean men-arch chosen here?”
“It’s the calling of my family,” she said. “When I showed first blood, my mother knew that I was ready. Someday I will marry and bear children. My daughter will one day assume this duty.”
“That seems like a pretty short time in which to gain wisdom,” Chandra said.
Gideon glanced at her, but didn’t tell her to be quiet. So apparently he had a little wisdom, too.
“My wisdom was passed to me by my mother. Her wisdom is mine. She was given hers by her mother, and so it has been for generations within us.”
“How do you pass it?” Chandra asked.
“We share our blood in the ritual passing of our power,” the girl said pleasantly.
Chandra decided she didn’t want details. This wasn’t what they had come here to talk about.
“Ah, here is your meal,” Falia said.
A woman entered the hut, carrying a large pot. A boy followed behind her, carrying wooden bowls and spoons. The woman smiled kindly at Gideon and Chandra as she set the pot down in front of them. Falia ladled soup into the two bowls the boy had brought, then handed the bowls to Chandra and Gideon.
The boy, who also placed his wares in front of them, paused to gape with wide-eyed curiosity until Falia put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention.
“Please give the goblin food. We must show him our appreciation.” The boy picked up the pot, and carried it over to Jurl. He set it down in front of him, turned away, and left the hut.
With his hands still bound behind his back, Jurl wiggled around into a kneeling position, then stuck his whole head into the pot and started slurping noisily.
Chandra looked down into her bowl. It contained a translucent, pale gray broth with lumpy, white things floating in it. It didn’t look remotely appetizing, not even to someone as hungry as she was.
“How nice,” Chandra said politely, trying not to let her face contort when she took a whiff. The stuff smelled ghastly. “What is this dish?”
“Grub soup,” said Falia.
Chandra focused on keeping her expression courteous. “Ah.”
No wonder everyone here was so thin! Who would ever eat more than they absolutely had to, if this was a typical local dish? She suddenly missed Regatha.
“It looks delicious,” Gideon said in an admirably sincere tone. “Thank you.”
“You’re our guests, and guests are a gift from the gods!” Falia said with a bright smile as she rose to her feet. “That silly boy forgot to bring water for you. I’ll go get it.”
As soon as the girl disappeared through the doorway, Chandra said quietly, “I don’t think I can eat this.”
“It may be all we’ll get for some time,” Gideon said, looking into his bowl without enthusiasm. “And when was the last time you ate?”
“I can’t even remember,” she said. “But suddenly I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.”
“Listen, it’s meat. More or less.” He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself. “It’ll give you strength.”
“I don’t suppose many things grow in a land of constant darkness,” she said, noting the absence of vegetables in the soup. Chandra filled her spoon with the broth, which was much more viscous than she had anticipated, and lifted it to take a sip. The closer she brought it to her lips, the harder it was was. She dropped the spoonful back into her bowl, untasted.
“Eat. We have been given this food. We can’t refuse it,” Gideon said, also lifting a spoonful of soup from his bowl.
Chandra reflected irritably that Jurl’s noisy slurping wasn’t making the soup seem any less disgusting, either. She said loudly, “I think I’d have preferred roasted goblin.”
“The village looks poor,” Gideon said, “so they probably only serve goblin on special occasions.”
Jurl gave a surly grunt before he returned to gobbling the grub soup.
Gideon said to her, “Eat.”
“You first,” she said.
He sniffed the thick, shiny, gray broth filling his spoon and evidently decided that inhaling was a mistake. Looking like he was holding his breath now, he took a sip. “It’s… fine.”
She knew he was lying, but Chandra used her spoon to scoop up a boiled grub. Gideon was right on one thing. It was meat. She needed strength. Summoning her will, she put it in her mouth and chewed on the rubbery morsel.
Falia re-entered the hut, carrying a clay pitcher and two cups. “Are you enjoying the soup?”
“It’s excellent.” Gideon took a big spoonful.
Falia smiled. “Good!”
“We have some questions, Falia,” Gideon said. “Eat first,” Falia said. “Then we’ll talk.”
“Of course.” Gideon nodded.
Chandra steeled her resolve and ate some more grub worms, washing them down with a generous quantity of water. Since Gideon was sipping the broth without expiring on the spot, she consumed some of it, too. The texture was disgusting, and the flavor could best be described as aquatic. She wondered what the grubs might have grown into.
The thought nearly made her gag, so she tried to empty her mind, and continued eating in silence-all while Jurl kept eating in noisy, voracious gulps.
The goblin finished his meal first. He gave a satisfied sigh, and shifted his position so that he could lean against the wall of the hut. After a few minutes, he fell into a peaceful doze. Chandra knew this because he snored.
When she could endure no more of the grub soup, Chandra set her bowl aside and looked at Falia, intending to thank her. That was when she realized that the girl was staring at Gideon again-this time, with a look that could only be longing.
From what Chandra had seen, there were few men in the village. Undoubtedly, Falia was evaluating Gideon’s fitness as a mate. Though seemingly young for it, Falia clearly was ready for marriage. Chandra realized abruptly that the girl could well be several years older than she looked. Who knew what effects this blood ritual for the passing of wisdom had on an individual, to say nothing of her diet.
Even supposing that Falia was the same age at which girls on Chandra’s native plane typically married, it was unsettling to see how she looked at Gideon.
Chandra wondered whether he was aware of her keen interest in him. Gideon simply ate, his gaze lowered all the while on the food. If he was aware of the girl’s perusal, he didn’t acknowledge or return it.
When he finished eating, he set aside his bowl, and thanked Falia, who seemed to awaken from a trance.
She smiled. “Now what have you come here to ask me?”
“Has it always been nighttime on Diraden?” Gideon asked. “Forever?”
“Ah.” She nodded. “You’ve come to ask about Prince Velrav’s rule.”
“Yes. Did the endless night begin with him?”
“It did.”
“What happened?”
“When my grandmother was a child,” Falia said, “there was day and night here. King Gelidor ruled Diraden. He had three sons. The youngest, Prince Velrav, was wild and dissolute.”
The girl was a good storyteller, and the tale flowed smoothly, but the heart of the story was simple. The young Prince Velrav had engaged in various scandalous and destructive indulgences until his father banished him from castle and court.
Furious over his exile, and more ambitious and vengeful than anyone had ever guessed, Prince Velrav studied
