The woman stared into the dancing air above the fire as though she were seeing something that wasn't apparent to anyone else. "Oh, Great Mother! I've been blind!" she suddenly said. "She had Ardoban crippled and put in the Holding and I know she cared for that boy. And she killed Omel and the others."

"Had him crippled?" Ayla said. "Those children in the Holding? That was done on purpose?"

"Yes, to make the boys weak, and fearful," S'Armuna said, shaking her head. "Attaroa has lost all reason. I fear for us all." Suddenly she broke down and held her face in her hands. "Where will it end? All this pain and suffering I have wrought," she sobbed.

"It was not your doing alone, S'Armuna," Ayla said. "You may have allowed it, even encouraged it, but do not take it all on yourself. The evil is Attaroa's, and perhaps belongs, too, to those who treated her so badly." Ayla shook her head. "Cruelty mothers cruelty, pain breeds pain, abuse fosters abuse."

"And how many of the young ones that she has hurt will pass it on to the next generation?" the older woman cried out, as though in pain herself. She began rocking back and forth, keening with grief. "Which of the boys behind that fence has she condemned to carry on her terrible legacy? And which of the girls who look up to her will want to be like her? Seeing Jondalar here has reminded me of my training. Of all people, I should not have allowed it. That is what makes me responsible. Oh, Mother! What have I done?"

"The question is not what you have done. It is what you can do now," Ayla said.

"I must help them. Somehow, I must help them, but what can I do?"

"It is too late to help Attaroa, but she must be stopped. It is the children and men in the Holding we must help, but first they must be freed. Then we must think of how to help them."

S'Armuna looked at the young woman, who seemed at that moment so positive and so powerful, and wondered who she really was. The One Who Served the Mother had been made to see the damage she had caused and to know she had abused her power. She feared for her own spirit, as well as for the life of the Camp.

There was silence in the lodge. Ayla got up and picked up the bowl used to brew tea. "Let me make tea this time. I have a very nice mixture of herbs with me," she said. When S'Armuna nodded without saying a word, Ayla reached for her otter-skin medicine bag.

"I've thought about those two crippled youngsters in the Holding," Jondalar said. "Even if they can't walk well, they could learn to be flint knappers, or something like that, if they had someone to train them. There must be someone among the S'Armunai who could teach them. Perhaps you could find someone at your Summer Meeting who would be willing."

"We don't go to the Summer Meetings with the other S'Armunai any more," S'Armuna said.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Attaroa doesn't want to," S'Armuna said, speaking in a dull monotone. "Other people had never been especially kind to her; her own Camp barely tolerated her. After she became leader, she didn't want anything to do with anyone else. Not long after she took over, some of the Camps sent a delegation, inviting us to join them. They had somehow heard that we had many women without mates. Attaroa insulted them and sent them away, and within a few years she had alienated everyone. Now, no one comes, not kin, not friends. They all avoid us."

"Being tied to a target post is more than an insult," Jondalar said.

"I told you that she's getting worse. You aren't the first. What she did to you, she has done before," the woman said. "A few years ago, a man came, a visitor, on a Journey. Seeing so many women apparently alone, he became arrogant and condescending. He assumed he would not only be welcome, but in great demand. Attaroa played with him, the way a lion will play with its prey; then she killed him. She enjoyed the game so much that she began detaining all visitors. She liked to make their life miserable, then make them promises, torment them, before getting rid of them. That was her plan for you, Jondalar."

Ayla shuddered as she added some calming and soothing medicines to her ingredients for S'Armuna's tea. "You were right when you said she is not human. Mog-ur sometimes told of evil spirits, but I always thought they were legends, stories to frighten children into minding, and to send a shiver through everyone. But Attaroa is no legend. She is evil."

"Yes, and when no visitors came, she began toying with the men in the Holding," S'Armuna kept on, as though unable to stop once she had begun to tell what she had seen and heard, but kept inside. "She took the stronger ones first, the leaders or the rebellious ones. There are getting to be fewer and fewer men, and the ones that are left are losing their will to rebel. She keeps them half-starved, exposed to the cold and weather. She puts them in cages or ties them up. They are not even able to clean themselves. Many have died from exposure and the bad conditions. And not many children are being born to replace them. As the men die, the Camp is dying. We were all surprised when Cavoa became pregnant."

"She must have been going into the Holding to stay with a man," Ayla said. "Probably the one she fell in love with. I'm sure you know that."

S'Armuna did know, but she wondered how Ayla knew. "Some women do sneak in to see the men, and sometimes they bring them food. Jondalar probably told you," she said.

"No, I didn't tell her," Jondalar said. "But I don't understand why the women allow the men to be held."

"They fear Attaroa. A few of them follow her willingly, but most would rather have their men back. And now she is threatening to cripple their sons."

"Tell the women the men must be set free, or no more children will be born," Ayla said, in tones that sent a chill through both Jondalar and S'Armuna. They turned to stare. Jondalar recognized her expression! It was the distanced, somewhat objective way she looked when her mind was occupied with someone who was sick or injured, although in this case, he saw more than her need to help. He also saw in her a cold, hard anger he had not seen before.

But the older woman saw Ayla as something else, and she interpreted her pronouncement as a prophecy, or a judgment.

After Ayla served the tea, they sat in silence together, each deeply affected. Suddenly Ayla felt a strong need to go outside and breathe the clean, crisp, cold air, and she wanted to check on the animals, but as she quietly observed S'Armuna, she didn't think it was the best time to leave just yet. She knew the older woman had been devastated, and she sensed that she needed something of meaning to cling to.

Jondalar found himself wondering about the men he had left behind in the Holding, and what they were thinking. They no doubt knew he was back but had not been put back in with them. He wished he could talk to Ebulan and S'Amodun, and reassure Doban, but he needed some reassuring himself. They were on dangerous ground, and they hadn't done anything yet, except talk. Part of him wanted to get out of there as fast as possible, but the larger part of him wanted to help. If they were going to do something, he wished they would do it soon. He hated just sitting there.

Finally, out of desperation, he said, "I want to do something for those men in the Holding. How can I help?"

"Jondalar, you already have," S'Armuna said, feeling a need to plan some strategy herself. "When you refused her, it gave the men heart, but that by itself would not have been enough. Men have resisted her before, for a while, but this was the first time a man walked away from her, and even more important, came back," S'Armuna said. "Attaroa has lost face, and that gives others hope."

"But hope doesn't get them out of there," he replied.

"No, and Attaroa will not let them out willingly. No man leaves here alive, if she can help it, although a few have gotten away, but women don't often make Journeys. You are the first who has come this way, Ayla."