10 – Aftermath by Asprin, Robert

“One . . . two . . . th’th-three . . .”

By the count of four the other children had vanished, squealing and shouting and quickly dispersing through the tangle of rooms and hall- ways of their home. The little girl, Cha-bos, heard the silence and low- ered her hands from her tear-streaked face. She noticed Illyra for the first time.

The nictating membrane that distinguished the exile community from the continental norm flicked over the child’s amber eyes and she stared. Illyra, despite her best efforts, started backward just as reflexively. But Cha-bos was apparently immune to that gesture-or at least already able to conceal her own reactions.

“I can’t count to one hundred,” Cha-bos declared, confident that she had explained everything, and Illyra learned that Beysibs could cry while they were staring.

“Neither can I,” Illyra admitted-not that she had ever had need to count so many things.

Cha-bos wilted. What use was an adult who knew no more than she did? “It doesn’t matter,” she told herself and Illyra. “They don’t want me to play anyway.”

Caught up in those huge, fixed eyes, Illyra Saw that Cha-bos was right. The older children had not continued with the simple game but were, even now, regrouping for a greater adventure.

“I’m sorry. You’ll grow up soon enough.”

“They won’t ever grow down.”

Illyra felt herself squirming to get free of the child’s endless eyes. She realized why the other gifted S’danzo women stayed so close to their families-where familiarity, if not love, inhibited the curse of Sight and the scrying table turned vision into a cold business. She especially did not want to know that Cha-bos was no ordinary child-even for a Beysib- but the daughter of the Beysa Shupansea, and already her blood was laced with potent poison.