fine.
Bugs weren't a real problem so long as you kept the netting
on the doors and windows and remembered to rub a potion on
me stilts once a month so nothing wanted to crawl up it. The
floors were of a rock-hard native wood that insects didn't
bother, although it warned a bit and wasn't ideal in its
243
244 Jack L. Chalker
primary use. The walls were of a bamboolike plant, the roof
was some kind of woven grasses over a rust-proof metallic
webbing, and it was waterproof. Inside ventilation was by a
clever series of permanently netted openings that let some
light and all me air through but caught most of the rain and all
of anything else. It was enough that only a central oil lamp
was needed to pretty well illuminate the place.
It had only a single interior, but it was fairly spacious, the
only thing blocking free access was a thick pole rising from
the ground below, though the floor, and up to the roof center.
There were two sets of bunk beds over to one side—handmade
affairs of the same wood as the floor, with criss-crossed and
tightly bound vines providing the support for thin and well-
worn mattresses. She didn't know what the mattresses were
made of, but they looked like some kind of soft vinyl, the
only plastic stuff she'd seen here and so it probably wasn't,
and she had no idea what they were filled with but they held
the human body, even her, fairly comfortably. They had
ordered her a bed weeks ago, but she didn't care when it
arrived. All four were seldom home at the same time and she
had whichever lower she wanted.
Other than that, there was a large round table, also of the
same irregular wood and looking hand-carved, with four match-
ing chairs and one obviously cobbled from another set some-
where; a large chest with all sorts of clay pots, gourds, and
the like, and another with a set of well-worn and dented pots,
pans, plates, and utensils. A makeshift cupboard and shelves
held some fruit, containers of dried meat, and some Jar-sealed
delicacies. Without a refrigerator or freezer there wasn't much
else you could keep around. Food was caught or picked from
die Company common stores which were constantly restocked,
me men of the camp taking turns doing the required hunting,
fishing, and the like. The women were supposed to plant and
tend and pick the gardens and citrus grove, and tend to the
miriks, a chickenlike bird that thrived here and gave regular
fine-tasting eggs. Then they would pick up and deliver what
they needed at the end of the day for the next day's food.
Cooking was done on a wood stove on the porch, where
the smoke could easily disperse. It was of stone and reminded
her of nothing as much as the most elaborate permanent
backyard barbecue she'd ever seen. Still, with a little instruc-
WAR OF THE MAELSTROM 245
tion from the other women, she'd had no trouble in mastering
it pretty well, and getting to know the seasonings and oils and
herbs and spices by eye, as well as bow to cook without
getting spattered or asphyxiated. She'd gotten real good real
fast because she'd been a cook for Boday all that time, and
because she was very eager to learn and please.
Over to one side was a partially finished project with the
basic tools for the carpenter's job set in a case next to it.
She'd always been a fair carpenter and the crib was taking
real shape, but she was finding herself too easily frustrated
and upset by little things, and she just hadn't been able to
keep at it. She knew she'd let me boys finish it, although it
bothered her. She was proud that she still did all the same
work as the others, that she could be "normal." Of course,
she had thought that she would handle the later stages of
pregnancy better than she had; what was a little more weight
and tummy when she already carried so much? It wasn't like
that, though. After a while you hardly thought about the fat,
but this was like a bowling ball that didn't move exactly the
same as you did. Dead weight that shifted suddenly and
wrongly and threw you off balance and made you perma-
nently a little uncomfortable, and you didn't get used to it.
She heaved herself out of the chair, got her cup, and
lumbered over to the door where there were two amphoras,
each containing a supply of pretty good wine—one white, one
red. Covantians seemed to live on wine, and to be able to
produce a drinkable product somehow in the damndest places.
They mostly looked kind of American Indian, but she was
certain that they must somewhere have had common ancestors
with the French or Italians. She didn't like drinking so much
alcohol, for the sake of the kid, but these were deliberately
fairly weak, and they were here and running water was not.
Central wells provided the water, which was taken in large
gourds on the head back to each hut. She'd gotten quite good
at carrying fairly heavy burdens on her head, and so each day
as needed she'd climb down the ladder after lowering the
vine-rope-supported platform that served as a kind of dumb-
waiter, get her own food from the stores, and get what water
she needed as well. The fact that she managed this while
being now so hugely pregnant was a matter of pride to her,
and she wanted to do it as long as she was the least able. It
246 Jack L. Chalker
was one of her jobs, her duties. At least now, with the boys
out on the boat for up to four days at a stretch, it was mostly
just getting stuff for her, although she missed them.
It was a very primitive life, with no amenities, full of
constant work just to keep in the same place, and yet she was
happy and content with it. She did not want to do anything
else or be anyone else. She understood her place, what was
expected of her and what was not, all her duties and responsi-
bilities, and it was all she wanted, all she could be. She, like
the others, was the perfect Covantian wife, and the spell
allowed for nothing less than true belief. She wanted nothing
else because she could not; she acted and thought as she did
because she could think no other way.
That went as well for her sexual nature. Women no longer
attracted her; she could not really remember how they once
did, although she remembered it. Men, who had never really
attracted her before, now seemed attractive, alluring, sexy;
their moves, even their mannerisms, fascinated her, and she
felt real lust at times with all those naked guys around.
Of course, her now being hugely pregnant had only al-
lowed for so much, and they were more concerned than she
was about hurting the kid. but they'd had some fun anyway
and she'd managed some oral tricks. Still, she dreamed and
fantasized about after the child was bom, when they could
truly unite with her.
Oddly, those fantasies particularly pleased her, as did the
unusual, for her, eroticism brought on by things even vaguely
phallic. For the first time, she had feelings like the other girls
had; for the first time, she was over on Charley's side with
the "normal" folks. For the first time, she felt like she fit in,
and it gave her an enormous sense of inner peace and a
feeling of belonging. She had approached it at Pasedo's with
her memory gone, but her sexual nature had still stood in the
way.
Until now, nobody had really understood her, including
herself. Even Etanalon's magic mirror had drawn its basics
from her, and since she was confused so it could only work
with what it had. It wasn't that she was this Storm Princess,
or that she wanted to run from responsibility. It was rather
that she'd always been an outsider, a totally square peg, even
back home, and even more so in this far more structured
WAR OF THE MAELSTROM 247
and restrictive society. Nobody who didn't always feel differ-
ent and abnormal—and was—could ever understand that, and
only now, when she was in all ways as "normal" as the other
giris here, or the ones she was likely to meet, did she herself
truly understand her own longing.
If anything, she was more "normal" than Charley had ever
been. Charley would look down her nose at this kind of life.
She never needed or wanted a husband or anything that
smacked of convention, that was clear from the way she'd
gone and kept going on this world. The funny thing was,
Boday was more a model for Charley, love potion or no love
potion. Boday had talents, not all of which were of the
noblest sort it was true, and she'd carved her way by force of
will, brains, and without any magical powers, into a position
where she was totally in control of her life, and really needed
no one even in this traditional, male-dominated society. Yeah,
mat's where things had taken a wrong turn at the start. Boday
and Charley were kind of natural partners, or at least soul-
mates; she hadn't even fit in with Boday. Not sexually—
Boday had been straight until she'd gulped that potion, as
straight as Charley—but even in that they both had the same
basic lack of regard for men as anything more than sex
partners and certainly no desire for long-term commitments.
Not that Boday hadn't married guys—it was practically a
hobby with her—but she dumped them just as quick when
lust cooled down.
Well, that was the two of them. She'd had another option
chosen for her, but it was one that meshed with and quieted
her own inner demons. She hadn't even had any of those
Storm Princess dreams since, nor did she feel the rain or other
storms now any more than ordinary people had. Whatever
powers she had were gone with her old life, and she felt freed
by that as well.
She sat uncomfortably in a chair at me table and picked up
a worn and weathered deck of playing cards. Cards here
weren't like the ones back home; for one thing, they had ones
to fifteens in five suits and looked more like Tarot cards than
regular ones, but by removing the extras she could make a
fifty-two card four-suited deck and, by now, she was more
than used to the suits and knew the funny squiggles for the
proper numbers. She shuffled the cards and dealt them on the
245 fack L. Chalker
table in the familiar pattern of Klondike like her father used to
play. She knew and had played a lot of solitaire games from
back when she was living with Boday. They were good
time-passers when she didn't feel like doing much else, al-
though lately she'd been taking them much too seriously.
Somehow she wasn't in full control of her emotions any
more, and it didn't seem to be the spell. The other girls said it
was a natural part of the last stages of being pregnant, but it
was the hardest of all to take.
Any little things that seemed to go wrong, even the most
petty little shit, and she'd wind up crying and getting de-
pressed for long periods. She'd bawled more at nothing the
last few weeks than she had at any time since she herself was
a baby. Sometimes she'd get suddenly feeling real insecure,
even paranoid, and she'd huddle there and shake with fear
and finally, if she couldn't stand it any more, she'd manage
to get down and go over to Putie's as fast as possible just for
company and a hug.
Other times, just as suddenly, she would have an enormous
need to Just be totally alone and get real introspective, like
now,
It worked the other way, too. Sometimes with other people
she just couldn't stop talking and talking even if she had
nothing else really to say, and the littlest things would strike
her as enormously funny, and she'd laugh abnormally long
and hard to get the giggles and be unable to stop. And all the
extremes might come one after the other, like somebody
throwing a switch.
It bothered her, but she didn't really want to intrude on the
others, particularly since Quisu was just getting over having
her own kid, a boy with the lungs of a lumberjack, and had
her own hands full, and Putie'd had hers, a daughter, just
three days ago and was in pretty poor shape, while Meda was
due any day now. All had their men, or most of them, around
as well and that made her long for her own husbands, all of
whom were out working double duty to fill in for the guys
attending their own wives back here.
The fact was, nobody really knew when she was due.
She'd not looked at a calendar, let alone a watch, in so long
she had no sense of how much time had gone by except that it
seemed like years and was definitely less than nine months.
WAR OF THE MAELSTROM 249
For mat reason they'd rigged up a bell on the porch so if she
suddenly felt the baby coming, she could summon help in a
hurry. They'd all offered to take her in while the boys were
away, but with all those other men around she felt more
comfortable here. It wasn't modesty, just feeling too much
like a stranger intruding on somebody else. She'd seen and
even helped with the babies, though, and she wanted her own
real bad.
Still, she worried. She worried about her old friends and
what might have become of them, and she worried about her
own eventual safety, since she knew that while she might
have changed, the child inside had not, as evidenced by the
thunder and lightning all around the place when she kicked.
Mostly, though, she worried about the impending birth. Not
that she wouldn't be more than happy to have it over with,
but she'd sat there by Quisu and then Putie, and it didn't look
like much romance or fun at all. In fact, it looked awful
enough that if she had some way of backing out of it, she
certainly would have lost her nerve. Seeing the level of pain
and discomfort it brought, and seeing, too, Quisu's almost
twenty-two-hour labor, she knew now just why it was called
"labor," and she didn't like that one bit.
She heard someone coming up the ladder and turned, curi-
ous. It didn't cause any alarm, since she knew all the people
there were for a hundred or more miles in any direction, but
she was curious as to who would be dropping by. She was
quite unprepared for the figure that struggled in, using the
doorway to steady himself. He looked like hell, his clothes
were in shreds, and the shirt was heavily stained with blood.
"Crim! My God! Is that you? What are you doing here?
And what happened to you?"
She went over to him and tried to help him to one of the