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something like mm-mm when she realized someone was out there.
    A young girl wearing the white shift and brown tunic of a Samaeli priest stood transfixed in the corridor not five feet from Char's door. Trancelike, she swayed, her eyes closed. She seemed familiar, but Char was confused by the priest garb. Jake rushed to steady her. The girl's face went white, and she fell backwards against the wall. Her eyes opened.
    Char gasped. The girl was a chalice, gone missing from Corcovado months ago. She glanced from Char to Jake with a mix of nausea and triumph. An icy shiver ran down Char's spine.
    "Maribel?" Jake recognized her too.
    "It's Mother Maribel."
    Right. The Samaeli called their female priests mother. What was she, sixteen?
    Maribel was one of the original nine chalices Jake had rescued from orbit at the outbreak of the DOG war. She had been a sensitive and tender little girl and highly adept in all the ways of a chalice, especially trance work.
    "You look fit, Maribel," Char said. "We've all been so worried about you." Maribel had always been precocious, the first to master any new technique. She undertook her first gestation at fifteen, against Durga's wishes, and it went badly. "How is it that you are here?"
    "I am advisor to Garrick. As you see, I am under Samael's protection."
      Char forced her mind past the illogic of a chalice turned any kind of Samaeli, whether priest or mere follower. That was confusing and tragic enough.
    But advisor to Garrick?
    "How old are you now, sixteen?"
    "Seventeen." It sounded like a lie. "Four years younger than Faina." If she had batted her eyelashes and said meow, it wouldn't have been out of place. Maribel's mean pleasure was downright insufferable and out of proportion to the petty dig.
    So much for Jake's faith in humanity.

Emissary of Sanguibahd
     
    The room was full of chalices, old and new. As Durga entered, they all glanced at her, hoping for her notice. She lifted her chin and looked away, a method of detachment she had practiced to perfection. The new girls sat on mats on the floor, excited, nervous. The others hugged each other as if they hadn't seen each other in years, though they just had breakfast together.
    "Faina, my sister." The teacher Faina radiated niceness. She hadn't been her usual happy self lately. Durga was only sitting in on this class to cheer her up.
    "Good morning, Emissary."
    Always Emissary , never sister . But Durga was more than the Emissary of Sanguibahd, Asherah's representative to the world. She was also a chalice, and soon it would be impossible to avoid her sacred duty.
    When she carried a life in her belly, would they call her sister then?
    She moved to the side chairs, aware of the others' awe. She used to believe she deserved it. She had had more self-confidence at ten than she did now at eighteen. But Asherah hadn't appeared for two years, and things that used to be so clear were indistinct to her now.
    Three of the original nine chalices were lost. One had drowned in the bay, tangled in seaweed. Another thought an Empani was her brother and followed it off a cliff.
    Maribel still lived, but that's all Durga knew. Maribel had gotten pregnant too young and her uterus ruptured. The physicians saved her life, but not her womb. She was so angry. Angry at Durga, at the goddess. She ran away on the transport from Garrick.
    Garrick ,shib's sake!
    Jordana was on the floor. She leaned out of formation and blinked at Durga with a big grin, so unlike the others it was a little shocking. Bald, no eyebrows or eyelashes. Her irises were brown-red with a metallic cast. She crinkled her nose, and her eyes flashed a fire-like blue that sparked and was gone.
    Having fun. As usual.
    Durga wiggled her fingers as she walked by. That's what ten years old was supposed to be like. At that age Jordana wasn't a chalice, but there was no harm in letting her sit in on classes.
    "Good morning, Emissary." Chita sat next to the only empty chair. One of the original nine,