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end of her nose, but not meanly. “Soon you will feel wonderful, I promise!”
    With her sisters’ help, Bisla poured the pink flower-smelling stuff onto cloths and scrubbed Hekat all over, even between her toes. More pink stuff was poured into her hair, so Bisla could scrub that too. The pink stuff turned frothy like sadsa, but not white. Grubby brown, it floated on the water and stung her eyes. But that was only a small pain and it was what Abajai wanted, so Hekat didn’t protest or fight. She gasped when the woman Bisla poured a whole bucket of water over her head, was astonished when her hair was scrubbed again, then again, until the froth at last was sadsa white.
    By then the hot water was cool and she was feeling so soft, so floppy, it was all she could do to keep her legs strong and straight. If she wasn’t careful she’d slide right back under the water again. Her wet hair was so heavy her head wanted to tip backwards. If she let that happen it might snap off altogether. That was how heavy her hair felt.
    “There, child. You are properly clean,” said the woman Bisla. “Does it please you?”
    Hekat nodded. Properly clean was something else bigger than good. What had the woman said? Wonderful .
    “Now we must somehow untangle that rat’s nest you call hair. Aieee! Let’s hope Abajai and Yagji are in a haggling mood today or you’ll never be godbraided before they finish their business!”
    The woman Bisla helped her climb up the stone steps on her wobbly legs. Then the other two women wrapped her in a large thick cloth and pressed the water from her heavy hair with more cloths as the woman Bisla dried and dressed herself. After that, all three women sat her on the floor. They seated themselves around her and began to tease at her damp hair. It hurt. Their busy fingers tugged and twisted, they made sharp sounds of annoyance and asked the god over and over to help them.
    “Has it ever been brushed?” grumbled the shortest sister. “I don’t think it has.”
    She was wrong. The woman had brushed her hair sometimes, when the man wasn’t looking. Not often, though, and not for long.
    “How many godbraids does Abajai want?” said the other sister, tchut-tchutting as her comb caught in another knot. Hekat swallowed a cry of pain. She-brats who made noises like that were always sorry. “Even with the god’s help we won’t manage more than fifteen before the haggling’s done. Will that be enough?”
    “If you waggle your fingers as fast as your tongue there’ll be plenty of godbraids when we give her back!” snapped the woman Bisla.
    Hekat yawned and closed her eyes. The hot water had left her sleepy, all her nagging pains lulled to silence. The knots were gone from her hair now, the women’s fingers whispered through it. Their light touches on her scalp prickled over her warm clean sweet-smelling skin. The woman Bisla and her sisters chattered as they worked, talking of people and secrets, village business. She let herself drift away from it, wondering about Abajai and what he was doing.
    “There!” the woman Bisla said at last, jerking her back to the room. “You are godbraided. See?” She waggled her fingers, and the shorter sister gave her a polished silver disc attached to a carved wooden handle. Hekat had never seen anything like it. “Look!” said the woman Bisla. “The god has blessed you, child.”
    Hekat looked and saw a face. Even though it was against Abajai’s word, she cried out. “Aieee! Demon! Demon !”
    The woman Bisla grabbed her wrist. “Demon? Silly child! That is no demon, that is you .” She held up the silver disc. “This is a mirror. Have you never seen a mirror?”
    Mirror? Heart pounding, all the warmth and softness in her body turned cold and hard with fear, Hekat shook her head.
    “She is a savage, Bisla,” the other sister said.
    “Where are you from, child?” said the woman Bisla, still holding her wrist. “Where did Abajai find you?”
    She’d spoken