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that Luet or Hushidh might—”
    “Why don’t I simply begin?” said Father.
    Mother smiled and raised her hands in a graceful, elegant shrug.
    “I saw something disturbing this morning,” Father began. “Just before morning, actually. I was on my way home on the Desert Road—I was out on the desert, yesterday, to ponder and consult with myself and the Oversoul—when suddenly there came upon me a strong desire—a need, really—to leave the trail, even though that’s a foolish thing to do in that dark time between moonset and sunrise. I didn’t go far. I only had to move around a large rock, and it became quite clear to me why I had been led to that spot. For there in front of me I saw Basilica. But not the Basilica I would have expected, dotted with the lights of celebration in Dolltown or the inner market. What I saw was Basilica ablaze.”
    “On
fire
?” asked Issib.
    “A vision, of course. I didn’t know that at first, mind you—I lunged forward; I was intending to rush to the city—to rush here and see if you were all right, my dear—”
    “As I would certainly expect you to do,” said Mother.
    “When the city disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared. Only the fire remained, rising up to form a pillar on the rock in front of me. It stood there for the longest time, a column of flame. And it was hot—as hot as if it had been real. I felt it singeing me, though of course there’s not a mark on my clothing. And then the pillar of flame rose up into the sky, slowly at first, then faster and faster until it became a star moving across the sky, and then disappeared entirely.”
    “You were tired, Father,” said Issib.
    “I’ve been tired many times,” said Father, “but I have never seen pillars of flame before. Or burning cities.”
    Mother spoke up again. “Your father came to me, Issya, because he hoped that I might help him understand the meaning of this. If it came from the Oversoul, or if it was just a mad sort of waking dream.”
    “I vote for the dream,” said Issib.
    “Even madness can come from the Oversoul,” said Hushidh.
    Everyone looked at her. She was a rather plainish girl, always quiet in class. Now that Nafai saw her and Luet side by side, he realized that they resembled each other closely. Were they sisters? More to the point, what was Hushidh doing here, and by what right did she speak out about family matters?
    “It
can
come from the Oversoul,” said Father. “But did it? And if it did, what does it mean?”
    Nafai could see that Father was directing those questions, not at Rasa or even at Hushidh, but at Luet! He couldn’t possibly believe what the women said about her, could he? Did a single vision turn a rational man of business into a superstitious pilgrim trying to find meanings in everything he saw?
    “I can’t tell you what your dream means,” said Luet.
    “Oh,” said Father. “Not that I actually thought—”
    “If the Oversoul sent the dream, and if she meant you to understand it, then she also sent the interpretation.”
    “There
was
no interpretation.”
    “Wasn’t there?” asked Luet. “This is the first time you’ve had a dream like this, isn’t it?”
    “Definitely. This isn’t a habit of mine, to see visions as I’m walking along the road at night.”
    “So you aren’t used to recognizing the meanings that come along with a vision.”
    “I suppose not.”
    “Yet you
were
receiving messages.”
    “Was I?”
    “Before you saw the flame, you knew that you were supposed to turn away from the road.”
    “Yes, well,
that.”
    “What do you think the voice of the Oversoul sounds like? Do you think she speaks Basyat or puts up signposts?”
    Luet sounded vaguely scornful—an outrageous tone of voice for her to adopt with a man of Wetchik’s status in the city. Yet he seemed to take no offense, accepting her rebuke as if she had a right to chastise him.
    “The Oversoul puts the knowledge pure into our minds, unmixed with any human