The Boy from Ilysies

by Pearl North

  This was the crux of his problem. At home, no one had consulted with him, or any other male, about what males were supposed to want—it was just given to them. And now here, everyone expected him to want something that he couldn’t even really understand or imagine.

  “Of course not,” said Hilloa. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just…You have to understand. It’s shocking to us. We’re used to something very different.”

  He nodded, still looking down at his food. His cheeks were hot. He felt like he was going to cry. He didn’t want to cry in front of these women. At home, tears could get him a lot. If he cried the right way and at the right time in front of a woman she would comfort him, she might even place him under her protection; but here it was just considered emotional, which seemed to equal weak, as near as he could tell.

  The girls fell silent and returned to their food, and then a little while later their conversation continued on other topics and he was no longer a part of it.

  Po finished eating as quickly as he could and walked out of the cool, stone environs of the Libyrinth and into a desert evening, the sand beneath his sandals still warm, but the air cooling rapidly as the sun set in the west. Po enjoyed the lingering food smells from other dining areas and the bleating of goats as they were rounded up into pens for the night. Out here, in what some called Tent Town, things felt a lot less structured, and if he squinted, he could pretend that he was in an Ilysian marketplace, full of life and commerce.

  Children ran past, singing the alphabet song, and around a campfire, a group of Ayorites took turns reading to each other from a copy of The Book of the Night, the pages of which had been treated with palm-glow to make them readable in the dark.

  Though she used to practice out of her office in the Libyrinth, practicality had forced Libyrarian Burke to establish a larger infirmary in a tent located in the center of the settlement. It was lit with the electrical lights the Singers had made. In general, Po preferred the soft, lambent illumination of palm-glow. But he had to admit that the brightness of electrical light was a blessing in this case. It meant that surgical operations could be done at all hours.

  As he approached the infirmary, Po saw the motherly figure of Libyrarian Burke inside, walking from one bed to the next. Despite the turmoil of his day and the challenge he knew was to come, he relaxed. Po adored Burke. She embraced all religions, all sciences, all knowledge with equal exuberance and intelligent curiosity. And despite the fact that his kinesiology skills were nearly nonexistent, she welcomed his help.

  She was not only a physician; she was also the Libyrarians’ high priestess. Among Libyrarians, the one most schooled in the lore of Time and the Seven Tales was also always the doctor. Between her incessant research and her caring for the sick of the community, it was a mystery to Po when she managed to sleep.

  Despite her schedule and her responsibilities, Burke was kind and jolly, older and settled. Not for the first time, Po wondered if she had a lover. It would be nice to be the consort of a woman like her. If she liked him, he would feel very secure with her.

  Po lifted the flap of the tent and went inside. Beds lined both sides of the tent. There were only two patients at the moment: Nian, who had fallen from a scaffolding while working on a windmill and broken his leg; and Yolle, who was being devoured by the Little Lion Inside and was dying.

  Burke stood at the large worktable at the far end of the tent, humming as she mixed ingredients in a mortar and pestle. From the sharp aroma that wafted across the tent, Po knew she was making Ease for Yolle. His shadow, cast by the electric lights, fell over the table and Burke looked up. She smiled. “Po, how nice. How are you today?”

  “Fine,” he said, returning her smile, and for a moment, in the face of her sunny regard, he really felt like he was.

  “I’m just finishing this up. Would you like to work with Nian for a bit? By then the Ease will be ready and you can give Yolle her dose.”

  Po hesitated.

  “Now, Po, just because Nian is another male does not mean he doesn’t deserve care.” Burke’s chiding was gentle, but for once, misplaced.

  “No, it’s not that.”

  Burke looked to where Yolle lay clutching the sheet that covered her wasted frame. “Ah.”

  For a moment Burke and Po simply looked at each other. He saw understanding in her eyes, and determination. “She will ask for you,” she said.

  Po swallowed and forced a nod, then went to attend to Nian. How ironic that he should prefer to treat the male patient. But poorly adjusted as he might be, Po understood where his duty as a healer lay. Even if they were in Ilysies, where an injured male might lose his consortship to an unscrupulous competitor, Po would not wish to take Nian’s place in his wife’s household at such a price. At least with an injury such as this, Po’s limited skills were useful.

  Nevertheless, he avoided conversation with the man as he worked on the pressure points on the soles of Nian’s feet, stimulating them to increase circulation. It was impossible to massage the leg itself, now splinted, though that would be an important part of his recovery once the bone mended.

  “That feels good,” said Nian. “Thank you.”

  Po nodded, polite if a bit awkward. “You’re welcome.”

  He turned from Nian’s bed to find Burke standing there, Yolle’s dose in her hands.

  Po’s heart sank, but he took the cup of medicine from Burke and went to Yolle’s bedside. The old woman forced a smile but Po could see the pain in her eyes. He slid an arm under her frail shoulders and helped her up so that she could drink the medicine.

  When the cup was drained, Po eased Yolle back onto the bed. If he were a better kinesiologist, he could do more for her. Not cure her, of course, but at least relieve her pain without the need for the drug, Ease. He might even have been able to slow the progress of the disease, if he were as skilled as Adept Ykobos.

  “Go ahead and try,” said Yolle.

  Po drew an unsteady breath. Yolle looked up at him, trust in her eyes. No matter how many times he failed, she always asked him to try again. He wished she wouldn’t. He wished Adept Ykobos were here to do this properly. But she was not here. And this old woman, a mother, a grandmother, a person most worthy of respect, was waiting for him to help her.

  His humiliation with Princess Selene, his loneliness, his anger with Baris, and his embarrassment with the Libyrarian women all faded to nothing compared with this. He’d been apprenticed to Adept Ykobos at the age of eight and she’d trained him well. Though no one could expect of him the skills of a seasoned adept, he should have at least some capabilities by now.

  It wasn’t because he hadn’t tried. He knew all the massage techniques. The body’s pressure points and energy centers were engraved in his mind. Still, the kinesthetic sense, the source of every adept’s true healing power, eluded him.

  “Please, Po. Just try.” Yolle’s voice was little more than a whisper.

  Shame and hopelessness made it difficult to breathe, but he could not refuse her. He ducked his head to hide his face and placed his hands on the inner part of the old woman’s elbows. Closing his eyes, Po fought for the stillness of mind that would allow him to receive impressions from Yolle’s body. Adept Ykobos had taught him that such impressions could take many forms—colors, images, sounds, even sensations. But as always, he experienced nothing. He felt Yolle’s pulse beneath his thumbs, he matched his breath to hers, he let all the troubles of the day slide away until it was just Yolle and him, breathing together. He sat with her for so long that the settlement grew quiet around them and still, nothing happened.

  When at last he let go and opened his eyes, his face was wet. Yolle, at least, was asleep, so he did not have to face her. Not that she’d rebuke him as he deserved. No. Worse, she would thank him for trying.

  4

  Queen Thela’s Decree

  The following morning, Po stood outside of the Redeemer’s office for an hour or more, and would have been there longer if it hadn’t been for
Jan.

  “What are you doing, Poacher?” Jan had the cot next to Po’s in the boys’ dorm tent and he’d come up with that stupid nickname on the first night. But even Po could recognize that it was not intended as an insult. It was, strangely, a term of friendship.

  Jan was a couple of years younger than Po and he hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet. He was short and skinny and wiry, with typical Ayorite freckles, and sandy blond hair that currently stood up on one side from sleeping. He came down the hallway and stopped beside him, giving Po’s foot a desultory kick by way of greeting.

  In return, Po grabbed Jan around the neck and put him in a headlock. Jan jabbed him in the side with a sharp elbow and wriggled loose. Po tried to grab him again but he dodged and jumped on Po’s back and the two of them toppled to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

  “Cut it out,” said Po, getting to his feet and dusting off his robes. “We’re not supposed to fight.”

  Jan laughed. “Look who’s talking. Besides, we’re not really fighting.”

  He was right. This was nothing like the fight he’d had with Baris yesterday. That had been for real. This was just practice fighting. They were playing at it, not really harming each other, or at least not meaning to. That could change in an instant, of course, if either of them felt the other had insulted him, or if they were in competition for a woman’s attention.

  Jan got up and straightened his robe. “But seriously, what are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  Jan rolled his eyes. “Don’t get like that, Poacher. It’s my turn to milk the goats and I’m taking the shortcut. You’re just standing outside the Redeemer’s office. Why? Are you in trouble?”

  Po didn’t like Jan’s accusatory tone. Now he wished he’d taken the opportunity to really hit him when he’d had the chance. “None of your business.”

  Jan took in Po’s clenched fists and the threatening way he leaned in toward him. He shook his head, and stepped well back before saying, “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

  “I’m leaving,” Po said, not sure why he was spilling his plans or why he should want to explain anything or care what Jan thought of him. “I just have to ask for permission first. I’m waiting now to do that.”

  Jan’s eyebrows rose and he stayed well away from Po. “Leaving…” He looked at the door. “How long have you been waiting to talk to her?”

  Po shrugged. “About an hour.” He gave the words all the defiance they could hold.

  Jan nodded and bit his lip. “Have you tried knocking?”

  Po gaped at him, and with an act of will, forced his mouth closed. “Of course not! I’m not going to make things worse by disturbing her. I’ll just ask to speak with her when she comes out. Or in, if she’s not there yet.”

  “She’s there.” Jan nodded to the bottom edge of the door. In the early morning gloom of the hallway, the light spilling from beneath it glowed, golden and warm. Jan heaved a great sigh and shook his head. “You’re pathetic, Poacher.” He reached over and rapped on the door. The sound was loud, preemptory, rude. This was their Redeemer, for the Mother’s sake.

  As Jan walked away, Po stared after him. Jan was a servant here by birth and yet he had less regard for the Redeemer’s peace and station than even the most cosseted stud would have for a common farmer back home. Before Po could formulate a rebuke to Jan, the door opened.

  Halcyon the Redeemer stood in the doorway, smiling at him. It struck him that she was no more than a year or so older than himself, but she had so much responsibility. And here he was, to tell her he could not be part of her dream.

  Po dropped to his hands and knees and put his head to the floor at her feet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. It wasn’t me who knocked, but I should have stopped him anyway.”

  Warm hands gripped his shoulders. “Stand up, Po. It’s good that you, or somebody, knocked. You can come here any time and knock on the door. You don’t have to worry about disturbing me.”

  Po obeyed her and let her guide him inside, her hand on his elbow gentle but firm. His face felt hot. He couldn’t look at her. How was he going to get the words out that he needed to say?

  The Redeemer sat him down in a chair and moved off to a sideboard where she had a glow warmer and a teakettle. She poured water from a pitcher into the kettle and put it on the burner.

  The office was small, lit with glow torches that cast shadows on the stone walls and floor. The Redeemer’s desk faced the door. Its surface was littered with papers and books. Shelves filled with more books lined the wall to the right of the desk. Behind the desk a long sideboard held more papers, more books and, at the far end was the glow warmer. A cupboard on the left-hand wall was stocked with baskets of tea, mugs, and other supplies.

  Silence reigned as she prepared tea. Po watched her, feeling that he should offer to do that for her but unable to speak. At last, she placed the teapot, two mugs, and a basket on a platter and set them down on the desk. But she did not return to her seat behind it. Two chairs sat in front of the desk. She pulled the other one closer to his, and sat facing him, no more that a foot or two away.

  The silence stretched out until it was unbearable. At last Po glanced up and found her looking at him, smiling. Waiting. “It will take a little time to steep,” she said.

  The tea. Right.

  “Thank you for coming to see me, Po.”

  He couldn’t look at her and say the words, and if he didn’t say the words soon he wouldn’t be able to get them out at all. He stared at his knee. There was a bit of straw from yesterday still stuck in the weave. “Redeemer, forgive me. I can’t do this. I can’t be a member of this community. I’m here to ask permission to return to Ilysies.”

  Some part of him wanted to crawl out of his own mouth and snatch the words out of the air and stuff them back down his throat. But it was too late now. He’d said them.

  The Redeemer said nothing. She stood and turned her back to him. The bit of straw on his knee wavered and grew fuzzy. When she turned again he braced himself for her rebuke. Perhaps she would hit him. It would be a relief to pay for displeasing her with something so simple as pain or blood. He closed his eyes, felt the hot tears on his face, and waited.

  She took his hand and wrapped it around a mug of hot tea. “Breathe, Po, and drink this.”

  She sat down again, drawing her chair even closer to his, until their knees touched. She put a hand on his shoulder.

  He lifted the cup to his lips and drank the hot, bittersweet tea. His tears dried and he took deep breaths, feeling oddly empty now.

  “I want you to look at me.”

  He did as she asked. Her eyes, which seemed to look right into him, were sad, and yet there was light in them. Her smile, too, was partly sad and partly—it took him a moment to place it, but when he did he felt oddly relieved—amused. “I can’t pretend to understand what it’s like for you here,” she said. “I’m sorry that it’s so hard that you wish to return to a place where you can never be more than a second-class citizen. Don’t”—she grabbed his face with both hands and forced him to keep looking at her—“don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

  He swallowed and tucked those words away for later, when he might have time to work on believing them.

  “Though I think it would be a mistake for you to go back, it doesn’t matter what you or I think. It’s not possible for you to return to Ilysies now.” She released him and lifted a scroll from her desk and handed it to him. “This came yesterday.”

  He read the words, in Queen Thela’s own hand, that branded him a traitor and barred him from ever returning to the one place where he understood what was expected of him. A distant green valley beyond the mountains became more distant with every breath. The paper rustled in his hands and he wanted to crush it. He wanted to tear it and throw it across the room but he was in the presence of a woman, and such behavior was impossible.

  “Po.”

  He looked up. Again
there was that smile, those eyes. “I’m sorry. And…for what it’s worth, I’m glad we get to keep you. I know it’s selfish of me, but…”

  Po grew reckless. Maybe it was the hollow feeling inside, the sense that all of this was happening to someone else. The Redeemer fell silent in mid-sentence and he took the chance that she was finished. “I don’t think the Redemption worked on me.”

  Now she looked like she was going to cry. “Of course it did. But it’s not easy for anyone. It’s not even easy for me, and I hear the Song all the time.”

  That shocked him. For a moment, the green valley was gone from his mind and he looked at her and saw a sixteen-year-old woman who was in over her head. Was that possible? “You?”

  “Yeah.”

  He took a breath. “I go to the performances of the Song. And when I hear it, I remember what it was like that day. Other times, too, I remember. But…that’s not the same as…as…”

  “As really feeling it in the here and now.”

  Astonished, he nodded. “You do know.”

  “You may be the only Ilysian male here, and I won’t argue that it’s not a special challenge, but everybody is experiencing this. We’re all trying to get back to the way we felt that day, before we had to worry about feeding ourselves. Before we had to worry about how to get along with one another.” She leaned closer. She wasn’t coming on to him. He knew that. This was something else, something much rarer. “I’ll tell you something nobody else knows. Something I haven’t even told Gyneth. I’m not sure we’re going to make it, Po. I think this whole thing could fall apart.”

  Mother. “That’s why I should—”

  “What, wander out into the plain? Starve in the desert? Return to Ilysies and get killed for your trouble? No. If we fail, Po, it will be for many reasons, but it won’t be because of you.”

  Her words unlocked a secret door inside him, where his deepest fear had hidden itself. That he would ruin this—not just for himself, but for everyone. He hadn’t even known, until this moment, that it was the real reason he wanted to leave. But now she had exposed it and brought it into the light, and called it baseless. Just then, it didn’t matter if he felt what she said to be true. The fact that she said it, and believed it, was more than enough. He reached for her, and she took him in her arms, and they held on to each other.