by Pearl North
“Yes. Would you like to know more about it?” she asked.
He nodded.
She turned to a bookshelf. She took down a much-worn volume, a leather-wrapped, single-fold book, its binding marking it as a Libyrarian-written book even before she opened it to reveal the hand-lettered pages. “Here,” she said, opening it to a particular page. “These are diagrams of the procedure. Why don’t you look them over and then I’ll answer your questions.” She returned to her work.
Po looked at the pictures. To his dismay, it was exactly as Hilloa had described it. The dry, line-drawing illustrations could not hide the truth of the matter. Of how painful it must be. Of the simple fact that they rendered their males infertile.
And if he did not have this done to himself, he would be unacceptable to Libyrarian women. What was he going to do?
At length he closed the book and returned it to its shelf. Burke looked at him kindly. “Do not think that just because you are Ilysian, you are the only male to be horrified by the procedure. Even our Libyrarian boys, who are brought up to expect it, are afraid. If it was not frightening, indeed, if were not painful, it would not be an initiation.”
“But I thought boys and girls were equal,” he said.
“We are.”
“Then why don’t girls have to go through something frightening and painful in order to become women?”
Burke nodded understanding. “They do. You are forgetting that menstrual periods are painful, not to mention childbirth itself.”
Of course, he thought. How could he have been so stupid as to forget about periods? Much was made of their difficulty, back home. And of course there was nothing more painful and perilous than childbirth itself. He nodded.
“I have performed many initiations in my time,” said Burke, “and I have answered many nervous questions beforehand. I think I can guess at a couple that may be on your mind now. May I?”
He nodded again.
“First of all, it does hurt, yes. It is not an unbearable pain, but it is not trivial, either. It is as bad as any significant cut to a sensitive area would be. You would be sore for many days afterward, and you would have to rest for at least two days immediately following the initiation.
“But once you recovered you would find that it does not interfere with your sexual functioning in any way apart from the fact that you cannot father children without a second procedure to reverse the first one.”
“And what about that? Can you really make them fertile again?”
“Usually.”
Po gaped. “Usually? You mean sometimes it doesn’t work? I might wind up infertile forever?”
She nodded. “It’s a possibility. Keep in mind that as Libyrarians, we regard reproduction as a privilege, not a right or a duty. Not all Libyrarians are afforded the privilege anyway. Ever. Those that are, and who find themselves unable to father children due to scarring, well, they are disappointed, of course. But reproducing is never anyone’s end-all or be-all among us. It is a misfortune, but not an unendurable one.”
Scarring. Po’s mouth was dry and he forced himself to swallow. “I see.” For a moment there was silence between them.
“I think perhaps you might be best to do without a Libyrarian initiation, Po,” said Burke at last. “Given your background, and the primacy your society of origin places on fertility in males.”
He took a deep breath. “But Libyrarian women. They won’t have anything to do with me if I don’t take the initiation, will they?”
Burke gave him a closed-lipped smile and shrugged. “Probably not.”
6
Disgrace
The following morning at breakfast, Po was too nervous to follow the conversation between Hilloa, Bethe, and Jaen. He had decided that before taking any irreversible action, he should make sure Hilloa was serious. He’d noticed that the Libyrarians changed partners a lot. If he was going to be initiated so they could be together, then by rights she should offer him a permanent place in her household. Just the idea of making such a bold demand made his heart race. He had rehearsed five different ways of asking her, and he kept comparing them, trying to decide which one was best. Wrapped up in these thoughts, he very nearly missed his opportunity.
Jaen and Beth were standing up and Hilloa was already in the aisle, heading toward the Great Hall. He scrambled after her. “Hilloa!”
She turned and smiled at him. “You’ve been even quieter than usual today.”
He nodded.
She leaned in to him, letting her arm and the side of her breast press against his chest a moment, before stepping back again. “Have you thought about initiation?”
Po fought his nerves. It was unheard of for a male to be so direct about such things, but he had no choice. “I would do it,” he told her.
She grinned.
Po was tempted to leave it at that but he wasn’t quite as stupid as his behavior led everyone to believe. “But it’s a big deal for someone like me. I’m…not Libyrarian by birth. I’m Ilysian, and we…” He thought of what Burke had said. “We put a great deal of emphasis on male fertility, so…I’d need to know that this wasn’t just a passing interest on your part.”
She nodded, but her expression had gone neutral and her eyes were wary. Not a good sign.
“If I were to render myself infertile for you, possibly permanently, then I’d need to know that my future was secure. That you intended to…”
She widened her eyes.
“To marry me,” he blurted out at last.
The look on her face told him all he needed to know. He fervently wished for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s not…You’re right, my interest is much more casual than that.” She looked at him like he had a second nose in the middle of his forehead or something. Like he was an incomprehensible freak. Which was exactly what he was—to her, to everyone here.
He nodded, longing for her to leave and for this agony to be over. “I understand. That’s why I…I just can’t.”
“Okay,” she said, forcing a smile. There was an awkward silence, and then she reached out and put a hand on his arm and squeezed it. “Well, we can still be friends, right?”
That afternoon was Po’s shift doing farmwork. They all did every job, in turn. It was not the most efficient system but it was one way to keep everybody on par with one another. No one was relegated to the scut work. It seemed a bit unrealistic to Po, but no one asked his opinion, and that was just as well.
He didn’t mind the farming. Hard physical work was traditional for males and he felt more comfortable plowing the fields than discussing a book. And it was an opportunity to spend some more time with Zam. The elephant had proven invaluable for plowing and for moving the larger of the rocks they uncovered.
Besides Selene, the other members of Po’s workgroup were Ock, an Ayorite man of middle years; Arche, a Libyrarian woman about four years older than Po; and Baris. Po had assumed the task of fitting Zam with her tack and bringing her to the field. Today they were working in the far west section of the area that was under cultivation.
The elephant rumbled as he entered her stall, and greeted him with a clumsy caress with her trunk. Po laughed and wiped a streak of saliva from the side of his face. “Hey, Zam…If you were human, you’d marry me, wouldn’t you?” he said. He felt mixed relief and anxiety over Hilloa’s response. He was glad he didn’t have to go through with the Libyrarian initiation, but on the other hand, he was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to find a mate. He pushed the thoughts from his mind and concentrated on getting Zam hooked up to the yoke.
She rested her trunk on his shoulder as he led her to the field. When he got there, the other members of his workgroup were already there, picking up surface stones and loading them into a cart. They would be used for making new dwellings. Ock stood near a toolshed, cleaning off the blades of the plow. “Hey, Po,” he said. “Back her around here so I can hitch this.”
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p; Po knew enough by now not to challenge Ock’s right to tell him what to do. Still, inwardly he bristled at taking direction from another male. He quelled the reaction and helped Ock hitch the plow to Zam’s harness. “Who wants the first ride?” said Ock as the others left off rock collecting and came to stand in a semicircle beside the elephant.
“I will,” said Baris. “I missed my turn last time.”
Anger rose in Po. Baris thought nothing of speaking up before the two women in the group and putting his own desires first. Po turned and fetched a rake from the shed, concentrating on the feel of the worn, wooden handle in his hands to calm himself. Of course, no one else thought there was anything improper in Baris’s behavior and Po carefully controlled his reaction as Baris climbed up to sit behind Zam’s head. The plow was a ten-foot-long beam of hard wood with two-foot-long blades protruding from it, and in the middle, a small platform and hand rails for the rider. Ock took up position there and flicked the reins, and Zam ambled on down the field, dragging Ock and the plow behind her. The rest of them followed in their wake, using rakes and picks to break up stubborn clods of dirt, collecting more rocks, and spreading manure. Even here, they traded off jobs. Every hour someone else took the plow, and the person spreading fertilizer handed their bag to someone else and started collecting rocks or wielding an adze.
It bothered Po to see women doing the kind of jobs only men should have to do. But the hardest part was working side by side with the Pri—with Selene herself, and not trying to do everything for her. For a while, he had feared he’d be moved to another group, because she had to tell him, time and again, to do his own work and not to try to do hers as well. Now he could stand by, collecting rocks while she sprinkled goat dung over the upturned soil, though it still pained him.
It was a hot day. The days were always hot, and the nights were cold. They were in one of the outlying fields that now surrounded the Libyrinth. Closest to the Libyrinth itself were the dwellings of the people for whom there was no room inside the Libyrinth—mostly tents—though more permanent structures were being built all the time. It wouldn’t be long before it looked like a proper town—after the Ayorite fashion, anyway. Here, beyond the dwellings, were the fields. They had worked very hard, digging up rocks, plowing the ground, and mixing the soil with manure to make it fertile. Water was always a problem. Wells were dug, water was carried, irrigation ditches were dug. It was a never-ending battle with the elements, trying to get this land to produce food.
Po lifted the hoe and drove it down into the ground, trying to break up a particularly resistant clump of earth. Sweat dripped down his face and back and legs. The work made him strong. And he was not the only one who was aware of it. He glanced over and saw Arche’s eyes upon him. Maybe she liked what she saw, he thought, and even as his spirits rose, one thought dashed them. She was a Libyrarian. She’d expect him to take the initiation, just as Hilloa had.
He moved down the field, wielding his hoe, turning up the soil and picking out rocks and throwing them into the wheelbarrow to be taken to the masonry. Princess Selene was ahead of him and she looked thirsty, but he resisted the urge to fetch her a cup of water from the pail. He’d been told that if she wanted a drink, she would get it herself.
What would her mother think, he wondered, if she could see her daughter now, sweating and dirt-smeared, her brown robe discarded in the heat, dressed now only in her small clothes, which stuck to her body as she sweated. Po swallowed and looked down and concentrated on his work. When this shift was over, he could find some private corner and gratify himself with the memory, but for now, such arousal was an inconvenience and—he saw Baris smirking at him—an embarrassment. Boys didn’t flaunt their arousal around here. That much he’d noticed right away. Such a display was considered obscene by these people. These people. Which of these did he mean? The Singers? Yes, the Singers were definitely anti-sex. The Libyrarians and the Ayorites were less so, though still, compared to the Ilysian attitude they bordered on prudish.
They took a break and gathered around the water pail.
“This is almost the last field,” said Selene. “Most crews are already planting. By the end of next week, we’ll have the whole crop in.”
“Thank the Tales,” said Arche. “My back is killing me.”
Po breathed in sharply at those words. An instant later, he checked himself. If Princess Selene had meant nothing with such words, then Arche, a Libyrarian, surely had no notion of their import.
“Oh, that won’t be the end of it,” Ock assured Arche. The Ayorites spearheaded the Libyrinth’s agricultural efforts, being the most experienced in the matter. “Once the barley is planted, it’ll have to be watered and kept free of weeds, and protected from birds and other animals. We’ll still be out here at least three times a week, I’m sure. And then, if we’re lucky, the harvest. You think your back hurts now. Just wait.”
If they were lucky. Conversation died off for a moment as they all contemplated that. Po eyed the women and then turned to Baris. Under his breath, he said, “What happens if we’re not lucky?”
“If we’re not lucky?” Baris repeated his question out loud for everyone to hear. Po blushed and glared at him. Baris had something coming for that deliberate humiliation.
“If the crop fails, the settlement fails,” said Selene. “With nothing to eat, we either starve or disperse to other areas. Most people will return to their villages. Those of us who have lived at the Libyrinth all our lives…” Arche and Selene exchanged glances. “Hopefully the villagers will help us.”
Po shook his head.
“What?” said Ock.
Po turned to Selene. “Do you think Queen Thela might change her mind, and help us?”
“I doubt it. Now that she’s closed the Ilysian border to us, my guess is that our perishing would please her very much.”
Despite the water he’d just drunk, Po’s mouth was dry. How was that possible? Queen Thela was a mother to every Ilysian here, and Selene was her biological daughter. He said the words under his breath, but they carried, “A mother would not let her children starve.”
“You do not know my mother.” Selene’s rebuke was gentle, sad. She went on in a brisker tone. “And in the unlikely event that she offered us aid, it would be the end of the Libyrinth as an independent community.”
“She only does what benefits her,” said Arche. “She might feed us, but we’d have to give her control over all our research. We might just as well load up all the books and ship them to her palace.”
As the others nodded in agreement, Po stared at the ground between his feet, shocked past all comprehension. Even when Haly had told him he could not go home again, it had not occurred to him that Queen Thela was their enemy. He still thought of himself as an Ilysian. He’d taken the banishment as a punishment. She was not pleased with them—that he could understand. But how could the mother of all Ilysies abandon her children to starvation, or usurp their efforts for her own gain?
“Yammon’s tonsils, are you crying again?” said Baris. “Honestly, we should stick a spigot in you. You could irrigate the whole Plain of Ayor.”
Po threw down his cup and launched himself at the fat Singer. Baris, taken by surprise, had only enough time to raise his hands. Po wrapped an arm around his neck and dragged him down to the ground. He backhanded the other boy across the face and while he was still reeling from that, straddled his chest. He raised his fist to hit him again.
Strong, wiry arms grabbed him and pulled him up and off Baris. He was held tight against a woman’s chest. “No,” said Selene, her breath hot in his ear. “We don’t do that here.”
Po’s mortification somehow did not yet overwhelm his outrage. Baris had baited him. Not once but twice. He was asking for it. His voice low, barely a whisper, Po said, “But Your Majesty, he—”
“Don’t call me that. I’m Selene. And it doesn’t matter what he did. If males start acting like they do among each other in Ilysies, we have no hope of making this co
mmunity work. It’s the reason I advocated that you go home. We can’t have this.”
She didn’t want him here? Po sagged, and she released him. Baris was on his feet again, dusting himself off. Arche stood between him and Po, but Po could still see the smug look of satisfaction on his face. There was no justice to this, no rhyme or reason to anything. Baris had baited Po, and Po had responded the way any self-respecting male would, but somehow Po, was the one now in disgrace. Worse than disgrace. The Princess herself had just told him she did not want him here. And Queen Thela…
He turned and knelt before Selene. “Your Majesty. I am at your command. I will leave the settlement if that is your wish.”
“Oh for the sake of the Seven Tales, Po, stand up.”
He had only angered her further. He threw himself forward and pressed his face into the dirt at her feet. He wanted to beg her forgiveness but he was afraid to say another word. He would await her displeasure, and when that was done, he’d leave. He’d just walk out into the plain. He’d just keep walking all the way to the Lian Mountains, and if he could not reenter Ilysies, he’d find a cave somewhere and he’d become a recluse. Maybe he’d go into Ilysies anyway and let them kill him for a traitor. Why not let his blood bring bounty to the land? That was something, wasn’t it? He was no good to anybody here. He couldn’t get a woman. His life was over.
There was silence above him for a moment or two, and then he heard cups rattling in the basket and footsteps trudging off. He peeked out from beneath one arm. They’d all gone back to work. Including Princess Selene. She was hoeing not far away, her back to him, utterly ignoring him. He wasn’t even worth punishing. He stood up, wiped off his face, took his hoe, and went back to work.
7
Ithalia