by Lisa Maxwell
Chapter 15
Is was filled with urgency to leave, but no one else seemed to share her feeling. Ondre thought John needed time with his people to heal as much as he could before facing the Mirror. Is thought Ondre just wanted to keep his brother around as long as possible, and normally she would have agreed except that the troopers would be coming back for her.
Ellie tried to reassure Is that the Alliance troopers could not surprise them. The Hluit had put out extra scouts, plus everyone seemed to think the Blueskins would interfere with troop movement.
Is objected, but she was told again that the Hluit could not control the Blueskins. They could not even be sure what the Blueskins would do. Is began to realize that the relationship between the two peoples was more complex and subtle than she could hope to understand quickly.
Meanwhile, Petre became her almost constant companion. He loved to talk and his ceaseless chatter was a great source of information for Is, as she was trying desperately to figure out her new people.
Petre took her out to see the herd they had given Lark.
Boys and girls around ten to fifteen years stayed with the breeding herds and kept them separated. For the young people it was training in independence. They were completely responsible for the horses. They rode trusted geldings that the stallions would tolerate.
These people revered their horses in a much more natural way than the way the Alliance treated theirs. Even the youngest children seemed to know how to ride. They learned to care for the needs of their horses as they were learning to take care of their own needs. Is had seen small children lugging manure away from the camp, and toddlers tagging along to help spread it where the grass would reclaim it for nourishment. It was part of life, like dressing oneself, or taking care of one's own hygiene.
They had given Lark a herd of six mares. Is visited the stallion while Petre chatted with the kids who were in charge of the herd. It was good to have Lark’s soft brown nose snuffling over her hands and arms, good to see his big intelligent eyes and the familiar way he twitched his ears, to have his scent and the big reassuring bulk of him next to her.
Inevitably Is thought of what Ondre and Ellie had said about Lark going crazy. Her fingers ran through his mane, absently untangling it. If she rode him to the Mirror, would it trigger him as the coming of his berserker would? Would it kill him? If she left him here and he went crazy, the Hluit would have to kill him. If the Alliance got him back, they would send him against the Mirror and that would be the end of him. Was there really some chance the Mirror wouldn't kill John? Was there a chance it would heal him? Was there any chance he would learn something that would save Lark? It seemed an impossibly small hope, but it was the only one Lark had.
The days began to take on a routine. First thing in the morning nearly everyone would turn out for martial arts practice. Petre had formally invited Is to practice but everyone taught her. First she had to learn to fall so she wouldn't be hurt when someone threw her. Then she had to learn how to make the movements work so she could throw someone no matter how big or strong they were, or no matter how fast they attacked. At least that was the theory. In practice everyone moved very slowly and carefully with her. She understood that it was important to do things correctly from the beginning. As in learning to ride, it would be harder to break bad habits later on than to develop the right habits in the beginning.
The practice was extremely taxing both physically and mentally but Is loved it. She soon overcame her fear of falling and everyone was so nice about teaching her that she even overcame her fear of making mistakes and being ridiculed. Also during practice she could interact with John without the need for words and there was no time to worry about the future. Sometimes Petre practiced with her, sometimes he practiced with John and that was a treat to watch. They made it look like play as one or the other of them went sailing through the air, obviously enjoying each other.
When either of them practiced with Ondre it looked more like a struggle – at least for Petre or John. Ondre was very fast and apparently inexhaustible. His movements were so minimal it was hard to see what he had done to cause the other person to fall. And when it was his turn to be thrown, no matter how he landed, he seemed to bounce off the ground, attacking again before either John or Petre was ready.
There was nothing mean spirited about it. At the end Ondre always thanked them sincerely for helping him to improve, while they stood trying not to be obvious about being out of breath. But with Is, Ondre always worked slowly and carefully, correcting her every mistake with such gentleness she never felt put down.
After practice and breakfast came the daily chores. At this time of year the people were busy harvesting crops they had cultivated in outlying plots. At breakfast someone would stand up and say something like, "The roots are ready to harvest in High Plot." Or, "The harnuts are ripe in Blue Forest." The people seemed to be free to decide which jobs to assign themselves, and as far as Is could tell all the work was getting done. It was so different from the government school where everyone was assigned to tasks and proctors stood over the students to make sure they kept working. Since Is had been unwilling to do the things that would have kept her in the proctors' good graces, she’d had to do a lot of the work while other students loafed, and she was considered stupid for getting herself into that position.
But here the attitude was different. People talked and kidded one another. The only competitiveness Is could discern was a friendly try at being the one to get the most work done. As in the martial arts class, anyone who was near her was willing to teach her a more efficient way to shell harnuts or dig bigroots.
Is tried to put away old reflexes and relax. But sometimes the tension of just being around so many people was too much for her. So in the evenings when the work was done and people were resting, gossiping and just being together, Is would often slip off by herself.
No one ever said anything to her about it, or followed her, or tried to prevent her from going, but she knew people noticed, especially Petre. He seemed to have appointed himself her special guardian. She was aware that she shouldn’t really need one - everyone looked out for her - but sometimes she felt unsure. Whenever that happened, Petre always seemed to materialize to guide her unobtrusively through the situation.
John often chose to be in her work group too. Sometimes Alene was with him, sometimes not. Is did not understand their relationship and didn’t dare allow herself to hope that it might be breaking up. The people apparently had a very special love for John. Is began to feel that she was just one more person who loved him and it could never be anything more than that. Since he was already a hero in their eyes and would soon do something even more dangerous than anything he had previously survived, Is felt that all she could hope for was to help him, if possible. She was terrified of what they were planning to do and she did not know how she would find the courage to be any use.
The day the Big Rain began, all harvesting came to a stop.
“It’ll rain for days now,” Petre told her. “Possibly weeks.”
The people constructed a huge communal tent and sat around drinking tea and talking, smoking whatever foods and meats they could, or just catching up on their rest.
Is was unaware of how it began, but sometime during that first day the talk had gone from idle conversation to something more structured. Ondre was sitting cross legged on one of the rugs. As he spoke, people began to collect around him. His words became simple, his sentences cadenced, as if he were reciting something. The people fell silent, listening to Ondre with rapt attention, and something else. Satisfaction. They were like people who were thirsty and had found a well. Something powerful was happening here, without fanfare, without introduction, and all the people were participating in it deeply. Everyone except Is.
Slowly, she realized that Ondre was reciting the history of the Hluit. ". . . We were scholars of the Privileged class, highest in the hierarch
y, but we were dissatisfied. We presented our ideas and were rebuffed. We moved to outlying villages and they brought us back. We petitioned for change and went unheard.
"Then Hluit came to be governor of the Grand Council. He proposed an experiment. 'Let them have their own land. Let them try to make a different society.' The ones who said man's nature must be controlled said we would fail. We would end up in chaos or with a more restrictive government than the Alliance. Hluit said, 'Let them try. If they fail, it is no difference to us because they will be isolated beyond the Boundary. Whether they succeed or fail they will never again be a problem to us.
"We became the Hluit. We are an experiment.
"Our forbearers numbered one hundred and eighty. We honor them all. Among them were William Demansc, the great philosopher who set the tone of our constitution; Annette Aneet, who brought us the science of ecology; Lis Mistome, the great mathematician; Bihl Ahmanhet and Ondre Dreel, who brought us knowledge of medicine . . ." The list went on and on.
Is could not believe anyone could memorize so much. But Ondre must have been getting it right because everyone was watching and some were nodding to themselves. Some were mouthing the sentences silently along with him. Even the children seemed to know it.
Ondre began to catalog the differences between the Hluit and the Alliance.
"We do not build houses or cities. We do not rape the land. We do not set one person above another. We do not withhold knowledge of any sort from any person." As the list went on Is began to recognize the things she had only sensed as "wrongness" in the government school.
These people had made a study of what was amiss in the Alliance and they had tried to change those things. They had purposefully formed their society to be as different from the Alliance as possible.
"To say, 'This will be the way,'" Ondre went on, "is only a first step. People must have a road to walk. The road must have a map. Intention was the beginning. The map was the second step. But the map is not the road. Each person walks the real road. Sweat, blood, tears, laughter, frustration, joy - these are the real road. Horsemanship and martial arts are the map. Love is the destination."
Is didn't hear the rest. Love is the destination. Not control. Not power over someone else.
She had seen the women taking an equal part in Hluit society. She thought of the fearlessness of the children. She thought of the bridle-less horses. The Hluit would not even coerce their horses!
Even their martial arts could only be used effectively in self-defense. The success of the throws depended on the aggression of the attacker. Lost in her own thoughts, Is mostly missed the rest of Ondre's recitation. A whole new world of thoughts and questions opened for her. She was surprised that she had never thought to ask Petre about his people's history. The government school had taught her well. Don't ask questions. No, something even deeper than that - don't want to know.
That was the biggest wrong the Alliance perpetrated against their people, not just the withholding of knowledge, but their attempt to kill the desire to learn.
Set above those uneducated, unawakened masses were the privileged few - the scholars. They had all the knowledge, the books, and other resources with which to learn. For the first time Is wanted to know, not just what the scholars knew, but what the Alliance did not want its people to know. Now she understood why the Hluit had spies, and why John's need to tell the people what he had learned was so urgent that he would risk his life to do it. She understood why his brother, who loved him, would back him in taking that risk.
She couldn't listen to any more. She had to think about what she had already understood. She was sitting on the edge of the crowd so it was easy enough to slip out from under the tent.
The rain was like ice water. She pulled her coat up around her neck and began to walk. A few steps away she made the mistake of looking back, and met Petre's eyes. No one else had noticed. Everyone's attention was focused on Ondre.
Is turned away, walking quickly, against the chill of the rain. This time she wished Petre would follow her. She wished she could talk to him as easily as he talked to her. She would tell him all the things that were happening inside her head. She would tell him about all the changes – as though the ground beneath her feet was shaking, as though her heart was filled with sky one moment and heavy stone the next, as though her brain would explode like the sun. And the only thing she had to hold on to was something from the government school, dark and heavy and bitter.
But that past horror and its lingering effects had no place here. Here people were trying to be good in their hearts, trying to make something good of their lives. She could choose to cling to what the government school had done to her. She could be the person they had tried to mold – dark, scared and suspicious. Or she could put that behind her and open new doors.
She sat with her back against a tree, cold and damp, and watched the rain. She felt it finding its way into her clothing but she would not move. The physical misery matched her internal turmoil. She wanted so much to tell someone what was happening to her. Feeling this way made her realize how much more intensely John must want to tell his people something much more important than what was happening to her. For the first time she understood that there was a good and positive reason to go with John to the Mirror, not just because she could not stay here with the troopers coming. For the first time she felt that she might be able to gather the courage to do what was right. She could do more than just run away. She could embrace this bigger cause.
The rain continued for days. Instead of the martial arts practice, Ondre led meditation sessions. Is learned to still her thoughts and find a place of inner peace. The problems she faced and the decisions she had to make could be handled if she didn’t limit herself to a single part of her being. Rational thought and logic would do her very little good facing something like the Mirror or the herd fogs. The courage she needed to find would not come from the part of her mind that wanted to yammer with fear.
So Is attended all of Ondre’s sessions. When he saw she was interested, he helped her with special postures, different methods of breathing, fasting and purification rituals.
Is was not the only one. Many people seemed to use this time of confinement to work on their inner selves. She often saw John or Petre in meditation. Chanting and drumming were sometimes part of the rituals.
Finally the rain broke. The clouds parted enough to let the sun shine through. Then a breeze came and the clouds began to move. The people rejoiced like children. It was time for the feast of the Splitting of the Ways.
Each year, when the harvests were in, and the good summer grazing was depleted, the Hluit split into smaller groups and traveled slowly outward letting the horses graze in outlying places where they had not eaten all summer. While the horses ate some of the grass, the people would cut most of it for hay. Later in winter, when all the grass was gone, they would retrace their steps, moving from haystack to haystack as needed, until they all came together again when the spring grass was full.
The feast of the Splitting of the Ways was similar to the feast they'd had in celebration of John's return but much more elaborate. The final harvests had been brought in and whatever couldn't be preserved must be eaten. After the fasting and deprivations and inner strictures of the last weeks it was good to let go.
There was food, drink and dancing. Is thrilled to the drums and for a while she forgot herself in dancing. She danced with Petre, John, Ondre, Ellie and practically everyone else at one time or another. She felt as if she loved everyone and everyone loved her. This was how it was to be Hluit.
For a time she forgot that she was not Hluit, that she would not be staying here, that she had no future with these people. Eventually the fire burned low and most everyone had gone home, but Is was not ready to let go of this night. She lay back on the hillside where she and Petre had sat that first night, which seemed so long ago, and Petre foun
d her there.
He had brought some of his people's excellent mead.
They lay side by side, speaking very little, watching the coals shimmer below them and stars shimmer above them. Is wanted to stay there forever but the night chill began to penetrate her clothes. For a while longer her mind held it at bay but eventually she sat up and hugged her knees.
Petre immediately took off his own jacket and put it around her shoulders.
“But you’ll be cold,” she protested.
“I think I drank too much to notice.”
She laughed at that. She never wanted this night to end and she suspected Petre felt the same. She knew he wouldn’t mind being a little cold in order to prolong their time together.
“Is . . .” there was a softness in his voice, a little catch Is had never heard before. She was afraid he was going to say something about the future, about leaving. She did not want that. She turned to face him, ready to say anything to stop him and saw how he was looking at her.
She was caught in an upwelling of her own emotions, pinned. He reached out and so lightly touched her face, stroking the hair back from her cheek. Her whole body reacted to his touch as though his fingers had stroked every nerve. She could not move.
She looked into his eyes and saw into his heart. This was not her Petre who was always there, always her friend, talkative, joking, but always carefully in his place. He had let that distance go. He was stripped of everything. Open, vulnerable.
He was in love with her. She had known this, but she had never believed it.
He leaned toward her slowly. She knew what he was asking. He was going to kiss her. She knew that she should draw away. What she saw in his eyes was too much. For him this was not a simple kiss, a little too much to drink and a little slip across the bounds that usually held him. But she was held, fascinated by what his touch was doing to her.
His lips were almost touching hers. She could taste his breath in her mouth. She didn't know how to stop him when she really did want to feel more of the way his touch was making her feel.
When his lips touched hers the pleasure that rushed through her body was almost painful in its intensity. His lips were moist and soft, not at all the hard and needy things of the boys at the school who had tried to force themselves on her. She let her mouth open to his. Her body was filled with heat and exquisite, almost painful rushes of pleasure.
Suddenly he pulled away from her and in the next instant he was on his feet. Is jerked in response. She heard her own breath pant harshly a few times before she controlled it.
"I'm sorry." Petre's voice was husky in a way Is had never expected to hear. "I'm way out of line. I'm sorry." He looked scared, confused and deeply sorry.
Is was fighting her own battle with fear and confusion and shame. In the government school such behavior would be punished if adults caught them. But she was not afraid of that here.
In the school a kiss would have been for any reason except that the person actually cared about her. Sexual advances were all wrapped up in issues of power, ownership, and runaway need - games that Is would not play. There Is would not have cared if she hurt anyone who tried to kiss her.
But this was different. What Petre wanted was more subtle, more complicated and much more frightening.
Petre was still looking at her. For once he didn't seem to have anything to say. Is felt more vulnerable sitting down so she stood up. Petre tried to give her an encouraging little smile. It didn't quite work.
"Are you all right?" he asked her.
She nodded. He seemed more like the familiar brotherly Petre now and the fear and confusion Is felt had taken care of her other bodily reactions.
"Will you forgive me?"
His question surprised her. "I . . . wanted it too."
Petre looked directly into her eyes, and then sensing her discomfort, looked away.
"I don't know how it is for you but for me it wouldn't be what I wanted if we just ..." A vague hand motion said what he meant.
"I apologize," he said, speaking softly again. “I didn’t mean to . . .” and he stopped himself, searching for the truth of what he hadn’t meant to do. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you.”
Touched by the sense of wonder in his voice, Is couldn't speak
“I know you are in love with John,” Petre continued. “I know he loves you. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. Or you.” He tried a little grin. “I was . . .”
The boyish shrug of his shoulders expressed the way he had been helpless, the way Is had been helpless too.
She didn't know why Petre thought she loved John. She never spoke about John. As for John loving her, he couldn't have told Petre that. But Is couldn't ignore the hope she felt, even as she was telling herself it was all false.
"I'd uh . . . I'll walk you home," Petre said.
She nodded. She knew he would not touch her, would not lose himself again. What she had seen was the truth in his heart.
That made her sad. A precious thing had been offered to her and would never be offered again.
She would go away and never again feel the way he had made her feel, not just his touch but the way he had looked at her - to be loved like that. She would like to feel that, again and forever. She would like to live in that kind of embrace.
Instead she would hurt him by the simple fact that she did not have the same depth of feeling for him that he had for her. It was scary to have that kind of power over him.
She did not want it.
And she did want it. She wanted to be loved by him even if she didn’t love him as much. She wanted to have that power over him, and she loathed the part of herself that felt that way.
They were almost to her tent. She stopped walking.
“Petre. . .”
She was keenly aware of his presence. She did not know what she could say. She did love him but not the way he felt about her.
"Thank you."
She felt his surprise. "For what?" he asked, and since the question seemed real she gave him a real answer.
"For being such a good friend. For looking out for me when it wasn't in your best interests. For showing me things. For talking to me.” But those were things that all of his people did for her. What Petre offered was more important to her. And much more dangerous for him. “Thank you for . . . loving me.”
The smile he gave her was genuine and the spring was back in his step.
"I will always . . . be your friend," he said.
“Yes,” she said. He was telling her he would still be there, he would still love her no matter what happened. It gave her strength.