by Andy Giesler
You needn’t. Truly, you needn’t.
It was enough to squeeze our guts back then, for sure. It’s not like that now, though.
Now, you don’t go ’til you’re twenty-six, twice Grandmother Root’s holy number. By then you’ll already know what’s what. Now, the lights are up. Now, you can share names, and talk about whatever you care to. Now, if you and your Caller don’t get along, you can ask for another.
That all brings its own complications, ’course. But not near so bad as the old complications.
So breathe again. Please.
There.
Alright, that’s better.
So. That cup she handed me, it had the Strong Drink in it. We forbid that, most usually. Alters forbid it, too. But under a weaver’s eye? Then it’s a useful tool. Helps folks with their nerves. Helps make folks braver. Helps you settle down to do what needs doing.
I decided it probably wasn’t poison, so I did as I ought and drank it down. It burned so bad on the way down that I nearly gagged and coughed it back up again, but I drank it all. And in a moment or two, I felt real calm and floaty. Like I’d spun in circles just enough to make the world a little more interesting. Not a feeling I’d care for often, but a welcome calm at the time.
I’m not sure how much longer it was before the door opened again, then closed. But I could tell the person who walked in was a boy, because he walked as gentle as a nettled boar. And I could tell the room was pitch dark, because he tripped over a chair and crashed into the far wall and tumbled in a heap on the floor.
In the short time I’d waited, I’d felt my way about the room, so I had a better sense of it than he did. I jumped up and helped him to his feet, then I guided him back to the cot. He smelled of oats and sweat. Not a bad smell, it seemed to me.
“You hurt anything important?” I asked.
“Naw,” he said. “Think I broke my head open. But I don’t use that much.”
I chuckled. “Well, you’re still talking. Guess you didn’t open it proper.”
Then, all of a sudden, we were quiet. Because both of us, I guess, remembered why we were there and what we were to do and, as the Humble Weaver explained, that past generations were staring down at us in hopeful judgment. Staring down with love, mind you. But still.
Staring down at us.
And there we were, sat together on the cot, right up next to each other.
After a while, he spoke first. He said, “I, um…” Then, in a bit, he said. “I guess…”
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess, too.”
He reached over, his hand flopping like a dying fish, without a hope of finding mine. I had mercy on him and took it. It was rough and cracked and missing a thumbnail and half of its little finger. Later I’d learn that he liked to tease little children with that hand, sending them giggling and screaming away at the sight of that pinky stump. It was a hard hand. A good hand. Like mine.
“Well,” he said, “I guess we ought to.”
I was about to agree with him, but agreeing has always come hard to me. So, as happens entirely too often, what was in my head came out my mouth. “Nope,” I said. “Ain’t right.”
“It’s…” he said, then he didn’t say no more for a moment. “Wait. What’s not right?”
“Well, it don’t seem right to do this with some boy whose name I don’t even know.”
“But…but if the Humble Weaver says it, then it’s…it’s right.” When I didn’t answer, he asked, “Ain’t it?”
“Well,” I said, “I’ve known the Humble Weaver, and other weavers like her. Wise women, all of them, and brave. But comes to it, they’re folks. And if I know one thing, it’s that folks ain’t always right.”
“But…but she’s the Humble Weaver…”
“Tell me something. Is the Humble here with us in this room?”
Right away he tensed up beside me. I think he stopped breathing. I guess he wondered whether she might be in there.
“No,” I assured him. “No, she’s not here. Just me and you.”
“But…how do we know?” he asked, his voice quavering like a kid’s bleat.
I’d forgotten. It was pitch dark in there. “Don’t fret on that, boy. I’d know if she was here. Now, the Needful Act sounds…important, don’t it? A real special thing.”
“Well, yep. I guess it does.”
“Right. And with just me and you here, and not the Humble Weaver? Tell me, does it seem right to you that we up and do this thing like a ram and a ewe, quiet strangers in the dark, just because it’s needful? Don’t that seem a little, I don’t know…impolite?”
I could feel his heart hammering right through his hand, though now that we were talking, it seemed to hammer a little less.
“Well…yeh. I guess it does a little. But the Humble Weaver…I mean…we’re not to share names.”
“You always do what you’re told?”
“Yep. Well I try, anyhow.”
“I try, too, but it usually don’t go as I’d hoped. I’m Apprentice Woodsmith Deborah of Surecreek. You can call me Root.”
His heart might have started hammering just a little harder about then. “But…” he said, “but the Humble Weaver…”
I squeezed his hand and leaned into him just a bit. “Ain’t here. Just you and me. And I don’t know how they do things where you’re from, but in Surecreek when a stranger introduces herself, you introduce yourself back at her.”
I think that was the moment when he just plain gave up. Seemed like between the Humble Weaver, who probably wasn’t in the room, and me, who most surely was, maybe I was making more sense. Or maybe he just cared to cross me less.
“Well. Alright, then. I’m Miller Daivit of Through. And I…ah…I guess I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Miller? We have no miller in Surecreek. What’s milling like?”
So he told me.
And presently he wondered out loud why a girl was apprenticing as a woodsmith, and why he ought to call me Root.
So I told him.
I knew round abouts where Through was, and I’d gone near it a couple times with Ma, but I wondered why it was called that. He said plenty of folks stopped there since it’s on the Old Way from Market to Mannsfield, but there wasn’t much to his village. So folks just went through. I laughed, even though he didn’t mean to be funny.
Then he asked me why it was called Surecreek. I said because that’s what folks call it. He laughed, even though I didn’t mean to be funny.
And…that’s all I care to say about my Honeynock. I’ll share so many things with you in this story. But that part’s just for me. Not saying it was wonderful. Nor awful. It was just…unexpected, I guess. And it’s mine.
Sometime in the wee of morning I woke to the door opening, and I heard Apprentice Helper Lillit’s secret feet creep into the room, then heard her lamb’s-breath hand nudge Daivit awake. He seemed reluctant to go, but he went anyhow.
He might have kissed my cheek before he went. Or he might not. That’s really none of your never-mind.
And as I fell back into sleep, I remember being happy, not only because it was done, but because I was a woman now, and I could finally talk with Leeleh about all these hidden things.
Later that morning, my ma’s smell woke me. That, and a half-dreamed voice saying, “Just makes it harder.”
I sat right up, wiping the spit from my cheek.
“What?”
“You are not the first of course, Deborah,” a woman said, her voice hardly louder than a mayfly’s fart. A voice I knew. “Helpers wait outside the door at night. Sometimes things go poorly on Honeynock. Sometimes helpers are needed. But they can hear. More or less every word that is spoken in the Sweet Room.”
“Humble Weaver?” I asked.
“So when folks do what they should not, the Helpers know it. When folks speak of themselves. When they share their names or their trades or their villages. It happens. Just one leaf in a tree, but it happens.”
My first sharp
worry was for Daivit. He seemed a sweet boy. Man now, I realized. But I hated to think of bad things happening to him on my account.
My second fear was for my own miserable self. Because if anybody was to be punished, it probably wouldn’t be that poor, sweet boy. Or man. It would be me. And they’d probably enjoy doing it to me, whatever it was. Maybe folks from Surecreek would make a special journey just to help. I wondered what happened to those who broke the rules. I wondered whether it was bad enough for the Goodafter Pit. I wondered whether I could stop them, or slow them down at least a nudge, with my little staff and my feeble effort at the Shepherd’s Dance.
“There is no punishment for it,” the Humble said, as though she knew my thoughts. “The thing itself is punishment enough. There is enough pain in life, Deborah. The rules are just meant to spare you more. You broke them. You’ll pay the price all on your own.”
“Humble Weaver, I—”
“Shush, woman.” It wasn’t angry nor unkind, how she said it. It was a simple statement from the eldest weaver, a woman who folks obeyed. Just a fact. I would be silent now.
So I asked, “But how do you know, really? It felt…right. Right to share something with each other for such an important night. What if you’re wrong?”
The sound she made next? Well. I thought I might have accidentally killed the Humble Weaver with nothing but my own pure cussedness. She sounded like a frog choking to death on its own tongue. But when you’re old enough, I suppose you laugh however you’re still able.
“Ah, Root,” she said.
And her using my old name, that pulled me up short.
“I always liked you. I was sorry to hear you left the path. I even wondered whether you might become Humble Weaver one day—unless folks tossed you into the Pit just to tame your mouth, of course. But choosing to apprentice as a woodsmith? With an Alter, no less? Well, that gave me a chuckle.”
She sighed a rattling sigh, then she slowly stood from the chair Daivit had tripped over. “Apprentice Woodsmith Deborah, I know I am right because I learned it hard. Because pain is the best teacher.
“Maybe Grandmother Root smiled on you last night. Maybe Miller Daivit of Through will join you when the babe comes, and you’ll have peace together in Surecreek. But it seems unlikely that Grandmother Root was doing much smiling last night. So now this boy will be with you in your head. You will think on him. And you will never see him anymore.”
She’d left the door open. I could hear rustlings and soft voices from somewhere down the hall. At least a couple of girls seemed to be weeping, laid over with helpers’ soothing voices. But all those sounds muffled down a bit as the Humble Weaver stepped into the doorway.
“Either way, you’re a woman now, Deborah, and you will live with your choices. I can only wish you more happiness than I have had.”
Then she was gone.
Not long after, I heard Apprentice Helper Lillit walk up soft and stand outside my door, like she was collecting herself. No doubt she’d been listening at the door last night and shared the news with the Humble Weaver. I figured that might make things awkward for her, so I called out, “Come on in, Apprentice Lillit.”
She shuffled into the room, making much more noise than the night before. Less sure of herself, I suppose.
“Apprentice Deborah, I…I’m…”
I just smiled. “No harm in it. I’ll not blame an apprentice for doing what her mentor told her. You okay?”
“I…am I okay?”
“This the first time you’ve had to deal with a talker?” I asked.
I think she nodded then realized I couldn’t see it. “Yes,” she said real low.
“I imagine this is a little uncomfortable for you, then. So. You okay?”
She thought on that a moment. I appreciated it, her not just giving the quick answer that sounds best. Then she said, “Yes, I’m all right. Thank you for asking. Now, I’m here to minister to you.”
“Minister.”
“Yes. To answer questions, or help you clean, or just…just to comfort you.”
Now it was my turn to think. “Well, I was here last night for all of it, so I’m not sure what questions I’d have. As for comfort? Huh. Last night ain’t what I’d have chosen, but it was tolerable in its own way. So I don’t guess I need comforting. But I wouldn’t mind some water and a cloth.”
“Good, then. I have water and cloth for you.” Which I already knew she had, because the water sloshed in its bowl a little when she stepped in. But I figured she’d feel better about everything if she could surprise me with something I needed.
So. That was my Honeynock.
I hope you young ones have as good a one, or even better.
8
Home
By the time we gathered for our trip home, I could hardly keep awake. I agreed to ride in the cart. Runner Zeekl just about pooped hisself with joy.
“Aimis,” he yelled ahead as he pulled at the poles, “yeh see that? She got in the cart!”
“Yep. I saw her get in there, back at the Pile. Like you already told me,” Aimis called, scouting a few dozen paces ahead of us.
“But, Aimis! Comin’ here she wouldn’t. She took to walkin’ instead. And now she’s ridin’!”
“Yep,” Runner Aimis said, finally stopping and waiting for us to catch up with him. “Honeynock’s like that, Zeekl. Like I said. That’s why we bring the cart.”
Drover Dannl walked besides us not saying much. He was grumpy over the Honeynock trades he’d gotten for our stock. Said the sow limped and the nanny had rheumy eyes and he thought there might be a rattle in the ewe’s chest. But then, Dannl never could see an apple pie without grumbling about the bellyache to come.
I can just sort of recall Runner Zeekl chuckling again about how I’d got in the cart, and Runner Aimis replying to him real patient, and the next thing I knew was a deep, old, calm voice saying, “Deborah.”
“Woodsmith Abram?” I asked, sitting up sharp in the cart.
“Come,” he said. So I hopped down and followed him.
Something was heavy on Surecreek. The air had a weight to it, like smoke hovering over everything. There was fewer voices than usual. Only the stock seemed to make noises like they ought. By seventeen I knew every inch of Surecreek ten times over, so pretty quick I knew he was taking me to Ma’s house.
“Woodsmith Abram? What are we doing?”
He didn’t answer. Guess I didn’t expect him to.
He rapped on Ma’s door with one knuckle, just once. The door opened right away.
“Deborah,” Ma said. It still sounded wrong to me, even after years of it. Ought to call me Root. But Deborah would do. Her voice was tired and tight.
“Ma. What’s happening?”
She took my hand and led me inside. Closed the door. Abram stayed outside and began to walk away.
“Deborah, tell me. What must we do?” she asked.
The Needful Act. Oh, Grandmother, how the word got to her so fast I couldn’t guess. But weavers share news, often right quick. And now, I knew, I was in for some trouble.
“Ma, whatever you heard…whatever I did, I…I did the Needful Act last night. Just as I ought.”
She sat quiet.
“Just as I ought, Ma. Truly I did! You just ask the Humble Weaver.”
“No, Deborah. That’s not what I mean. What must weavers do?”
I shook my head. She wasn’t making sense. “Ma?”
“You can’t have forgot it so soon. What’s the Weaver’s Burden?”
I said the words. “A Shepherd might watch the flock, but only a weaver may cull it.”
“Yes. That’s it.”
“Ma?”
“So we need to do what’s right, even when it goes against our heart. You know that, don’t you.”
“I…I do, Ma.”
“Leeleh,” she said.
My bowels tried to leap out my mouth. “Ma?”
“She wasn’t with child. Late afternoon she got the Shakes again. G
ot them real bad. That’s her third time. Once is a worry, twice is a warning, thrice is Weaver’s work.”
“Twice, Ma! It was just her second time!”
Ma took my hand. “Third, Deborah. Happened again two months back. Only Aizik and I knew, and Mender Syrah. She…well. Leeleh made us promise. Didn’t want folks to fret.”
“But it’s not a rule! Three times is just advice! You said so yourself!”
“It is just advice. But depending on the sign, even once can be enough. This was the Shakes, Deborah. It had to be done.”
I fell to the floor, pulling at my ears. “No no no no no no no no no no no…”
“It was peaceful for her,” she said, her rough hand rubbing across my prickly scalp. “Like Vernie. Real gentle. She went real gentle.”
The floor lurched under me, changing shape and not staying downward like it ought. My arms and legs started prickling something awful. I’m pretty sure I hadn’t breathed in a bit.
I gasped out loud for air. Then I started screaming.
Naw. Not just a scream. This was a howl like none I’d made before. Bellowing past what my lungs could bear, there on Weaver Root’s floor, on my floor, beyond all choice or notion.
I screamed, and I screamed, and I screamed, shivering on the floor ’til the boards bounced, and I heard Woodsmith Abram, who hadn’t really left, come running into Ma’s house, a little part of me marveling that he could do something quick after all, and Ma scrambled to mix me something as Abram tried to hold me down, all the while Ma whimpering under her breath, “Oh Grandmother, please Grandmother, not her too, please, please, oh please Grandmother not her, too, not two at once, not all at once, oh Grandmother, please, not my little Root.”
9
What I Heard
I was howling for Leeleh and for my own sorry self. That was part of it, for sure. But that’s not all it was.
There was also a searing pain on every part of my body, more pain than I thought could be. At the same time, every muscle in my body seized up, solid and hard, like they weren’t my muscles no more but belonged to somebody else.