by Andy Giesler
On top of that, even if I’d wanted to end her, which I did not, I wouldn’t have known how. I knew hardly a thing about killing. Shamed to say I know a good touch more now. Back then I’d seen folks kill chickens and geese by twisting their necks, of course, but this beast’s neck was bigger around than I was. I’d watched Butcher Abbie and Butcher Gracie bleed animals into the Letting Bowl, but first they always sent the animals off to peace with my ma’s Gentling Cup, which was not available to me. And, of course, I’d seen death in the Goodafter Pit, but that didn’t seem a proper or practical path for oh so very many reasons.
So as the sow was rolling to kill me, and crashing up against trees to kill me, and snapping and kicking to kill me, I realized I’d reached the limit to what my body, however fast, could do without my head helping it. So I gave my head the Weaver’s Breath.
One long, slow, calming breath, though my body wanted me to gasp like a runner.
Then let loose of whatever fear is weighing on you, though in that particular situation I was the weight, and my fear was bucking to murder me.
Then think “the World That Is” while you notice everything that’s happening around you down to the silliest little details, which I did as best I could among all the sound and jostling, my body doing by itself whatever was needed to keep me from dying.
And wouldn’t you know? Real quick Planter Kedra’s daughter Young Miri jumped to mind, and that gave me a notion of what I might do.
Boars can bite. Oh, how they can bite. They’ll eat about anything that’s not too fast to get away, and some of the things they eat are real hard on the outside. Walnuts. Bones. Skulls. And whatever it is? Crunch. They’ll crack it right open.
But something you might not know is: biting down and opening up are two real different things. Plenty of critters need to bite down hard. Goodness, folks do, too. But not many critters have a good reason to open back up hard.
So I wrapped one arm around her jaw and clamped it shut. And once that was done, I slapped my other hand over the front of her snout and held it there real firm.
Because some years earlier at Common, I’d seen Young Miri choke on a carrot. Awful it was, hearing her wheeze and thrash about while the rest of us watched, not sure what to do. She dropped right off to sleep just as Ma got to her and thumped her so hard that the carrot jumped out. Lizbit had a headache after, and Ma had cracked a couple of Lizbit’s little ribs, but otherwise she was all right. Better than all right, really, when you compare it to being dead.
So I figured, I don’t have no carrots to feed this murderous boar, but might as well try something. You and I need to breathe. I supposed a boar must need that, too.
The hard part wasn’t keeping her jaw shut, nor keeping my hand over her snout, though I’ll also say that wasn’t easy. The hard part was not getting mashed into paste while doing it.
I did hear my left arm snap along the way. Felt it, too—real painful, though only brief. Then the pain went away like it’d never been. And I held on tighter.
We also banged into a tree that had a long, broken branch. I felt the branch pop through my belly on the left side and out of my back on the right. And that hurt, too, but only real quick. Then the sow pulled away, and the branch sucked out of me. And I held on tighter.
Well. It seemed a good idea, but it did take a whole lot longer than I’d expected. Soon as the sow crashed into the dust, I let go and made sure she was breathing still. Which she was. Then I checked whether my arm was bending in an improper direction, or whether my bowels were squirting out any holes in my belly. Which they weren’t. So I took a moment to catch my breath.
As I stood there gasping, I realized it just didn’t feel right, leaving her there. Oh, deep down I knew she could find her way back to her home, but still.
Didn’t feel right.
So I grabbed her hind leg and dragged her back to the camp, which I could make out by the clearing of it just a few throws away. And I’ll confess, she was heavy.
Even having sight, I always struggled to read folks’ expressions. As I said, my sight was a hazy thing. But when I met Abram and Zeekl a little ways from camp, no doubt on their way to rescue me, I could tell Zeekl’s mouth was hanging the whole way open.
“Deborah?” Abram said, rolling his “r”.
He didn’t say nothing else, so I said, “I’m fine, thank you. You both all right?”
Abram said, “Yah.” Zeekl left his mouth open.
They followed me, just watching as we walked. When we got to the camp circle, I took a moment to get my bearings, then once I figured out where she’d entered the camp, I said, “Back real quick.” I pulled her farther in that direction, and pretty soon I heard wee grunting sounds. My hearing had always been good. Ever since the voice in my head, it had gotten even better.
I followed their little grunts and found where she’d rooted out her farrowing nest. I didn’t mess with the nest, nor with her little ones. Just pulled her up to the edge of it and left her there by them.
Then I went back to camp and suggested we might want to sleep someplace else that night. They agreed. Well, Abram agreed. I think Zeekl might have forgotten how to agree.
Anyhow.
Nothing much else happened that night after we set up our second camp, scouting it somewhat better than the first one. Zeekl didn’t seem sleepy no more, so he stood watch rest of the night. I was sleepy, but I was hungrier still. So once I acquainted myself with our small store of provender, I crashed right onto the hard ground without no blanket nor roll and I slept there ’til Abram woke me gentle the next morning, well past sunrise.
7
Market
Woodsmith Abram and Runner Zeekl let me rest late, but once I was up, we got right to it. We packed camp without saying much, then Zeekl grabbed the cart and took to pulling. I don’t think he said a word the rest of the way to Market, which was unusual. Abram didn’t say a word neither, so at least that was normal.
About Market? Well.
I’d expected to be amazed by it, visiting now with my sight. I don’t know. Maybe it just wasn’t so interesting after last night’s ride, but it didn’t catch me up the way it had the first time. The same fracas of sounds danced for me, and the same rowdy smells, too. And sure, there was an awful lot for my eyes to take in. But my first time, even without sight, I had a fair feel of the place in my head. Sight just told me it was shaped pretty much like I’d imagined.
If I’d been regular, I could have closed my eyes and lived it again like the first time, just feeling it under my feet and hearing it buzz along and smelling it wrap around me. But I wasn’t regular, however much I’d like to have been. When I closed my eyes, it looked just the same as it did with them open.
Trading? Sure. Trading was an education. But Abram had told me what would happen, or at least he gave me the general impression with as few words as he dared use up. Folks offered trade goods from all over the World That Is, trying to come out on the humble-seeming end of the bargain, though not too humble. Mudding their thumbs and pressing them together to seal the trade. Took all day, with Abram quietly bargaining and me watching and Runner Zeekl off eating or napping at the Runners’ Keep, I suppose.
We missed supper, but we finished trading in time for a late dinner at Home House. I was shaky in the knees by then, and I suppose I ate enough for three, pushing food into my mouth and trying not to sound like an Outcast doing it.
I slept deep that night.
At first light, Abram woke me. We gathered our things, and Woodsmith Abram gave Keeper Lisbeth a short stack of cedar shingles as a fair gift for our room and our meal. Then we met up with Runner Zeekl at the Runners’ Keep. We were home just after sunset. I don’t recall Runner Zeekl saying a half dozen words along the way, even when I tried to pry them from him, my belly squirming with worry at his quiet.
8
How I Burned in the Pit
Soon as we got back, Zeekl trotted off to the Runner’s Post, looking over his shoulder at
me on the way, I think. No doubt he shared all that had happened. And while Surecreek was no more gossipy than any other village, that’s not saying an awful lot. Word spread so quick you couldn’t catch it if you flew.
The next few weeks were hard ones. Wake. Break my fast. Work. To Common for supper. More work. Eat dinner. Clean. Go to bed.
All seeming so normal, and none being normal at all.
All day long it felt like somebody kicked a wasp nest, yet the wasps were still deciding whether to sting. They were lurking in there real quiet, making up their minds, not making the noise they ought, leaving you feeling like something awful was to come, but that it wasn’t polite enough to tell you it was coming.
Third week of October, I was smoothing an ax handle for Lumberman Josiah when I saw Honeydipper Sadie walk up behind me. She was moving wrong, all tense and tight. Much as I wanted to know what troubled her, I’d learned by then: when folks are behind you, you pretend you don’t notice.
So I pretended, then I pretended some more, and she just stood there, holding herself like she wanted to be someplace else. Then I heard her gasp a little, like in weeping. Seemed to me that would be enough for somebody normal to know she was there. “Honeydipper Sadie?”
She didn’t say nothing for a moment. Then she said, shaky, “Deborah, something bad’s going to happen.”
“What bad?” I asked, walking over to her.
“Come by my house when you’re able.” She paused real brief, then she turned and walked off stiff.
Now as a rule, not much bothers a honeydipper, and Sadie’d been through so much hardship, yet she was always cool and brave. So seeing her twisted up like that? Well. It worried me deep.
After I finished my smoothing, maybe less smooth than I ought, I took care not to run to Sadie’s. She might have guessed I was outside her door just by the sound of my heart banging, but I knocked.
“Come in,” she said. So I went in.
It was cheery in her house, like always. Flowers everywhere. Fresh flowers spring through fall, dry in the winter. Sweet herbs hung on the walls. She had a fire going in the hearth, which was unusual for the middle of the day, even on a cool October afternoon. Usually she’d be outside taking care of Surecreek.
She glanced up at me quick, then she looked back down at her hands in her lap. I closed the door behind me and sat across the table from her. She had mugs set out, one for each of us, and also a pot. Strong dandelion root coffee from the smell.
“Honeydipper Sadie?”
“A bad thing’s coming, Deborah,” she said, real soft.
I leaned forward. “Bad how?” I asked.
She poured mugs for us both, just shaking her head like she couldn’t make her voice work. She took a swallow from her cup, then said, “The village Elders and Weaver Root. They’re…they’re real worried.”
Which was hardly no surprise at all. But still troubling giving the circumstances.
Sadie sobbed a little, and I reached across to pat her hand. It felt like she about pulled back from me, but she didn’t. Then I did something I’m well and truly ashamed of.
I picked up that mug, and I gave it a good, long, careful sniff before I sipped it.
Because, of course, I’d been expecting a drink of the Goodafter Cup since…well, almost since I could recall, but most ’specially since we got back from Market. Surecreek was itching for something, and clear as clear, I was what needed scratching.
What’s that? Say it again, honeybee. Oh. Why did it shame me to sniff the cup? Bless you child, and thank you for asking.
Aw, ma’am, please don’t scold your daughter. This ain’t like Learning. I do like questions. I’ll tell you, honeybee, I was ashamed for not one reason, but two.
The first was that if the Pit’s coming, you ought not hide from it. It’s not given lightly, and when it is given, it’s for the good of the village. For the good of everybody, all across the World That Is, really. It’s a bravery and a kindness to accept the Pit with grace and humility. I’d seen that many times in my short life already, and as the weaver’s daughter, I’d seen it closer than most. I always remembered back to Mender Vernie in particular. Even with her mind not working as it ought, and confused beyond all reason, did she flee the Pit? No, she did not.
Why, she offered herself right up to it. She didn’t really need to die, of course. She should have kept on living. But nobody knew that back then.
So if I’d been a good member of that gentle village, I would have gone and spoken with Ma and asked her whether it was my time. Whether I needed a Badbefore, so Surecreek could have a Goodafter. But I didn’t. I thought hard of myself for that. I thought it was the Nothing within me that made me selfish.
But the deeper reason I was ashamed is that this was Honeydipper Sadie. Many folks had shown me kindness in my life, one time or another, but from her it was different. She watched over me. She worried after me. She tolerated me when few others would. Like I had not just one ma, but two. I couldn’t imagine her doing me no harm, let alone doing it in secret.
And what’s more, if Ma decided it was my time, she wouldn’t be secret about it, neither. I’d never seen her hide from a hard choice in my life.
But even so. It shames me to say I sniffed that tea long and careful before I took a good swallow. I tried to make my sniffing seem ordinary, pretending I was just enjoying the smell, but it didn’t seem that way. Sadie had eyes enough to see that. It made her weep a little harder.
“I’m sorry, Honeydipper Sadie. For all of it. For being like this. I’m just scared is all. Don’t know what’s happening with me. Or what folks are thinking.” I took another swallow to make up a little for my shamefulness. “I appreciate you telling me. I know most folks wouldn’t, and that it could mean trouble for you.”
She picked up her mug and took a pull, her hands shaking. Set it back down. Took a few breaths to settle herself.
“Oh, Deborah. I’m so sorry. You and my Leeleh. Like sisters. I miss her something awful.” Then she sighed all shuddery. “I’ll miss you so much, too.”
“What’s…but what’s going to happen? When?”
She just moaned. A long, low moan. The moan of somebody without no reason to make any other sound except moaning never, ever again. But after she sobbed a moment, she managed to say, “You’re for the Pit, Deborah. Like my Leeleh. Nothing anybody can do about it.”
Even though I’d worried on that, and imagined it, and even expected it, hearing this kind woman say it shook me so that it made my lips numb. I didn’t even know that could happen, your lips going numb from surprise.
Because it can’t.
I figured out my lips weren’t numb from surprise when, right after, my tongue and throat went, too. About the time when my head started pounding and my heart racing, Sadie called out, half-winded, “It’s done.”
Ma opened the door and stepped in, soft as a shepherd. She said, “Thank you, Sadie, for doing what’s needed. I’ll do the rest.”
Honeydipper Sadie rushed from her house, without so much as turning in my direction. Ma closed the door.
I tried to stand, but somehow my legs didn’t belong to me no more. Seemed like they maybe didn’t belong to nobody. My head was pounding something terrible by then, and even with my heart rushing along, I was getting sleepy.
Ma sat on the bench beside me. Put her hand on my short, scruffy hair as my head drooped to the table.
I managed to mumble, “Didn’t smell th-cup.”
“That wasn’t the Goodafter Cup, lamb.” she said. I think her hand slid to the back of my neck, but my neck was numbing too, so I’m not sure.
It was hard to work my mouth, but I croaked out, “How?”
“It was in the bottom of your mug, little one, and I wish it was the Goodafter Cup. The Goodafter Cup isn’t the fastest poison, nor the surest. With how you’ve been lately, I worried you’d get back up. So there are safer things. Quicker and less kind. The Unkind Cup. The Goodafter Cup sends you off deep and gent
le. The Unkind Cup…well. It doesn’t. And I’m so sorry for it. So sorry for all of this. Oh, Grandmother.”
And you know what? I’d never heard my Ma weep before.
It was a softer thing than I expected from such a hard woman. Low and lilting and warbly. Put me in mind of a mourning dove. I wanted to tell her it was all right, to apologize for my selfishness, but even if I’d been able to talk, I suppose my voice would’ve been thin comfort.
That made me think of Honeydipper Sadie, of how she’d weep to clean my ashes after the burning, like she’d done for her own Leeleh. She didn’t let her sons do it, nor Honeydipper Atlee. Said it was hers to do.
By then there was a pain on me so fierce I could hardly think, and at the same time I was getting real drowsy. Like an awful dream. It was hard to pay attention to what Ma said once she settled herself. But I think it was something like this.
“You had to look like her, didn’t you? You couldn’t look like whoever fathered you. You never do the sensible thing. Stubborn to your toenails. Oh Root. My Root.”
She cried a little more, I think. Maybe she held me.
“I can see her likeness in you, now. Others will too. A shepherd will see it and figure the truth. I was such a fool to believe her. By now, it’s clear as water in rain. She didn’t just find you. She was your ma.”
And as her voice faded away into a wash of pain and sleep, the last thing I heard her say was, “I can’t take back my mistake. But I guess I can fix it.”
What came after that was a nightmare like none I could have imagined. Flashes of sight and sound. I couldn’t feel my body, nor move it, even to whimper, yet I felt a pain as wide as the World That Is.
Then muffled voices of folks speaking low.
Then a quieter place.
Then sticks clacking and thumping and rustling around me.
Then the smell of flesh cooking.
Well.
Well, now.
It’s been a long evening. It’s long past late, ’specially for the young ones. I suppose you could use some rest.