by Diana Rivers
“And your little girls would both be dead and likely you would be dead as well. No, Friana, you did what you had to do.”
Hereschell came to squat at my side. “Garrell had his own fate to follow and his own choices to make, and so, no doubt, did Lorren. You were only the excuse, Friana, you were not the cause.”
“It will be my torture, my sentence, to think of him every day, out there, suffering. It would be easier to share it with him, but my children need me. They have already suffered enough.” She turned to Bathrani, appealing to her. “No one understands, we were children together, we grew up sharing our dreams. He is a piece of me and I of him. My heart will go into exile with him.”
I had a sudden flash of that lovely young woman with her baby in her arms, defying her angry young husband in order to end the killing. And then as she was later, seeming so carefree, laughing with such ease when she came to visit, and, still later, with the dark stain of that bruise across her cheek. She had also followed her fate and made her own choices. What did I know or understand of such a life and how could I judge? I disentangled my hand from hers and stood up slowly. “I will do anything for you that I can, Friana, but Garrell has put himself beyond my help.” As I walked away from the sound of her crying, my heart was tearing with pity. At that moment, being human did not seem like an easy thing.
I should have hated this man for killing the friend I loved. I should have felt avenged as I saw him walk off, naked and dazed, into whatever exile he would find, or, more likely, into his own slow, lonely death. Instead, I found myself sick with pity. I had to ask myself what I might have done and who I might have killed when I had been so filled with bitterness, if my powers had not prevented me. Now I was filled with pity instead, pity for everyone: for Yolande and Ormorth; for Friana and Garrell and their children; for Rishka, who had been so bitter and so angry herself; for Alyeeta with her terrible losses; and, of course, for Lorren, and even for myself, though no more and no less than for the others. Who could I find to talk to in my grief and confusion who would understand all of it?
With Yolande I could share my grief for Lorren, but I dared not whisper a word of kindness for Garrell. With Friana I could share my feelings about Garrell, but she would plead with me to change what could not be changed. Certainly I could not talk with Pell or Rishka, who both thought we should have killed Garrell outright; nor with Alyeeta, who said she would have gladly strung him up herself. Even Zheran felt no mercy for Garrell; he was too much like Rhomar. And none of them really understood my feelings for Lorren.
Finally I went looking for Olna. We sat together in the shade of some trees while I poured out my heart to her. She listened to me for a long time with her quiet kindness. At last she said softly, “Now you understand what I meant so long ago when I told you there were only two choices left for me in the world: love or hate. Now you can see why I chose love, a hard choice but the only one I could make. It was not made without a lot of pain.” Then she stood up suddenly and held out her hand to me. “Come with me, Tazzia, I have something to show you.”
Without question I followed her. We went in silence, going by smaller and smaller paths that wound upward, until we scrambled out onto a small rock ledge high above the water. The way we had just come was well concealed from sight by vines and brush. This must have been one of Olna’s secret little places that she was sharing with me out of love.
“This is where I come to think when the world grows too perplexing. No one can find me here. I sit looking out at the sea and letting the Mother take away my pain. If you have more to say, Tazzia, I would be glad to listen, as it is also a good place for talking.” Deeply touched by her offer, I shook my head. Instead, we sat there together a long time in silence, watching the rise and fall of the waves, rhythmic and ceaseless, like the breathing of some giant being.
* * *
For those next few months, Lorren was often on my mind. No matter what else I was doing, thoughts of him would intrude unexpectedly. Full of eagerness, I would suddenly think of something to tell him or show him, only to remember with a sinking heart. Then I would relive his death one more time. I kept wondering why he had put himself directly in harm’s way. It was hard to think there had been no intention in it. Anyone could have seen this might happen. Could Lorren have walked into his death so unawares or had it been his wish in some secret inner place? Had he grown weary of hauling along all his old guilts, all his pain over what he had done in the past? It was a suspicion I never shared with Yolande. She had pain enough of her own to deal with without thinking that Lorren had walked knowingly to his death, that he had left her on purpose.
Such a loss, such a waste. It was madness for the Shokarn to have thought Lorren our war chief; Lorren who only wanted peace, who would never have lorded power over anyone that way. He was not that kind of leader. Besides, the Wanderers would never have allowed it. How painfully ironic that the battle had been won and the Shokarn defeated in the name of a man of peace.
O Lorren! Where are you now? I had been so sure we would be friends all our lives. I knew he would not willingly have left this place, nor would I, and so I thought we would grow old together, sharing the memories of near a lifetime, being friends and neighbors and something more, something for which there is scant example between men and women, passionate companions of the mind. My grief and loss were terrible. I could scarcely imagine what Yolande must be feeling. Yet even our shared loss did not break the final boundary between us—at least, not at first.
After Lorren’s death, Yolande became the undisputed leader of the Hill, doing many of those things her husband had once done, those things that in her eyes were a man’s to do. She looked out of her cool green eyes at a world where the sun had suddenly been extinguished and became more like the Hadra all the time with what she could do and undertake. Yet, I think she still saw us as strange creatures, not proper women, for, in her world, there were men and they did things in a certain way and there were women and they did things in a different way. We Hadra were some deviant thing outside that system, though she herself became more like us with each passing day.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Now that Rhomar was dead, Ozzet had decided to go back to Darthill for a visit. She longed to see her grandmother and mother and sisters again. Most of all, she missed her father. Also, she felt the need to mourn properly for her grandfather, Nhokosos, and to solve the mystery of his death. She would do a seed-search for us as well. She even spoke of trying to find us a boat in Darthill and returning by way of the Escuro River, exploring its banks to see what grew there and staying at settlements along the way. Several of her Hadra friends were planning to go with her. It sounded to me like a fine adventure and probably very valuable to us as well. I even felt a little pull of longing for the freedom of the road. But I had no time for such things at that moment, not with the new Zildorn rising at the top of Third Hill.
Since Alyeeta had spoken of going back to Darthill to mourn for Nhokosos, Ozzet asked if she wanted to accompany them. Alyeeta was quick to refuse. “No, thank you. I am much too old for such a trip. Since my pony, Gandolair, has died, there is no horse I trust. As for boats, they are even worse than horses. Take my respects to your family. I leave it to you to mourn for my old friend and discover if it was treachery that killed him. Come back and tell me everything, Ozzet.”
Ozzet also asked Zheran if she wanted to go back with her, but Zheran shook her head. “No, the children need me here. Besides, all that is over now. Rhomar has poisoned Darthill for me. If my sons want to see me, they will have to come in this direction. I will send them a message with you, though who knows if they will want to hear from me after all their father has said. Perhaps they even blame me for his death.”
For the next few days, I was hardly home at all. Besides being involved with the preparations for Ozzet’s trip, I was making trade deals with the Wanderers and organizing the replanting of several storm-damaged fields. Finally, Zheran caught hold of me when
both the girls were out of the house. She actually blocked my way before I could rush off again. “I need to talk to you, Tazzil, if you can stand still long enough to listen.” She was annoyed, but there was also a note of desperation in her voice.
Though I knew it was not fair to Zheran, keeping busy was one of my ways of dealing with the terrible pain of Lorren’s death. I sat down immediately. “I am here and listening. What is troubling you, Zheran?”
“It is Ursa. What should I tell her, Tazzil? She wants to go north with Ozzet and her friends. She is much too young to leave, and besides, she does not have their powers of protection. But she is so relentlessly insistent. She gives me no peace about it.”
“You are the one who is really her mother, not me. You are the one who should decide.”
“But what if you thought of her as yours, what would you say then? Tell me, is she not too young?”
“I doubt if you really want to hear my answer, Zheran.”
“Of course I do. Why else would I ask you?”
I shrugged, feeling trapped and wary. “She will soon have her first-bloods. She will be thirteen years this summer. If it were mine to decide, I would bless her and let her go. She is old enough to go out and take some risks in the world.”
At those words, Zheran gave a wailing cry such as Kourmairi women give for the dead. Then she sat rocking herself with her head in her hands. “You do not care for her, you never did. If you loved her, you would not think of sending her out into such dangers. How do you know she will come back alive? Maybe I will never see her again. I have already lost one family. How can I bear to lose another?”
“Zheran, you were not much older when you married and had your first child. You yourself left your own family and went to live in a new place, among strangers.”
“But I did not choose to go. I had no choice. She is the one wanting to leave, insisting on it. I would never have sent her away. Never!”
I threw up my hands. “Zheran, it is yours to decide. There is no need to ask me when you only want to argue. Do what you think best.”
“What!? You will not even fight for her? Her freedom does not matter to you? You will let her mother’s crazy fears cripple her life? You would argue better for any other girl in Zelindar, perhaps any other girl in all Yarmald.”
Now I was seething with anger. “Well, just tell me the right answer, Zheran, so I will know what to say. Whichever way I speak, I am under attack. The wind blows in both directions. I think I am safer out of this house.”
I could barely hold my temper. I had my hand on the door latch when she caught my arm. “Wait, Tazzil, I am sorry. It is just that I am so confused and so afraid for her. I think I must be a little mad with it. I thought they would grow up and marry and live near me in safety. Ishnu will, but not Ursa. She is a wild one, more like a Hadra. How did she get so wild living in my house? She really is more like your daughter. Look how she rides.”
Yes, I thought, and how she stands, how she carries herself, how she climbs to the top of everything, how she looks out at the world with a pride that is almost arrogance. Why was I not more of a mother to this child when I had the chance? It was other women who had taught her to swim and to read and to ride, because I thought I had no time. I was always busy, and now it was too late. Now she was leaving, and the only gift I could give to make up for my absence was to argue for her freedom. I was shaking my head. “Zheran, Ursa has her own wild nature, shaped by the Mother. She needs to be true to her nature, just as you need to be true to yours.”
At my words, Zheran gave another wail of grief. I went to put my arms around her and held her against me in silence. When she was a little calmer, I whispered softly in her ear, “Sometimes it is better to give consent when the bird will fly anyway. That way, she goes with your blessing instead of your curse. That way, there are not bitter feelings on both sides.” And not the terrible crushing guilt if something happens and bad words are the last words ever spoken, words that come back to poison the air. I did not say that part aloud to Zheran. She wept for a while in my arms. Then we went together to find Ursa.
* * *
I think that was the longest summer of my life, and perhaps the hardest as well. Everywhere I went I saw Zheran’s reproachful eyes, though, in truth, she did not reproach me with words. She had been right. Ozzet and the others did not come back. It seemed that Ursa was lost out in the world, just as Zheran had feared. For a while we kept up hope, but when two months went by and then another with no word of them, hope became harder to hold onto. Josleen and Megyair had gone north to track them down but could find no trace of them after Darthill. Hereschell and some of the Wanderers had gone in search of them along the river and had also come back with nothing.
I went through my days with a terrible weight on my heart. Ishnu was painfully kind and courteous to us both and very helpful with the younger children. Sometimes Zheran and I clung together, our passion strangely rekindled by loss and despair. At other times, we barely spoke for days, and I found other places to be besides the little hut that rebuked me with its silence. I think it was all the harder for Zheran because she had never totally approved of her oldest girl. Now she regretted any harsh or critical words she might have spoken. My burden of guilt felt crushing at times. At other times, I felt angry with Ursa for having been so insistent. You could be here among us, going about your days alive and well, and your mother and I would still be happy, I would tell her reproachfully in my head.
It was during that terrible time that Yolande and I finally became friends. We shared our losses with each other. The differences between us did not seem so great after all. Had they ever really mattered all that much? When I talked to her of Ursa, she grieved with me as only a mother could who has lost her own daughter. With Yolande I talked of Lorren as I could with no one else. Who else had known him so well? For her it was the same. Who could better understand what she had lost? And who else knew those little pieces of Lorren’s life that she did not? I was only too glad to share with her whatever I knew, if only for the sake of hearing his name spoken aloud. We often sat together in his study. She would shake her head and say sadly, “I thought he would be here beside me all my life. Instead, he was just on loan for that little piece of time. I suppose I should be grateful even for that, but it is very hard. Now I regret every cross word I ever spoke to him and every unkind thing I ever did.”
Yolande had changed; something in her had shifted. Needing to know everything Lorren had known, to find him again through his books, she learned, with Alyeeta’s help and mine, how to read and to write. Armed with that knowledge, she went searching in those pages for the part of him she had ignored when he was beside her in the flesh. Having decided to continue his work at Wanderer Hill, she spent much of her time adding to the library and the collection, supervising the building, planning for the future. She even learned to row a boat, to chop wood, to build a shelter. I would see her striding about in pants. She had given up long skirts, at least during the day, saying they hampered her too much.
Once, she came to see me on some matter of mutual security, much as if she were another Councilor. She sat across the table from me, her cool green eyes on my face, looking me right in the eye as she never used to do. After we had concluded our business, she said with a shrug, “I am no longer a real woman. For his sake, I do those things no proper woman should do. Now I am more like you and can better understand you and no longer feel quite so strange in your presence.” Then she shrugged again. “And what does it matter, anyhow? There will never again be a man in my life. Now all that is left for me is to carry on his work in whatever way I am able to.”
Would that really be the truth of her life? Whether in skirts or trousers, Yolande was still very beautiful. Though she seemed unaware of their glances, I saw the way men looked at her, especially Hereschell. I wondered if she noticed how his eyes followed her with a look of hunger and longing, but I kept my peace on it. It was all too soon. Instead, I reached across a
nd very gently laid my hand over hers, not knowing if she would allow it. “We both loved him,” I said softly. “We both loved him in our own very different ways. It should make for some closeness between us.”
I thought she would draw back. I saw her face tighten and harden. But then something in her began to crack. Shaking her head, she said in a voice full of barely controlled grief, “Oh, Tazzil, it is so hard…I would gladly have taken my own life when he was killed. It is only for the children’s sake I did not do so. There has been enough death in their young lives. But sometimes I wish…” Then suddenly she was crying, sobbing wildly. I, who had been the stranger and the enemy and the rival, got up and went to put my arms around her. She laid her head against my breast and we cried together for that man who had meant so much to both of us.
* * *
More and more often now, I went to stay with Alyeeta. She offered me the comfort of her ear and her bed and her arms. It was in that way that we became lovers again. She poured her loving out on me. Out of guilt and grief and need, I succumbed. Though it had been several years since we had been together in that way, I sank easily into the pleasure and the comfort of it. Alyeeta, for her part, could not resist gloating a little. “I wondered if Zheran was woman enough to keep you or if you would miss Alyeeta’s loving after a while and come back for another taste of it. After all, we Witches know something of that art.”
Stung by that, I answered more sharply than I meant to, “It is because of Ursa. I was the one who said she should go. And now she is probably dead somewhere out there. It is too hard to stay home with Zheran and watch her grieve. When I am there, she does not even notice my presence. Besides, it is all my fault.”
“Oh, Ursa,” Alyeeta said contemptuously, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Never fear, Ursa will show up again, like a bad coin.” Suddenly, she grabbed my arm and spun me about, shaking me and shouting in my face, “Do you really feel she is dead, Tazzia? Do you feel it? Do you?”