Walking alone, she left the cabin and went to a place she knew that was furthest from all the fields, where the air was not disturbed by the sounds of cultivation and harvest. In a small clearing she sat on the ground with her back against a large tree. The midday sun streamed down through the forest canopy in dusty rays and dappled the ground. She watched the circles of sunlight wink in and out on the ground playfully and let her thoughts unwind.
When Balat had told her of his aborting medicine, he had explained to her that sometimes it was necessary to induce miscarriage for various reasons. A mother’s health was a first concern; if the mother died, who would nurture the child? And sometimes the pregnancy itself was not good, not healthy. Not all of the Goddess’ creations were beautiful. Yes, there were times when it was proper, even necessary.
But was this one of those times? She put her fingertips to her temples, as if she might feel the certainty of a decision there, but there was none.
Balat—she would go and ask Balat. He would know.
Before she could stand, another thought gave voice. When would she stop running to Balat and make her own decisions? He would not be there for her always. Wasn’t it time she played the full role of priestess that she professed?
But she didn’t know what to do! No answer was clear to her. Please, Goddess, please show me what to do.
She sat quietly. No answer came.
Perhaps it was enough that Lylah wanted to miscarry; perhaps that was the only criteria that mattered. Grace tried to project how the future would be for the older woman if she bore the child. She was already convinced of the toil of her life. She was already convinced that life held nothing for her but pain and sorrow. Would she feel differently if she bore a child, or would such an event only harden her convictions? Maybe, Grace thought, a child was exactly what she needed to learn that life was not endless misery, that there was beauty amid the dark mood of her days. Maybe she needed this child to show her the Goddess’ miracles, to show her how to care for another instead of only for herself. Maybe a child would teach her how selfish she has been, how self-pitying—
Grace got to her feet and began to pace. Listen to me! How many judgments can I heap on this woman? And if I don’t care for her, if I do not count her my favorite of friends, what right do I have to inflict unwanted motherhood on her as a cure for what I perceive are her defects of character?
Grace was stunned into immobility. Could she really be a channel of the Goddess and think such things? Could she truly be worthy of all the gifts and the trust and the respect she’d received and think such thoughts? Sudden shame flooded her. I am a sham! I am no instrument of the Goddess—I am a fool! How dare I presume ...? And she began to pace again in agitation.
Luckily, a saner thought intruded. No, she told herself more calmly. I am a creation of the Goddess, therefore whatever I am—flawed, imperfect, prone to mistakes—I am not a sham. I do possess Goddess-given talents and for the most part I have used them unselfishly. I am not a fool. I’m just ... confused.
She sat down again, and plucked at the leaves that littered the forest floor. How could she decide anything when so many values—her own and Lylah’s—crowded her mind? Somehow, she had to stretch above the confusion of egos and personalities to the truth. After all, the Goddess worked on a much higher level; She was not concerned with what Grace thought of Lylah, or what the colony would think. There was a greater truth, somewhere. How did she get to it?
Sighing, Grace wondered if she would in fact be able to determine what she should do. There were bound to be times when she came up against a challenge too great to overcome. Perhaps this was one. She would not like to think so but that made it no less true that the possibility existed. As she knew—all to well—she was only human and very imperfect.
Finally, she bowed her head and prayed. Dear Goddess, she thought, show me my path. I am at a loss. Without a clear knowing, I can do nothing; I can take no action.
A thought intruded into her prayer; if she took no action, very soon the choice would be made for her, and for Lylah. Doing nothing would, in fact, decide the issue. She sighed. Perhaps that was exactly how it would be. For not knowing, not feeling a certainty, Grace could do nothing. She could not abort the pregnancy without a clear sign that it was the will of the Goddess to do so. Of that much she was sure.
A small measure of peace flowed back into her. At least she knew she could do nothing for now. It would do no good to argue and discuss and analyze. All she could do was wait and be open.
She rose to her feet and noted how the sunbeams slanted through the forest now. How long had she wrestled with herself? And all to no purpose.
No—not without purpose. For she had exhausted all the human considerations until the only thing left open to her was an acceptance of what would be. And she did accept that now. Lylah may not be happy with the outcome but Grace felt a calm satisfaction. She knew now, as she hadn’t during her inner debate, that the will of the Goddess would be done and that she, Grace, was in fact an instrument of that will; not the power behind it, but an instrument only. And she was content with that.
She walked slowly back to her cabin, paying more attention to the living forest around her than her own inner voices. The summer’s day was warm and sweet-smelling. Through the trees she saw the sloe-eyed face of a doe that watched her warily, then ghosted away. All was where it should be in her world; she knew that now and was content with it.
Nearing the cabin, she saw Balat bending over the trestle table they had set up in the shade of the yard so that he could mix his potions outdoors. She smiled to herself. He was like a child with his green things, always mixing, grinding and experimenting with such enthusiasm. And she would be willing to wager he’d forgotten to eat his midday meal. But then, so had she. Well, she’d fix them both something while he puttered.
“There you are,” he called when he caught sight of her. “I was beginning to wonder about you. Is everything all right?”
“I’ll tell you all about it over soup,” she said. “Or have you already eaten?”
She saw the blank look on his face, knew she’d been right about him, and laughed.
“I forgot,” he grinned.
“That’s all right. I haven’t eaten, either. I’ll fix something for both of us.” She glanced over the table at the array of plants and crocks. A chill whispered up her spine. “What are you concocting today?” With a small shudder, she recognized the dark purple stem of the plant she would need if ...
“The purging medicine. I happened to check my jar and found out it’d all dried out and was no good, so I’ve made a new batch. I’ll have to be more attentive to the things I don’t use often, so—” He caught her look. “What is it?”
Stunned, Grace shook her head slowly. “It looks like today, Balat, you are the instrument of the Goddess. And I’m sure Lylah will be very grateful to you for that.” She took his arm. “Come inside. I’ll tell you all about it.”
Several days later, Grace retraced her steps to Lylah’s door and knocked quietly. The woman opened the door and stood aside for Grace to enter, all in hopeful silence. When the door was closed behind them, Grace turned and faced her.
“Are you going to ... help me?” Lylah asked in a pleading voice.
Directed by the signs she could not ignore, Grace brought the small crockery jar out from a fold in her robe. Lylah gasped with relief.
“Thank you!” she cried.
“Thank the Goddess,” Grace amended. She put the jar in Lylah’s hand. “Take this—all of it—tonight before you go to sleep. It will work during the night and will purge the egg by morning.” Grace fixed her with a hard stare. “You must ask Mot to stay with you tomorrow. This is not a simple procedure, even for a young woman, and complications may arise. I want him with you, just in case. I don’t foresee any problems, but that is not a guarantee. Will you do that?”
Lylah looked shaken. “It is not safe, then? Is it—”
“This is goin
g to kill the embryo,” Grace said harshly. “Do you really think you can do that with no chance of harm to yourself? There is risk in everything. As I said, I do not foresee difficulties, but I don’t pretend to be as all-seeing as the Goddess. You must decide what you must do and trust in Her. Is that clear?”
Lylah gulped in a breath, swallowed it, and nodded. “Yes. I understand.” She clutched the jar in her hands. “Tell me what I must do.”
“Keep Mot here. If you have any problems, send him to Balat. You will experience some cramping and some hemorrhaging, but neither should be excessive. Be as calm as you can, and try to keep your body relaxed so it can do what you have asked it. Above all—” and Grace eyed her commandingly, “trust in the Goddess. She may not always do our bidding or do it in the way we would like, but She will do what must be done. Have faith in Her. Is that understood?”
Trembling a little, Lylah nodded. “I will. Thank you, Grace. You are truly— ”
“If you would truly give thanks,” Grace broke in, the thought striking her suddenly, “give them by loving the children you already have and by loving Mot. Be not so quick to criticize and complain. Be grateful to the Goddess, but do it through being grateful to your family. You have much to be thankful for.”
“I—yes,” Lylah stammered. “Yes, I will. Thank you.”
Grace went to the door and let herself out. “Be blessed,” she said and slipped out into the forest.
Striding back through the trees, she was already thinking ahead to what she would take with her to her cave. Water, her knife ... She didn’t feel like eating so perhaps she would fast while she was gone. That might make it easier when the time came for her to travel. Walking briskly, she was now anxious to reach her sanctuary. She knew no more what to expect tonight than did Lylah.
Back at the cabin, Balat had already filled a water skin for her and laid out her pack. It was as if he knew of her impatience.
“I trust you have a full store of medicines on hand,” she said to him.
“I think I can handle any problem that may arise,” he assured her dryly. With an old but experienced eye, he noted her anxiety. “Will you be all right?”
“I think so,” she nodded, silently acknowledging his perception. “Once I’m in my cave, I will calm, somewhat. It’s just not easy ... killing.”
For a moment her temple throbbed and a strange, dreamy queasiness welled up inside of her. Pictures flashed across her mind—birds, knives, blood—but nothing was there long enough for her to grasp the meaning of it.
“What is it?” Balat asked.
Grace shook her head and the visions faded. “I don’t know. A dream of some kind—a waking dream. If it is something important, it will come back to me.” She bent to her pack. “Now this.”
It seemed she could not gain her high sanctuary soon enough. She fairly ran through the forest to the rift and climbed quickly up the cliff face. Once in her rocky haven, she sank down on the sand and was still.
Slowly, little by little, she calmed her jangled senses. She slowed her breathing, taking long, deep breaths, then attended to her body. Body part by body part, muscle by muscle, she attuned to and then relaxed every bit of her body until the blood flowed easily and she felt calm again. Finally, after some long moments, she felt her composure return.
Heartened, she sipped a little water, then looked around her. The sun was setting and the basin far below was streaked with long purple shadows. A few birds winged homeward before darkness fell but nothing else moved. The world was quiet, as was Grace.
With her eyes open, she rested. Seated comfortably, legs crossed, she rested her wrists on her knees and unfocused her eyes. Although the basin fell away before her, she saw nothing. Her breathing slowed even more and her body slumped. Awake, aware, yet completely drawn in, she slept.
The scream of some tortured animal roused her. Blinking, sitting up straight, she refocused her eyes on the outside world. It was dark. In the heavy silence of night, she heard the stealthy steps of a predator on the rocks below, no doubt with the animal that had screamed in its mouth. She roused herself fully and sipped a bit of water. The stars wheeled overhead in a clear, black sky. Later, she knew, the waning moon—the dying moon—would rise.
She felt calm but poised, ready but patient. She had no idea what would come to her this night, what she would be led to. She sat comfortably and waited.
The wind sighed through the treetops above her. At times it was definitely and merely the wind; other times it sounded like the heavy sigh of a human heart breaking. It wound around Grace’s heart and led her on a journey skyward.
Drawn out of her body, she saw the sound as a silver strand that floated on the still night air. Curious, she followed it. It lay like a shining thread over the dark land and she skimmed along just above it. She could see where it led—the colony. It pulsed and glowed and floated sinuously below her.
With a curious lack of feeling, Grace noted Balat’s cabin below. It was dark; she felt Balat sleeping. She followed the strand on.
Ahead, it looped up against the sky, then slithered, shining, down through the canopy of the forest. Grace felt it now, knew what it was, who it was. She hovered weightlessly above the treetops, yet still saw through them into the cabin below. Her bodiless eyes could see everything, everywhere.
Lylah slept. The woman lay heavily on her cot, sleeping deeply, although her face showed signs of strain. Mot slept nearby, more lightly, more relaxed. His big chest rose and fell as he breathed.
Grace turned her attention back to Lylah. The silver strand disappeared inside her abdomen. Peering deeply, Grace followed.
Inside was warm, close and moist. Grace could easily feel the pulse of blood through the body, the vibration of the beating heart. Around her, all the bodily systems were functioning, lending a low, throbbing drone to the surroundings. She followed the thread as it wound its way to the core.
There, up ahead—a light shone silver in the dark red tones of muscle and organ. It pulsed and glowed, bright, dim, bright, dim. Grace could sense her own breathing becoming attuned to its rhythm. She drifted closer. It was a ball of light, a tiny sphere of the Goddess’ energy. She shrank down smaller beside it; smaller, smaller, smaller. It grew in response, until it was the same size as she. Then she moved closer and entered.
It was frightened at first, but she eased its fear with soft thoughts. You are safe, she told it. Be calm. It had no words to speak to her, but she sensed its emotions. It was unsure. A nameless anxiety plagued it.
I am with you, Grace told it. You have nothing to fear, not really. Something will happen soon, but you are safe and I will be with you. Together we will take this journey.
It calmed somewhat. It liked Grace, liked her softness and gentility. Would Grace be there with it forever?
No, she said. Not forever. For a short time only.
It was saddened by that. It wanted to stay with her.
That cannot be, not at this time. Perhaps later, in another life. Perhaps in the far future, you may be my child, she said. Perhaps the Goddess may deem it so.
That would be pleasant to look forward to. It settled, satisfied.
Suddenly it screamed. The womb around them contracted and the sudden pressure was a painful jolt to Grace’s senses. She reined in her own violent reaction, then returned to the light.
You are not hurt, she told it firmly. You are in no pain. Are you?
It whimpered, more frightened than hurt. No, it finally responded.
And you will be in no pain, she said. None at all. Be calm, and when the time is right, we will take a marvelous journey, you and I.
It huddled, still nervous, but willing to be brave.
The body contracted again. Grace found the convulsions of the uterus to be stressful, uncomfortable, but not painful. The pressure of the contraction squeezed the infant egg—and Grace’s attuned senses—but there was no pain. She hovered within the sphere of light and soothed the embryonic consciousness with soft
thoughts and gentle words. At each new contraction it would tighten anxiously in response, but then Grace would soothe it and it would calm.
You are doing very well, Grace told it. You are doing just fine. Be calm; be at peace.
Suddenly it tensed and anxious with fear, it sought out Grace’s stabilizing awareness. She surrounded it with nurturing thought, then found the reason for its distress.
Part of the egg had pulled away from the wall of the uterus. There was a ragged tear there and some blood.
You are fine, she told the skittish consciousness. What is happening is exactly what is supposed to be happening. That amount of blood is normal. Be calm.
The contractions continued and with each one, the adherence to the wall ripped slightly more. The blood was minimal—the Goddess was kind to the middle-aged Lylah—and the miscarriage would be relatively easy. For that, Grace was thankful.
The embryo was not grateful. As more and more of the egg’s cell pulled apart from the wall, its terror mounted. This was not what was supposed to be.
Have faith, Grace told it. This is what will be. Stay calm. Very soon we will be free, you and I, and we will take a far journey. We must be free before we can travel. I will show you wondrous things.
The egg refused to be placated. Free was not safe, it felt. Free was lost and unattached and alone. Its fear communicated to Grace its desire to be connected to another consciousness. It was supposed to have a mother.
And you will have a mother, Grace told it. You will be a part of the Great Mother. You will know connection and attachment and belonging like no other. When we are free, I will take you there. I will return you to the Great Mother, the Creatrix, the All That Is, and you will be a part of it. You must let go in order to become attached. You must release in order to bond. You must be alone before you can belong. Let go; release your hold on this mother and I will guide you to the one Great Mother. You will belong to Her and no other. I swear it.
Unsure, the embryo clung to its scant hold. A new contraction convulsed the uterus and it trembled in terror.
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