“Yes, I do,” Cybele sighed. “I just don’t understand Diehl. It’s almost as if he’s jealous. And who could be jealous of such a tiny little baby?” she asked Lato.
Hannah got up and walked to the hearth. “You said yourself you feel a kind of sexual arousal from nursing Lato. You and your husband are connected also. Perhaps he senses that feeling in you and feels threatened by it. We are innately sexual beings. It would not be surprising if this situation were confusing for all of you. Perhaps you can talk to Diehl about it sometime when Lato is sleeping soundly.”
Cybele stood up and shook her head. “Hannah, you are a wonder. I don’t know how you know these things but I feel you are right. I will talk to Diehl.” She stared down at her now sleeping baby and refastened her shift. “He’s asleep. Thank you, Hannah. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Oh, you would manage,” Hannah smiled. “You would have to.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Cybele agreed without conviction. “Well, thank you all the same. I am in your debt.”
“Not mine. The Goddess’, perhaps, but not mine.”
“Well ...” Reluctant to disagree, Cybele moved to the door. “My thanks, Hannah. I’ll see you later.”
Hannah watched the younger girl go, knowing she could take care of her own small son now. This was the first time Hannah had not given in immediately and soothed the fretful Lato herself; perhaps it had been her actions that had delayed Cybele’s bonding with her son. But she loved that child so; he was like an own son of hers. It was difficult for her not to take him from Cybele, yet just as difficult to hold him and feel that inborn love, then have to give him back to his mother. A childless midwife, Hannah felt herself between a rock and a hard place.
She fixed herself a breakfast meal—finally—and mused over the Goddess’ obscure wisdom. She, Hannah, had been born with this strength of love for any small being, yet it seemed she would never have her own child to lavish it on. At twenty-five, she had still felt no call to marry, no call to even couple with a man, yet this mothering need burned inside her. Once when she was younger, she had conspired to conceive by a boy she’d known, but in the end her faith won out over her passion for motherhood and she’d realized her machinations were an insult to the Goddess. She would wait and do as she was bid by the forces around her and hope that someday her will would be the Goddess’ will, also.
She sat before her hearth and wrapped hands around a new hot mug of tea. Steam rose off the heated liquid, yet she felt only a mild warmth in her hands. Born a healer, her hands radiated their own heat and she had only to touch someone’s wounds to bring instant soothing. With a slow, deliberate laying on of hands, she could heal almost anything. That talent, coupled with her gift for midwifery and medicines, insured her respected place among her people and their sodhouse community. They often wondered what they would do without her. She never told them they almost found out.
It had been years now; she was barely twenty when she’d felt that pull. She’d been out gathering firewood in the nearby aspen groves and that strange, powerful feeling had tugged at her. She’d had no idea what it was; only knew that she had to go, she had to follow whatever it was. She’d dropped her armload of wood and gone off without a backward glance for any of it—wood, home, people. At the first touch of that feeling, they’d all ceased to exist. There was nothing else in the world except that sense of belonging … elsewhere.
But it had eluded her. She’d followed it all that day, but it ran from her. As it moved further away, she had more and more difficulty pinpointing it and by nightfall she’d had to admit that it had left her behind. She’d sat down in the dark forest where it had led her and cried. It took her two days to find her way home.
She smiled piteously at the child’s elusive dream. For a time, she’d believed it had been the Sibling she’d followed but for years she’d awaited the Deliverer’s coming and still it hadn’t happened. She’d finally had to realize that it was just some strange magic that had touched her and vanished; nothing more. And she’d attended to her healing arts and to the birthing of babies.
Well, now that Cybele was settled with her son, there would be no more need for her until Barbara came to term, and that should be several weeks yet. Hannah looked forward to some time of her own, to relax, to rest, to enjoy the spring. And the first thing she decided to do was to pick some flowers. Her sodhouse cried out for spring cleaning but before she began, she determined to bring a bit of the glorious day inside where she could see it. Then she would clean.
The meadows beyond the aspen groves were riotous with flowers. All colors bobbed and waved in the gentle breeze. Hannah laughed out loud at the funny faces of the meadow’s children, then bent cheerfully to pick some of her favorites. The meadow hummed with the quiet drone of bees.
This one, she decided, looked like a little dog with its brown center and yellow edges. This stalk flower had rows of fat, little trumpets on it, deep purple-blue, and its fragrance was heavenly. She found a pure white lily and a spotted dragon flower. Little by little, her bouquet grew. The fragrance elated her and she stopped often to bury her face in the soft, satiny sachet. Then she would brush pollen from her nose and, laughing, resume her careful harvesting.
The sun climbed higher and beat down ever more warmly on her back. She walked, drowsing, thinking she could easily lie down and nap right there amid the flowers. But then a curious nagging began in her stomach. She had felt it before—once. She felt it now. The flowers dropped from her hands as she pressed her palms against her belly. It was inside; it was she. That tug.
That pull.
The memory had no sooner come wordlessly to her mind then her senses reacted violently. Her heart leaped and her blood pounded; sweat broke out on her forehead and her ears roared. She turned, ever so slightly—she was afraid to move quickly, afraid she’d fall, she felt so weak—and sensed it stronger.
Stronger! Not going away—coming nearer!
She took a few hesitant steps just to make sure her feet and legs could carry her. They could. She ran, stopped when the crunch of leaves beneath her feet obscured the direction, stopped and waited and reached out with her senses. There! She ran again, headlong through the grove. Tears leaped from her eyes, flung back across her cheeks as she ran. She laughed, she cried and the sound reverberated in the grove like the ravings of a madwoman.
It had come back! It was coming for her and this time she would find it. This time there would be no illusion, no mistake. This time … this time, she would find what she had been born for.
CHAPTER 20
Greer entered the aspen groves with some trepidation. The groves here were sparser than the great forest and she felt slightly more vulnerable. She was closer to the mountains now, so close she could no longer see the snowclad peaks. They reposed out of sight behind the high foothills, but still they urged her on.
These groves … felt familiar. She sensed some overlapping of feeling here, past and present, fear and desire. She slowed to a stealthy pace. She thought the grove held no danger for her but still she moved cautiously.
She’d lost track of the days since she’d left Jeh. Her new robe was already showing signs of wear; the hem was stained where she’d trailed it in water and she’d torn a hole in it when she’d stumbled against a thorn bush. She certainly didn’t look like a vessel of the Goddess. She looked what she was: tired, footsore, hungry. Hungry for more than food. There had still been no revelation for her, no sense of purpose. All she knew was to walk; she didn’t know why. All she knew were the mountains. Nothing else spoke to her.
But there—a crackling of leaves. Guardedly, she slipped behind a tree and waited. The sound came again; stopped. She sensed something questing.
She focused on her breathing and brought it down to a slow, shallow rate. Her heart followed, stilling, quieting, barely moving. One by one she relaxed the muscles and organs of her body; one by one she commanded them into a state of suspension. Her entire body slowe
d and stilled until even the keenest sense could not have felt her there. She melded with the grove.
Her ears, still keenly aware, listened for sound. The crunching moved off, slowly, confusedly. Finally it passed out of hearing.
She moved cautiously in the other direction.
The grove gave onto a meadow. She stared through the last rank of trees at the open grassland. The meadow was full of flowers. How long had it been since she’d simply smelled a flower? But she had no desire for that now. She only wished she knew what lay in store for her. She only wished there were a glimmer of understanding in the void inside of her. She only wished she weren’t terrified that the Goddess had abandoned her.
She moved out into the meadow.
Too late, she saw the movement across the open land on the fringe of the next grove. A person. She glanced both ways, then slipped back among the trees and started an oblique path around the meadow. She could avoid the human.
“Wait! Wait!” The strange woman’s voice drifted across the distance, muted by heavy air and tall trees. Greer paid no attention, cared little that the word was one she knew. It was her old language; she thought she’d forgotten.
She ghosted through the trees, her silent stride carrying her effortlessly. She outdistanced the other woman easily, lost her in the trees. She slipped soundlessly around the meadowland, cut through the last grove, and pushed forward into the rich grasslands that led up to the foothills of the mountain.
The mountains still called her.
Hannah ran, still crying, but more from frustration now than joy. It—that person—was eluding her ... again. She tore through the aspens and across the meadows, eyes darting, ears straining. She’d lost her.
Gasping for breath, she was afraid to believe what her senses told her, that it was the Sibling she chased; afraid because she’d lost her. A pain lanced her chest and she felt as if her heart were breaking. She couldn’t be left behind again! Not this time!
She leaned against a tree and struggled for breath. She dashed tears from her eyes and realized her arm was bleeding, the result of running too close to a sharp branch. None of it mattered. She had to go on. Yet, knowing that, she was too tired to do so. She sagged against the tree, spent. The thought of being left behind was too painful to bear.
Then … she saw her. Her brown robe blended in perfectly with the stippled parkland, but Hannah saw her move. She pushed herself away from the aspen and ran.
“Wait! Oh, please, wait!” She ran, pounding the ground with bare feet. Her brown hair flew behind her. For a moment she was afraid the other would disappear again, but it seemed she barely noticed the running, calling stranger. She walked on, hurriedly, determinedly, but in full view. Hannah could hardly believe her luck. She ran joyously.
Catching up at last, she fell to her knees before the other woman.
“Oh, please!” she cried, ecstatic that she had finally succeeded. But those few words cost her any further voice. She gasped for breath, dragging in air in great sobs. She pleaded with the woman with her eyes.
Greer stood tall and still before the kneeling woman. The woman’s determination irritated her.
“What—do you want?” she asked, the old words uncomfortable on her tongue after so many years. She glared down at the woman in her path.
Path to what?
“Please,” Hannah gasped, “take me with you. I would follow you.”
Greer dismissed her with a quick shake of her head.
“I take no one with me. I go alone.” And she stepped around the woman and resumed walking.
“No!” Hannah screamed. She leaped from her place on the ground, ran in front of Greer and fell again to her knees. “No, I must go with you! I must!”
Greer scowled at her. “Why must you?” she demanded.
“Because I—I must! It is a need in me. I can only believe it is the will of the Goddess. I—I would serve you.”
“I need no one to serve me,” Greer said tersely. “Leave me alone.” Alone with my emptiness.
“I must go!” Hannah fell to the ground and threw her arms around Greer’s ankles. She started to cry. “I will follow you. By my life, I will follow you!”
Greer, irritated past discretion, pulled Balat’s knife from her waist and set the tip of it to the side of Hannah’s throat. “Then,” she said through clenched teeth, “you follow me to death.”
Slowly, Hannah lifted her chin, exposing the taut, white skin of her throat fully to Greer’s knife. “Then I will follow you to death,” she vowed. And she closed her eyes.
Greer stood, knife poised, hand clenched, body taut. This woman would find out how it paid to bluff the Sibling! She would know the taste of her foolish words mixed with her own blood.
“Die then,” she hissed, and drew the knife across the soft exposed skin.
Blood leaped to the point of the knife and welled along the seam that Greer drew. It pooled in the V of sliced skin and dribbled downward. It seeped along the edge of the knife as Greer pressed from the side toward the front.
Hannah lay still. Eyes closed, nostrils flared, she lay almost without breathing. No sound escaped her.
The blood ran down her throat. The skin pulled apart, ruby red inside, glistening.
“Speak, damn you!” Greer flared.
Hannah’s eyes fluttered open. They met Greer’s, brown to gray. They shone with love. “I will follow you,” she whispered. “I will ... follow you.”
“Augh!” Greer snapped, flinging the knife away. Hannah sagged to the ground, her throat collared with blood. While Greer paced an agitated pattern in the grass, Hannah pressed a hand to the slit across the side of her throat. Blood immediately welled up between her fingers.
“You are a fool!” Greer told her. “I could have killed you!”
Hannah rested with her eyes closed, breathing deeply. “I would have died gladly.”
“Why?” Greer demanded.
Hannah shook her head imperceptibly. “I don’t know. It’s just—I must be with you. It’s where I belong.”
“You don’t even know me,” Greer spat.
“Yes, I do. You are the Sibling. You are the one everyone dreams of. You will bring peace back to all people.”
Greer came and stood over the other woman. “Have you dreamed of me?”
Aware of Greer’s nearness, Hannah opened her eyes. “No, I haven’t. But I know. I—I almost found you once, years ago. I felt you, although at the time I didn’t know it was you that drew me. Do you remember?”
Greer, still angry, tried not to probe back in her memories, but a vague familiarity came to her unbidden. A memory of this place, these groves—and someone following after her.
“How many years ago was that?” she asked.
Hannah closed her eyes. “Five. I was barely twenty then.”
Greer stared off in the distance. “I think I am close to that age now.” She looked down at Hannah. “You knew who I was before I did.”
Something went out of her. She felt drained, tired. It took too much energy to be angry. She sat on the ground beside the wounded woman.
“Here,” she said, “let me wrap your throat until we can find some salve for it.” She had the hem of her robe in both hands, preparing to tear a strip off.
“No. There is no need.” Hannah’s voice was soft, airy.
“No need?” Greer was suddenly alarmed. “I didn’t cut that deep. You can’t die!”
Hannah smiled, her eyes shining. “I won’t die. But you don’t need to tear your robe. See if the bleeding has stopped.”
Gingerly, she took her hand away from the wound. The caked blood on her fingers flaked off, dry. Her throat was smeared with it, but it was all dry. Greer leaned forward and examined the wound.
“Great Goddess,” she whispered in awe. “It is already knitting.”
She sat back and stared at this strange woman before her.
Carefully, Hannah levered herself into a sitting position. She moved her head cautiously unt
il she felt the wound pinch, then sat still. She touched it with gentle fingertips.
“It will scar, but not badly,” she said. “I could have set it more cleanly if I could have seen it.”
Greer stared at her. “You are a healer?”
Hannah nodded once, caught herself at a twinge from her wound. “Yes. The heat from my hands does it. I’ve always been able to do it.”
“Even for yourself,” Greer murmured. “Amazing.”
Hannah smiled shyly. “Not as amazing as you ... Greer. You are the truly amazing one.”
Greer looked doubtful. “Sometimes I wonder. But you know my name. What is yours?”
“I am Hannah.”
“Who are your people?”
Hannah waved a hand toward the groves. “We live there, near the aspen, in sodhouses. We are a small group, but growing. I’ve attended to the birthing of three babies already since the solstice and there will be others.” She met Greer’s eyes levelly. “It is the time for more births. The Bad Time is over.”
Her optimism seemed to annoy Greer. The younger woman frowned and looked away.
“Greer?” Hannah asked, touching one of Greer’s hands with her own. “Is it not so?”
Greer turned her head deliberately away, her back straight as if she would deny her feelings to this stranger. Then a draining of false pride calmed her. Her shoulders sagged and she looked back at Hannah. The healer sat patient, her dark brown eyes liquid and trusting, her brown hair burnished gold in the afternoon sun. A thought flashed in her that this woman, and not she, should be the Sibling.
“I cannot tell you what is so and what is not,” she began in a hollow voice. “There was a time, not so long ago, that I felt full of my purpose but somehow along the way I have traveled, I have lost it. I feel … empty inside. I have no knowing.” She swallowed painfully. “I feel as if the Goddess has abandoned me.”
Hannah smoothed both of her hands over Greer’s. “You may feel that, but it is not so. I see Her in you. She is like an aura of shimmering light that surrounds you. “Here,” and Hannah touched Greer’s shoulder, “She is ice blue and sparkling. Here, near your face, She is golden, warm and fiery. And here,” she touched the top of Greer’s forehead, “She is brilliant white, flashing out like a beacon. She is all around you, defining you, protecting you. You may doubt but I do not. I see your greatness.”
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