The sound of the beetles was drawing him forward. His frantic eyes jumped from one direction to another until She indicated which one he was to take. Then, gripping Kyra, he began to run.
Others called to him—what was it? Where was he going?—but he ignored them and ran on. He skirted the Ruins and hesitated in the front dirt yard, questing. He had almost made up his mind to take the trail to the spring when She spoke to him. Redirected, he charged off the other way, north, toward the big road that came down off the mountain pass.
Before he reached it, he knew whatever it was, it was coming. He saw a small group of people coming down the road, walking calmly yet with great purpose. He recognized the green tunic of Kip, who’d gone scouting in the foothills early this morning. He saw Ashur, who’d been out to the new north orchard. Other people joined their ranks. He saw members of the colony fall into the group one by one as the caravan reached their waiting place on the road. Enki, Ashur’s young son, skipped ahead of the leaders.
Finally Abel’s eye fell on those leaders—two women. He did not think he had seen them before, yet there was some familiarity. And he knew now all the thrumming that pulsed in the air came from them. They were the center. They were—
Reacting violently, he swung Kyra down from his shoulders and into his arms and began to run up the road. It couldn’t be, he told himself, not after so long. He thought sure she’d died. Yet his feet pounded on the hard pack of the road. He’d had to give up his belief, even when Pat insisted the prophecy would be done. How could she have survived?
He ran directly up the middle of the road toward them and for the first time since he’d glimpsed the moving train of people, they stopped. As if she waited for him. He slowed his own steps, incredulous, afraid to believe, pleading for it to be true. Too stunned to be aware of the torrent of emotions that rushed through him, he dashed tears from his eyes that he wasn’t aware he’d shed.
Hardly a span from her, he stopped. His eyes ranged over her, gently rediscovering the soft gray eyes, the oval face, the dark, shining hair. He would not have known her—not for a certainty—if she had not smiled to him with those eyes.
“Great Goddess,” he said, “is it you, Grace?”
Even as he said it, something in his mind clicked and he knew she was not Grace anymore. She was Greer, the dreamed one, the promised one. He moved forward and kneeled to her, touching one of her slim hands to his cheek.
“Abel,” she said, and even in her warm woman’s voice he could hear the sweet tones of his young stepdaughter. She drew him up and held him to her, kissing his cheek.
“I am so glad to see you,” she said.
“Not as glad as I am to see you—Greer. We all welcome you back.” He tried to be diplomatic, but the ghosts of the past wouldn’t allow it. “I thought sure you’d died out there! We looked for you, Grace, we searched for days—” The specter of his own willingness to halt the search haunted him now more than ever. He couldn’t stop the tears of unresolved grief and guilt.
“Abel,” she soothed gently, her hands on either side of his face. “Please; you did no less than the Goddess would have you do. I was past your reaching as soon as I turned away from the Ruins. Don’t chastise yourself anymore. It all came to Her plan in the end.”
Moved more than he thought he could be, Abel struggled to regain his composure. He dashed tears from his face and managed a weak smile.
“Now,” Greer said, “who is this beautiful child? There are so many here I don’t know.”
Taking a breath, laughing to diffuse the tension he felt, Abel presented his daughter. “This is Kyra, my daughter. Kyra, this is—the—”
“Greer,” she finished for him, and smiled to Kyra. “I am glad to meet you.” Then a thought struck her. She looked at Abel. “Pat? But she was—”
Abel shook his head. “No, I am with another woman, now. Pat ... is dead. She died some years ago. I’m sorry.”
Greer closed her eyes for a silent moment, then smiled sadly. “So, she who bore all the burden of my childhood—my nurturing, my protecting, my training—does not get to see the day her dream becomes truth. How sad. How very, very sad.”
“She—she knew, Greer. She never stopped believing. She never stopped … knowing. When all the rest of us had laid you in a grave somewhere and had committed you to the Goddess, Pat never did. She always believed.”
“Yes, I’m sure she did.” Choosing to honor the grief she felt later when she could be alone, Greer shook herself a little and glanced around. Her eyes fell on Hannah and she took her hands and drew her forward.
“Abel, this is Hannah. She is my—my friend.”
“Hello.” Hannah’s voice was soft, airy. She met Abel’s eyes briefly, then turned to his daughter. “Hello, Kyra.”
Kyra, up to now, had been taking all this in with wide eyes and—for once in her short life—silent concentration. Now she looked excitedly from her father to the strange lady, Greer, to Hannah—and she giggled. On an impulse of pure three-year-old innocence, she let go of her father’s neck and reached for Hannah.
“Kyra!” Abel said quickly, but he’d already lost his grasp on his slipping daughter and she fell into Hannah’s arms. Half-panicked by the feeling of having her drop away from him, he was instantly ready to take her back.
“I don’t mind,” Hannah said, Kyra already snug on her hip. “I like children.”
Abel was dumbfounded. “She’s never done that before.”
“I like this lady, Daddy,” Kyra announced in her most decisive voice. “She’s nice.”
Greer watched the interplay between the three with a light humor. In all the scenarios she’d imagined for her return to the Ruins, this had not been one of them. Yet somehow she liked this one the best.
“Well, Abel,” she said finally, “can you guide us to a place where we can rest? We’ve walked many days to get here.”
“Of course. Come to the Ruins. We’ve got plenty of room.”
She put a hand on his arm to stay him. “Not there. Someplace else. Just a small place, one room will do.”
“But—”
“No, Abel.” She shook her head. “Someplace else.”
By the time the procession reached the open yard in front of the Ruins, every soul in the colony knew of Greer’s coming and was there. Some of the braver, more confidant ones came forward to greet her and remind her of their all-but-forgotten names; some of the older ones hung back, too excited or anxious to speak. There were too many new faces to put names to all at once, and Greer deferred an extensive introduction. How many faces would she realize later were not there that should have been, she wondered. So much had changed; there was so much to get used to.
But right now she wanted to rest.
Her eyes fell on a new building—new to her, but it must have been years old—off to one side of the big yard, close to the trail to the spring. With only an open doorway and one small, unshuttered window, it seemed painfully simple.
“What is that building for?”
“That?” Abel glanced over. “Oh, that was our first experiment with brick-making. It didn’t turn out well. We use it for storage.”
“Can you store your things elsewhere?” Greer asked.
“Elsewhere? Yes, I suppose we can, but—”
“That’s where we’ll stay.”
Abel was appalled. “There? But that’s nothing but a hovel. It has no door, nothing but dirt for a floor.”
“We’ll stay there,” Greer announced again. “Where can we move your things to?”
Once Abel understood that Greer would not be put off the little building—and where did his sweet-natured stepdaughter accumulate such strength of will?—he organized a crew to haul the buckets and hoes and ladders away and the room was cleared out. Greer and Hannah began immediately to put it to rights, picking up the debris that had collected in corners, dusting off the tiny windowsill with the hem of a dirty robe. Greer asked Abel if they could borrow a broom and he charged off
to get one. Some of the shyer colony people watched in helpless fascination as the Sibling set up her New Order—in a storage shed.
When Greer heard the commotion of many voices, she assumed it was Abel and a vanguard; she went to meet him at the door and was not prepared for the sight that met her.
Women—scores of them—lined up in the yard, all carrying brooms, rugs, bedding, tables, lanterns, chairs and material. They chattered companionably to one another about what else could be allocated; there was that old brazier out in the back that just needed one leg mended to sit evenly, and the big tapestry that had been put away for so long would go nicely on a wall. One woman said she felt sure she had an old kettle somewhere, and another thought she had a length of linen that would do well for curtains. Every one of them had something to contribute. Greer and Hannah exchanged pleased glances, then moved aside so the procession of donors could bring their gifts inside.
Among the first Greer was overjoyed to recognize were Nidia and Erin. The two women carried a small trestle table between them but when Greer realized who they were, she insisted they put the table down where they stood so she could greet them. She gave them each a hearty hug—which they returned with a combination of flattered joy and respectful uncertainty—and then Erin burst into tears.
“Oh, Grace—Greer,” she said apologetically. “I never wanted to believe you were dead, but when the searchers couldn’t find you, and the years went by ... I’m so glad you were all right.” Unable to stem off the old emotions any longer, she broke into sobs. “Oh, Grace, sweet little Grace! You don’t know how I worried!”
“You always did pamper me so, Erin,” Greer remembered fondly. “I still think of that little blue shawl you made for me. That was my prized possession.”
“Oh!” Erin sniffed. “I still have that! I saved it. And I know just where it is!” Before Greer could stop her, she was off.
Greer laughed, exchanging looks with Nidia. “It is so good to see you. You and Erin are like warm memories. Here, let’s get this table out of the way so others can get through.”
Introducing Hannah to Nidia, Greer and the two women moved the table and stood aside so the parade of house-furnishing could continue. Greer managed to keep up a broken conversation with Nidia even as she greeted old friends and met new ones and expressed appreciation for the hand-me-down gifts.
“You know about your—about Pat?” Nidia asked eventually.
“Yes. Abel told me. That was a shock.”
“To us as well,” Nidia said. “It was some months after you disappeared. She just seemed so tired after that, as if her spirit had given up. She seemed to have nothing left to live for.”
“I wish that were not so,” Greer said. “I could use her strength of purpose now. I think I would appreciate her guidance more now than before.” She stopped to greet Corrine, and her little daughter—so big now!—Kaia. “Who heads the colony now?”
“I do,” Nidia said without apology. “It seemed a natural progression. Only one found fault—”
Just then a woman came forward who looked vaguely familiar, yet Greer could not put a name to her. The woman carried a large ceramic bowl of great beauty. The azure glaze shone like star fire.
“I am Maren,” she said stiffly.
The name clicked into place in Greer’s memory. “You came with that prophet— ”
“Orin,” Maren supplied.
“Yes, Orin, the day I left. You were second to your people’s leader.”
Maren nodded once. “Ona left here, discouraged; I chose to stay.” She paused, evidently deciding that was enough of an explanation. “I bring you this bowl. It is the best I have ever made.”
Greer took the bowl gingerly. “It is beautiful, Maren, truly a gift for the Goddess. It is much more than I would ever ask. Are you certain you wish to give it up? If it is your best work—”
“I believe to give any less would be an insult to the Goddess,” Maren said pointedly, and suddenly the women nearby were glancing at their castoffs with new uncertainty. Some, waiting cheerfully a moment before to give their second-hand gifts to Greer, now hid the less-than-perfect items behind their backs, or edged away. Maren sneered at the uneasy shifting.
“I appreciate your generosity,” Greer said in a strong, formal voice, “but the Goddess looks not so much at the richness of a gift as at the richness of the heart that gives it. Since you choose willingly to give this bowl, I accept it in that vein, and I thank you. But all of you—” and she raised her voice so all could hear— “know that the most beautiful gift and the most common sit side by side in the Goddess’ eyes.”
Maren’s face flushed an angry red, although her expression and bearing never faltered. Stiffly she inclined her head, turned on her heel and walked away.
Greer handed the bowl to Hannah, who went to find a safe place for it amid the chaos. With only a slight pinching of her brow revealing her agitation, Greer continued to receive her guests. Her pleasure over the hand-me-down gifts was more enthusiastic—and honest—than before.
“That one,” Nidia said between receptions, her voice quiet so no one heard but Greer. “She was the only one among us who challenged my place as head of the colony. She felt she was better suited.”
“She is certainly strong in her convictions,” Greer agreed. “In some ways she reminds me of Pat.”
Nidia agreed with the comparison. “That was her strongest argument; she used that in her efforts to gain support. Apparently, though, our people were either more comfortable with what they knew, or—”
Greer glanced at Nidia when she broke off. The older woman’s struggle for words was apparent.
“Or,” Greer said for her, “the people were tired of being governed by sheer strength of will and chose a leader who would guide them kindly, with love and acceptance.” She saw from Nidia’s expression that she had interpreted the silence correctly. “I find no fault with that, Nidia, foster-mother or no. I, too, learned that there is more to consider than pure will and discipline. I also learned to temper knowledge with compassion. Perhaps in time, Maren will learn that as well.”
“I hope so,” Nidia murmured. “And I hope it happens before Kyra gets too much older, or she’ll ruin that child the way Pat almost ruined you.”
“Kyra?” Greer started. “Kyra is Maren’s? Then she and Abel—?”
Nidia nodded. “Another reason she seems to feel she should be first. Not that leadership comes through men, but it seemed a valid recommendation to her.”
Greer was silent for a moment. She never would have paired those two, yet ...
“Abel, apparently, is attracted to strong women.”
“Apparently,” Nidia agreed with some sarcasm.
“Which may, in itself, be strength,” Greer continued. “Weak men are sometimes attracted to weak women with whom they may experience the illusion of power.”
“Power,” Nidia said tersely. “If only those without it knew how it drained, they would not want it much.”
Greer glanced at Nidia. “Are you drained, Nidia?”
The older woman smiled ruefully. “Sometimes. And I have only been headwoman for four years. I do not think I would wish sovereignty on you, Greer, but since it seems to be your destiny, I relinquish mine to you willingly. You are young,” she added in a lighter voice.
“Yes,” Greer said, “although sometimes I don’t feel like it.”
By sunset the procession to the little building had dissipated and Greer and Hannah had a home. So much of a home, in fact, they hardly had room for themselves. By the light of candles, Hannah sliced bread and cheese, and Greer pared fruit for their dinner. They sat down to a clean table and ate their fill for the first time in many days.
“I like it here,” Hannah said cheerfully.
“I am glad,” Greer said, and she was. “This valley is bountiful and the people are good.”
“You are glad to be back here,” Hannah sensed.
Greer nodded, looking around, looking out
the open door at the first star of evening. “Yes, I am glad to be back. I wasn’t sure if I would be, but I am. This feels like home.”
“To me, also.” Hannah paused, not quite sure how to phrase her next question. “Do you know what—what to do, what will happen—now?”
“No.” Greer’s smile was touched with irony. “I see nothing beyond this moment. But I am sure the Goddess has Her plan, and I am sure She will, in Her time, let us know what it is. For now,” and she laughed with exhaustion, “I want nothing more than to sleep in a soft bed. Tomorrow is soon enough to set the world right.”
CHAPTER 22
For a time the women existed in a loosely flowing, unstructured camaraderie that was balm to their tired spirits. Having no designated duties—for who would assign chores to the Sibling?—they roamed the colony and did as pleased them, whether that was reordering their little house or helping to make bread or carry water to the orchards. Hannah endeared herself to all the children and often could be seen leading them off, out from underfoot, into the valley to collect greens or dig roots. Greer found herself quickly bored with no industry and might go to the big kitchen in the Ruins and roll up her sleeves and knead bread with her friends, or walk placidly along the lava escarpment to the spring. There was time for whatever they wanted to do.
Early on, Abel showed Greer how they had perfected their brick-making in the last years, and how adept they were now at building. Near the new north orchard they had built a good-sized four-room place where four families could live in comfort. Although not near as aesthetic nor as strong as the blocks that made up the Ruins, the new bricks were still serviceable and made a protective home, and the newer buildings had improved quite a bit over the first little cell.
Abel’s idea was simple. Still uneasy with Greer’s acceptance of the shed, he wanted to build her a place adequate for the messenger of the Goddess. She refused to take the Ruins, saying it was better meant to serve masses of people than one or two, so he requested instead that they be allowed to build a proper temple. This Greer and Hannah mulled over and finally agreed to. The only stipulation was that they would have complete control of the design, within the builders’ capabilities.
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