She sighed and blew out the flame. Hannah was already asleep. She ought to be, also.
Instead, images of castles kept her awake.
Drugged from too little sleep, Greer roused late the next morning. Hannah had already taken the children and led them out into their outdoor classroom; fleetingly Greer thought that, come winter, they would need to provide a place inside somewhere for them. Drinking only a mug of tea to clear her sluggish mind, she washed and dressed for her visit to the old ones. On an impulse, she took up the book of stories as she was leaving.
Crossing the yard, she noticed that the work on the sanctuary was progressing well. Ever since Asherah’s designs had been incorporated into the construction there had been a spurt of energy and the walls seemed to climb more quickly to their proposed height. Now Greer noticed a knot of bricklayers and Asherah gathered around the large front window that was only half done. The bottom half measured straight and wide in the wall; the top still lay open to the sky.
Greer stepped inside the unroofed construction and approached the group. She realized that an argument was progressing.
“What is it?” she asked.
The men immediately fell silent. Asherah looked flushed and angry but determined. She pointed to the window. “We cannot agree on how to make an arch, as in my drawing. Some—” and she kept her eyes on Greer—“think we should abandon it and build square windows as we usually do. I say no. I know we can build the arches if we try.”
“But we don’t know how!” one man, Mazar, said. “And she cannot tell us how it is to be done!”
“Please,” Greer said, gesturing for calm. “I’m sure a solution will present itself.” She set the book down and faced the window, Asherah and Mazar on either side. “Now tell me,” she said to Asherah, “what you think.”
Asherah tried desperately to explain the vision of her dream, but her image was fragmented due to her own incomplete knowledge of building. She described what she had seen, how she thought it should look, but as soon as she was done, Mazar tore her description to shreds with his understanding of functional architecture. It was not difficult for Greer to see that what Asherah described and what Mazar explained did not fit together.
“There must be another way,” Greer said, thinking out loud. “Perhaps something we are not seeing yet.”
A strangled cry behind them wrenched them all around suddenly. Greer was dismayed to see one of the bricklayers, who had obviously been looking through the book, drop the treasured article in apparent fear. The book landed on the butt of its spine, cracked, and split in half.
“I’m sorry, my Lady, I’m sorry!” the poor man wailed in fear. “But the window—the window is in there!”
Greer kneeled in the dirt and carefully gathered up the two halves of the book, the pages fanning prettily from the broken spine. They would have to find a way to repair it. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing any of the books, but most especially this one. She stood and carried it to a workbench where she could straighten the pages more easily.
So caught up in worry about the book was she that Greer only vaguely heard the man’s excited raving. When Asherah came and touched her shoulder, Greer looked around at the group of agitated people as if she’d forgotten they were there.
“I think the book can be repaired,” she said, misreading their anxiety. “At least it’s not totally ruined; we can still keep the pages together.”
“My Lady,” Asherah said apologetically, “the man—Ivan—said he saw my window in the book. That is what frightened him into dropping it.”
Greer stared at Asherah, blinked, stared at Ivan. “Saw the window?” Was the man sensitive? She’d had no feeling of eeriness.
“Yes, my Lady!” Ivan almost ran forward, then stopped abruptly a span from Greer, his eyes wide on the book. “There is a picture, Lady—of the window.”
Greer stood away from the book. “Show me.”
Ivan approached the workbench with obvious trepidation. “Lady,” he said, “will you open it? Will you turn the pages?”
“Tell me where.” She opened the cover of the book, now loose, and waited.
“In the middle,” he said, pointing without touching. “Where the book broke.”
Carefully, Greer turned sheaves of loose pages, a few at a time, until she neared the center of the book. When she came to the pages that Ivan had been looking at, he bent closer over the book and she turned only one page at a time.
The picture of the castle jumped out at her. She almost expected Ivan to stop her there, but he only caught his breath and said, “The next page.”
Greer turned the page. Another picture of the castle, but a detail, now—she knew it was the castle by the pattern of its blocks—showing one wall, with a large, arched window.
Asherah’s window.
The woman hissed in a deep breath at Greer’s shoulder and Greer moved aside so she could have a clear view. Asherah moved to the book and, hands trembling against the workbench, peered at the picture.
“So that is how,” she said, and Greer could see her yellow eyes darting, her mind turning.
“Is it clear, then, how to build it?” Greer asked. Turning, she signaled to Mazar and he pushed forward so he could stand beside Asherah and see the picture also.
“Yes, this makes sense,” Asherah said. “Using blocks here, turned this way, they would support the arch.”
“So the blocks fit together, and each takes on only a portion of the weight of the wall,” Mazar finished. “Yes, it would work!”
“Asherah,” Greer said, “have you a clean cloth to draw on? I’d like you to copy this picture so you’ll have it to work from, because I am opposed to leaving the book until it can be fixed.”
“Yes. I’ll do it right now.”
By the time Asherah had redrawn the picture, she and Mazar had agreed on all the particulars of building, hashing out the details of every block she sketched. Standing aside listening, Greer knew the arched windows would no longer impede the building and she guessed that, as with Asherah’s original design, the new idea would bring added enthusiasm to the project. Although she would not ask for it, she felt sure the effort made on the sanctuary would leap higher. There was no better taskmaster than challenge answered with imagination.
With the book tucked safely under her arm, she left the construction and moved across to the Ruins. Both Hatti and Jess, the old ones, had small rooms there. When the steady arrival of pilgrims had made it necessary to redistribute—and finally build new—living space, it was agreed that the older and more fragile people would be given the most protective places and the Ruins were infinitely more secure than anything else the colony had built so far. Greer passed through the big kitchen, speaking momentarily with Nidia and the others, then went up the chipped stairs to Hatti’s room.
Hatti was the oldest anyone knew. Her white hair had long ago thinned into unmanageable wisps and danced around her head like gossamer. Her face and arms were mottled with dark spots and beneath her paper-dry skin it seemed that bruises were always blossoming out in alarming colors of purple and yellow. She had no chores; it was enough that she lived. On warm days when the sun was not too intense, some of the women would help her outside to sit in the yard and enjoy the day. Today, a hot late-summer day, she stayed in her room and watched the colony’s workings from her window.
Greer paid her respects. “Good morning, Grandmother,” she said, using the honorific. “I would like to speak with you if you feel up to company.”
Hatti nodded, smiling. Her old eyes were cloudy and it was thought she did not see well; it was possible she did not even know who spoke to her but only that it was a woman she knew. Greer pulled a small wooden stool up beside the old one’s chair and touched her hand.
“How are you today?” she asked solicitously.
“My back hurts,” the old one said regretfully. “Here.” She touched fingers to the back of her neck, which alone seemed painful for her.
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�Ah,” Greer said. “Would you like me to massage it for you? Perhaps that would ease the pain a bit.”
“Perhaps.” Hatti did not seem sure. Carefully, Greer stood and touched the pads of her fingers to the thin, fragile neck. She began to rub the knotted muscles there ever so lightly.
“Is that all right?” she asked. “Tell me how it feels.”
Hatti hunched her shoulders against Greer’s hands, then seemed to relax. “Yes, that’s better. But it still hurts.”
Greer stroked the old skin a moment longer, then said, “I will ask the healer to come see you. Her hands are warm and life-giving. I’m afraid I do not have her talent.”
When Greer took her seat again, she held the old one’s hand in hers. “Hatti, do you remember books?”
For a moment there was no reaction, but then Hatti tipped her head a little sideways, like a blind one listening to an unfamiliar sound. She stared at Greer.
“Books?”
“Yes.” Greer took the small, birdlike hand and laid it on the book. She moved the fingers over the hard cover, over the edges of the pages. “Books. What people used to write in, before the Shift. Do you remember?”
“Show me.” Hatti had let Greer manipulate her fingers, but now she inched forward on her chair, eager to see. “Let me see it. Show me.”
Greer held the book up in the light of the open window. Under the old woman’s peering eyes she opened it and turned pages.
“This one is broken,” she said, “but we have others. See, it has writing in it and pictures. Can you see? Is the light enough for you to see?”
“Oh,” Hatti said in a long, exhaled breath. “I have not seen one of these for many, many years. Yes, I remember. I saw one—once.”
“Do you know what the writing means? Do you know how to read what’s written here?” Greer leaned forward as she asked, hoping against hope for a positive answer. It would help so much.
“Oh, look,” Hatti said, pointing to a picture.
“Yes,” Greer said, “but can you read the words? Do you know what it says?”
“No.” She shook her head, her colorless eyes still on the picture. “Look!”
Greer looked. The castle. But it provided no answers for her now. She sat with Hatti a while longer and let her ooh and ah over the strange pictures, then bade her rest and left. She reminded herself to ask Hannah to come see the woman and do what she could for the back pain. As she walked to the next flight of stairs, she wished there was something for her own pain of failure.
Jess lived upstairs on the third floor. Younger than Hatti and spryer, she had agreed to leave the lower levels to those who had more difficulty with the stairs. Greer made her way to the door of the second oldest and knocked with flagging spirits. If Hatti had not known how to read, how would the younger Jess?
Jess opened the door. Not so white-headed as Hatti, her hair had gone the nondescript gray-brown of age but was threaded with white. She was a tall, big-boned woman, warm and enthusiastic, who still contributed to the colony. As she stood aside for Greer to enter, Greer noticed in her hand the beginnings of a coverlet she was knitting.
“You do well to knit for winter while it is still summer,” Greer said. “Too many of us would like to think winter will never come.”
“Perhaps it is a property of age,” Jess said, her eyes shining, “that one knows with certainty that winter will come. Please, sit down, Greer. What is it you require of me that you honor me with a visit?”
Greer could not keep herself from sighing heavily. “I am hoping,” she began, “that you may have been taught and may retain knowledge from before the Shift.”
“Before the Shift?” Jess’ brow furrowed in thought. “A very odd request. What sort of knowledge?”
Feeling less confident with every word, Greer brought out the book. Jess’ eyes gleamed.
“Oh, my,” the old woman said. “Where did you get that?”
“It was my sister’s. You’ve seen books, then?”
“Oh, yes, I’ve seen them.”
“I was hoping, perhaps, you might know how to read the writing.”
Jess frowned. “I don’t know. May I see it?”
Greer handed it to her. “The spine is broken, so the pages are loose. It’s very fragile.”
It seemed that Jess had stopped listening, so intently was she staring at the book, yet when she took it, she took it carefully as one might hold a butterfly or a soap bubble. She cradled the broken book in her lap and turned the cover. Inside, she peeled one introductory leaf after another until she reached the first page of solid writing.
She sat and stared at it, but said nothing.
Greer felt her hopes fall about her in pieces. There would be no easy answer for her on this. They would have to take the small things that Ankutse knew and unravel the ancient mystery one small detail at a time. It would be slow, tedious work—if it were even possible. Her confidence was so badly shaken that now she had doubts about even that.
“Once upon a time,” Jess’ voice broke into her thoughts.
“What?” Greer was startled. Had the old woman lost her wits?
Jess looked up at her, mildly confused. “I’m reading. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Greer shot to her feet, adrenaline flooding through her like a torrent. “You’re reading?”
“Yes,” Jess frowned. “You asked me—”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Greer said, taking her seat again and trying to be calm. “Yes, I did. Please, go on.”
A little unnerved by Greer’s reaction, Jess returned her attention to the book and began again.
“Once upon a time, in a land far, far away ...”
Greer was thrilled. Not only could Jess read almost all the words of her book—the stories were called Fairy Tales, Jess said—but she had her own small cache of very badly disintegrated books. The two women pored over the ancient treasures together until late afternoon when Greer received a second shock. Little Anna, Jess’ granddaughter, came to visit as soon as school was over and blithely climbed up in Jess’ lap and began reading aloud from one of the books. Greer was astounded to know that this rare, almost extinct talent was already being kept and passed on under her very nose, and she’d had no knowledge of it.
“I never thought it was important,” Jess said. “I just thought it was fun.”
In the days that followed, Greer worked long hours doing all she could to set education in motion. She asked Jess to teach herself and Ankutse how to read and then David, the stargazer, asked to be included, also. One book, it seemed, was all about the stars and the planets and David was fascinated. They, in turn, could teach others, relieving the old woman of that weighty chore. Greer intended that Hannah also learn so as to be able to teach the children and when Jess learned that, she insisted on being a co-teacher.
“It’ll keep me young,” she said.
At the same time, Greer set Abel and whomever he chose to study the books themselves with the purpose of unlocking the secrets of their pages and bindings. The paper would vastly simplify and expedite the colony’s development and no doubt the hard material of the covers and the glue that held it all together would come in handy somewhere. And for Greer, the most pressing concern of all was to save the books before they completely rotted away. The handling they were receiving after their long dormancy was telling on them, speeding up their disintegration, but the people had to study them closely if ever they were to be able to preserve them. It was a cautious, if desperate, race.
So Greer and Ankutse and David learned to read and Hannah loved the children and the summer withered away. The crops were gathered, the orchards were picked and the colony turned to storing. The autumnal equinox approached.
As the days shortened and the nights grew cooler, Greer sought out David for his knowledge of the stars. He was a young man, perhaps a few years older than Greer, with dark hair and eyes and a childlike smile. He had come alone to the valley in early summer from a place far south, he said. Gre
er found him pleasant and agreeable, and his knowledge of the heavens ensured his place in the colony.
As the time of the equinox neared, Greer questioned him about the placement of the sun on that day and how the rays of it would strike the sanctuary. The big, arched window in the east wall of the sanctuary would accommodate the equinox sun as it had the solstice, he said, although from a very different angle. He showed her how the pattern of the sun’s rising changed, how the blazing orb moved from north to south and back again. He showed her how he had notched the ledge of the window the day of the solstice, and how, by triangulating the Goddess-stone to the notch, they could tell exactly where the sun would rise at the next summer solstice. He would do the same at the equinox and the winter solstice and notch the ledge so there would be a permanent guide for those, as well.
Meanwhile, the sanctuary grew around them and on quiet evenings Greer could wander the roofless, moonlit rooms and imagine the will of the Goddess being received there. She was anxious to have the building done. Already the walls were capped, the great arched window completed and some of the beams that would support the roof were laid. All that remained was to lay in a thatch of rushes and tar it over to waterproof it.
The final touches were put on it the day before the equinox. Mazar came to Greer that afternoon to tell her of the completion and she, along with all the workers, Ankutse and Asherah, toured the finished temple for the first time.
The open-windowed assembly room was large and airy, edged now by wooden benches that Ankutse had fastened to the walls. The great arched window gave a large view of the eastern horizon, and the Goddess-stone perched on its pedestal in the center of the room.
The private rooms beyond were smaller, although still luxurious compared to the tiny hut Greer and Hannah had been living in. There was a central living area, then four separate bedroom chambers for whoever might be called upon to serve the Goddess.
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