The Shore of Women

by Pamela Sargent

  “If they put on the mindspeaker bands,” I objected, “they might reveal we were there, and then…”

  “Think, Birana. We might show them how to cloak certain thoughts. We could even tell them that they don’t have to use a mindspeaker in our presence.”

  Yvara went on to tell me that, once we gained the protection of a tribe, we would have a chance to stay alive. Eventually, we might hear of where other survivors could be found. I tried to listen but could think only of the cold and my weariness.

  Arvil stirred, then opened his eyes, but moments passed before he seemed to see me. He groaned and hid his face as he whispered words in his own language.

  “Arvil,” I said.

  “My guardian,” he replied in words I could understand. “He brought me out of the enclave, he cared for me, he taught me what I know. Now he lies dead because of you.”

  “I can’t fight you, Arvil. You can take my life as well.”

  “Then his death would be for nothing, and your death won’t cleanse my soul now.” He stood up and went to Tal’s body. The dead man, I was sure, was Arvil’s father; I had noted the resemblance. The man had seemed to have little affection for Arvil, but perhaps he had not always treated him that way. Arvil let out a cry, then fell at Tal’s side; his shoulders shook.

  I thought of what he had told me earlier about his tribe and their changing feelings toward me. They would use me as they used the images presented to them by mindspeakers, as they used one another; I had heard their groans in the night. I couldn’t go back; I would come to welcome death if I did.

  I waited for Arvil to purge himself of his grief as I wondered what he would do.

  Through the mindcaster, I had experienced something of life outside our wall. I had built a simulated fire and had gazed out over the re-creation of a plain. For most of the girls I knew, one such experience had been enough, for their fear ran deep, but I had experienced such imaginary journeys several times.

  Those mental tours had not prepared me for the aching of my body, the fear of injury, the pangs of hunger, the dirt I could not wash away, the need to squat over the ground to relieve myself. For the first time in my life, I saw myself as physically weak.

  We did not rest long by the hillside. The wind picked up and we pulled our hoods around our faces. Before morning, snow began to fall; it was soon so thick around us that we could hardly see each other.

  We stood under a tree, clinging together as the storm swirled around us. My body grew numb; we stamped our feet in an effort to keep them warm. “I won’t let you die,” I heard my mother whisper; the wind swallowed the rest of her words. I do not know how long we stood there, but at last the snowstorm began to abate, although flakes still sifted down from the sky.

  We stumbled on. A shelf of rock suddenly loomed before us; a creature crouched against the stone.

  I nearly screamed as the creature’s hand gripped a spear. My mother cried, “The Goddess is with you!” She quickly threw back her hood and opened her coat. “Look at My form,” she shouted, “and know that I am of the Lady.”

  She stood there before the man as the flakes fell on her hair and onto the shirt outlining her full breasts. The man was clothed in hides and fur, and hair concealed the lower part of his face; I shuddered at his ugliness. His small dark eyes glanced from my mother to me; he called out strange words and then threw himself to the ground.

  “Why have You come before me?” he called out. His hands, covered in leather, clawed at the snow. “Am I to be blessed or punished? Oh, Lady, forgive me my sins.”

  I was surprised to understand his words, but remembered that the men knew our language, for they used it in their prayers. His fear of us astonished me. Then I thought of how easily he might have struck at us, before seeing what we were, and nearly collapsed myself.

  “I come among you to test you, to see that you are truly My servants,” Yvara answered. “Rise, and answer the Lady’s questions. Where are you bound, and where is your tribe?”

  The man climbed to his feet. “Oh, Lady,” he whimpered. I opened my own coat quickly and his eyes widened. “Two aspects! Never could I have dreamed—I am Your true servant, I swear it. I am now traveling back from Your holy enclave to rejoin my band.” He knelt. “They roam in the west, some five days’ travel from this place.”

  “I shall test your devotion to the Goddess,” my mother said. “She knows of your worthiness and will have a special place in Her heart for you if you serve Me. First, you must lead us to a holy place, to a shrine where My spirit resides.”

  He stood up again. “I was to stop at a shrine not far from here to pray,” he said. “I shall take You there.”

  “Are there other tribes near that shrine?”

  “Not in this season. But surely You know that, Lady, for we can hide nothing from Your eyes.”

  “I am only testing your honesty. Remember, you cannot lie to Me.” Yvara took a breath; her voice showed none of the fear I was certain she felt. “You will travel with Us to that shrine. If you show Us what a worthy servant you are, you and your band will forever be blessed.”

  “I will take You to the lake shrine,” the man responded, “where the aspect known as the Wise One dwells. I’ll be a worthy servant to You, Holy Ones.”

  That man was the first I had ever seen in the flesh, for I did not count those I had watched at a safe distance from the wall. He was called the Bear, and in his hides with his thick brown beard, he had seemed much like that beast, but a beast that spoke words.

  Our weakness seemed to puzzle him. He believed in the Lady’s strength, yet during our journey, we often stopped to take shelter under the tree limbs and hide he would set over us. Yvara directed him to turn his eyes from us whenever we knelt to relieve ourselves. He guarded us while we rested, then rested while we watched, ready to awaken him if we saw any distant movement. Our feet grew blistered and sore, and it was soon hard to walk at more than a slow pace.

  Yvara explained to the Bear that, in our bodies, we shared some of the weaknesses of men, that this was necessary if we were to live among men without harming them with our greater powers—yet I wondered if, in time, the Bear might see what we really were. He could read signs in his environment invisible to us; he seemed capable of some reason and thought. Brutal as he was, he remained patient as he guided us to the shrine.

  The Bear dwelled with us in the shrine for three days. He fetched water for us to bathe our blistered feet and caught fish for us through the ice of the lake; we had none of our own food left by then. He sat on the floor before the altar and gazed at us with awe; pathetic as he seemed, I was touched by his devotion. Yet he was a man and used to violence; I could not forget that.

  He left us with some dried fish and enough water for a few days, promising to return soon with his band. When he was gone, my mother spoke of her plans. The Bear’s tribe would know of others; we might find one who could guide us to a refuge.

  “He told us nothing of any refuge,” I said.

  “We’ll find one, and then, someday, I’ll go back to the wall and show everyone that I prevailed.”

  “You dream of women who don’t exist,” I shouted. “You think of nothing but revenge, revenge against Ciella, against the city. You would destroy it if you could.”

  She leaped up and struck me across the face. “Yes, I would, and you should feel the same way. Hold to your hatred—it’ll keep you alive. No one spoke for us, remember that. You’re all I have left, and you’re going to live.”

  “You brought this on me. You don’t care about me. You only want to ease your guilt by thinking you can bring me to a safe place.”

  “Believe that if you like.” She turned away.

  As I waited for the Bear to return, my despair deepened. My life would never be more than a struggle, and a short one in all likelihood. I could accomplish nothing by staying alive.

  We left the shrine only to relieve ourselves near the door and still saw no sign of the Bear. We brooded in silence,
afraid to eat what little food remained. At last, there was only one piece of dried fish left; Mother handed it to me.

  “You eat it,” I said. “My life is over.”

  “Take it.”

  “I don’t want to live,” I said.

  “You must.”

  “Why must I?”

  “Does anyone know the answer to that?” she said. “All we can say is because our lives are all we have. I thought I wanted to die before, back in the city. I struck out at Ciella instead of at myself, but it was all part of the same impulse. It wasn’t until I was awaiting my sentence that I decided to live, whatever happened.”

  “I don’t want to stay alive.”

  She took my hand and stroked it gently. It was an uncharacteristic gesture; she had rarely shown me much affection. “You’re not being honest, Birana. Dying is simple enough. I can’t restrain you if you’re determined to die. You could find death outside in any number of ways, but you don’t. You don’t really want to die, but you haven’t made up your mind to live. You’d better decide what you want.”

  I was silent.

  “We’ve survived this long,” she said. “We’ve found a man to help us. It means others could have done so. You must hold on to that hope. Women in ancient times found ways to live when the earth was in ruins. Surely some could do so again. If they have, then in times to come the cities may learn of it, and it may be that by then they’ll have need of those outside and of what they have learned.”

  She was, without knowing it, renewing the hope I harbored—that there might be forgiveness for exiles, forgiveness for me.

  “Decide, Birana,” she said as she let go of my hand. “Decide to live or to die, and at least that torment will be over.”

  We ran out of water and still the Bear did not return with his men. “He will come,” my mother said, “or another will. This is a shrine—men have to come here.” But even her spirit seemed to be failing her. She began to pace the shrine restlessly, wasting her strength, then paused for long moments to stare at the door.

  I don’t know how many days we passed this way—perhaps only a few. I was soon too weak to stir from my couch. I was lying there when Mother rose and walked toward the door.

  I struggled up. “Where are you going?”

  “Down to the lake.”

  I didn’t want her to go even that far from the shrine. “Don’t go.”

  “We have to have water. I must go before I’m too weak to fetch it.”

  “I’ll get the water,” I said, but she was already gone. Fearing for her, I managed to cross the room; the door opened as I went outside.

  The darkening sky and the dusky light made it difficult to see. I squinted; she was near the edge of the lake. She bent over, then stood up as she began to walk toward me.

  She was near a small shrub, only a shadowy form, when I saw other shadows move. I tried to cry out as they raced toward her, but my voice was locked inside my throat. The men were upon her in an instant; their long fur cloaks swirled around their legs. I saw her fall, saw a blade move toward her throat. She was given no chance to speak, no chance to call out, to reveal what she was.

  One of the men bent over her. I nearly ran to her murderers myself, and then the man let out a howl of such pain and terror that I staggered back. The door closed; the floor rushed up to meet me.

  I was lying on a couch, with no memory of how I came there. My mouth was dry, my strength gone.

  The door opened. Three men entered, carrying my mother’s body.

  I do not know how I found the strength to rise. My body shook with sobs as I walked toward them; my voice screamed accusations as the men threw themselves down, and then one of them looked at me.

  He was a blond beast with a hairless face, but he was gazing at me with Laissa’s eyes, with the gray eyes of the girl who had once been my friend. The shock of seeing those eyes brought me to myself. I noticed then that these men were not wearing fur cloaks; they could not be my mother’s killers.

  The blond one caught me and guided me back to the couch. Even in the ugliness of his face—the skin browned and roughened by wind, the high cheekbones and angular jaw, the straight, hard mouth with none of a woman’s gentleness—I saw a resemblance to Laissa. He was only a man, and yet in him there was something of one I had known and loved.

  I did not realize it then, but at that moment, I decided to live.

  Arvil stumbled to my side and sat down, his features distorted by his grief. I had to speak, had to find out what he would do now.

  “Arvil,” I began.

  His head jerked up. I did not look away. Occasionally, when he spoke to me or asked a question, a gesture or expression would recall Laissa to me; at those moments, I could feel some kindness toward him.

  “Arvil,” I continued, “I must explain something to you. The Lady is not what you have believed She is, but She is powerful and can still harm you. The Lady will guess that I’m still with your band if we return to your camp, and we would not be safe for long. My city, the place you call the enclave, can easily find your band’s camp and might destroy all its members to be certain I was dead.”

  “I have seen the Lady’s weapons of fire and have witnessed Her wrath.” His gray eyes gazed past me. “I know what She can do. Are you so evil, then? Perhaps They were right when They told me you were.”

  “I’m not evil. I did nothing. I was punished for the crime of my—of another—because I stood by and did nothing to prevent it. My city did not have to punish me, but cruel ones refused to show me mercy. Weak and foolish I might be, but I’m not evil.”

  “That other—the one we found by the shrine—was it she who committed this crime?”

  I nodded. “And she has paid for it, as you saw. The enclave doesn’t want me dead because I’m evil. I am to die so that you and your kind will never know the truth.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What truth could the Lady teach if She has deceived us all this time?”

  “You’ve already seen part of the truth. You told me what I was— a weak creature, like you.”

  “There are many questions I would ask.”

  “Arvil, you can save yourself and your band. You can do what the Lady ordered you to do and return to your camp. You can tell them that I chose to return to the Lady. Or you can take the horse and leave me here. I would die soon enough. I can’t survive alone.”

  He lowered his eyes. I was reminded of Laissa once again and of all I had lost. I thought of my mother; her struggle to live had been useless. I gazed toward the body of Tal, who had died because of me.

  Arvil lifted his head. “After I had taken your life, I was to go to a shrine and tell the Lady of my deed. The Lady was to reward me for that and spare my band. If I do not go…”

  He did not have to finish that statement. Terror nearly overwhelmed me, but somehow I held it back and was able to think. The city might have struck at Arvil’s band immediately, yet they had not. They could not be concerned with the lives of the band; they were only another tribe of men. Why hadn’t they acted? Some might have scruples about taking a woman’s life so overtly instead of leaving her to die, but the Council could not let an exile live.

  There was one possibility. Some in the city might not want others to know that I lived, as they would if ships were sent out to strike at the band’s camp. Someone was fearful of what might happen if the city learned I was still alive.

  This possibility, however mistaken, was enough to renew my determination. Perhaps Yvara had been right about the existence of refuges, and others feared I might find one. If someone in the city wanted to keep my existence a secret, it meant I might have a chance to escape, that the city would not turn all its resources against me. I had some power over the city’s actions even now.

  “I must be honest with you,” I said. “The Lady is powerful, and we may not escape Her, but there is still a chance. Her power does not extend over all of the earth.” A look of doubt crossed his face, yet he seemed to accept this, f
or he already knew what I was. “We might find a place of safety.”

  “Even if we could not, I cannot kill you. I would never know the truth then, but it isn’t only my curiosity that holds me back. I do not know how, but something in your spirit calls to my own.” The intensity of his gaze as he spoke made me turn away. “We cannot return to our camp.”

  “I wouldn’t be safe there,” I said.

  “It is not only that. They dream of the blessings of your body. It angers me to think of their hands upon you.”

  I got to my feet, sick at the thought. “I must bury Tal,” he continued, “but he cannot lie here. The others will find the grave, when they come for water, and wonder whom it holds.” He stared down at the dead man for a long time. “He brought me out; he raised me. He deserved a better death.”

  He reached down and pulled the coat from Tal’s body. “Take off your coat and put on this one,” he said.

  “But I…”

  “Take it off. A man seeing that coat will wonder why you wear such a garment, where you found it, who you are. You might be taken for a scavenger, and they are despised by all.”

  I shuddered as I handed my coat to him and put on Tal’s. The sleeves hung down to my fingertips; the hem fell past my knees. A dead man had made this coat, had worked at the hide to make it supple, had cut its pieces with sharp stones, and sewn them with bone needles. His blood was on the coat; I nearly cast it off.

  “Steady yourself,” he said fiercely. “His spirit will haunt me, not you. Bring Flame to me. We must carry him to another place.”

  He strained as he lifted Tal and slung him across the horse’s back. I saw no tears, only cold and angry eyes. Arvil knelt and dug at the ground, pushing dirt over the signs of blood, then threw my coat down on the bank.