“I’ve told you what life is like in a city. Nallei will learn the Lady’s magic, ride in Her ships, dwell in Her towers. If you could give that to a daughter, would you keep her here? Cress, listen to me. There may be one chance, a small one, for you and the other women. I can tell you how to reach a city—you could even follow me. A city might take you in, might find some place for you, might…” I paused.
“You’re not saying this because it’s true, but only to comfort me. The Lady is punishing me. I brought no more children into the world when I might have, and now She’s taking yours from us.”
“No, Cress,” I said as firmly as I could. “The Lady would never punish you for that. Those in Her cities choose when to have children and don’t bear them against their will. When they can have no more, they guide those who are younger. The Lady wouldn’t want you to…” I stepped back as I drew Nallei’s head to my shoulder. “You can go to Tern, tell him what I’m doing. It would be hard for me to escape then. I can’t stand against all of you.”
She leaned against the tree. “That will not help our band, to bind you against your will. Break your bond with us if you must, but I won’t break mine with you.” Her words moved me. “Perhaps I deserve to see your child taken from us.”
“Why do you keep speaking as if you’ve done something wrong?”
Her pale brown eyes gazed steadily at me. “I can tell you this now. There’s a plant I gather, one that yields tiny berries. I learned of it from my mother. I can brew a potion with it, and it keeps a man’s seed from taking root in me. I could never let the men know of it and worried that I was doing an evil thing, but then I would think that such a potion couldn’t be evil. I used it only so that my body could heal itself before I bore more children. My last time was a hard one—the child died, and I nearly died myself. I told myself that I was only strengthening myself until it was time to bring new life into the world, that the Lady would understand. Then you came to us, and I believed it was better to stay alive and help you care for your young ones rather than risk death for one of my own. Now you’ll leave, and my body may be too old for more children.”
I wanted to ask her about this plant, but she needed my comfort then. “You didn’t do wrong,” I said. “You must believe that. You were here to help me. I won’t forget you. Nallei will know of you someday, and maybe the Lady…”
Hope gleamed in her eyes for a moment. I wondered if this undoubtedly false hope, my last gift to her, would be enough to sustain her. “The Lady wouldn’t want you to bring children into this world when there’s so little hope for them,” I continued. “She’ll understand when you’re with Her again. There’s some hope for your boys. There are men to the west they can join, and perhaps the Lady will call them to Her side someday.”
“And if you’re not to enter a citadel yourself…”
“I’ll be with Arvil. We’ll find another place together. Perhaps we’ll even find our way back here in time, if there’s a way…”
Her lips curved into a brief smile. “Arvil is more than I believed a man could be. Even Tern’s been touched by his spirit a little. His soul is gentler than it was. He’ll need my comfort when he knows you are gone.” She reached into her coat and took out a pouch. “You will need a gift from me, Birana. Take this. The berries of which I spoke are in this pouch, those that will keep another child from growing inside you. I’ll tell you of how to make a potion. Show these berries to Arvil. He knows the lore of plants and healing—he’ll know where to find this plant.”
I put out my hand. “You’ll do this for me?”
“For you and for Arvil. I see the strength of his need whenever he looks at you, even when he doesn’t summon you, and I sense that your need for him is as great. You cannot bear a child while you wander the earth, but must wait until you find a place to rest.”
I could not speak for a moment. “Cress, I…”
“Don’t weep before me now.” She patted my hand, then let hers rest on Nallei’s blond head. “You’ll have to leave soon, before the others learn of your plan. Leave in the morning. The men will think you’re foraging. By the time you are missed, it will be too dark for them to search, but they may try to follow. Where will you go?”
“To the north, from where we first came. There’s a place we can stop before going west.”
“Then I’ll tell them I saw you go toward the river’s bend to the southwest. They’ll search there first. They will not go far from this land, as you know. They fear the lands beyond.”
I blinked back my tears. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done.” I pressed my shoulder to hers and wept.
Cress was awake when I rose; Willow and Hyacinth still slept. I fed Nallei, bound her to her tiny litter, then calmed her until she fell asleep again. Cress tied the leather straps of the litter across my chest as I adjusted those over my shoulders. She did not speak as I picked up my empty pack and thrust it under my coat. She handed me my sling; I was about to say farewell, but she glanced at the other women and put a finger to her lips.
I crept from the hut; Cress followed. Arvil had told the men he was going to hunt today; he would be gone already, waiting for me. The other dwelling was silent, the men still asleep. Cress watched as I walked through the clearing and began to climb the hill. When I looked back, she raised a hand before turning away.
The sun was rising by the time I had removed my things from where they were hidden and had put them into my pack. Arvil had said he would meet me here and lead me to his secret cache. I was closer to the ocean, could hear the waves rushing toward the shore.
A twig cracked; Arvil emerged from the trees. He carried only his weapons and a smaller pack. “I left a false trail,” he said as he took my pack from me. “Tern will think I went to the shore to gather shells instead of hunting. He’ll look for me there when I don’t return.”
We began to walk north, careful to leave no signs of passing. Nallei stirred and whimpered; a smile flashed across Arvil’s face before he grew solemn again.
“I don’t know if we will survive this journey,” he murmured. “We may never see your enclave again. I go only because I cannot stay without you.”
“We will live,” I replied.
THE
SHRINE
LAISSA
I waited for Eilaan. She had sent no message, but I knew she would come; her curiosity, if nothing else, would bring her to my rooms. She might think that I had finally put our shared deed behind me, that I had even forgiven her for her part in it.
I could understand her better now. Her years on the Council had made her what she was. I had thought she was using me to shield herself but had done nothing Eilaan could not have handled alone. Her life—her actions, everything she had done—rested on her view of the world, a view I had questioned. The cities had to be preserved at any cost; to question or seek change would put the world at risk once more. The death of a few and the torment of others were justified for the sake of the many. By becoming her accomplice, I had implicitly accepted her beliefs and confirmed her in them.
Our shared deed would be Eilaan’s legacy to me and to our city. The deed would bind me to her, would harden and temper me, would lead me to take on her attitudes, if only to avoid the guilt I would otherwise feel. So Eilaan must have believed.
I saw her only once after our meeting on the wall. I told her that Birana was dead and that my twin Arvil might be forever tormented by having had to kill the young woman he had once worshipped. Eilaan was not concerned by that; perhaps she was even amused at the notion of a man suffering such guilt. Arvil was a tool to be tempered by terror, used, and cast aside. I was another tool, but one not so easy to dismiss.
She waited as I delivered my message, apparently expecting me to demand some favor as payment for my cooperation. She listened to my words and Arvil’s recorded ones and then dismissed me. I asked her for nothing then. I wanted nothing from the Council, nothing from anyone else.
I told myself I was protecting my
mother, but she was not the same afterward. She came to her senses, not long after Button’s departure, but went about her work passively, saw few of her friends, endured my visits with a sad smile and an abstracted, distant mien. Her patients were soon requesting other physicians, and my mother was finally assigned some simpler tasks in the wall’s genetic laboratories. She never asked about Birana, although she must have guessed what had happened; she seemed to have forgotten Button.
Eilaan believed that my mother had healed, had come to some peace. I knew better; my mother was broken.
I had my studies still, under the guidance of my mentor Fari; I withdrew from almost everything else, and soon had the reputation of a solitary; except for Zoreen, my old friends soon fell away. My self-imposed solitude, at first a punishment I inflicted upon myself, became a kind of solace. I was apart from the city, my only reality the thoughts inside myself. Slowly, without the distractions of other companions and the need to mold and modify my ideas in their company, I came to know my own mind and the kind of purpose I might find in my work.
I had suspected that Birana was dead even before Arvil confirmed it, for his old band had traveled to a shrine with a strange tale. Birana’s coat had been found, but no trace of her or Arvil. From these facts, a man called Wanderer had fashioned a story: Arvil had discovered Birana, and she had shown him more favor than she had to the other men. She had come among the men to bless them, and Wanderer had guessed that Arvil would be the first to be honored. Arvil had gone to a place alone with her to receive her blessing; Birana had taken such joy in him that she had carried him to the Lady’s realm, to dwell always at her side. The band honored Arvil’s memory, believing that he and Birana still watched over them all; the following years seemed to prove the truth of the story. They found other horses and believed Birana’s spirit helped in taming them. They made truces with a few other bands and often sensed the ghostly presence of Arvil during these parleys. In Wanderer’s story, Arvil and Birana embodied the band’s hopes and spirit; the young man, who undoubtedly feared the men too much to return to them, had become a kind of deity.
I had no reason to contradict this tale; it didn’t matter what the men believed as long as they honored the Goddess. I did not think much about the story when I first heard it, but Wanderer and his men journeyed to shrines often, and I was soon hearing other tales.
Wanderer, I learned, made stories from many events. When my progenitor, Tal, disappeared—perhaps a victim of a predator or another group of men—Wanderer recalled his prowess as a hunter and spoke of how Tal now hunted at the Lady’s side. A rainstorm became the tears of the Lady, wept for the sins of men; the damp, greener ground was a sign of the Goddess’s forgiveness. Wanderer knew other stories as well, narratives of men in far places and the legends they told.
Occasionally, I probed Wanderer’s thoughts through the mindspeaker. Partly out of guilt and partly out of curiosity about Button’s welfare, I had taken to tending this band and answering their prayers. I was soon more interested in the stories themselves. Bren had told me I would become a chronicler; the cities knew little of the stories men told to one another, tales that revealed much about their hopes, fears, feelings, and beliefs. I imagined myself fashioning a new chronicle from them, one that might illuminate the outside world. I wanted to hear more of such tales. I supposed the Council in time might find them useful and informative as well, which meant that they might aid me in what I would propose to do.
Even when I understood my purpose, a year passed before I could bring myself to make my proposal to the Council. I did not fear their reaction; I felt I could no longer be touched by anything they did to me. I did not worry that I would be refused; Eilaan would become my tool now. But I wondered if I had the courage to carry out my wishes.
My guilt finally moved me to act; whatever grief came to me would be deserved. I made my proposal and waited for Eilaan to come to me.
Eilaan was outside my door. I rose and went to greet her. She was alone as I had requested. I led her to a chair and seated myself across from her.
She glanced around the room, frowning in disapproval as her gaze fell on the piles of books and documents on the floor and the couch. “How untidy,” she said. “I wonder how you can keep your materials sorted.”
“We do well enough. Most of this is Zoreen’s. The documents and transcripts I’ve been using are in the corner there, and I keep the rest in my bedroom.”
“Your guests must find it quite disorderly.”
“You know perfectly well we don’t have many guests.” I folded my arms.
“Laissa, this proposal of yours—it’s out of the question. Surely you see that.”
“I’ve discussed it with Fari,” I said. “She thinks it may yield something of value. If I have the courage to pursue it, she won’t stand in my way.”
“Fari.” She scowled, clearly disapproving of my mentor. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks.”
“It may matter what my old adviser, Bren, thinks, now that she’s on the Council. She’s encouraged me in the past. She’ll stand with me this time.”
“The Council will never allow this.”
“You had better persuade them that they should.” I leaned forward. “I did your bidding a few years back. I kept silent. Your reputation is safe enough for now. But if you don’t speak up for my proposal, I may decide to spread a few rumors.”
“You can’t frighten me with that. Anyone would agree that I did only what I had to do.”
“Some will,” I replied, “and some won’t. Such a tale would certainly create doubts about your abilities, since you weren’t even willing to take the responsibility onto yourself. I had to see to things for you when I was hardly more than a girl. Many would wonder about the propriety of that. Even if they agreed about the rightness of your actions, they would wonder why you couldn’t carry them out yourself.”
“The Council is aware of what happened.”
“But perhaps not of my role.” Eilaan averted her eyes; I had guessed correctly. “And I needn’t worry about my own reputation being sullied. I have little enough as it is.”
Her mouth twitched. “You’d drag out what’s past after all this time?”
“I’m a chronicler. The tale of how Birana met her end might be interesting both as a story and as a historical footnote.”
“Dorlei played her part in those events for reasons some might question. You know the state she was in. Don’t you have any concern for her, of how she might react if you…”
“Don’t you dare speak of my mother to me.” I stared steadily at Eilaan until she looked away again. “I think very little could touch her now.”
“One might almost think,” the old woman said, “that you feel you must unburden yourself of your guilt, make it public.”
“I have much to feel guilty about. It isn’t just Birana’s death that weighs on me—I could have done little about that once she was sent out. But I might have been her friend earlier. I might have spoken up for her before her sentence was passed. Maybe the Council wouldn’t have punished her so harshly if someone had pleaded for mercy. She didn’t deserve expulsion.”
“She was Yvara’s daughter and her mother’s accomplice. You saw what kind of creature Yvara was.” Eilaan shook her head. “We’re well rid of that strain. It’s past, and it’s useless to speak of it now. It’s this proposal of yours that concerns me at the moment. You must give it up.”
“I am going to do my chronicle of the men’s tales,” I said. “If I am to hear these tales, I must go outside. There will be little danger. I’ll be in a shrine; the men who come there won’t harm me; and my presence will only confirm them in their faith. I’ll do nothing to rob them of their illusions.”
She gripped the arms of her chair. “It’s mad to go outside. You’ll learn no more from those men than you would if you listened to them with the mindspeaker.”
“That isn’t so. We learn a little, but they’re often preoccupied with prayer, wit
h wanting to appease the Lady, with the desire for erotic encounters.” She grimaced at those words. “I can learn more by questioning them directly, by letting them tell their tales to me. The stories would make a new and interesting chronicle, and some scholars might find them illuminating. We know too little now about the outside.”
“We know enough.”
I tapped my fingers impatiently. “Eilaan, if we had known more, maybe Devva wouldn’t have had to destroy that settlement years ago. Maybe the city of Lasan wouldn’t have had to destroy another settlement later because they believed an exiled woman was living among those men. That kind of action only makes more sensitive souls wonder at the necessity for such cruelty. It causes a few to question matters they might ignore if we showed more mercy.”
“Those men were a danger to us,” she said firmly. “That’s how it begins, with larger groups and the need to organize them, and it leads to the breeding of plants and animals, and then to questions about why things are as they are and what the true role of men is. You think there’s no threat. Would you wait until they discover metalworking, until they begin to master some of the knowledge they lost, until they pose a direct threat to the cities?”
“Then argue my case, Eilaan. Get approval for my proposal. The more we learn about the outside, the more able we’ll be to distinguish a true danger from something we can leave alone. We’ve been hiding in our cities too long. If I find something of interest, others might go out from other cities and learn more. We might even find new means to control men, ways that are more subtle and less drastic. Their stories can tell us much about them.”
She was silent.
“You see,” I continued, “I can suffer my guilt but can also put it aside. Whatever I did, it was to preserve our city and our lives as they are. Now I would like to do more. I asked nothing of you before, but I’m wiser now and need your help. We both have the same end in mind, and I’ll be sure to acknowledge your contribution if anything worthy comes of my work.”
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