Normally, the Hall of the Mothers was off limits to boys. Jon had caught glimpses of its interior, but this was his first time across the threshold. Inside, the Mothers sat in a wide circle, their eyes on him as he was led to the center of the room. Streaming through high windows, the afternoon sun placed Jon in a pool of light but left the women in darkness. Lyla was among them—she had to be—but he couldn’t locate her. Instead, his eyes fell on the wooden columns supporting the roof, each carved with stylized vegetation. He hadn’t realized that the women had ever created anything so beautiful. Breathing in, he caught a faint scent of cedar. It seemed remarkable the odor would persist so long, and for a moment he found himself imagining what it must have been like to build such an edifice, but he was soon brought back to the present.
“Now give us your account of what occurred between you and Piers,” a voice demanded, not harshly but without a trace of compassion. “We have plenty of time, so don’t skip details. It’s not up to you to decide what’s important. We want to hear everything.”
He located the voice, but the speaker was buried in darkness. It was unfair, he thought, to have to answer someone he couldn’t see, but that must have been their plan; so, having no choice, he told his story, starting with the boy’s ordering him not to pass and ending with his return to the village with Klei and Piers.
“We both helped him all the way down,” he reminded them, but their silence told him it was an irrelevant detail.
Then the interrogation began. Each Mother took all the time she wanted, and most were less interested in yesterday’s events than in the circumstances preceding them. Had there been prior conflict with Piers? Did Jon often get into fights? And why had he been on the mountain that afternoon? They seemed to give no weight to what the boys had been doing to Klei, and when Jon reminded them of it they cut him off.
“Yes, you’ve said that already, and we’ve heard Klei’s story. He explained everything. So what made you think you had a right to interfere?”
A right to interfere? The question had never occurred to him. “I didn’t think. I just acted. I tried to stop it—that’s all.”
“And was there no other way?”
Appear confident of your innocence, he told himself.
“There wasn’t time to think. You know what they were forcing Klei to do. I had to save him.”
“I told you that Klei has explained everything. But was what you call saving Klei your real motive? Such things go on all the time among boys. You can’t deny you know that. Men are at the mercy of their desires—especially men your age. Their lusts are uncontrollable. That’s why we send you away. We ought to do it sooner—before you start preying on one another—but we can’t change the rules. Once you start there’s no telling where you’ll stop.
“In any case, we know this can’t have been the only time you saw someone abusing a younger boy. So why was it the first time you intervened? More to the point, do you always try to solve problems with your fists?”
“And what is Klei to you?” another woman interjected. “Is he your sex mate?”
Were they asking for information or were them simply trying to taunt him? He’d spoken to Klei once or twice. All the boys knew one another. But he’d never been close to him. Something about Klei unnerved him, and even now he wasn’t sure what it was. Alf would stay where Jon put him, but Klei was different. Jon had caught Klei looking at him several times, but Klei had never turned away in embarrassment the way most boys would. Somehow he’d given Jon the sense that he’d known exactly what Jon was thinking, and each time it had been Jon, not Klei, who’d averted his gaze.
“He’s nothing to me. I knew his name, that’s all. Just one of the younger boys.”
“Then why did you act with such passion? They told us you flew into Piers like a madman. Those were their words—flew into him like a madman. There’s something you’re hiding, Jon. Was it jealousy? Were those boys doing something you wanted to do yourself? Klei has a pretty face—almost as pretty as a girl. We understand these things. We’ve seem them over and over again as the years pass.”
A rustle of clothing and a movement of chairs among the other women told him that they concurred with this interpretation. But why? He’d told them he’d never spoken more than a half-dozen words to Klei before yesterday, and surely Klei had said the same. Klei would never lie about something like that. Jon wasn’t sure how he knew this, but he was certain of it.
“I’ve reported everything exactly as it happened. I was taking a walk on the mountain. It was nothing unusual. Ask the other boys. They’ll tell you I wander off by myself like that. I enjoy solitude. Ask Mother Lyla. She knows it, too.”
He hoped Lyla would speak up, but, wherever she was, she remained silent.
“Then, after I’d been up there a while, I came down and headed for the cabins. That was when I saw what they were doing to Klei. I didn’t mean to hurt Piers—I only wanted to stop him.”
He hadn’t told them the real reason he’d been on the mountain. How could he? They must have sensed he was hiding something, but if they perceived that, why didn’t they recognize that he’d been as frightened by what he’d done as anyone else? He was an inch or two taller than Piers, and by the logic of his accusers that made him the aggressor. Yet he wasn’t half as strong as the boy he’d hit. Piers was an ox. It had been a lucky blow, that’s all—or an unlucky one, as it turned out.
“What were your feelings? Had anything happened to put you in a bad mood?”
“That’s a good question, Rachael,” another women commented. “The boy Jon seems convinced that his actions are all that’s important. But you can’t separate an action from the feelings behind it. Intention is everything.”
“I was in a good mood,” Jon said.
That was a falsehood, and he knew it. He’d been angry with himself for being unable to climb the White Wall.
“Are you saying that you liked Piers—until the moment you saw him with Klei?”
What did Piers have to do with his mood?
“No, I didn’t like him.”
Jon heard murmurs from many of the Mothers.
“So you were searching for a reason to harm him?” Rachael asked.
“No. I never gave Piers a second thought until that moment.”
“Then why did you say you hated him?”
“I didn’t say I hated him. I said I didn’t like him. Can’t you see the difference?”
Despite his efforts to remain calm, the women had raised his temper. That had been their plan, and he’d been stupid enough to fall for it.
“Well, you must have disliked him for a reason. Everyone calls you a thinker, so you must have given him more than a second thought,” another Mother pointed out.
“I gave him the thought you give a person you see every day without caring about,” Jon said, trying to calm himself. “That’s all I meant when I said I didn’t like him. I never paid attention to Piers. I had no interest in him.”
Jon had wanted to say that Piers was unworthy of interest. He took pride in his self-restraint. Still, the Mother persisted with her questioning. Her pseudo-kindly voice was worse than the open hostility of the other women.
“I’d like to hear more about your relationship with Piers, Jon. You shared a cabin with him for many years. How could you not have paid attention to him? He was there in front of you every day of your life.
“Now we recognize that men are different from us. It’s obvious you can’t help rivalry where we enjoy cooperation. That’s why we judge as a group, so each can have her say. Elsewhere, men appoint judges and call that justice. But how can one person understand as well as many? And women are always better at sorting out right from wrong. We don’t have to prove ourselves the way men do.
“But it’s not your fault that you’re a man, Jon. You had no choice. Still, you can only be expected to act as other men do. Piers is not as tall as you, but he’s very robust. Robust’s the right word, isn’t it?’
&nb
sp; Sounds of agreement.
“So it was natural for you to be rivals. Both of you could have expected to be leaders of the cabin, and men like asserting authority. Was that why you tried to kill Piers?”
This was too much to bear.
“I didn’t try to kill him,” Jon shouted.
So much for calming himself.
A long silence followed. For the women, he must have demonstrated the violence they wanted him to acknowledge.
“I didn’t try to kill him,” Jon repeated in a subdued voice. “I was trying to save Klei.”
“Yes, you’ve told us that before. But why save Klei? It wasn’t as if his life was in danger. You’ve taken it for granted that he was forced to be there, but what if he was enjoying it? He told us it wasn’t the first time.”
Really? Jon thought. But what could he say? He’d been confident he’d persuade the women of his innocence. He’d only have to explain exactly what had happened. Truth was always convincing. But as the minutes passed his confidence disintegrated. Could the women be right? Had he been jealous? Had he wanted to be the one getting his cock sucked? And that bit about it not having been the first time . . .
“Sarah, I want him to answer your question about Piers,” a Mother said. “You were on to something when you pointed out that the two boys were rivals. Piers was your rival, wasn’t he, Jon? You both wanted to be leaders, didn’t you?”
“I never wanted to be a leader in my entire life.”
Again the Mothers murmured among themselves. Jon was certain they believed he was lying, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t keep asking him the same questions over and over again.
Lyla was among the last to speak. By the time she took her turn, twilight had darkened the room, but Jon recognized her voice.
“You said you were climbing the mountain to see the spring flowers. Do you find them more beautiful than the flowers of autumn?”
“I love all flowers,” Jon responded. “But I prefer the flowers of autumn.”
And that was all she asked, although he sensed that her question had made the other women uneasy.
Two other Mothers then took their turn, asking the by now familiar questions about his relationships with Piers and Klei. Jon was about to keel over from fatigue, but he took a deep breath and stood straight.
Finally, a Mother told him that he could leave the room, but ordered him to stay close at hand.
It had seemed so simple. He’d had no intention of injuring Piers, but the Mothers saw things in a different light. He was the one accused, not Piers. But of course Piers was in no state for questioning. He was better, Tug had said, but his speech was still slurred and uncertain.
Overhead stars were shining, and a warm breeze from the Northwest brought a fragrance he couldn’t identify. It was nothing like the faint cedar smell of the Hall of Mothers. John had said that the greenstone would bring unexpected sensations. Could this be one of them? Trying to define the fragrance, Jon decided that it must have come from an island in the sea, where flowers bloomed year round and no one cared about the differences between men and women. For a moment, an image coalesced in his mind, but it quickly dissolved. Still, he wished he could be there, wherever it was.
Inside the hall, voices rose and fell. The women could never take a vote and be done with it. That wasn’t their way. Instead, they spoke on and on. Reaching consensus, they called it, but didn’t it really mean allowing the ones who talked longest and loudest to have their way? Now the Mothers were waiting for the last dissenter to be ground into submission. But at least that meant there’d been disagreement. Otherwise, they’d have reached a decision long ago.
A woman tapped him on the shoulder.
“The Mothers are ready.”
Lights had been lit in the hall. Now, for the first time, he saw their faces, but the sight revealed little. The women were encouraged from childhood to contain their emotions and the elders had mastered the art.
“You have broken the law of our community—the law established long ago by Egga, the first of the Mothers. Her law decrees that no one may do violence save in self defense or defense of another, and then only when no alternative is possible. We have considered your case and judge that you had an alternative: you could have rescued your friend without striking a blow. You are the tallest male here. From you, a word would have sufficed, but instead you chose force. Whether the boy you struck was doing wrong is irrelevant. You have no authority to judge or punish. In this valley that authority is ours and ours alone.
“By banning men, we sought to banish brutality, but you have brought brutality into our midst, and for that the punishment is death. Because this is your first offense, we will grant you the privilege of choosing the means to die. But you must make that decision by dawn, for by sunset tomorrow you will no longer be among the living.”
Nothing like this had occurred in his memory—a sentence of death. Jon had imagined possible punishments—beating, confinement, a humiliating task—but not this. And Piers was still alive. He was no murderer, and yet he would die as if he’d been one.
Six younger women surrounded him. At a signal from the Mother who pronounced his sentence, they led him from the hall. He considered bolting. They wouldn’t have expected it, and he could run as fast as anyone. But what good would it do? He was bound to be caught, and the last thing he wanted was to show the women that he feared them.
At the far end of the village, near the mill, buildings had been constructed for grain storage. They brought Jon here, thrust him into a small, windowless room, and barred the door from the outside. He’d never been locked in a closed room before. It was his worst nightmare. Struggling to overcome anxiety, he found a corner, sat against the wall, and waited. For a time there was only silence, but then he heard a noise at the door. It opened and a woman put a plate and a jug on the floor; then she closed the door and replaced the bar with a thud. Jon crawled to the food, which he located by moving his hands across the floor, trying not to upset the jug. It was absurd to eat and drink when he was about to die, but he was hungry and very thirsty. He had to stop himself from gulping down the water. Afterwards, he lay on his back, his body filling the length of the room. At least the ordeal would soon be over, he told himself. He’d wanted to escape the Bearded Men and now he was going to do it. If they were a fate worse than death, then death was preferable to joining them, wasn’t it?
The Mothers had told him to determine his own way to die, but they’d provided no alternatives from which to choose. Perhaps they didn’t know the options themselves. He’d heard of men finding their way into the valley and being put to death, but that had been long ago, and the form of their execution was never specified. He’d imagined a public killing as stoning by hundreds of women or being cast from a crag while a crowd watched in fascination. Should his end be such a spectacle? Or was it better to die alone? The Women administered poisons to forestall a painful death. Perhaps he should ask for one. It couldn’t be difficult to die that way. Weren’t the poisons intended to relieve pain?
Yet he kept returning to the thought that his situation was preposterous. He’d acted to protect Klei from abuse, and now he’d die for it. What kind of justice was that? The Mothers had pretended to be seeking the causes for what had happened, but they’d fallen back on the letter of their law. They must have congratulated themselves on conducting a just procedure, but they’d no more sense of justice than a chicken.
“Ignorant hags!” he shouted into the darkness.
Jon assumed he’d spend the night in thought, but he was exhausted and soon fell asleep. Dreaming, he found himself among the boulders below the White Wall, climbing the rock where he’d seen John. But when he reached the top Piers and his friends were waiting for him. They threw him down and kicked him, laughing at his struggle to escape. Then he was sliding down the side of the rock, faster and faster, with nothing below but empty space. He kept falling, but now it was like flying. He was flying over the valley. Over the row of c
abins where the boys slept and the Hall of the Mothers and then the river flowing to Bent Lake and beyond, further and further, until everything became a blur. But now someone was beside him. Was it Alf? No, it was Klei, holding his hand. He turned and smiled at Jon. How beautiful he seemed—and something more than beautiful. Why had Jon never seen that before? Then Jon was alone once more and back on the mountain, looking down at a clump of flowers. But someone was standing next to him. He wanted to turn his head and see who it was, but he couldn’t move, no matter how hard he tried. But then she spoke to him. It was Lyla.
“Jon, Jon, wake up, Jon. I’ve brought you food and a blanket and some other things in this knapsack. Not much, but what came to hand on short notice. You must flee at once. The sun will rise in less than an hour. Neither moon is full, but there’s enough light to see your way.”
“But what is my way?”
“Why do you have to ask that? Wasn’t it what you were seeking the day you had the bad luck to stumble onto Piers and his friends? But this is not the time for questions and answers.”
Jon pulled himself up and followed her outside the building. As they left, Lyla replaced the bar on the door.
“They know how to judge, but they don’t know how to guard. They think no one would dare set you free—just because nothing like that has ever happened before. It’s a wise philosophy, don’t you think—believing that because something has yet to occur that it never will?”
“How will they explain the empty cell?”
“The poor creatures will be utterly bewildered.”
She obviously found the idea amusing.
“But can I really escape that way—over the White Wall?”
The Flight from Kar (The Emperor's Library Page 4