by Clay Gilbert
Annah shook her head. “No, I am well, I suppose. A little sore, perhaps.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Do not be,” Annah said. “It is only my body. And I expected it.” Goodman sat down beside her, near the fire. He saw how she watched him, her eyes darting from one place to another as if he had become an entirely unfamiliar creature overnight, one that she must assess for any sign of a threat. He reached toward her, meaning to stroke her hair, but she pulled back from him.
“Do not-do not touch me,”she said, her tone more of pleading than of anger.
“All right,” Goodman said. “But why?”
“I am-unclean.”
“Come on, you’re still all wet from the stream. And if you mean your blood-time, that doesn’t bother me.” Annah shook her head. “That is not what I mean. Goodman, I have betrayed everything. I am Promised to Holder, and yet I gave myself to you. I am not of the age of Choosing, and yet I gave up my blossom, and to one who is not even my Promised One. I broke the laws of my people; traditions a Shaper should have the strength to uphold. I have dishonored my family, my mate, my teacher, my Circle, and my Grove. I have dishonored you, who have been my friend. I have even dishonored the First Ones, themselves, who I have always wanted to serve.”
She began to cry. Goodman thought, with a kind of shame, that her sobs sounded like a kind of music, as her cries of pleasure had only a handful of hours ago.
Goodman sat there in silence for what felt like an eternity, and then, when her crying had quieted, he moved closer to her—-but still did not touch her. “Annah.”
“Yes?” she asked, her voice barely audible.
“You didn’t dishonor me,” Goodman told her.
She looked up at him. “Really?” “Really. In fact-I’d call it kind of the opposite.” He reached toward her, barely brushing her arm with his fingers. He was surprised when she did not pull away again, but took his hand in hers and held it tightly.
“I wish I could make you see that you’re not unclean. What we did—what we did, together—it wasn’t meant to hurt anyone.” “Sometimes, that does not matter,” Annah said, getting enough control over herself to speak clearly again, though the sobs clung to the edges of her voice, like barely-receded storm-clouds. “Holder would hurt, if he knew what we have done. He would not imagine that I could lie down with another man, and-and take him into myself.”
Goodman chuckled.
“I did not know I had said anything funny,” Annah said, sounding indignant. “I’m sorry. It’s just that-Annah, Holder wasn’t born yesterday. I’m sure the list of things he can imagine isn’t a short one. If he’s alive-and we still don’t know he is—he knows you love him. He would know that-what happeneddidn’t mean anything.”
Annah’s eyes widened. “Did not mean anything?” Uh-oh , Goodman thought. He’d had more experience with warfare than with women, but he had a feeling he’d rather go belly-up on a Duster than walk too much further into this particular minefield. He started to apologize, but Annah cut him off.
“Goodman, it may be that some seed-maidens, both here and on your world, could join with a man with only the thought of bodily pleasure. In fact, I am sure it is so. But that is not the soil in which I was raised. I would not have willfully chosen to do what I did with you, without the influence of the Shaping, or my worries and sadness about Holder-but these things—they are only-”Annah searched through her still-limited knowledge of the humans’ language for the word she wanted-”catalysts. I would not have done what I did if it meant nothing to me. If you meant nothing to me.”
Shit. Goodman suddenly envisioned a Duster’s atomizing cloud as a pillow of bliss.
“I know you’re in love with Holder, no matter where he is. I can’t imagine that’s just gone away.” “It has not,” Annah said. “It never could. But-” Annah sighed. “Goodman, were you ‘born yesterday?’ She smiled, actually feeling calm for the first time in what must have been an hour or more.
“Well, no.” Goodman grinned. “About eight thousand, seven hundred and sixty yesterdays ago.”
“What?”
Goodman laughed. “That’s twenty-four years, Earth standard time. Give or take maybe a day or two.” Annah smiled, and just as quickly grew serious again. Her voice grew soft, as if the emotion she expended exhausted her. “Listen to me. Did it mean nothing to you, Goodman? Did I-do I-mean nothing to you?”
Goodman wished with all his will that this was a courtroom, and that the Old Earth custom of ‘pleading the Fifth’ were still in effect.
“You know that’s not true. I’d still be out there in the black if that was true. But I always thought-I mean-I thought you would never-have sex with someone you didn’t love.”
“Are all of the men of Earth so stubborn, or have I just been blessed by the First Ones with two exceptions?” Annah looked at Goodman, her expression somewhere between a smile and a frown.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Goodman said, although he was fairly sure he was. “I am not sure when it happened, Goodman. And-though I still feel I have wronged him-I know that what I feel for you is different from my bond with Holder. You are not my heart’s mate. And yet somehow-in some way I still do not understand-you have become part of my heart, nonetheless. And though I am not ‘in love’ with you, as your people would say-nonetheless, I do feel love for you. And I am not sure what to think about that. Elder Serra would say that there is no shame in love, in whatever form.” Annah looked away from Goodman for a moment, as if the sight of him burned her eyes more than the campfire flames. “But I do not like to break my promises.”
“I don’t think you meant to break anything, Annah. This isn’t easy for me, either. I didn’t want this. I didn’t mean to do this. He was my best friend. But you-I remember how you treated me when I landed here the first time; how you accepted me, when you didn’t have to. You were the face of-of, like, everything that Homesec wants Earthers to hate. Everything they’re wrong about. At first, I just wanted to get along with you because of Holder. But over time, I guess there was more, although I wouldn’t have said it. I don’t think I even let myself really know it. When they told me he was gone, I had to come back here to tell you. I had to.”
“I know,” Annah said, stroking Goodman’s fingers with her own.
“I didn’t want anything to hurt you. I-I would never want to hurt you.” Annah rubbed her face against Goodman’s, then drew back and looked into his eyes. “You have not hurt me. Not last night, and not now. If I feel pain at what has happened-that is not your fault. As for my body-you were very careful of me, as I remember. My mother has always said that there might be pain, the first time. There was more pleasure in it than pain.”
“I’m sure there would have been even more pleasure in it,” Goodman said, “if it’d been Holder, and not me.” Be a Shaper now, Annah, the voice she had often heard in her mind-which seemed sometimes to be Serra’s, and at others, Lilliane’s-told her. Do not think of your sadness, but of his. She kissed him, softly. “I listen to the First Ones, Goodman. More than some seem to. But I do not presume to know their will in all things. Nor should you.”
Goodman smiled, and ruffled the still-drying curls of her hair with his fingers. “All right. But would you do one thing for me?”
Annah turned her head to one side and looked at him, puzzled. “Yes, if I am able.”
“Stop calling me ‘Goodman.’ It’s fine for Holder to do itwe’re both military, after all. But coming from you-I just don’t like it.”
“All right-Kale.” she managed. “I can do that.” She looked to the horizon, studied the spread of sunlight in the sky. “It is nearly first-light, and my circle will be meeting soon. I am almost afraid to go today.”
“Why?” Goodman asked.
“The song Serra asked me to bring-it has caused so much”
“Healing,” Goodman said. “It only brought healing, to both of us.”
Annah gave the smallest of smiles. “Thank you, but I
should have guided the song better-had more control.”
“You’ll learn. You have one thing I’m sure your First Ones would want you to have—you care.”
Annah nodded. “I do,” she said. “That is my problem, I think. I care too much.”
“That’s a problem more people could stand to have,” Goodman said.
Annah glanced again at the reddening sky. “I should go, Kale.” “Do you want me to come with you? I mean, if you’re nervous-”
Annah’s face and her words were gentle, but the meaning behind them was firm. “No,” she told him. “This is something I must do alone. It is a place for Shapers, and though I care for you, that is not something we share.”
“All right,” Goodman said. “I’ll be here when you get back. I-I love you,Annah.” She nodded, as though he’d noted that the sweetglobes looked ripe on the vine that morning. “And I you. I will be back before last-light, while we still may have time to catch some fish in the stream for Evenmeal. A fair day to you, Kale.”
In another few moments, Annah saw Chelries at the entrance to the camp. “Hello,” she greeted her friend. “Are you all right?”
“A fair morning to you,” Chelries said. “I am-all right, as you say—but let us walk. I have things to tell you, and not all of them are good.”
“So,” Annah asked, when the campsite was fully gone from either hers or Chelries’ vision, “what is it?” She couldn’t help feeling both scared and excited, and a little ashamed, for she wondered if, somehow, Chelries could tell what had happened between herself and Goodman.
“Annah, I cannot wait for you to see the dance that came to me in Vision as I was trying to find something to bring to the Circle.” Chelries smiled. “I think it is the best I have ever done. I hope Serra will think so, too.”
“It must be,” Annah said. By now, Annah had seen Chelries’ Talent for Shaping through dance many times, and had never failed to be impressed. Chelries always seemed to move with exceptional rhythm and grace, something Annah herself only managed once in a long while, and always when she was not really thinking about it. Yet, Chelries had never seemed pleased with her achievements before today. And yet- Annah caught her friend’s arm, gently, but enough to cause Chelries to slow, and then pause along the path. “I am glad you are so happy with your Shaping, Chelries,” she said. “But I am sure you did not mean merely to tell me about a new dance.”
Chelries looked at Annah, shaking her head. “No, I did not. Talking about the dance—-I was only trying to make myself forget. I am very worried. My brother left our homeground just after last-light yesterday and never returned.”
“That is not good,” Annah said. “Do you think something has happened to him?” Chelries shook her head. “He came to see me just before he went. Our parents were already asleep. He had a travelbundle with him, with food, a vessel of water, and a spiritstick I carved for him as a Cycle Day gift last year.
“He told me not to argue with him-and really, with Charan, it is useless to try. That is one way he and Jonan were very much alike.”
Annah nodded, remembering. “Where do you think he was going?” “I know where he is going,” Chelries said. “I have seen it. There are those who do not want Shaping to come back into the world. They like things as they are, and they do not want things to change. Charan is going to them. He does not understand himself, and among them, he will not have to. He is afraid of Shaping—and afraid of himself.”
Annah looked at Chelries, sadness in her eyes. “Perhaps I am afraid of it, too.”
“What do you mean?” Chelries asked, looking shocked. “Shaping is fun. I do not know why our people gave it up.” Annah shook her head, as if in disbelief, and smiled at the other seed-maiden. “It is a great joy, yes. But it is also a great power. And, if it is not carefully handled, it can harm as easily as it can heal.”
“What are you talking about?” Chelries asked. Annah hesitated a moment, a flash of Memory and of Vision passing in her mind—the memory of Goodman’s body locked with hers, in a rhythm as old as the history of her world—-the two of them moving together, as if the heat and sweet tension inside both of their bodies was a common goal, the language of a moment; summoned, then as quickly spent. Then there was a Vision, dark and deep as a starless sky—a Vision of a time, long Cycles past, when her people had been divided against themselves: those who were Shapers, and those who were not. Some of us hoarded our Vision, she thought, instead of sharing it with others, as it was meant to be. And then, that which we refused to give away was taken from us.
In another moment, they were at the entrance to the grove. Annah saw Liara carefully putting the last touches of something down on a piece of parchment that, like the lawbooks she had seen in Moren’s collection, looked like the dried leaves of the knotted, grey-barked trees in the grove her mother had told her were called memory-trees. Watching the evidence of Liara’s Talent, Annah could see why.And then, she caught sight of Serra.
Besides her own mother, the Elder Shaper was the last person in the world Annah wanted to see that morning. But something about the mix of seriousness, compassion, and sadness in Serra’s eyes thawed some of the seed-maiden’s apprehension, and she went to the tree-shaded spot, set apart fom the others, where Serra was sitting. Annah knew at once that Serra had been waiting for her, although she did not turn her gaze from the younger members of the Circle until Annah was standing in front of her.
“A fair morning to you, Annah,” Serra said. Roots of a tree, Annah told her feet, which did not seem to realize that it was uncommon for trees to tremble and fidget in their soil. Stillness of morning well-water, she thought, willing the shaking of her hands to cease.
“A fair morning to you, Elder Serra.” Annah had long since ceased to refer to Serra by anything besides her name, but the honorific leapt from her lips before she could silence it.
“Is it, child?” Serra asked. “You seem troubled. And you have never been one who could mask her feelings well-a talent I wish many of our people had never mastered.”
“The morning is fair for some, I am sure, and they are well. But I am not. I am ashamed. I have—-done wrong.” Serra reached out to touch Annah’s hand, and marked how quickly the girl drew back from her. “You are one of the most careful, one of the most thoughtful students I have ever had. I know there is no impulse to conscious harm in you, something I can say of only a very few others, besides those here in this circle. What is it you have done?”
“I was working on the path of Memory, as you asked us to do, and using my Talent with the craft of song. I had been working at it since mid-day, and I had found a memory, as well as a melody to Shape it with. The memory was one of Holder; how he used to touch me, to hold me-to kiss me-”
Annah found her face growing flushed and hot. “I am sorry. It is-not as it seems.” Serra smiled. “I am sure it is not. You are also one of the most serious students I have had. But desire is a powerful tool, and sex, and the desire to be loved in that way, is one of the paths of Shaping. By itself, it is nothing to be ashamed of.”
Annah nodded. “The song-I suppose it was one of desire, and of loneliness. I meant it to be a work for mending broken dreams-I guess desire is a part of that, and healing loneliness.”
Serra’s expression told Annah that the Elder Shaper had begun to guess why she was so troubled. “And is that not what it did?” Serra asked her.
“I had been alone for hours,” Annah said, “and I have felt alone for months. I love Holder-I miss him, terribly. When Goodman came back to the camp-”
“This Goodman, he is the other man of Earth, the friend of your mate? I know that he has been staying with you at the camp.”
“You know?” Annah fought the urge to cover her face. No. A Shaper owns her actions, even if she cannot condone them.
“Yes. I have looked on you in Vision from time to time, while you have been away from my hearth.”
“Oh, no.” Please please First Ones please“Only from time to time
. I did not see this thing that so troubles you. But I think I know what it is. You were pleased to see your mate’s friend Goodman, for he is your friend now, too.”
“He is,”Annah said. “And I was.”
“And you shared your song with him.”
Annah nodded, feeling the shame that had lifted only a moment before rush back in a wave.
“And then you shared-more than the song.” “Yes,” Annah whispered. “Yes, we did. Oh, Serra, I hate myself. Perhaps I am wrong, as Jonan used to think; as others of our Grove always thought. Perhaps my wrongness has not only caused me to betray Holder, but has polluted Goodman now, too.”
“I do not think you have ‘betrayed’ your mate, Annah. Not in your heart. If you had, you would likely not call it such. Or feel such regret for it. And I doubt your friend Goodman feels ‘polluted’ by you. I do not think you have it in yourself to do that to anyone. Have you spoken with him this morning?”
“I have. And he was not angry with me. He was-confused, as I was. And he was afraid he had hurt me.” Annah smiled, remembering.
“That was kind. More kindness than most seed-youths would have shown you.” “It was,” Annah agreed. “But Serra--if my song, my Shaping—-if it could make me forget Holder, forget my promise-”
“You clearly have not.” “But I was sostirred-by the song, and the Shaping itselfand-him-” Annah felt her face grow hot again.
“If Shaping did not stir us, in all ways, it would have no worth,” Serra said. “But that is what some fear about it,” Annah said. Even before the Breaking of the World, it was feared. And now, I have reason to know why-and now, part of me is afraid I am not ready to be a Shaper; to manage the Paths and their energies; to guide and control them for others, when I cannot even completely control them for myself.”
“Annah, more than a hundred cycles ago, when I stepped away from my teacher to stand on my own before the First Ones as a Shaper, I wondered the same thing. But my teacher had prepared me, as I have prepared you. And when the time comes, as it did for me, for you to stand in the Circle’s center-you will be ready. Come, now, and see what the others have been working on.”