The Namura Stone

by Andrews, Gillian

  Did she like chocolate? Raven forgot the stone and ran for the table, as fast as her little legs could carry her. At last, something good was happening on this planet. She tried first one piece, tentatively, and then began to grab more, together with sweetfruits and water coloured by squeezed citrus fruits. Diva made to stop her, but the old woman held up a hand.

  “Do not stop the child from enjoying herself.” She looked behind her, and two girls of about 12 or 13 stepped forwards. “These girls will look after your daughter, and see that she comes to no harm. They will let her eat enough, but not too much. You may leave her safety to them.”

  Diva examined the Namuri girls, remembering just how seriously Petra had taken her mission. These girls could be trusted with Raven, she knew. She inclined her head to them and, laughing together, they followed the little girl in the direction of the table.

  “Now you will eat a small amount, and then you will sleep.” The sibyla took her by the arm and led her in the direction of a different table. “You are very tired.”

  That was certainly true. She turned around to see where Tallen was, but he had discreetly melted into the darkness. As if she sensed what Diva was thinking, the old woman explained.

  “Tallen is with his clan. They will care for him. He needs these days here with us. He is still deeply wounded in his spirit from the loss of his sister.”

  “I know.” Diva compressed her lips. “He misses her so much.”

  “He will not recover from her loss for many, many years. It is a heavy burden for him to carry.”

  Diva smiled, indicating the feast laid out for them. “This is very sumptuous. Thank you.”

  The sibyla showed bent and discoloured teeth in what passed as a smile. Diva almost cringed away, then realized that health care could not be much in evidence amongst the clans and felt guilty at her own sparkling white teeth. She bent her head.

  The old woman gave a small chuckle. “You have no need to be ashamed of your beauty. It is not a bad thing. But I am not ashamed of my wrinkles, either. Each one was given to me by life to remind me of my mortality and of the experiences I have treasured. But this feast is possible, to a great extent, because of Petra. The head of Sell, Mandalon, has asked for fifteen strong Namuri as bodyguards, and he has insisted on giving the clan money in return. We are now rich.”

  Diva smiled. It seemed strange that a whole people should consider themselves rich because of the salaries of fifteen men. She was pleased. “Then Petra is remembered?”

  “She is cherished in our stone chants every day.”

  “I am glad.”

  The old woman waited until Diva finished a small repast and then climbed creakily to her feet. “I will show you to your quarters.”

  They wandered through the camp, now quiet and emptied of other Namuri. Diva’s accommodation was a large tent, which consisted of two areas. One was for Raven, who was sleeping comfortably, her two carers alongside her. The other was larger and held a comfortable-looking bed swathed in net.

  “You will sleep well here. Do not disturb the nets. They keep the insects at bay. Tomorrow we will talk.” The sibyla gave a nod in Diva’s direction, and then turned away.

  Diva shook her head, thought for a moment of all the things she would have to tell Six when she got back, then lay down on the mattress on the floor. The sibyla was right; it was extremely comfortable. She curled up on one side and was asleep in under a minute.

  THE NEXT MORNING dawned brilliantly sunny, and Diva could hear the song of birds all around them. The noise of the dawn chorus was so loud that it had woken her up. She was astonished. She had had no idea that there were this many birds anywhere on Coriolis.

  Raven was up too, raring to explore this new place. As soon as she saw that her mother was awake she ran over and jumped up and down on the mattress.

  “’Aven go out. ’Aven splore.”

  Diva nodded. “Do what you want, darling. Have fun.” They touched hands, and Diva smiled to feel how small her daughter’s hands were against her own. She gave the young girl a hug, helped herself to some of the sweetfruits which had appeared, together with a mug of steaming hot chocolate, and then washed quickly from a large jug of warm water which was sitting close by. It all felt almost luxurious, which was something she had not expected.

  When she went outside the ancient woman was waiting. “Come, walk with me,” she said.

  They made their way out, beyond the village, and the sibyla led her to the place where Petra had been buried, to the enormous old tree by the quickmire. There, she sat down on the ground and waited for Diva to join her.

  “You are the first meritocrat to come to our sacred marshes,” she told her.

  “I know. I am sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “I should have seen how unfair the system was … before.”

  “It is impossible to have any perspective if you do not move back from the object. You could not see the injustice until you had lived elsewhere.”

  “Yes, you’re right. I didn’t have an overview.” Then Diva thought of Six. “Though it was … somebody else who made me realize that things had to change.”

  The sibyla exposed her yellowing teeth again. “Your husband, the Kwaidian.”

  “Yes.”

  “He is a fine man.”

  “I suppose he is.”

  “You do not know?” And the sibyla put her head on one side, like a bird, waiting for the answer, giving it extreme consideration.

  Diva flushed. “I mean, of course he is.”

  “You don’t have perspective.”

  Diva stared at the stark, gaunt old tree which was silhouetted against the sky. “You mean that my being a meritocrat has stopped me from fully appreciating Six?”

  “Yours has also been a heavy burden.” The old woman inclined her head. “Even now it weighs you down, colours your thoughts.”

  “I love Six,” Diva’s head tilted upwards, defiantly.

  “Yes. You do. But it is a strange kind of love, is it not?”

  “No! Well, perhaps. Just a little.”

  “You are lucky to have somebody love you that much.”

  “I love him, as well.”

  “But you wish to change him, and he accepts you just as you are.”

  Diva went red. She got to her feet, walking up and down angrily. “I don’t want to change him.”

  “Tell me why you are in love with him.”

  “Because he is … he is … Oh, I don’t know.”

  “You have come here to tell me that you are ashamed of him.”

  Diva stamped her foot. “I am not!”

  The sibyla held up her hand. “Do not call the dead, my dear. They have earned their rest. Yes. Yes, you are. You are ashamed of your consort when you come to Coriolis. Once you walk into that plush palace of your parents you are very aware that he doesn’t fit in there, and that you do. His presence there mortifies you.”

  Diva sat down again and bent her head. “I am a horrible person,” she whispered. “I don’t know why I feel like that. It’s just that he doesn’t … that he can’t …”

  “He can’t be the meritocrat you were expected to marry.”

  “No, he can’t. But I wouldn’t want him to be. I wouldn’t want to be married to a man like Tartalus. I … oh, I just don’t understand. I am confused.”

  “Do you respect him?”

  Diva’s face tightened. “Of course I do.”

  “Is he learned?”

  Diva thought. “Yes. More than I am. He passed everything when we were donor apprentices, when we were captives in the ortholake on Valhai. He is more intelligent than I am.” Then she gave a smile which illuminated all her face. “—Though you wouldn’t think so, because he is always fooling around.”

 
“Is he kind?”

  “Yes. He lets his children climb all over him. He will go to the aid of anyone who wants his help.”

  “Is he strong?”

  “Yes. He is a great fighter. Probably even better than me, now.”

  “Then what is he lacking?”

  “Nothing! At least … I don’t think he is lacking anything.”

  The old woman gave another black-toothed grin, and her face wrinkled up completely. “You have told an untruth. You do know what is wrong with him.”

  “I do?”

  She nodded. “Of course. He is self-taught. Rough and charming, to be sure, but it is a self-made charm. He has no polish, he has no culture.” The sibyla gripped Diva by the arm. “Would he die for you?”

  “Yes! Yes, of course.”

  “And would you give your life for him?”

  Tears suddenly welled up in Diva’s eyes. “Yes!” There was a pause, before she went on, in a whisper, “Yes, I would.”

  “Then stand back and let perspective creep in, meritocrat. He cannot help not having your culture. He has his own. You have to let go of that part of you. You have to let go of your dignity.”

  She lifted her head haughtily. “Why? It is a part of me.”

  “It is a part of you that keeps you apart from your husband. You must let it go. You have a different path to travel. You cannot be a meritocrat any longer. In fact, you are no longer one of them. No meritocrat would have dreamed of visiting the sibyla of the Namuri, I fear.”

  “Then what must I be?” Diva’s lip was trembling.

  “You must be yourself.”

  “I am not sure who that is.”

  “You have always been sure of yourself. You know exactly who you are. You just have never wanted to give yourself a name. What is the one thing that defines you? What would your name be on Xiantha?”

  Diva stared. “You mean that until I give myself a name on Xiantha I will never quite let go of being a meritocrat?”

  “That is my opinion, yes.”

  “And how can I do that?”

  The old woman smiled. “Your friend will help. The one with the crippled fingers.”

  “Grace? Grace will help?”

  The woman nodded. “You will speak to her, and she will help you pick your name. Once you know that, you will be able to forget that you were born a meritocrat, and you will be able to love your Kwaidian with all your heart, as he deserves. Until then, there will always be something holding you back, something causing you to doubt.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  The old woman indicated the tree. “I sit here every day, under this tree. I listen to the sacred marshes, to the blue stone, and to the revered dead who are buried here, and who wait for my earthly body. And many things become clear to me as I sit under this tree.”

  “Then perhaps I should sit here.”

  “You are welcome. But we should stop talking. It is important to simply sit and listen. By the end of the week you will be hearing many more things than you do now. You will feel better.”

  They sat, patiently, as the sun rose and fell in the overhead sky and the day came and went. It was a strange time for somebody who had never been taught to lose herself in contemplation, somebody who preferred action to meditation. Diva had never felt so calm in her whole life. She loved every single moment of the time she spent with the sibyla, although they spoke no more. It seemed that the old woman had said all that she was about to say, all that Diva needed to hear.

  The days slipped by. Raven was having the time of her short life with her two young companions and was quite happy to leave her mother at breakfast each day to return tired but happy that evening.

  Diva found the sibyla waiting for her each morning. Waiting to walk with her to the sacred marshes, waiting to share with her the whole day’s wait, waiting to sit silently by her side as the day slid past.

  They were magical, quiet, introspective days – a hiatus in her existence – which she thought that she would never forget. By the fourth day she felt she could hear the voices of the long-gone Namuri, echoing through her with a buzz of excitement. She could almost sense Petra, whose energy reached across from death to touch her own. It made her bow her head and feel humble. She knew that the process was healing something inside her which had been broken for a long time. As the days went by, she felt a pressure begin to lift off her shoulders, begin to lighten her soul, until it was hovering over her, ready to be freed from the past. This ancient old woman, the seeress of the Namuri, was helping her find herself.

  Diva could sense the sibyla’s help. Words were unnecessary. After the first day, it was as if they could talk to each other without words, and she felt her body unwind from its usual coiled-up tension and become free.

  ON THE SEVENTH day, Diva got up with a feeling of heaviness in her heart. She knew that the time had come for them to leave. Even Raven was subdued, seemingly also aware that the holiday she had been enjoying had come to an end. The two of them ate their breakfast in an unusual silence, and then Raven gave each of the two girls who had been looking after her a hug. They returned the hug and then backed away shyly out of the tent.

  When Diva finally lifted the flap and walked out hand in hand with her daughter, they found the whole village assembled once more. Tallen was waiting near the path through the marshes, and the rest of the Namuri lined the way to where he and the sibyla were standing.

  But, by the tent, Diva could see the tall figure of a man. His bearing was proud, but contained. There was an uncanny stillness about him, and she could see that he had no hands. This then was the Namuri who had sacrificed his life to the protection of the clan; the man who had taught Tallen all the paths through the marshes; the man who had lived so that others would not die. It was the first time she had seen him.

  Diva turned slowly to the man. Then she stopped, a couple of metres in front of him. She could feel the silence as if it were the humming of a thousand cicadas. She stared into the eyes of the man who had saved both her and her daughter’s lives and then drew her dagger and held it up in front of her face, bending her head as a sign of respect.

  “You honour this unworthy Namuri,” he said.

  Diva looked into the man’s eyes and saw that there was no hatred there. Instead he was regarding her with understanding. She sheathed her dagger again.

  “We are only responsible for our own acts,” he said. “You must let your cousin write his own future. Yours is written in blue namura stone, and I salute you for your courage.”

  She didn’t know what he meant, but she inclined her head again, and then took Raven’s small hand and moved slowly away from the man who had survived Tartalus, towards the sibyla.

  Diva felt uncommonly humble as she walked slowly past the waiting clan members. As she and Raven passed, each of them gave a slight bow, and then opened their hands, allowing the two visitors to see the blue namura stones each villager was holding. As mother and daughter passed by them, each man and woman covered the stone again, raised it to their foreheads, and turned, so that they were facing out away from the path.

  Diva smiled at Tallen as she came up to him and the sibyla. He looked rested, she saw, although the unhappy twist to his face was still there.

  Raven ran up when she saw him, shouting.

  “T’an, T’an!”

  He swung her up onto his shoulder. “I bet you haven’t been behaving yourself, young lady!”

  Raven was hurt. “Have!”

  “Really? I heard you had led your two carers a pretty dance!”

  She shook her head. “’Aven b’ave!”

  “Hmm. I certainly hope so.”

  Diva turned to the sibyla, who was covering something with her palm. As she saw where Diva was looking, she allowed the cloth to slip. Diva gasped
. Lying on the deeply lined palm were two gold necklaces, from each of which hung a namura stone. The bigger one was full of fire and glitter, but the smaller one was cut differently and seemed to contain almost all its fire within the stone itself.

  “We do not believe in making jewellery of the namura stones,” she said. “But we have made exceptions for you both. This is for you, Raven of Xiantha.” Tallen inclined himself and his burden, bringing Raven closer to the sibyla so that she could pass the smaller gold chain over the girl’s jet locks. “Its inner glow will light you through difficult times before it accompanies you safely back here, one day.” For a moment Diva thought that the old woman might be going to say something more, but she didn’t, merely standing as the young girl thanked her prettily and fingered the new trinket at her neck.

  Then the ancient woman turned to Diva and offered her the necklace. No words were needed. Diva thanked her with her eyes and slipped the stone over her head. It settled on its golden chain, just below her collar bone, and she seemed to feel an immediate, comforting warmth spread through her. She smiled at the woman and gave a ceremonious bow. The sibyla bowed back. Then her eyes seemed to cloud over. “This stone will come back to us,” she said in a strange voice, “brought by the being who travels through space – the Voice in the wind. This I can see.”

  Diva looked at her. “I won’t?”

  The sibyla’s old eyes looked deep into hers. “You will never leave us,” the old woman said simply.

  Diva felt a lump in her throat. “I have done nothing to deserve such an honour,” she said.

  “It can mean as much to pass a few days in silence with a dying woman as to clash with swords on the battlefield, where souls lie agonizing.”

  Tallen waited for a couple of moments and then raised his eyes, asking permission to depart. The sibyla nodded, and he led them out of the village and back across the deep marshes.