The Shore of Women (33 page)

“The spears of the travelers became Her rays,” I said, “and the evil ones fell before them, and then their bodies vanished, as if they had never walked the earth. I swear by the Lady that my words are true.”

“That is quite a story,” Jerlan said, “yet I wonder if it was only a boastful fool who told it to you.”

I gazed into his face. “No one told it to me, for I was one of those two travelers, and it was to me that the Lady imparted Her strength. I saw Her weapons destroy those men on their plateau and was spared because I followed Her way and not theirs.”

“Arvil makes his deeds greater than they are,” one man said.

“I have sworn it is true,” I replied.

“Deeds can grow in the telling,” Jerlan said, “and men become mightier in the past when they view it from the present, but we’ll know the truth of this tale when the time for Arvil’s truthsaying comes.”

I wanted to ask him what he meant by that but held my tongue. Perhaps they would take me to a shrine, since men had to speak truth there, but I knew the truth of the Lady and could say what I wished. “I have told a story,” I said, “and now I would ask one of you. I have heard that there is holiness here and that a vision of the Lady appeared to a lake band not long ago.”

One of Jerlan’s companions leaned toward him. “I don’t know if we should speak of that to him now. It would be better if he passed through his truthsaying first.”

Jerlan waved a hand. I had already seen that the other men deferred to him and waited to hear what he would say. “He has hunted with us. I believe he may become one of us before long, and, if he doesn’t, telling him the tale will make no difference.” He drank from his waterskin and then began his story.

Some years before, not long after the band’s present Prayergiver had assumed those duties, a lake band to the east had begun to bar its camp to all others, even to those by the lake with whom that band had a truce. Although they would leave their closed camp to travel to others along the lake, they would allow no man to enter theirs.

The other lake bands, Jerlan’s among them, grew suspicious of this and wondered if this band might be harboring evil intentions. Always the men of the lake had welcomed those from other such camps to their own, and even traded among themselves, if one camp’s gardens flourished while another’s did not. The other lake bands whispered among themselves as they worried about what evil might be taking root, and the mystery grew. Whenever a man from the closed camp was seen, he would say only that there was holiness that had to be hidden from the eyes of other men, but that the vision had promised blessedness to all the men of the lake.

Anger and doubt grew in the hearts of the other bands, and yet they feared to act; they had sworn a truce to the other band for all time and could not attack their camp. They also knew that, if the vision was a true one, they would be cursed for attacking men who had been blessed.

At last the Headmen of all the bands decided to travel to that camp, and there they were met by its Headman and Prayergiver outside the camp’s wall. The Prayergiver swore mighty oaths and then told the others to bring their own Prayergivers back to that place. The Prayergivers would be allowed to see the truth of the vision and would attest to it, but the Lady willed that no others should behold this apparition.

All the Headmen swore more oaths and then returned to fetch their Prayergivers. This promise had not been an easy one to keep, for a Prayergiver was one who never left his camp to travel, and many of these old men were weak. Some were borne to the eastern camp on litters and others could walk only a short distance at one time; but at last they came to the camp, and there all those with them waited while the Prayergivers entered.

A day passed, and then the Prayergivers came outside, and all who saw them knew before they spoke that they had seen holiness, for a new light shone from the eyes of the old men. They swore that they had seen a holy vision, and all believed them, but the Prayergivers never again spoke of what they had seen.

“The Prayergivers swore not to speak of their vision,” Jerlan said, “and that camp is still closed to all who will not join their band, but some word of the vision they saw has found its way to our ears. Some say that an aspect of the Lady appeared to them, while others say only that She speaks through the mouth of their Prayergiver and lends him Her form, but all know that the camp is blessed and has given its blessing to all of us. The proof of that is that we have all prospered and that life here is good.”

Jerlan’s friends were looking about uneasily. His shoulders twitched as fear crept into his eyes. “It is not wise to dwell on this holy mystery overmuch,” he continued. “It is something to hold deep in the mind. We do not speak of it often, for it is best to veil such a vision, lest its power burn our souls.”

I said, “I would go to that camp and see this for myself.”

“You cannot,” Jerlan replied. “Only a Prayergiver or one of the boys who has won the right to join their band would be allowed to enter.”

“Boys join them?” I asked.

“From time to time a man from that camp comes to ours or to another, and the boys compete in contests before him. The boy who wins then goes to that camp to dwell there and is happy to live near holiness.”

“But…” I started to say.

“We have spoken enough of this,” one man said angrily.

“Is this another tale that has grown in the telling?” I said.

“Silence,” Jerlan muttered. “I told you that we don’t often speak of this. Even in a holy shrine, we will bury our thoughts of this vision. The Lady has blessed us, but She may also turn from us if we grow too proud. This tale is as I told it to you, for I was a boy when the Prayergivers journeyed to that camp, and the Prayergiver who dwells with us now was one who saw the holy vision.”

I considered this. “And will he travel there again?”

“He will not, for the men in that camp guard their vision.”

“I must speak to your Prayergiver.”

Jerlan shook his head. “You must not unless he summons you. A man doesn’t enter his hut unless he is called there, lest his prayers be disturbed.”

We stretched out to sleep while one of the men kept watch. My thoughts tumbled inside me, keeping sleep at bay. I would have to learn more, but the beginning of a plan was already forming in my mind.

We returned to the camp the next day with our game. The Headman was standing among the plants, watching as those tending them poked at the ground with antlers and sticks. He beckoned to Jerlan, then led him to one of the dwellings.

I hastened to Birana, who was standing with the horses while they drank from the lake. Tulan held the reins of Wild Spirit, and I saw that the horse seemed gentler with him. He grinned at me. “Spellweaver must teach me to ride this creature,” he said.

“We’ll see. Your guardian is with the Headman. You should go to him now.” As the boy hurried away, I murmured to Birana, “I have much to tell you.”

We tethered the horses and sat down under our shelter while I told her Jerlan’s tale. Her face was ashen when I finished.

“It might be,” she whispered. “If women were among them, or that band has seen them, they would still have to hide from others. And you say that the Prayergivers never leave their camps, so they wouldn’t be able to betray what they know in a shrine.” She clutched at my sleeve. “We must go there.”

“We cannot simply ride out of here and seek them out.” I frowned. “Jerlan keeps speaking of a truthsaying. Has the boy told you anything of that?”

She shook her head.

“We must speak to the Prayergiver somehow, and yet we cannot unless he summons us. I fear these men will strike at us if we approach that man.”

Jerlan was walking toward us. I stood up as he came near. “Our Headman Irlan has spoken to me,” he said. “He has said it is time for you and Spellweaver to have a truthsaying. Tomorrow, our band will prepare a feast, and you will both be led to the Prayergiver’s house. There, outside his hut, we will learn what lies inside you.”

This did not sound too fearful. “Must I swear a holy oath,” I said, “so that you will know the truth of my words?”

“You may swear one, but it isn’t an oath that will draw the truth from you both. You will drink a potion we’ll prepare, and that which shapes your words and thoughts will be stripped from you, and you will speak freely of all that is in you. Should evil abide in your thoughts, you must die; but, if it does not, you may remain with our band.”

I was afraid to speak.

“Are you not pleased?” he said. “We do not force a man to stay, but it is my hope that you’ll join us.”

“I am pleased,” I managed to say. As he left us, I took Birana’s hand and felt the iciness of her fingers.

The camp was silent as the men slept. I moved closer to Birana and felt the trembling of her body as she lay next to me. My fear had driven away any longing for her.

“Can you teach me to hold my mind still when I swallow that potion?” I whispered. “Can you control your own thoughts?”

“I don’t know. We don’t know what we’ll be drinking, or what it does.”

Everything in me, all of the thoughts they would see as unholy and blasphemous, might escape from me. All the truth Birana had told me might be revealed to them. They would know what Birana was, and if they learned that the Lady had ordered her death and that I had disobeyed this command, they might slay us both.

On the wall of dirt and stone, a few men were guarding the camp. I could not go to the Prayergiver’s hut without being seen.

I put my lips to Birana’s ear. “Listen to me,” I said softly as I began to tell her what we would have to do.

The dawn promised fine weather for the ceremonies the men had planned. Some set out to gather wood and to relieve those who had watched during the night. The plant tenders carried baskets to their gardens and began to gather food.

I crawled out of the shelter and stood up as Birana got to her feet. “Are you prepared?”

She nodded.

“Do not look at the men as we pass and keep your hands at your sides.” I had taken my knives from my belt. She dropped her knife next to mine.

We walked up into the clearing. A few men were standing in the doorways of their dwellings, and I could feel their eyes on us. We crossed the clearing. The Prayergiver’s hut was ahead; a reed mat hung in its entrance. I knew the man was inside, for I had not seen him leave his hut, had not seen him at all during our time in the camp. We continued toward the small dwelling until we were only a few paces from the entrance.

“Stop there!” a man shouted from the wall in the holy speech. His spear was raised, while a man near him was already aiming an arrow at Birana. I was as close as I dared to go.

We sat down. “I would speak to the Prayergiver,” I called out, hoping he would hear me.

Two of the men who had hunted with me strode toward us. “He has not asked to speak to you. Get away from here before you’re punished for your boldness.”

I held out my hands. “We carry no weapons.” I opened my coat to show that I had no knife. “We mean no harm, but there are matters I would speak of to your Prayergiver.”

Jerlan left his dwelling and hastened toward us, Tulan at his heels. He halted in front of me and shook his fist. “I led you here,” he said. “I hunted with you, I told the Headman you were worthy. You abuse my trust. Our Prayergiver is not to be disturbed in his holy tasks.”

“I would speak to him of holiness,” I replied, making my words clear and sharp. Jerlan was about to strike me when Tulan grabbed at his arm, holding him back. “There is a holy truth I must reveal to him and to no one else.” Jerlan stepped back. “So that you will know I speak truly, Spellweaver will show you the magic he carries.”

I gestured at Birana. She pulled out the chain around her neck, drew it over her head, and held out her compass. Jerlan leaned over to peer at it. “Do you see the device upon it? A powerful spell holds that tiny spear, which always points to the north. With this magic, a man can always know where he is traveling, even in unknown lands where the sun may be hidden by trees or the stars by clouds. It is this magic that helped to guide us here, and it is a gift of the Lady, for Spellweaver brought it out of an enclave.”

Jerlan thrust up one hand while the other men made signs. Tulan’s dark eyes widened. “There are many spells,” Jerlan said, “and not all are good.” He gazed at the compass, as Birana turned it in her hand, then backed away.

“Let your Prayergiver decide our fate,” I said, nearly shouting the words. “I think he will want to know of this spell.”

“I do not hear him call,” one of the hunters said. “He won’t summon you.”

I stared at the reed mat. Perhaps the Prayergiver was so deep in prayer he had not heard our talk. He might be sleeping still. I did not know the customs of this band well; I had risked too much.

“I believed you were a good man,” Jerlan said solemnly. “Yet after you hunted, you told me of such unholiness that I could hardly believe such things could be, and now you show us this unholy magic. It is our duty to shield our Prayergiver from evil intentions. I am sorry for this, but I know what I must do.”

He dragged me to my feet swiftly. Another man seized Birana by the hair as he drew out his knife.

“Hold!” a voice shouted.

A hand lifted the reed mat. A gray-haired man stepped outside. Jerlan let go as this man motioned to me.

“I shall call these two travelers to speak to me,” the Prayergiver said. “I’ll decide if they are holy or unholy. The Lady will protect me from any unholiness, and I am not so feeble that others must protect me as well. Let them enter, then leave this place so that we may talk freely.”

Birana hung her chain around her neck. We entered the Prayergiver’s hut.

The man let the mat fall. Now that I was closer to him, I saw that, despite his gray hair, he was younger than I had expected. “You may sit,” he said. “The others are gone. Don’t think you can strike at me, or you will die when you leave this house.”

I showed him my empty hands, keeping them before me as I sat down. Light shone through an opening between the roof and the upper part of the wall. From a hole in the center of the roof, a wide beam of sunlight fell on ashes surrounded by rocks. On the ground, set against the wall of upright trunks, lay a mat and two hides, but another object had caught my eye. A small figure of wood, crudely carved, stood next to the mat. The head of this image had no features and its arms were only stumps, but two mounds had been carved on its chest while the space between its legs was smooth.