The Shore of Women (61 page)

“It is so,” the young man answered. “Let the Holy One strike at me if I lie.” He turned back to me. “The aspect told us this, that the Lady’s magic is great, but that it does not reach to all of Earth. She said that She had dwelled with Her messenger and had come to know his soul, and that the child She carried in Her arms partook of both his spirit and Hers. Then She bid us live in peace with other men and said farewell.”

A man from another band jumped to his feet. “Blasphemy!” he cried. “You should die for saying this here!”

“We came here to honor the Lady,” the young man said. “We saw this vision, and when a traveler told us an aspect had appeared in this shrine, even though it is far from our lands, we hastened here, for we knew that something new had entered the world.” He held out a hand. “Is it so, Holy One? Can it be that the Lady will forgive us at last?”

“Hold back your words,” a tall bearded man shouted, “or I shall…”

“Silence!” I cried. The angry muttering among the men died down. “I am here to listen, and it is I who shall decide what is offensive to Me.” I leaned toward the dark-haired young man. “When did you see this vision?”

“Not long ago, at the beginning of this season.”

The closeness of the air and the shock of hearing this story had made me feel faint. I clutched my wand tightly.

“What does this vision mean, Holy One?” the young man asked. “Why do You appear? Is the world…”

“It is not time for you to know what it means.” I struggled for breath. “The Lady works in ways unknown to you.” I got to my feet. “I thank you for your story. I must now seek solitude in My sanctuary.” I went into the ship; the door slid shut behind me.

I collapsed on a seat, knowing the true meaning of this astonishing tale. An exile had managed to survive out here; she had given birth to a child. A man must have taken her against her will, forced himself upon her; somehow, she had lived through the birth. The thought of that made me so ill that I doubled over, afraid I might be sick.

Why then had she spoken to the young man and his band as if she bore them no ill will, when such an experience could only have scarred her and made her hate men all the more? Why had she kept the child alive when no life could be possible for her?

The man who had forced himself upon her must have learned her weakness and used her as he wished. Perhaps he had beaten her into submission, into a poor, frightened creature who had to do his bidding. He would know the truth now, would no longer worship what he had been taught to venerate; he would know that his world had been built on a great deception. The birth of the child would have taught him what his kind had forgotten. I could imagine the hatred and rage he would feel and how he would express it against the woman he had used.

My work had come to this—a story that showed how necessary our ways were. Men could not live with us, knowing what we actually were, without making us their victims. Occasionally, in fanciful conversations with Fari, I had imagined a careful, gradual guiding of men to a more civilized state, perhaps even to the point where, someday, they would have their own cities. Fari thought it possible. The men might be given ways of reproducing themselves, or we could continue to send our boys to them. We could guide their development, even become their friends in time.

It would never happen. We controlled them with our greater knowledge as they had once ruled us with their brute strength. They could never be allowed to become a threat. Eilaan would have her views confirmed.

I thought of something else Fari had said. Perhaps it was time to rid the outside world of those beings still bound to us. We could refuse to call them to our walls, give them no more boys, let them disappear. All of the world would be ours at last.

I stood up and left the ship. The young dark-haired man was gone, along with the rest of his men; I had forgotten to command them to stay, had missed the chance to question them, although perhaps I would not have wanted to hear their answers. Three bands remained.

A stocky, bare-chested man rose. “Forgive us, Holy One. We swore peace in Your presence, but the tale of that young man has angered us. His band saw this and went from this place. I do not know how a man could speak falsely before You, and yet…”

“He did not speak falsely,” I said wearily. “He saw something and took it to be other than what it was. It is not a lie if he believed it to be true. An evil spirit deceived him with an illusion, but the Lady has power over such spirits, who are sent only to test your faith.” I suddenly wanted to be rid of them. “The summer will soon draw to an end. You must leave this shrine and return to your lands. I shall not forget you, and the Lady will watch over you.”

Several filed past me, uttering farewells, while others picked up their weapons and packs. As they made their way to the door, one boy turned. “Will You return to us, Lady?”

“I cannot tell you now. The Lady appears when She chooses to appear and what She will choose must be hidden from you.”

“Farewell. Blessed be the Goddess!”

Others took up the cry: “Blessed be the Goddess!”

The shrine was empty. I sat on the altar, pondering what I had heard, then stood up, and walked toward the door. I took a breath as the door slid open, then stepped outside. I had not dared to leave the shrine before. A few ducks sat on the shore, resting, their bills tucked against their chests. The sun was beginning to set. I smelled the clean air of the lake.

Just beyond the door, several rocks had been set over a small mound. Yvara had died here; I had nearly forgotten that. Two men with Arvil had buried her; I had learned this from a member of Wanderer’s band. I shivered; only death lay outside. I stepped back and let the door close, breathed deeply until my heartbeat slowed, and then walked back to the altar.

I gathered up most of my equipment. I listened to several recordings, looked at images on my small screen; I sorted the recordings and filed them away. The men’s images would live on; their voices would continue to repeat their tales.

Few messages had come from the city during much of my stay; I sent brief messages to Fari, Eilaan, and Zoreen each week to let them know I was well. Lately, their messages to me had become more frequent and insistent: Why do you wait? Why don’t you return? Haven’t you heard enough?

There was nothing to hold me to this shrine, and yet I waited. Perhaps I sensed that the tales were not yet at an end.

A few days after the bands had left, the ship’s sensors told me that someone had entered the shrine. I rose and went out to the altar. My recorder lay at my feet; I knelt and turned it on. Two men, heads down, stood by the door. The shorter one was clothed in a loose shirt and pants and wore a hood over his head, in spite of the heat.

“I have come to dwell among you for a time,” I said automatically as I stood up again. “I would hear what tales you have to tell.”

“There is one tale you may wish to hear.” The tall man raised his head. “I know You, Lady. I have seen You when I don the Lady’s crown.”

Startled, I gazed at his dark face. “Wanderer,” I whispered.

He strode to the altar; his companion, still concealed by the hood, followed. “We have heard of the wonder here,” Wanderer said. “At first, I thought it was only a wild tale. When it came to me that it was true, I feared to come here for another reason. But I did not think it was You who had come among men.” He gazed steadily up at me, showing no fear.

Before I could speak, his companion suddenly leaped onto the altar. I raised my wand; a hand chopped against my wrist. The wand fell and rolled across the floor. I tried to dart toward the ship and was seized, my arms pinned against my sides.

The hood of Wanderer’s companion fell back. I looked into a ghost’s blue eyes.

“It can’t be,” I gasped.

“Laissa,” Birana hissed. “It was you who listened to Arvil’s story about my death, wasn’t it?” Her fingers dug into my arms. “Is that why you came outside, Laissa? Did you want to be sure I was dead?”

I tried to pull away, but her grip was too strong. “Let me go!” I glanced at Wanderer, but he made no move to help me.

“Why did it have to be you?” she cried. “Of all the women in the city, why did it have to be you?”

Wanderer stepped toward her. “Birana, this One has spoken to our band often. She is not…”

“She wanted me dead.” Birana twisted one of my arms. “Don’t think Wanderer will help you. He knows more about what we really are now.” She pulled me down from the altar and pushed me toward a couch. “You’d better admit what you’ve done, Laissa. When Arvil sees you, he’ll know.”

“Is he…”

She shoved me, forcing me to sit. Her face was browner than it had been, her body leaner; her hand gripped the knife at her belt. “Why are you out here? Why were you sent?”

“To gather stories,” I answered. “I swear it’s true. It’s a project of mine, assembling tales and legends of the men. It has nothing to do with you.”

She turned toward the altar and saw the recorder, then pointed. “Destroy that thing.” Wanderer stepped onto the altar and raised his spear.

“No!” I clutched at Birana’s sleeve. “I’ll turn it off if you want, but you mustn’t…” She shook off my hand. “Please.”

Wanderer hesitated. Birana frowned, then went to the recorder, leaned over it, and slapped it with her palm. “Very well. It’s off now.” She sat down at the edge of the altar as Wanderer settled next to her.

The way to the ship was blocked; there was no safety outside for me even if I made it to the door. Birana tapped her fingers against her knee. “You say you came out here to gather stories? What kind of a project is that?”

“It was time to learn more about the outside. I’m a chronicler now. I’ve questioned Wanderer and his men through the mindspeaker, and Wanderer’s stories interested me. I thought I might hear even more if I came outside, I wanted to find stories we hadn’t heard before. I sent my proposal to the Council. They weren’t very pleased but knew my work might be useful to them, and one of them had other reasons for pleading my case. They gave me permission to come here.”

“You, a chronicler?” Her mouth twisted. “And what do your old friends think of that?”

“They’re not my friends any more. I no longer care what they think.”

“You wanted their approval so badly once.” She leaned forward. “Why did you do it, Laissa? How did the Council ever come to you to be certain of my death?”

“I had no choice. They used my mother against me.” I went on to tell her of my mother’s collapse, the reasons for it, Eilaan’s appeal to me. “It was that,” I finished, “or having all of that man’s band destroyed to be sure you were dead as well. I could change nothing, but I could prevent that. It would have been the final blow to my mother, to know that Button—Hasin—was dead, given her state at the time—she cared for him too much. As it is, she’s never been the same.”

“I suppose,” Birana murmured, “that you also thought it didn’t matter what happened to me anyway.”

“I’ve been tormented by it ever since. All these years, I’ve thought of the time I might have been of some help to you, when I could have tried to be your friend, when I could have spoken up for you. The opinion of my friends, the approval of others seemed so important then. In the back of my mind, I think I believed that eventually I’d make it up to you, that we’d both change when we were older, that there’d be time—and then you were expelled. I had to put it all behind me, but I couldn’t.”

“How moving,” she said bitterly. “The fact that your life is now in my hands has no doubt provoked this little speech. You are desperate, aren’t you?”

“I meant every word.” I forced myself to look directly at her. “We live so long we think we have time to remedy any hurt. Then you were gone and that chance was lost.” I bowed my head. “You have the upper hand now, Birana. You can have your revenge against the city through me. I can’t fight you out here, and things can’t be worse for you no matter what you do to me.”

I waited, wondering what she would do. Despite my words, I was frightened. If she had lived this long outside, she had surely seen other deaths, hardened herself to them.

“Is that true?” she asked. “You regretted it all and thought of making things up to me?”

“Question me in any way you want. It’s true.”

“And if you could do something for me now, would you?”

I lifted my head. “Yes. But what can I do? I can’t take you back to the city. I’d do it if that’s what you want, but there would be nothing for you there. They’d expel you again, or find another punishment—perhaps a worse one. Now that you’ve shown a woman can live outside, the city may have to find other punishments.” I took a deep breath. “I can do this much. Leave this place. I can destroy that spool before you go—there’ll be no record that you were here. I’ll say nothing. The city will never know about you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And as soon as I step out that door, you’ll be inside your ship summoning others.”

“Tie me to this couch, then. By the time I’m able to get free, you can be far away, and I won’t want the city to know of my carelessness. I’ll have to keep silent after that.” Even as I spoke, I was struggling with myself; I was contemplating a crime against the city, one that would condemn me in the minds of the Council if they ever learned of it.

Birana stared at me for a moment. “I won’t ask that. There’s something else you can do, though, and the city, whatever it thinks, won’t punish you for it. You can ease your guilt while risking little.” She motioned to Wanderer. “You may fetch Arvil now.”

He rose and walked toward the door. “You’d better prepare yourself,” she continued. The door whispered open behind me; I heard the sound of feet and then a small wail.

I turned. Arvil had entered; with him was a young man who had to be Wanderer’s son Shadow, but I did not look at him long. A bundle was in Arvil’s arms; I saw a small face and tiny fists. He was carrying a child.

“My daughter,” Birana said then. “Mine, and Arvil’s.”

The shock was nearly too much for me. I swayed dizzily on the couch, unable to stand, afraid my legs might give way if I did. Arvil walked toward the altar and handed the child to Birana. She did not recoil from my twin; she smiled briefly at him as she took the child.