The Shore of Women (63 page)

Arvil took Birana’s hand; she rested her head against his arm. “You would do this for us?” she said.

“Yes, but you may not thank me for it later. You may wish you had taken the chance for a quick death.”

Birana picked up her daughter; I looked away as she wept.

I went outside with them. Birana stood over the grave of her mother in silence as the men fetched their horses. She clung to the child in her arms as if suddenly afraid to give her up.

I had collected supplies from my ship, wrapping them in one of my shirts; I handed them to her. “There’s food for you here,” I said. “You won’t have to search for more.” I took the child from her as she accepted the supplies. “There are some medical supplies, too— antiseptics and other things. The small scanner’s in there as well—I won’t need it now.”

Her eyes widened. “But how will you explain…”

“I’ll find a way.” I swallowed. “I’m sure you understand how useful the scanner will be,” I said in a lower voice. “You’ll be able to chart your cycle accurately with it; you’ll have something more reliable than those berries you were given. You won’t have to fear Arvil’s attentions at least.”

“Laissa…”

“I’ve aided an exile. Giving you help to pursue your perverted practices safely is a small thing next to that.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She touched Nallei’s blond head briefly, then embraced me.

“Farewell,” I whispered. “I can give you a few days, no more. My friends will be expecting a message by then.”

Birana touched my cheek. “I wish…”

“I know. I should have… think of me sometime.” I could say no more. “Go.”

Shadow led a white horse to her; she mounted and Arvil climbed up behind her. “Farewell,” Arvil said.

The sun was setting as they rode away from the lake. I stood near the ashes of their fire, wondering where they would go.

“I have committed a crime for your mother,” I murmured to Nallei. “Your father put aside allthat he believed for her, and now I’ve done the same. I wonder what you will become.”

I waited inside the ship for five days, knowing that my crime grew more serious with every hour that passed. I listened to Birana’s story again before filing it with my other spools. Eilaan might want to destroy the recording; I could not let that happen.

I wrote out my message to Fari before I sat down in front of the ship’s small screen, wanting to be sure she grasped its importance. My mentor was not in her room; I read the message and then called Zoreen,

“Listen to me,” I said before she could speak. “I’ve finished my work, I’m coming back. Fari has a message from me, and I’ve asked her to speak to Bren. I’m hoping that Bren will take my recordings to the Council—I don’t want Eilaan to hear them first.”

“Laissa, what…”

I motioned at the small face on the screen. “I’m bringing back something else.” I held Nallei to the screen; Zoreen gasped. “This little girl was born outside months ago. I’m bringing her into the city.”

“But how…”

“Birana bore her.”

She gasped.

“Zoreen, you must tell as many women as you can, anyone you can find, about this child and the fact that I’m returning with important records. The Council is not going to destroy them and then pretend they never existed. The historians will want them preserved and will fight for that.” I paused. “This may mean some trouble for you, but I’ll bear most of the blame.”

“I can do that much for you,” Zoreen replied. “But that child…”

“My twin Arvil is her father. The city can’t turn away an innocent child, especially if it’s widely known that I’m bringing her back. The Mothers of the City will pity her, and those we serve are sentimental. I’ll return tomorrow.” I shut off the screen before she could say more.

My ship landed on the wall. The wind whipped my hair as I climbed out of the ship with Nallei in my arms. As I had expected, several women had come there to greet me. Bren stood with Fari and two other historians; Zoreen was next to two patrolwomen. Eilaan was not with them, although she must have known I would be returning.

All of the women wore masks over their mouths and noses. As Zoreen started toward me, I saw that my mother was behind her; she reached for Zoreen’s arm, holding her back.

“They’ll have to be scanned,” Mother said then. “I don’t expect there’s much wrong, but we must be careful.” Her voice was firm, as though some of her old spirit had returned to her.

I glanced at Fari. “My recordings are in the ship,” I said. “I imagine the Council will want to hear and view them right away. You’ll understand how important they are after you’ve heard them all. It may take some time—I made many. The most important ones are on top of the case—you should listen to them first.”

Fari nodded, then went to the ship. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” I said to Mother.

“Zoreen gave me your message. She said the child was… that your twin is the father. How did he…”

“It isn’t what you think. He didn’t force himself on her.”

A patrol woman nudged her. “They must be scanned.”

Mother lifted her head. “Come with me.”

Zoreen remained with the historians and Bren as Mother and I were led inside the wall. The patrolwomen guided us to a room in the area where men were kept, then left us alone with Nallei.

I sat down on one of the beds and lay the child beside me. “How long will this take?” I asked.

“You’ll have to sleep here tonight. I don’t expect we’ll find anything wrong with you, so you may be able to leave in a day or two. The girl may be here longer.” Her voice was muffled by her mask. “She not only has to be scanned, but we’ll have to map her genes as well.” She shuddered. “I can hardly bear to think of how she must have been born. The poor child.”

“Birana risked a lot to see that she was brought here,” I said. “She and Arvil both wanted me to take her.”

“Laissa, how…”

I looked up at the screen on the wall, wondering if anyone was listening to us. “I’ll tell you the story another time. All you have to know is that Nallei was born of love, strange as that may seem. I think Arvil cares almost as much for her as Birana does.”

“You saw them both in that shrine?”

I nodded.

“And they still live?”

“Yes. I have much to tell you, Mother, but not here.”

“Perhaps it’s better if I don’t know.” She went to the screen to summon another physician.

Nallei was taken to another room; Mother had promised to watch out for her. No messages came for me; after a day, I went to the screen and tried to send one to Zoreen. Letters flashed on the screen; no messages would go out. I tried the door; it remained closed.

I was a prisoner. From time to time, a physician I did not know came to the room, examined me, and left without speaking. I noticed that she wore no mask and worried about why I was still being detained.

The Council was keeping me in that room, perhaps debating over what to do with me. Outside, in my ship, I had supposed that the value of the recordings I had brought back might mitigate any punishment. Now I knew I was lost. I spent days staring at the door, waiting for it to open. I would be led to the Council, would plead my case, would be isolated again and perhaps expelled.

I lost track of time. I slept when I was tired, paced the room when I was awake. Patrolwomen brought me food; I ate little. I was lying on my bed, wondering when the torment of waiting would be over, when the door opened. I looked up, expecting to see the physician or a patrolwoman.

Eilaan entered and sat down on the bed next to mine. “We’ve gone through your recordings,” she said. “I found them repulsive. I’d destroy them, but of course the historians won’t have that, and several Council members are on their side. They’re not about to listen to what I think now—I won’t be on the Council much longer.”

“That’s some consolation,” I said as I sat up. “What’s happened to Nallei?”

“She’s still inside the wall. Dorlei’s looking after her. That wretched child is safe enough.” Her eyes narrowed. “You spoke to an exiled woman. You didn’t send a message to us. Certain supplies are missing from your ship.”

“Birana took what she wanted. She had men with her. I could do nothing.”

“Do you expect the Council to believe that? Do you think I believe it? You might have called for help as soon as they were gone, but instead all you did was send messages to your mentor and friend to make certain your disgusting recordings would be saved.”

“There was nothing I could do.”

“Don’t add lies to your crimes.”

“I suppose that you’re angry that I brought the child back,” I said. “You would probably have preferred to see her die with her mother and father.”

“Don’t speak of those wretches to me. The child will suffer enough when she learns of how she was born. You may have shown her little mercy.”

“She’s alive, at least. Isn’t that our reason for everything, Eilaan—life?” I was silent for a moment. “Are you going to send out ships to search for Birana?”

“We’ve already done so. They’ve found nothing. What are we to do—have all the cities search the continent for one woman? Wipe out every band that might have seen her? Bren is now saying that it’s better to let Birana go, that it’s likely she’ll flee to abandoned land far from men, that in time she’ll become only part of another story the men tell, and that this can’t affect us. She wants mercy, and the Council is heeding her words. How clever you were to make those recordings, Laissa. Some on the Council were so moved by those images of Birana with her child, by her tale of woe. You made it possible for that wretched woman to plead for herself directly.”

“We might learn much from her story,” I said.

“We’ve learned quite enough. Do you think what has passed between her and that man means anything? You heard the rest of her story; you know what happened to other women who lived among men. No life is possible with men for long—even Birana will learn that. The man with her will revert to what he is eventually and take advantage of her weakness.”

“You’re wrong,” I said. “I saw what he was.”

“Always we’ve exiled those who had committed grave crimes. Now some wonder if we can resort to that punishment again, for if Birana could survive, so could others. But others are saying that such a life outside may be punishment enough, that many would fear expulsion all the more if they heard Birana’s story.” Eilaan closed her eyes. “I’ve loved this city; I’ve worked for it all my life. You think of me as heartless—you can’t look into my mind and see my struggle. I’ve had my moments of doubt but put them aside for the city’s sake. Now I see the beginning of the end of all we have tried to do.”

“Do you think we’re so weak?”

“This is how it begins,” she answered, “with one misplaced act of mercy, with setting one life above one’s duty. It will lead to other such acts. More wrongdoers may be expelled and may survive, and some will want to show them mercy as well. Our lives—very slowly, perhaps—will change. We won’t have to worry about the men discovering our limitations. We’ll weaken ourselves.”

“Do you think mercy shows weakness? Maybe if we’d trusted in our own strength more, we could have shown more mercy in the past. We think we restored peace to Earth. We only built places to hide.”

Eilaan gazed at me steadily, then slumped forward. “I can do nothing now. The Council has questioned my competence. I’ll have no voice.”

“What will happen to my recordings?” I asked.

“The historians will have them. They’re used to such sordid material. No one else will be interested. Historians have so many documents others scorn—that story may be forgotten in time even by them.”

I took a breath. “And what will happen to me? Am I to be expelled?”

Eilaan brushed back a lock of gray hair. “Oh, no. You won’t be expelled, Laissa. You’ll be allowed to plead for yourself before the Council and offer what explanation you can for your actions, but I already know what your sentence will be. I’ll have the satisfaction of telling it to you now.”

I waited.

“You’ll never be a Mother of the City. You’ll leave the towers and live among those we serve, and even they will probably have little to do with you. You’ll do whatever work is found for you.”

“I can accept that. I’ll have a daughter someday. My daughter or hers will join the Mothers of the City again.”

She shook her head. “There will be no children for you. That’s the rest of your punishment. You’ll never go to the wall; you’ll never have a child. You’ll vanish and leave no direct descendants.”

“No,” I whispered. My throat constricted; I clung to the side of the bed, afraid I might slip to the floor.

Eilaan rose. “You’ll be allowed to raise the child Nallei. You brought her here, after all. You can think of the daughters you’ll never have when you raise her. She can think of the life she might have had in the towers if you had done your duty.” She walked toward the door. “The Council will summon you soon. Don’t expect anything from them. You might have been exiled. Bren argued against that, but even she knows that an example must be made.”

I endured my day before the Council in a trance, almost unable to focus on their words. I answered their questions passively, offering no arguments, refusing to fight for myself. The sentence was passed, as Eilaan had predicted.

A house was found for me at the northern end of the city, a structure of stone and glass at the end of a path. To the north lay the wall; to the south, the distant spires of the towers reminded me of what I had lost. A patrolwoman brought Nallei to me, put her in my arms, and took me to my new home. My personal belongings had already been moved, but my books and papers were not among them.

As I cared for Nallei or walked along the path near my house, I thought of the times I had sought solitude. My neighbors spoke to me only when necessary and did not urge me to trade with them for their handmade items. Those with small daughters did not bring them to the house. My work, what little there was of it, consisted of monitoring the cyberminds managing that part of the city and noting where a malfunction might occur; it was work I could do inside the house by my screen.

The women living near me did not seem aware of exactly what I had done. I had gone outside, I had spoken to men, but they barely understood what a man was, shielded as they were from the deliberations of those who lived in the towers. I had aided an exiled woman, had brought her child into the city; to them, Nallei might as well have been the offspring of a woman and a fabled beast. They whispered among themselves, fell silent when I passed, then murmured again, not seeming to care if I heard. All they had to know was that I was disgraced, deprived of the right and duty to bear children—that I was as removed from the life of the city as if I had been expelled.