Climate of Change (21 page)

“It narrowed until we could go no farther,” Keeper reported when they arrived. “Maybe a larger river will take us all the way through.”

“It is getting late,” Hero said. “We need to camp.”

“We can anchor the boats here,” Haven said. “And use the cave for refuge.”

They did so. There were several small tributary caves, and what they deposited there quickly froze. Craft hammered a wood spike into hard ice, and tied a fiber rope to it to anchor the lead boat. The second boat was tied to the first, and the third to the second, so that none could become separated. Haven made a small fire in a stone bowl set on top of a section of mammoth meat, and the heat from that bowl thawed and cooked the meat below it. They ate well.

They slept stretched out in the boats, with blanket furs below and above them. Crenelle slept between Keeper and Hero, drawing heat from their bodies but favoring neither. That was one reason she had given him sex in the tunnel, Keeper realized: so that there would be no question of it at night in the boat, where there was no possibility of rape. She was very practical about her imperatives.

He dreamed of following a tunnel through the ice until it emerged on the far side of the wall, where there was a beautiful, warm bright land. Crenelle stepped out of her furs and ran naked in the sunlight. “Catch me!” she cried invitingly. So he stepped out of his own clothing and ran after her, and caught her. This time he knew he could do
it! But as he turned her around to face him, he saw her face. It was Rebel.

He woke, appalled. He had no hankering for his sister! Yet the two women were the same age, and similar in form. It would be easy to mistake one for the other, from behind, even naked. He wondered whether his brothers suffered similar confusion. Rebel, in her quest to prove her fertility, had seduced every man she found except her brothers, and sometimes, playfully, she had seemed almost to want to try it with them. Maybe she was just practicing her technique, assuming provocative exposures, asking them whether this was more tempting than that, sometimes shielding her face so that her body became nameless. Sometimes he had wondered just how far such a game might go, if followed up. But they had known it was forbidden, and Keeper had been ashamed of the reaction such sights and conjectures had stirred in him. Just as they knew rape was forbidden. Maybe that was the connection: the equation between the forbidden sister and the forbidden act. Barred not because the woman objected, but because it was simply wrong.

The dream shook him, but perhaps it had brought him to a better understanding of his problem. Still, he saw no solution. Unless—this might be nonsensical, but maybe not—Rebel herself would have an answer. He resolved to tell her about the dream, when he had a chance to talk to her alone.

But as it happened, he had no chance to talk to his sister alone. She was in a different boat, and had different chores to do. He was unable to find a pretext. Frustrated, he realized he would just have to wait.

They paddled upstream. Keeper had the front paddle, and Hero the rear one. Crenelle, in the middle, was idle, so she brought out her little bone flute and played. The sound echoed around the huge ice cave, amplifying and modifying itself before fading. The effect was weird and alluring.

They came to another offshoot cave, this one larger. There was a fair flow of water from it, confirming a larger stream, though tiny compared to the main flow. Maybe this one would lead them to the other side of the wall.

They stopped, and Keeper, Crenelle, and Whitepaw set out to
follow it. The stream coursed along the base, uncovering sand and rock, while the ice formed a twisting niche beside and above it. Whitepaw was thrilled; she definitely smelled a trail.

The trail was rising, at times steeply. That was the way they needed to go, to get out of it. The stream twisted back and forth, as if seeking a better route, and sometimes formed small rapids or even waterfalls.

As they went, the wan light from above gradually brightened. They were definitely approaching the surface, and the size of the tunnel remained large enough so that it seemed unlikely to close.

Crenelle paused, and turned back to face him. “I think this is going to make it through,” she said. “I wonder if we should tell the others, so they can come too?”

He realized that she was right. If this led out of the ice, it might still take long enough to be a long trip. It would be better to tell the others now, instead of going all the way and having to come all the way back. “Yes. But you don't have to go; you can go ahead with Whitepaw, and I will go back.”

“No, this is your exploration. You must be first through. I can go back.”

“We can both go back,” he said. “I—I may have something to say to you.” Actually it was Rebel he wanted to talk to, but it concerned Crenelle.

She opened her cloak partway. “You do have me alone here, and helpless. Are you finally ready?”

He averted his gaze. “Not exactly. Actually I wanted to talk to my sister about it.”

“Rebel? She can't do anything for you I can't.”

“I—I think she might. This time.”

She made a decision. “We will both go back, and you can tell me what Rebel can do that I can't.” It was a challenge.

He hesitated to agree, but she and Whitepaw squeezed by him and started down the winding passage. He had to follow, speaking to her back. “It—she—I wanted to tell her my dream.”

“You dreamed of her?”

“Not exactly.”

“Tell me.”

“I—I don't know whether that would be smart.”

“Now I definitely want to hear it.”

“But it might make you embarrassed, or angry.”

She glanced back at him. “Not as much so as denying it to me.”

He was in for it now. He should have kept his mouth shut. He would alienate her either way. “I suppose—if you insist.”

There was a pause. “I promise I won't be angry,” she said.

That might be worth something. “I dreamed last night that we followed a tunnel, as we are doing now. You were leading. It came to the end of the ice, which stopped, just as the wall stops on the near side, suddenly, and there was a wonderful open land, with trees growing.”

“I like this dream so far.”

“You got out of your clothes, because it was so warm, and you ran out across the land. I saw your bare bottom, and I wanted you. You called ‘Catch me!' to me.”

“I definitely like this dream. Was my bottom pretty?”

“Oh, yes!” He looked at Crenelle's real backside as he spoke, trying to picture it bare. “I got out of my clothes, and wasn't cold at all, and I chased after you. You ran fast, but I ran faster, catching up.”

“I was letting you catch up.”

“Yes. I knew that this time I could. . . could. . .”

“If you can't say it, how can you do it?”

He forced himself. “Rape you. Because I knew you wanted it. And you were so beautiful. I was. . . my. . .”

“Your penis was hard.”

“Yes. But when I caught you, and turned you around, you. . . I. . .” He couldn't say it.

“You still couldn't do it?”

“Not exactly. You. . . you weren't—”

“I was willing. You know that. But of course I said I wasn't.”

“You weren't Crenelle,” he said doggedly.

She stopped abruptly. “What?”

“You were Rebel.”

“Suddenly I don't like your dream.”

“I know,” he said, dejected. “I think I know what it meant. I wanted to talk to Rebel, and get her. . . her advice.”

She resumed walking. “What do you think it meant?”

“That you were forbidden.”

“How could I be forbidden?”

“Because I have to rape you to take you, and rape is forbidden.”

“Why should I turn into Rebel?”

“That's complicated.”

“Tell me anyway.”

He explained about Rebel's sexuality, and his occasional interest in it, especially when she bared her body and hid her face. And his shame in being so tempted, when he knew that she was his sister, and therefore forbidden.

“Now I see!” Crenelle said. “Sex with Rebel would be like rape, even if she wanted it.”

“Yes.” It was a relief to have her understand.

“So raping me would be like sex with her.”

“Yes. Like raping her, and she would slit my belly open and cut out my penis and throw it in the fire.”

Crenelle laughed without humor. “I begin to understand your reticence better. It's not just decency; it's fear. But how could you not recognize her before you caught up? Maybe I ran behind a tree, and she ran out instead, playing a game.”

“No, I saw you all the time. You became her. From behind I couldn't tell.”

“We looked that similar?”

“Yes, when I couldn't see your face.”

She paused again, but this time didn't turn. “You couldn't tell me from Rebel, if you didn't see my face or hear my voice?”

“If you wore her clothing. . . or were naked, I think.”

“You think?”

“I haven't ever seen you naked.”

“But we have had sex!”

“In clothing, or under covers in darkness. I have never seen you naked in the open, as you were in my dream.”

“Have you seen Rebel that way?”

“Yes. Mostly when we were children. But she didn't always cover up when she got breasts.”

“I think you filled in her body for mine, in your dream, because you had seen hers and not mine.”

Keeper's mouth dropped open. “That must be what I did.”

“It's too cold here, or I would show you my body. We're not the same.”

“You look very similar in clothes.”

“Similar, yes. But she is leaner and firmer than I am. In fact she has a better figure, if you like the athletic type. I am softer, with more on my bottom. My breasts are lower.”

“I wish I could see,” he said sadly.

“I wish you could too. Then you would know that we are not the same, and that you could rape me without raping her. But why would you have told this dream to her?”

“So she could tell me how to get around it. She is very practical about sex.”

Crenelle considered. She reached back to catch her loose brown hair and tuck it inside her cloak so it didn't show. When she spoke again, her voice was different, more like Rebel's. “Pretend I am she,” she said. “Look at me from behind and think of me as her. Say to me what you would say to her. After you have told her of your dream, and interpretation.”

“But—”

“I think I know how she would answer you. We have become close, not just in age and outline.”

“I—I'll try.” This was strange, almost like the dream. There Crenelle had become Rebel; now she was doing it awake. The absence of hair helped; Rebel's was wild and fair, and it was easier to picture it when Crenelle's hair didn't show.

“Do it.” She resumed walking.

He followed, and she did strongly resemble his sister, especially with her voice masked. She said that her bare body would be different, and perhaps she was right, but her clothed body with her hair covered
left only the very similar outline. “Rebel, I know Crenelle isn't the same as you. But you are so similar that I—in my dream I saw you as the same. I think that's what stops me from taking her by force, even when she invites me to. It would be like attacking you. But she won't marry me otherwise. What can I do?”

“You need to realize that we
are
different women,” she replied. “Age and size are but two aspects of more complicated creatures. We don't think alike, and we don't look alike in the faces.”

“I know that. And usually I don't confuse you. But in my dream—”

“You fitted my bare body to her image, and soon it brought in my face too. You must not do that. Focus on her face. Don't avert your gaze when you approach her.”

“Do I do that?” he asked, bemused.

“Yes you do. Especially when you want sex. You go with her in the dark, or from behind, and in daylight you look away.”

“How could you know that?”

“She has told me. We share secrets. She knows about Harbinger's sexual faults too.”

He considered that, and it seemed true. His shame about the association, the effort of rape, made him unable to meet Crenelle's gaze when there was a question of closeness or sex. But could he reverse that? Could he actually peer into her face when having sex? When trying to have forced sex?

“Your silence says you are in doubt,” she said.

“I am. I think you're right. I should look into her face. But I still don't know if I could rape her.”

“All you have to do is have sex with her when she hasn't agreed to it. She won't resist you the way I would.”

“I wouldn't ever try that with you!” he exclaimed, appalled.

“Next time you get her alone, stare into her face and do it.”

“I will!” he said with sudden resolve. “The next time! In fact, right now! Let me see your face.”

“Too late,” she said, drawing her hair back into view. “We are there.” Indeed, they had just come into sight of the boats. Whitepaw was bounding ahead to greet them.

And would he be able to do it some other time? Once again he had messed up his chance. He should have decided earlier, and stopped her before they completed their trip back. Instead he had been so absorbed in the dialogue that he had been unaware of their approach to the camp. Now he had lost his chance. Again.

“We think this goes through to the other side,” Crenelle said to the others. “So we came back to fetch you before going all the way.”

Keeper found this strange, and realized it was because he had not quite stopped picturing her as Rebel. She had indeed responded much as his sister would have, which showed how close they could be. But she had also given him the key, and now he thought he could do what he had to do, when he had the chance.