Climate of Change (7 page)

Yet why hadn't she screamed? She could at least have done that. But she hadn't. He might have stopped, if she had screamed. She should
have. But she hadn't thought of it in time. Her silence suggested that she wanted it, like the girl who liked the feel of a member in her, but pretended it was nothing. Was Haven a similar tease? Maybe the man had been led on by her seeming acquiescence, and been overcome by desire, and just had to do it.

Hero had said that sex had been like a great thunderclap of joy coming from his penis and spreading to the rest of him. He thought there was something inside the girl that filled him to bursting with pleasure. Maybe she didn't like it because she felt the pleasure being taken away from her body.

Certainly Haven had had no joy of this union, while Harbinger obviously had. The woman gave it to the man. If she hadn't wanted to, why hadn't she screamed? She shouldn't have had to think of it; she should have done it automatically. Why had she spread her legs instead of pulling them together? Had she really been making mistakes, or only pretending to? She wished she could talk with her sister Rebel, who was two years younger, but surprisingly knowledgeable about certain things.

She gazed in Harbinger's direction, though it was now too dark to see him. He had acted as if he liked her. He had kissed her hand. He thought she had given sex to him as a gift for the lodging. Could he be blamed? Maybe she
had
given it. Maybe she had pretended to herself that she didn't want it, but had really offered it to him, by showing her breasts and getting alone with him and not screaming. Because she knew how much pleasure she could give him, to make him glad they were here, so he wouldn't send them back out into the cold night. All she had to do was flip up her cloak and bare her bottom, as it were. Not much trouble at all, very soon over. So it was her fault.

Settled on that, at last, she relaxed again. Now the tears came, silently, copiously. She had crossed a boundary, and could never cross back, even if she never saw Harbinger again. Would it have been better to play the game with neighbor boys, and let them go into her, so she knew how it felt, so that she had nothing remaining to lose? What had she lost, really? She didn't know. But still she cried. Maybe she had done it on purpose, but now she felt the burgeoning grief of it. She had
done wrong; she knew it, even if there was no rationale. The guilt of it suffused her, and overflowed from her eyes.

She woke several times in the night, her face wet. But by morning she had run out of tears. She had done what she had done, and it was done, and she and Craft would go on, hoping to find land for the family. For the two of them, and Hero, Rebel, and Keeper. That would be the end of this significant night.

Then she woke to full daylight, and both men were gone. She had finally slept soundly. But they had to get moving, so as to be somewhere good before the next night, for this region was inhospitable.

She got up, and felt the ache in her cleft. But that would heal. She went out, and the air was much colder. She went to the refuse place and squatted, checking herself more carefully. There was no doubt she had been raped; she had not dreamed it. But she wanted to get well away from here, so as to be able to bury the memory and her guilt.

She returned to the fire, which was blazing well. The warmth was wonderful. Soon the men returned, with more wood. Harbinger brought out the last of his stored meat and shared it with them, to eat at the flame.

“He doesn't have much,” Craft said. “After this he'll go hungry. There's no game here at this season.”

“He told you this?”

“No. I observed. It won't be good for us out there, either. I think we should stay and help him. We know some things he doesn't, about making a house secure. Together maybe we can get through the storm.”

“Storm?”

“He signaled a storm. I believe him. The signs are there.”

“But we can't stay!”

“Why not?”

She couldn't answer. Not without giving away her secret. Yet if they remained here, for even a few days, she would have to give Harbinger more sex. That was the price of shelter. She had done it once; he would expect it again. Boys did. It was a natural belief, on his part.

It was soon evident that the storm was indeed coming. It was looming from the northwest, over the range of mountains.

“We need more wood,” Craft said, turning back to the forest. “You had better help.”

Well, it was something to do. She followed them along the path. It gave her more time to make a decision, assuming she had some sort of choice. But her choices seemed to be to give Harbinger sex voluntarily, or to get repeatedly raped. Craft would try to defend her, and get himself killed. Unless she warned him, and he armed himself and did what he thought he had to do. She couldn't have that. So, until they had a chance to get away, it was voluntary sex. Voluntary in the sense that it was the best of bad alternatives.

That meant in turn that she would have to tell Craft. She hated the necessity, but could not avoid it.

They reached the forest region. The trees were mostly bare, with some scattered fallen branches. Haven took hold of the largest one she thought she could handle, and dragged it along toward the house.

The men took more time to gather choice pieces, so Haven led them back. In fact she reached the house, panting with the effort, before they came in sight of it.

“Ho.”

Haven jumped. There was a person there by the hearth. She had been concentrating on her dragging and hadn't looked. Who was this?

“Wo-man,” the other said, surprised. The voice was high. It was another woman! In fact, Haven recognized her.

“Crenelle,” she said, amazed.

The woman stared. “Haven!”

They came together and embraced. They had met about a year ago, when Hero had made his unsuccessful trip south to find land. Haven and Hero had stayed the night with Crenelle, and the woman had been fairly taken with Hero, and he with her, but he had to see to his mission first, so nothing came of it. Haven had chided him on their way back: “You should have bedded her. She would have welcomed it.” Actually he had had a night of sex with the girl, but she had insisted that he say he had done something, and he wouldn't, because he hadn't, he said. Haven had been confused.

“But she would have considered it marriage,” he had replied. “I
couldn't do that.” He had been unable to compromise, though plainly much interested.

“She's young, but supple. Marriage to her wouldn't have been bad.”

He nodded, reconsidering. “Maybe if we meet again.”

So it had not happened. But Haven had come to know Crenelle somewhat in that night, adapting to her dialect, liking her. The woman was two years her junior, actually the same age as Rebel, but competent and sensible. But what was she doing here in the north?

“I live here with my brother,” Crenelle answered. Her dialect made her hard to understand in detail, but Haven got the gist of it, because of her prior experience. “We moved north, looking for better land. But this doesn't seem to be it.”

“Your brother,” Haven said, amazed. “Harbinger?” But now she remembered: Crenelle had mentioned her absent brother, before.

“Yes. I had to go trade for supplies for the winter. I hurried back to beat the storm.” She glanced at the looming cloudbank. “But why did you come here?”

“Looking for land,” Haven echoed. Then she gripped her nerve and said it: “Your brother raped me.”

Crenelle's response amazed her. “So you married him! That's wonderful. I wish your brother had raped me.”

“Raped you! But—”

“This is how we marry. The man abducts the girl he likes and rapes her, and they are married.”

More memory returned. Crenelle had wanted Hero to rape her, and he had demurred. Haven had mostly expunged that aspect from her mind. “But that's no basis for marriage!”

“Yes it is. He never rapes her again, of course; he devotes his life to making her secure. But your brother didn't like me enough to do it.”

Haven had much to say, but now the men were coming up the path, bearing huge loads of wood. Still, she had learned a great deal, and her understanding was growing. Having Crenelle here would make things much better. But what a turn this was. Harbinger thought he had married her?

Harbinger spied Crenelle, dropped his load of wood, and hugged her.
Then he turned to introduce her to the others, but Crenelle intercepted that. “I know Haven. Her brother almost married me.”

Harbinger turned to look at Craft, surprised.

“Craft,” Haven said. “My younger brother.”

Crenelle nodded. “I met her older brother. I know he liked me, but he had to see to his family first. So I lost him.”

That had been only part of it. Crenelle had agreed to join Hero's family. It had been the rape he couldn't countenance.

Harbinger turned toward Haven.

“She told me,” Crenelle said. “You married her.”

Craft picked up enough of this to drop his jaw. “What?”

Haven made a sudden decision. “It's true. We. . . married.”

“But that's not possible! There have been no—”

“It happened very quickly.” She hoped he would settle for that.

“He raped her,” Crenelle said proudly.

Craft stared at Haven. “He what?”

There was no avoiding it. “In their culture, a man wins a woman by raping her. It's the way they do it. She expects it. I. . . didn't realize.”

“When I was gathering wood alone,” he said, putting it together.

“Yes. Now . . .” She shrugged. “I'll make the best of it.”

He reflected. She knew he was assessing his chances of killing Harbinger in a challenge of honor. His eyes flicked to his pack, where he had a half-length spear with a very solid and sharp stone head. Harbinger could well misjudge the deadliness of that weapon in close quarters, or suppose the youth did not know how to use it. That would be a fatal error.

Crenelle, realizing that there was more here than showed, stepped in. “It is our way. Take me similarly, if you want.” She opened her cloak to Craft, in clear invitation. She wore a skin vest beneath it, but the outline of her breasts showed clearly. She had a good figure.

“It is their way,” Haven agreed. “Please, Craft. We can't undo what happened. We can only make the best of it.”

“By having me rape
his
sister?” he demanded.

“She's trying to make up for it, knowing it's not our way.” Haven appreciated
Crenelle's effort, surprising as it was. But maybe the woman was used to sex. What had she used to trade for supplies? “With the storm coming, we have to be together. This is a way to manage.”

“I'm not raping anybody!”

“No need to marry,” Crenelle said. “Make it a passing liaison. No fighting. No grudges.”

Craft looked again at Haven. “This is the way you want it?”

She sighed inwardly. “Yes.” Maybe Crenelle, having had sex with Hero without persuading him to marry her, was ready to tackle his little brother. What did she have to lose?

“You two make the meal,” Crenelle said. “I brought supplies. I'll see to this.” She took Craft's hand and led him inside the house.

Craft looked back once more. “You're sure, Haven?”

“Yes.”

He turned and followed Crenelle inside. He knew she was buying off his outrage, but it was nevertheless a good price.

Harbinger glanced after them, then at Haven. He spread his hands. “Sorry,” he said, becoming more intelligible because of her attuning to the words of Crenelle.

“You rape me—and you're sorry?” Haven flared.

“Thought you knew. Wanted.”

And he had no doubt persuaded himself of that. That she really had wanted it. Haven's memory was sharpening as she remembered her prior meeting with Crenelle. Things the girl had said then now made more sense. She had spoken of rape, and said she would like to be raped. Haven had assumed it was just a clumsy word for marriage, but now she knew it had been literal. Crenelle had wanted Hero to take her by force, thus signaling his commitment to marry her. Harbinger had done just that with Haven. So it was a misunderstanding.

Yet her own unparalleled foolishness in making herself vulnerable to such an attack—didn't that suggest that she deserved it? That she had asked for it? She couldn't be sure. At any rate she was stuck for it. She could aggravate the damage, but could not undo it. Harbinger did not seem to be a bad man, overall. Maybe it would work out.

So she smiled at him. “Maybe.”

He gazed at her, still uncertain. So she went up to him and kissed him.

His arms came around her. He kissed her back, hungrily, but not violently. Then one hand slid down to her bottom, outside the cloak.

“Yes,” she said, willing her body not to flinch. “After they are done.”

He nodded, clearly well satisfied. She was surprised to see a tear in his eye. Maybe he did have more than sex on his mind. He and his sister were, after all, regular people, with a different culture—at least in this one significant respect.

They dug out Crenelle's supplies and spread them on the ground. There were dried sections of meat and tubers, which would expand when cooked. At least they would not go hungry for a while.

Harbinger set up a woven pot that was caulked by clay outside, and filled it with water from the nearby spring. Haven put both meat and tubers in. Harbinger used sticks to fish a hot stone from the hearth, and dropped it into the pot. There was a hiss as it struck the water; then it sank down to the bottom. He fished for another stone.

“Salt,” she said.

He glanced at the house. Oh—it was in there. “It can wait,” she said.

They were working well together, she realized. He was doing the brutework, and she the careful work. They were getting the meal prepared. Probably he was used to doing this with his sister, but Haven knew the womanly arts as well as anyone. She had always cooked for her siblings.