The Shore of Women (21 page)

The Bear dwelled with us in the shrine for three days. He fetched water for us to bathe our blistered feet and caught fish for us through the ice of the lake; we had none of our own food left by then. He sat on the floor before the altar and gazed at us with awe; pathetic as he seemed, I was touched by his devotion. Yet he was a man and used to violence; I could not forget that.

He left us with some dried fish and enough water for a few days, promising to return soon with his band. When he was gone, my mother spoke of her plans. The Bear’s tribe would know of others; we might find one who could guide us to a refuge.

“He told us nothing of any refuge,” I said.

“We’ll find one, and then, someday, I’ll go back to the wall and show everyone that I prevailed.”

“You dream of women who don’t exist,” I shouted. “You think of nothing but revenge, revenge against Ciella, against the city. You would destroy it if you could.”

She leaped up and struck me across the face. “Yes, I would, and you should feel the same way. Hold to your hatred—it’ll keep you alive. No one spoke for us, remember that. You’re all I have left, and you’re going to live.”

“You brought this on me. You don’t care about me. You only want to ease your guilt by thinking you can bring me to a safe place.”

“Believe that if you like.” She turned away.

As I waited for the Bear to return, my despair deepened. My life would never be more than a struggle, and a short one in all likelihood. I could accomplish nothing by staying alive.

We left the shrine only to relieve ourselves near the door and still saw no sign of the Bear. We brooded in silence, afraid to eat what little food remained. At last, there was only one piece of dried fish left; Mother handed it to me.

“You eat it,” I said. “My life is over.”

“Take it.”

“I don’t want to live,” I said.

“You must.”

“Why must I?”

“Does anyone know the answer to that?” she said. “All we can say is because our lives are all we have. I thought I wanted to die before, back in the city. I struck out at Ciella instead of at myself, but it was all part of the same impulse. It wasn’t until I was awaiting my sentence that I decided to live, whatever happened.”

“I don’t want to stay alive.”

She took my hand and stroked it gently. It was an uncharacteristic gesture; she had rarely shown me much affection. “You’re not being honest, Birana. Dying is simple enough. I can’t restrain you if you’re determined to die. You could find death outside in any number of ways, but you don’t. You don’t really want to die, but you haven’t made up your mind to live. You’d better decide what you want.”

I was silent.

“We’ve survived this long,” she said. “We’ve found a man to help us. It means others could have done so. You must hold on to that hope. Women in ancient times found ways to live when the earth was in ruins. Surely some could do so again. If they have, then in times to come the cities may learn of it, and it may be that by then they’ll have need of those outside and of what they have learned.”

She was, without knowing it, renewing the hope I harbored—that there might be forgiveness for exiles, forgiveness for me.

“Decide, Birana,” she said as she let go of my hand. “Decide to live or to die, and at least that torment will be over.”

We ran out of water and still the Bear did not return with his men. “He will come,” my mother said, “or another will. This is a shrine—men have to come here.” But even her spirit seemed to be failing her. She began to pace the shrine restlessly, wasting her strength, then paused for long moments to stare at the door.

I don’t know how many days we passed this way—perhaps only a few. I was soon too weak to stir from my couch. I was lying there when Mother rose and walked toward the door.

I struggled up. “Where are you going?”

“Down to the lake.”

I didn’t want her to go even that far from the shrine. “Don’t go.”

“We have to have water. I must go before I’m too weak to fetch it.”

“I’ll get the water,” I said, but she was already gone. Fearing for her, I managed to cross the room; the door opened as I went outside.

The darkening sky and the dusky light made it difficult to see. I squinted; she was near the edge of the lake. She bent over, then stood up as she began to walk toward me.

She was near a small shrub, only a shadowy form, when I saw other shadows move. I tried to cry out as they raced toward her, but my voice was locked inside my throat. The men were upon her in an instant; their long fur cloaks swirled around their legs. I saw her fall, saw a blade move toward her throat. She was given no chance to speak, no chance to call out, to reveal what she was.

One of the men bent over her. I nearly ran to her murderers myself, and then the man let out a howl of such pain and terror that I staggered back. The door closed; the floor rushed up to meet me.

I was lying on a couch, with no memory of how I came there. My mouth was dry, my strength gone.

The door opened. Three men entered, carrying my mother’s body.

I do not know how I found the strength to rise. My body shook with sobs as I walked toward them; my voice screamed accusations as the men threw themselves down, and then one of them looked at me.

He was a blond beast with a hairless face, but he was gazing at me with Laissa’s eyes, with the gray eyes of the girl who had once been my friend. The shock of seeing those eyes brought me to myself. I noticed then that these men were not wearing fur cloaks; they could not be my mother’s killers.

The blond one caught me and guided me back to the couch. Even in the ugliness of his face—the skin browned and roughened by wind, the high cheekbones and angular jaw, the straight, hard mouth with none of a woman’s gentleness—I saw a resemblance to Laissa. He was only a man, and yet in him there was something of one I had known and loved.

I did not realize it then, but at that moment, I decided to live.

Arvil stumbled to my side and sat down, his features distorted by his grief. I had to speak, had to find out what he would do now.

“Arvil,” I began.

His head jerked up. I did not look away. Occasionally, when he spoke to me or asked a question, a gesture or expression would recall Laissa to me; at those moments, I could feel some kindness toward him.

“Arvil,” I continued, “I must explain something to you. The Lady is not what you have believed She is, but She is powerful and can still harm you. The Lady will guess that I’m still with your band if we return to your camp, and we would not be safe for long. My city, the place you call the enclave, can easily find your band’s camp and might destroy all its members to be certain I was dead.”

“I have seen the Lady’s weapons of fire and have witnessed Her wrath.” His gray eyes gazed past me. “I know what She can do. Are you so evil, then? Perhaps They were right when They told me you were.”

“I’m not evil. I did nothing. I was punished for the crime of my—of another—because I stood by and did nothing to prevent it. My city did not have to punish me, but cruel ones refused to show me mercy. Weak and foolish I might be, but I’m not evil.”

“That other—the one we found by the shrine—was it she who committed this crime?”

I nodded. “And she has paid for it, as you saw. The enclave doesn’t want me dead because I’m evil. I am to die so that you and your kind will never know the truth.”

His eyes narrowed. “What truth could the Lady teach if She has deceived us all this time?”

“You’ve already seen part of the truth. You told me what I was— a weak creature, like you.”

“There are many questions I would ask.”

“Arvil, you can save yourself and your band. You can do what the Lady ordered you to do and return to your camp. You can tell them that I chose to return to the Lady. Or you can take the horse and leave me here. I would die soon enough. I can’t survive alone.”

He lowered his eyes. I was reminded of Laissa once again and of all I had lost. I thought of my mother; her struggle to live had been useless. I gazed toward the body of Tal, who had died because of me.

Arvil lifted his head. “After I had taken your life, I was to go to a shrine and tell the Lady of my deed. The Lady was to reward me for that and spare my band. If I do not go…”

He did not have to finish that statement. Terror nearly overwhelmed me, but somehow I held it back and was able to think. The city might have struck at Arvil’s band immediately, yet they had not. They could not be concerned with the lives of the band; they were only another tribe of men. Why hadn’t they acted? Some might have scruples about taking a woman’s life so overtly instead of leaving her to die, but the Council could not let an exile live.

There was one possibility. Some in the city might not want others to know that I lived, as they would if ships were sent out to strike at the band’s camp. Someone was fearful of what might happen if the city learned I was still alive.

This possibility, however mistaken, was enough to renew my determination. Perhaps Yvara had been right about the existence of refuges, and others feared I might find one. If someone in the city wanted to keep my existence a secret, it meant I might have a chance to escape, that the city would not turn all its resources against me. I had some power over the city’s actions even now.

“I must be honest with you,” I said. “The Lady is powerful, and we may not escape Her, but there is still a chance. Her power does not extend over all of the earth.” A look of doubt crossed his face, yet he seemed to accept this, for he already knew what I was. “We might find a place of safety.”

“Even if we could not, I cannot kill you. I would never know the truth then, but it isn’t only my curiosity that holds me back. I do not know how, but something in your spirit calls to my own.” The intensity of his gaze as he spoke made me turn away. “We cannot return to our camp.”

“I wouldn’t be safe there,” I said.

“It is not only that. They dream of the blessings of your body. It angers me to think of their hands upon you.”

I got to my feet, sick at the thought. “I must bury Tal,” he continued, “but he cannot lie here. The others will find the grave, when they come for water, and wonder whom it holds.” He stared down at the dead man for a long time. “He brought me out; he raised me. He deserved a better death.”

He reached down and pulled the coat from Tal’s body. “Take off your coat and put on this one,” he said.

“But I…”

“Take it off. A man seeing that coat will wonder why you wear such a garment, where you found it, who you are. You might be taken for a scavenger, and they are despised by all.”

I shuddered as I handed my coat to him and put on Tal’s. The sleeves hung down to my fingertips; the hem fell past my knees. A dead man had made this coat, had worked at the hide to make it supple, had cut its pieces with sharp stones, and sewn them with bone needles. His blood was on the coat; I nearly cast it off.

“Steady yourself,” he said fiercely. “His spirit will haunt me, not you. Bring Flame to me. We must carry him to another place.”

He strained as he lifted Tal and slung him across the horse’s back. I saw no tears, only cold and angry eyes. Arvil knelt and dug at the ground, pushing dirt over the signs of blood, then threw my coat down on the bank.

“Here is what my band will find,” he said. “A man will come for water, or they will search for us and follow our tracks to this place. They will see your coat, and believe that you have departed from them, and if they do not know it then, they will see it as the days pass and you do not return. Wanderer knows many stories, and he will see one in these signs. He’ll know that I am gone as well, although he will not know if I was blessed or punished. He will think you have ascended to the heavens at last.”

“How do you know they won’t follow us, instead?”

“We will leave them no tracks to find.” He took Flame’s reins and led her down toward the stream.

We walked over the rocks at the edge of the stream, the sun at our backs. Finding our footing on the rocks while being certain we left no signs of our passing slowed us, yet by mid-afternoon, we had reached a place where the stream widened. My feet were sore by then, but I trudged on behind Arvil, unable to bring myself to mount the horse that carried Tal’s body.

We pressed on until the stream was narrow enough for us to cross to the southern side. We were able to walk over a few half-submerged rocks while leading Flame through the water. We did not stop then but moved on along that bank. Arvil was silent throughout our journey, and I worried about what he might be thinking. Was he remembering Tal, was he regretting what he had done? He knew what I was, knew my weakness, knew I was powerless against him. I had much to fear from him still.

When the sun was low in the sky, we stopped and Arvil began to dig at the ground with his stone knife. It was long, hard work; by the time he finished, the sun was setting, and he had hollowed out a shallow grave where Tal could lie. Remembering how he had buried my mother, I began to gather flat stones from along the bank and set them by the grave.

He lifted Tal from the horse and laid him in the ground gently, then set his quiver and bow next to the body. “I shall keep his spear, for no enemy can threaten him now, but he must have his other weapons so that he can hunt in the next world.” He closed his eyes and I heard him moan softly. “What foolishness I speak. The Lady tells us of another world, and yet She has lied. What world can there be for him now? Where will his spirit find rest?”

“There may be a Goddess,” I said without conviction. “Many of my kind believe there is. We may not be what you thought we were, but there can be a Goddess Who hears prayers and watches over us.”

“She will not hear mine. Perhaps She hears no one’s if She allows those who wear Her form to deceive us. But Tal tried to do what he thought was Her will. He was hard and stubborn in his ways but tried to keep to what he thought was right. Perhaps he will find some peace.”

He covered the grave with dirt and then set the stones on the mound. The evening light was fading quickly, but I could see the guilt and anger in his face as he stood. I wondered if he would strike out at me after all.