The Shore of Women (59 page)

LAISSA

I waited for Eilaan. She had sent no message, but I knew she would come; her curiosity, if nothing else, would bring her to my rooms. She might think that I had finally put our shared deed behind me, that I had even forgiven her for her part in it.

I could understand her better now. Her years on the Council had made her what she was. I had thought she was using me to shield herself but had done nothing Eilaan could not have handled alone. Her life—her actions, everything she had done—rested on her view of the world, a view I had questioned. The cities had to be preserved at any cost; to question or seek change would put the world at risk once more. The death of a few and the torment of others were justified for the sake of the many. By becoming her accomplice, I had implicitly accepted her beliefs and confirmed her in them.

Our shared deed would be Eilaan’s legacy to me and to our city. The deed would bind me to her, would harden and temper me, would lead me to take on her attitudes, if only to avoid the guilt I would otherwise feel. So Eilaan must have believed.

I saw her only once after our meeting on the wall. I told her that Birana was dead and that my twin Arvil might be forever tormented by having had to kill the young woman he had once worshipped. Eilaan was not concerned by that; perhaps she was even amused at the notion of a man suffering such guilt. Arvil was a tool to be tempered by terror, used, and cast aside. I was another tool, but one not so easy to dismiss.

She waited as I delivered my message, apparently expecting me to demand some favor as payment for my cooperation. She listened to my words and Arvil’s recorded ones and then dismissed me. I asked her for nothing then. I wanted nothing from the Council, nothing from anyone else.

I told myself I was protecting my mother, but she was not the same afterward. She came to her senses, not long after Button’s departure, but went about her work passively, saw few of her friends, endured my visits with a sad smile and an abstracted, distant mien. Her patients were soon requesting other physicians, and my mother was finally assigned some simpler tasks in the wall’s genetic laboratories. She never asked about Birana, although she must have guessed what had happened; she seemed to have forgotten Button.

Eilaan believed that my mother had healed, had come to some peace. I knew better; my mother was broken.

I had my studies still, under the guidance of my mentor Fari; I withdrew from almost everything else, and soon had the reputation of a solitary; except for Zoreen, my old friends soon fell away. My self-imposed solitude, at first a punishment I inflicted upon myself, became a kind of solace. I was apart from the city, my only reality the thoughts inside myself. Slowly, without the distractions of other companions and the need to mold and modify my ideas in their company, I came to know my own mind and the kind of purpose I might find in my work.

I had suspected that Birana was dead even before Arvil confirmed it, for his old band had traveled to a shrine with a strange tale. Birana’s coat had been found, but no trace of her or Arvil. From these facts, a man called Wanderer had fashioned a story: Arvil had discovered Birana, and she had shown him more favor than she had to the other men. She had come among the men to bless them, and Wanderer had guessed that Arvil would be the first to be honored. Arvil had gone to a place alone with her to receive her blessing; Birana had taken such joy in him that she had carried him to the Lady’s realm, to dwell always at her side. The band honored Arvil’s memory, believing that he and Birana still watched over them all; the following years seemed to prove the truth of the story. They found other horses and believed Birana’s spirit helped in taming them. They made truces with a few other bands and often sensed the ghostly presence of Arvil during these parleys. In Wanderer’s story, Arvil and Birana embodied the band’s hopes and spirit; the young man, who undoubtedly feared the men too much to return to them, had become a kind of deity.

I had no reason to contradict this tale; it didn’t matter what the men believed as long as they honored the Goddess. I did not think much about the story when I first heard it, but Wanderer and his men journeyed to shrines often, and I was soon hearing other tales.

Wanderer, I learned, made stories from many events. When my progenitor, Tal, disappeared—perhaps a victim of a predator or another group of men—Wanderer recalled his prowess as a hunter and spoke of how Tal now hunted at the Lady’s side. A rainstorm became the tears of the Lady, wept for the sins of men; the damp, greener ground was a sign of the Goddess’s forgiveness. Wanderer knew other stories as well, narratives of men in far places and the legends they told.

Occasionally, I probed Wanderer’s thoughts through the mindspeaker. Partly out of guilt and partly out of curiosity about Button’s welfare, I had taken to tending this band and answering their prayers. I was soon more interested in the stories themselves. Bren had told me I would become a chronicler; the cities knew little of the stories men told to one another, tales that revealed much about their hopes, fears, feelings, and beliefs. I imagined myself fashioning a new chronicle from them, one that might illuminate the outside world. I wanted to hear more of such tales. I supposed the Council in time might find them useful and informative as well, which meant that they might aid me in what I would propose to do.

Even when I understood my purpose, a year passed before I could bring myself to make my proposal to the Council. I did not fear their reaction; I felt I could no longer be touched by anything they did to me. I did not worry that I would be refused; Eilaan would become my tool now. But I wondered if I had the courage to carry out my wishes.

My guilt finally moved me to act; whatever grief came to me would be deserved. I made my proposal and waited for Eilaan to come to me.

Eilaan was outside my door. I rose and went to greet her. She was alone as I had requested. I led her to a chair and seated myself across from her.

She glanced around the room, frowning in disapproval as her gaze fell on the piles of books and documents on the floor and the couch. “How untidy,” she said. “I wonder how you can keep your materials sorted.”

“We do well enough. Most of this is Zoreen’s. The documents and transcripts I’ve been using are in the corner there, and I keep the rest in my bedroom.”

“Your guests must find it quite disorderly.”

“You know perfectly well we don’t have many guests.” I folded my arms.

“Laissa, this proposal of yours—it’s out of the question. Surely you see that.”

“I’ve discussed it with Fari,” I said. “She thinks it may yield something of value. If I have the courage to pursue it, she won’t stand in my way.”

“Fari.” She scowled, clearly disapproving of my mentor. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks.”

“It may matter what my old adviser, Bren, thinks, now that she’s on the Council. She’s encouraged me in the past. She’ll stand with me this time.”

“The Council will never allow this.”

“You had better persuade them that they should.” I leaned forward. “I did your bidding a few years back. I kept silent. Your reputation is safe enough for now. But if you don’t speak up for my proposal, I may decide to spread a few rumors.”

“You can’t frighten me with that. Anyone would agree that I did only what I had to do.”

“Some will,” I replied, “and some won’t. Such a tale would certainly create doubts about your abilities, since you weren’t even willing to take the responsibility onto yourself. I had to see to things for you when I was hardly more than a girl. Many would wonder about the propriety of that. Even if they agreed about the rightness of your actions, they would wonder why you couldn’t carry them out yourself.”

“The Council is aware of what happened.”

“But perhaps not of my role.” Eilaan averted her eyes; I had guessed correctly. “And I needn’t worry about my own reputation being sullied. I have little enough as it is.”

Her mouth twitched. “You’d drag out what’s past after all this time?”

“I’m a chronicler. The tale of how Birana met her end might be interesting both as a story and as a historical footnote.”

“Dorlei played her part in those events for reasons some might question. You know the state she was in. Don’t you have any concern for her, of how she might react if you…”

“Don’t you dare speak of my mother to me.” I stared steadily at Eilaan until she looked away again. “I think very little could touch her now.”

“One might almost think,” the old woman said, “that you feel you must unburden yourself of your guilt, make it public.”

“I have much to feel guilty about. It isn’t just Birana’s death that weighs on me—I could have done little about that once she was sent out. But I might have been her friend earlier. I might have spoken up for her before her sentence was passed. Maybe the Council wouldn’t have punished her so harshly if someone had pleaded for mercy. She didn’t deserve expulsion.”

“She was Yvara’s daughter and her mother’s accomplice. You saw what kind of creature Yvara was.” Eilaan shook her head. “We’re well rid of that strain. It’s past, and it’s useless to speak of it now. It’s this proposal of yours that concerns me at the moment. You must give it up.”

“I am going to do my chronicle of the men’s tales,” I said. “If I am to hear these tales, I must go outside. There will be little danger. I’ll be in a shrine; the men who come there won’t harm me; and my presence will only confirm them in their faith. I’ll do nothing to rob them of their illusions.”

She gripped the arms of her chair. “It’s mad to go outside. You’ll learn no more from those men than you would if you listened to them with the mindspeaker.”

“That isn’t so. We learn a little, but they’re often preoccupied with prayer, with wanting to appease the Lady, with the desire for erotic encounters.” She grimaced at those words. “I can learn more by questioning them directly, by letting them tell their tales to me. The stories would make a new and interesting chronicle, and some scholars might find them illuminating. We know too little now about the outside.”

“We know enough.”

I tapped my fingers impatiently. “Eilaan, if we had known more, maybe Devva wouldn’t have had to destroy that settlement years ago. Maybe the city of Lasan wouldn’t have had to destroy another settlement later because they believed an exiled woman was living among those men. That kind of action only makes more sensitive souls wonder at the necessity for such cruelty. It causes a few to question matters they might ignore if we showed more mercy.”

“Those men were a danger to us,” she said firmly. “That’s how it begins, with larger groups and the need to organize them, and it leads to the breeding of plants and animals, and then to questions about why things are as they are and what the true role of men is. You think there’s no threat. Would you wait until they discover metalworking, until they begin to master some of the knowledge they lost, until they pose a direct threat to the cities?”

“Then argue my case, Eilaan. Get approval for my proposal. The more we learn about the outside, the more able we’ll be to distinguish a true danger from something we can leave alone. We’ve been hiding in our cities too long. If I find something of interest, others might go out from other cities and learn more. We might even find new means to control men, ways that are more subtle and less drastic. Their stories can tell us much about them.”

She was silent.

“You see,” I continued, “I can suffer my guilt but can also put it aside. Whatever I did, it was to preserve our city and our lives as they are. Now I would like to do more. I asked nothing of you before, but I’m wiser now and need your help. We both have the same end in mind, and I’ll be sure to acknowledge your contribution if anything worthy comes of my work.”

She smiled a little at that, as if responding to a kindred soul.

“We should leave our daughters more knowledge about the outside,” I said. “We should not leave them with the necessity to remedy our negligence and our mistakes.”

“You should be thinking of a daughter of your own soon,” she murmured.

“Time enough to consider that when I return.”

“You talk of preserving our cities, Laissa. I know your actual thoughts, and Fari’s as well. You’re wondering if it’s time for change.” She gestured wearily with one hand. “I’ll speak up for you, but I promise nothing.”

“Think of what I might mention to others if you fail, and I’m sure you’ll be persuasive.” I stood up and led her to the door.

“I fear for you,” Zoreen said.

“You needn’t. I’ll be safe enough.”

“Women haven’t gone outside this city in ages.”

“It’s time someone did.”

“This isn’t a little jaunt to Devva in a ship. You’ll be alone. You may not be able to summon help if there’s danger.”

“I’ll be careful.” I turned toward her. She was lying beside me on my bed.

Zoreen had come to love me during the past years, and I cared for her in a placid, abiding way that would have been impossible with Shayl. My former love, according to gossip, kept her lovers ensnared in uncertainties, never letting them know if she would continue to accept them. With Zoreen, I had some peace. I had become so accustomed to her body that our lovemaking, once filled with the excitement of discovering her needs and teaching her mine, was now a respite; touching her body was little different from touching my own. My desires were reflected in hers, while hers mirrored mine.

“You once dreamed of the outside yourself,” I said.

“I know now that I couldn’t go out.” She drew my head to her chest. “You’ll be alone. That’s fearful enough.”

“I’m used to being alone.”

“You mustn’t say that to me. Maybe they won’t give you permission to go. That would disappoint you, but I’d be relieved.”

“They’ll let me go.” I caressed her with one hand, wanting her to forget her worries for a little while. Her belly moved against my palm. I suddenly thought of Birana; she would not have been a lover expecting only the familiar; her wilder spirit would have been a constant surprise. Why was I thinking of her now?

“What is it?” Zoreen asked; she had sensed the change in my mood. I shook my head, unable to answer. “You’re afraid. Don’t think of it now.” She eased me back on the bed; I seemed to feel my own hands touching me.