The Shore of Women (7 page)

Wanderer, still chanting, was holding his arms to the sky.

“Then,” Shadow went on, “the Goddess spoke, and said, ‘This is My Child, in Whom I am well pleased.’ And the man, who had become one of Her aspects, was lifted up and taken to the moon, where he lives with Her in bliss. You can see him there when the moon is full.”

I gaped at him. “Is that true?”

“There is more to it than that,” Shadow said. “Wanderer puts in more details.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “It isn’t really true, but Wanderer found out long ago that most bands like a story with bits of truth and a lot of invention more than one that is all true.” He paused. “We did hear a tale from a band long ago about a man who tried to live in a shrine, but the Goddess ordered him away. And some legends say that men once lived on the moon with the Goddess before the Judgment. So part of the story might be true.”

We all knew of the Judgment. Men had sought to rule over the Lady and all Her aspects; that had been our ancient crime. Fire and ice had been sent to punish us, and we had been cast out, condemned to our present lives in bodies of flesh and bone. But I had never heard of men treading the holy orb of the moon.

“Isn’t it wrong to tell such falsehoods?” I asked. “Some of these men might want to live in a shrine, thinking that the Lady will raise them up as well.”

Shadow shook his head. “Only a foolish man would do that. It is a story. They will believe it happened long ago, in another place, but that it has nothing to do with them. Still, it might give them hope, and some may try to serve the Goddess better because of it. I don’t think She would mind a story that honors Her.”

Wanderer finished his story, uttering the last words in the holy speech. The red-haired men smiled and clapped and gave us generous portions of their meat along with dried plants.

We slept in their tents that night and left in the morning.

We traveled on together for four days. My mind held the images of streams where I had stopped for water on my way to the plateau, and Wanderer had traveled in these lands before. The snow had melted, and we did not have to crack ice to get our water. We lived on the fish we caught at these streams.

I was beginning to feel a bond of friendship with Shadow. I had been called, as he had not, and he respected me for that, but he had traveled to many places with his guardian, and I could honor him for his courage. Shadow said little about his life, but I felt easy with him, as if he had always been part of my band. Perhaps Shadow, having spent so much of his life among strangers, knew how to ease the suspicions and fears of another.

We shared no pleasures together, for it was now the Lady I longed for most, though we did sometimes speak of the Lady’s blessings; he had received Her blessings before in faraway shrines. I was sure that the Lady would call such a good soul to Her before long.

On the fifth day, we met men of another band, and one of their number recognized Wanderer. They renewed their truce, and we were taken to the hollowed-out cave that was this band’s camp. I could understand most of their speech and was able to hear another story of Wanderer’s without Shadow’s aid.

This story was of a man who had killed a doe. The doe’s orphaned fawn cried out to the Lady as the doe lay dying, and the Lady, clothed as the Warrior, hunted the man down for his crime and killed him with rays of fire. The fawn, under Her protection, grew into a doe and lived with that man’s band, which no longer hunted does with young.

This band did not seem to like the story. Their Headman scowled as he threw a small piece of meat to us. Wanderer quickly told another story of other men in the south who lived by a great, salty body of water and caught fish with nets given to them by the Lady, Who had blessed them with an easy life but had also cursed them by calling few to Her side. This tale earned us one more piece of meat.

We had not gone far from that camp when Wanderer stopped and made us kneel. “We must pray,” he said. “We must give thanks that those men liked the second tale I told, and we must ask for guidance.” He put his hands on our shoulders and began to chant. “As the doe rules the buck, as the cow gives life to the calf, as the stallion must fight for the mare, as the spider weaves her web of beauty and death, so do You rule us, and so do we serve You. Guide this boy Arvil to Your side and bless us all.”

We stood up. “I have not been this far north in many seasons,” Wanderer went on, “and we will be in more danger. Some of those who knew me may be dead, and their truces with me would then be at an end. Arvil, you will have to help in guiding us.”

His words frightened me. “I don’t know if I can.”

“I think we should travel to a shrine for safety, but we will have to avoid other bands.”

I thought for a moment. “There is another shrine to the Warrior in the west. My band was there two springs ago, and the men near it will stay by their river in this season.” I paused. “But we’ll be farther from the enclave, and I must get there soon, or…”

“I know.” Wanderer might have abandoned me then; we had a truce, but he owed me nothing more. “How far to this shrine?”

“From here, it should be a day’s walk, but we can’t reach it before night.”

“Then we must be quick.”

I looked at Wanderer gratefully as we set off at a trot toward the trees to the west.

The Lady’s moonlight guided us through the thickening trees, but soon clouds and the evergreen branches overhead hid our path. We were forced to move more slowly, afraid of losing our way.

Suddenly, a twig cracked. Men leaped upon us.

I knocked one attacker aside and heard a grunt, then blocked a blow with my spear. Another man was near me; I grasped my knife and thrust it at him. He shrieked; my metal blade had drawn blood. Pine needles whispered as feet pounded away; there was a shout in the distance.

“Come,” I muttered to Wanderer. I was surprised that we had driven off our attackers so quickly but knew that we had to reach the shrine before they came at us again.

I heard a moan. Wanderer bent over a dark, huddled shape. “Shadow is hurt,” Wanderer said.

“We must go.”

He picked up the boy and threw him over his shoulder. Shadow groaned. I led the way, trying to keep to the path. Wanderer was soon panting under his burden, for Shadow, though young, was already quite tall.

“Leave me,” I heard Shadow say.

“No,” I said before Wanderer could reply; I would not abandon my new friend so quickly. Just as I was beginning to think we would never find the shrine, I saw it ahead in a clearing. The golden dome glowed faintly.

We hurried toward the shrine and were soon inside. Wanderer put Shadow down on the floor and opened his jacket, feeling for wounds. I saw much blood. Shadow pressed his lips together, trying not to cry out.

“Will he be all right?” I asked.

“Be quiet, lad.”

“We must pray. Perhaps the Lady…”

“It is a time to act, not to pray,” Wanderer replied. “The Goddess will understand.” It came to me that Wanderer often seemed willing to state what the Lady might think.

After pulling up Shadow’s torn and bloodied leather shirt, Wanderer found the wound, an ugly gash under one rib. Blood oozed from this gash as Wanderer examined it. “Arvil, you must go out and gather kindling and wood.”

“But the strangers… they might…”

“Get the wood, boy. If you’re quick, they won’t catch you.”

I went out and gathered the wood, wondering what the man wanted with it. Shadow’s wound had looked deep; it might not heal at all. When I returned, Wanderer took out his flints and soon had a small fire going just outside the doorway of the shrine. The door remained open, and I sat with him, watching as he reached inside his pack, removed a small pot with a handle, and filled it with water from his skin.

We were safe for now. Even if the fire in the open doorway attracted other men, we were on holy ground. “Where did you get that?” I said as I gestured at the pot.

“From a man I had to kill. I expect he took it from a scavenger.” He stripped off his leather hand-coverings and washed his hands. When the water in the pot bubbled, Wanderer handed the pot to me and took out a small leather pouch. He sprinkled a few herbs into the water.

“Hold that pot.” He scrubbed at his hands again. “Now watch me, boy, and learn. A band south of that cursed plateau gave me this substance—it cleans wounds and keeps the blood from becoming poisoned. It can be gathered, if you know where to look for it.”

He rummaged in one pocket and took out something else. “Cloth,” he said, waving it at me before dropping it into the water. Stel had worn garments of such a material when he had been brought to my band. “Another man gave this to me.” Taking the wet cloth out, he leaned over Shadow and bathed his wound. The boy smiled a little, as if trying to reassure us. Then Wanderer took out a bone needle, the thinnest one I had ever seen, threaded it with a long, thin piece of gut, and dipped that into the pot of hot water.

“Now,” he said, “I am going to sew up the gash.”

“Sew it?”

“Wounds, like rips in leather, can be sewn. In a few days, I’ll cut the stitches out with the edge of my knife, but the knife must be clean, and the wound will have to be bathed again.” He gazed at Shadow. “It’s going to hurt you.”

The boy gritted his teeth. I watched as Wanderer sewed. Shadow reached for my sleeve and held it tightly. He moaned a little but did not cry out.

“There. It is done.” Wanderer bathed the wound with the cloth once more, then poured out the few drops of water left and put away his tools. I put out the fire and covered the burned wood with dirt.

The door slid shut behind me as I came back inside; we carried Shadow to the nearest couch. Wanderer and I said our prayers at the Warrior’s altar, then donned the circlets, but heard no words from the Lady.

Wanderer glared at me as he took off his circlet. “You told me that the men near here would stay by their river.”

I felt ashamed. “I thought they would. They never attacked my old band, even though we had no truce, as long as we didn’t approach their camp and took only what game we needed.”

“You have given poor advice, Arvil.” I thought that he might strike me, but he did not. “Did you draw blood?”

“Yes.”

“That’s bad. It means, if that man dies, they might return and wait for us to leave holy ground. If they find that we are alone, and we cannot reach a truce, they’ll kill us.”

“Then we must leave now.” We would be safer away from the shrine, where the strangers might expect us to stay.

“We cannot leave. Shadow must rest until he is healed. He’s lost much blood already. If he is moved now, he’ll bleed again.”

“How long?”

“Two days, maybe three. He is strong and should be able to travel at a slow pace by then.”

“But you said those men might come here.”

“Then we must pray that they don’t. I cannot leave my charge.”

I had to get to the enclave; I could not wait three days. I sat on the edge of my couch and stared at the floor, afraid to look at Wanderer.

He said, “You know what you must do.”

I looked up. “I can stay. I will hunt for your food.”

“You cannot stay. Your first duty is to the Lady. You have to leave us.”

I knew he was right. “I’ll come back for you,” I said, unable to believe my own words, sure that they would both be dead by then. Tal would never travel here for the sake of men he did not know.

I stood up. “Good-bye, Wanderer. Shadow, farewell.” I swallowed hard. “May the Lady protect you.”

“And may you reach Her enclave safely,” Wanderer said.

As I turned from them, our enemies entered the shrine.

There were seven men in this group. As the door closed behind them, they knelt quickly and made signs in the direction of the altar. One of the strangers was injured; a bloodied arm in a torn sleeve hung at his side. Another man caught him as he fell toward the floor.

“A truce while we speak,” Wanderer said in the holy speech, and then repeated the words in my language.

“There is always peace in Her presence,” a man with a gray beard answered in my tongue.

“You have injured the boy there.” Wanderer pointed at Shadow. “But I’ve hastened his healing, and I can tend to your companion’s wound. I must speak truth here—I know some healing arts.” The graybeard frowned. “I must tend to him before he loses more blood. Give me a truce, and I’ll heal him.”

The graybeard nodded. “Truce. Until you heal him. We swear a truce by the Lady. But if Firemaker dies, we must take a life from you outside.”

I would be the one to die, for I had led my companions here; Wanderer would never let them take Shadow.

The strangers helped their wounded companion to a couch while Wanderer rummaged in his pack, then told me to gather more wood.

I built another fire outside the door. Wanderer stripped off the man’s shirt, and I saw the gash my knife had made; the wound was ugly, but not as deep as it might have been. I began to hope. Wanderer took out a piece of cloth and tied the man’s arm above his wound.

“What is that?” the graybeard asked.

“He mustn’t lose more blood,” Wanderer said. “I’ll loosen this in a little while and see if the bleeding has stopped. Heat more water, Arvil.”

When the water bubbled, Wanderer bathed the arm. Firemaker’s jaw tightened above his short brown beard; his large blue eyes showed fear rather than pain. I had seen wounds washed before, but never as Wanderer cleaned them, with water heated over a fire. The men I had lived with had washed with what water they had, and if a wound festered, that was the Lady’s will.

Wanderer loosened the cloth, then peered at the arm. “You are fortunate,” he said. “Your muscles aren’t cut so badly that you cannot use your arm again, and the blood isn’t pulsing from your wound, but I’ll have to sew it closed if you’re to heal.” He took out his bone needle again and dipped it into the water I had carried to him.

“What unholiness is this?” the graybeard asked.

“Do you think I would practice unholiness in a shrine?” Wanderer bent over Firemaker. “You’ve pledged to take one of our lives if I cannot heal him. You must let me do what I can.”