“I am so sorry, Durak,” she murmured.
Durak tried to respond and found he could not. As soon as Zena had touched him the images rose up in his mind again: Rofina begging with her eyes, Rofina swaying seductively, allowing the Leader to lie above her and taking him into her body, and his chest became too constricted for speech.
That had happened every time he had held Rofina or even spoken to her since that terrible night. Over and over again the images had come, blocking all other thoughts, all other sights, blocking Rofina herself. She was not there any more, only the images.
It would have been better if the icy water had taken him as if had taken Rofina, Durak thought despairingly. For him, there was no relief, would never be relief. The images would come to him every day of his life, blocking all else. Only death could erase them.
Another thought followed: death could still come to him if he wished it. All he had to do was to walk into the icy water as Rofina had, or just to climb up to this high pass again when winter came and wait for the cold, the freezing rain, the blinding snow to numb him, send him spiraling down into death as Rofina had spiraled….
Durak smiled, a small, private smile. Yes. That was what he would do, not now, while the others were watching, but later, when winter came, when he was alone. It would not be long before that time came. Summer was half gone already, and as soon as the first snows came he would climb up to this high cold place and wait for death to take him. Then, finally, the images would cease and he would be at peace. He smiled again, comforted at last.
CHAPTER TWELVE
They buried Rofina in the meadow, not beneath the poppies that had destroyed her, but in the place where she had spent so many happy hours with Durak. Zena was touched to see that he had made a small circle of stones to mark the spot.
“So that the Goddess will be certain to find her,” he explained, and the pain in his voice was so deep no one could answer. Zena hugged him instead and felt nothing but bone. Still more flesh had gone from his emaciated frame and she wondered if he would ever recover fully from the tragedy of Rofina’s loss.
Reluctantly, she left him brooding over Rofina’s grave and followed Runor back to the clearing. The change in the old wise one was even more pronounced now that she was back in her village. The people had already begun to come to her for advice and guidance, as they had so many years ago, and despite her grief at Rofina’s death, their newfound respect gave Runor a kind of radiance.
Her tribe mates were also eager to hear more of the Goddess. Word had spread of Zena’s dramatic appearance during the ceremony in the village to the west, of the infant and how he had been saved, of how Mara had found the Leader insensible with mead. They had been shocked by the revelation and even more shocked by what had happened to Rofina. Men who could do such things to an innocent young woman could not be good, and that meant the Great Spirit could not be good, either. Runor and the Goddess she represented must have been right all along, they decided, wondering how they could so easily have been persuaded to abandon beliefs that had nurtured and supported them in the past. Some reverted quickly to the old ways; others found the transition more difficult, but Runor was always there to help.
She asked the young men and women to clear an ancient circle of stones that had been used by their ancestors and their own tribe before the Leader had come, and it was there that the villagers gathered. Set under a ridge high in the hills above the village, the stones and the circle they formed had been almost invisible beneath bushes and tangled vines until Runor had them cleared. It was a peaceful place, warmed early by the sun and protected from winds, and fragrant with flowers, but at the same time it offered a glorious view of the surrounding mountains.
Truly, Runor was her people’s wise one again, Zena realized. This village at least was in good hands. She did not underestimate Korg and the Leader, though. They were still formidable enemies. If they had been able to wrest control of a village such as this, with a wise woman as strong as Runor, they could take control of any village. She looked anxiously over her shoulder, almost expecting to see them lurking in the shadows, watching, waiting…
Runor seemed to sense her thoughts. “They will return,” she said calmly. “One day they will return. But I will be ready for them.”
“The Goddess will be ready,” Runor corrected herself when Mara came up behind her and gave her a sharp glance.
Mara sat down beside her mother. “I do not like to think of you facing Korg and the Leader alone,” she said worriedly. Eager to see her son again, Mara had decided to go with Zena to her village and live there for a time while Mara-Sun became accustomed to her. “Perhaps it would be better if I stayed here,” she continued, “at least until Zena and Lief and the others return after the winter snows have gone.”
Zena saw a flash of fear, quickly hidden, come into Runor’s face, and wondered what had caused it. “No,” Runor declared firmly. “You must go with Zena. To be with your child again is most important. And I am certain Korg and the Leader will not return to spend the winter here as they have in the past. We are Mother People now, and they know they do not belong here. They will stay further north where the people welcome them.
“Besides,” she added with a smile, “I am not alone, not any more. There are many here who will help me. The Goddess will help as well. This She has promised.”
“We will take great care of Runor,” the villagers assured Mara. ‘she is our wise one, after all.” Still, the parting was hard when it came. Mara hugged her mother over and over, unwilling to leave her, and repeated her assurances that she would soon return with Mara-Sun for a visit. Runor tried to keep her face full of courage, but Zena thought she saw grief beneath the mask. A sudden perception came to her, that Runor believed she would not see her daughter again. She hoped she was wrong.
Mara was silent and withdrawn for most of the journey, but as they came closer to Zena’s village, her face brightened.
“To see Mara-Sun was only a dream for so long,” she told Zena. “And now it will happen!” Her eyes widened in sudden apprehension. “What if he does not want to be with me? He might cry and run away.”
“Yes, he might,” Zena answered. “He does not know you, after all. But you have only to wait. Mara-Sun is a friendly child and will soon learn to love you.” She smiled, recognizing her sensible sister in the answer.
Her prediction proved to be true. All the children came running as they entered the village. Mara-Sun, who was one of the youngest, trailed behind. He stopped short and shoved his fingers into his mouth when he saw that there was a stranger in the group.
Zena swung him into her arms. “I have brought you a special friend, Mara-Sun. Her name is almost the same as yours.”
Mara-Sun considered this information while Mara watched his face, transfixed. It was round, plump-cheeked, and his hair was the color of pale grains. Tears pricked hard behind her eyelids, but she pushed them back determinedly. It would not help for Mara-Sun to see her weep!
“Shall I tell you my name?” she asked gently. Mara-Sun nodded.
“It is Mara,” she said. “My name is Mara.”
His eyes went round with surprise. “Mara,” he murmured tentatively, frowning Abruptly, he held out his arms to her. “Mara carry,” he said firmly.
Mara took him into her arms. Now she could not stop the tears. She buried her face in Mara-Sun’s hair, so he would not notice, as she carried him toward the clearing. The pale strands felt like feathers against her skin.
Watching, Zena took a deep, shaky breath and tried not to weep herself. Then she saw Larak and all other thoughts vanished.
Larak pulled her into her arms. “To see you again brings such joy! I felt many times that something was wrong, that you needed help, but there was no way to know, only to trust the Mother who told me all would be well, but still it is hard...”
Zena could not speak at all. She held on to Larak with all her strength and felt her body go limp with relief. She was with Larak
again, Larak who was wiser than anyone, even Lief; she could talk to her again, ask her questions and tell her all that had happened and see what she thought.
“Oh, Larak,” she breathed. “I have missed you badly.”
Larak hugged her hard; then she took a step back to look into her face. She saw immediately that Zena had changed. There was strength in her that had not been there before, strength that came from within. Larak had always known it was there, but she had worried that part of it had died with the sister who had disappeared, as if both were needed for the strength to be fully realized. Her shadow, Zena called her. Now they were coming together, and that was good.
“You have changed,” she said aloud. “Yes, you have changed.” She saw Lief watching them, and knew immediately that she had been right about him. He had helped Zena most of all. She smiled at him, aware once again that they understood each other without words. That did not happen very often, and Larak was grateful.
“As soon as you have had food and drink,” she continued, “you must tell me everything that has happened.”
The telling took many days. First, Brulet and Mara were introduced and their stories told, then Zena and Lief and Hular took turns telling of all that had happened to them during their absence. Durak did not want to speak, and when they came to the part about Rofina he wandered away and did not return for many hours. Sorlin followed him. She had been terribly distressed by Rofina’s death, and Zena hoped the sturdy young woman would be able to help Durak.
“You have been thrust very suddenly into your role,” Larak observed, inspecting Zena’s weary face with concerned eyes. “That is not easy.”
“No. It has not been easy. I learned so much from Runor, but there are still many questions for which I have no answer.
“Lief has helped me a great deal too,” Zena added, smiling at him. “Always, he is there, listening, watching, and advising. We have become very close.”
“That, too, I can see,” Larak agreed with a grateful glance at Lief. “But tell me of these questions that are so hard to answer.”
“There are so many, like how it is possible for the Leader to believe that what he does is good even when newborn infants are killed, and if he does believe he is right, then why is he so different than myself? I believe the Goddess and all She teaches is good, the Leader believes the Great Spirit and all he teaches is good, so why are we different? And why did I feel so wrong because of what I did during the ceremony?”
“To act as you did may have been necessary,” Larak said gently. “It was the only way to save the infant, and that was most important. I suspect, though, that the Goddess - and you - would prefer less dramatic methods in the future.”
Zena smiled. “That is true. I do not think I will use the effects again unless they are absolutely necessary. But I still worry that trying to persuade people to return to the Goddess is no different from what Korg and the Leader do when they convince people to follow the Great Spirit.”
Lief answered for Larak. “They are very different,” he countered strongly. “You do not tell people what they should think but show them another way and allow them to choose. Nor would you punish those who do not agree with you or make them afraid or force them to obey, as the Leader and Korg do. That is the path to evil.”
Larak nodded. “Lief is right. To tell others how to think or to harm them is not the Mother’s way. We would certainly never sacrifice infants,” she added forcefully.
“But many who once called themselves Mother People allowed harm to be done to others,” Zena objected. “They helped Korg and the Leader to punish those who do not obey and even to sacrifice infants. They must have known that to kill a child was wrong, but they still watched while it was done.”
“They were no longer Mother People,” Larak replied, and her voice was stern. “They had forgotten the Mother; otherwise they could never have acted as they did. That is why your task is so important. You must help them understand not just what was done to them, but what they did to themselves when they allowed themselves to believe that what they did was right, when they knew so well that it was not.”
“How is it possible for people to deceive themselves that way?”
“Fear,” Larak said grimly. “Fear for themselves or others, fear of disaster if they do not obey. Sometimes self-deception springs from a desire for power, but more often it comes from the need to be accepted, to act as others act, to follow what others do. For most people that may be the most powerful need of all.”
“And some people are simply brutal,” Lief added soberly. “They take pleasure in harming others and welcome a belief that tells them it is right to be violent. Cruelty seems born in them, or perhaps they become so because they have been treated cruelly themselves. It is almost like a sickness then. Once they have mistreated or killed others, these men cannot seem to stop.”
“I fear it is so,” Larak agreed sadly. She turned to Zena and took her hand. “Remember always that the purpose of an act - to keep people safe, to ensure more food, to please a spirit or a leader, can never justify cruelty or violence. As the years pass there will be many who will commit acts of terrible savagery to achieve their purposes, but we, the Mother People, must never forget that this is wrong, no matter how good the purpose is made to sound.”
“I will remember,” Zena answered soberly. “I will always remember.”
“Good.” Larak smiled. “I think we have had enough of serious thoughts for a time. Let us return to the others, see how Mara and her little one are getting on, how Brulet is settling in.”
Zena followed her into the village clearing. Hular and Brulet and Mara were playing with Mara-Sun, and all of them seemed happy and content. Never before had she seen Mara happy, Zena realized, and smiled at the sight. Much of Mara’s joy was due to Mara-Sun, but she suspected part of it was also due to Hular, who seldom let Mara out of his sight and seemed smitten with both her and her little son.
Leaving them to their games, she went to find Lief, who had gone to the secluded glen they used when they wanted to be alone.
“You are smiling,” he noted. “What makes you smile like that?”
“The sight of you waiting for me,” she replied, “but also Mara and Hular. Are they not an excellent combination?”
“Excellent indeed,” he agreed, “though not as excellent as us.” Reaching out a lazy hand, he drew her down to the mossy ground beside him. Zena tumbled into his arms, immensely grateful that they were finally able to enjoy each other without distractions.
Lief put her thoughts into words, as he so often did. “Let us enjoy these precious moments to the full, my always and greatest love.” And so they did, flying together in Akat to heights of delirious joy and then tumbling slowly, very slowly, back into the world around them.
Their bliss did not last. A few days later, a messenger came from a nearby tribe to ask Zena and Lief and any others who wished, to come to their village and speak of the Mother’s way, which had been lost to them for many years The story of how Zena had saved the infant had impressed them enormously, they said, and they wanted to know more, as did many other tribes.
Zena wished their reprieve could have lasted longer, but both she and Lief were determined to go. A week later, they set out with Durak and Sorlin. Neither Mara nor Hular came this time, Mara because she wanted to stay with her son, Hular because he wanted to stay with Mara. Hular, so kind and sensitive to others’ needs, was exactly the right person to ensure that Mara’s next experience of Akat would be far better than her first, Zena thought with satisfaction.
For the rest of the summer, until the turning leaves warned them that the winter snows would not be long in coming, they traveled from village to village, speaking of the ways of the Mother, the ways of love and compassion. They met with mixed results. In places where word had spread of the happenings in Brulet’s village they were greeted eagerly; in others, many people were deeply suspicious or afraid. Often, Zena had the strong feeling that Korg and t
he Leader had been there just before them, warning the people against them, or that they were lurking nearby, waiting to speak to the villagers once they had left. They never saw the two men, however, nor did the villagers speak of them, though Sorlin, expert at hiding so she could overhear conversations, told them that the women spoke of a reclusive man who traveled with Korg and the Leader and made mead for them. No one had ever seen this man, the women said, so they thought he must be a spirit, a powerful one who put spells on those who disobeyed.
Lief disagreed. Spirits didn’t shoot arrows, like the ones that were aimed at them twice as they left one of these villages. Lief got a brief glimpse of a big man crouched in the trees before they all scattered and ran. No one was hurt, but it was clear they had an enemy. Lief suspected the man had been trying to kill Durak because he had taken Rofina away from the Leader. Korg and the Leader would not forget such a transgression. Oddly, though, some of the arrows had also come close to him. He must be more careful, he realized, and he must watch Durak with even greater care. That was no easy task since Durak spent long hours wandering alone in the woods, even at night.
By the time fall came, they were all exhausted. There was little of the freedom he had enjoyed when he traveled alone, Lief mused, and for an instant wondered what he had given up. The sight of the hut the others had prepared for him and Zena when they finally returned to their home banished the thought. To be in this warm and private place with Zena beside him all through the long winter was the most glorious thought he could imagine, and he had no desire to change it.
To everyone’s surprise, Durak abruptly decided to return to Runor’s village and spend the winter there. Zena and Lief were concerned at first, afraid of letting him go alone, but when they saw how contented Durak looked with his decision, they did not object. Perhaps Runor would be able to help him.
ICE BURIAL: The Oldest Human Murder Mystery (The Mother People Series Book 3) Page 16
