by Diana Rivers
“And I for you.” For just a moment, she pressed her cheek against my knee, then she straightened abruptly. “Come back soon, Tazzia, and be sure to come for the wedding. It will be very fine. It is not every day that the headman gets married.”
Before I left, I reached for Arnath’s hand and looked straight into his eyes. “Is this well with you? Is this what you want? If not, you have only to say. You do not have to stay.”
For just a moment there was the flash of a smile not so different from his brother’s. It was the first time I had ever seen him smile. “I believe it is what we both want, Tazzil of Zelindar. It gets me out from under your feet and gives me some work to do that matters. In Zelindar there is nothing for a man to do. Women do it all. Tell my mother I am needed here. Tell her I will see her soon.”
When I finally rode off, there were already several Kourmairi girls hanging around Lomaire’s gate, giggling and looking at Arnath with curiosity. I hoped one of them would find a way to soften the heart of that confused and lonely boy. Riding home alone, I felt more lighthearted than I had in weeks. I was very excited to be bringing my mother such good news from Ghira, and I hoped Zheran would not be too upset with my creative meddling.
* * *
Ghira and Lomaire had a fine wedding, the finest I have ever seen. It was much finer even than Yolande and Lorren’s, but I liked it less. For my taste, there an excess of everything, especially drink. My sister loved it. For her it was a vindication, a grand public acceptance after all the slights she had suffered and the shame she had endured. I could tell that my mother was very pleased to see my sister so well settled.
For Ghira’s sake, I tried to be happy; for myself, I was less so. After much urging, I finally drank some brew, and so I went about for the rest of the day with my Hadra powers all muddled and my head throbbing. Of course I knew better. I had been fool enough to let myself get challenged by Lomaire. Poor man, he was much confused by the Hadra, never knowing whether to treat us with the courtesy and condescension he reserved for women or with the bluff hardiness he shared with men. He was a good man. He was a good friend and staunch ally to Zelindar, and he truly loved my sister, but after spending three nights under his roof, I felt like an Oolanth cat about to explode with rage. The idea of sharing his bed was beyond comprehension. Ghira, however, appeared to be flourishing. She was almost like a girl again, gay and lighthearted and very pretty.
People came from everywhere. Many of the Hadra came from Zelindar, accompanied by my mother and Zheran and some of the other Kourmairi women. Kourmairi from Indaran mingled easily with the folk of Zelandria. Friana seemed particularly pleased for Ghira, as if she had arranged the whole thing herself—which I suspect she had. This time, when Ossan and Lomaire met, they appeared to be friendly and at ease with each other. Hereschell and Yolande were there, along with the others from Wanderer Hill. Those two seemed very much together. Indeed, I had never seen Hereschell look that way at any woman; Yolande appeared to be returning his loving glances. Whenever I happened to catch sight of Arnath, he had some young woman clinging to his arm. He grinned and waved when he caught my eye.
It was a hot day. We spent our time between the feasting tables and the river, where there was much splashing and shouting and running in and out of the water. For me, most of the day passed in confusion. I did not know how to deal with being a Hadra and a Kourmairi at the same time. It felt as if the different parts of my life were colliding, rather than merging. Perhaps that was the real secret of why I was fool enough to drink.
What I preferred to the wedding itself was the dinner we had the night before, a dinner for family and close friends. A big plank table had been set up under the gobal tree in Lomaire’s yard, and torches had been stuck in the ground for light. What an amazing meal! It was amazing for me because in some ways it was so very ordinary. We all sat around the table together as a family. Besides some friends and relatives of Lomaire, there were: my mother; my sister and her future husband with her four children and his four children; my lover with her two sons and our two daughters, one of each betrothed to the other. Our other daughter had brought her young lover, and Zheran’s other son had one of the prettiest girls I had ever seen sitting roguishly on his lap for much of the meal. I kept looking at all of them together there. It was so normal, so ordinary. This was something I never thought to have again in my life, and it made me want to cry. I thought briefly of my father. Then I thought of my brother Kerris, and wondered if any of the Wanderers had been able to find him in Eezore. I even had a moment of missing him, but soon I was caught by the wonderful aromas of the food and fell to eating with a good appetite. Ghira and the other women had done well.
There was a strangely dressed man sitting close to the end of the table, talking intently with Lomaire. We had not yet been introduced. I assumed him to be one of Lomaire’s friends. There was something familiar in the man’s manner, if not his appearance, but every time I glanced in his direction, he looked away. Finally, during a lull in the flow of talk, he stood up and raised his glass to make a toast. “To Tazmirrel, a woman who has withstood all the hardships life could throw at her and emerged victorious.” Recognition hit me like a hammer. “Kerris,” I whispered in amazement. Then I shouted, “Kerris!” and leapt to my feet. With no regard for the glass in his hand, I ran to him and threw myself into his arms, forgetting in that one moment all the bitterness that lay between us.
After that, we had little to say to each other, though I was very glad to know Kerris was still alive and well somewhere in the world. My mother, of course, was overjoyed. As soon as the dinner was over, she took him by the arm and led him about, proudly introducing him to everyone as her son. Before he left Zelandria, I watched Kerris working out some complicated dealings with Lomaire and Hereschell and Pell. Regardless of my feelings, I could see Kerris was back in my life—and not just because of my mother.
* * *
Summer passed into fall. I sensed the baby long before any bulge showed. Too young, too young, my heart cried out, but that is the way with Kourmairi women, and certainly my little foster daughter Ishnu had been given every chance to make her choices. I wondered if she herself knew. I could feel the new life every time I came near her, could feel its little spirit reaching out into the world. Inspired by Ghira’s wedding, Ishnu and Morkel were talking about a wedding in the spring. They were waiting that long at Zheran’s insistence. I thought it might well be after the fact, after the baby. How would Ishnu react? Like a Hadra or a Kourmairi? Did she already know and was she keeping quiet with her secret? I could sense nothing from Zheran. It hurt to keep secrets from her or from my mother, but I did not want to be the one to say. Ursa gave me knowing glances that told me she already knew. That girl was becoming more like a Hadra every day.
After years of wandering about, not knowing where I was going to put my head down each night, I suddenly found myself as caught up in domestic concerns as any village wife. On top of everything else, Yolande and Hereschell were talking about the possibility of marrying, though she had said many times after Lorren’s death that she would never marry again. Perhaps, with Arnath added to this, we could have a rash of spring weddings, culminating in a huge, week-long celebration. Lomaire had promised both young men a share of land at Zelandria, though, in truth, some land should have gone to the young women as well. Ishnu should have gotten the share that would rightfully have belonged to her parents, and Jeelia, also, should have her own plot. I was determined to speak to Lomaire on the matter, but in the end, other things intervened to take my attention.
* * *
I thought that my life had reached a place of peace at last. I thought it was now time to reap the harvest of all I had struggled so hard to plant. Then, on a cold midwinter day, Olna came to fetch me, saying Alyeeta had sent her. I felt a rush of fear, but Olna would say nothing more. I already knew it was useless to try reading her mind. Olna turned and rushed off while I hurried after her.
Alyeeta was lying in
her bed, surrounded by the other Witches. She turned to look at me. The moment her eyes met mine, I knew. “I am dying, Child,” she said in a low voice. “And I needed to see you one last time.”
I was thirty then and had been the councilor of Zelindar for many years. Only Alyeeta could have called me “Child” that way. My heart stopped like a stone in my breast. I knew beyond any doubt that she spoke the truth. That did not stop my despairing protest. I threw myself down beside her bed. “Oh, Alyeeta, do not tell me that, not so soon after Lorren’s death.”
She was shaking her head. “Child, it is not a thing I tell you or do not tell you. It is a fact. I will not wake up in the morning. I know it. Witches always know when they are about to die. I have far, far overstayed my time here, mostly for your sake. And now that time is up. There is nothing left of me, only a hollow husk. Tazzil, you must hear this and accept it and understand it, because this time there is no way around it.”
“Oh, Alyeeta, Alyeeta, please, I cannot bear it!”
“Crying and begging will avail you nothing. It is time to say good-bye. Tazzil, please, out of our long time together, do just this one thing without an argument.”
“But it is your life we are speaking of…”
“Yes, my life. Mine to choose, and I am at the end of it. No matter how much we may love one another in this world, we are really here for ourselves. If we are here only for others, we become a hollow, empty thing, the walking dead. I stayed for you, long after I was already weary of living. It has been very entertaining. I would not have missed it for the world. I am incredibly lucky for this friendship. We both are. But now it is over.”
“But I wanted to finish the Zildorn for you and put your books there in a safe and honored place and finish my own account for you and put it there too. Alyeeta, there are so many things I still want to do for you.”
“Then do them for me. Do them in my name. But if you have ever loved me, Tazzia, then in human kindness do not try to make me wait here any longer. Carve my name over the entryway if it pleases you, but do not ask me to stay with these tired bones in this weary flesh. The Mother calls me elsewhere.”
It was plain to see that she was weary to the bone, to the soul. I knew it was the truth that she had stayed so long because of me, and I wondered again how old she really was, wondered if she would tell me now, but of course I did not ask. Already the grieving had set in on me. When she saw the look on my face, she reached out her hand. “Child, I have loved you long and well, better than anyone else in my life. I have given you as much of myself as I could. Do not spend your time crying for me. You have much else to do. And never reproach yourself for anything between us. You have been friend and lover to me. You were the daughter I never had, the student I could entrust with my knowledge. You gave me reason to live, and hope and joy and pride besides. We have built something here together that in some measure has made up for what the Zarns destroyed. I was a recluse in the forest, close to madness, living alone with my books and my pony, when you came into my life and gave me an excuse for joining the world again. It has been a grand adventure. Good-bye, Tazzia. Goddess bless you and watch over you. As it must be. No more words now. Just give me your hand.” Even as she was speaking those last words, her voice was fading to a whisper.
I stopped protesting, put my hand in hers, and sank into silence. The other Witches sat down around us. For a long time, there was no sound in the cave but our breathing, Alyeeta’s slightly labored. From beyond the cave came the muffled sounds of Zelindar, and from beyond that, the endless sighing of the sea. All that seemed to be in another world. Alyeeta—my mother, lover, friend, teacher, and guide—was going out of my life. Before dusk, her hand suddenly tightened on mine in a convulsive grip. Her whole body tensed and shook for a moment, then, with a groan and a great sigh, her breathing stopped. It was over. Alyeeta was gone.
The pain was so sharp it felt as if someone had stabbed me in the chest with a jagged knife. By custom I should have sat quietly by the body, keeping it company, at least for that night. Instead, I leapt to my feet and ran out of the cave, wailing. In my rush, I passed a blur of startled faces. I saw Zheran’s, but I did not stop. I had to run and keep running. That strange sound kept pouring from my mouth. When I found Dancer, I rode off on her without a word to anyone, going up into the hills, away from Zelindar. I kept going for a long time, not eating, hardly sleeping, stopping only because Dancer needed to stop. It was several days before I turned back, riding slowly toward home with a heavy heart. First I went to the top of Third Hill, needing to re-enter gradually and hoping no one else would be there. I was in luck. The almost-finished Zildorn and the hilltop around it were deserted.
Carved into the archway over the Zildorn entrance by a skilled hand, probably Vestri’s, I saw the names Alyeeta Aisha Arimaine. It had been done Witch style, with her mother’s name and then her grandmother’s after hers. Below the names were the words Witch…Warrior…Wisewoman. Under that it said, She was mother to the Hadra and taught us to survive. Nearby, on a rock platform, was the statue of the Goddess that Kara had been working on for so long. The words For Alyeeta were carved in the base, and the statue was surrounded with little offerings and flowers. Moving as if in a trance, I picked some flowers from between the rocks, twined their stems together, and laid them with the other offerings.
Seeing those carved words gave her death an absolute finality. Now, at last, I was able to cry. The flowers and the offerings swam in my tears, a blur of bright colors. I was too late, too late to prepare the body or join in the ritual or say my words at the funeral fire. I am not proud of my impulse to run and will not defend it here. And I am very glad that I was not still councilor of Zelindar at the time. I can only say that the impulse was stronger than I was. I could not stay still with my grief, though now it had caught up with me anyhow. I am grateful that at least I had been there to say good-bye to the living, even if I had run away from the dead. Oh, Alyeeta! It would take a whole book to explain those few carved words over the entrance.
And what did I really know of Alyeeta’s life, before our life became her life? Suddenly, I needed to talk to the Witches, Olna in particular. I was not ready yet to face Zheran or the Hadra. Trying to stay out of sight, I took a back pathway to the cave, one known to few besides the Witches. The instant I came around the last bend, I knew. All gone! Even the glass had been taken away. The rocks of the front wall were thrown down and scattered. With my heart pounding, I climbed over the rubble and stepped into the cave. Everything was gone: the cushions, the oil lamps, the rugs, the books. Even the little dam on the bathing pool had been broken, and the water was flowing freely again. The space was back to being a cave, with almost no sign of ever having been a home. All that remained of Alyeeta was the water jug by the spring, the one Kara had made for her with Alyeeta’s name painted on it. Feeling numb and bewildered, I went to pick up the jug and sat down on a rock ledge, cradling it in my arms.
That is how Pell found me. I looked up at the sound of her feet on the loose rocks, but I could find no words of greeting. “I have been watching for you, Tazzi. I thought you might come here first.” She stood waiting until I gave a slight nod. Then she came and sat by me on the ledge, not speaking, not touching me, just giving comfort by her silent presence.
Finally, with a deep sigh, I set down the jug and turned to look at her. “So, Alyeeta is really dead. Pell, where are the Witches? I need to speak to Olna, and to Shalamith, too.”
Pell shook her head. “All gone, all the Witches.”
“What do you mean, gone? Where are they? I have to see Olna, I have to talk to her.”
She shook her head again. “They all left as soon as the funeral fire had been lit and they had said their words for Alyeeta. They did not keep her company through the night or even wait for us to speak. They seemed in a great hurry to be away from here. I know nothing of where they went, only that they were looking for an Asharan asking place.”
“They took everyt
hing with them?” I asked, gesturing around the empty cave.
“They took nothing. Everything went either to the Zildorn or to the meeting house, according to Alyeeta’s wishes. I think they did not expect to live very long. Oh, Tazzi, they looked so old, even Olna. I have never seen living women who looked so old.” Pell shuddered and turned away, but I caught the picture from her mind.
“Did they leave nothing for me, no word?”
“Olna left you a message.”
“Where is it?” I asked eagerly. “Give it to me.”
Pell opened her empty hands. “It was only a few words, nothing that needed to be written. All she said was ‘Tell Tazzia to remember her choices.’ That was her whole message.”
* * *
When I finally went home to Zheran, I was sad and silent, my head full of ghosts. I was very glad to find her alone. As I came up to our shelter, I saw her stooped over in her little garden with her hands in the dirt, surrounded by the bright ordinary magic of the flowers and vegetables that grew so abundantly for her. Suddenly, my heart was filled with love. Zheran straightened instantly, wiping her hands on her skirt. “Welcome home, Tazzil,” she said softly, opening her arms to me. I walked slowly into her embrace, and we held each other a long time without speaking. At last Zheran stepped back to look in my face. “Tazzil…?”
“Alyeeta is gone, Zheran. Perhaps in some way that is a relief for you.”
Zheran shook her head. “No, I am very sorry she is dead. In truth, I often did not understand her or trust her. Sometimes I did not even like her. But I always trusted her love for you, and I trusted her intentions for this place. We worked together teaching the children, and in the process, she became my teacher. There was much I learned from her. I admired her and sometimes even envied her, and I shall miss her very much. Come, I have something to show you.”
