Table of Contents
PART ONE - THE ENCLAVELAISSA
ARVIL
LAISSA
ARVIL
LAISSA
ARVIL
LAISSA
ARVIL
LAISSA
ARVIL
LAISSA
ARVIL
PART TWO - THE REFUGEBIRANA
ARVIL
BIRANA
ARVIL
BIRANA
ARVIL
BIRANA
ARVIL
BIRANA
ARVIL
BIRANA
PART THREE - THE SHRINELAISSA
THE SHORE OF WOMEN
Pamela Sargent
"A cautionary tale, well-written, with excellent character characterization, a fine love story, as well as much food for thought...an elegant science fiction novel." —Ann McCaffrey
This classic work of feminist science fiction finds the world reordered. Following a nuclear holocaust, women have used advanced technology to expel men from their cities, bringing them back only for purposes of loveless reproduction under the guise of powerful goddesses. When one young woman, Birana, questions her society's deception, she finds herself exiled amongst the very men she has been taught to scorn. As Birana and her reluctant male protector Arvil grow closer, their feelings for each other just might mend their fractured world—if they somehow manage to survive.
“Pamela Sargent gives meticulous attention to a believable scenario....a captivating tale both from the aspect of the lessons that the author tries to impart and from the skills she has used to tell it.” —The Rocky Mountain News
“How many perfect science fiction novels have I read? Not many. There are at most three or four such works in a decade. Pamela Sargent’s THE SHORE OF WOMEN is one of the few perfect novels of the 1980s….Her story of a woman exiled from a safe high-tech city of women, the man ordered by the gods to kill her, and their search for a place of safety, is powerful, beautiful, and true.” —The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
eISBN: 978-1-61756-675-2
Copyright © 1986 by Pamela Sargent
Published by E-Reads. All rights reserved.
www.ereads.com
For Shirley Sargent
The glory about us clinging
Of the glorious futures we see,
Our souls with high music ringing,
O men! it must ever be
That we dwell, in our dreaming and our singing,
A little apart from ye.
Arthur O’Shaughnessy,
“The Music Makers”
THE
ENCLAVE
LAISSA
I had expected Birana to weep. I had thought that when she was finally led to the wall, she would plead with the city, even though her plea would have been futile. Instead, she gazed steadily at the women who had pronounced her sentence, as if condemning those who had condemned her.
It was Yvara, Birana’s mother, who had committed the first crime, and who had thus led her daughter into committing the second. Yvara had fought with a woman named Ciella; in a moment of rage, Yvara had picked up a knife and had stabbed the other woman.
At that moment, Yvara must have realized that her punishment would be severe. She would be punished not just because of this deed, but because of who and what she was.
Yvara might have won a little sympathy, or at least some understanding, if she had summoned a physician to Ciella’s side. She might have avoided our worst punishment. Instead, she had stood over the bleeding woman and had waited for her to die. Birana might have saved herself had she gone for help, but she had waited with her mother and had done nothing.
Only with Ciella dead could Yvara have found a way to conceal her crime, or to argue that she had acted in her own defense. It was no secret among Yvara’s neighbors that the two women had often had violent disagreements, that both had been warned before. With Ciella dead, perhaps Yvara could have made a convincing case for herself; so our city’s Council had argued before passing sentence. Birana would then be the only witness and might have lied to protect her mother; even under questioning, the two might have found a way to conceal the truth or to cast doubt on events.
This was what our Council claimed, but I saw matters quite differently. I imagined Yvara, frozen with fear, suddenly unable to act. I saw Birana, out of loyalty to her mother, refusing to leave her side and reveal her deed to others.
But the two were discovered. Ciella did not die, though she would carry the scars of her wounds for the rest of her life. She told her story calmly before the Council in a gentle, subdued voice, condemning Yvara and Birana with each soft word. Yvara was still when she heard her own sentence; she screamed out her rage only when her daughter’s was pronounced, though she had shown few signs of concern for Birana before. They would both be expelled from our city and would never enter another. It was a death sentence, for all knew that they could not survive outside.
A few, even then, claimed that the two had not merited our most severe punishment; Ciella, after all, had lived. The Council called such thinking misguided. Ciella had survived, but Yvara had clearly been prepared to watch her die; she was a murderer at heart, and her daughter had connived with her to hide the deed. Threatening the life of another woman could not be tolerated; any woman’s life was too precious. Had such deeds gone unpunished in our past, we would never have been able to build our world on the ruins of the old; we could not have survived that struggle.
Yvara had tried to kill another; she had made her daughter an accomplice. Our city could not allow two such women to live in our midst. An example had to be made, or the life our ancestors had so painfully created for us over the centuries would be endangered. Had Yvara been only another woman, one without her particular responsibilities, she might have paid for her deed in another way. But she was one of the Mothers of the City, and one of those who were, or would be, the mothers of men. More was asked of her than of others.
I watched Birana as she stood inside the wall next to the door of the chamber through which she was to pass to her death. Her blue eyes seemed to accuse us all of cruelty; she might have been passing sentence on us. She and her mother had been given some food and water, but no tools that might help them survive; the provisions would only prolong their punishment for a little while and allow them to reflect on their deed. They would die in the world outside our city’s wall, but we would not strike the fatal blow ourselves; we would let the world render that judgment.
At that moment, I found myself thinking that, if anyone could survive outside, Birana might have more of a chance than most. She had always been strong. During the time I had spent with her, she had thrown herself into physical efforts almost recklessly. She could outrun most girls; she had galloped through our parks on horseback while the rest of us kept to the paths at a trot. There had been times when I had wondered if our city could hold her wilder spirit.
Then Yvara spoke. “I have something to say.” The women standing with her in the long corridor inside the wall were silent, perhaps expecting some show of repentance. “I won’t let death take me,” Yvara continued. “I’ll find a way to live. I might have wounded Ciella’s body, but she was killing my soul. I acted in self-defense, whether you see that or not. We’ll live, and we’ll come to haunt this city and all our cities. I think that others who were condemned still live outside, and I’ll find them. There is much hidden from us, lands over which our ships never pass. There will be a refuge for us, a place where other exiles have learned to live apart from the cities. You’ll ha
ve no victory over me.”
As strong and resourceful as the two were, I could not believe that. I was certain that Yvara did not believe it, that she was only striking a useless blow at her judges, refusing to show the fear she must have been feeling.
Birana did not speak. Once, I had called her my friend. She was eighteen at the time of her sentence, less than a year older than I. We had been close as young girls, but as we grew older, her forceful ways and her constant questioning of our teachers began to disturb me. Birana questioned everything and argued with the answers she was given. Soon, I no longer sought her out, for I was afraid to admit that I had many of the same questions. I had been wise to avoid her; her questions and her carelessness had condemned her. If she had asked fewer questions, if she had accepted the world as it had to be, she might have understood her duty and might not have been expelled.
I might have wept for my former friend as the door of the chamber closed behind her and Yvara. I might have felt more than a momentary pang as I pondered what awaited them on the other side of the wall amid the snow-covered hills. I sorrowed, but part of me was grateful that I had grown apart from Birana and that therefore her act could not tarnish me. I did not go to see her and had watched her expulsion over my screen, telling myself that she would not have been comforted by my presence, although I also knew that it would have done me no good to seek her out then. I could do nothing for her. I felt no shame, no sense of having failed her.
Instead, Birana’s fate only made me dwell more on my own situation. At that time, my mother was moving dangerously close to a different kind of disobedience, and I feared what might happen to me if she persisted in her ways. I would be taking on the responsibilities of a woman soon; I had waited a long time for that, and my mind was on my approaching celebration.
Birana had once been close to me. We had shared secrets while playing our childish games; then we had drifted apart. She was gone, and I had to forget the blue-eyed girl who would touchmy life no more.
Eilaan came to speak to Mother two days later. At first I thought she had come to wish me well; now that I was a woman at last, I was to celebrate with my friends that evening. But Eilaan’s old face was solemn. She barely glanced in my direction.
I was sitting on the floor with Button, trying to teach him a card game. As Eilaan walked across our white carpet, Mother stood up, but did not smile.
“Dorlei,” the older woman said quickly, “I must speak to you. I have left messages, and you refuse to respond to them.”
My mother sat down again. “I know what you’re going to tell me.” She waved a hand in my direction. “Laissa, take Button to your room.”
“Let her stay.” Eilaan sat down on the couch near me. “She might as well hear what I have to say. She’s old enough. Womanhood came later to her than it does to others.”
This was so. I was seventeen, older than my friends had been when they had celebrated menarche. Women of our clan often matured late, according to Mother; she had refused to hasten my growth, though she might have done so. Our trait was a useful one, she believed; it had perhaps kept our ancestors from wearing out their bodies with birthing children too soon. A long childhood, so she thought, was a fitting prelude to the long life I would have as a woman.
Eilaan tugged at her white pants nervously and smoothed her green tunic, then frowned. “Button.” Her mouth twisted as she said the name of Mother’s son.
“It’s just what I call him,” Mother said. “It’s his nose. It looks like a button, don’t you think?” Her voice was high and strained.
“He’s only a boy. He doesn’t need a name. How old is he now?”
“You know how old he is, Eilaan.”
“Over five. Nearly six years old, I think. Y ou should have sent him outside before now.”
Mother leaned back on her couch. “He was so small. And then there was his illness—you know that. I couldn’t have sent him out then. I was trying to build up his strength.”
“The boy looks healthy enough to me.”
“Yes, he’s well now, and strong.” Then Mother told a lie. “But I’ve tried to contact his father, and I can’t reach him. He hasn’t been to a shrine in a while.”
I kept silent, even though I knew that Mother had not sent out such a call. Button picked up a card and peered at it.
“Then send him out with someone else,” Eilaan said.
“I would rather not,” Mother responded, and this time her voice had an edge. “I think a biological father is more likely to care for his own child.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Dorlei. It may be customary to send them out with their fathers, but those creatures can’t tell who carries their genes and who doesn’t. One boy is like another.”
“I think they can tell.” Mother lifted her chin. “I think somehow they sense it.”
“The boy’s father might be dead, in which case you’ll have to give the lad to someone else.” Eilaan leaned forward. “And you’re not helping the boy by keeping him here. He must be sent out soon so that he can learn how to survive. The longer he stays here, the harder it will be for him to adapt.”
“I know that. But it’s still winter outside. Wouldn’t he have a better chance if I waited until spring?”
I looked at Button, wondering how much he understood. He glanced at Eilaan warily, shook his blond head, and went back to his cards, turning them face up on the white carpet.
Eilaan sighed. “I don’t want to say this, but it’s best that you hear it from me. You are getting very close to outright rebellion, to setting yourself against our city and our customs. If you persist, the Council may have to speak to you. You are one of the mothers of men. You have a place of honor because you’re one of those entrusted with that duty. Perhaps you should not be one of us. Perhaps you should take your place among those we serve, if you cannot manage your obligations, and let another woman take your position.”
I froze, unable to look at either woman.
“I am not rebelling,” Mother said very slowly. “I have every intention of doing what I must. I only want to be sure that Button— that the boy has a chance.”
“Your disgrace isn’t the worst that can befall you, Dorlei. There is also expulsion.”
“You have no reason to threaten me, and certainly not to expel me.”
Eilaan shook her head. “I’d like to trust you, but I can’t. The Council will be watching you. If you don’t call a man to take him, someone else will hand him over to the next man who is called to the wall. If you persist in your disobedience, you’ll pay the penalty. If you don’t care about yourself, think of Laissa and the shame you’ll bring to her.”
“I understand,” Mother said.
I glared at her. How could this be happening, on the day of my party? It was all I could think of—that the party celebrating my menarche would be ruined.
Eilaan held out her hands. “I know I sound harsh,” she said in a gentler tone, “but much is troubling us now. I spoke to a friend in Devva today. That city is divided, even though the women there know that they must act soon. There are men within sight of Devva who have built a town and have united several tribes. They must be destroyed, as an example to others and for our own protection, and yet there are women in Devva who believe that those men should be allowed to live. It seems that there are others as sentimental as you.”
“Those men cannot threaten Devva.”
“They don’t threaten it now, but their arrogance will grow. We must strike at the root. We’ve been complacent for much too long. If Devva doesn’t act, another city will. The man leading that pack has not even troubled to conceal his thoughts and hopes when praying to us. He dreams of challenging the Goddess.”
“The Goddess.” Mother laughed. “You speak as if She were real.”
“The men believe in Her. We had better see that they keep doing so, that they both worship and fear Her—it’s the only way we can control them. But the way in which we present the Deity to those outside doesn
’t affect my belief. We have to give men a belief they can understand—they aren’t capable of anything more. My belief is more complex.”
Mother shrugged. “You know that I’m not a believer, yet you keep trying to make me one.”
“It might be better for you if you were.”
My mother and Eilaan gazed at each other in silence as Button slapped down his last card and then climbed to his feet. He took a step toward Mother, holding out his arms. I grabbed his hand as Mother warned him away with her eyes.
Eilaan had seen the boy’s gesture. “You give that lad too much affection, Dorlei.”
“I don’t.”
“Oh, yes, you do. It’s not good for him.” Eilaan plucked at her long silver hair as she watched Button; I pulled him to the floor, picked up his cards, and handed them to him. “You have to let him go.” The old woman said the words softly. “I know what it’s like. I had to send out two boys when I was younger. I know how one can come to feel that they’re more than they actually are. But they aren’t like us. Their feelings are shallower and more violent; they cannot give life and so must deal in death; their minds are narrow and incapable of higher intellectual functions. They seem most like us when they’re children, but their true nature is revealed when they grow older. If your boy lived among us for long, he would sense his limitations, however dimly, and would only grow more unhappy. This isn’t new for you. You’ve sent out a boy before.”
“I understand,” Mother said.
“I’m sure you do.” Eilaan rose. “I trust that you’ll do the right thing.”
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