“I didn’t make this world,” I said. “I entered it as you did without the power to change it. My people have been as cruel to me as to you. It wasn’t only a longing for power that led my kind to our deeds. We live at peace in our cities, and the other creatures of the world are undisturbed by us and allowed to flourish. This wasn’t so in ancient times, when men lived in what you call the Lady’s realm and used our magic. We wouldn’t harm any men without reason, and we abhor murder above all, because we could not have survived that Destruction without valuing life.”
“Your kind did not value the lives of Truthspeaker’s band. They no longer value yours.”
“Even that is nothing compared to the violence you inflict on yourselves. You could make truces with all men, friend and stranger alike, and live at peace. If you had done so in the past, women might have come to think that you could be given some of our magic and that you could change. As you are, you show only that the ancient ones were right. Ask yourself this, Arvil—if men like those who lie dead inside the shrine had our magic, what sort of world would they have made?”
“Would it be crueler to us than yours?”
I could not answer him. He had the traits of a man, and yet he had tempered them. I had seen him kill, but only in self-defense. In my short time with his band, I had seen that he did not often grow angry unless provoked; I had glimpsed some intelligence and even gentleness in his eyes. Hard as his world was, he struggled against the worst of its cruelties. Ignorant as he might be, he thought and questioned and reasoned his way to a truth, however painful that truth might be. He had reached out to me, knowing he might die for it.
“You wanted to know the truth,” I said. “I’m telling you what I have been taught, and why my kind have acted as they did. Hate them if you must—I have no wish to defend all the ways of those who want me dead. But don’t turn your anger against me.”
“It seems I cannot be angry with you for long.”
“I can tell you that there are women who feel imprisoned by the way we live, and who think it may be time to somehow change our way, that if we don’t, we’ll grow weaker. We create little that is new and only cling to what we have.”
He leaned back. “I could bear knowing this,” he said, “if there were some other purpose to your way and a reason for our lives.”
I knew I might eventually have to tell him why men were called, how boys were given to them, yet everything in me shrank from that possibility.
The sun was low in the west. We gazed toward the distant plateau in silence. Arvil got to his feet and cupped his hand over his eyes. Something was moving on the cliff side. I squinted, barely making out what might have been a man on horseback descending the cliff. Someone else was following him.
“We must go,” Arvil said. “We cannot wait for night now.”
I ran toward Flame and mounted, slipping my spear under the pack. Arvil leaped onto the black mare’s back, untied her reins, and seized the reins of the pinto. The black horse did not throw him, but the pinto whinnied a protest as he led her away.
“We must ride swiftly,” he said. “By the time they have descended the slope, we must be far from here. I think they will go to the shrine to see to their companions first, and it will be hard for them to track us when it’s dark.”
He rode away from the shrine, the pinto at his side, and then turned east. I dug my heels into Flame’s sides and followed him.
A grassy plain stretched before us, and I was thankful that the flat land offered few places for others to hide. The moon was only a sliver in the sky. We galloped on through the high grass, until the horses were panting with their efforts, then slowed to a trot.
Arvil kept glancing behind us, but there was no sign of horsemen. We came to a grove of trees, circled it, and continued to ride east. A cold night breeze bathed my hot, flushed face; my fear made me alert. I was thinking of how the man in the shrine had pawed at me, of how his breath stank, of his maddened, red eyes. My gorge rose, nearly choking me.
It was still night when we reined in the horses and slowed them to a walk. Arvil lifted his head as he surveyed the land, then turned south toward a dip in the ground.
A small stream wound its way between gently sloping banks. We slid off the horses and rubbed them down with Arvil’s old coat before allowing them to drink. Arvil gulped from a waterskin, then filled the other skins with fresh water. I knelt on the rocky bank, drank from cupped hands, and washed my face, wishing that I had a piece of soap.
“We shall not eat tonight,” he said, “but will save what we have until we need it.” My stomach ached; I tried to ignore its rumblings. “At least our horses will have their fill.”
We led the mares across the stream and let them graze. The pinto often seemed about to bolt and neighed when we came too near. I doubted she would let either of us ride her, but she seemed willing enough to be led.
We mounted after the horses had eaten; Arvil took the pinto’s reins. “Those horsemen will have to rest, too,” he said. “Let us hope they lose our trail here and do not know if we have gone north or south.”
I followed him along the bank, seeing that Flame’s hooves trod only on the rocks or in water instead of on ground where a trail could be left. From time to time, we stopped to conceal any droppings the horses made. I told myself that any horsemen who might follow us could not pursue us indefinitely, and that they might fear coming after us when they found their dead companions.
Soon the stream, which had grown a bit wider, was bending east. Arvil turned. “Watch carefully,” he said. “Where there is water, there may be men, although, on this land, we will see them from afar.”
In spite of his warnings, by dawn we had seen no men. The stream twisted north; we left it and rode swiftly toward the east. Occasionally, I looked back, but there was no sign of our pursuers.
The plain was a sea of grass under a wide sky; I had never seen land so flat. The plain seemed endless. Although any dangers this land held could be seen at a distance, it frightened me even more than the forest and hills I had traveled through with my mother. No shield protected me from the sky, and a bitter wind nipped at my face. There was no place where I could hide from the openness, and my fear of the outside nearly overwhelmed me. I reined Flame in and pressed my cheek against her mane.
Arvil turned back and came to my side. “What is it?” he asked. I shook my head, unable to explain. “Have courage, Birana.”
I nodded mutely.
“When we are able to stop for a time, I will show you some ways to defend yourself. You won’t be so fearful then.”
“I’ll never be able to fight.”
“I have seen weaker men able to fell those who are stronger, for it isn’t only strength that matters in a fight. And you have shown some courage already.”
Somehow his words heartened me, and I was able to ride on.
I had always been more active than many girls. My mother had admired physical strength more than most. She had enjoyed riding the horses and ponies in the stables by our parks, and I learned to ride so that she would spend some of those moments with me. I was trained to run and almost always won my races with other girls. I learned ways of strengthening my upper body and was stronger than many of those I knew. I hoped to win Yvara’s affection by being a vigorous girl she could admire; later, I pursued physical activity for its own sake, as a respite from my studies. Yet in Arvil’s world, I was little stronger than a boy not long out of a city.
Arvil’s back straightened. To the north, barely visible against the horizon, I could see what looked like a few tents. “A camp,” Arvil said, “but I see no horses. Those men will not follow us.”
In a while, the camp was hidden from us. By noon, I caught the gleam of a shrine’s dome in the south; Arvil saw me look toward it. “We cannot stop there,” he said.
“I know.” I had no desire to enter a shrine again.
“The evil men following us could surprise us there.”
“We’ve
seen no sign of them yet.”
“I have a feeling about them,” he said. “They will lose our trail at the stream, but, if they’re determined, they can find it again. I do not think they have turned away yet. If they follow us long enough, they will see that we’ve joined no band and will know that we have none. That is likely to fire their anger against us.” He leaned forward as we began to gallop.
“We cannot run from them forever,” I shouted above the sound of our horses’ hooves.
“There is no way we can stand against them out here. We must wait for such a chance.”
I pressed my lips together. What chance could we possibly have? I looked up then at a gleam in the southern sky and forgot my fear of our pursuers.
A golden globe was flying toward us from the south. I nearly screamed, then lashed at Flame with my reins.
“Stop!” Arvil cried to me.
“A ship!”
“You must stop! We cannot hide from it now.”
I pulled on Flame’s reins. The pinto neighed as the hum of the ship grew audible. It was moving in our direction; though it was high overhead, its humming sound seemed to pound against my ears.
“Get off your horse,” Arvil said. I slid off, still holding the reins, and pulled my hood more closely about my face. My legs were shaking. Arvil covered his head. “Kneel, and honor the Lady. If it is coming for you, there is nothing we can do, but if they still believe you dead, they will see only two men.”
I knelt and bowed my head, expecting the ship’s weapons to strike us at any moment. I did not look at the ship closely and could not tell whether it carried passengers or was only a ship sent out to gather images.
When I traveled with others in such a ship to Devva, I had been fearful that the ship might have to make an emergency landing, although we knew men were not likely to attack us and the ship could protect us. We had laughed with relief when we reached Devva; we had dreaded the trip back. I thought of the passengers that might be overhead and wondered what they were thinking as they looked down at us.
The hum of the ship was fading. I looked up and saw it moving northwest, perhaps on its way to my own city.
“We can ride on now,” Arvil said.
I covered my eyes and wept. “Birana, we are safe.” He touched my shoulder; I pulled away violently. “What’s wrong?”
“I am remembering,” I managed to say. I wiped my face and stood up. “I can’t go on. You’ll have a better chance without me, and I won’t live long out here.”
“We have lived this long. It would not have been better for me to be without you in Hecate’s shrine.”
“I can’t…”
“You must steady yourself.” He touched the back of my hand lightly. “I cannot let you die.”
“Of course you can’t,” I said bitterly. “There are too many questions you want me to answer.”
“It is not only because of the questions.”
I drew away from him and mounted Flame, telling myself that I must not give up hope of finding a refuge. But my hopes were fading.
In the afternoon, we spied a herd of shaggy beasts in the northeast. Arvil gazed toward them longingly as we circled around the herd; I knew he was thinking of meat.
Our horses had slowed to a walk. “Gould you hunt one of those?” I asked.
“On this horse, with my spear—perhaps, but I have not hunted in such a way before. I would have to separate one from the herd, butcher and skin the animal, and by then the men following us would be closer.”
“But we haven’t seen a sign of them. They might have given up already.”
“We cannot be sure of that.”
Except for the one band we had glimpsed from a distance, we had seen no other men. The farther we rode from regions where cities stood, the fewer men we were likely to find. Men would have no boys to bring into their bands if they dwelled too far from shrines and the cities that might summon the men. I would be safer from men the farther east we went, but there would also be fewer who could tell me of any refuge that might exist.
“It seems few men live here,” Arvil said, apparently pondering similar thoughts. “I wonder if more may seek these lands out. Long ago, I was told, past members of my first band did not live in the north but elsewhere. Other bands grew numerous in those lands, and so my band sought new territory. Wanderer said that in the south, where the weather makes life easier, there are more bands than Earth can support, and more fighting.”
“Wanderer has traveled,” I said.
“Yes, and farther than any man I have met.”
“Did he ever hear a story of a place, a place outside the cities, far from them, where others of my kind might have been seen, a place where they might live?”
Arvil frowned as he turned toward me. “Could there be such a place?”
“There have been others who were expelled from the cities. I can’t believe they all died. Some might have found a way to survive.”
“Wanderer never told a tale about such a place,” he said. “He did tell one, when I first met him and Shadow, about a man who lived in a shrine and whose body was changed to a woman’s form.” His mouth twisted. “Wanderer’s tales were not always filled with truth.”
I tried not to feel disappointed. Wanderer, after all, would have roamed in lands where men lived.
“I do not recall that Wanderer spoke of the east,” Arvil continued. “He didn’t know what may lie here. Is that what you seek, Birana— a place where others of your kind live?”
“If there is such a place.”
“If that’s what you seek, I would have you find it. But you would be with your own kind then. You’d have no need of me.”
“There may be men among them,” I said. “They may have found a way to live together.” Such women might have mastered the means to inseminate themselves, as they would have to do to keep their refuge alive, to have daughters to care for them when they grew old and sons to learn from any men who had aided them. I refused to dwell on how, without mindspeakers and the images used to rouse men, these women might gather the men’s seed.
“If they live together,” Arvil said, “then they would make the men their worshippers, as those in the enclaves do. It would give me joy to know you are safe, but, among your own kind, I would be nothing to you.”
“It isn’t so,” I replied. “You are my friend now. You’re probably the only true friend I have.”
I spoke these words only out of pity for him, and because I feared his darker moods, but his eyes glowed as he looked at me. “Is that so, Birana? Do you call me your friend?”
I thought of Laissa, no longer my friend. “Yes, Arvil. You are my friend.”
His chest swelled under his coat; his hood fell back, exposing his blond hair, as he gazed up at the sky. “I am your friend,” he said, as if those words were filled with a greater significance.
By evening, we came to a small rise in the land, where a few slender trees grew, and stopped there. The horses grazed, and we gave them water from our skins, holding the liquid in our cupped hands as they lapped. “Star,” Arvil said as the black horse drank from his palms.
“What did you say?”
“Star. She should have a name, and her white marking makes me think of a star.”
“And what shall we call the pinto?”
“Perhaps you can name her.”
The pinto gazed at me balefully as she drank. She was learning to tolerate us, but neither of us had ridden her. Her hide was marked by thin scars. I supposed the man who had once ridden her had lashed her often, but he had not been able to quell her spirit. “Wild Spirit,” I said. “That’s what I’d call her.”
“It suits her.”
When the horses had grazed, we secured their reins to the trees. I was about to take some food from our packs when Arvil shook his head. We had heard the twittering of birds in the bough above; Arvil climbed up one tree, disappeared in the branches, then dropped down, holding out five small birds’ eggs. I forced my
self to choke down two raw eggs, while he ate his with relish; the dried meat could be saved for another day.
Arvil kept watch as I rested, then woke me. I sat up, surprised at how soundly I had slept; I was used to sleeping on the ground by then but ached from our long ride. A howl suddenly broke the silence, and I started.
“Wolves,” he said. “If they come too near, the horses will warn us.” He led me out from under the trees, then pointed up at a group of stars in the east. “When those stars are above the trees, you must wake me. Wake me also if you see anything move on the land.”
“What if…”
He knew what I was going to ask. “They would still be far behind us, and they will have to stop as well. I shall not rest long.” He gazed at the stars. “I have been told that the stars are fires so far from us that, if we could walk to them, it would take the lifetimes of many men to reach them.”
“It’s true. Long ago, we once dreamed of traveling to them.”
“But how could they be reached if they are so far away?”
“We could have built ships able to travel the distance. Such a ship would have to travel at a speed approaching the speed at which light moves, and then time for those on the ship would not pass as it would for those on Earth. A season might pass here while only a day passed on the ship—a lifetime could go by here while those travelers remained young.”
“The ship would have to be under a powerful spell.”
“You might put it that way. Such a spell is possible.” I did not know how I could ever explain what we understood of the physics of interstellar travel to him.
“It is said that the stars are camp fires set by the Lady for the spirits of men in the next world. If the souls of those in the ship entered that world, they could not return to this one.”
“They are not fires, Arvil. They are suns, like the one you see in the sky.”
The Shore of Women Page 24
