The Shore of Women

by Pamela Sargent

  She smiled a little at that, as if responding to a kindred soul.

  “We should leave our daughters more knowledge about the outside,” I said. “We should not leave them with the necessity to remedy our negligence and our mistakes.”

  “You should be thinking of a daughter of your own soon,” she murmured.

  “Time enough to consider that when I return.”

  “You talk of preserving our cities, Laissa. I know your actual thoughts, and Fari’s as well. You’re wondering if it’s time for change.” She gestured wearily with one hand. “I’ll speak up for you, but I promise nothing.”

  “Think of what I might mention to others if you fail, and I’m sure you’ll be persuasive.” I stood up and led her to the door.

  “I fear for you,” Zoreen said.

  “You needn’t. I’ll be safe enough.”

  “Women haven’t gone outside this city in ages.”

  “It’s time someone did.”

  “This isn’t a little jaunt to Devva in a ship. You’ll be alone. You may not be able to summon help if there’s danger.”

  “I’ll be careful.” I turned toward her. She was lying beside me on my bed.

  Zoreen had come to love me during the past years, and I cared for her in a placid, abiding way that would have been impossible with Shayl. My former love, according to gossip, kept her lovers ensnared in uncertainties, never letting them know if she would continue to accept them. With Zoreen, I had some peace. I had become so accustomed to her body that our lovemaking, once filled with the excitement of discovering her needs and teaching her mine, was now a respite; touching her body was little different from touching my own. My desires were reflected in hers, while hers mirrored mine.

  “You once dreamed of the outside yourself,” I said.

  “I know now that I couldn’t go out.” She drew my head to her chest. “You’ll be alone. That’s fearful enough.”

  “I’m used to being alone.”

  “You mustn’t say that to me. Maybe they won’t give you permission to go. That would disappoint you, but I’d be relieved.”

  “They’ll let me go.” I caressed her with one hand, wanting her to forget her worries for a little while. Her belly moved against my palm. I suddenly thought of Birana; she would not have been a lover expecting only the familiar; her wilder spirit would have been a constant surprise. Why was I thinking of her now?

  “What is it?” Zoreen asked; she had sensed the change in my mood. I shook my head, unable to answer. “You’re afraid. Don’t think of it now.” She eased me back on the bed; I seemed to feel my own hands touching me.

  I was granted the permission I sought. Eilaan herself came to me with the news, although she was clearly not pleased.

  I had prepared myself, learning from a pilot how to operate my small ship if it was necessary to take control. My immune system was bolstered, and I was given a small medical kit, although I would return to the city at the slightest sign of an illness. I had equipment to record my encounters.

  After saying farewell to Zoreen in our rooms, I went to board my ship. No one, not even my mentor Fari, had come to see me leave. I had expected at least a small crowd of the curious, perhaps a few who might try to dissuade me. I entered my ship; it rose from the wall as I set my course and began to move southwest.

  My destination was a shrine to the Wise One that stood near a small lake. From Wanderer’s band, I had learned that other bands came to that lake to hunt during the spring and summer; I wanted to hear the tales of various bands but did not want to go to a shrine where too many more would gather.

  I peered through my window at the green of summer. Two men cowered in a clearing as the ship passed overhead. I soon sighted the lake but saw no signs of men near the shrine. As the ship sent out its signal, the shrine’s dome slowly opened to receive me. The ship dropped and alighted on the altar as the dome closed.

  Women had tended the shrines once, returning from time to time to make what repairs were necessary; the cyberminds had freed us of that task. I sat inside the ship, suddenly afraid to leave it. Birana had been discovered in this shrine; I had learned that much from Wanderer’s men. In the safety of my room, it had seemed fitting to come here, to face the last refuge Birana had known, to remember her while I did my work. Now I regretted my choice.

  At last I went out and set up my recorder near the ship’s door. The Council had placed some restrictions on my project; I was to tell the men as little as possible, offer no aid or advice, affect them as little as I could while listening to their talk. Yet I could not observe them and speak to them without affecting them in some way.

  I sat down to wait, keeping the wand that was my weapon near me, clinging to what courage I had left.

  I did not leave the shrine, afraid even to step from its door. I waited for two days and spent two nights inside the ship before my first visitors arrived.

  Two men and a boy entered the shrine, then threw themselves on the floor when they saw me seated on the altar. I wore a clinging shirt that outlined my breasts, my hair was loose around my shoulders, and I had set the instruments of the Wise One in front of me. I wanted to be sure that the men saw what I was immediately—a woman, carried by a ship from the Lady’s realm.

  “Holy One,” one of the men cried as he looked up.

  “I have come to dwell among you for a time,” I said. The three covered their heads with their arms. “The Lady wishes to honor you by speaking to you in this form. She wishes to hear your stories.”

  “Oh,” one man groaned, “have mercy, Lady.”

  “I shall not harm you.”

  I could get nothing out of them; they were too terrified to speak of themselves. One muttered incantations while the others beat their fists against their foreheads. At last I dismissed them. They ran from the shrine, not even pausing to make the customary observances.

  I was trembling by then, drained by this brief encounter; I was disappointed but not discouraged. These men were sure to tell others about what they had seen; more men would come.

  The next day a group of ten males appeared; I thought I recognized the three I had seen. The three boys with the group were sturdy, broad-shouldered lads with brown or dark blond hair; the men all had brown beards, although two were beginning to go gray. They dropped to the floor and covered their heads.

  “You may rise.” My voice shook, and I swallowed. “You will not be harmed.” They sat back on their heels; none raised his eyes to me. “I have come among you for a time, to dwell here and to hear your words. The Lady would hear you speak of your lives.”

  One man got awkwardly to his feet. “You honor us, Lady.”

  “I would hear your tales now. Sit down and tell Me of yourselves.”

  The men settled on the floor, folding their legs and keeping their heads bowed. “We serve You,” the man who had spoken before said. “We pray. Several of us have been called.” He went on in that vein for a while, stressing the honor he had always paid to the Goddess. When he was finished, another man spoke, saying nearly the same thing.

  I was learning little. After a third man had told me of his frequent prayers, I said, “It is your lives I wish to hear about—how you hunt, your customs, the stories you tell yourselves.”

  “Surely You know all of that, Lady,” one bold boy said. “Do You not see all?” The man next to the boy struck him with the back of his hand; I tried not to wince.

  “The Lady sees all,” I replied, “but I wish to hear of your lives from you and to see if you speak the truth.”

  “Could we do otherwise than speak truth before You?” a man asked.

  I repressed a sigh. “Speak of yourselves.”

  More vague talk about the band followed. They lived not far from this lake; they fished and hunted birds there; they had made a truce with another band—I wasn’t told why.

  At last I said, “I shall dwell here and hope to see you again.” That did not seem impressive enough, so I added, “Do not neglect
Me.”

  “Our band is truly honored.”

  “I do not honor only your band but will welcome anyone who visits this shrine.”

  “Yes, Lady.”

  I dismissed them, wondering if I would ever learn anything.

  Others soon began to come to the shrine. At first, each arrived alone, or with a friend, but by the middle of summer, larger bands were arriving, many from some distance. Often as many as four or five bands were vying to tell me their stories.

  As they became accustomed to my presence, they grew more relaxed, sprawling on couches or sitting nearer to the altar. They maintained a respectful distance, and a sharp glance or a harsher tone from me still cowed them. I kept my weapon with me, prepared to stun anyone who seemed threatening with a beam from my wand; I sat just outside the ship’s door, ready to retreat.

  Some of the men were better tale-tellers than others, able to describe their doings in detail or to hold everyone in suspense while they related stories of battles or the hunting of large and fierce creatures. I rewarded those who told the best stories with pieces of fruit or sweets, and found that this encouraged others to emulate them. Although fear of me undoubtedly kept them from lying outright, I suspected that a few were not above embellishing their tales by making enemies more fearsome and numerous or animals more dangerous and bloodthirsty. This did not matter; how they regarded themselves was of interest, and their lives, even unadorned by invention, were brutal enough.

  I had hoped for understanding, had even imagined acquiring a little sympathy for these men. Instead, my repugnance and loathing grew, and I often had to retreat inside my ship to collect myself. They were filthy; I smelled their sweat and body odors even though they stayed below the altar. Among themselves, their behavior was crude at best; younger boys were struck or beaten for the slightest reason. Violence and murder were commonplace in their lives; most of their stories were of hunting and fighting, and they showed more respect for the game than they did for one another.

  They were little better than beasts, and I marveled that I could ever have believed that they might be more. Yet once in a while, I saw men gaze with affection at boys who might have been their sons or heard a story of the friendship and loyalty among members of a band, or a tale of bravery and self-sacrifice, or of a strong love between two men, and these rudimentary signs of humanity would lift my spirits for a time.

  Always, there were stories passed down through the years of how the Lady had appeared in various guises to teach a band or to guide it to a new region. I heard nothing in these tales that indicated that they doubted their faith or that they longed for change. Men had been punished long ago, but the Goddess let them live, rewarding them in the enclaves and in the next world for lives well spent.

  I let them speak and asked few questions. Whenever one turned to me for guidance or posed a problem for me to solve, I answered ambiguously or cryptically, so that my answer would seem correct whatever befell the man later. I revealed none of my own thoughts. Nonetheless, my presence was affecting them.

  A few of the tribes that came to the shrine were horsemen; although they could not fight inside the shrine, there was obviously bad feeling between the horsemen and those on foot. But as the men began to spend more time in or near the shrine, often staying away only long enough to hunt for food, they started to speak among themselves. Soon several bands made truces with those they had once hated.

  I noted this and thought of discouraging it but did not act. When men were divided, only the strongest survived; I knew that keeping them divided served our ends. Yet some seemed willing to accept more peaceful ways. I suppose I had a vague hope that the men might someday show that they were worthy of better treatment.

  I recorded their stories and noted my own observations and reactions, wondering what I would glean from this mass of material when I had the chance to reflect upon it. At times, I feared that the project would be useless. What was there to be gained? Only the knowledge, it seemed, that men were largely as we believed them to be. Perhaps my work, instead of adding to our understanding, would only increase our fears.

  I could do nothing about that in any case. I would record the tales, provide transcripts for those who were interested, and put together a chronicle. It was likely that only a few would read the stories; most would find them too disturbing. As a chronicler, I might shape the stories and my commentary on them in any way I wished; how the chronicle was used in the end was not my business.

  Later in the summer, I began to hint that I would soon be leaving the shrine. I expected the men to drift away to their camps. Instead, the shrine grew more crowded as distant tribes, hearing of the wonder, traveled to see me, while some of those already present seemed reluctant to leave.

  I was flooded with tales, each man speaking rapidly and with passion as though afraid I would never hear of his life otherwise. Those who had told me their tales related them to men who had not heard them before.

  I had triggered a flood of words and an orgy of self-examination among the men. They told their stories, listened to others, and reflected on their lives; this was something new for most of them. They began to sit closer to the altar, appearing to forget my presence as they spoke. Many of the tales were variations on what I had heard before, but I recorded them all.

  I had gone inside the ship, welcoming the silence. After resting for a bit, I checked my supplies. I had eaten little during my stay. The supplies would last me for some time longer, and the ship could recycle water indefinitely, but I had been outside the city too long. Eilaan would soon send a message, asking why I had not returned; Zoreen would be worrying about me.

  I could not bring myself to leave. Wanderer’s band sometimes traveled to this shrine; I realized that I was hoping they might find their way here. Surely some man had told them about my appearance; those who had seen one aspect of the Lady and who believed themselves blessed would be curious about this new aspect. I could see Button, now called Hasin by the band; he would not remember me, but I might give my mother word of him. I might hear more from the band of the brief time Birana had spent with them.

  Birana had come to this shrine. She haunted me most when I was alone in the ship; I wondered if she had welcomed the death that had freed her. At last I stood up, dropped a new spool into my recorder, and left the ship.

  As I stepped out onto the altar, I noticed that some of the men had left but that another band had arrived. After setting down the recorder, I seated myself, still clinging to the wand I had never needed to use.

  The men remaining in the shrine knelt, and then a member of the new band stepped forward. He was a beardless young man clothed in a leather vest and leggings; a neckpiece of feathers hung over his chest.

  “I would hear your tales,” I said as I pressed the recorder.

  “We are honored, Holy One,” he replied. “A traveler told us an aspect dwelled here and spoke to men. Although we have not come to this land before, we traveled far to see this holy vision.” He waved an arm at a small group of men dressed as he was. “I am not our Headman, but those in my band have asked me to tell You our tale. I pray that You will find my words pleasing.”

  “You may seat yourself and tell your story to Me.” I waited, expecting to hear another version of stories already recorded.

  He sat down near the altar, shaking back his long black hair as he gazed up at me. “We are blessed by Your holy presence,” he said. “Our blessings are great, for I did not think we would behold an aspect again in this life.”

  I restrained a cry of surprise but could not speak for a moment. “You have seen an aspect before?”

  “I must speak truth in a shrine, and You, Holy Lady, will know the truth of any words I speak. Many seasons ago, I beheld one of Your aspects, yet Her true nature was not apparent to me for She wore the guise of one of our kind. Only Her messenger spoke to me, and then they left our land. Later, She returned to us, and we learned what She was.”

  “Go on,” I managed t
o say.

  “The Lady was with Her messenger and a child. This child was not like the young boys who leave Your walls, but one even smaller and more helpless. The child did not eat, but took nourishment from the Lady herself. This child… I do not know how to say it, Holy One. The child had no male member but shared the Goddess’s nature. We knew then that we had seen one of the holiest of visions. The Lady dwelled in our camp for a time, but although we begged Her and Her messenger to remain with us, She told us that She must return to Her realm.”

  “That cannot be so,” a man called out.

  “It is so,” the young man answered. “Let the Holy One strike at me if I lie.” He turned back to me. “The aspect told us this, that the Lady’s magic is great, but that it does not reach to all of Earth. She said that She had dwelled with Her messenger and had come to know his soul, and that the child She carried in Her arms partook of both his spirit and Hers. Then She bid us live in peace with other men and said farewell.”

  A man from another band jumped to his feet. “Blasphemy!” he cried. “You should die for saying this here!”

  “We came here to honor the Lady,” the young man said. “We saw this vision, and when a traveler told us an aspect had appeared in this shrine, even though it is far from our lands, we hastened here, for we knew that something new had entered the world.” He held out a hand. “Is it so, Holy One? Can it be that the Lady will forgive us at last?”

  “Hold back your words,” a tall bearded man shouted, “or I shall…”

  “Silence!” I cried. The angry muttering among the men died down. “I am here to listen, and it is I who shall decide what is offensive to Me.” I leaned toward the dark-haired young man. “When did you see this vision?”