Moonscatter

by Jo Clayton

  Rane shook her head. “Not such a luxury as you might think. We make glass, Moth. We can’t tax like Floarin so we have to find things to sell or trade. We get a good price for our glass objects.” She looked up at the swollen sun, visible through the bubble of coolness as a vague glow. “Used to get. I doubt the furnaces are lit right now.”

  Tuli giggled. “Yah, I bet they aren’t.” The first shock of coolness was passing; it wasn’t really cold in here, only less hot to a degree that made living possible.

  They rode through a pointed archway and around the end of the baffle wall, threaded through narrow ways between the lower walls of the inner courts. In a corral attached to a long low stable an old woman and a gaggle of young girls were sponging down a few wilted-looking macain. Rane edged her mount to the corral fence, leaned over the top pole and called, “Pria Melit.”

  The old woman looked up, grinned. She handed her sponge to a girl working beside her, gave her a few low-voiced instructions then came across the dry manure with an easy swinging stride that belied the age and suffering carved deep in her hardwood face. As she came up to them, a broad smile sank pale blue stenda eyes in nests of wrinkles. “Eh-you, Rane. Back so soon?” She looked past Rane at Tuli. “A new candidate?”

  “Could be, could be not.” Rane nodded at the dejected macain. “Those all you got now?”

  “Yah. Took the others up into the Teeth couple days after you last left. Least there’s water up there, And browse.” She reached through the poles and scratched the nose of Rane’s mount. “Those two look well enough. Mijloc suffering much?”

  “Some. Starting to need rain. Winter planting’s going slow, if it goes at all. Floarin’s not helping much with her tithe.”

  “Silly idiot, cutting her own throat. Leave your gear here, I’ll see it’s sent over to Yael-mri’s varou.”

  “Maiden bless, Melit.” Rane swung down and waited as Tuli dismounted more stiffly, stamped her feet to get feeling back in her legs.

  Tuli followed Rane for a few steps, looked back. A girl with long black braids and a honey-colored face was climbing over the poles. The girl saw her watching, grinned and waved, then jumped down and started leading the tired macain into the stable.

  The little gesture stayed with Tuli as she followed Rane, warmed her. She felt like laughing, really laughing, almost like she’d felt sometimes at night, running with Teras, when the air was silk against her skin and all the night smells invaded her and she laughed aloud with joy at being alive. It was not quite that yet here, but she felt the promise of it in the air. She hugged the feeling to her. A glance at Rane told her she couldn’t speak of it to her. Memories, she thought. I wonder what it’s like to love someone a quarter of a century. She rolled the words on her tongue. Quarter of a century. It sounded like forever. Twice as long, almost, as she’d been alive. She glanced at Rane again. I wonder if it was worth it.

  They moved into a covered way that led into one of the courts of the many-courted building. There was a space of silence around Rane that kept Tuli from talking to her or touching her, a hard transparency between them like the unexpected glass in all the windows. She brushed a hand along the tight-fitted stone of the way. She hadn’t really thought of it before, but there had to be somebody to cut stone, somebody to spin and weave and cook and work in the fields and do all the things ties did on the tars. I could work in the fields here and no one would yell at me, she thought. Or tell me it’s not women’s work. She suppressed a giggle, her hand pressed over her mouth, her eyes flicking to Rane and away.

  They came out of the way near one end of a courtyard. At the other end six girls not much older than Tuli were gathered about a short, stocky woman. All seven wore light smocks and short loose trousers. The girls repeated over and over a series of four poses, moving smoothly from one to the other as the older woman called the numbers. Rane neither looked at them nor stopped, but went immediately into another covered way. Tuli watched a minute, fascinated, then ran after Rane.

  Another court. Under a bright striped awning a dark-haired woman about her mother’s age sat at a loom, her feet busy at the pedals, her shuttle doing a flickering dance among the threads. On pillows by her feet young girls worked awkwardly with spindles, trying to twist an even thread from wool that other girls teased with carding combs. The slap-thump of the loom, the soft spin song of the girls, the other small noises made a serene music that filled Tuli with a sense of peace even as she realized that more than a minute or two of such work would have her screaming with frustration and boredom.

  They passed through several more courts. In one a woman bent over a potter’s wheel shaping a broad flat bowl while girls pounded vigorously at lumps of moist clay. In another there were more dancers, older than the first, young women, dancing to a more complex rhythm plucked for them from the round-bellied lute in the lap of a gentle-faced woman. In another court girls and women sat fletching arrows, the glue for the feathers thick and glassy in stoneware pots perched on small charcoal braziers. In another, woodworkers carved stocks for crossbows while others assembled the bows from the stocks and bits of steel and bronze and others set points on crossbow bolts and on short spears. Many of the women and girls in these courts hummed or sang worksongs, some were talking, laughing. The Biserica seemed to Tuli a busy, noisy, friendly place, filled with life and, in spite of the threat of war, filled with a cheerful tranquility.

  Rane led Tuli into the tall central building. Most of the lamps on the walls of the long dark corridor were left unlit but the few that burned turned the air hot and added the stench of burning oil to the other odors that hung in the stale, lifeless air. Rane walked faster, her face and body tense, anger evident in the harsh rasping of her breath. She turned down a broad hall that crossed the one they were in, pushed open a door at the end of this with just a touch too much force. It crashed inward against the stop. Rane cursed under her breath, ran her fingers through her faded blond thatch then strode into the long narrow room with tall windows marching along one wall and a wooden, backless bench pushed against the other.

  A door in the far end opened and a tall woman with a plain clever face looked out. She smiled. “Sand fleas chewing at you again, Rane?”

  “Zhag’s curses on the Nor. I hate to see.…” Rane finished the sentence with a nervous flowing circle of her hand.

  “I know.” Yael-mri looked past Rane at Tuli. “Another candidate?” There was a hint of weary exasperation in her voice. Tuli heard it and scowled at the floor.

  Rane heard it and stiffened. “A friend,” she said curtly. “As to the other, we’ll see.”

  “Forgive my rudeness,” Yael-mri said. Her mouth tilted into a rueful smile. “We’re starting to feel a bit pressed.” She pulled the door open wider. “Come then, we’ll talk.”

  Rane didn’t move. “With your permission, prieti-meien,” she said with a cool formality that brought a slight frown to Yael-mri’s face. “If the Ammu Rin is not in the Shawar right now, we need her services.”

  Yael-mri’s brows shot up. “I thought.…” She laughed. “Never mind, the heat’s addling my brain. Yours too, my friend. You know anything in the valley is yours. Ammu Rin is teaching this tenday. Come see me when you’re ready.” She stepped back and closed the door.

  Rane relaxed, sighed, drew the back of her hand across her eyes. She didn’t speak as she moved across the aste varou to look through a window into the dead garden then up to the mountain peaks rising in the distance, their pale blue tips floating like ghosts above the outer wall. Hands clasped behind her, talking to the rounds of wavery glass set in lead strips, she said, “Yael-mri is … was … older sister to Merralis.” Finally she turned, composed again, walked past Tuli, called over her shoulder, “Come.”

  Feeling confused and a bit annoyed, Tuli followed her through a further labyrinth of corridors, courts and covered ways until the ex-meie pushed open a lacy gate of molded cane filling a pointed arch and stepped through into a large open garden that must once
have been a pleasant peaceful place. Now the grass was dying, the flowerbeds empty, dry soil raked into neat patterns and set with stones, low crooked shrubs bare of leaves but with sufficient grace left to show what they could be again with enough water and care. Rane dropped a hand on Tuli’s shoulder, stopped her. “I hate this place.”

  Tuli stood quiet, wondering why—if that was so and the sudden subdued passion in Rane’s voice suggested it was so—why if she hated it so, she didn’t hurry across and leave it behind. “Before …” Rane said. “Before, they used to bring the sick out here to sit in the sun.” She sucked in a long unsteady breath, shook her head, ran across the grass, stopped in the doorway of the small bright building to wait for Tuli. “Healhall,” she said when Tuli came up to her.

  A space that was either a very long but narrow room or an over-wide hallway stretched the length of the Healhall, lit by huge windows on the Southwall. The inner wall was faced with a white stone that had veins of gold and green rambling through it, the ceiling and the window wall were painted white. Rane and Tuli walked on Sankoy rugs of simple design and jewel-bright color, passed windowboxes filled with flourishing green plants, even a few fall blooms. Midway down the hall Rane opened a door without knocking and stepped into an anteroom with backless benches along its sides, a table at the far end.

  A girl about Tuli’s age was sitting at the table, frowning intently at a book open before her. Lips moving, fingers moving along the script, she was struggling to read whatever was written there. So intent was she that Rane and Tuli crossed the room and stopepd by the table without disturbing her concentration.

  Rane rapped a knuckle on the table. The girl started, looked up. “Oh.” She blushed. “Yes?”

  “The Ammu Rin.” The corners of Rane’s wide mouth twitched; laughter danced in her dark green eyes.

  The girl smiled, her own eyes the green-brown of a woodland pool, reflecting the silent laughter and lighting her face to a fugitive beauty. Tuli caught her breath, ducked behind. Rane. She recognized the girl. Da … Dani … no … Dee … Dina … yah, Dinafar. Going to the Gather with her brother … Jern … yah, that was his name. Wonder what happened to him. S’pose their old uncle wouldn’t keep a girl so she came here. Wonder if she’ll know me.

  Dinafar stood. She wore a simple white robe without sleeves that skimmed along the lines of her rather mature figure. “If you’ll wait just a moment.…” She stopped, her heavy brows rising, her head tilted slightly, her whole body a question.

  “Tell her Rane and a friend.”

  With another flashing smile the girl nodded then disappeared through the door beside the table.

  Rane turned to Tuli. “You need me with you or would you prefer to talk for yourself?” Her long fingers tapped a nervous tune on her thigh.

  Tuli looked away uncertain and a bit frightened. She wanted to cling to Rane, yet Rane had made it clear she was unhappy in this place and uncomfortable with Tuli’s problem. Tuli swallowed. After a moment she said, “All I have to do is tell.… tell this Ammu Rin what’s worrying me?”

  “All you have to do is tell her. She won’t bite.” Rane’s eyes flicked to the door. She’d already fled the place in her mind. Tuli saw that and swallowed a sigh.

  “All right,” she said. “I can do it by myself.”

  “Good girl, Moth.” Rane took a step toward the door, looked at Tuli. “When you’re finished here, ask someone to take you back to Yael-mri’s varou.” Then she was gone, the door shutting behind her with a controlled quietness.

  Dinafar came back, looked surprised when she saw Tuli alone.

  “Rane had to leave,” Tuli said. “Anyway it’s me has to see the healer.”

  “Oh.” Dinafar stared at Tuli. “I know you. One of the terrible twins. Tuli Gradindaughter. Going to Oras.”

  “Yah. Been here long?”

  “’Bout a year now.”

  “You brother’s still with your uncle?”

  Dinafar screwed up her face. “That’s a long story. Maybe if you stay I can tell it.” She glanced over her shoulder at the door. “The Ammu’s waiting. You better come.” She stood to one side of the door waiting expectantly. Tuli walked slowly past her, feeling her stomach cramp, wishing she’d had the nerve to ask Rane to come with her. It was funny. She hadn’t been near as bothered getting her father loose from the guards. They stepped into a room.

  It was small and square and breathless—and empty of anyone. Tuli swung around.

  Dinafar laughed and took hold of Tuli’s hand. “Come. The Ammu Rin is out in a court just past the examining rooms. It’s too hot in here.” She squeezed Tuli’s hand then she flitted on ahead, the hem of the white robe fluttering about her ankles. She vanished through a curtained arch.

  Tuli followed her through three more rooms, nesting one against the others like cells in a honeycomb, rooms with narrow cots and backless armless chairs drawn up beside the cots. Each room, small and white, clean and stripped down, had a niche in one wall with a ceramic or wooden statue, glazed or painted in bright primary colors. After the fourth room they were in a short hall, and Dinafar was pulling Tuli with her through a round door, past a heavy curtain.

  They stood at the edge of a small square court, a fountain playing musically beside a tree whose trunk disappeared into a hole in the canvas that covered the whole of the open space.

  Tuli noted these things but paid little attention to them: the huge form of the old woman sitting beside the fountain dominated the court. Her face was round as Nijilic theDom at his fullest, a deep rich brown with fire-orange gleams where the light sat strongest. Her eyes were large and round and a milky white with no pupils and only a hint of irids. She was blind. Her nose was a great jutting beak, her mouth was delicately carved but big enough to match the rest of her. She sat in a vast armchair surrounded by small bright pillows. Her legs were stretched out before her, her feet propped on a low ottoman. At the moment Dinafar and Tuli pushed past the curtain she was discoursing sleepily to the young women seated on cushions beside her. She stopped speaking when Dinafar and Tuli stepped onto the grass, as if she’d somehow heard the faint rattle of the curtain rings, the brush of two bodies past the heavy cloth. Her head turned toward them and she sat waiting for one of them to speak.

  “Ammu Rin, Rane’s friend Tuli Gradindaughter.” Dinafar spoke shyly, hesitantly. She tugged Tuli past her, gave her a tap in the small of her back, sending her out into the court. Tuli took a few steps, glanced back. Dinafar was gone, heading back to her book and her struggle to decipher it.

  The Ammu Rin lifted an arm that seemed to Tuli as big as the hind leg of a macai, held out a large but shapely hand. “Give me your hand, Tuli Rane’s friend.”

  With a mixture of reluctance and awe, Tuli laid her smaller hand on the warm pink palm.

  “You’re very young, child. How old are you?”

  “Fourteen, almost fifteen, Ammu Rin.”

  “Almost fifteen?” There was amusement in the deep, rich voice.

  “Well.…”

  “Never mind. You are troubled about something?”

  “Yah. I need to know.…” She swallowed, looked quickly at and away from the silent attendants. There was no way she could talk about such private things with all these strangers present.

  The Ammu smiled. Tuli stiffened until she realized that the smile was gentle and filled with understanding. “Vesset,” the old woman said.

  “Yes, Ammu.” One of the young women jumped to her feet. She was blonde and tall, a stenda, in her early twenties, a slim, vivid figure. She stood gracefully in front of the Ammu, stenda grace like Rane’s.

  “Take them.” The Amma waved her free hand toward the seated attendants. “Go away till I ring. Go. Go.” She waved her hand again.

  Silently the white-robed girls laid their fans aside and got to their feet. They bowed silently and left quickly through the curtained arch, Vesset, equally silent, following with that restrained elegance that reminded Tuli so strongly of Rane. Watchi
ng her, Tuli sighed.

  “Such a sad sound.” The Ammu chuckled, warm laughter wrapping around Tuli and relaxing her. “Sit you down, child, tell me your sad tale. And we’ll see, we’ll see what we can do.”

  Hand still swallowed by the Ammu’s, Tuli kicked a pillow closer to the chair and eased herself down. “I think.…” she licked her lips. “I think I could be pregnant.”

  “Ah. You think so.”

  “Yah. I’m … um … overdue by five days. Rane says that’s a bad sign.”

  “Ah. A bad sign.”

  “Uh-huh. I don’t want his baby. Phah!” She pressed her lips together, the breath hissing through her nostrils as she fought with the anger that threatened to drown her every time she thought of Fayd. The Ammu’s hand held hers, warmed her, calmed her. The soft rustle of leaves hidden by the canvas, the squeak of the awning ropes, the rippling music of the water, all these small sounds combined with the enfolding warmth of the Ammu’s presence to soothe away the last of her rage and she found herself retelling what happened the night Fayd forced her, why it happened. “I couldn’t bear it if it looked like him,” she said. “I get so angry at him it scares me. Makes me wonder what I might do to the baby. Sometimes I get so mad I don’t think, I just hurt people. I could hurt it, even kill it. One time I told Teras I might like kids, but that was before. Now that I might, I don’t, oh Ammu Rin, I don’t want kids, not now.” Tuli squeezed her eyes shut, pressed the back of her free hand against her mouth. After a minute she dropped her hand, gazed hopefully up at the Ammu. “Am I?”

  The Ammu was silent a moment, then she sighed. “We’ll see. Tuli child, I’m a Reader, not a Healer.” Her mouth curled into a smile. “Just as well, healing is not what you need. Lean forward, child, set your forehead on my knee and be patient for a while.”

  At first Tuli was tense, a knot in her throat, another beneath her ribs, but the slow stroking of the big hand along her shoulders relaxed her until she nearly fell asleep. Finally the hand left her. “You can sit up now, child.”