Daughters of the Great Star

by Diana Rivers

  She looked around in surprise, not having seen me. I thought that perhaps she had come there to be alone, yet she did not turn to leave immediately. Zari had hardly spoken to me since the day she had come to plead for Rishka. After a while of awkward silence I said, “It looks like a Kourmairi Essu, a fall festival, down there.” I was embarrassed at the sound of naked longing in my voice.

  “You seem sad, Tazzi. Are you not happy to be here in safety?”

  “Happy enough, I suppose, but now that we are safe for the moment I am missing my home and my mother and sister.”

  “I never had a home as you did. It is my grandmother I miss. She may have died helping me escape, but now I will never know. Hayika and Kilghari left too soon after me to have any word of her, and I can never go back. I think of her every day though. I was her Lea-Linya, her heart’s own and she was my Lea-Malia, my mother-of-choice. She would have done anything for me and I for her and now who knows...” Her words fell away. I had no comfort to offer, only my own painful thoughts. Just when I thought there would be silence between us again, she said in a different tone, “This Great-Gather of the Wanderers is like a Muinyairin ‘Riding-In’ when all the tribes assemble at summer’s end to trade horses and stories. Girls are promised in marriage then. I had to leave before...” She shuddered and once more left her words unfinished. Looking as if about to cry she suddenly turned and went running down the hill calling back, “I must find Rishka.” Something in her manner made me wonder if she and Rishka had gone back to being lovers.

  Now I was left alone again with my sad mood. Perhaps that was for the best. I had no wish to go on trading words with Zari at that moment. I should be happy, I told myself, overjoyed in fact, that we were all safely here and had found such welcome in this fair place. Instead, I felt this strange flat grief and under it a gnawing anger. Who was there to care for me? There was no one there from my village and Kara was dead. Slowly I walked back down, feeling very alone in this throng of people who all seemed to have found their heart’s circle.

  That night it was even more like an Essu. Flares were lit. There was drumming and singing and dancing. The air was thick with jol. Barrels of quillof were emptied into outstretched cups. To the sounds of bells and rhythmic clapping, Murghanth and Teko and the other Sheezerti juggled and did their acrobatic stunts, much as they must have done in the streets of Eezore before the edict. When they wearied, six Wanderers did a knife dance, their blades flashing fast as lightning, and afterward Hayika and Rishka challenged all those gathered to a riding contest.

  This was the first time I had ever seen Hereschell among his own people. He had thrown away his proud reserve, along with his idiot disguise. With abandon, he laughed and danced and sang songs and told stories. He even graciously and gracefully made a fool of himself, playing the clown for the children. They jumped up and down, begging him over and over to “do it again, do it again.”

  As the evening went on I saw couples slipping away into the dark. Some came back rumpled and disheveled, with grass and twigs caught in their clothes and hair. Then their friends would set to joking and teasing. When it grew late, so late we should all have been thinking of sleep, a strange silence fell on the camp and every head turned as one. There was Shalamith, riding toward us, mounted on Crusher’s back, all golden in the light of the flares. She threw back her head and began to sing. The power of her voice filled the night and echoed up and down the valley. All other occupations ceased for that time. When she grew weary and slipped from the horse’s back, Hereschell quickly pulled off his shirt and flung it down on a mound of grass near the fire. “Sit here, Lady, this is a soft place,” he said with a deep bow.

  ***

  There we were, the Khal Hadera Lossien, waiting again, waiting and gathering one last time. When we left this place we were headed for the coast. I was eager to be on our way, riding toward the end of our journey. The others did not share my impatience. They all seemed to be finding some enjoyment at the Gather. In spite of the festivities, the life of our camp soon settled into a routine, a routine that left me feeling excluded and unnecessary. Renaise ran the camp well and efficiently with the help of the Sheezerti and she liked it that way. Pell was keeping company with Tamara again and seemed to have no need of me. Rishka and Zari always seemed to be together. I took my sour mood and camped apart from the others by a small rock outcrop that thrust up from the valley floor. At Alyeeta’s urging I wrote every day, the only useful thing I did at that time. This spot offered me privacy and the ledges made a sort of crude table and seat.

  The Witches had formed their own small gathering within the Great-Gather, separate from us. That was where they mostly stayed, all but Hamiuri, that is. Hamiuri often sat at the Wanderer’s campfires, where they made much of her and fussed over her, covering her with shawls and bringing her bowls of broth, calling her “Beloved Grandmother,” “Blessed One,” and “the Old Wise One.” There she would sit with her snakes wound around her, telling stories while the little ones leaned against her or sat by her feet. Though I felt neither particularly welcome nor wanted in the Witches circle, I sometimes went to sit with them for the sake of Alyeeta’s touch, especially in the evening. Nothing else could soothe my aching spirit. Alyeeta, who was so often mocking and clever and could be so cruel with her tongue, was very gentle with me for that time. And Shalamith was kindness herself, always touching me when she passed, the kind of caress that seemed to ease the rawness. Even Telakeet forbore from her usual insults. But there were many new Witches who had come in with other gatherings of Star-Born or with the Wanderers. These ignored my presence and spoke among themselves, often in words I could not understand.

  One of these new ones, Nhenoma by name, seemed to be a very formidable Witch even among the Witches. She had just finished a passionate speech, most of which must have been in Asharan, since I could not understand a word of it, when suddenly Alyeeta said to her in Kourmairi, “But you are right, Nhenoma, I think the next generation of Witches will be the Star-Born.” Then Alyeeta pointed straight at me and said, with that disturbing mixture of love and anger, pride and envy that always made such a rush of confusion in my heart, “I think Witchcraft will end with you, Tazzi. It will die out. You will swallow it up. You, the Khal Hadera Lossien, you will be the last of the Witches and the first of a new breed. You are not like us, with skills and talents that can be sharpened with training and focused by the use of spells. What use have you for spells? You were born with powers and need only some training in the wielding of them. And who knows their limits? Not us, surely. We, who think to be your teachers, may yet live to find ourselves your students. It is hard on Witches’ pride.”

  “At least they must be easily taught seeing as they have so much talent,” Nhenoma said with a wolfish grin, turning to stare as if she had never noticed me before.

  “Not at all,” Alyeeta retorted. “I think obstinancy must have been among the gifts of the Great Star. Before, when I had apprentices, they bent themselves willingly to my will. They wished to please me and learn well. These Star-Born have to resist and argue and do a thing their own way though it must be done twice over. They have little respect for Witches, I can tell you that.” I slipped out from under Alyeeta’s hand. It no longer felt comforting. I wondered what else they had been saying that I had not understood. Now Nhenoma began telling in Kourmairi a terrible story of persecution in some village at the hands of ‘humans,’ a story not unlike my own, though each time she spit out the word ‘human’ in that spiteful way, I somehow felt accused. Then Telakeet took up the refrain saying, “All true, all true. I swear I would rather come back next time in the shape of a toad or a snake. It is far too difficult and painful trying to inhabit this human form. Sometimes the speech of flies and spiders has more charm.”

  Alyeeta laughed, her eyes gleaming with spite and malice, “Well, if the Goddess had consulted me I certainly would not have chosen to be born in human form and certainly not a woman as women are treated here. But a Witch�
��yes. Being a Witch has some power to sweeten this bitter bargain. Clearly I have no great love for people and no reason to have any. I much prefer the company of Witches though I think even bats and toads would be better than humans.” This last was said looking at the toad nestling in Telakeet’s hands.

  Whether or not this was all meant for me, as it seemed to be, I had heard enough. “Then you must hate us too, for we are also here in ‘human form,’” I said, flinging the words at Alyeeta as I made ready to jump to my feet.

  Before I could move, she fastened her hand on my wrist and pulled me close beside her, “No, no, I love you well enough, all of you, whatever form you are in. You have given me cause to live that I did not have these past few years. It is not the love one should question. There is more of that than I had ever thought to find in this life, though I may not always show it well. It is whether you are truly human. I think not. I think you are something other.”

  “Well, the Zarns must think the same,” I said bitterly. “They hate us and fear us both at once and pursue us as if we were monsters. But it is they who have the fire and use it with no mercy and we who are caught in its path.”

  “It is more fear than hate,” Olna said from the darkness where she had been sitting quietly. “Sooner or later, Tazzi, your very existence must mean an end to Zarns, not in my lifetime surely, perhaps not even in yours, but if the Khal Hadera Lossien continue to live, the power of the Zarns as we know it now will fall. They know this, if not in their minds then in their hearts. They are desperate. That is what makes them so dangerous and so cruel. That is why they try so hard to kill all of you now before it is too late. They will not succeed, of course. It is already too late. They do not begin to comprehend your powers, but they see in you an end to everything they have. Those who cannot be controlled are a great threat to those who must control.”

  I had sat through all this Witch-talk with my feelings pulled this way and that. Suddenly, with no forethought, I jumped up and whirled on them shouting, “Too much! Too much! We did not ask for this burden. You are all so full of envy and spite. We did not ask for this curse of powers. I would give it to you in a minute if I could, if everything would go back to being as it was, if I could go home and the Zarns would call off their hordes and the edict could be unwritten.”

  Alyeeta was shaking her head, a sadness almost like pity on her face. “Your powers are not something that can be snipped off or wished away, Tazzia. They are a part of you, embedded at the very core of being.”

  “What do I care!” I spat back at her, “I would cut them out if I could! I would be glad to.”

  “Tazzi, Tazzi...” Olna stood up and reached out for me, but I evaded her hands and dashed off into the darkness, running blindly, tripping over tent lines and cook pots, running as if I could leave it all behind me.

  “Tazzi, come back...come back...come back...” I could hear Alyeeta’s call echoing down the long valley.

  Was it true? Would I have gone back in time? Could I have gone back? Who would I have been without the powers? A very ordinary and ignorant girl growing up in my little village, not even a healer, not a speaker with creatures, not myself, in fact? Perhaps one of those who threw rocks at Tolgath, who tried to throw rocks at the child Tazzia, one of those who longed to kill the wolf—a thoroughly contemptible ‘human.’ Oh, but it cost so much not to be ‘human.’ At that moment I felt unwilling to pay that heavy price and wanted to lash out in a fury at fate. And, in truth, it was not the edict that had driven me out of my village, it was my own people, because of my powers. Even without the edict I could not have gone home. Besides, who would I have been and where would I have gone without Pell and the others?

  For the next few days my thoughts went round and round in a torment of questions. I hid out from the rest of them, staying by myself among my rock ledges and writing to close out these troubling thoughts. When the uproar in my head grew too loud to bear, I rode off on Dancer, going along the far edges of the valley. I did not return to the Witches’ circle. There was no comfort to be had there, only more confusion. I felt like an outcast among outcasts. One good thing, however, came of that pain. I discovered I could ride Dancer as I had ridden Marshlegs, with no bridle, with mind-touch only. I resolved never to put metal between her teeth again.

  The questions, of course, did not get answered. The Goddess did not appear before me nor did She speak in my heart. But I could not stay away forever. After a while I began following Olna and Maireth on their rounds among the burned ones. There were many in the camp, and it was one place at least where I could be useful.

  It was amazing to watch Olna’s composure as she moved from one to the next, always with a kind word. She never looked away in horror or disgust. Even at the worst of sights her hands did not shake nor did I ever hear from her the rage that ate at me constantly for what had been done. It felt as if her spirit was seated deep within her in a well of calm and love and pity. Even from my hard, angry place I recognized this as a kind of wisdom. When I spoke to Alyeeta of this she turned away. After a while of silence she said without turning back, “Wisdom, eh? Well let me tell you, girl, that wisdom was hard won and dearly paid for in the time of the Witch-kills.”

  “Tell me,” I said quickly, hoping to find some answer in her words.

  “No, no, that is hers to tell, not mine. You may ask, though I doubt she will speak of it—even now.”

  The next afternoon when a young woman died in our arms, I began raging at the guards, saying wildly, “I could burn them alive for this and listen with pleasure to their screams.”

  “Then you would become one of them,” Olna said quietly as she pulled a cover over the woman’s face. “No different. All to be done again.”

  “You do not hate them? How is that possible?”

  “No, I do not hate them, but I pity them, and perhaps that is worse.”

  “Pity!? How can you pity them when you see what they do?”

  “All the more reason for pity.”

  “Olna, do you really have no hatred and no anger? What are you made of?”

  “The same stuff you are made of. I had enough rage and hate in me once to have burned down the city of Eezore like a torch. It left me.” She looked me straight in the eye, “Do you really want to know?” I nodded, meeting her eyes with mine. Suddenly I felt pulled into her gaze. I was falling into a great swirling depth of pain and could barely stand. From the bottom of that depth I heard Olna say, “Let me tell you, Tazzi, there came a time during the Witch-kills, a time that was so terrible, so full of death and horror it seemed that the living could not go on living, that life itself would die. Finally, there were only two places to stand, two choices left in the world—at least for me. Hate or Love, nothing else, nothing I could see. And I had to make the choice. I think I went mad at the time, down, down into a pit of madness. Believe me, I understand your rage and hatred better than you think, better than you can imagine.

  “If I chose Hate, then I knew I had to hate everything, even the sun that came up in the morning, even my lover’s gentle face, even myself right to the very core. If it was Love, then I had to love everything, yes everything, even ‘the enemy,’ even those who hated us and tried to kill us at every turn, yes, even them. I had to love them and understand them and grieve for them, and yes, even pity them, poor driven souls. One or the other. I had to turn myself into an instrument of one or the other, fully and completely with no turning back. I chose Love, but it was close, very close. It seemed easier to choose Hate. It was very tempting until I really saw where it led. They would have won after all and everything, everything would have gone down. That is what you call my wisdom. It is the choice called Love. All else follows from that. It is not always an easy road, but at least it has allowed me to live. Now you know.”

  I kept looking into her eyes, wanting to cry, wanting to scream with what I saw there. Finally I asked in a sort of choked whisper, “And what about me?”

  “You are very different. You be
gan with love and have had to learn hate, which is very dangerous to you, but in the end you will stretch out around all of it, hold it all in one person and then you will understand. That is as much as I can tell you now, and as much as I can speak of this.”

  Whenever I was with Olna her words touched some deep spring of life inside me, but as soon as she was out of sight the bitterness returned, sometimes with redoubled strength. I began to notice to my surprise that Rishka was spending more and more time with her. The demon of jealousy bit into me with a fury, though it would have been hard to say which of them I was most jealous of. Rishka had continued to ignore me, though I often contrived to be near her. We barely passed a civil word. Even so, I kept watch on her, always aware of where she was, sometimes aware even when I could not see her. The memory of the Drugha-Malia still boiled in my blood, burning now like an angry fire. Pride kept me silent till one day it was too much. When she went to walk by me without a word, I stepped into her path, blocking the way, “Am I a ghost or a rock that you pass me without speaking? We were lovers and that is still between us. How can you pretend not to know me?”

  She stopped and I saw a look of indecision cross her face. Then suddenly she burst out, “Oh, Tazzi, Tazzi! Yes, I love you, and yes it is still between us, even now. But it is like poison for us both. No good comes of it, only more pain, and so I pass in silence though it cuts my heart. Every time we come together in a place of love, afterward we come together in a place of rage. It pushes me back again to where I have been. I am trying so hard to heal from all that. I have had enough in my life of blows and lashes and red rage. I need to be done with it, to live, to go on. When it seems hopeless, when the darkness begins closing over me, then Olna shows me a way. She is the only one. She has been there herself and gives me hope. None of the other Witches and none of the Khal Hadera Lossien, either, know how to help. Olna is the only one. Tazzi, your anger and your bitterness are too much for me. They drag me back into despair.”