Byrna could not speak. Her eyes were swollen nearly shut with crying, her face blotched and crimson. Marisela held her head as she sipped the cup at her lips, laid her down. “You will sleep after a little.”
Felicia knelt at Byrna’s side, took her hands and said, “Sister, I know. I really do, remember?”
Byrna said, her voice hoarse and ghastly, “But you had your little boy for five years, five whole years, and mine is still so little, only a baby—”
“And it was that much harder for me,” Felicia said gently. Her big gray eyes filled with tears as she said, “You did right, Byrna, and I only wish I had had the courage to do the same, to give him up at once to the woman he will call mother. I kept him here for my own comfort, and then when he was five years old, he had to go among strangers, where everything is different and they will expect him already to know how to be what they call a little man—” she swallowed hard. “I took him to my brother’s house—he cried so, and I had to tear his hands away and leave him, and they had to hold him, and I could hear him all the way down the street, screaming ‘Mother, Mother—’ ” Her voice held endless pain. “It is so much better—to let him go now, when all he will know is love and kindness and a warm breast—and if his foster mother has nursed him herself she will love him so much more and be gentler with him.”
“Yes, yes, but I want him, I want him—” Byrna sobbed, and clung to Felicia; Felicia was crying now, too, and Marisela drew Magda gently out of the room.
“Felicia can help her now more than anyone else.”
Magda said, “I should think she would make it worse—isn’t it cruel for them both?”
Marisela put her arm round Magda and said gently, “No, chiya, it is what they both need; grief unspoken turns to poison. Byrna must mourn for her child, even though it is like death. And she can help Felicia, too; Felicia has not been able to cry for her son, and now they can weep together and be eased by knowing the other truly understands. Otherwise they will both sicken with the first sickness that comes near them, and Byrna, at least, could die. Give the Goddess her due, child, even when her due is grief. You have never borne a child, or you would know.” She kissed Magda’s cheek and said gently, “Some day you too will be able to weep and be healed of your grief.”
Magda watched Marisela go down the stairs, staring after her in amazement. She supposed Marisela was right—she had come to respect the woman, she knew as much as most Medics, in her own way, and she supposed she had a good grip of the psychology of the matter; everyone knew that stress could cause psychosomatic illness, though she was surprised that Marisela would think of it. But certainly Marisela was wrong about her, she had no particular sorrows, she had nothing to cry about! Anger, yes, enough to burst with it. Especially lately. Resentment. But grief? She had nothing to cry about, she had not cried more than three times in her adult life. Oh, yes, she had cried when she had been hurt and Marisela had stitched up her leg without anesthetic, but that was different. The idea that she might have some unknown and hidden grief for which she should be healed, struck her as the most fantastic thing she had ever heard.
There was the sound of a mellow chime; the bell warning women who had come in from working in the city that dinner would be served in an hour and that they should finish bathing, changing their garments. Magda went upstairs, still frowning. She passed Byrna’s closed door, hoping that the woman was sleeping.
I was sad, but not enough to cry about it, when I realized that Peter had not managed to make me pregnant; and then, when we separated, I was glad not to be burdened with a child. And especially now—what would I do here with a child? I could now be in Byrna’s predicament. The idea is ridiculous. Marisela could use some sensible Terran training, both in medicine and psychology.
As she stripped off her clothes to change for dinner, she sighed at the thought of confronting Rafaella again at the meal, or meeting the unspoken resentment of the others. But there was nothing she could do about it, and she would not hide in her room and let them know that it bothered her. She was a Terran; and even more than that, she was a Renunciate, and she would somehow manage enough strength to get through this time.
* * *
Chapter Two
Inside Mother Lauria’s office the women heard the chime, and Mother Lauria sighed. “I must go, Jaelle; it has been good to have this talk with you. You will spend the night in the House, won’t you? It does not matter which women you and I think are qualified, I cannot require of any woman that she leave her sisters and take employment among the Terrans. She herself must wish to go.”
“But we cannot let any woman go who wishes,” Jaelle insisted, “They must be the right ones—we do not wish them to fail and the Terrans think us silly women, think the women of Darkover are all fools and children who hide behind the safety of home. And they should not be lovers of women, for that is a thing the Terrans despise. I would like to consult with Magda about it—”
“The very last one. She is new to us—”
“She has been among you three moons; as long as I have been among the Terrans.”
“But the women in the House do not know she is Terran; they would wonder why I consulted with a newcomer, instead of a veteran who has been among us for years. I might as well ask Doria!”
“You could do worse; children’s eyes see clearly,” Jaelle said. “I am sure Doria knows our faults and weaknesses as well as I do myself. But before we make any decisions I would like to speak privately, at least, with Magda. I can see that you would not want to call her out from the rest and consult with her—” Jaelle felt troubled; she had not known Magda had chosen to be anonymous here. But Mother Lauria had risen, firmly, and the interview was over.
Jaelle went and washed her hands in the downstairs scullery. Her home, she realized, and for the first time since she was eleven, she had no designated place here! She went into the dining hall, and after a moment, there was a cry of “Jaelle!” and she was caught enthusiastically in Rafaella’s arms.
Jaelle returned the hug and laughed gaily at her partner’s surprise.
“You didn’t expect to see me, did you? How is the business?”
“As well as can be expected, when you have been away so long,” Rafaella returned, half teasing, but with a note of real resentment. “To work among the Terranan! How could you?”
“I am not the first, and shall not be the last,” Jaelle said quietly. “You will hear about that in House meeting. And you have left the House to live with a freemate, more than once, have you not?”
“But with a Terranan!” Rafaella’s vivacious face grimaced in fastidious distaste. “I would as soon couple with a cralmac!”
Jaelle laughed. “I have never lain down with a cralmac,” she said, “and know nothing about their bed manners, though in the mountains I once knew a woman who said she slept every night between her two female cralmacs for warmth, so they cannot be as disgusting as all that! But, seriously, Rafi, the Terrans are men like other men, no more different from us than hillmen from lowlanders; differing from us only in language and customs, no more. They are far more like to us than the chieri, and there is the blood of the Ancient Folk in all the Hastur kin. I had not thought to hear you, of all people, repeating superstitious nonsense about the Terrans, as if they had horns and tails!”
Perhaps, she thought, it is no miracle that Magda chose to be anonymous here, if this nonsense about the Terrans is common to the women here! I thought the sisters of my own Guild House had better sense! But she let it pass—she had no wish to quarrel with her friend and partner.
“But tell me about the work and how it goes, Rafi. You could take someone else into partnership for a time, you know, while I am away, or even permanently—there is enough work for three, most years. And how is my baby, Doria?”
“Your baby is in her Housebound time, and will take the Oath at Midsummer,” Rafaella returned dryly. “If she can manage to be admitted—she is at the very worst stage in growing up— every time I
say a word to her, she bursts into tears! I am really ashamed of her. The business? Well, I have had to turn down two caravans, but we are doing well enough. There is a new maker of saddles—”
“Can you find somewhere else to talk?” asked a tall, slender woman, hair gleaming faint gold, a long apron pinned over her trousers. Rafaella took her friend’s shoulder and shoved her along so that the woman could set plates and bowls along the long table. “Our sister Keitha, she came to us at the same time as your oath-sister Margali,” Rafaella said, and turned to introduce Jaelle. Women were streaming into the hall now, singly and in little groups, standing about and talking, finding seats, amid clattering dishes. There was a good smell of hot bread fresh from the oven, and Jaelle sniffed, appreciatively.
“Real food! I’m starved!”
“What’s the matter, don’t the Terrans feed you? You’ve certainly gained weight,” Rafaella said, raising her eyebrows. “Or is there another reason for that, Shaya?”
Jaelle smiled at the pet name, given her in this house when she was younger than Doria, but drew a little away from Rafi; she didn’t want to talk about that yet.
And yet if I had a child, I could keep it and raise it myself with Peter’s help, I would not need to face the fact that it might be a son whom I must give up when he was five years old. I have always felt that Amazons should not have children; there are enough unwanted girls whom we can take into our homes and our hearts, as Kindra took me.
But I was not unwanted. Mother—mother loved me, I think, though I cannot remember her at all. Sometimes, in the dreams I have been having under those damned machines, I think I remember her a little. And Rohana would gladly have fostered me. Yet I chose to come here…
Magda, coming into the dining hall, felt a sudden wave of dismay and distress, and stopped hesitantly on the threshold. What was happening to her? She was having peculiar small hallucinations all the time now. Was she losing her mind? She looked around the room, saw Rafaella by the fireplace, talking to a woman in a blue dress; but not an Amazon, for the woman’s hair was long and coppery-red, curling at the tips. Then the woman laughed and turned her head toward the door, and Magda froze; Jaelle!
She was sure she had not made a sound, but Jaelle turned as if Magda had called her name, her face filled with delighted surprise.
“What is it, Jaelle, what’s happened, why are you here?” Were they, in fact, discussing her crime? She had been told that the matter must be taken up with her oath-mother. But Jaelle said gaily, “I am not housebound, breda; I would have come before, but this was my first chance—I have been very busy, as you can imagine.”
Magda searched her friend’s eyes; there was more in them than a casual visit. The whites of the eyes seemed bloodshot, but she knew how rarely Jaelle cried. Perhaps—a nagging, intrusive thought. Peter doesn’t let her get much sleep. She dropped the thought as if it had burned her. You’d think I was jealous!
“Mother Lauria and I have been discussing the women who can be chosen to learn Terran medicine, but I want to talk with you about that. Not here, though.” The chiming of the supper bell interrupted them; Mother Lauria came in and took her seat, and Jaelle sniffed with delight.
“I am so tired of food that comes out of machines! Real bread, fresh baked—and tripe stew, if I’m not mistaken. Wonderful! Here, let’s sit here,” Jaelle said, seizing her hand, responding to Camilla’s beckoning hand, bending to give Camilla a quick hug and kiss. “Well, Aunt, you look hearty and well, did Nevarsin’s climate agree with you? Come sit by me, Margali, let’s eat and you tell me everything they’ve been doing to you around here!”
Magda laughed. “That would take more than an evening!”
“Breda—” Jaelle said, startled, as if actually seeing her for the first time. “Chiya, what have they been doing to you here? ”You have lost weight,” she scolded, “The housebound season is hellish for everyone, I know, but you mustn’t let it affect you this way!” Then Jaelle took Magda in a close embrace, long and hard and deliberate.
Magda could not see the tears Jaelle hid against her shoulder, though she sensed that Jaelle was clinging to her as if for comfort. But she also saw Janetta’s knowing smirk, and sensed that all eyes were on them. She pulled back a little.
“Don’t, Jaelle!” She could not conceal her unease; the room seemed suddenly full of a ringing silence, as if all the noises of dishes and silverware were echoing in a vast, vaulted chamber from many miles away.
Jaelle withdrew, frowning. She asked, almost formally, “Have I wronged you somehow, oath-daughter?”
“Oh, no,” Magda said, shocked; lowering her voice, she murmured, “It’s only—I didn’t want—I mean, everyone in the Guild House already believes I am your lover…” her voice trailed off. She was half expecting Jaelle to reply sensibly, “What does that matter?”
However, Jaelle only murmured, “I see,” and sat down as if nothing had happened. But her look sent a chill through Magda; it was the same look Jaelle had given her that first night, when Jaelle had rescued her from the bandits bent on rape; icy, detached, verging on contempt. The next moment, though, it was gone and Magda was wondering if she had imagined it, as Camilla and young Doria were hugging and kissing Jaelle and trading around so they could all sit together around the corner of the table.
Jaelle said over Doria’s head, “This is my baby, Margali; she was no more than three when I came here as a fosterling, and she has always been my pet and plaything—and now look at her, all grown up and ready for the Oath! I’m so proud of you, chiya!”
Doria glanced at Magda with a tiny shared grin, and Magda thought, she hasn’t seen us shaking all over at Training Sessions or she wouldn’t be so proud of us! Thank heaven there won’t be one tonight; I couldn’t stand it, in front of Jaelle! Or, she wondered, was there? Tripe stew usually appeared on the nights of Training Sessions or the almost equally frightening house meetings. She had never lost her distaste for tripe stew; as the dish passed, she shook her head, passing it to Jaelle. Jaelle stared.
“Really? It’s my favorite and I’m starved for it! Well, the less there is for you, the more for the rest of us!” She helped herself liberally. “Sisters, you’ll never appreciate the food here until you have to try to eat what the Terrans call food!” She was exaggerating, almost a burlesque.
“You can have my share, and welcome,” Magda said, trying to hide her bitterness. Here was Jaelle, home, feasting and laughing and enjoying herself as if she’d been locked in solitary confinement on bread and water. While in the Terran Zone Jaelle had fifteen choices at every meal, and didn’t even have to help cook them, music from several different planets, all the books ever written, rounds of parties and visiting among Base personnel—as Peter’s wife she would be required to attend most of the official functions—sports, swimming (and in an indoor, properly heated pool at that), and all kinds of games and recreation. And here I am, struggling with stable brooms, and in disgrace at that… and fed on tripe stew, dammit!
Magda found a bowl of something which tasted faintly like baked yams or pumpkin—and helped herself. Then someone passed her the leftover dish, filled with some mixture of grain baked with cheese and reheated in milk. “I saved this just for you, Margali.” Magda gritted her teeth, knowing that this was intended as a subtle insult; most of the women considered the stuff barely fit to eat even when it was served fresh, but it made its appearance on the table, because it was cheap, all too often since the House had been let in for the enormous cash indemnity by the man Magda had wounded. She told herself not to be hypersensitive—everyone knew how much she disliked the tripe stew—and helped herself without comment. But just last night, the girl who had “saved” it for her had made, just too loud, a comment about how their food budget had suffered, and why.
She was buttering herself a piece of bread when Jaelle said quietly, “You don’t have to eat that reish, Margali!”
The word she had used meant literally, stable-sweepings; horseshit. Magda to
ok a spoonful.
“Never mind, I like it, really, better than the tripe stew.”
“You couldn’t! Listen, breda, you’re my oath-daughter, you don’t have to take that kind of treatment from anybody! Not in my own house!” Now it seemed that, from the light touch of Jaelle’s hand on her wrist, the woman’s own rage flowed into Magda, she was filled with fury, how dared they treat her that way! A grain of sanity insisted in Magda that it was all very silly, she really liked the grain-and-cheese dish as well as anything else they served here, but through her own sanity she felt Jaelle’s fury, a slight to her oath-daughter was a slight to Jaelle as well. Jaelle took the dish in her hand, and stood over the woman who had handed it to Magda.
“That’s very generous of you, Cloris, but knowing how much you like it, we couldn’t possibly deprive you of it!” Jaelle said, eyes flashing, and dumped the whole soggy mess on Cloris’s plate. Magda knew—and Cloris did, too—that she had come very close to dumping it on Cloris’s cropped curls. “A present— from my oath-daughter!” She put enough emphasis on the words that Cloris bent her head, color rising in her round cheeks, and put a fork into the mess, choking down a spoonful. Jaelle stood over her, triumphant, for a moment, then came back to her seat, where Magda was pretending to eat the baked-pumpkin stuff, and picked up her own fork.
Slowly, the tension in the room dissolved. Camilla and Doria were asking a hundred questions about the Terran Zone; they spoke a rapid-fire Cahuenga that Magda could hardly follow, but she did sense Jaelle’s anger melting away as she talked on, and after a time it was the old Jaelle, merrily regaling her friends with larger-than-life adventures in faraway places; all the little foibles of the Terrans grew and seemed hysterical.
The Saga of the Renunciates Page 46
