We danced to a few more songs before Géros grabbed me, laughing, and pulled me out of the crowd of dancing couples.
“You’re insatiable, Maresi Enresdaughter,” he said, and fell to the grass, panting. He smiled up at me. “Insatiable and pretty.”
No one has ever called me pretty before! I am sure I blushed terribly. I stood there, uncertain what to do, but he reached up a hand and drew me down beside him. I landed on my knees and felt the damp of the grass seep through my skirt. Still holding my hand, Géros interlaced his fingers with mine. The air was still full of flutes and drums and the ground was vibrating from the dancers’ heavy footsteps. The evening was cool, but I was struck by the warmth emanating from Géros’s body. He smelled of countless things I had never encountered before and could not put my finger on. I had never been so close to a man who was not a member of my own family. For a brief moment I thought of the men who came to the island, and became conscious of the scar on my abdomen where the fingerless man stabbed me with his blade. But then I looked into Géros’s dark eyes, and it was not the Crone I heard whispering in my ear. It was another whisper altogether, one I had never heard before.
He pulled me toward him and kissed me—in front of everybody! He kissed me, and it felt like being inside the Temple of the Rose, or no, it was not like that at all. It was like nothing I could have ever imagined. It was heat. It was a tremor in my body, a squeeze, a fire. I do not believe I was ever truly alive before that moment. I had only ever known one aspect of life, and that was death, but now I know the power governed by the Rose, the first aspect of the Goddess. It is the power that lives in my own flesh.
I could not get enough of his lips. I could not get enough of the feeling he awoke inside me. I am blushing as I write this, but I know that you understand because this is the power you serve. And it is strong, Ennike Rose, it is stronger than the power of the Crone. More irresistible. I never understood it before now. I used to believe that nothing was more powerful than the Crone, that nothing could be more inevitable than death. I believed I had chosen the strongest aspect.
I was wrong, oh how wrong I was.
His body pressed against mine. His hands in my hair. My hands on his strong, bare neck.
I am trembling as I write this.
My dear Ennike Rose,
I am so glad that the harvest has not yet begun, because sometimes I can snatch a little time to myself, and that means I can see Géros. Some days he comes to our village early in the morning so that we can spend some time together before the day’s tasks begin. We meet behind the hay barn. On other days he walks the path from his village to mine as soon as he has finished his duties on the farm. Sometimes I run to meet him. We seek out a secluded ditch or walk deep into the forest where we can be alone.
We explore each other with lips and hands and it is wonderful—wonderful! I never knew anything of this body I possess. I had no idea that my body could do such things. When we are together, all I can think of is Géros’s hands, lips, neck, throat, cheeks, legs, chest, body . . . It is like being drunk on sweetened wine. My head spins, my hands tremble, my heart beats fast and hard.
Akios teases me relentlessly. Father just mutters and gets on with his work. Mother has a satisfied smile on her face. She has thawed out and become more talkative with me. It is like when I first returned. But, more remarkable still, everybody in the village is now treating me differently. The girls stop to chat when we cross paths fetching water at the stream, rather than squeezing out a polite hello and continuing on their way, as before. The older women in the village give me advice about chicken feed and offer to teach me various embroidery patterns. The boys wink and chuckle as they pass by.
I have made that infusion you taught me to prepare. The one with the plant with the pointed leaves that you called Goddess Tongue. I drink it every morning. You know what that means. Thank you for insisting, despite my laughter and dismissal when you brought it up in conversation. I do not want to become with child now.
Géros fills my thoughts. It is bizarre—I have been more intimate with him than with anyone else in my life, yet I know so little about him. I know how the color of his eyes deepens when he looks at me. I know how weak I become when he touches my waist. I know the taste of his lips, the feeling of his tongue against mine, the smell of the skin in the hollow of his throat. I know the feeling of him inside me. But I know little about Géros the person, and neither have I asked him much. How odd that one can be so intimate with someone who is essentially a stranger.
I feel like a stranger to myself too. The thoughts in my head are changed. My body is changed. Everything is new and amazing and I do not speak to the Crone and I do not go for walks around the village in the evenings anymore, because I have no time. I pray to the Maiden and the half-moon that hangs pale above the horizon.
Soon it will be harvest time.
Yours,
Dearest Jai,
Today Náraes and her family came for a visit. Mother put down her sewing the moment they came breezing into the cottage, but it did not escape my sister’s keen sight.
“What are you sewing, Mother?” she asked with furrowed brow. Jannarl unwrapped the large blanket he had wound around Dúlan for the short walk across the yard.
“Is it raining?” I asked.
“No. What are you sewing, Mother?”
“Just a little something that we need. For Maresi.”
I had indeed guessed a long time ago, but I had never brought it up with Mother. I had no desire to talk about it now either, and tried to think of a way to steer the conversation elsewhere, but just then Maressa ran over to me.
“Do you have time now then?”
“What for?”
“To teach me those letters. You promised!”
“Yes, Maresi does seem remarkably busy, doesn’t she? The sowing is long finished, and everybody else is enjoying a rest before harvest time. What could possibly be keeping you so occupied? Could it be that you’re finally working on that school you were planning to open?”
Náraes’s voice was pointed. I gave her a sour look.
“You know I have no silver with which to build a schoolhouse, or to obtain all the necessary provisions.”
“You could always begin with Maressa and the other little ones right here, at Mother’s fireside. Why must it be in a special schoolhouse? Why do you need more than a lump of coal and a smooth-planed plank?” She turned abruptly to Mother. “What are you sewing for Maresi?”
Mother crossed her arms across her chest. “Bedclothes. Towels. A bonnet.”
“Náraes. Darling.” Jannarl laid a calming hand on his wife’s arm. She shook it away, irritated.
“A bridal bonnet?”
“Yes, if you must know. Maresi was away for several years; she hadn’t the chance to sew her own bridal set.”
Náraes turned to look at me. We are the same height now, but in that moment it felt as if she towered above me, like when we were young.
“You need a bridal bonnet? You need a bridal set?”
I thought about Géros. About his mouth on my neck. His hands on my . . . I blushed. I had given no thought to marriage. Honestly. I had only thought that I wanted to be with him all the time. But, well, is that not what marriage is? Being together all the time?
“I will probably marry at some point,” I said, and looked to Mother for support. “Everyone does eventually.”
“But you aren’t like everyone! You’ve had something no one else has! It’s your duty to share it with those of us who never got the chance!” Náraes’s fists were clenched in frustration. “Oh, if only I could go back in time and convince Father to send me in your place!”
“Náraes!” Mother cried in a fearsome voice. Everybody fell silent and looked at her. “Think of what you are saying,” she said quietly. She looked at my father. He avoided her gaze and withdrew.
“It’s true! I could have made life better, for me, for everybody in the village.” Náraes’s voice had
softened somewhat, but she would not relent.
“I can still teach even if I am married,” I said weakly. But I was not wholly convinced it was true. Náraes scoffed.
“Really? When you have your own home to care for? Do you ever see Mother take a half-day off her work for any purpose whatsoever? Do you ever see me do that? We clean, scrub, sew and patch, spin and weave, pickle and juice, dry and salt, we carry water and wood, we make sure the fire keeps burning—and just wait until you have children!” She stopped suddenly. “Are you with child?”
I blushed. “No!”
“When you have children you have no freedom left. None! You nurse and cook, you attend to illness, you keep watch, you worry.” She gasped violently for breath. “I love my children. I love all three of them. But you know nothing, Maresi. Nothing.”
ϖ
The atmosphere was tense after that. Maressa did not seem bothered by her mother’s outburst. I sat with her in a corner practicing letters on a plank stub all evening long. Akios joined us when he came home. Then I had them practice with each other and asked Náraes to come outside with me for a talk. She stood there with arms crossed, looking just like our mother. The same sharp wrinkle in her forehead, the same beautiful lips drawn down at the corners into a deep frown. The nocturnal birds were singing and the air was both warm and cool at once, in a way that it never is on Menos.
“Don’t be cross with me.” I put one arm around her and leaned my head on her shoulder. “Please, my sweet sister. Don’t be cross.”
She sighed and stood still for a moment before putting her arm around my shoulders. “I’m not cross.”
I looked up at her and raised my eyebrows. She laughed.
“All right, I am. Maresi, why are you throwing everything away?”
“I do not see it that way. You must understand . . .”
I searched for the words. I had not really thought about it, and neither did I want to. I would rather not put it into words. Some things are better left in the realm of pure experience. But I owed it to Náraes to at least make an attempt.
“When I went to the Abbey I was just a little girl. I thought nothing of men or boys at all. I devoured knowledge; I always wanted to learn more and more. It was the only thing that kept homesickness at bay. And when men did come to Menos, they were wicked. They had wicked intentions, they did wicked things. Then I came back here, where men and women live together, and the men here are good men, like our brother and father, and your husband.”
Náraes held me a little tighter.
“I had no idea how to be with men.”
“And now you do?” Náraes had the hint of a smirk in her voice. I pinched her in the side.
“Oh, hush. You understand . . . Or perhaps I do not really understand it myself. I thought I had dedicated my life to the Crone, the third aspect of the First Mother, who reigns over the realm of death, guardian of mysterious wisdom, mistress of tempests, the cold and dark. I was convinced that this was my destiny—my whole destiny. And then . . . then came Géros, and he looked at me and suddenly there was something more. There was life. There was desire. There was another power that was just as strong, if not more.”
“Love?” Náraes turned to look me in the eyes.
“I am not sure. I think so.”
She sighed. “Promise me you’re not throwing everything away for a man. Promise me that.”
As soon as she said these words, the promise was easy to make.
“I promise not to devote time to love before I have made something of my life.”
With that she was satisfied.
Yet I am not even sure what I meant by that.
Yours,
Venerable Sister O,
It has been calm in these parts ever since I paid off the village’s debts. The soldiers have left us in peace, which everybody says is a wonder. However, a patrol appeared just south of Jóla recently. Without so much as a word, they stole three pigs from a young boy as he was herding them along, and when he tried to protest they beat him very badly. I called in today to see if he needed help, but Tauer had treated his injuries expertly. Still I worry that the boy’s right hand will never be the same again.
As I walk home from Jóla in the light summer evenings I listen intently for hoofbeats and the clink of weapons among the trees. We are not safe here. We are at the mercy of the nádor and his whims, of his soldiers and their violence. The people here have no way to defend themselves. I must help them, Sister O. There must be a way I can protect my people. But how? If only I could ask you for advice!
Your novice,
My dear Ennike Rose,
Meeting Géros is more complicated now that the harvest has begun. The days are filled with work. I have been going to Jóla in the evening to try and see him after he has finished working. Yesterday I found him by the hay barn, alone and eager. He pulled me into the near-empty barn and undressed me immediately, without a word. It has become more and more pleasurable every time. The first few encounters were nothing special, but now I know my body better and know what to ask for.
Afterward, we lay tangled in each other’s limbs. Géros’s fingers played in my hair and I floated in and out of a blissful stupor.
“My beautiful Maresi,” he whispered hoarsely into my ear. “Mine, mine, mine.” He kissed my neck between every word. I paid little attention to what he was saying; I was just enjoying the sensation of his hands in my hair. It has grown longer now and soon will be as long as Jai’s (except hers must have grown too, of course!). Géros’s fingers coiled and caressed. I shivered with pleasure.
“I’ve been thinking that I should build a house for myself here in our compound,” said Géros after a while. “Nothing big. One room only. We’ve already got a larder and all that.”
“Aren’t you a little young for that?” I mumbled. “Don’t you enjoy having a mother who takes care of your food and washing?” I yawned. “I do.”
His fingers stopped. “You do?”
“Yes. Though of course it would be nice to make my own decisions about my own household. No, don’t stop.” I pulled his hand back into my hair. He had propped himself up on his elbow and was studying my face keenly.
“Do you mean it? Would you really like that?”
Suddenly I realized where this conversation was heading. I tried to keep my voice steady and my face straight. “Well, yes. But not yet. Not for a few years.”
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. Slowly he continued to play with my hair.
We said goodbye shortly afterward. I kissed him on the forehead. I had never done that before.
When I emerged I realized that he had braided my hair into a thick, tight braid. I felt it with my hands. It was strange having my hair bound that way. I have not had it braided since . . . well, since that night when we bound the calm and then brought forth the storm.
Mother raised her eyebrows in surprise when I came in, but said nothing. She set out a pot of steaming soup and bowls. Akios came in from chopping wood on the hillside, and Father put down the basket he was weaving. We sat down at the table and began eating. Then Akios looked up.
“Your hair! You’ve braided it!”
“It suits you,” said Mother calmly with a little cough. “Now we can see your pretty neck.”
Father said nothing, just looked at me with a mildly inquisitive expression in his eyes. I shrugged.
“I am just trying it. It is tight. It pulls at my scalp.”
“You get used to it,” said Mother. “And if it’s too heavy you can always cut a little hair off.”
I gave the braid a chance and kept it for the whole evening. But by bedtime my temples were tense and throbbing and my head ached. I loosened the braid and listened, but no storm lashed at the cottage walls. It was a relief to have my hair free again. I took out the copper comb and realized it had been a long time since I had used it. Several dry lavender flowers fell to the floor—Jai’s gift. I picked them up and inhaled the scent deeply. They smell like t
he dormitory in Novice House. They smell like Sister Nar’s garden. Like home.
I pulled the comb through my hair. It crackled and sparkled, but nothing happened. No howling storm. I gathered the hair that had fallen out and bound it into the braid I keep under my pillow. Then I undressed and crawled into bed.
I do not have much Goddess Tongue left, but that is no matter. I do not think I will need it anymore.
Yours,
Venerable Sister O,
I no longer wear the clothes Mother gave me: the blouse, embroidered apron and gray skirt. I now dress as we do in the Abbey: in my own shirt, trousers and headscarf, which Mother had washed and put away in the chest at the foot of my bed. For even if I do dress like the women here, it does not make me one of them. They have treated me differently since I started spending time with Géros, but still not as one of them. Ironically, it seems that the silver I paid for everybody’s debts has become a barrier between us. Nobody here had ever seen so much money. Few had even seen a silver coin. The idea that Maresi Enresdaughter, who used to play down by the stream as a child, suddenly had so much money is too bizarre for them to comprehend. I share a name with the girl who once played here, but as far as they are concerned we are not the same person.
Of course they are my people, and I have missed them, and I am happy to be reunited with them. The women here are kind and friendly and clever. But all they talk about is men and farm work, marriage and housekeeping. I understand. I do not blame them in the least. Larders and looms are their domain, and they measure their worth in how well they care for their homes and children. It is not their fault that their world is so small. Neither is there anything wrong with this world.
Red Mantle Page 10
