Neither Nirel nor Davon had left the bow for more than a few minutes all day. Others caught their sharpened interest and came to stand with them. This area looked better than anything they’d seen so far. All they needed was a river or at least a good-sized stream, and they’d have their place.
Nirel’s eyes were sharper than Davon’s, so she spotted the flat silver streak cutting across the plain before he did. She pointed. “There.”
He fixed his eyes on the spot she indicated as the ship tacked first one way, then the other, drawing ever closer. Finally he let out his breath in a long, heartfelt sigh. “Praise the Lord.”
That was enough for those around them to begin to murmur in excitement. Davon watched for a while longer, then turned to Nirel. “Go tell the captain to make for the river mouth. We’ll anchor there and go ashore to scout. We should have a decision before sunset.”
They reached the place three hours past noon. Nirel took one long look at the lush greenery carpeting the gentle slopes on either side of the river’s broad curve and went below to pack. The scouting party returned under a sunset sky stained in brilliant shades of orange, red and pink. As soon as he climbed to the deck of the ship, Elder Davon raised his hands and lifted his face to catch the golden light. “The Lord of Justice spreads his glory across the sky in celebration. He has brought us safely to the place he has been preparing for us from the dawn of creation. I name it Faithhome, the first true home of the Faithful, ours and ours alone, now and forever. Let us raise our voices in gratitude for his bounty.”
He led them in one of the slow, chanting hymns of praise to the Lord. Nirel had never heard it sung by more than a handful of people at once, in the close confines of a shrine. Now hundreds of voices swelled in unison. From other ships the melody rose to join theirs, the music carrying the joyful news across the fleet. The song floated unconstrained into the night, echoing across the land where the Faithful would never again be silenced.
* * *
Over the next weeks, the Elders supervised an orderly disembarkation and unloading of the ships. Parties of strong young men traveled to the forested slopes of the mountains and sent rafts of logs drifting down the river. Others dug channels to distribute fresh water and ditches to carry waste away. The rest of the men labored with saws and hammers to cut boards and raise buildings in the neat grids the Elders laid out. First storehouses for the precious seed and barns for the valuable animals. Then shrines, one large central building and numerous small ones scattered throughout the city, each proudly displaying the dome that no longer must be hidden within. Finally houses, row upon row of identical square buildings, one for each family that had made the journey. As quickly as they were completed the women moved in and set about transforming them into comfortable homes.
Nirel marveled at how smoothly it all went. She didn’t know if Elder Davon and the others had prepared this as a secondary plan while still in Ramunna or during the long months crossing the ocean, or if they’d put it together during the fifteen day trip from Tevenar, but clearly they’d given it a great deal of thought at some point. The tasks were strange to the city-bred Faithful, but they’d been trained all their lives to obey and work hard, so they set to them willingly, and their clumsiness gradually transformed to competence.
She labored at whatever task the elders allowed women to perform. There was so much work to be done they were forced to stretch the interpretation of the Ordinances far beyond what had been standard in Ramunna. Nirel built beds and chairs and tables, carried endless loads of goods from the ships, fed animals and shoveled manure. She led a party of archers away from the settlement and taught them how to stalk and bring down prey. She helped paint the swirling, eye-dazzling patterns of the draperies onto the walls of the big shrine at the heart of the settlement. In the future huge swaths of cloth would be woven to adorn the shrine properly, but until then the vital disorienting effect would be produced by the layers of pigment she and many others applied to the raw boards.
On the third morning after they’d taken up residence in the first house to be completed, Davon nodded to Lena across the table Nirel had constructed. “I’ll be bringing a guest home for the evening meal tonight.”
Lena stiffened, but bowed her head. “I’ll prepare a warm welcome for him.”
Nirel followed her glance to the open fire pit in the center of the room. There was no stone for chimneys, so for the present they were making do with a simple hole in the roof. Some of the men were experimenting with mixtures of mud and gravel that showed promise, but it would be a long time before they had the sort of hearth Lena was used to. She was making do with pots suspended from a tripod, but she was far from satisfied with the quality of food she was able to produce.
She kept her voice low and respectful. “Perhaps he would prefer to wait until we have more complete facilities and can provide him with better hospitality.”
“Nolaren has been living in the bachelor camp. I promise, anything you ladies produce will be far better than what he’s been eating.”
He smiled indulgently at both of them. His eyes took on a speculative expression as they settled on Nirel. “I’ve had my eye on him for some time now. He’s one of our most promising young men. He demonstrated excellent leadership during the evacuation and journey, and has continued to do so since we arrived. He’s very devout, as well; I expect him to become an elder in due time. In Ramunna he worked as a clerk in a trading house, but he wants to learn to farm. I showed him the notes you took, and he has some questions about them he’d like to ask you.” He patted her hand. “Be sure to wear your nicest dress.”
“Yes, sir,” Nirel said. Cold gripped her. She’d known this day was coming, yet somehow it had taken her by surprise anyway. Davon thought this Nolaren would make a good husband for her. He’d arranged this visit to display her for his inspection. If Nolaren found her acceptable, the two of them would work out an agreement. The standard betrothal lasted a year. They’d celebrate the first anniversary of the founding of Faithhome with a wedding.
Davon was kind and he loved her. If Nirel found the man he had chosen abhorrent, he would select another. But she was quite sure Nolaren had the good qualities Davon had described. The Elder had very carefully picked the man he considered the best possible match for his adopted daughter, as the twenty-seventh Ordinance of the third month commanded him to do. There would be no legitimate reason for Nirel to reject him.
The fact that Nirel didn’t want to marry anyone was irrelevant. The Ordinances commanded her to obey her father, and she’d accepted Davon in that role. All Faithful women must marry and have children. She’d chosen this path when she’d stood her Trials and taken the Faith as her own.
The day crept by. Lena kept her furiously busy scrubbing every inch of their new home, sewing curtains for the windows and braiding rugs for the floor, chopping vegetables and grinding spices and simmering sauces for the feast she was determined to prepare. An hour before the meal she sent Nirel down to the communal bathhouse on the bank of the river with orders to remove every trace of dirt and sweat and odor. Nirel joined the rest of the women on the female side soaping their bodies and sluicing them clean with frigid river water. Back home, she found Lena swiftly embroidering a delicate flower border on the demure neckline of the Girodan silk dress that had sat in the bottom of her pack since they left Ramunna. Every wrinkle was gone, and the tear at the hemline had been invisibly repaired.
Nirel allowed Lena to drop it over her head and lace it up the back. She sat patiently as Lena braided her hair into an elaborate crown of loops and swirls, with a cluster of the tiny yellow flowers that starred the grass of their new homeland tucked in a strategic spot. She was sure she must look more beautiful than she had since the ball where she’d lured Vigorre to fall in love with her. Undoubtedly Nolaren would prove equally susceptible to a pretty face and feminine figure.
Lena made one last adjustment to her hair as footsteps sounded beyond the door. Her eyes were bright. “You
look lovely, Nirel. I’m so happy to have another daughter to pamper and primp. Now show me that beautiful smile of yours.”
Nirel did her best to make the stretch of her lips genuine. She must have succeeded, because Lena sighed and sniffed before she went to open the door.
Davon entered. Behind him came the stranger. Nirel studied him as Davon made the introductions. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, a few inches taller than she, pleasant of form and feature, polite and assured in a way very similar to Davon. He said all the appropriate things to her and Lena. When they sat down to eat he complimented the food without crossing the line of what was considered tasteful. He ate moderately, only displaying a seemly amount of enjoyment. His eyes were frequently on Nirel, but he gave plenty of attention to Davon and Lena also. They made friendly small talk about the progress of construction and Davon’s plans for the future of Faithhome. Nirel contributed a few bland comments, but was otherwise quiet.
After she and Lena cleared the table, Davon spread her notes across its surface. “Nolaren, I’m sure Nirel will be happy to answer your questions. Lena and I will let you work.” He carried his wife’s chair to the far side of the fire and settled her there, returning for his own. After setting out a pen and vial of ink he withdrew to Lena’s side, leaving Nirel alone at the table with Nolaren.
He shuffled through the papers. “I couldn’t make out what you wrote here,” he said, indicating one of her hastily written scrawls.
She squinted at it in the lamplight. “I don’t… oh, now I see. It says ‘fifteen days after sowing thin seedlings to three inches.’”
“Ah. Of course.” Nolaren wrote the words in neat script below her scratchings. “And here?”
Nirel had to study this one longer before she puzzled it out. “Rabbit manure can be mixed directly into the soil before planting, without being composted first.”
“Composted.” Nolaren noted the correct word.
Nirel attempted a smile. “It does look rather like I wrote ‘unpasted.’ I’m glad no one’s going to have to try to figure out what that means next spring. I can just imagine some poor novice farmer trying to figure out if other sorts of manure do need to be unpasted, and what that involves.”
He blinked at her. “That would be confusing.” He pointed to another spot. “What about here?”
Nirel sighed and studied her messy note. Finally she shrugged. “I think it’s ‘114 days to harvest,’ but it could be 174. I wrote that part near the end of the third day when I was panicked I wouldn’t get to everything.”
He frowned. “That’s a significant difference.”
“I expect it will be obvious. If the rye kernels aren’t ripe after 114 days, wait until 174. After that, you’ll know.”
He shook his head. “I wish you’d taken a bit more care to be legible. Davon says you’ll be translating the herder records as well. Please try to write more clearly.”
“I’ll do my best.” Nirel’s voice was chilly.
His brow creased. “I don’t mean to be critical. I think it’s wonderful that you’re willing to help in this fashion. And I’m very impressed by how well you speak Ramunnan. Davon tells me you only started learning it a little more than a year ago.”
“That’s right.”
“He says your father was a farmer? It’s too bad he died. We could have really used his help.”
An image of Kabos, cold and lifeless on his bed, smote Nirel. Stiffly, she said, “He would have been glad to share his knowledge.”
Nolaren frowned for a moment before his eyes widened. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
She waved away his apology. “It’s all right. Do you have any other questions?”
He turned back to the notes. “I think I can make out the rest. It’s so important that we get these things right. Everyone is depending on us being able to grow enough food. It’s an enormous responsibility.”
“It certainly is.” Nirel swallowed. “I learned some things from my father about farming. I could work with you when the time comes. I mean, if you and I…”
He smiled and patted her hand. “Don’t worry. I would never ask my wife to toil in the fields. I know my duty. I’ve promised Elder Davon that if he entrusts you to me, I’ll always protect and provide for you. He’s told me a little of how he’s been forced to push you into situations no woman should have to face. It was necessary at the time, but now we’re safe in our new land, you’ll never need to do such unpleasant things again.”
Nirel smiled back woodenly. He was exactly like Davon. No Faithful man could understand that she’d loved every dangerous, vital, thrilling contribution she’d made to winning freedom for their people. Or that she craved the opportunity for more such valuable work in the future. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“He told me that’s what you’d say. He says you’re more devoted to the Lord of Justice than any woman he’s ever known. You’ll make a wonderful wife for an elder. Did he mention I aspire to wear robes someday?”
“He did, actually.” Nirel stared at her hands and made one more try. “Did he tell you I’ve been treating the ill and injured among the Faithful?”
“Oh, yes. I greatly admire your selfless willingness to serve the community. There will probably always be a need for you to treat women and children, but Davon is working hard to recruit someone to take over the treatment of men. I’m sure you’ll be glad to be relieved of the responsibility.”
Nirel closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She felt her future closing in around her. Nolaren was everything a Faithful woman should want in a husband. He would always treat her kindly, provide for her, protect her. He would always expect her to act like the perfect Faithful woman, to want only what the Ordinances decreed a woman should want, to be pleased when he acted as the Ordinances decreed a man should.
She loved the Lord of Justice. She wanted to do what he deemed right. If he required her to submit to this good and devout man, she would make her utmost effort. Maybe in time she would learn to love the life the Ordinances gave her as much as she loved the beauty and order of the words themselves.
She opened her eyes and looked at Nolaren. He was regarding her quizzically. When she didn’t speak, he said hesitantly, “Elder Davon has asked me to accompany him back to Tevenar. He wants me to speak to some farmers in person and hopefully persuade them to show me their farms. I’ll be able to learn so much more than if I have to depend solely on notes. I studied Ancient Marvannan at the University, but he says Tevenaran has deteriorated a great deal, and that you can instruct me on the differences during the journey. He said it would give us time to get to know each other.”
Of course. Davon had arranged this trap very carefully so she couldn’t escape. “I would be happy to.”
“He was a little worried about the two of us maintaining proper decorum aboard the ship. Quarters are so close we would have a hard time observing the restrictions required by the Ordinances. But if we’re formally betrothed before we leave, that won’t be so much of an issue. We would be able to spend much more time together without creating a scandal.”
She nodded, unable to force words from her lips.
He looked at her carefully. “I told him I wanted to make the arrangements right away. He said I should meet you first and ask if you were willing.” He paused a moment. “Are you?”
Asking her opinion was a huge concession. She doubted Davon could have found another Faithful man willing to do so much. He truly did love her and want what was best for her. He honestly believed Nolaren would be a good husband. She would trust his wisdom.
Even so, she couldn’t meet Nolaren’s eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.
He broke into a broad grin. “Wonderful. We can have the ceremony tomorrow. Davon said we’re sailing the day after.”
Nirel stood up. “I’m afraid I’m very tired. Would you excuse me?”
He caught her hand and squeezed it. His hands were dry and warm and strong, pleasant enough to touch. There was no reason f
or the shudder that ran through her. “Don’t let me keep you from your rest. I look forward to tomorrow.”
He looked as if he would have liked to lift her hand to his mouth and kiss it. As her soon-to-be-betrothed the Ordinances would allow that much intimacy. But Nirel pulled her hand away. Nolaren let it slide from his grip without resistance.
He didn’t have to try to keep her hand. Soon enough he would have her whole body, and the Ordinances would require her to give him whatever he wanted. She was sure he’d be moderate in his requests, as the Ordinances also required.
If she’d never kissed Josiah or Vigorre, that might have been tolerable. If she’d never wanted a man’s touch, she might not have realized how much she didn’t want Nolaren’s. But she had, and that was going to make living the life of a dutiful Faithful woman very, very difficult.
Forty-Seven
Mimi let the golden light around the Matriarch’s belly die. Tesi sank back in her chair, panting.
“Don’t stop.” Verinna caressed the round protrusion. A smile softened her stern countenance. “She’s kicking. She’s strong and healthy, I can feel it. A little more won’t hurt. I want her safely born as soon as possible.”
Tesi had long since lost track of how much she and the other wizards had accelerated the pregnancy. But no more than five months had passed since the child’s conception, possibly less than four. In the weeks since they had arrived in Elathir and the other wizards had gone to join the Tevenarans, the Matriarch’s demands had grown greater every day. Tesi had complied to the best of her ability. She hoped that after the baby was born Verinna would relax the stringent restrictions she’d placed on Tesi and Mimi. They were confined to a few small interior rooms of the huge tent and forbidden any contact with the outside world, particularly the other wizards. Guards kept watch day and night. When Mimi had attempted to slink past them, she’d quickly been captured and returned to Tesi. Their meals had been half their usual amount for three days after.
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