On the third day, Torgon stood in the doorway of the hut. Dawn had coloured the sky a pigeon-feather grey, but through the leafless trees she could see threads of red marking where the sun would rise. Coming back inside, she closed the door and in the dim gloom lifted the baby up.
“This morning I shall go to the high holy place and present the child to Dwr,” she said to Loki. “He needs a name and we can not wait for a naming day.”
“What have you chosen for him?”
“I shall call him Luhr, after the great cat, that Dwr may grant him the great cat’s strength and valour.”
“What will the Seer say? It’s not a holy name.”
“No. But it is a name of power and he will need that more.” She looked over at the girl. “While I am gone, will you make your way to my sister? Go discreetly and to her alone and not to my parents. When you have safety to speak privately, tell her the babe was born this day and none yet knows. Tell her I wish to see her and that she should bring her daughter Jofa with her, so my son may meet others of his blood. Tell her also to bring food. Say we have not enough here and I dare not send you to the compound, so we need food for at least three days.”
Loki’s expression grew perplexed. “There’s not much truth in what I’m being sent to say.”
“Aye, I know, but say to my sister only what I’ve told you. Don’t add anything else yourself.”
The snow began to fall even before Torgon reached the top of the escarpment. She’d come many times before in winter, but never burdened with a baby meant to live. Tying the child close within her clothes, she used both hands to clamber up over the icy rocks.
She was well supplied with holy tools, as they had been the only things she could bring from the compound without risking the Seer’s suspicion. Now Torgon laid the deerskin bag down and opened it. The naming oils were all there, the holy knife, the sacred clay. Item by item, she laid out the things that she would need.
As she worked, the snow fell in large, soft flakes, a beautiful snowfall. She paused, watching it drift down, and marvelled at its beauty.
As she undressed him, he cried at the cold and made water, as all new babies seemed to do when suddenly unclothed. Taking up the sacred clay, Torgon painted holy marks across his face, down the length of his body and over his penis. So sad that this was done alone, she thought, and the thought intruded over the state of holy trance she should have been maintaining. So sad, on this, the most joyous celebration of his life, that the holy child was not surrounded by the loving circle of friends and family who should have attended on his naming day.
Torgon uncorked the naming oils, anointed his forehead, his chest, his genitals, and touched it to his lips. Then she lifted the naked baby up, high above her head in offering to Dwr. I give you this child: Luhr, the Great Cat.
Concerned for the welfare of the baby after exposing him to such intense cold, Torgon bound him close against the bare skin of her chest and warded off the bitter wind by removing her shirt and doubling it over his body before putting her outer clothes back on. When she reached the hut at dusk, she was herself miserable with cold.
Loki had long since returned. The small fire was burning cheerfully and a pot of broth made from dried deer meat was steaming over it. She helped Torgon to remove her outer garments and took the baby. Gratefully dishing up a bowl of broth, Torgon sat down cross-legged before the fire.
The door rattled.
A look of terror went between the two of them. Loki quickly put the sleeping baby down in a far corner in the straw.
“It is only I,” Mogri called. “Let me in.”
Loki unbarred the door.
A whoosh of snow came in with her. “There’s no danger of being followed on a night like this,” Mogri said and shook her garments. “My tracks were covered before they could grow cold.”
Her own baby was tucked deeply into the folds of her clothes. On her back was a sheaf basket. “I’ve brought you bread and cheese. There wasn’t much else for taking.” She dropped the sheaf basket to the floor. One eyebrow quirked upwards as she regarded Torgon at the fire. “You’re looking well, sister, but I say, you take a relaxed pose for a woman newly come from childbed. Was it such an easy birth as that?”
“I bore him three days past.”
“Oh Torgon,” Mogri cried with disappointment. “And you have lied to me?” Then sudden concern. “What’s going on here, you two? Where is your babe? Is he all right?”
“Aye, he’s fine.” Torgon went to lift the baby from his nest of straw.
Mogri opened her arms to take him. “Oh, look at him, he’s big!” she cried. “Well done, Torgon!” Sitting down, she lay the baby on her lap and examined him more closely. “So much hair. But will it go red? It’s quite dark now, but look. I think it has a ruddy tone. Does he have your eyes? Open up, sleepyhead, so I can see you properly.”
“I don’t think he does,” Torgon replied.
“Well, it’s hard to tell in one so young. All babies’ eyes are dark.” Mogri pulled back his wadding. “You’ve done well, though, to have a boy. The Seer will be pleased with you. And so too her holy brothers. Perhaps at last this will bring peace among you all.”
Torgon wiped her eyes.
“Aye, I see now you’re right about three days. You’re crying, poor love,” Mogri reached a hand out to push her sister’s hair back. “But it means more milk. More tears, more milk.” A pause. “But what was your idea in coming here alone? When you bade me make the hut ready for you, I assumed that others would come with you. Is this how the holy do it? Not wise, I think. You should have the company of other women at a time like this. Perhaps it works for the high and holy born, so spiritless are they, but it won’t suit a woman of our kind, shut away like this.”
“It is not that.”
“Why do you fight your tears so, Torgon? Your body would have you shed them. You have workers’ blood and are not meant to show a lifeless face.”
“Mogri, please. Don’t go on at me about such simple things. I have matters of a graver nature I must say to you tonight.”
Mogri regarded her.
Leaning forward, Torgon took the baby from Mogri’s arms and pressed him to her.
“What Ansel said to me that night is true. There is no longer any holiness among his kind.
“My spilling Ansel’s blood is not why they hate me. Were I naught but his wife and had knifed him in a lover’s tiff, there would have been an awful scene, a public flogging in the square no doubt, because I am a worker and a woman, but as I was his choice and bore his first-born son, it would have ended there. The holy brothers would have accepted a crime of passion, for it’s a human failing, and this they understand. It is what is not human about me which disquiets them. When that wicked man who sired them sent me forth to call the Power down, I did. And it is this they find unbearable in me, for they know my holiness is real.
“Because of this, they will not let me live. They can not let me live. Because I am proof the Power exists; that there truly is something greater than ourselves we can call down. But more than that, the Power cares not for caste or class or gender. Or even piety, but simply for the ability to listen openly and the strength of will to follow.”
Mogri said, “There’s no doubt the holy brothers wish to take revenge on you for Ansel’s, but they will not kill you. The council ruled firmly in your favour and the holy brothers would never go against the elders. They know it’d bring us into civil war. And kill the divine anaka benna? Torgon, they wouldn’t dare.”
“They would. They will. And in their heart they already have.”
Mogri sat back.
“And they shall succeed for I’m no longer holy.”
Torgon lowered her head. She had the baby to her breast and she regarded him. “Since Ansel’s death my Power’s waned. I fear now my holiness is broken too.”
“Oh, Torgon, surely not.”
“It’s so, Mogri. I don’t know why. Sometimes I can still feel the Power there inside me, but now, unlike times gone by, it very seldom speaks to me. I do not wish to be like Ansel and his kind, using my own voice when the sound of Dwr’s voice grows dim …”
Silence.
Torgon looked down again at the baby. He slept, his mouth gone slack against her breast. Gently she lifted a finger and wiped away the milk that dribbled from his lips. “My fear is for the babe,” she said softly, “for yes, I think you’re right. When I am killed, there will be civil war.” She stroked the baby’s head. “His parentage means he will be neither holy born nor worker kind and yet he will be both. Both sides will harbour those who’ll think his death judicious. And babies die so easily …”
Torgon raised her head. “Loki? Would you bring my bag of holy tools?”
The girl rose and fetched them, carrying the bag to Torgon. With her free hand, Torgon opened it and spilled the contents out onto the floor. Among the bottles of oil and ointments, she took a smaller bag. “Here, Mogri, undo it for me, for I can’t manage with one hand.”
Mogri knelt and picked the knot undone. Pulling the leather thong out she emptied the bag onto the floor. Her eyes grew huge with surprise.
“Aye, it’s gold,” Torgon said.
“Where has it come from?” Mogri asked in a hushed voice. “I’ve never seen so much.”
“I’ve been melting down my holy ornaments, for it is unlikely I shall have much need of them again.”
Apprehensively, Mogri looked across to her. “I see this has been well-planned … I am worried now.”
“And now I am going to plead with you on the life of my newborn son …”
“Oh Torgon, no –”
“Take my son and set forth tomorrow morning at first light. Go to the kingdom of the Cat People. When the king was here last, he showed himself to be a man of wisdom and great piety. He honoured Dwr, even though Dwr does not walk among his gods, and he saw to it that his warriors all did likewise, so he is also a king of strength and power. Tell him that it now goes very ill with me and this is the holy child. Give him the gold that I have here and beg that he protect my son.”
“No, I can’t!”
“Ask him to instruct Luhr in the ways of a good and noble man and to keep him safe until he comes of age to reclaim his rightful place. I think the king will do this. He was much distressed when we last met, for he and his queen have been denied the holy gift of children. He asked for my divine intervention, that they might be blessed with royal fruit. If his queen has since given birth, he will take my babe from indebtedness. If she has not, he may welcome the chance to take the baby as his own, particularly as it may also mean a future kingdom. If nothing else, leave the gold to speak, for it is not a paltry sum.”
“Oh Torgon –”
“No, Mogri, please. Please do this for me. I no longer have my holy visions but I have dreams and in them I see the babe grown to be a man. A king. A divine king with Dwr’s holy gift of Power. But if he stays here … he will walk all too soon among the dead with me. I see that too.”
“If it has really come to this, Torgon, wouldn’t it be far better to take the babe and escape with him yourself, so that at the very least you could raise him in the ways of holiness?”
“I’ve spent many hours in thought on this, for, of course, it’s what I’d wish to do, but in the end the answer’s always no. If I went too, the Cat King might well refuse us aid. My eyes are my curse. No matter how careful I might be in my disguise, they would still give me away, and sheltering the divine anaka benna would surely bring our warriors to his gates. Why would the king wish to risk war over me? But one baby looks much like any other and you could pass easily for a travelling peddler woman.
“More importantly, no one yet knows the babe is born. I can go back to the compound and forestall the Seer and the holy brothers another week or two, perhaps even longer, as this is my first child and first-born children are often slow to come. It would give you time to reach the borders of the Cat People without pursuit. And even then I can tell them that the babe’s a girl. Or stillborn. Or, for that matter, that I killed the babe myself lest they should take it from me.”
“And they will kill you.”
“Mogri, they are going to do that anyway.”
Tears filled Mogri’s eyes. She lowered her head.
“I fear I have even more to ask of you,” Torgon murmured.
“Speak on, then. Get it over with.”
“When you have reached the kingdom of the Cat People, I beg you to remain there with him. I ask this not as the holy benna, but simply as your sister, who loves you and him very much. It will be dangerous here in days to come. When it is discovered he is gone, they will guess you’ve helped me and your life will be taken too. So stay there and care for him as I would do. He needs a guardian. Even if the king should take him, I fear what might befall him. What if he is mistreated? Or he falls ill and is alone? I want him to know the kind of love that you and I enjoyed in youth, for that is how noble men are made. Even kind indifference, which does not hurt the body, marks the soul and leaves a hollow space. So, please, please, Mogri, remain and care for him.”
Lowering her head, Mogri nodded. “Very well.”
“Holy benna?”
The hut was totally dark. No hint of dawn distinguished the high-set window from the walls. Turning in the straw, Torgon tried to gain her bearings.
“Holy benna?”
“Aye, Loki. I’m awake,” Torgon whispered into the darkness.
There was the sound of the girl crawling through the straw. “I cannot sleep,” she murmured.
“No. Nor can I.”
“I have been thinking all through the darkness of the night, holy benna.”
“Here, Loki, come under the covers with me. I wish not to wake my sister. Lie here close. You’re cold. Perhaps when you are warm, you’ll sleep.”
“No, I think not,” she said softly, but she accepted the warmth and pressed close.
“I have decided, holy benna, that when they depart, I shall go with them.”
“No, Loki.”
“Aye, holy benna. I have thought much about it.”
“It is in my heart to do this. It will ease your sister’s burden. She can not easily carry two babies and the basket. With so much snow, it will make her journey slow. I shall go with them. I can take the holy child and keep him warm while she carries her own babe.”
“But people will be suspicious if she has two babes. They are too far apart for twins, too close for normal bearing. Someone might accuse of her of child stealing. If so, then ill would befall them all. But if I am with her, I can say that he is mine, and they will assume I am cast out from my tribe for loss of my virginity.”
“This is too great a sacrifice.”
“I want to do it,” Loki said.
“Aye, with your courageous heart, I know you would, but we must be practical too. You are too highly born. Mogri won’t be missed, but if a warrior’s daughter disappeared, there’d be an outcry and they’d search for you. It would be safer if Mogri went alone.”
“I’ve already thought of that,” Loki replied, “and I want you to tell them I have died. Say to them that while I was in the forest waiting on you, a great cat came and devoured me, and there is now naught left of me but my few clothes.”
“You’ve been too long with me. You’ve learned my way with lying.”
In the darkness Loki chuckled. “No, it is my own secret mind at work. Besides, it carries truth in its own way. He bears the name of the great cat, not so? And I am already devoured with love for him.”
“No, Loki. You are too young to understand the sacrifice you offer. A good life lies here ahead of you. It isn’t right that you should exchange it for a refugee’s existence in a foreign court.”
“Anaka benna, I have no desire for the life that lies here now. I would not stay to make a marriage to some high-born son, knowing as I know now that worker children starve in their huts while mine play carelessly with silver baubles. And certainly, I would not stay to watch you die. If you are gone, my life would have no meaning here. So let me go with him so that the baby king grows up knowing he leads his people even now.”
Torgon felt through the darkness to touch the girl’s face. “Very well. If you so wish it, may it be so.”
They rose at dawn and broke their fast with bread and broth. The remaining food was packed into the sheaf basket, and then the extra clothing. Loki lifted it up for Mogri and fastened the straps tight. Then came the babies, Jofa into the folds of Mogri’s garments, then Luhr into the folds of Loki’s.
Torgon hesitated as she held the baby out. He’d just been well fed and was growing sleepy. Then with a sigh she placed him close against Loki’s budding breast and began the task of binding him. She paused and caressed his dark hair, touched, as Mogri said, with just the glint of red. “Oh, Dwr keep you safe, my little one,” she whispered and leaned down to kiss his face. She rested so, her lips against his skin, and Loki stood quietly, feeling the warmth of Torgon’s head through the folds of clothes.
No one spoke otherwise. The three of them worked silently until all the tasks were done. Then Torgon lifted up the heavy bar across the door. Outside, the snow had ceased and lay inviolate.
“Give my love to Mam and Da, Torgon.”
“Aye.”
“Find your way to them. Don’t leave the task to someone else. Go to them yourself and tell them what has befallen us, for while your heart cries out at losing one child, remember they are losing two. And grandchildren besides.”
“Aye. I shall. I promise.”
They stood, silent.
“Travel well,” Torgon whispered, for the words wouldn’t come out any louder. “And may Dwr keep you all.”
“And you,” Mogri said. “May Dwr keep you too. For if the future you describe is just your sensing and not visions he has sent, then perhaps it will go differently. I shall stay in the court of the Cat People and not go elsewhere so that you will know where you can find us, if you ever come to seek us out. And while I’ll raise Luhr as if he were a child born of my own body, I shall teach him he is not mine and that he must stay ever watchful of the eastward road, in hopes he might someday see his true mother coming.”
“Here,” Torgon said and reached out. “Embrace me one last time. Let me kiss you. And you too, Loki. No. Kiss me not as the benna, for the time of bennas is past. Kiss me here, upon the face, like the sister you now are to me. And then I’ll bid you both farewell.”
James turned over the final typewritten page. He looked at it, blank on the back, dog-eared, slightly yellowed at the edges with age, and he felt a sense of loss that it all was over, that the story had ended, that Torgon was returning to die and her nobility hadn’t saved her. Loss too at no longer having this shadowy mirror to hold up to Laura’s life.
It occurred to him, as he regarded the unpretentious stack of pages, that this was the only place Torgon existed. All that life, that vibrancy was nothing more than a set of marks across a page that he and Laura and a handful of others had experienced. And yet he felt loss. Strange, really, if you thought about it.