BIRANA

 

Often I thought of my mother and how she had hoped for a refuge. She had, I supposed, imagined a place where women lived in a settlement not unlike a primitive city, where they practiced what arts they could and ruled over the male servants they might need to survive. My time with Arvil had given me another image of a possible refuge, a place where men and women might have learned to love, to live as comrades.

I now saw how foolish such hopes had been. A settlement large enough to be viable, to avoid inbreeding, to be able to move from a life of hunting and gathering to farming, would grow too large to escape the notice of roaming bands of men and, eventually, the attention of the cities. Only small bands were possible, groups that might cling precariously to life for a few generations, until they grew too weak and too few in numbers to survive.

I had hoped to find companions, women who had retained some knowledge of the cities and their accomplishments, with whom I could talk of what I had read and learned; I had imagined men who might open their minds to this knowledge. But such ideas were useless in this world, where the only knowledge that mattered was of which plants to gather and which animals to hunt and how to make tools and shelters.

These women had lost the knowledge of their ancestors, and the cities were only fabled places of magic to them. The demands of their children, the fact that the women had to bear them and nurse them and look out for them when they were small, forced them to depend on the men. The men in turn exacted their price for this dependence.

Violet, the oldest of the women, did not see things this way. She took pride in the women’s endurance, in those children they had been able to bear, in their ability to do their work and tend to the men’s needs. Although the men might glory in their greater strength, the women, among themselves, mocked this pose while dreaming of the day the cities would reach out to them and raise them up. They lived among men, and yet in some ways their lives were as separate from the men’s as they might have been in a city, for they hid many of their thoughts and allowed the men to believe what they wished.

When I first arrived in the camp, they waited until the men were asleep and then came to me with questions. If I had been sent out of a city, did that mean that others would follow me? Was this a sign? I had answered them vaguely, saying that the Lady had hidden Her purpose from me, for although I did not want to encourage false hopes, I could not bear to dash them either. They believed that the Lady would send others to them—if not this season, then the next; if not during their own lives, then during the lives of those who followed them. They believed that their souls would be reunited with the Lady at death, but that the men might be punished for scorning the Goddess.

Other questions, asked of me in secret when we dug for roots together or sat around the hearth at night, were usually about life in the cities. The women did not seek knowledge, but tales of a place where food appeared whenever it was wanted, or where women rode through the air in ships, or where it was always warm and snow never fell. They marveled at my compass, a sign of the city’s magic, but grew distracted when I tried to explain magnetism to them. The technology that had made the cities possible—the energy that powered them, the discoveries in physics that had produced our shields, the chips and circuits that allowed the cyberminds to mimic human thought—was of no interest to them. The fact that the cities had once dreamed of building upon their scientific knowledge, or of exploring the cosmos, but now clung only to what they had, was not something these women could understand. Only Lily seemed interested in my talk of the stars above and what lay beyond the earth, but the demands of her life, I knew, would dull her curiosity in time.

The women listened patiently when I encouraged them to change their conduct toward the men but scorned such an idea. “Let them believe in their strength,” Violet said. “It keeps them content and holds back their anger, and we know the truth of it anyway.”

“You should not be so easy in Arvil’s presence,” Hyacinth advised me. “It will only enrage him, and then he may hunt for you no longer, or give you no more children. He may stop summoning you and find one who is more yielding.”

“Better to act as they believe us to be,” Willow would murmur. “A time will come when we’re raised above them and will have magic that can bend them to our will.”

Only Cress did not offer such advice to me. “Arvil is not like other men,” she would mutter, “and Birana has some of the Lady’s magic in her still. Let them act as they wish as long as they do not offend the men. Perhaps if their child is a healthy one, our men will note that and treat us as Birana is treated.”

 

 

The air was often damp and heavy, making the days seem colder than they were. The wind from the sea, so fresh and soothing in the summer, was now cold and often fierce. The band abandoned the central fireplace for fires inside the huts, as they had before whenever it rained. Instead of serving the men and then eating with them, we carried food to their hut before eating by ourselves in our dwelling. We had stored food but could not rest; wood was collected, mint, nuts, and other plants were gathered, fish were taken from the river. The men hunted whenever the weather broke.

I soon thought of little except my child. I moved through the camp as though my surroundings were only part of a dream, doing my work automatically until I could rest. I told few tales of the city and passively followed the commands of the men instead of bridling at their words. Only the child was real; even my body and brain were no more than a host to serve it. I did not want to think of what might happen after it was born, how it would live, how we might escape this place.

Cress fed me green plants, fish, and potions made with finely ground shells and bone, assuring me that these would aid my child and keep me strong as well. Arvil practiced his healing with the men, bandaging a wound on Skua’s leg so that it did not fester, draining an abscess in Tern’s mouth and removing a rotting tooth. It seemed that we might pass through the winter without illness or misfortune.

 

 

The first light snowfall came and a colder wind with it. Violet began to cough, then to rasp when she breathed. Two mornings after the snow fell, she was unable to rise from her mat. I touched her fevered face, then ran to fetch Arvil. He covered her with hides, brewed potions, wiped her brow. Violet babbled wildly as her fever raged, twisting and turning as she tried to throw the hides from her body. Arvil sat with her during the day and Cress tended her at night.

Violet struggled against her illness for three days, and then her body grew quiet as her breathing became more labored. Lily sat in one corner, trembling as Hyacinth held her. Arvil turned his head toward me.

“Will she live?” I asked in the lake language.

“No,” he replied. “Her chest fills. She cannot breathe. The fever has burned away her strength.”

Violet opened her yellowish eyes. “Do not fear,” I said. “You will be with the Lady. Your soul will struggle no more.” It did not matter what I said as long as she was comforted.

“My son,” she whispered.

“I will get him.” I hurried from the hut. Skua, who had given Violet her son, was standing by the men’s dwelling. He had not come to see her, had refused to believe she might die.

“Skua!” I cried out, forgetting the phrases the women used when addressing the men. “Fetch Egret. Violet would see her son now, before…”

The boy came out of the hut as Skua drew himself up. “Do not order me about, Birana.”

“I beg you and the boy to come now.”

He strode toward me, the boy at his heels. “Be gentle with her,” I said more softly.

“Do not tell me what to do.”

“Forgive me, brave spirit,” I said harshly. “These may be Violet’s last moments and if you and Egret won’t make them easier for her, then leave us so that I can.”

“She cannot die. Arvil will heal her.”

“Arvil has done all he can.”

Skua groaned, pushed me aside, and entered the hut. I waited outside until Egret’s wail told me that his mother was gone.

 

 

We carried Violet’s body to the shore and shivered on the snowy beach as her body drifted into the sea. The band sorrowed, but Violet had been old by their standards. She had given birth to no children for some time, had been weaker that year; if she had lived, she might have become just a burden. The band, grieved as they were, could accept her death.

Only a few days later, another illness came to the camp, one which struck all three of the children. They burned with fever and vomited while their bowels ran. The women refused to let me near them, fearing for me and my child.

Arvil carried the children to the small hut. There, he and Cress tended them, doing what they could. Egret and Pelican survived. Lily, unable to recover, died.

The men had paid little attention to the girl. Even Willow and Violet had sometimes mocked her tremors and her lisping speech. Yet Lily’s death affected the band more deeply and drew more sobs from them than Violet’s had. Lily, whatever her afflictions, had been one who would have grown into a woman and given new life to the band.

Once again we bore a body to the beach and laid it at the edge of the gray, wintry sea. The women tore at their hair and wept while the men mourned silently. As the waves carried Lily off, I felt the eyes of the band on me. Violet was gone, Willow was still without a child, Cress would probably bear no more children, and Hyacinth seemed doomed to have children who could not live. I sensed them all clinging to life through me.

 

 

I left the camp to gather wood. A snowstorm had blown through the camp two days before, forcing us to retreat to our dwellings; from the women’s hut, I was barely able to see the men’s house through the swirling flakes.

The snow now lay in drifts along the riverbank, in mounds under the trees and along the path leading up from the camp, covering what wood was on the ground. I searched for twigs that had been blown into shrubs and dead branches that rested in the lower limbs of trees; my belly made it impossible for me to stoop very low. I could no longer recall what it was like to move freely, to bend, sit, and stand without the burden of my child.

In the city, I would have been anticipating the child’s birth. I would have spent time with other pregnant women, would have prepared a room for the child, heard reassuring comments from women about their own pregnancies and deliveries. A physician would have tended me; I would have known what my child was to be. I wondered what I would bear, whether the baby would die, whether I would live. I wanted the birth to be over and yet dreaded it.

As I reached for a piece of dead wood, a sharp pain stabbed at me; I groaned as my belly cramped. My time was coming. Somehow I remembered to pick up my wood before stumbling down toward the camp.

I set down the wood and called out; Cress ran toward me from the riverbank. “It is time,” I said, and nearly doubled over with the next pain.

“Are the pains coming often?”

I straightened. “This one is passing.”

“You must go inside before the next one comes.”

I clutched at her cloak. She led me to our hut and fed the fire while I knelt on my mat. “I’ll stay with you now,” she said. “The others will come soon.”

Cress helped me prop my back against the wall. All my fears were suddenly amplified. The child might be born with a defect; I might be unable to deliver it at all. I might have it and be unable to nurse. Then the pain took me again, and I could think of nothing else.

Between the pains, Cress forced me to my feet, supporting me with her arm as we walked around the hearth. The pains were soon sharper, the contractions closer together. I moaned as Cress settled me on the mat. “I can’t…” I started to say.

“You are strong enough, Birana. You mustn’t fear.”

Dimly, I could hear the voices of the men as they returned to the camp. “Cress,” I gasped, “fetch Arvil.”

“I cannot. This is not for him to see.”

I clenched my teeth. “Please! I want him with me.”

She shook her head but got up and left the hut. Another pain shot through me; I forced myself not to scream. When it had passed, Arvil was at my side.

“Birana, is it painful for you?”

“I’ll be all right. Stay with me.”

“I shall. I must make something for you.” He went to the fire and crouched as he took out a pouch of herbs. Cress and Hyacinth entered; I closed my eyes.

“Birana.” Cress was handing me Arvil’s cup. “You should drink this. It will dull your pain and won’t harm the child.” She glanced at Arvil. “We also know of this herb.” She held the cup to my lips as I drank.

Hyacinth said, “The man must leave us.”

Arvil rose. “I will not have Birana face this without me.”

“You cannot…”

“It was I who brought her to this,” he said firmly. “I’ll stay.”

“If the child is cursed,” Hyacinth muttered, “it will be on your head.”

“Stop it!” I cried, frightened. “I won’t hear of curses now! I want him to stay.”

Cress murmured to me, reminding me of how to breathe. I took in air and exhaled, panting. Cress handed me a soft piece of leather as more pain seized me; I put it into my mouth and bit down. Hands pulled off my clothes, then laid a hide over me. Willow was near, massaging my thighs as the other two women washed their hands in hot water. My fingers dug into Arvil’s arm. His face was pale; each time I moaned, he winced. I expected him to flee, to hide from this with the other men.

Throughout that night, I was in labor. The pain forced everything else from my mind; my body was fighting itself, trying to force what I carried from me, and yet it seemed the child would never be born. I promised myself I would not scream in Arvil’s presence and broke that promise many times. I didn’t care about the child; I only wanted the pain to end.

I screamed and gasped for air, throwing the hide from myself. My body’s struggle and the heat of the fire were making me feverish. Hands kneaded my belly and thighs and then forced my legs apart.

“I see the head,” Willow said. Cress leaned over me. “It is coming now.”

“Birana, you must bear down, you must push the child out. You are open enough, but you must help.” Cress gripped me as a hand reached inside me. “Push!”

I panted and bore down. Arvil was still with me; I caught a glimpse of his terror-filled face before he lifted a hand to his mouth. “Arvil!” Cress said sharply. “If your courage is going to fail you now, then leave us. I cannot tend to you now!”

“I will stay.” His voice sounded faint. He took my hand. I cried out, feeling the child leave me, then pushed again as fluid flowed from me.

“So much blood!” Arvil cried. He dropped my hand. Hyacinth was speaking, chiding him. I fell back on the mat.

The pain was gone. I opened my eyes. Cress dipped a soft piece of hide in warm water and began to wash me. Something lay on my chest; it squirmed in my arms. I heard another cry, a baby’s cry.

“Is it…” I whispered.

“See for yourself,” Cress answered; she was smiling.

Hyacinth thrust her stone knife into hot water, then cut the cord. I drew my child to my chest, touched the small body, counted the fingers.

“A girl,” Cress said. “You have been blessed. Our band is blessed.”

“Arvil.” I turned my head. He was at my side; he had not run from the hut. Too exhausted to say more, I drifted into sleep.

 

 

When I awoke, Cress was holding my daughter, now clothed in a tiny fur robe. Someone had covered me with a hide.

“Birana.” Arvil was speaking. “The women say you’ll be well, that the child will live.”

“She is hungry,” Cress said as she handed the child to me. Arvil eased me up. I pulled at my nipple until milk flowed; the baby nursed at my breast.

“She is so small,” he said. “I didn’t know how she could come from you, how she could pass through your opening, but now she seems so small.”

“She’ll grow.” Her eyes were blue; the fine hair on her nearly bald head was as pale as Arvil’s.

“She will grow strong, I’ll see to it. I will teach her how to hunt.”

Hyacinth shook her head. “You should not have been here to witness this, and now you speak of teaching a man’s tasks to her.”

“Be silent,” Cress murmured. “He has brought no harm to the girl. Perhaps the other men will think on this when another child is born and won’t huddle in their hut away from us.”

My mind cleared; I was suddenly aware of my dilemma. This band would want more children from me now, would expect me to bear as many as I could. My child was a girl. I thought of her growing up among these people. The women, kind as they were, would dull her mind with their tales and teach her to submit to the men. Arvil might protect her for a time, but when she was old enough to bear children, the men would summon her with no thought of her wishes. Whatever children she and I might have would only prolong this group’s tenuous hold on life, without altering its eventual fate.

I had cursed my daughter by giving her life. I looked down at her round face, at the pursed lips suckling at my nipple, and thought of putting a hide over her mouth and nose when we were alone. No one was likely to guess what I had done; children had died here before. I gazed at my daughter, held her to me, and knew that I could not commit such an act.

“That child will live.” Cress sounded as proud as if she had borne the baby herself. “She should have a name.”

“Nallei,” I responded almost without thinking.

Willow drew her brows together. “Nallei?”

“She was a woman who was like a mother to me. She might have wanted a daughter of her own, but…” I swallowed. “In a way, she made my child’s life possible. Nallei is dead. I want my child to have her name.”

“Nallei,” Arvil whispered as he gazed down at our daughter.

 

 

The winter soon passed; in spite of the cold, Nallei thrived. I had enough milk to feed her. Arvil went far from the camp in search of meat for me but helped me care for Nallei whenever he could. The other men muttered at this, clearly wondering why a man would bathe a child or hold her while she slept, but said little. When they mocked Arvil, they did so gently; our child, after all, was whole and healthy. Arvil’s behavior could be excused.

With Nallei tied to my back or resting in a sling against my chest, I was able to forage. Days came when the wind from the sea was warmer and green shoots began to poke their way through the light covering of snow. I was stronger; Arvil delighted in his child, still wondered at the apparent miracle of her birth. The guilt that had haunted him was gone; the band was content; Nallei and I were safe.

I wondered if I could bring myself to leave. I could free Nallei from this life, yet when I thought of the journey that might lie ahead, my mind faltered. I knew where I could take her but also pondered the obstacles that I would face along the way. It was easier not to think of leaving, to tell myself I could make my plans later.

I was searching for greens along the bank when Arvil finally spoke to me of his own thoughts. He untied the straps holding Nallei to my back and held her as I dug at ferns and watercress.

I smiled at him as he made a face at the child. “The men will mock you again,” I said.

“Pelican will, but he is only a boy. Even Tern now says that a man with such good seed may act as he wishes, although he would not treat a child this way.” Nallei whimpered and let out a wail; he rocked her until she quieted. “Before she came into the world,” he went on, “you and I spoke of leaving this place.”

“Yes.” I would have to tell him my thoughts now. I looked up, making certain no one was near. “I’ve been afraid to think of that, but we can’t wait much longer.”

“That is not what I think, Birana. She is so small still. If anything happened to one of us, the other could not tend her alone. If we were both…”

I stood up and adjusted the sling holding my plants. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“There are others here who can help care for her. We can wait until she grows, until she’s able to walk and travel with us, and then…”

“You know what will happen if we stay. We’ve had one child, and the others will want us to have more. And we have to think of Nallei, too. You know what her life would be like here, and when she’s older, she may not be able to leave, may be afraid to go.”

He handed the baby to me. “I have thought of leaving. I’ve thought of everything you say. You think that, if my seed doesn’t flower in you again, the others will summon you, but I won’t let it happen, I’ll find a way to stop it. You say we must think of Nallei. I am thinking of her. Even if we left this camp now, where can we take her? Will you leave her alone in this world with no friends when we’re gone?” He took a breath. “Even this life would be better.”

I gazed into his gray eyes, steeling myself. “There’s a place we can take her where she can have a life.”

“Where?”

“My city.”

His mouth dropped open. “But they cast you out. You said…”

“They cast me out. Nallei’s a baby, she did nothing. They can’t punish her for what I did—even the cruelest ones there wouldn’t harm a baby girl. They’ll have to take her in.”

He gazed at Nallei, then lifted his head. “Your enclave wanted you dead. When they see that you are alive…”

“Let them see it!” I moved closer to him. “You don’t have to come to the wall with me. They needn’t know about you at all. I can protect you if you wish.”

His face hardened. “You are saying I’m a coward.”

“I’m saying you can do what you like.” I sighed. “I don’t want to make this journey. I could go on here, become like the others. But how could I forgive myself if I saw Nallei growing up with nothing to hope for except keeping this pitiful group alive for a few more generations? Do you want to see us both become like the women here?”

Arvil did not reply.

“She could have a life in the city. It’s worth the chance. I can accept whatever happens to me if I know she’s safe there.”

“When she is older…” Arvil started to say.

“When she’s older, it’ll be too late. The city might take a baby, a small one who wouldn’t remember this world. They wouldn’t take an older child, one they’d have more trouble training, who might not be able to adapt.”

“In the city,” he said, “she’ll learn to hate us, if she learns of us. She will despise me for being a man and scorn you for what you have done.”

“She may learn to understand us in time.” I spoke with more confidence than I felt. I could not believe that the city would willingly condemn my daughter, an innocent and one of their own kind, but they would know how she had come into the world and many would scorn her for it. Nallei might grow up as an outcast, yet her life there would surely be better than what she would endure here; she might be grateful for that. “Perhaps, when she is grown, she may try to change the way things are.”

“You would enter the enclave yourself if you could. You would leave me and forget what I’ve been to you.”

“It’s useless to say such things. I can’t enter the city again.”

He turned toward me. “This journey… it would be harder than the one that brought us here. We might not live through it. We would be on foot, with Nallei. Who will help us?”

“We must try, for Nallei’s sake.”

He glowered at our child; I held her closer to me. “It is all for Nallei now—everything you do.”

“That may be true.” I touched his face. “A mother’s bond with her child is a strong one. I thought a father’s might be as strong if he knew that the child was his.” He shied away from me. “Arvil, if you won’t come with me, I’ll have to go alone.”

“You cannot make the journey by yourself.”

“I will make it one way or another. Let the city take my life if I reach the wall. Part of me will live on in her.”

He paced along the riverbank as I waited for his response. Whatever I had said, he knew I could not make the journey alone, that I would never reach the wall. He could go to Tern now, see that I never left the camp; he could comfort himself by believing he was protecting me.

He stopped pacing and folded his arms. “You know how to use the Lady’s circlet.”

“Of course,” I murmured, wondering why he had mentioned that.

“Perhaps there is no need for you to go to the wall. It might be better to take Nallei to a shrine, to summon a few of your kind there and leave the child for them, escape before they can reach us. We will have to think about this.”

My heart leaped; he was agreeing to travel with me. “Arvil, I…”

“Do not thank me. You may find cause to regret this. I may curse myself for leading you back into danger.” He took my arm as we walked back toward the camp.

 

 

During the following days, I collected the things I would need for the journey. Each day, I carried a piece of dried fish or meat or a tool to the hole I had dug by a tree’s roots, then covered it with a stone, making certain no one had followed me there. I supposed that I could hide my preparations from the women by stealing only a little every day.

I was not prepared to find Cress standing by the tree as I crept there early one morning. I wanted to run but forced myself to approach her. “I thought you had gone out to forage,” I said. “You will find little here.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What did you carry here this time?”

I swallowed and shook my head.

“I know what you’re doing, Birana. I have seen what lies under the rock. Did you think you could take things from our hut unseen?”

“Who else has seen me?” I asked.

“No one else yet, but they will soon know. Why do you steal and hide what you take?”

I reached into Nallei’s sling and took out the dried fruit hidden under her covering; she stirred and clutched at my hair with her small hand. “I’m not stealing. I’ve taken only what I use or haven’t eaten. I won’t take anything that belongs to you.”

“Why?” The wrinkles around her mouth deepened. “But I do not have to ask, do I? You need food for a journey. You’re planning to leave us.”

I could not deny it. “It’s true,” I whispered. “Arvil and I are going to leave with our child.” I waited, expecting her to rail against me, to run back to the camp and summon Tern.

“Why, Birana? Have we been so evil to you?”

Her question pained me. “No, Cress. You’ve been kind; you’ve been my friends. If I were alone, I might stay with you, but I have to think of my daughter. Please try to understand. In the citadels of the Lady, she can be given a home and a better life than she has here. That’s where I’m going to take her.”

“That was the Lady’s purpose for you? To send you out so that you could bring this child back to Her?”

I shook my head. “But She’ll take the child.”

“We cannot go to the Lady’s realm, Birana. Always we were told this—my mother told this to me, and hers to her. We must wait for the Lady to come to us. I thought that you might bring Her…”

“I came out of a citadel. Now I must take my child there.”

“And will the Lady take you back?”

“No,” I replied. “My child may find a home there. They won’t take me back.”

She bowed her head; tears ran down her wrinkled face. “You’ll be taking our last hope with you. Hyacinth’s children die, and Willow lies with Skua and brings forth no young. My sins keep me from bearing more young. There will be no mates for our boys. We might as well cast ourselves into the sea.”

I put my arm around her. “You mustn’t say that. You could still…”

“Don’t speak falsely to me now. There will be nothing for us.”

“There would be nothing if I stayed.”

“There would be children!”

“Yes,” I said, “and children for them in time, but after a while there would only be what you have now—children born weak or ill. If I thought there was a chance for something else, I would stay, but there isn’t. You’d need many more men and women here for your children to thrive—the seed of one man and one woman isn’t enough.”

Cress wiped her face with one sleeve. “Now I see that the Lady has forgotten us. I helped you bring your daughter into the world, and now you’ll take her from us.”

“I’ve told you what life is like in a city. Nallei will learn the Lady’s magic, ride in Her ships, dwell in Her towers. If you could give that to a daughter, would you keep her here? Cress, listen to me. There may be one chance, a small one, for you and the other women. I can tell you how to reach a city—you could even follow me. A city might take you in, might find some place for you, might…” I paused.

“You’re not saying this because it’s true, but only to comfort me. The Lady is punishing me. I brought no more children into the world when I might have, and now She’s taking yours from us.”

“No, Cress,” I said as firmly as I could. “The Lady would never punish you for that. Those in Her cities choose when to have children and don’t bear them against their will. When they can have no more, they guide those who are younger. The Lady wouldn’t want you to…” I stepped back as I drew Nallei’s head to my shoulder. “You can go to Tern, tell him what I’m doing. It would be hard for me to escape then. I can’t stand against all of you.”

She leaned against the tree. “That will not help our band, to bind you against your will. Break your bond with us if you must, but I won’t break mine with you.” Her words moved me. “Perhaps I deserve to see your child taken from us.”

“Why do you keep speaking as if you’ve done something wrong?”

Her pale brown eyes gazed steadily at me. “I can tell you this now. There’s a plant I gather, one that yields tiny berries. I learned of it from my mother. I can brew a potion with it, and it keeps a man’s seed from taking root in me. I could never let the men know of it and worried that I was doing an evil thing, but then I would think that such a potion couldn’t be evil. I used it only so that my body could heal itself before I bore more children. My last time was a hard one—the child died, and I nearly died myself. I told myself that I was only strengthening myself until it was time to bring new life into the world, that the Lady would understand. Then you came to us, and I believed it was better to stay alive and help you care for your young ones rather than risk death for one of my own. Now you’ll leave, and my body may be too old for more children.”

I wanted to ask her about this plant, but she needed my comfort then. “You didn’t do wrong,” I said. “You must believe that. You were here to help me. I won’t forget you. Nallei will know of you someday, and maybe the Lady…”

Hope gleamed in her eyes for a moment. I wondered if this undoubtedly false hope, my last gift to her, would be enough to sustain her. “The Lady wouldn’t want you to bring children into this world when there’s so little hope for them,” I continued. “She’ll understand when you’re with Her again. There’s some hope for your boys. There are men to the west they can join, and perhaps the Lady will call them to Her side someday.”

“And if you’re not to enter a citadel yourself…”

“I’ll be with Arvil. We’ll find another place together. Perhaps we’ll even find our way back here in time, if there’s a way…”

Her lips curved into a brief smile. “Arvil is more than I believed a man could be. Even Tern’s been touched by his spirit a little. His soul is gentler than it was. He’ll need my comfort when he knows you are gone.” She reached into her coat and took out a pouch. “You will need a gift from me, Birana. Take this. The berries of which I spoke are in this pouch, those that will keep another child from growing inside you. I’ll tell you of how to make a potion. Show these berries to Arvil. He knows the lore of plants and healing—he’ll know where to find this plant.”

I put out my hand. “You’ll do this for me?”

“For you and for Arvil. I see the strength of his need whenever he looks at you, even when he doesn’t summon you, and I sense that your need for him is as great. You cannot bear a child while you wander the earth, but must wait until you find a place to rest.”

I could not speak for a moment. “Cress, I…”

“Don’t weep before me now.” She patted my hand, then let hers rest on Nallei’s blond head. “You’ll have to leave soon, before the others learn of your plan. Leave in the morning. The men will think you’re foraging. By the time you are missed, it will be too dark for them to search, but they may try to follow. Where will you go?”

“To the north, from where we first came. There’s a place we can stop before going west.”

“Then I’ll tell them I saw you go toward the river’s bend to the southwest. They’ll search there first. They will not go far from this land, as you know. They fear the lands beyond.”

I blinked back my tears. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done.” I pressed my shoulder to hers and wept.

 

 

Cress was awake when I rose; Willow and Hyacinth still slept. I fed Nallei, bound her to her tiny litter, then calmed her until she fell asleep again. Cress tied the leather straps of the litter across my chest as I adjusted those over my shoulders. She did not speak as I picked up my empty pack and thrust it under my coat. She handed me my sling; I was about to say farewell, but she glanced at the other women and put a finger to her lips.

I crept from the hut; Cress followed. Arvil had told the men he was going to hunt today; he would be gone already, waiting for me. The other dwelling was silent, the men still asleep. Cress watched as I walked through the clearing and began to climb the hill. When I looked back, she raised a hand before turning away.

The sun was rising by the time I had removed my things from where they were hidden and had put them into my pack. Arvil had said he would meet me here and lead me to his secret cache. I was closer to the ocean, could hear the waves rushing toward the shore.

A twig cracked; Arvil emerged from the trees. He carried only his weapons and a smaller pack. “I left a false trail,” he said as he took my pack from me. “Tern will think I went to the shore to gather shells instead of hunting. He’ll look for me there when I don’t return.”

We began to walk north, careful to leave no signs of passing. Nallei stirred and whimpered; a smile flashed across Arvil’s face before he grew solemn again.

“I don’t know if we will survive this journey,” he murmured. “We may never see your enclave again. I go only because I cannot stay without you.”

“We will live,” I replied.