Chapter 27

Netra woke up the next morning with Cara shaking her. “Okay, okay, I’m awake,” she mumbled. “Is it morning already?”

Even in the dim light, Cara’s face looked pale. “I said your name twice and you didn’t even move. I was afraid that…”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Netra said, giving her a reassuring smile. “Just a little tired.”

“How’s your arm? Does it hurt?”

Netra looked at her forearm. The purplish blotch was hardly visible. The events of the night before had faded as well, so that they seemed hardly real. “It feels fine.”

“Are you sure? When are you going to tell Siena?”

“One thing at a time,” Netra said, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and pushing her hair back out of her face. She stood up and stretched. “Let me wake up first.”

“But you will tell her today, won’t you?” Cara hovered next to her, looking like a mother waiting to catch a sick child if she should start to totter.

“Of course I’ll tell her. Just let me do it in my own time, okay?”

Cara’s soft eyes looked into hers for a long moment and then she nodded. “I just don’t know how you can be so careless about this. First Jolene uses the dream powder and burns her hands, then something attacks you beyond. What’s happening?”

 “I don’t know,” Netra said. “I don’t think anyone does. But I think it’s going to be all right. Have a little faith, my sister.” She gave Cara a hug, wondering the same thing herself. What was happening? Is this it, Xochitl? she wondered. Is this what you have been preparing me for? She found, to her surprise, that she didn’t feel scared. In fact, she almost felt excited. Anything had to be better than the mind-numbing boredom that ruled her life. And what could be better than a chance for the Tenders to redeem themselves in the eyes of their god?

“We better get going or we’ll be late for morning vows,” Netra said, releasing her friend. Cara nodded and brightened a little. She liked morning vows as much as Netra did.

Outside it was still the gray light of predawn, but the sun was nearing the horizon. Already the slopes of the Firkath Mountains above the Haven were painted golden with the first rays. The chapel was a fairly large stone building set off from the Haven itself, encircled by tall willow trees. Though it had clearly once been an impressive building, with a spire, high, arched windows and elaborate stone work, it was gradually falling apart, surrendering to the ravages of time. Some of the stained glass windows were broken and had been boarded up. There was a hole in the roof and one corner, where the ground underneath was too soft, had sagged.

The inside looked no better than the outside. Lighter patches on the worn wooden floor showed where pews had once stood—long since sold for the expensive wood in them. Gone too were the ornamentation and artwork. All that remained was a statue of the Mother standing behind the altar, and one of her arms was broken off. The other Tenders were already gathered inside, some already kneeling, most standing about, yawning and rubbing sleep-filled eyes. Netra knew that most of them didn’t want to be here. During the winter several of them had gotten together to ask Siena formally to either change the morning vows to once a week, or move them to later in the morning. Siena curtly told them no and, to her credit, for once Brelisha backed her up.

Siena knelt just before the altar, her head bowed in prayer. Next to her was Jolene, who was nearly face down on the floor, her bandaged hands stretched out before her in supplication.

As the first rays of the sun poured through the chapel windows Siena raised her arms and said, “Mother, hear our vows.”

The women went to their knees and together they spoke again their vows:

“I vow never to kill, never to take a life.

“I vow never to stand by while life is lost without doing all I can to prevent it.

“I vow to nurture and protect all life, for every living thing is part of Xochitl’s creation and it is all sacred to her.

“I vow to pay any price, to make any sacrifice in fulfillment of my duties to Xochitl and all she has created.

“My life for the land, and all its creatures.

“This is the will of the Mother, which I will never again forget.”

Always they were the same words. Every day, always reminding themselves, hoping against hope to recover what had been lost for nearly a thousand years. The vows were born in the dark years following the fall of the Kaetrian Empire. They came about as the remaining Tenders of Xochitl faced the horrifying reality of what they had become, how far they had strayed from the Mother’s path.

 The morning vows finished, Siena led them in some hymns. Netra and Cara loved these hymns and poured their hearts into them. Netra always clasped her sonkrill to herself during them, feeling her connection to it, reliving the wonder of its creation. Sadly, Netra was aware of how different this was for most of her sisters. There was no intensity, no depth, to the words they sang. They only mouthed the words. Their hearts were elsewhere, remembering some slight from the day before, wondering what was for breakfast, if the garden would have to be watered again today.

 Every day it was like this. Netra felt keenly their distance, the way disillusionment and despair grew like weeds in their hearts, and every day she feared that as the years passed she would become like them. That for her too, the words would lose all meaning, her sonkrill would become only an empty relic, beyond just a mist-shrouded, unfriendly place, filled with currents she could not touch.

Netra remembered a night when Karyn said outright that Xochitl had abandoned them for good, that they would never be forgiven. Hoping otherwise was pointless, she said, and no one argued with her.

Is that how I will become some day? Netra wondered. Will I give up on the future and spend my time in the past?

          

Netra finished clearing away the dishes from breakfast and stood for a moment outside the back door to the kitchen, looking at the morning. It was time for her daily lessons but she didn’t want to go inside yet and be cooped up for another beautiful day. The sky was clear and blue. Though the season was young, the heat of summer was already beginning to make itself felt. The birds, which had been so noisy only a half hour before were quieting down, settling in the shade. Off at the edge of the large garden she saw a coyote pause on its way to hole up for the day.

She envied the animal, free to roam at will, without lessons to attend or chores to do. At that moment she wanted nothing more than to follow its tracks as it faded back into the desert. To spend the morning watching the stink beetles trundling through the dirt, or the speedy striped-tail lizards as they raced from the shelter of one bush to another. It was tempting, but she consoled herself with the knowledge that tomorrow she would be going to Treeside at this time, and it would be stupid to do anything to risk that. Already Brelisha would be wondering where she was, sharpening her tongue for her arrival.

With a sigh, Netra let the door close and headed for the old library, which adjoined Brelisha’s bedroom. The Haven was lacking in many things, but books were not one of them. They completely lined two walls of the room. The room, as always, was dim, since Brelisha kept the shutters closed to avoid the chance of any sunlight falling on the books and aging them. All of the books were extremely old and brittle and she and Cara had been enjoined many times never to touch any of them without permission. If there was one rule Netra actually followed, it was that one. There was little in them that interested her half as much as any given hillside or dry wash. She wouldn’t even come in this room at all, if she didn’t have to. Cara, on the other hand, could often be found in here when she wasn’t busy at her chores, a book open on the table before her, studying some forgotten bit of information or lore.

Cara was already seated at the round table when Netra entered. Brelisha was standing at one of the bookshelves, with her back to the door. Netra stealthily made her way to her seat. Without turning around, Brelisha said, “As though I wouldn’t notice that half my students were late.”

“Sorry, Brelisha,” Netra said, resisting the impulse to make a face at her back. She’d learned through experience that Brelisha had a way of knowing when she did that. “I was busy—”

“Save it,” she said curtly, cutting her off. “Whatever it is, I’m sure I’ve heard it.”

“Well?” Cara whispered, when Brelisha continued standing with her back to them.

“Well, what?” Netra whispered back.

“Are you going to tell her?”

Netra groaned. She should have known Cara wouldn’t let it go easily. “I’m going to tell Siena. Later.” In truth, she had decided to keep it to herself until after Treeside. She didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that trip.

Brelisha came over to the table carrying a slim black volume. Her lips were pursed and she held it with two fingers only, as if it was distasteful to her.

“We’re going to read from this today.”

“What is it?” Cara asked, craning her neck to see the cover. “It looks like…” She paused, a surprised look on her face. “But I thought you said we’d never read the Book of Sorrows.” Cara had asked Brelisha once before if they could study the book and had been soundly rebuffed. The Book of Sorrows, Brelisha had informed her, was false. It directly contradicted an important tenet of the Book of Xochitl, which contained the wisdom of the Mother herself.

“I did.” Brelisha frowned at the book.

“Then why…?”

Brelisha gave each girl a hard look. “If Jolene is more than just a fool woman poking her nose where it doesn’t belong, if anything she thinks she saw is true, then black times are coming. We have to learn everything we can.”

Cara’s eyes went wide and she instinctively clutched Netra’s hand under the table. Netra was shocked too. It wasn’t like Brelisha to fly off in a panic. She had only the harshest criticism for people who worked themselves into a fit without being sure the facts were complete.

Brelisha opened the book and began to read.

          

They were filing out to the chapel for the ritual—every woman encumbered by the bulky gowns and costumes required for the ritual—when the rider galloped onto the Haven’s grounds. He reined the horse towards them, and he didn’t slow down but came straight for them as if meaning to ride them down. There were cries from some of the women as they scattered. But at the last moment the rider hauled back on the reins and the horse skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust.

He slid off the horse and stood there looking at them, clearly trying to decide who the leader was. He was a stocky man, with the calloused hands and weathered features of one who has spent his life in the sun working hard. His eyes settled on Brelisha and he stumped over to her, taking off his shapeless hat as he went. “Beg pardon, Sister. I don’t mean to interrupt, but I’ve a problem and none else can help me.” His words were deferential, but his tone was not. His tone was harsh, almost angry. He was not happy about being here.

“You’d do a lot better not riding in here like the Gray Slayer himself, scaring a bunch of women.” Brelisha hadn’t moved a foot when he raced up; she stood now with her arms folded and her eyes blazing.

Then Siena stepped up. Putting one hand on Brelisha’s arm she said softly, “What she means to say, sir, is how can we help you?”

“I’ve a bull shatren. My best one. He’s foaming and he keeps pawing at the ground. His stomach’s hurting him bad. Been like this for two days and he’s starting to go down. We’re going to lose him, I know it. I’ve tried every remedy I know and the bloodletter’s had his hand but none of it’s any good. So I came to you, thinking maybe you would have some luck with him. Can’t hurt anyway.” Now Netra knew why he was so angry. The people of Tornith didn’t often ask for help from the Tenders.

Brelisha tried to pull her arm away from Siena’s grip. “Our healing has nothing to do with luck. It’s by the grace of Xochitl and I’ve a mind to…”

 But he never heard what Brelisha had a mind to because Siena cut her off. “That is enough!” She didn’t raise her voice, but her tone was forceful and Brelisha subsided. “Now,” she said, looking at the man again, “what did you say your name was?”

A new respect slowly dawned in the man’s eyes and he turned slightly away from Brelisha. “My name’s Brennan.” He inclined his head slightly. “And who might I be speaking with?”

“I am Siena, Haven Mother of Rane Haven. And we’ll be happy to help you, sir, just as soon as we’ve finished our ritual dance.”

 Netra could have sworn the man’s eyes popped out slightly when Siena said this. His huge hands wadded his hat up into a bunch. “Let me get this right,” he said, biting off each word. “You’ll help me after your dance?”

“It’s not just a dance. It’s the Dance of All Circles,” Karyn piped up. Her tone said anyone should know that.

“How long will this dance take?” Brennan asked, taking in their costumes. Netra suddenly felt extremely silly in hers.

“Only a few hours.”

“My bull will be dead in a few hours.”

“As the Mother wills.”

Brennan stood unmoving. Then, with something like a snarl he stomped to his horse and climbed on. “Mery said I was a fool to come. She said you wouldn’t help. I should have listened to her.”

“Nevertheless,” Siena said mildly. “We will come. As soon as we are able. I suggest that until then you pray to Xochitl.”

“Sure,” he snorted. “And to the moon and the stones in my fields at the same time. For all the good any of them does.”

Brelisha opened her mouth to spit something angry out but Siena dug her fingernails into her forearm. “We will come,” she said quietly. But the man was already wheeling his horse and he either didn’t hear her or didn’t care. In moments he was gone.

Netra stared after him and then turned to Siena, disbelieving. “You mean we aren’t going to do anything?” she blurted out.

“Weren’t you listening?” Brelisha said icily. “Of course we’re going to do something.”

“But isn’t saving a life, any life, more important than some ritual?”

“This is not some ritual,” Brelisha said curtly. “It is the Dance of All Circles. And it is vitally important. You’d know that if you paid attention to your lessons.”

Netra started to reply, but Siena silenced her with a gesture. “After the ceremony,” she promised. “Nothing more until then.”

Netra looked after the disappearing rider one last time and then followed her sisters into the chapel, shaking her head.

          

When the last slow, formal movements had been completed—contrary to its name, the Dance of All Circles did not involve any actual dancing, rather a lengthy series of slow, ritualized steps—and the last lines had been said, Netra headed for the door of the chapel, tugging at the buttons on her gown. There might still be time. They might still be able to save the man’s bull. But before she could get outside, Brelisha cut her off.

“You’re not going. Owina and Karyn will handle it.”

“But no one here’s better with animals than I am,” Netra protested, looking to Siena for help. Brelisha saw her look and gave Siena one of her own, laden with meaning.

Siena sighed. “No, Netra. Listen to Brelisha.”

“But it’s not fair,” Netra pleaded.

“And fair is you getting your way?” Brelisha said. “Ruining one of our most important ceremonies through your childishness, is that fair?”

Netra suddenly felt the weight of all their eyes on her and she shrank under it. Beside her, Cara was looking down, twisting the hem of her robe in her hands. “Okay,” she said softly.

And then she watched from the garden, gripping weeds in both hands, while Owina and Karyn slowly got ready. It took them forever to gather their medicine bags and trudge out of the Haven yard.

When they were gone she threw the weeds down, fighting tears of frustration. They were too late. She knew that already, knew it in her heart. They’d had a chance. Not just to save a life, but to show the people of Tornith that they were worth something. And they’d failed.

A few minutes later Cara came out to the garden carrying a mug of water. She handed it to Netra, who took it wordlessly. “I thought you might be thirsty.” After Netra had taken a drink, she said timidly, “Do you feel better now?”

“No, I don’t feel better,” Netra snapped. “And neither does that man’s shatren.”

“But surely you can understand what Siena was saying. It was a very important ritual—”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear it. I hope the prison cracks like it says in the Book of Sorrows,” Netra said bitterly. “Maybe then the women around here would crawl out of their shells and see the sky.”

“Netra! You can’t mean that!” Cara’s eyes were wide and round.

Netra took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t really want that. And I don’t want to take it out on you. I know you’re just trying to help me feel better. It’s just…just so frustrating being here, watching everyone slowly die.”

“I don’t think you mean that either, Netra. Not really. It’s not that bad. This is our home. This is our family. We have a good life here. Why can’t you just be happy with what we have?”

“I don’t know,” Netra said honestly. “I just have this feeling that there’s supposed to be something more. There’s supposed to be some purpose to our lives. Without a purpose, what are we but a bunch of women waiting for the years to come and claim us? I want to serve Xochitl and her creation. I want to live the vows we take every morning, not just mouth them.” She felt tears starting to creep into her voice and they angered her. “Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Maybe I understand more than you think,” Cara replied. She lowered her head and seemed about to walk away, then lifted her eyes in sudden defiance. “Maybe I just don’t have the courage you do. Maybe I know there’s not much I can do and so I just try to do what little I can. Maybe all I can do is try and make people feel a little bit better by trying to help them in some little way.” She closed her mouth and blinked, looking almost surprised at her own words. Then she spun and hurried away.

“I’m sorry!” Netra called after her, but she didn’t turn back. Netra sat down on the ground and put her head in her hands. That was stupid. And cruel, she told herself. She was only trying to help and I had to go and attack her. Why would I do that? Why would I strike out at the only one who has always been on my side? She groaned. Was there anything else she could do to mess things up? How much worse could things get?

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