Read Sword and Sorceress XXVII Online
Authors: Unknown
Sword and Sorceress XXVII
Marion Zimmer Bradley's
Sword & Sorceress 27
edited by
Elisabeth Waters
Table of Contents
A Hunter of the Celadon Plains
by
Michael Spence and Elisabeth Waters
Strength, Wisdom, and Compassion
Introduction
Fairy tales have made a comeback lately,
from two television series:
Grimm
and
Once Upon a Time
, which
started last fall, to two new movies this spring about Snow White:
Mirror
Mirror
in March and
Snow White and the Huntsman
in June.
Snow White is a major character in
Once
Upon a Time
and the heroine of both movies, so it’s interesting to consider
the various portrayals of her.
The best-know version of the original
fairy tale is probably the one collected by the Brothers Grimm. In this version,
after the Queen tells the huntsman to kill Snow White and he turns her loose in
the forest instead, she lives with the dwarves, keeping house for them. She
also manages to fall for the Queen’s tricks three times (tight stay-laces, a poisoned
comb, and the poisoned apple), despite the dwarves’ warnings. The Disney movie
of the story, which is the one I knew as a child, is very similar, except that
the only trick is the poisoned apple. Snow White is still the dwarves’
housekeeper.
But it seems that times may have changed.
In both
Once Upon a Time
and
Mirror Mirror
, Snow White is neither
passive nor particularly domestic. She may be hiding out in the forest with the
dwarves, but she’s using that as a base for guerilla warfare against the evil
queen. She now has a sword instead of a broom, and she knows how to use it.
(Even the rather passive Snow White in
Snow White and the Huntsman
manages to use a dagger by the end of the movie; the movie succeeds on its
special effects much more than on plot or character development.)
I suspect that most modern viewers find
it easier to identify with a Snow White who fights back. Spending years asleep
in a glass coffin waiting to be awakened by “true love’s kiss” is hopefully not
something that girls today aspire to. We can fight for what we want, and we
have a good chance of getting it.
Nowadays we use our wits instead of a
sword; a good education is the best weapon we can wield. But the fight to be a
queen instead of a pawn continues, and it’s a cause worth fighting for. Women
want and need to be people, not pawns or chattel, or—as MZB said when she
started this series—“bad conduct prizes for the hero.”
So let’s fight on, inspired by the
stories of females who do the same.
A Hunter of the Celadon Plains
This story was
intended for a shared-world anthology. Unfortunately, however, it was a project
that didn’t quite make it off the drawing board. So Deborah “filed off the
serial numbers”—changing the story so that it was no longer set in that world,
and sent it to me. I’m glad she did, because it fits well into SWORD &
SORCERESS.
Deborah
J. Ross has been writing science fiction and fantasy professionally since 1982,
served as Secretary of SFWA (Science Fiction/Fantasy Writers of America), and
has taught writing and led writer’s workshops. She’s a member of the online
writers’ collective, Book View Cafe.
As
Deborah Wheeler, she wrote two science fiction novels, JAYDIUM and NORTHLIGHT,
and had short stories in
Asimov’s
,
Fantasy and Science
Fiction
,
Sisters of the Night
,
Star Wars: Tales from Jabba’s
Palace
,
Realms of Fantasy
, and many of the SWORD & SORCERESS and
Darkover anthologies. Her most recent projects include continuing the Darkover
series (THE FALL OF NESKAYA, ZANDRU’S FORGE, A FLAME IN HALI, THE ALTON GIFT,
HASTUR LORD, and THE CHILDREN OF KINGS, forthcoming in 2013). She’s also
working on an original fantasy series, THE SEVEN-PETALED SHIELD. Two of her
short stories (“Mother Africa” in Asimov’s in 1997 and “The Price of Silence”
in F&SF in 2009) were awarded Honorable Mention in the Year’s Best SF. She’s
also edited several fantasy anthologies.
She
lives in the redwood forests near Santa Cruz, California. In between writing,
she has sojourned in France, worked as a medical assistant to a cardiologist,
revived an elementary school library, studied Hebrew, classical piano, and
yoga, and has been active in the women’s martial arts network community.
****
Spring Moon Rising climbed the hill
behind her village to greet the sunrise. Below her, in every direction,
stretched the Celadon Plains. Pale green grasses, heavy with beryl-hued grain,
rippled across the land. In the distance, a herd of jade bison lifted their
horned heads. The wind tugged at her long braids. The air smelled metallic,
lightning edged with frost. In the Blue Beyond, a rapture was gathering, a
turbulence of gray and silver. The storm was almost upon them, and it was a
storm like none other.
Moon thrust the thought from her, lest
it prove an evil omen. Her own restless spirit put such dangerous thoughts into
her mind.
“Moon! There you are!” Cheeks flushed,
Moon’s eldest sister, Dew On Flowers, trotted up the incline. “Why do you stand
here daydreaming, while the others are already gathered? Have you lost your
taste for meat?”
Moon turned away to hide her moment of
shame. It was irresponsible to keep the other hunters waiting once the sun was
up. She did herself and her family no honor by behaving in such a selfish
manner.
The two sisters hurried down the hill,
settling their bows and arrow-cases across their backs as they went. At the
outskirts of the village, they joined the other hunters. All together, the
party numbered a dozen, somewhat more men than women, under the leadership of
Uncle Lion Gaze. Although no longer as fleet he once was, he was such a crafty
hunter that no one questioned his right to lead. Moon was the youngest, yet she
had already killed two bison.
Under the direction of Lion Gaze, the
hunting party set out toward the herd that Moon had seen earlier. They ran
easily, at a pace they could sustain for many hours. They carried only what was
necessary, their bows and arrow-cases, knives for butchering, and hand axes for
cutting carrying-frames.
Moon skimmed the grass-laced earth,
sweating lightly, her breath soft in her throat. Her spirits rose and the
looming darkness overhead receded from her thoughts.
Several of the young men tried to speak
to her. Moon knew they thought well of themselves, for she had seen the way the
other young women of her clan looked at them, the sideways glances, the flushed
cheeks. To Moon, however, they were as dull as sand. Why should she lay down
her bow for someone she could outrun and out-hunt? She tossed her head, her
braids flying, and refused to answer them.
“You are too picky,” Dew said when they
paused near the top of a hill. Below, the bison herd grazed, unaware of their
presence. “Endless River or Snake Strikes could have any girl he wanted.”
“Then let them!” Moon kept her eyes on
the largest bison, marking him for her own. He was a massive-headed, shaggy
bull, and his hide was so pale a green that he shimmered like moonlight. He
would be strong and fast, so she must be stronger and faster.
Dew would not be diverted. “Think what
you are doing! Do you want to end your days alone?”
“Stop worrying about me, sister. There
will be time enough for marriage and children.” Moon laid one hand on her
sister’s arm. “I know you are trying to look out for me, but I do not need a
mother’s scolding.”
“It seems that you do, if you think a
good husband will wait around for you while the long grass grows.”
Moon sighed and made no answer. There
was no point in arguing with Dew on the subject of husbands.
Quietly, they divided into groups and
strung their bows. Moon struggled with hers, for it was new and the stiff wood
resisted her. Hawk Wing made a disapproving sound.
“That’s a man’s bow,” he commented, as
if she did not already know. “It’s too much for you.”
Moon drew in her breath, deep into the
pit of her belly, and the string slipped into place. She straightened and met
his eyes. “A bow does not care who draws it, man or woman, mortal or god. It
answers only to strength.”
“Then it is a good thing we draw our
bows with our arms and not our tongues, or you would outstrip us all.” Lion
Gaze came up to them. “Have you finished taunting your fellow hunters, my
niece, and sowing rivalry instead of comradeship?”
Moon dipped her head. “I am ready,
uncle.” To Hawk Wing she said, “I am sorry for my sharp words.”
“They were true ones.” He turned,
following the hunt leader.
They crept through the grass, keeping
downwind of the herd. Not a sound betrayed their passage. One of the men
startled a nest of plains sparrows that rose, crying out in the their shrill
voices. An emerald-hued bison cow lifted its head, snorted, and then returned
to grazing.
Dew crawled on her belly to Moon’s side.
“What did you say to Hawk?”
“Nothing of any importance. Look!” Moon
pointed to the herd. The hunting party was close enough now to smell the warm
animal musk and the scent of sweet crushed grass on the fitful breeze. The bull
she had chosen stood a little apart from the others. His horns, wide and
tapering, gleamed like polished bone, and the morning sun glinted on his golden
eyes. Lush, curling hair covered his shoulders. He tipped his muzzle to the
wind, black-rimmed nostrils flaring wide. Shaking his head, he rumbled deep in
his throat.
He senses us
, Moon thought.
He
cannot smell us, but he knows we are here.
Lion Gaze gave the signal. Everyone
began moving, crouched down low. If they were lucky and the wind held, they
might get even closer before the herd broke. This was the most difficult part
of the hunt, when the possibility of discovery attended every step. No matter
how well they read the temper of the beasts, no one could be sure if the herd
would flee or turn and charge.
None of the hunters excelled Moon at
stealth. Dew and Hawk and the two other men in her party dropped back, letting
her take the lead. She slipped between the stalks of grass like a whisper from
the earth itself. The smell of the bison filled her nostrils. She tasted their
sweat, the dust on their hooves. The sound of their breathing vibrated along
her bones.
She caught the subtle shift in that
tremor, and froze. Even as she lifted her bow into position, her legs beneath
her, the bull whirled and charged.
Moon surged upright. Adrenaline stung
her blood. Her vision went sharp. The bull was closing fast, his head lowered,
the tips of his sweeping horns aimed at the hunters. She drew the bow to its
maximum tautness and held it, waiting for a target. From behind her, the others
loosed a volley of arrows. One landed short and the others bounced off
harmlessly. No arrow could pierce that thick hide or that massive skull.
Closer...
Moon calmed
herself as her arm muscles trembled under the strain.
If he turns but a
little...
“Aiee! Run!” Hawk yelled.
Moon heard their scattered flight, the
cries of her sister, “Moon! Come
on
!”
The ground beneath her feet quivered
like a drum. His hooves tore into the sod, throwing up clods and dust. Still
she waited. At the last moment, when the bull was but a breath away from her,
he swung his head to one side. One golden eye caught her in its gaze.
She loosed her arrow.
The arrow plunged deep into the bison’s
eye socket. He let out a fearsome cry. The reek of his blood shrilled in the
air.
Moon scrambled out of the bison’s path.
Propelled by the momentum of his charge, he hurtled into the very place she had
been standing and fell to his knees. Swiftly she drew another arrow and notched
it to the bowstring.
Before she could take aim, the bull
heaved himself to his feet. The shaft of her first arrow had broken off,
leaving a bloody wound. He slung his head around, fixing her with his one good
eye. In its molten-gold depths, she read terrible pain but also an unmistakable
challenge. She lowered the tip of her arrow, fractionally releasing the tension
on her bow. In that moment, the bull whirled away. She did not think an animal
that size could move so nimbly. Trailing drops of crimson, the bull galloped
away.
Moon watched him go. Her heart clenched.
To kill one of the bison was an act of courage, of daring, and also of
necessity, an act that allowed her people to survive the frozen darkness of the
Ice Raven. But to wound such a noble creature, to let it suffer...
In shame, she hung her head.
“Moon!” Rushing up, Dew threw her arms
around her sister. “I thought you’d be killed!”
Someone else said, “What a shot! We will
sing of it to our grandsons!”
“We will do no such thing.” Moon
unstrung her bow and slung it across her back. Blinking back tears, she averted
her face so that none of the others could see. Theirs was the glory of the
hunt, the herd now galloping away. “Go!” she cried. “The hunt calls you!”
Whooping, Hawk and the other young men
darted off to join the others. Only Dew stayed behind.
“I must finish what I have begun,” Moon
said.
“I know.”
“You have no duty to come with me. Your
place is with the others.”
Moon thought,
This will be my last
hunt. It would be a mercy for the bull to kill me, so that I do not return to
my clan in dishonor.
In answer, Dew touched Moon’s arm. She
seemed to be saying,
My place is here, with you.
Moon nodded. “Stay behind me. Do not
risk yourself.”
#
The plains wind sang in the braids of
the two women. So soft was their tread upon the earth, the grasses parted for
them. From time to time, they caught sight of the bull. Once Moon saw him
stumble and fall. Her heart quickened and she pushed for greater speed, but
when they reached the spot, they found only a circle of flattened,
blood-stained grass.
The bull led them ever farther from the
hills and plains of their home territory. At first, Moon paid little heed to
the changing landscape. She scarcely noticed when the countryside no longer
looked familiar.
Finally, Dew called for them to stop. “We
can’t go on like this.” Wheezing, struggling for breath, Dew bent over. With
one hand she kneaded the muscles of her side. “I don’t recognize this place, do
you? If we continue this chase, we’ll become lost.”
Moon shook her head. Her braids swung
heavily, damp with sweat. “The bull cannot run forever. He must stop, and then
I will end his pain.”
“And what then, sister? How will we find
our way home?”
“You have been strong and loyal, but
this is not your search. I release you from it. Go back to our people in honor.”
Dew’s dark brows tensed. “I will not
return without you.”
Moon knew better than to argue with her
sister. In such a mood, Dew could be as unrelenting as rain. So they went on,
more slowly now.
#
The light of the Blue Beyond shifted.
Day’s heat seeped from the earth, and chill gathered in the shadows. Above, the
storm still had not broken. Clouds churned, heavy and oppressive. Dew, who had
been trotting along silently, began to grumble. How would they track the bison
in the dark? What if they met a pack of wolves or a viridine lion? What must
the men think of them, to be gone so long and so far?