Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
had managed to contain her merriment a little, she asked, "How did you know?"
"I've never seen clothes quite like yours before, and you speak oddly." She paused and
frowned for a moment. "It is almost as if you were thinking in another tongue."
"I thank you for trusting me in spite of that. I have told you all that I dare."
I don't
want to make some chance remark that will change the future, even though I can't
think what that might be.
Damila nodded gravely. "When I left home to join the Sisters, my father cursed me. He
said that I was crazy, that I was a stupid girl who did not know her own mind. And I
swore to myself that I would never assume that another woman did not know what she
was about, even if it seemed to me to be silly or ill-considered. This is the first time I
have ever had to remember that vow, but it seems that keeping to it is the best course.
Where are you and your man going?"
Margaret gave a deep sigh. "I wish I knew."
Jonil was pulling the loaves out of the oven now, and the hot smell of fresh bread
floated through the room. She used the long-handled platform to carry the golden
mounds to the table. She set the loaves on a tray on the table, and walked away. It was
all Margaret could do not to reach out and tear a piece off and stuff it into her mouth.
Wooden bowls and spoons were brought out, and some battered trenchers as well.
Margaret and Damila got up and moved down the table, seating themselves across the
board from one another. Small wooden cups were placed along the table cloth, and a
birchwood ewer stood at the far end. The members of the band began to take their
places, talking quietly and wiping their hands on their garments.
She saw Damila reached a work-coarsened hand across the table. Margaret felt the
woman on her other side reach for her left hand. She snatched the hand away quickly.
The unknown woman stared at her in shock.
"We must say the blessing, and we always ..."
"What is it?" Damila's tone was curt and demanding.
Margaret flinched at the suspicion and hostility in the voice. Her left hand was bare,
but she still wore the mitt on the right one. It smelled of the onions she had chopped, in
a sorry state for such an elegant accessory. She was so tired she had forgotten
everything, and nearly been stupid.
She stripped off the remaining glove, turned it wrong-side to, and pulled it over her left
hand. When Margaret looked up, she found herself the object of eight pair of
astonished and rather hostile eyes. She blushed all the way to the roots of her hair.
What was she supposed to say?
The woman said, "Does my touch offend you, then?"
"No, certainly not. But if you had touched that hand unshielded, I do not know if you
would have survived. I did it to protect you, not to offend you."
The beast-speaker, Morall, nodded in agreement. "There is a laran-brightness on her
hand, very faint, but I remember .noticing it when we came into the hall here. She did
rightly, Dorys, so don't get your trousers in a twist. Now, let's say the blessing! I didn't
wring those necks and pluck all those damn feathers to have the birds get cold and
nasty while we debate the niceties."
Hands were joined, and Dorys placed her fingers in Margaret's very cautiously, a bit
wide-eyed.
Oh, my! What a narrow escape! I might have been killed!
Margaret caught the woman's fear, and tried to ignore the spill of thoughts around the
table. She had almost learned to block out the continuous mental chatter that was the
normal working of human minds, but it was more difficult when she was tired. She
heard a fragment here and there—Vanda wondering if Mikhail would get a fever, Jonil
thinking of the yeast bread she had started earlier—ordinary thoughts. But she could
not completely ignore Damila's. The leader of the band was full of concerns, and very
much wished she had not rescued them. She wanted to be rid of her unwelcome guests
as quickly as possible.
Vanda began to speak. "For the gifts of this food, and this shelter, we thank the
Goddess who guides and protects us. We thank the animals who gave us their meat,
and the plants which gave us their sustenance. We thank the rain for giving us water,
and the earth for supporting us, now and forever."
It was a simple blessing, like others Margaret had heard. But the sincerity of the
women moved her deeply, and made her wish she had not had to deceive them. This
was no empty rite, but something full of real meaning and genuine belief. She
swallowed hard and blinked back tears.
Dorys withdrew her hand as soon as the words were done. While the platter of birds
was passed down the table, Margaret wondered which Goddess they meant. Hadn't
Rafi told her something about that? It was Avarra, the
Dark Goddess, she remembered after a second of groping in her weary brain. She
recalled the painting of that deity on the ceiling of the grand dining room in Comyn
Castle, and that other figure, that of Evanda, the Lady of Spring and Light. With a
slight start she realized that the image of Evanda was not unlike the shining woman
who had supported Varzil during that incredible wedding ceremony.
A small bubble of hysteria rose in her throat, and she choked it back. Had she actually
eaten rabbithorn stew and a slab of warm bread made by the hands of Evanda? It
seemed too much for a moment. Then her mind balked. She refused to be upset by
more speculations! The band circling her wrist was evidence of the event. Everything
else was unimportant. If all the gods in the universe had been there, it would still be the
same. Besides, there were enough
real
things to be worried about!
Breathing deeply, Margaret calmed herself. She watched Jonil tear a loaf of bread into
chunks, strong hands pulling the warm mound apart. The sight steadied her, and she
felt her mind quiet, and her emotions as well. She was still just herself, whether she
was Margaret Alton or Marguerida Alton-Hastur, and she was very hungry. Nothing
else was important at that moment.
Damila handed a piece of bread across the table to her,
and soon the platter of birds arrived. She took one and
pulled off a limb. It tasted dark, wild, and gamey. There
was some spice on the skin, herbs and oil rubbed on it
before cooking, a delicious taste she had not encountered
before.
Margaret chewed and chewed, for the bird was tough, but the finest cuisine of
Thendara wouldn't have tasted better to her. She was barely aware of the others at the
table, so deep was she in the sensuous enjoyment of the food. She took a bite of bread
and tasted the faint sour flavor of baking soda.
"Jonil, the bread is simply wonderful, and the bird is delicious!" The words popped
out, and Margaret was surprised at how tired her voice sounded.
"Thank you, Marja." She smiled a little, and gestured around the table with a greasy
hand. "My sisters are so used to my cooking that they sometimes forget to tell me if
they like it." '
This made two of the Renunciates redden beneath their
weathered skins, and look down at their plates, as if embarrassed. But Morall just
laughed.
"No
one
tells
me
I
did
a
good job getting the food, so why should we tell you it
tastes good? You should just be pleased we don't
complain." • ....
"Oh, no, Mora. We would not dare complain, lest Joni put mock mint in the stew and
make us sorry we ever opened our mouths to eat or speak." This was a woman about
Margaret's own age, with pale hair and mischievous eyes.
"Would you do that?" Morall leaned forward to look down the board at Jonil.
"I might, if I were sufficiently annoyed. And there are worse things than mock mint."
She added this rather darkly, but with a playful light in her eyes. "A bit of
densa
would
have you jumping off your horse to shit every other minute."
Everyone laughed except Morall. She frowned for a second, then relaxed. "I'll
remember that, if I find myself with the runs."
When the birds had been eaten, Jonil got up and brought the cauldron to the table. She
served out stew into the wooden bowls. Margaret discovered with surprise that her
stomach felt almost full, but she took some stew and ate it slowly. It tasted more
familiar, like something Rafi had made on the trail, and she found herself wishing
again for her dear friend. The carrots and onions had not been cooked so long as to
turn to mush, and were still flavorful and a bit crunchy, and whatever meat had been
added had a pleasant salty taste. She managed to finish most of the bowl before she
had to stop eating.
With some cheese and slices of apple, the meal was complete. Everyone got up, their
previous suspicion returning, and left her sitting on the bench. Margaret did not blame
them a bit, though she felt rather sad. Karis brought a bucket and set it down on the
table. She began to clear the dishes, and wash them in the bucket, singing quietly to
herself as she worked.
Margaret listened to the song, trying to memorize it. The food had revived her to a
degree, and it was almost reflexive. The language was archaic, but the melody not
difficult.
It had been composed in a minor key that gave it a wonderful, haunting quality. The
lyrics told of two sisters, their love for one another, and their painful separation. She
concentrated, trying to penetrate the tale, for it was one she had never heard before,
either in song or story.
"
'She asked the rush and reed Of beloved
breda
Maris On Valeron's swift banks. She
asked the stone and seed Of treasured
breda
Maris On Valeron's high banks. She asked
the water and weed And heard only To the Sea, To the Sea.'
"
The verses rolled on and on, like the river and the sea
themselves, with the seeker asking all and sundry; whether
beast or bush, where Maris had gone. The song had an
eerie rhythm, like the beat of waves against the shore at
low tide, quiet and a little sad. Even as it started, Margaret
knew the tale would not have a happy conclusion. And as
the final verse drew to a close, the unnamed sister threw
herself into the rushing waters of the River Valeron, and
drifted down to the cold sea of Dalereuth, calling for Maris
and finding no answer. The refrain,
"Ahm Maree,"
"to the
sea," playing as it did with the sound of the name Maris,
gave Margaret shivers. .
"That was very beautiful," she said quietly, in spite of herself.
"Huh? Oh, the song? I always sing it when I wash up— it suits the job."
"Yes, it does."
The bench under her seemed hard and unforgiving now the song was over, and her
shoulders drooped. Her eyes itched with fatigue. She dragged herself to her feet, half
staggered toward the fireplace, and flopped down next to Mikhail. Her stockings were
disgustingly filthy but she did not have the energy to pull them off.
Margaret steeled herself. Then she monitored the unconscious form beside her. All his
vitals seemed normal, but his mind remained unreachable. She felt despair rise in her
throat, and swallowed it, commanding it to be gone. She was too tired to think now.
Later, when she had slept, she would think of something.
Margaret rearranged the blankets, ignoring the horsy smell clinging to them. She
snuggled down, feeling the pleasant heat of Mikhail's body next to hers, and scenting
the distinctive odor of maleness she had occasionally caught when she hugged her
father. Thinking of Lew made her wonder what was happening in Comyn Castle, but
she was too tired to hold that thought.
She turned on her side and pillowed her head on Mikhail's shoulder. For a moment
Margaret just rested there, feeling odd and utterly right at the same time. Then she put
her right hand over his left arm, heard the bracelets clink as they met, and closed her
eyes.
So this is what married life is like,
she thought, and smiled.
30
Mikhail woke abruptly, without any of the drowsy semi-sleep he normally enjoyed.
One moment he was falling through some infinite space, the next he was staring up at
darkened beams crowded with cooing pigeons. Where was he?
He turned his head carefully and found Marguerida beside him, snoring delicately in
deep sleep. A jumble of images exploded in his mind: pink grass, a huge jewel, a
shining woman and a man lying on a couch. Varzil the Good! He had actually come to
the past and spoken with the ancient
tenerezu.
And something else. For a moment
Mikhail groped for the elusive thought. Then he felt the weight of metal encircling his