The Foretelling (4 page)
When someone owns you they can do whatever they want with you,
she told me.
They can burn you, they can tie you with ropes, they can touch you however they want. Whenever. More of them. Anyone they say. You have no choice. You belong to them.
She said all this blankly, as though these terrible things had happened to someone else. She ran her hands over her arms, where men had tattooed her with red snakes. Then Io told me all about her life before she came to live with us. About the way she had belonged to men who paid for her, and what they'd done to her, and how she'd bit her tongue so hard to be quiet she had bitten right through in one place; that place still hurt her every time she took a drink of water. It was as though a spirit had gotten hold of her and she had fought it off with the spirit inside herself.
The more she spoke, the more I saw something in her that was strong, stronger than those snakes; her will made her tattoos disappear. I didn't even notice them as she spoke. I saw the girl she truly was as though I were looking right through her.
Now I choose,
she said.
And I choose you to be my sister.
After that, I stopped being so mean. I got so used to her that soon whenever Io didn't follow me, the oddest thing happened: I felt alone, and I didn't like the feeling. It made no sense to me.
Every warrior is alone in this world.
Every one must fight her own battle.
T
HE MOST ALONE TIME FOR OUR PEOPLE
was during the journey we each were commanded to take at the time of our first blood. It was not so much a test for bravery, but a search for a vision of the future. Who would we be in the world of daylight? Who would we be in our dreams?
It happened to me in my fifteenth winter, in the season when we moved our city of tents across the steppes, into caves, when the snow was high. It was the time when the great bear shone in the sky like a torch. I awoke and found blood on my blanket and my leg. My time had come. Before I left to find my vision, my mother called me to her.
I had been waiting for this my whole life.
Now she would see I was more than sorrow.
I stood before her, eyes down. She was the most beautiful woman in any land. People spoke of her in faraway places, on the other side of the sea, even in the north storm country.
Look at me,
she said.
I did so.
The Queen slapped me hard across my face. Something in my ears started to ring. All mothers slapped their daughters on the day of their first bleeding; they did so to welcome them into the world of womanhood, which brought its own pain for which we must be ready.
Every girl was slapped, true enough, but not like this. My jaw was burning but I kept on staring at my mother. Of course she wanted me to be strong. She wanted to see if I could be stronger than fifty men.
But when I looked up at her I could see something more. Something that frightened me. She wanted to hurt me.
Thank you,
I said, as though my face weren't throbbing. As though she'd given me a gift and hadn't done what she intended. Caused me pain.
My mother slapped me once more, and this time I tasted blood.
Penthe was there and she took my mother's hand. This woman who had been a slave was bold enough to stop the Queen.
My mother thought better of hitting me again.
I hope your vision comes to you,
she said to me.
I know it will. I intend to go and find it.
It had been impossible to hate Penthe as I'd wished to do; she was too beautiful and too good-hearted. Now when she and my mother walked past me, Penthe smiled, then she noticed my mother looked straight ahead, as a Queen should when confronted with sorrow. Penthe followed Alina. She was happy here with my mother, they walked with their arms around each other, they danced together and slept together; they shared everything, even their nightdreams.
The old women said Penthe had come from so far north the snow was as tall as the top of a tree; they vowed that five hundred men had used her for their pleasure, that each of the tattoos that covered her body was to document some man's desire.
Still, she had not forgotten how to be kind. Now as she walked away with the Queen, Penthe turned back to me. She smiled with her eyes.
When I was packing for my journey I saw a shadow outside my tent. It was the smith. I should have ignored him, but I thought about the way he'd been made lame so he couldn't run away. I thought about the fact that none of us spoke his native language; our words probably sounded like stones to him.
When I went out I saw the smith was there because he'd made something for me. Something special. Fit for a Queen-to-be. It was a bronze scythe into which he'd fashioned bees and bears. It was a deadly and beautiful thing. Perhaps what they said about smiths was true, that they were magic-makers. Some people thought such men could show you the future, just as our priestesses did. When they forged metal what was soon to be could be seen in the fire.
How will my journey go?
I asked.
Did you see what would happen in the fire?
You'll need the scythe,
was all he said.
Before I left, I was brought to the priestesses and given koumiss to drink for the first time. It was sour at first, then sweet. Because of the power of the koumiss there was no pain when they gave me my first tattoo. They heated the bronze needle over the fire until the iron was red, then blue. They used the dye from the plants that grow along the river.
This is instead of tears,
Deborah said to me.
This replaces sorrow.
One line of darkest blue on my wrist.
One line that burned through the night as I went into the snow.
At night, the center of the universe is above us and the great she-bear is in the sky. The bear is the part of the goddess that rules the blood and the seasons. When the she-bear's tail is to the east it is summer and the grain is green and the earth is yellow and we have all we want to eat. When her tail is to the west it is autumn and we move on to higher ground where there is still food. Our people follow the bear; we never stay in one place for long. We have heard of cities made of stones and bricks, but our city of tents moves, like the stars above us.
When the bear's tail is to the north, as it was on the night of my alone journey, that is when the snow reaches halfway up the horses’ legs, when breath turns to crystal and we wear all of our clothes at one time, the leggings made of horse-hide, the shirts of deerskin, the hats of fox and rabbit. Alone of all creatures, the she-bear is unafraid of winter. She simply disappears into the very depth of it. That is the center of the year, when it is dark nearly all of the time and what little light that does come is blue.
Because it was my time, my journey, I knew I must think of the bear, and sing to her, and ask her for guidance.
On my night journey I was soon proud of myself. I had tracked a deer in the snow and cut it down with a single arrow. I said a prayer for the gift of the deer, and let out its blood as a gift to the goddess. I had the deer carcass draped over my horse's shoulders and was riding to find a place to make my camp when I saw a shadow. I thought perhaps it was the shadow that my mother had lost when she was violated. Or the shadow of the deer's spirit. I thought I might have made a wrong turn in the snow and crossed into the next world, where we were not supposed to enter until our lives were through.
It was the time of people, but it was also the time of spirits, and I was prepared to meet up with not only those who were in this world, but those who inhabited the next.
I felt a shiver inside me. I stopped and got to my feet. The snow reached over my knees. I was glad I had the scythe with me. It had never been used in battle. At least not yet.
If you're here to kill me, I'll kill you first,
I said in a whisper, only loud enough for a spirit to hear.
The snow was still falling and the sky was as white as my horse; even my black hair became white, as though I were already the old woman I might someday be if I didn't die in battle. I hadn't dreamed of the black horse the night before, so I felt secure that death wouldn't come for me now.
Because my boots were made of horsehide I made no sound on the snow, but my breath billowed out. My blood was pounding. There was the shadow before me. Perhaps it was only a dream, but no. It made a noise. It was a ghost noise, a sorry sound, hungry and alone. Motherless. I knew that noise. When I was younger, it had belonged to me, too.
I crouched down and saw that the shadow was a bear cub, somehow forgotten in the center of winter, trapped in a deep snowdrift. I felt something in my heart I hadn't felt before.
I used the scythe to free the cub from the ice-packed drift; when I was done she was too weak to scramble away. I went back to my horse and fetched a deerhorn filled with mares’ milk. I tried to approach but the bear backed away.
It's just me, sister.
I moved in and let her lap the milk out of the palm of my hand. I could feel the bear's heat, how alive she was. She drank all the milk.
Now the horse is jour mother,
I said.
It must have been true, because when I carried the bear to my horse, and tied her into my rolled-up blanket, the mare didn't flinch. Most horses shy from bears, but Sky was fearless. A Queen's horse.
When I returned everyone came to see what I had brought back from my journey, even the Queen. Now they could all see: I had the strength of fifty men. I held a bear across my knees, not dead — any man could have done that — but alive, a sister to me.
I felt my mother's eyes on me. For the first time I think she was seeing something other than sorrow. Maybe she did have the gift of prophecy in some things. Maybe she saw I was the Queen-to-be.
I called the bear Usha, which sounded like our word for the northernmost star. At night, she was kept near the horses, chained up; she would let us know if any creature, man or otherwise, tried to steal what belonged to us. Usha kept watch, like the great bear in the sky. During the day, she was beside me, following as though she wanted to run as fast as Sky did. Usha became like the foal my mare had never had, motherless no more. Perhaps she thought she was a horse; perhaps she dreamt she was. I dreamt sometimes of riding her into battle, terrifying every enemy, a hundred bands of blue on my face. When I was Queen, that's what I would do. People as far as the north storm country and beyond would fear me as they feared Usha; they would stay away and speak of me in whispers. The Queen who was half-horse and half-bear, who might not be human at all, except in her own dreams.
My name may have meant sorrow, but as I neared my sixteenth summer I felt happy. I was afraid to say it aloud because things you say aloud disappear; so I kept quiet, but it was there. My happiness. It was warm again and we had traveled back to the pasturelands. Io and I had lots of time to wander. We took Usha into woods that were so green you had to squint to see. We'd discovered that the bear could lead us to beehives; then we'd run back and tell Cybelle and she'd come with her smoke jars and old hollow logs and talk the bees into giving us their honey, and even coming home with us.
Io kept her red hair braided like ours and she wore the boots that we all wore, horsehide, tied up high with leather strips. But she wasn't like us. If you looked into her pale eyes you could see what had happened to her. It was like looking down a well. She spoke of things while she slept, and I was glad she mostly spoke in a language I couldn't understand.
Stay away from me,
she would murmur. I understood that.
Maybe that was why I could be myself with her, not the Queen-to-be, not the keeper of sorrow. Just Rain. Maybe that was why I took her along with me into the forest, and why I wasn't jealous that Usha seemed to be her sister as well. The bear napped curled up, her head on Io's knee.
I'm afraid to move,
Io would say, and we would laugh so hard that Usha would wake up and shake herself.
Watch this,
I said one day in the woods.
I'd made a bit, which the bear was now used to, since I'd sweetened the leather with mares’ milk. I used a bridle formed of horsehair rope.
I got on Usha's back and whispered for the bear to run. It was so different from horseback, so high, so clear, as though I were a part of the forest, a tree, a green thing, a wild beast. I had to kick to get Usha to stop, and when she wouldn't I leapt off, crashing into ferns and tall grass.
The bear ambled back and licked my face. Her breath was terrible, but it was warm, alive.
Good horse,
I told her.
I confided my dream of the future to Io: When I was Queen I would ride a bear into battle. I would be terrible to behold and men would run from me, like fallen leaves, red leaves, scattered before me.
I should have known then that one thing should never pretend to be what it is not. Woman or horse or bear. Being anything other than what you truly are can only lead to sorrow and regret. I should have let Usha be a bear.
