The Saga of the Renunciates (69 page)

Magda cleared her throat and said, “It is I, but I am better—”

She came and stood by Magda’s blankets. At her side was a somewhat taller woman, in a green and black cape; Magda could see that she was pregnant, though she carried it well, almost with careless ease.

The smaller woman in blue said, “I am Hilary Castamir-Syrtis, and it was our land you risked your life to save, as Ann’dra has told us. We owe you a debt,
mestra
. Will you undo the bandages?” she said to Camilla, and the old woman began to untie and unfasten them.

Lady Hilary knelt beside her, and as Ferrika had done earlier, passed the palm of her hand two or three inches above the soles of Magda’s feet. “What is your name,
mestra
?”

“Margali n’ha Ysabet,” she said.

“Trust me; I will not hurt you,” she said, and touched a leather thong about her throat. Magda remembered Rohana’s gesture, when Jaelle had been so terribly wounded in Castle Ardais, and it seemed suddenly to Magda that through the layers of leather and silk she could see the blue shimmer of a matrix stone. Lady Hilary closed her eyes for a moment and it seemed to Magda that she could feel a blue shimmer. Abruptly her feet felt as if they had been seared afresh with fire; she gasped with the pain, but it passed quickly and the blue haze was gone.

“Your feet will be healed now,
mestra
, I think you will have little trouble; but the new skin is very tender and you must be very, very careful not to walk on them for a day or two, or break the skin and allow them to become infected. I have other injuries to heal, or I would stay and speak with you; I too have reason to be grateful to the Renunciates. I wish you a good night,” she said, and went away, at her side the woman in the green cloak, who had not spoken a word.

Magda looked, by the firelight, at her feet. As she had half expected—she had seen this healing from Lady Rohana when Jaelle was wounded—there was no sign of bleeding nor blackening where fire had seared and bare ground and brambles had torn. Her feet were covered with a layer of grayish scarring with patches, between the scars, of pink thin baby skin, very tender and painful when she touched it with a tentative finger. But it had been healed.

One of the women said scornfully, “They are no proper Comyn, and not a proper Tower. Do you know what they call them in Arilinn? Forbidden Tower… they work under the ban of Arilinn! They even say— ” she lowered her voice as if whispering delicious scandal, and Magda did not hear what she said, but she heard small shocked exclamations.

Camilla said clearly, “What good are the Towers to those of us outside the Comyn? Except for these, who will come out of their walls to help and to heal.”

“I don’t care what you say,” one of the men at the next fire said, “it’s not right for a
leronis
to go about the countryside with common folk! And both the Lady Hilary and the Lady Callista were thrown out of Arilinn Tower by the old Sorceress and she wouldn’t do that without good reason. They’d ought to live quietly at home if they couldn’t live decent in the Tower—riding all around the countryside putting out fires and healing the common folk—” he spat, and the sound was eloquent. “We’re doing all right with the fire, we don’t need their sorcery to come and put it out for us!”

“I say nothing against the Lady Leonie,” Camilla said quietly. “Once she was kind to me when I greatly needed kindness. But perhaps the Lady knows little, cloistered as a sacred virgin within her Tower in Arilinn, of the needs of those who must live in the world, and do not know how, or would be too much in awe of them, to seek them out for help or healing.”

“I’ve even heard—my sister is a steward’s helper at Armida— that they’re teaching the common folk
laran
,” said one woman with scorn. “If it can be taught to the likes of us, what good is it? The Comyn are descended from the Gods! Why should they come and meddle in our lives?”

Camilla said scornfully, “I cannot talk to such ignorance.”

“They’re like you Renunciates,” said the woman with a concentrated spite. “Won’t stay in your place, won’t marry and have children, no wonder you want the Hastur kinfolk to come out of
their
proper place too! Want to turn the world upside down, all you folk, make the masters servants and the servants masters! The old ways were good enough for my father and they’re good enough for my husband and me! No men of your own, so you want to come out here brazen in your breeches, trying to show off your legs and get them away from us… well,
mestra
, I’m telling you,
my
husband wouldn’t touch you with a hayfork, and if he did I’d scalp him! And if I see you waggling your tits at him I’ll scratch out your eyes!”

Camilla chuckled. “If all men but your husband vanished from the earth, dame, I would sleep with the house-dog. You are heartily welcome to your husband’s attentions for all I care to contest them.”

“You Amazons are all filthy lovers of women—”

“Hold!” said an authoritative voice. “No brawling in the camp; fire-truce holds here, too!” It was Ferrika’s voice, and the strange woman moved away in the dark. Ferrika said, “Go to sleep, my sisters; ‘the man who argues with the braying of the donkey or the barking of his dog will win no cases before the high courts.’ ”

Silence settled around the Amazons fire, but Camilla still seemed ruffled as she drew off her boots to sleep.

“I have met with the old
leronis
of Arilinn—I do not say where, but it was when I was very young,” she said in a low voice to Magda. “She healed me when I had much need of healing, mind and body—I told you some of this. But the folk of Arilinn know nothing of the needs of common people. If what befell me had happened to a commoner maiden, the Lady would have shrugged and told my folk to marry me off to whatever man would have damaged goods. Because I was one of her own, she had pity on me—” abruptly she broke off. “What has come to me that I babble like this?”

Magda pressed her hand in the darkness. “Whatever you say to me I will never repeat, I promise you, sister.”

“That woman called me lover of women as if it were the worst insult she could imagine,” Camilla said. “I am not ashamed to hear it spoken… except when I am among women who use it as the worst abuse they can imagine—”

“You are my friend, Camilla, I do not care what you are.”

“I think you know I would like to be more than your friend,” Camilla said. “I should not say this when you are hurt, but you know I love you… and I would dearly love to make love to you; but I am not a man, and my friendship does not depend on it. It is for you to choose…” her voice trailed away. Magda felt deeply troubled.

Was this what she wanted then, was this why she had run away from Jaelle—the old children’s taunt:
only truth hurts
. Living among women, certainly it was not surprising… maybe it was indeed what she wanted; her marriage with Peter had caught on the snag of independence and competitiveness, she had not been content to think of him as husband and lover. Nor had she felt impelled to seek another lover, or to turn to any man. She thought, with deep disquiet, maybe it is a woman I want, I don’t know, I do love Camilla, but I never thought of that…

Maybe I ought to take Camilla as a lover, it would make her happy and it wouldn’t hurt me, and at least then I would know if that is truly what I want. But do I want to find out
? She said gently to Camilla, “We will talk about this when we are back in Thendara, I promise you,” and felt warmed by the comforting touch of the older woman.

She lay with her head against Camilla’s shoulder, and at last she knew that the older woman was asleep. But she could not sleep. The pain in her feet had all but subsided, but the healing skin itched with maddening intensity, and she knew she must not scratch it. How had Lady Hilary done that? And now she was reading thoughts again…

She listened to the quiet noises of the camp, to the faraway sound that she knew was the roaring of the fire. Could it jump a firebreak as it had done before and suddenly blaze among them, roaring and destroying? They slept here, and others worked along the firelines…

After a little it seemed as if she slept, but she was still conscious of her chilled body, feet itching furiously, as she seemed to look down on the camp from a greyish height; she saw herself lying curled up against Camilla, the other women snuggled close for the warmth, the dying cookfires carefully safeguarded inside rings of stone; then she saw the brilliantly colored cloaks of the men and women, the tall man called Ann’dra, Lady Hilary in her blue cloak with the blazing hair, the dark, diffident Lord Damon, the silent woman who had been pointed out to her as Lady Callista, and they were somehow joined like dancers around a blue blaze like the matrix Hilary had used to heal her feet… they were weaving in a colorful dance weaving in and out and at the same time they knelt motionless and fixed on the matrix… Ferrika reached for Magda and drew her into the dance, and then they were dancing among clouds, she was helping Hilary to scoop up the clouds and roll them through the sky to where the fire raged below… they felt damp and soft and palpable, like bread dough, under her hands when she punched them down. It felt as if she squeezed them between her fingers and the moisture came oozing out, they grew softer and softer and more pliable, and then rain was trickling from the clouds, trickling down and then pouring, and then flooding…

Magda woke sharply to the drops splashing on her face. At her side Camilla sat up sharply and cried out, “It’s raining!” And all over the fields, the men in the camp sent up a great cheer. No fire could stand against this hard, soaking rain.

And I was part of it, she said to herself, confused, and then dismissed the thought. No doubt she had felt the first drops and the whole dream had come out of that. Some of the women were hurrying to pull their blankets into the shelter of the trees, the wagons; Camilla hauled out a waterproof tarpaulin from their pack and spread it over her blankets and Magda’s, beckoning Rafaella and Keitha into the shelter, like a small improvised tent. The rain kept pouring down and there were groans of discomfort and cold mixed with the cheering, but better, they all admitted, to be cold and wet than burning up, and this meant crops and livestock and trees would be saved.

Good luck, Magda wondered, weather wisdom, or had the Comyn aristrocrats with their matrixes created the rain? She had no reason to think the latter except for her bizarre dream.

Or had it been a dream at all? Unlikely that they could have aroused the storm. But on the other hand, it was even more unlikely that Lady Hilary could have healed her burnt feet without even touching her.

Who was she to set limits to other people’s powers? A long rumble of thunder drowned out thought and she clung to Camilla, her feet icy in the cold, while someone grumbled, “Damn it, couldn’t they have managed rain without downpours and lightning?”

Some people, thought Magda drowsily, were never satisfied.

There was still no morning-sickness but Jaelle did feel strange and queasy, and had gotten into the habit of lying in bed while Peter shaved and showered and readied himself for work; only when he had kissed her goodbye and gone did she rise and find herself a snack somewhere in their rooms—it was simpler than braving the strange smells of the cafeteria in the early morning.

This morning, by the time she reached Cholayna’s office, Monty and Aleki were there, rummaging in files and pulling out printouts.

“There’s a fire,” Cholayna said. “On Alton lands; I went out with the helicopter. I can’t believe they’re fighting it by hand!”

“We have been doing it for centuries, long before the Terrans came here,” Jaelle said stiffly, “and will be doing it when they are gone.”

Peter came in, and Jaelle realized he was dressed for the field; leather breeches, woolly tunic, surcoat and cloak lined with rabbithorn fur, high boots. She envied him. “Ready, Monty? Now remember, Aleki, you’re a mute, deaf and dumb; there’s no way you could pass yourself off as Darkovan yet with your accent, but it’ll give you a chance to observe.”

Cholayna thrust a cartridge into the terminal and a fuzzy picture wobbled across the screen; billowing smoke, long lines of men and women scraping bare lines with hoes and rakes and crude tools, some men on horseback directing movement of lines.

“No earth-moving equipment, no tractors, no sprayer planes! We sent out an offer of help—seems like they could use us to spray the flames with foam. But since we heard about that crashed plane in the Kilghards out near Armida, the natives have been nervous about their overflights,” Monty said. “Look, there are three villages down that line, you can see them—” He pointed as the picture of the lines of men and women was briefly overlaid by a picture from the weather satellite. Jaelle wondered, not for the first time, if anyone had bothered to tell the Domains about the spy-eye of the satellite in the sky.

Sometimes Renunciates went out on the firelines; Magda was housebound, and need not go, though Camilla and Rafaella always went.
If she was in danger, I’d know
.

“Go and check out Aleki’s costume, Jaelle, you know better than I do what he ought to need,” said Cholayna. “Peter had Monty all ready even before I got the report, and they were going alone, but Aleki pulled rank on them and said he was going, whatever they said.” She smiled a little ruefully. “Even if it means leaving you with what he ought to be doing while he’s out on the lines!”

“Don’t talk as if I was saddling her with the whole department’s work,” Alessandro Li said defensively. “Language reports, and I want her to check out the satellite printouts and mark the general layout of the Dry Towns. Next week I’ll take her on an overflight, if she wants to go—you haven’t been up in one of our planes yet?”

“Hell, I’d have taken her if I’d thought she’d want to go,” Peter said, “But some other time, all right, Aleki? The horses are ready right outside the gates in the Old Town…”

Jaelle was studying the wallscreen, heavy smoke and ashes sweeping over the hills, a blackened swathe left behind. She knew that country, she had ridden through it; every few years, the resin-trees caught and they grew so quickly that new fires came down. Cholayna was frowning and saying something about the destruction of vital watershed.

“Trouble is, there’s no rain in sight at all,” Peter said. “The people at Armida should be warned about the satellite picture; the winds are going to sweep across from Syrtis, and Armida itself could go up in flames. Jaelle—”

She wrenched herself away from the picture, so vivid it seemed she could smell the smoke, the acrid smell of ash and the crash of fire. She turned Aleki round, scowled.

“Those boots aren’t right. They’ll think you’re a woman in disguise, or an effeminate. Peter, he’s got to have proper boots.”

“In hell’s name,” Aleki protested, “I saw the regulation issue for the field, and I can’t walk in the damn things! Do I have to be some striding macho bully, stomping around all over everything? Are the men all as insecure as that?”

“I’m not interested in their psychology,” said Peter dryly, “Custom of the country, and all that; those boots would mark you what they call a sandal-wearer anywhere outside the city, and wouldn’t look too good even indoors. Go down to Field Issue and get some proper ones. You take him down, Jaelle.”

She went down and found him a pair of boots, helped him to haul them on, grumbling all the way. She readjusted the knot of his scarf and warned him again to be deaf and dumb. “Your first trip into the field, you’re going to feel very much as I did my first day here,” she said. “But it’s only a beginning.”

On the roof of the copter landing. Peter was arguing with Monty. “If they come in like this, costumes or no, they’ll know we’re Terrans right away. I think we should ride with that crew down there.” He pointed at a group of men saddling up in a street near the HQ.

“They need able-bodied men to fight fire,” Monty said. “I don’t think they would care whether we were Terrans or
cralmacs
provided we could carry a hoe, and if we go in the copter we can get there sooner and do more work without tiring ourselves out by riding in. The important thing is to help them fight the damned fire! It might even be good public relations, if they knew that the Terran Empire sent able-bodied men to help them—”

“I’d like to remind you both,” said Alessandro Li, “that we are still working for Intelligence; this isn’t a humanitarian mission. Haldane, who are those people getting ready to ride?

Peter had a strong pair of bionoculars tucked in his belt; he raised them and looked down into the street. “Second call-up; the first one, only volunteers went, but this party is evidently taking out all the men they can find, there are old men and little boys no older than twelve in that lineup— I went out one year. And there are three or four Comyn, with a few dozen Guardsmen, and at least one
leronis
.”

“You mean the lady draped in red?” Monty asked, and Peter nodded.

“Comyn again! Damn it, I wish I knew what made the whole countryside jump like frogs whenever they nod their heads!” Aleki said, “but the ones who know won’t tell. One of these days, Jaelle, we’re going to have a long talk about that, aren’t we? Let’s get the horses and go. Forget the copter. I don’t want anything marking us as Terrans. Intelligence, remember.”

Jaelle said swiftly, “I am going too. I have fought before this on the firelines—and I need not keep the camp with the women; I am a Renunciate and I can do a man’s work.”

“Commendable spirit in your lady,” said Alessandro Li dryly, “but tell her to stay at home, Haldane, she’s more use to us here for language and liaison. If she wants to be helpful, let her get on good terms with what’s-her-name, Lady Rohana.”

“I need to go. And Magda must be there, if they are calling out all the able-bodied—”

“Able-bodied men,” said Monty firmly. “You know as well as I do that they haven’t reached the point of calling out women, Jaelle.”

Peter interrupted as she opened her mouth to answer, “You are not going out there, Jaelle. There’s a full-fledged forest fire raging out there, and you—”

“I have probably fought more fires than you have,” she said angrily. “I went first into the lines when I was fourteen—‘

“Forget it,” said Cholayna. “We don’t have time to wait while you get medical clearance—

“Medical clearance? To go into my own countryside?”

“Right,” Peter said. “You’re here in Magda’s job, and one of the first rules is that nobody—nobody—goes into the field without clearance.” The two men were striding toward the elevator; Jaelle said quietly, stepping in after them, “You forget. I am a Darkovan citizen. I am not subject to those regulations—”

“That’s what you think.” Peter stabbed roughly at a ground-level button. “When we were married, I applied for Empire citizenship for you, so our kids would have it. Besides, by your own Oath, you are here to abide by the terms of your employment. That’s one of them. The matter, sweetheart, is closed.” He leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose. “See you when we get back, love.” He walked quickly away.

Some day, she thought angrily, he was going to throw their marriage, and her Empire citizenship, up at her once too often. She toyed with the notion of going into the hateful surroundings of Medic and getting the damned clearance, to spite them all. They could hardly prevent her…

… but then they would have her registered as pregnant, and something told her that this one thing she ought to keep from them. For some reason she did not want that on the Terran records. She asked herself if she was only spiting Peter—he would surely want his coming child registered. She started to go, then something inside her said, cold and clear,
No
.

Rationalizing this, she thought of her last visit to Medic, the machines which looked inside and through her, the feeling of being completely depersonalized, her body a machine among other machines, violated. If they knew she was pregnant, it would be worse. She had some days off coming—Peter had explained that to her; she went up to the office and asked Cholayna for the day off to visit the Guild House.

As she had half expected, Cholayna asked if she might come along. Jaelle went up and dressed quickly, feeling relieved as she slid into her Amazon clothing; leather breeches for riding—they were tight in the waist, she would have to borrow a pair from Rafaella to wear till the baby was born—and proper boots. When she joined Cholayna at the gates, the woman was wearing a heavy weatherproof down jacket which would have been wonderful for the Hellers in winter, but made Jaelle wonder how Cholayna avoided suffocating in it today—it was really not that cold.

“But I was born on a really hot world,” Cholayna said, shivering even in the heavy clothes, and looking in dismay and disbelief at Jaelle’s light tunic, over which she wore only the lightest of riding cloaks.

“But it’s almost summer,” Jaelle said, and Cholayna chuckled.

“Not to me, it isn’t.”

But Cholayna kept pace with Jaelle, even in the high-heeled sandals in which Jaelle could not have taken four steps without breaking her ankles. Walking beside Cholayna, Jaelle felt like a young girl again, the Amazon fosterling; there had been a time when Kindra had taken employment as a guard for warehouses about the city. When she made her morning rounds, she had sometimes taken her foster daughter with her, it was then that they had had some of their best times together, mother and daughter. It was those months that had made Jaelle an Amazon.

She could have confided in Kindra as she could not in Rohana. Once she had conceived a child, Rohana could not see her, Jaelle, at all, but only the potential mother of a child for the Aillard Domain.

But surely there would be someone in the Guild House that she could talk to.

They were walking through the marketplace and she saw rounded eyes, curious glances at Cholayna’s dark skin. But one would have thought Cholayna had never experienced anything but these shocked or hostile glances; she strode along blithely in her uniform and Jaelle envied the woman her confidence.

I was like that once, when I walked with Kindra and the townspeople stared and jeered at the Renunciates. What has happened to me
?

Only on the very steps of the Guild House did Cholayna hesitate for a moment and ask, “Should I have worn makeup, Jaelle? I could have painted my skin so that I looked like anyone else. I do not want to embarrass you in your own home…”

Jaelle liked Cholayna more for asking, but she shook her head defiantly. Renunciates themselves were different, if they could not accept Cholyana’s differences so much the worse for them!

And indeed, when Irmelin answered the door, she stared for a moment at Cholayna, but quickly collected herself to welcome Jaelle with a hug.

“I know Mother Lauria will want to see you,” she said to Cholayna, and showed the Terran woman directly toward the Guild-mother’s office. But to Jaelle’s inquiries she told her that Rafaella, Camilla and Margali were all out on the fire lines, they had been gone from the house for several days now.

All of my oath-sisters. There is no one here I can talk to
. She supposed Marisela had gone with the others, but Irmelin told her that the woman was in the house, and guessed, of course, why Jaelle wished to see her.

“You’re expecting a baby, Jaelle? Why, how nice for you!” Jaelle supposed she should have expected that; she said all the appropriate things, and let Irmelin bring her into the kitchen and sit her down with a cup of hot bark-tea and a piece of fresh buttered bread from the ovens, as if Jaelle were again the twelve-year-old fosterling who had been everybody’s pet in the Guild House.

“I’ll fetch down Marisela to you, there’s no reason for you to be running up and down all the stairs—”

“Irmi, it will be four moons before running up and down stairs would bother me,” Jaelle protested, but just the same, Irmelin’s fussing comforted her. At least someone cared; she sat dripping tears into her tea. After a time Marisela came into the kitchen, dipped herself up a cup of tea and sat down, letting it steam in front of her. She smiled at Jaelle, that smile which seldom reached her mouth but only twinkled behind her eyes.

“Well, you look healthy enough, Shaya, is there some reason I should have come down to you?”

“Oh, Marisa, I’m sorry, I
told
Irmelin—”

“No, sister, it’s all right, I slept through breakfast and am glad to have some company, with everyone out on the fire lines.”

“Can I get you something?” Marisela started to shake her head, then looked sharply at Jaelle and said, “Yes. I would like some bread, sliced very thin, please, and honey instead of butter.” And Jaelle, busying herself with cutting the bread with the proper knife, and finding the honey crock and spoon and spreading it, found that she no longer wanted to dissolve into tears. She wondered why Marisela was smiling as she sat down again, sliding the plate of bread and honey toward her. The older woman asked, “How far?”

Jaelle counted mentally and told her, and Marisela nodded.

“So that is why you were asking all those soul-searching questions about not knowing our own minds and how to tell whether we are pleasing ourselves or someone else,” Marisela said. It was not a question and not sympathetic, and Jaelle felt as if Marisela had flung cold water over her, but she realized she was not entitled to ask for sympathy. No one had bidden her lie with Peter, nor marry him, and she could have made certain she did not get with child. She blinked fiercely, but she no longer wanted to cry. Done was done.