With her very kindness she had managed, again, to destroy Magda’s peace of mind. Was it so serious that they would send for Jaelle from the Terran Zone? But Irmelin added fussily, “Go, now, sit in the hall to let people in, I have to knead down the bread and get it into the pans for tonight’s dinner, and if Shaya will be here I want to make some spicebread.”
Magda sat in the hall, listlessly plaiting the belt, and remembering against her will the last time she had worked on it. When the doorbell rang again she was braced for trouble, and when she found a man, in the green and black uniform of a Guardsman, on the doorstep, she set her chin aggressively.
“What do you want?”
“Is Byrna within?”
“You can see her in the Stranger’s Room, if you wish,” Magda said.
“Oh, I am glad she is up again,” the young man said.
“May I tell her who is asking for her?”
“My name is Errol,” he said, “and I am the father of her son.” He was a very large, very young man, his cheeks still downy with the first shadow of beard. “My sister has just had a baby and she has offered to nurse this one with her own, so I came to take him away.”
So soon. He is only a tenday old. Oh, poor Byrna. Her distressed look must have reached the very young man, for he said uncertainly “Well, she told me she didn’t want to keep him, so I thought the sooner I took him off her hands, the better it would be for her.”
“I will go and tell her.” She showed the young man into the Stranger’s Room, and hesitated, wondering what to do now; but the doorbell rang again and fortunately, Marisela stood on the steps.
“What shall I do, Marisela? The father of Byrna’s baby is in there—” she pointed, “and wants to take him away—”
Marisela sighed; but she only said, “Better now than later. I will tell her, Margali; go back to the hall, child.”
Magda obeyed; and after a considerable time she saw Errol coming from the Stranger’s Room, carrying a thickly wrapped bundle in his arms, with the clumsiness of a man not accustomed to handling babies. Marisela, at his side, was talking attentively to him, and she left Marisela to let him out; it struck her that probably, at this moment, Byrna was in need of some sympathetic company. If anyone came to the door, they could just knock until Irmelin, in the kitchen, heard them and could leave her bread-rolls long enough to let them in!
She found Byrna in her room, flung across her bed, crying bitterly. Magda didn’t speak; she only sat down beside Byrna and took her hand. Byrna raised her tear-blurred face, and flung herself, sobbing, into Magda’s arms. Magda hugged her, not trying to talk. She had had half a dozen things ready to say; but none of them seemed worth the trouble.
They shouldn’t have let him take the baby. It’s too soon. Everything we know tells us that at this stage, Byrna needs her baby as much as he needs her! It’s cruel, it’s not right… and through the woman’s trembling in her arms, it seemed that somehow she could feel the vast pain and despair. She said nothing, just held Byrna and let her cry herself into exhaustion, then laid her gently down on her pillow.
“He’s too little,” Byrna sobbed, “he needs me, he really needs me—but I promised, I didn’t know when I promised how much it would hurt—”
There was nothing Magda could say; she was relieved when the door opened and Marisela came in, Felicia at her side. “I hoped someone would come to stay with her. Merciful Avarra, how I wish Ferrika had come back!” She bent over Byrna, said gently, “I have something to make you sleep, breda.”
Byrna could not speak. Her eyes were swollen nearly shut with crying, her face blotched and crimson. Marisela held her head as she sipped the cup at her lips, laid her down. “You will sleep after a little.”
Felicia knelt at Byrna’s side, took her hands and said, “Sister, I know. I really do, remember?”
Byrna said, her voice hoarse and ghastly, “But you had your little boy for five years, five whole years, and mine is still so little, only a baby—”
“And it was that much harder for me,” Felicia said gently. Her big gray eyes filled with tears as she said, “You did right, Byrna, and I only wish I had had the courage to do the same, to give him up at once to the woman he will call mother. I kept him here for my own comfort, and then when he was five years old, he had to go among strangers, where everything is different and they will expect him already to know how to be what they call a little man—” she swallowed hard. “I took him to my brother’s house—he cried so, and I had to tear his hands away and leave him, and they had to hold him, and I could hear him all the way down the street, screaming ‘Mother, Mother—’ ” Her voice held endless pain. “It is so much better—to let him go now, when all he will know is love and kindness and a warm breast—and if his foster mother has nursed him herself she will love him so much more and be gentler with him.”
“Yes, yes, but I want him, I want him—” Byrna sobbed, and clung to Felicia; Felicia was crying now, too, and Marisela drew Magda gently out of the room.
“Felicia can help her now more than anyone else.”
Magda said, “I should think she would make it worse—isn’t it cruel for them both?”
Marisela put her arm round Magda and said gently, “No, chiya, it is what they both need; grief unspoken turns to poison. Byrna must mourn for her child, even though it is like death. And she can help Felicia, too; Felicia has not been able to cry for her son, and now they can weep together and be eased by knowing the other truly understands. Otherwise they will both sicken with the first sickness that comes near them, and Byrna, at least, could die. Give the Goddess her due, child, even when her due is grief. You have never borne a child, or you would know.” She kissed Magda’s cheek and said gently, “Some day you too will be able to weep and be healed of your grief.”
Magda watched Marisela go down the stairs, staring after her in amazement. She supposed Marisela was right—she had come to respect the woman, she knew as much as most Medics, in her own way, and she supposed she had a good grip of the psychology of the matter; everyone knew that stress could cause psychosomatic illness, though she was surprised that Marisela would think of it. But certainly Marisela was wrong about her, she had no particular sorrows, she had nothing to cry about! Anger, yes, enough to burst with it. Especially lately. Resentment. But grief? She had nothing to cry about, she had not cried more than three times in her adult life. Oh, yes, she had cried when she had been hurt and Marisela had stitched up her leg without anesthetic, but that was different. The idea that she might have some unknown and hidden grief for which she should be healed, struck her as the most fantastic thing she had ever heard.
There was the sound of a mellow chime; the bell warning women who had come in from working in the city that dinner would be served in an hour and that they should finish bathing, changing their garments. Magda went upstairs, still frowning. She passed Byrna’s closed door, hoping that the woman was sleeping.
I was sad, but not enough to cry about it, when I realized that Peter had not managed to make me pregnant; and then, when we separated, I was glad not to be burdened with a child. And especially now—what would I do here with a child? I could now be in Byrna’s predicament. The idea is ridiculous. Marisela could use some sensible Terran training, both in medicine and psychology.
As she stripped off her clothes to change for dinner, she sighed at the thought of confronting Rafaella again at the meal, or meeting the unspoken resentment of the others. But there was nothing she could do about it, and she would not hide in her room and let them know that it bothered her. She was a Terran; and even more than that, she was a Renunciate, and she would somehow manage enough strength to get through this time.
* * *
CHAPTER TWO
« ^ »
Inside Mother Lauria’s office the women heard the chime, and Mother Lauria sighed. “I must go, Jaelle; it has been good to have this talk with you. You will spend the night in the House, won’t you? It does not matter which women you
and I think are qualified, I cannot require of any woman that she leave her sisters and take employment among the Terrans. She herself must wish to go.”
“But we cannot let any woman go who wishes,” Jaelle insisted, “They must be the right ones—we do not wish them to fail and the Terrans think us silly women, think the women of Darkover are all fools and children who hide behind the safety of home. And they should not be lovers of women, for that is a thing the Terrans despise. I would like to consult with Magda about it—”
“The very last one. She is new to us—”
“She has been among you three moons; as long as I have been among the Terrans.”
“But the women in the House do not know she is Terran; they would wonder why I consulted with a newcomer, instead of a veteran who has been among us for years. I might as well ask Doria!”
“You could do worse; children’s eyes see clearly,” Jaelle said. “I am sure Doria knows our faults and weaknesses as well as I do myself. But before we make any decisions I would like to speak privately, at least, with Magda. I can see that you would not want to call her out from the rest and consult with her—” Jaelle felt troubled; she had not known Magda had chosen to be anonymous here. But Mother Lauria had risen, firmly, and the interview was over.
Jaelle went and washed her hands in the downstairs scullery. Her home, she realized, and for the first time since she was eleven, she had no designated place here! She went into the dining hall, and after a moment, there was a cry of “Jaelle!” and she was caught enthusiastically in Rafaella’s arms.
Jaelle returned the hug and laughed gaily at her partner’s surprise.
“You didn’t expect to see me, did you? How is the business?”
“As well as can be expected, when you have been away so long,” Rafaella returned, half teasing, but with a note of real resentment. “To work among the Terranan! How could you?”
“I am not the first, and shall not be the last,” Jaelle said quietly. “You will hear about that in House meeting. And you have left the House to live with a freemate, more than once, have you not?”
“But with a Terranan!” Rafaella’s vivacious face grimaced in fastidious distaste. “I would as soon couple with a cralmac!”
Jaelle laughed. “I have never lain down with a cralmac,” she said, “and know nothing about their bed manners, though in the mountains I once knew a woman who said she slept every night between her two female cralmacs for warmth, so they cannot be as disgusting as all that! But, seriously, Rafi, the Terrans are men like other men, no more different from us than hillmen from lowlanders; differing from us only in language and customs, no more. They are far more like to us than the chieri, and there is the blood of the Ancient Folk in all the Hastur kin. I had not thought to hear you, of all people, repeating superstitious nonsense about the Terrans, as if they had horns and tails!”
Perhaps, she thought, it is no miracle that Magda chose to be anonymous here, if this nonsense about the Terrans is common to the women here! I thought the sisters of my own Guild House had better sense! But she let it pass—she had no wish to quarrel with her friend and partner.
“But tell me about the work and how it goes, Rafi. You could take someone else into partnership for a time, you know, while I am away, or even permanently—there is enough work for three, most years. And how is my baby, Doria?”
“Your baby is in her Housebound time, and will take the Oath at Midsummer,” Rafaella returned dryly. “If she can manage to be admitted—she is at the very worst stage in growing up— every time I say a word to her, she bursts into tears! I am really ashamed of her. The business? Well, I have had to turn down two caravans, but we are doing well enough. There is a new maker of saddles—”
“Can you find somewhere else to talk?” asked a tall, slender woman, hair gleaming faint gold, a long apron pinned over her trousers. Rafaella took her friend’s shoulder and shoved her along so that the woman could set plates and bowls along the long table. “Our sister Keitha, she came to us at the same time as your oath-sister Margali,” Rafaella said, and turned to introduce Jaelle. Women were streaming into the hall now, singly and in little groups, standing about and talking, finding seats, amid clattering dishes. There was a good smell of hot bread fresh from the oven, and Jaelle sniffed, appreciatively.
“Real food! I’m starved!”
“What’s the matter, don’t the Terrans feed you? You’ve certainly gained weight,” Rafaella said, raising her eyebrows. “Or is there another reason for that, Shaya?”
Jaelle smiled at the pet name, given her in this house when she was younger than Doria, but drew a little away from Rafi; she didn’t want to talk about that yet.
And yet if I had a child, I could keep it and raise it myself with Peter’s help, I would not need to face the fact that it might be a son whom I must give up when he was five years old. I have always felt that Amazons should not have children; there are enough unwanted girls whom we can take into our homes and our hearts, as Kindra took me.
But I was not unwanted. Mother—mother loved me, I think, though I cannot remember her at all. Sometimes, in the dreams I have been having under those damned machines, I think I remember her a little. And Rohana would gladly have fostered me. Yet I chose to come here…
Magda, coming into the dining hall, felt a sudden wave of dismay and distress, and stopped hesitantly on the threshold. What was happening to her? She was having peculiar small hallucinations all the time now. Was she losing her mind? She looked around the room, saw Rafaella by the fireplace, talking to a woman in a blue dress; but not an Amazon, for the woman’s hair was long and coppery-red, curling at the tips. Then the woman laughed and turned her head toward the door, and Magda froze; Jaelle!
She was sure she had not made a sound, but Jaelle turned as if Magda had called her name, her face filled with delighted surprise.
“What is it, Jaelle, what’s happened, why are you here?” Were they, in fact, discussing her crime? She had been told that the matter must be taken up with her oath-mother. But Jaelle said gaily, “I am not housebound, breda; I would have come before, but this was my first chance—I have been very busy, as you can imagine.”
Magda searched her friend’s eyes; there was more in them than a casual visit. The whites of the eyes seemed bloodshot, but she knew how rarely Jaelle cried. Perhaps—a nagging, intrusive thought. Peter doesn’t let her get much sleep. She dropped the thought as if it had burned her. You’d think I was jealous!
“Mother Lauria and I have been discussing the women who can be chosen to learn Terran medicine, but I want to talk with you about that. Not here, though.” The chiming of the supper bell interrupted them; Mother Lauria came in and took her seat, and Jaelle sniffed with delight.
“I am so tired of food that comes out of machines! Real bread, fresh baked—and tripe stew, if I’m not mistaken. Wonderful! Here, let’s sit here,” Jaelle said, seizing her hand, responding to Camilla’s beckoning hand, bending to give Camilla a quick hug and kiss. “Well, Aunt, you look hearty and well, did Nevarsin’s climate agree with you? Come sit by me, Margali, let’s eat and you tell me everything they’ve been doing to you around here!”
Magda laughed. “That would take more than an evening!”
“Breda—” Jaelle said, startled, as if actually seeing her for the first time. “Chiya, what have they been doing to you here? ”You have lost weight,” she scolded, “The housebound season is hellish for everyone, I know, but you mustn’t let it affect you this way!” Then Jaelle took Magda in a close embrace, long and hard and deliberate.
Magda could not see the tears Jaelle hid against her shoulder, though she sensed that Jaelle was clinging to her as if for comfort. But she also saw Janetta’s knowing smirk, and sensed that all eyes were on them. She pulled back a little.
“Don’t, Jaelle!” She could not conceal her unease; the room seemed suddenly full of a ringing silence, as if all the noises of dishes and silverware were echoing in a vast, vaulted chamber fr
om many miles away.
Jaelle withdrew, frowning. She asked, almost formally, “Have I wronged you somehow, oath-daughter?”
“Oh, no,” Magda said, shocked; lowering her voice, she murmured, “It’s only—I didn’t want—I mean, everyone in the Guild House already believes I am your lover…” her voice trailed off. She was half expecting Jaelle to reply sensibly, “What does that matter?”
However, Jaelle only murmured, “I see,” and sat down as if nothing had happened. But her look sent a chill through Magda; it was the same look Jaelle had given her that first night, when Jaelle had rescued her from the bandits bent on rape; icy, detached, verging on contempt. The next moment, though, it was gone and Magda was wondering if she had imagined it, as Camilla and young Doria were hugging and kissing Jaelle and trading around so they could all sit together around the corner of the table.
Jaelle said over Doria’s head, “This is my baby, Margali; she was no more than three when I came here as a fosterling, and she has always been my pet and plaything—and now look at her, all grown up and ready for the Oath! I’m so proud of you, chiya!”
Doria glanced at Magda with a tiny shared grin, and Magda thought, she hasn’t seen us shaking all over at Training Sessions or she wouldn’t be so proud of us! Thank heaven there won’t be one tonight; I couldn’t stand it, in front of Jaelle! Or, she wondered, was there? Tripe stew usually appeared on the nights of Training Sessions or the almost equally frightening house meetings. She had never lost her distaste for tripe stew; as the dish passed, she shook her head, passing it to Jaelle. Jaelle stared.
“Really? It’s my favorite and I’m starved for it! Well, the less there is for you, the more for the rest of us!” She helped herself liberally. “Sisters, you’ll never appreciate the food here until you have to try to eat what the Terrans call food!” She was exaggerating, almost a burlesque.