It was taken for granted in the Guild House, but after the usual adolescent experiments, she had never thought about it. For a time when she had first set up the business with Rafaella—they had been lovers, for a time, but it had seemed no more than a way of cementing deep friendship, and Rafaella was at heart far more interested in men; after a few weeks it had simmered down into affection, had in fact never been much more. She had taken it for granted as part of their bonding; had, she now realized, felt that she and Magda should have shared this gesture of trust, of love and openness to one another. But if it was not the custom among Magda’s people, as it certainly was not among, for instance, the cristoforos, why did she feel so rejected? Was she afraid Magda would come to despise her, and if she could lose Magda’s friendship over a thing as simple as that, was her friendship worth having?
She held endless conversations inside her own mind, but once or twice when it seemed she could almost see Magda’s face… I shall be reaching her with laran if I do not take care… she tried, in a panic, to slam her mind shut. Now she regretted she had never accepted Rohana’s offer, no, her plea, that she should go, even briefly, to a Tower to have her laran trained. Now it was too late. Was it too late? And then she would find herself crying again.
She had completely ceased to use the corticator tapes; but she realized that the Language department did not know it, they were complimenting her daily about her growing command of the language.
One evening, when she came into her rooms, she found Peter there, stripping off mud-crusted shirt and trousers.
“No, don’t kiss me yet, sweetheart, for God’s sake wait until I get out of these things and shower; to put it bluntly, I stink,” he said. She sniffed. He certainly did. She supposed her senses had been sharpened by constant access to the level of sanitation in the Terran Zone, where the slightest stain was instantly scrubbed away and disposable clothing was the norm. He thrust his toward the disposal, then wrinkled his nose, bagged them and shoved them into a closet.
“I guess I’d better take them down to be cleaned; they’re field clothes and a little grime will make them more authentic,” he said, with a wry grin. “How’s junior?” He patted her still-flat tummy as he headed for the shower, and she heard his voice trailing off, mostly something about how good it was to be back where he could get hot water and civilization.
The Empire people think civilization and plumbing are the same thing. They are neurotic about smells and dirt, she thought. He should have kissed me, at least! She lay down on the bed, feeling bruised. He hadn’t asked about her, only the baby. She felt angry at herself for feeling that way; he was tired, just off the trail, and she was certainly being too sensitive, but like Rohana, once she was pregnant she was not herself, only a sort of walking nest for the damned baby! She buried her face in the pillow. Not an honest feather in it, some damned synthetic stuff. She took a long breath and she smelled again the aseptic, the Terran smell of it. It was only the smell. She would not cry. She would not.
She could go now, she didn’t have to stay here. In half an hour’s walk she could be in the Guild House. But she was sworn; she was legitimately employed to fill Magda’s place in the Terran HQ. Magda had not violated her pledge to the Guild House, under stresses far worse than this; she must at least match Magda’s courage.
Would they even want her in the Guild House, swelling daily with a Terran’s baby like any drab from the spaceport bars? She could tell herself it was different as much as she wished, but she had wanted Peter, she had wanted to lie with him and now there was a child coming, a child who would never be at home in either world. She was crying now, she did not hear Peter come out of the shower, and when he tried to embrace her she fought and cried hysterically until in the end he had to call a Medic. She spent the rest of the night down on the Hospital floor, drugged into unconscious sleep. There was nowhere else to go.
* * *
Part Three: OUTGROWTH
* * *
CHAPTER ONE
« ^ »
Although Magda’s household time would not end till forty days after Midsummer, custom freed the Renunciate novices for the day itself, and Magda came down to breakfast to hear the women discussing their plans for the holiday. Keitha and Magda had been told they might go where they wished during day and the night following; but must be back within the House by dawn.
“What are your plans, Keitha?”
“A midwife cannot make many plans. But before Doria left for Neskaya, she asked me to go this day and see her birth-mother. The woman will not come and see her daughter here, but Rafi says she often asks if Doria is well and content.”
“That she does,” Rafaella said, sliding down her bowl for porridge. “I think she is afraid Doria will try and make Amazons of her other daughters, but I do not think any of Graciela’s other girls have sense enough to take the Oath. She has not seen Doria ten times in the five years before this, but the day Doria was fifteen she began plying her with gifts and offering to find her a husband. Nothing would please her more than to have Dori repudiate her fosterage here and marry the first oaf who offered for her. I do not think she will be glad to see either of us, but whether or no, we will take her Doria’s gifts and greetings. And I shall see my youngest son, whom I have not seen in half a year.”
Magda remembered that Doria’s mother had given her up when she was born, in return for Rafaella’s son.
“I too was promised I might see my son,” Felicia said, “but I do not know if I can bear it yet, or whether it might be cruel to him…”
“Rafi, you are wanted in the stable,” said Janetta, poking her head into the dining hall.
“Well, what is it?” said Rafaella impatiently, “Does one of the horses wish to give me Midsummer greetings?”
“A man who says it is business,” Janetta told her, and Rafaella grumbled, threw down her fork and, still munching on a piece of the excellent nut cake which had made its appearance on the table in lieu of ordinary bread and butter, went off toward the stable. Two minutes later Janetta came back and said, “Margali, Rafi wants you too.”
Magda had not finished her breakfast, but she was pleased enough at the disappearance of Rafaella’s hostility that she went at once; she had tried enough to reassure Rafaella that she would fill Jaelle’s place in their business as much as she could, and it was worth being disturbed even at the holiday breakfast. She said, “Save me a piece—” she hesitated; she could hardly call it coffee cake, which would have been the Terran word, and no one had mentioned what they called it; she pointed and Keitha laughed. “I’ll guard it with my life!”
Rafaella was talking to a tall man shrouded in a thick cape; he was at the head of a string of horses, among them a few of the fine Armida-bred blacks. Several, too, were the shaggy ponies of the Hellers.
“Margali, I am sorry to ask you to work at Festival, but I did not expect these ponies for another tenday—
“I too am sorry to disturb you on holiday, mestra, but I was in the City now,” said the man, and Margali suddenly recognized his voice; he was the big fair-haired man who had carried her out of the fire lines, Dom Ann’dra. The Terran! But he was talking about the ponies in an accent better than her own.
“I could not find the ten you wanted, but I have seven here; they are strong and already immune to the hoof-rot, and all have been broken to halter and pack.”
Rafaella was going to one after another, examining teeth, patting soft muzzles. “They are good ones,” she said, “but why are you in the City so late in the season, Dom Ann’dra? Is your lady traveling with you? And the Lord Damon, will he be in the City for Council Season?”
“No, I am traveling all but alone this year; but since I was coming this way, I was able to escort Ferrika to you.” He held out his hand to help down a woman in a heavy traveling mantle who was seated on one of the horses. Over Rafaella’s shoulder, as he turned, he recognized Magda and said, “Oh, it is you—I was concerned about you, mestra, did your feet heal
properly?”
“Oh, yes, quite well,” Magda said. “Only my boots were burnt beyond repair: my feet are fine.”
Rafaella and Ferrika hugged one another and Rafaella said, “I had hoped you could come earlier in the season, Ferrika—”
The small snub-nosed woman smiled and said, “I too wished to come; but there was need of my services at Armida.”
“More children on the estates? Or one of your ladies?”
Ferrika shook her head. She looked grieved. “The Lady Ellemir miscarried a child earlier this year; and her sister stayed to nurse her,—Lady Callista will not take her seat in Council this season—”
“I wonder, then, that you would leave your lady,” Rafaella said, but Ann’dra interrupted. “Ferrika is not servant to us, but friend; and Ellemir is well again. But none of us have any heart for merrymaking this year, and there is little to be accomplished at Midsummer, so I came to do what business I must and pay my respects to the Lords of the Council; then I shall be off home again, probably at dawn. I was sorry to disturb your festival, but I did not wish to stable the beasts in a public compound when they could be in their new home.”
“I am grateful to you,” Rafaella said. “It takes a tenday or so to quiet them after the long trip; they are far better here in their own stable. Ferrika, breda, don’t stand out here, go inside and greet your sisters, breakfast is on the table!”
“And holiday nut cake? Marvelous,” Ferrika said, and went into the house. Rafaella handed a pony’s lead to Magda and said, “Will you take this one into that box-stall down there?”
When she came back Rafaella was writing, propped against the wall. She handed the paper to Dom Ann’dra.
“Take this to my patron, Dom Ann’dra, and she will arrange to have you paid; the horses are for her, I understand. May the Goddess grant that Lady Ellemir is well again soon.”
“Amen to that. Shall I bring the other ponies when I come again?”
“Or sooner, if you have a messenger you can trust,” said Rafaella. “And I need a good saddle-horse for an oath-gift to my daughter at Neskaya Guild House; is one available?”
“Not a good hand-broken horse for a lady, no; we always have too many orders for those,” Dom Ann’dra said. “I could not promise you one of those for more than two years. But I can let you have a good halter-broken filly if you would like to train it yourself.”
“I will not have the time; but Doria should break her own horse anyhow,” Rafaella said. “Send it to Neskaya Guild House for Doria n’ha Rafaella.”
Dom Ann’dra scribbled something on the papers he held. “I’ll send a man there with it within a tenday,” he said. He looked past Rafaella again at Magda curiously, and she almost heard, What is she doing here? Well, she thought, I certainly would like to know what he is doing here! No doubt he was on field assignment, had probably been so for years; if she went to the Terran Zone she might be able to look him up in Records; Cholayna or Kadarin would certainly know. She helped Rafaella stable and feed the new ponies. When she went back to the hall the porridge was cold, but Irmelin had brought fresh bread and opened a new jar of some kind of conserve, and a second nut-cake which vanished as swiftly as the first.
Ferrika was sitting at Marisela’s feet, her head in the woman’s lap.
“…so tragic… so many of the noble ladies do not really want children and cannot wait to turn them over to wet nurse and foster mother. But the Lady Ellemir is one of those who, as soon as their arms are empty, already hungers for another babe at her breast. Four years ago, when the Lady Callista could not suckle her child—though I think myself it was more that she did not wish to—Ellemir nursed Hilary along with her own Domenic.”
“Was she long in labor this time?”
“Not long, they had hardly time to summon me from the steward’s wife,” Ferrika said, “but all the more tragic because this time it was almost a matter of a few more days; if she could have carried the child even another tenday it might have lived. A girl, and born alive too, but we could not get her to breathe, her poor little lungs would not open, for all we could do. It was just a little too early. Once I really thought she would breathe and cry… a little mewing sound…” Ferrika buried her head in Marisela’s lap and the older woman patted her hair.
“Perhaps it is just as well; once or twice I have done what seemed a miracle and saved one alive when it seemed hopeless, but then they grow up crippled or partly paralyzed and cannot speak—it was the mercy of the Goddess.”
“Tell that to Lady Ellemir!” retorted Ferrika, blinking back her tears. “A girl, it was, perfectly formed, with red hair, and she had laran too, she had been real to them for three times forty days… I thought they would all go mad with grief. Lord Damon has not left my lady alone for a moment, day or night.”
“But think; even with laran, if the poor babe had grown up sickly… better an easy death and a return to the Goddess, who may send her forth again when the appointed time comes for her to live…”
“I know that, really,” Ferrika said, “but it was so hard to endure their grief. They had already named her…”
“I know, breda. But you are here with us, and you must stay until you are refreshed and cheerful again. You have had no holiday for a year and this has been hard on you, too, hasn’t it, chiya? Come, you must meet our sister Keitha, she works with me, and next year we will send her to the Arilinn College of Midwives. Also she will have Terran training, which will help her perhaps to save some of the ones who might die for no good reason. I want you two to know and love each other as sisters.”
As Ferrika embraced Keitha, behind them Camilla said, “How will you spend your holiday, Margali?”
But before she could answer, Rezi, who was on hall-duty, pushed her way quickly through to the fireside.
“Marisela, Rimal the Harp-maker is at the door, his wife is in labor—”
“Oh, no!” Magda said, “On your holiday, Marisela,” but the midwife was rising with a good-natured smile. Keitha asked “Will you need me, breda?”
“I think so; it is twins and her first confinement,” she said, and Keitha made a rueful face and went for her cloak. Marisela chuckled. “Like the beast-surgeon and the farmer, we have chosen a profession where we know no holidays except that the Goddess sends. Finish your breakfast, Keitha, there is no such hurry as all that! Rezi, fetch him some tea and cake in the Strangers Room and tell him we will be with him as soon as we can.” Nevertheless she was heading for the supply cabinet where she kept her midwife’s bag, and shortly afterward they heard the door shut behind her. Camilla chuckled.
“Who would be a midwife!”
“Not I,” said Magda, reflecting that this was one thing which did not change from Terran to Darkovan; no Medic could ever count on a free holiday, especially in maternity work!
“And what will you do with your holiday, since by good fortune you have not chosen to become a midwife?”
“I am still not sure. Go to the market, certainly, and buy some new boots,” Magda said, regarding the ancient and tattered sandals.
“And I,” said Mother Lauria, “will stay in the house and write up the year’s records, and enjoy an empty house with no one to trouble me! Perhaps I will go to the public dance in Thendara tonight, to listen to the musicians.”
“I will certainly go,” said Rafaella, “for they have asked me to be there to take a turn at playing for the dancers. And you, Margali?”
“I think so.” She had always wanted to attend the public Festival dances in Thendara’s main square, but she had not felt she could go alone, and Peter had never been willing to take her.
She knew they became rowdy at times, but, as a Renunciate she could take care of herself.
Rezi came in from the hall again, bearing a basket of flowers.
“For you, Rafi,” she said, and the women began to laugh and cheer.
“You have a lover so tenacious, Rafi?”
Rezi said, “The lad who brought them is not fiftee
n, and he asked for his mother,” and Rafaella, laughing, hurried out to the hall, snatching up a piece of the festival cake.
“Boys that age are always hungry! Just like girls,” she added over her shoulder, laughing.
Magda found herself remembering Midsummer, a year ago. She and Peter had still been married then. She had already known that the marriage was ending, but he had sent her the customary basket of fruit and flowers. It had been the final reconciliation before the quarrel that had smashed the marriage beyond repair. She wondered if he had sent Jaelle flowers this morning. She missed Peter. She was so tired of spending all her time with women!
“And what will you do today?” Camilla asked.
“I think I shall simply walk in the city and enjoy the knowledge that I am free to go wherever I wish,” she said, realizing suddenly that she really had no place she wished to go. “But I will certainly buy new boots. And you?”
Camilla shrugged. “There is a Festival supper in the House for everyone who has no place else to dine; I have promised to help cook it, since Irmelin wishes to spend the day with her mother—she is old and blind now and Irmi fears every time she sees her may be the last. But you young ones always want to go out; enjoy yourself, breda. And there is a women’s dance tonight; I may go to that, for I love to dance and I do not like dancing with men.”
Magda thought she might return to the Terran zone for a visit. But she really had no friends there now. No doubt Peter and Jaelle had plans for this holiday already.
She was coming down with her jacket and the remnants of the burnt boots—it might shorten the wait for a new pair—when Camilla called.