The moon waned. Frost laid a coat of ice on the ground. The stars pulsed in the clear sky. For days there had been no clouds at all, although occasionally he heard thunder rumbling in the distance. At the new moon Adica woke before dawn and with only the adult women made the ceremony for the new month, hidden to men’s eyes. Anxiety gnawed at Alain. Envy ate at him. He hated every moment she spent away from him, although he could not have said why. Had happiness made him jealous? Yet what had he to be jealous of, who had her all to himself in the nighttime? Urtan had released him from the duty of nighttime watch, and not one adult sent up to do extra duty in Alain’s place complained. Strange, too, how after so many months of easiness, all the villagers and especially their White Deer cousins had stopped looking at Adica. He recalled now how nervous they had seemed around her when he’d first come to Queens’ Grave, but their uneasiness had waned and he’d forgotten about it as the months had passed and they’d made a place for themselves in the village. Now they feared her again, unspoken, apologetic as they talked to her less and ignored her more but continued to ask for her help when a fungus got into their stores of emmer or a sore afflicted their baby. Even Weiwara turned her children’s faces away when Adica walked by.
“She’s gathering power for the great working,” she said, looking shamefaced, when Alain confronted her one day. “It’s dangerous for any of us to look upon a Hallowed One in the fullness of her power.”
“What about me? I don’t fear her. I’ve taken no ill effects.”
“Oh.” Her smile was taut, not really a smile. “You’re her mate. You’re different, Alain. You have the spirit guides to guard you against evil.”
rickle became a flood as more warriors and, increasingly, whole families with their flocks walked from the nearby villages to crowd in to Queens’ Grave, setting up an entire village of crude shelters within the safety of the ramparts. Everyone expected the Cursed Ones to attack as the days grew shorter and the nights colder. Alain discussed with Sos’ka and her companions the various ways the Cursed Ones often attacked: at dawn, on the wings of fog, just before sunset, now and again at night. Beor and the other respected war leaders listened, interjecting comments occasionally that Alain translated. The big man’s hands were always busy, binding spear points to hafts, fletching arrows, grinding the tips of antlers into sharp points. Pur the stone knapper now had two other stone knappers working with him as well as five apprentices. The first catapult had a hitch in it, so they started building a second. Torches burned all night along the palisade wall and up on the ramparts, and they had to make numerous expeditions into the forest to haul in cartloads of wood or armfuls of cow parsley and hemlock whose hollow stems, stuffed with fuel, made efficient little torches easy to hold in a hand. They hauled and stored so much water that he thought they might drain the river dry.
On the eighth day after he had returned, the centaurs proved their worth as sentries by driving off a small party of Cursed Ones who had come to lurk at the edge of the woods. After that, the entire community stayed on alert. Folk rarely left the safety of the palisade and then only in groups of ten or more, even if they only walked the short path leading from the village gates to the outer ring of ramparts.
“We’d better rebuild your old shelter up by the loom,” he told Adica that night, when they were in bed. She listened silently. She seemed so intent these past days, like an arrow already in flight.
“I didn’t like it up there,” she said at last. “I was in exile, a stranger to my own people.”
“But now I’m with you. You’ll be safer there. We’ll ask the centaurs to bed down up on the ramparts as well, since their hearing is so keen. The old shelter is still there, most of it. It hasn’t fallen in so badly that I can’t fix it. We’ll bring our furs. Maybe the ground will seem a little hard at first—”
“Hush.” She sighed sharply, then kissed him until he had no choice but to be silent as she worked on him the magic he most desired.
But she made no objection when he took Kel and Tosti up to rebuild her shelter. She even let him carry her holy regalia and her chest of belongings there, together with the furs and bedding, although he left her herbs and various small magical items in her house so she could fetch them during the day as she went about her duties.
She seemed to care little where she slept, as long as he lay beside her. Yet only at night did her warmth get turned on him like fire. In the day, even sometimes at night when they lay together, she grew more distracted, more distant, with each passing day, as though the arrow receded farther and farther away, leaving him and all of them behind.
The moon waned. Frost laid a coat of ice on the ground. The stars pulsed in the clear sky. For days there had been no clouds at all, although occasionally he heard thunder rumbling in the distance. At the new moon Adica woke before dawn and with only the adult women made the ceremony for the new month, hidden to men’s eyes. Anxiety gnawed at Alain. Envy ate at him. He hated every moment she spent away from him, although he could not have said why. Had happiness made him jealous? Yet what had he to be jealous of, who had her all to himself in the nighttime? Urtan had released him from the duty of nighttime watch, and not one adult sent up to do extra duty in Alain’s place complained. Strange, too, how after so many months of easiness, all the villagers and especially their White Deer cousins had stopped looking at Adica. He recalled now how nervous they had seemed around her when he’d first come to Queens’ Grave, but their uneasiness had waned and he’d forgotten about it as the months had passed and they’d made a place for themselves in the village. Now they feared her again, unspoken, apologetic as they talked to her less and ignored her more but continued to ask for her help when a fungus got into their stores of emmer or a sore afflicted their baby. Even Weiwara turned her children’s faces away when Adica walked by.
“She’s gathering power for the great working,” she said, looking shamefaced, when Alain confronted her one day. “It’s dangerous for any of us to look upon a Hallowed One in the fullness of her power.”
“What about me? I don’t fear her. I’ve taken no ill effects.”
“Oh.” Her smile was taut, not really a smile. “You’re her mate. You’re different, Alain. You have the spirit guides to guard you against evil.”
“It’s true that the Hallowed One’s power can bring evil spirits into the village,” Urtan said, when Alain asked him. But he fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. “She doesn’t mean to. She’d do nothing to harm us. Not she, who is giving everything—but that’s her duty, isn’t it?”
“I can’t talk about it,” said Kel, flushing bright red. “I’m not married yet. I have to go help my uncle split logs.”
Alain went to Beor finally, hoping the man who had once been his enemy might prove more frank. But Beor only said, “She’s a brave woman,” and would not meet his gaze.
So it went, until the day came that she walked to each house in the village and made a complicated blessing over it, to insure good health and fortune over the coming winter. As if she wouldn’t be there to watch over them. He followed along with her with Rage and Sorrow at his side, staying out of her way. It took half the day, but he finally understood the depth of her fears. He understood the solemn feast laid out that night: haunches of pork basted in fat and served with a sauce of cream and crushed juniper berries, roast goose garnished with watercress, fish soup, hazelnut porridge, a stew of morels, and mead flavored with cranberries and bog myrtle.
He was woozy with mead by the time they walked the path up into the ramparts and ducked into their shelter. The cold night air stung. They snuggled into their furs, kissing and cuddling. Adica was silent and even more than usually passionate.
“Is the great weaving tomorrow evening?” he asked softly.
“Yes.” Even holding her so close, he could barely hear her whisper.
“You’ll be free after the weaving? No more demands made on you, beloved? You’ll be free to live your life in the village?” He heard his own voice rise, insistent, angry at the way Shu-Sha and the others had used her. She was so young, younger even than he was, and he thought by now he’d probably passed his twentieth year. It wasn’t right the other Hallowed Ones had made her duty such a burden.
A few tears trickled from her eyes to wet his cheeks. “Yes, beloved. Then I will be free.” She drew in a shuddering breath, traced the line of his beard, touched the hollow of his throat, drew a line with her finger down to his navel and across the taut muscles of his belly. “I don’t regret the price I must pay, I only regret leaving you. I’ve been so happy. So happy.” She kissed him, hard, and rolled on top of him. She was as sweet as the meadow flowers and twice as beautiful.
“I don’t want to sleep,” she whispered afterward. “I don’t want ever to leave you.”
The notion dawned hazily in his mead-fuddled mind. “You’re afraid of the weaving.”
“Yes.” She broke off, then continued haltingly. “I fear it.”
“You’re afraid you’re going to die. I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Every person fears death. You’re the only one I know who isn’t afraid of dying.”