Motherlines by Suzy McKee Charnas

not know the other two.
    One took her arm. ‘You showed a keen edge, Alldera Holdfaster, riding to our battle. You’re not the dry old stick we took you for.’
    The Monotay whispered, ‘Come into the long grass with us tonight.’ There were sounds of approval from the others.
    Someone slid an arm around Alldera’s waist; she stiffened.
    ‘You’re shy,’ the Monotay said admiringly.
    The young one who looked like Barvaran said in a coaxing voice, heavy and slow, ‘Come on, Alldera. Nenisi has told us what a fine, sweet lover you are.’
    Alldera pulled free and fled. She ran to Holdfaster Tent, rolled herself into Barvaran’s empty bedding and held very still. Someone entered, went over to where Alldera normally slept, and left again. Alldera heard the sound of a muffled conference outside, and that was all.
    Come to me, Nenisi – the threads holding me here to you are breaking, she wept.
     
    The winds of the Dusty Season blew hot and hard; there was not going to be enough grass for all the horses. The women could not wait and let some horses starve. They had to butcher some while they were still fat, to save more grass for the survivors and to get the most meat from the slaughter for themselves. It was like this most years.
    ‘I want you to come help me with this,’ Nenisi said to Alldera. ‘I think we’ve been leaving you out of too much of our lives.’
    Sadly and tortuously the women of Holdfaster Tent debated which horses to slaughter. They chose males and weak or barren females, animals that could not help increase the herd again when times were better. They chose many, and Alldera saw how it hurt them. She asked at one point why the women did not get their meat by killing sharu instead.
    There was an appalled silence. Alldera did not wait for Nenisi to step in on her behalf, but said as calmly as she could, ‘I think I’ve said something wrong. I apologize for my ignorance.’
    She had the satisfaction of hearing old Jesselee mutter, ‘Well said,’ but Sheel snarled, ‘No one eats sharu but the filthy free ferns. They eat the flesh of scavengers because they’re scavengers themselves. Go to them for a taste.’
    ‘Heartchild,’ Jesselee chided mildly, ‘you speak like a lesser woman than Alldera.’ To Alldera she added, ‘The only meat we eat is horses’ meat. We eat no sharu because the sharu eat our dead.’
    Alldera could not hold back an exclamation of revulsion, and was instantly ashamed. Jesselee expounded thoughtfully on the ability of sharu to find and dig up anything edible that had been buried, and the foolishness of wasting scarce fuel to burn corpses; and Jesselee was nearer than any of them to having her body left for the sharu to devour, thought Alldera, shuddering.
    With the other sharemothers Alldera helped to make killing hammers, choosing carefully the stone heads, the wooden hafts, and the sinews to fasten both together. On culling day she went with Nenisi from the place where the herds were being held. Nenisi rode bareback on a colt to be killed. Alldera, on a stolid gray, carried the hammer and a leather bowl. She was apprehensive but reassured herself that a fem from the Holdfast could take any harshness that this plains life had to offer. They went to a sandy dip below a ridge spined with brush. Alldera was instructed to tie her horse securely behind the brush, upwind. Then she walked back down to Nenisi with the tools.
    ‘The hammer,’ Nenisi said from the colt’s back. She took the hammer in both hands and set the colt trotting in a tight curve past Alldera. She was speaking as she rode, addressing the colt in a low, grave tone. Alldera could not hear the words.
    Suddenly, all the cords in her arms standing with effort, Nenisi whipped the hammer down on the horse’s head.
    Even before he stumbled, muzzle to the ground, she was off him and drawing her knife. She threw her weight against his shoulder and he fell heavily onto his side, his breath rushing out in a