“She saw it.”
“Who?”
“Ama,” replied Cara, and staggered away from the wall, pulling Stefile with her to the edge of the courtyard. “All of it,” she said in a far-away voice. “The Galu, the murders, and that in there. None of us understood, none of us knew what she meant. We thought she was mad.” Trembling, as if with weakness, Cara sat, slumping clumsily, legs dangling over the edge of the cliff, as she had when she was a child. “The harvest of blood, she said. The drought of womankind. The City is going to be destroyed, Stefile. We didn’t understand. I don’t think she wanted us to, then.”
She stared ahead, unblinking. “They make us bestial, Stefile. They drive us. They make us as bad as them. They are not born of women, there are no women among them, they do not know of family and love and mothering. They only know the knife, and ruin and silence. They will grow and grow and grow, and we can’t fight them. If we fight them, we make them grow.”
“Cara. My hand. You’re crushing it,” said Stefile, carefully, for Cara was beginning to unnerve her. Cara loosed her grip, and moved the hand to her lips, to kiss it. Instead, distracted, she began to mumble it in her mouth, taste its living saltiness. Fraught with wizardry and grief, she was seeing a picture in her mind.
She saw a field, a wheat field she somehow knew, far away and it had been burnt black, and an army marched across it, an army of Galu, in perfect grinning ranks, each with a fixed, identical smile. Humankind was in danger of being replaced.
“It’s not a question of revenge, Stef. It’s not a question of escape. There is no escape. We have to stop them, now, while they are still small.”
“We can’t do that,” Stefile said, dreading another mission, and let a light blow from her clenched fist fall on Cara’s shoulder.
“We have to. We’re the only ones who know.”
“How, Cal? How can you fight something you can’t allow yourself to hit?”
“We could tie them up. Lure them, trick them, into a cage.” She looked up at Stefile, blinking, confused, but no longer distraught and staring. The look reassured Stefile enough for her to become cross.
“Oh, yes, and who will have to help you? How many times will they be fooled? How will you stop their brothers coming to untie them? Threaten them with a sword? And what about Haliki? He knew. What if all the Fighting Schools know, and are with them?”
“It will . . . have to be a new answer. The answer is there. It already exists. My mother said there would be an answer. I think she said I would find it.” Cara tried to clear her mind, but it kept coming back to violence and entrapment. She felt a need to dissolve all her old ways of thinking. She said simply, “I need a vision.” She stood up.
“Oh, Cara ,” said Stefile in sudden fury. “Yes, you are a man, I suppose, to go down the wells.”
“My mother went to the wells. She had a vision.” Unaccountably, Cara began to feel almost cheerful.
“The vision,” said Stefile in weary scorn. “It is stupidity. The men march off into the hills, and starve themselves and drink nothing, and boil themselves in steam until they give themselves a fever, and then they say that they have seen things. To no one’s surprise but their own. The vision means nothing. It is babble. Even my brothers have had a vision.”
“What did they see?” Cara asked, suddenly amused.
“Oh! One of them became a tortoise, and lived in the mud. The other saw himself as a huge peach, that was eaten.”
“It sounds like a kind of truth.”
“The kind of truth in dreams and children’s stories.”
“There’s truth in those,” Cara’s face was mild, almost smiling. “I’m going, Stef.”
“I know,” replied Stefile, rueful, with misgivings.
They led the horses back down the steps, with hesitant cloppings of hooves against the stone, the beasts snorting with unease in the dark. They rode most of the night, up
“Who?”
“Ama,” replied Cara, and staggered away from the wall, pulling Stefile with her to the edge of the courtyard. “All of it,” she said in a far-away voice. “The Galu, the murders, and that in there. None of us understood, none of us knew what she meant. We thought she was mad.” Trembling, as if with weakness, Cara sat, slumping clumsily, legs dangling over the edge of the cliff, as she had when she was a child. “The harvest of blood, she said. The drought of womankind. The City is going to be destroyed, Stefile. We didn’t understand. I don’t think she wanted us to, then.”
She stared ahead, unblinking. “They make us bestial, Stefile. They drive us. They make us as bad as them. They are not born of women, there are no women among them, they do not know of family and love and mothering. They only know the knife, and ruin and silence. They will grow and grow and grow, and we can’t fight them. If we fight them, we make them grow.”
“Cara. My hand. You’re crushing it,” said Stefile, carefully, for Cara was beginning to unnerve her. Cara loosed her grip, and moved the hand to her lips, to kiss it. Instead, distracted, she began to mumble it in her mouth, taste its living saltiness. Fraught with wizardry and grief, she was seeing a picture in her mind.
She saw a field, a wheat field she somehow knew, far away and it had been burnt black, and an army marched across it, an army of Galu, in perfect grinning ranks, each with a fixed, identical smile. Humankind was in danger of being replaced.
“It’s not a question of revenge, Stef. It’s not a question of escape. There is no escape. We have to stop them, now, while they are still small.”
“We can’t do that,” Stefile said, dreading another mission, and let a light blow from her clenched fist fall on Cara’s shoulder.
“We have to. We’re the only ones who know.”
“How, Cal? How can you fight something you can’t allow yourself to hit?”
“We could tie them up. Lure them, trick them, into a cage.” She looked up at Stefile, blinking, confused, but no longer distraught and staring. The look reassured Stefile enough for her to become cross.
“Oh, yes, and who will have to help you? How many times will they be fooled? How will you stop their brothers coming to untie them? Threaten them with a sword? And what about Haliki? He knew. What if all the Fighting Schools know, and are with them?”
“It will . . . have to be a new answer. The answer is there. It already exists. My mother said there would be an answer. I think she said I would find it.” Cara tried to clear her mind, but it kept coming back to violence and entrapment. She felt a need to dissolve all her old ways of thinking. She said simply, “I need a vision.” She stood up.
“Oh, Cara ,” said Stefile in sudden fury. “Yes, you are a man, I suppose, to go down the wells.”
“My mother went to the wells. She had a vision.” Unaccountably, Cara began to feel almost cheerful.
“The vision,” said Stefile in weary scorn. “It is stupidity. The men march off into the hills, and starve themselves and drink nothing, and boil themselves in steam until they give themselves a fever, and then they say that they have seen things. To no one’s surprise but their own. The vision means nothing. It is babble. Even my brothers have had a vision.”
“What did they see?” Cara asked, suddenly amused.
“Oh! One of them became a tortoise, and lived in the mud. The other saw himself as a huge peach, that was eaten.”
“It sounds like a kind of truth.”
“The kind of truth in dreams and children’s stories.”
“There’s truth in those,” Cara’s face was mild, almost smiling. “I’m going, Stef.”
“I know,” replied Stefile, rueful, with misgivings.
They led the horses back down the steps, with hesitant cloppings of hooves against the stone, the beasts snorting with unease in the dark. They rode most of the night, up
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