Northshore (8 page)

Pamra protested. ‘But it w
as you
told me about the Candy
Tree, Delia. Of course I believed you. You made such a story of it. And sure enough, in the morning the seeds were always there. So good. I can taste them yet. And how hard it was to save even one as “seed” for the next year’s tree! I tried so hard to stay awake and see the tree grow, even though you said it wouldn’t grow at all if I did. And then Prender … well, I didn’t like her much anyhow, and she was calling you a liar.’

‘Oh, child. Now, you know that isn’t true. It wasn’t a lie. It was just a kind of story. A pious myth. To make children behave well. And they get such fun out of it.’

‘Well, I got more fun out of the myth than I ever did eating the candy after I knew you had put it there. Especially since it was Prender who told me.’

‘Prender wasn’t supposed to tell you. She was supposed to let you believe as long as you could. We always let the little ones believe as long as they can; they get such pleasure out of it. She probably wouldn’t have told you if it hadn’t been for jealousy in the family. You two didn’t get along then and most likely never will. I’ve told Prender a hundred times, “We eat the crops the workers grow! Why should we turn our backs on the Awakeners?” Ah, well, but you know your oldest sister.’

‘I know her well enough.’ Pamra was grimly certain about this. ‘The whole family. Rejecting me because of what I chose to do.’

‘Oh, child. They just doubt sometimes, that’s all. Don’t you ever doubt? Are you always sure Awakening is for the best?’

‘Delia! What do you expect me to say? That’s the kind of question Mother would have asked! And you know how everyone felt about that! Of course Awakening is for the best.’

‘I know you believe so, child. But lots of people don’t, truly. It doesn’t make them bad. Perhaps you know something they don’t. It’s better when all the people know, Pamra. It’s better not to be alone.’ She sighed. ‘I wish you’d forgive your mama, Pammy. What she did wasn’t so bad.’

‘It was bad enough! Deserting me and Papa that way!’

‘She had her reasons, Pammy. She was pregnant, sick, frightened.’

‘That’s no excuse! How could she give up an eternity of blessedness in Potipur’s arms for no more reason than that!’

‘Perhaps … perhaps because she doubted she’d be Sorted Out, child. We all have our little sins.’

‘And Potipur is merciful,’ Pamra grated, teeth tight together. ‘Delia, stop this. I didn’t come here to argue with you!’ Remembering, suddenly, why it was she had not come more often. Delia always pressed her for forgiveness. And it always evoked this old guilt. This old pain.

‘All right, all right, child. We won’t fight over it. I wish you’d forgive her because you’d be happier so. But you won’t. And that’s that. It doesn’t change I-love-you.’

‘No,’ she said, softening enough to put her arm around the old woman. ‘No, Delia. It doesn’t change I-love-you.’

They sat beneath the flowering puncon tree, the sky beginning to flush with sunset. ‘I’m glad you’ve come, Pamra. I prayed you would, because your old Delia wants your help to break a rule. Just a little bit.’

Pamra’s mouth twitched. Because she could not imagine Delia breaking any rule at all, it took a moment for the enormity of the woman’s request to sink in. ‘You want to
what?’

‘I want to go back east, to the village I was born in, to see my sister. She’s old. I want to see her.’

For a moment she did not believe she had heard. Then she believed and was appalled at the fury of anger that took her. Anger. At Delia. She choked on it. ‘By the three, Delia! You want to get us both whipped? Or used? That’s no small rule breaking. That’s a major infraction –
the
major infraction. No one crosses town lines eastward. No one!’

‘Oh, well, child, sometimes people do, you know. They just lie about it a lot. I heard that someone on the other side of Baristown went to Wilforn and stayed for the Conjunction festival and then came back, all in one piece and in his right mind.’

‘Don’t tell me!’ she demanded, feeling her face grow
white and stiff. ‘Honestly, Delia. Of all the things I’m sworn to uphold, the direction of life is one of – is
the
most important.’

‘Why?’

‘What do you mean, why? Because it’s Potipur’s commandment, that’s why. The World River moves west, the moons move west, the sun moves west, we move – all west, in the direction of life. To go east is antilife, against the Three. It’s evil, in and of itself! Blasphemous! It’s like those foul same-sex lovers who refuse to propagate in accordance with Potipur’s will, like those rotten celibates the Laughers keep rooting out. If you want to visit your sister, you’ll have to go west to Shabber, and keep on going until you come to it.’

‘But it’s only to Wilforn,’ Delia whispered forlornly. ‘Not more than a day or so walk east from here, even for an old woman like me. If I go west, love, I won’t live to get there. How long do they figure it takes to come all the way around? Twelve years if you walk, isn’t it? Six or seven years on a Riverboat. Something like that? I don’t have twelve years, Pammy. Not even six.’

Pamra shook her head angrily. This wasn’t fair. Not when she was so tired. Oh, Delia. What could she do? Travelers did go all the way around the world, traveling west, some on boats on the River tide. Some afoot. Pilgrims did it afoot, making Potipur’s Round. They carried messages and told kin of kin, and walking it did take about twelve years, more or less, and Delia was right. She couldn’t survive such a trip. She fought to be calm, forced herself into quiet.

‘Now, let’s talk it over. If it’s so important you go back, how come you ever left there? You never told me you had a sister there.’

‘I came from there when I was about your age, following my curiosity. Oh, Pamra, truth to tell I was following a man. He wanted to see somewhere else. So we came here, and he wanted just to go on and on, but I didn’t. I’d had enough of him by then, and your grandma gave me a job doing the garden in this place, and time went by. Your papa was only a child then, and he needed me.

‘When he was grown, I could have gone on around west until I had come home again, but I delayed and dillied, and by the time I thought of it again, there was you. You, with your mama gone and that family of yours gnawing at you because you looked like her …’ She fell silent, stroking the little blue birthmark at her jawline. Then she shook herself and went on. ‘It’s just that lately I’ve been thinking of my sister. Wanting to see her. Wanting to say, “Well, Miri, how has it been with you?”‘ She stood up, clapped her hands as she tried to smile.

‘It’s not important. Not at all. Not important enough to worry my girl. Now, have another cake. After all, I baked them for my own Pammy.’

She did not speak of it again while Pamra sat in the garden in the glow of evening, smelling the kindly smells of the growing things, hearing the cries of the fishermen on their way home from the long jetties, sitting quiet as the sun fell lower to touch the horizon in blazes of crimson and orange and streaks of crushed berry color, bright and bruised at once. It should have been a time of contentment, of quiet, but too many memories had been jostled awake in Pamra. She kept the calm smile on her face, kept her voice low and peaceful not to distress old Delia, but it was a quiet surface over a turmoil of remembering.

Mama. Lovely as a dream and as fragile. Pretty as a soap bubble, and as useless. What did one remember about her? Softness and singing, sadness and tears, and at last – at last the unforgivable thing.

And Papa. Winning that second mention when he was young, very young, enough to set Grandma talking of his great future as though it were real. But there was no future. No other awards. No other mentions at all for Fulder Don. Not a second, not a fifth. And even that fact was blamed on Mama, somehow made out to be Mama’s fault – in turn to become Pamra’s fault, who so resembled lovely Mama.

And saintly Delia had been there through it all, the substitute mother, the kindly one, the only one who did not turn away when Pamra made her choice and went to the
Awakeners’ Tower. She squeezed Delia’s hand now in remembrance of that. If it hadn’t been for Delia … Well, there must be a way to repay her now, a way to solve this problem.

‘Delia, I’m not promising anything, but I’ll ask around. Honestly I will. I’ll have to sound out a few people, find out who to ask, but maybe there’ll be a way we can send a message or something.’ She surprised in the old woman’s face an expression of longing – no, more passionate than mere longing, a fanatic desire, an impassioned pleading with fear in it. ‘Delia, why does it matter so?’

The old woman sighed. ‘I wronged her, Pamra. My own sister. I wronged her with him, the one I followed away. He was hers, my sister’s man, and he turned from her to me. He told me if he couldn’t have me, he would not have her, he’d go to the west without either. And oh, I followed him, foolish as it was, and then did not care enough to follow him farther when he went on. I must ask her to forgive me.
It must be done, Pamra child. It must be done.
Otherwise … I may die unforgiven, and it may be Potipur will not take me up. I’m so old, child. There isn’t time to do anything but just go to her and ask …’

The old woman sat there, head bowed, grieving over a wrong done forty or fifty years ago. Pamra shook her head. Even though it was dangerous for ordinary mortals to die unforgiven, it was silly for Delia to be upset like this.

‘If you did a little wrong when you were young, you’ve made up for it a hundred times since. If there is any person within twelve days’ travel who will be Sorted Out to receive Potipur’s kiss, it will be you, Delia, so stop this grieving. I’ll figure something out for you.’

She felt better for having said it. It was all true. Delia was one of Potipur’s own. If reaching Delia’s sister was important to the old woman, Pamra would do what she could, and she told Delia so again, and yet again as she left after taking a last breath of the clean garden air.

The water in the ritual cleaning trough was chilled by evening, holding little of the day’s warmth as she dipped her
hands, sprinkled her face and feet. She leapt away from the trough as black wings swept by, buffeting onto the step where a great flier fixed her with a calculating eye, clacking its huge serrated beak softly together. She leaned against the wall to let her heart stop pounding. It was only one of the Servants of Abricor. They seldom landed on the Tower steps, though they clustered thickly around their aerie on the Tower top and in the bone pits, always silent, never making a sound. She dried her hands on the towel by the door, aware suddenly that the door was open.

‘Pamra.’ It was Ilze in the doorway. She realized he had been there, watching her. ‘Pamra? Come on, you’ll miss your meal. Where’ve you been?’

‘I’m sorry, Senior. I’ve been down in town. Visiting my old Delia. She’s half-stuffed me on spice cakes. I’m not really hungry.’

‘Spice cakes don’t build blood.’ He sounded irritated. ‘Come on. I’ve arranged something for you.’

The hall was busy, echoing with feet and the clatter of plates. From the men’s refectory there was a bass rumble of voices, a harsh shout of laughter, quickly repressed. The women’s tables were half-empty, only a few tardy diners plying their spoons, breaking their bread. Ilze waited with her at the service hatch, then drew her away to an empty table. ‘I’ve got you on recruitment tomorrow.’

‘Senior! That’s kind of you. I thought my turn on the roster wouldn’t come up again for ages.’

‘It wouldn’t have. But I told the Superior that no one was better at recruiting than you are, that you have a sincerity which is very effective.’ There was a moment’s odd hesitation in his voice, but then he went on, ‘And I told her you’d been bled dry.’

‘You told the Superior!’ Pamra was momentarily aghast. While some said the lady Kesseret was only human, and a kindly human at that, Pamra could only think of her as a moving presence beneath the shining crown and floating veils, a mystery and a glory. Despite her reputed more than hundred years, her unlined face and clear eyes implied she
had already received the Payment. ‘Mentor, I heard someone say once that she’s a Holy Sorter. I’m still petrified to go near her.’

Ilze looked at her in that coldly amused way of his, head tilted to one side. ‘One needn’t go that far,’ he said. ‘It’s enough that she’s Superior of this Tower. I told her, also, that if someone didn’t do something about Betchery, she’d end up killing someone. The Superior agrees you need light duty, so you do your usual sincere job of recruitment for the next two days, and by then you’ll be feeling better.’ Actually, it had been the Superior who’d suggested this, but Ilze did not say so. He preferred to let Pamra think he was responsible for the favor.

Pamra chewed thoughtfully, lulled by his informality into an almost social feeling. ‘I sort of like recruiting. It’s a pain dealing with all the crazy stories they have about us, of course, but I guess I heard the same ones when I was that age.’

‘Better you than me, young one. I hate mixing with the damn other-castes. You’d think they’d been touched by Potipur not five minutes before, the way they look and act.’ His face was hostile, nostrils pinched.

Pamra shrugged. ‘Nobody could be any worse than my father’s family was. I just ignore them.’

‘Well, you can’t ignore them on recruitment duty. You’re expected to be reasonably diplomatic, and that’s what pisses me off most about it.’ He flushed, abruptly aware of his manner, not the appropriate one for a mentor to a junior, certainly. ‘Why were you so late?’ Now he was her mentor once more, demanding an accounting.

‘I shouldn’t have been. Except Delia was after me – Senior Ilze. May I not be judged harshly if I ask a question which may be … not in accord with doctrine?’

He gave a dramatically astonished look, lifting one eyebrow. ‘A question, Pamra? From you? Are the final days upon us?’

She flushed. ‘I know I don’t ask many. I wouldn’t ask this one, either, except for old Delia. She came from the next
town east, Wilforn, many years ago. She has a sister there, or thinks she does. She’d be a very old woman …’