The Firebrand (11 page)

“That’s nothing new,” Kassandra said. “I should think we had done enough fasting in this last month to satisfy any Goddess. What more can She ask of us?”

“Hush,” said Elaria. “She has never yet failed to care for us. We are all still alive; there have been many years when there was raiding, and many outlaws in the countryside, when we did not leave our pastures till half our young children were dead. This year the Goddess has not taken so much as a babe at the breast, nor a single foal.”

“So much the better for Her,” Kassandra said. “I cannot imagine what use dead tribeswomen would be to the Goddess, unless She wishes us to serve Her in the Afterworld.”

Aching with hunger, Kassandra got out of her damp riding leathers and slipped into a dry robe of coarsely woven wool. She tugged a wooden comb through her hair and braided it, coiling it low on her neck. In her exhausted and semistarved state, the very feel of dry clothing and the heat of the fire was sensuous pleasure; she stood for some time simply feeling the warmth soak into her body, until one of the other women shoved her aside. In the close air of the tent, the smoke was gradually filling the entire space, and she coughed and choked until she felt that she would vomit, if her stomach had not been so empty.

Behind her in the tent, she felt the pressure of other bodies, the silent rustle of women and girls and children: all the women of the tribe seemed to be gathered in the dark behind her. They squatted around the fire, and from somewhere came the soft thump of hands on taut skins stretched across a hoop, the chattering of gourds with dry seeds, shaken and rattling like the dry leaves, like the rain pattering on the tents. The fire smoked with little light, so that Kassandra could feel only the faint streams of discouraged heat.

Out of the dark silence next to the fire, three of the oldest women in the tribe rose up and cast the contents of a small basket on the fire. The dried leaves blazed up, then smoldered, flinging out thick white clouds of aromatic smoke. It filled the tent with its curious, dry, sweetish perfume, and as she breathed it in, Kassandra felt her head swimming, and strange colors moved before her eyes, so that she no longer felt the dull pain of her hunger.

Penthesilea said from the darkness, “My sisters, I know your hunger; do I not share it? Anyone who is unwilling to remain with us, I freely give you leave to go to the men’s villages, where they will share their food if you lie with them. But do not bring daughters so born back to our tribe, but leave them to be slaves, as you have shown yourselves to be. If there are any who wish to leave now, let them do so, for you are not fit to stay while we petition our Maiden Huntress, who cherishes freedom for women.”

Silence; within the smoke-filled tent no woman stirred.

“Then, sisters, in our need let us summon Her who cares for us.”

Again silence, except for the fingertip drumming. Then out of the silence came a long eerie howl.

“Oww—ooooo-ooooo-ooooow!”

For a moment Kassandra thought it was some animal lurking outside the tent. Then she saw the open mouths, the strained-back heads of the women. The howl came again, and again; the faces of the women no longer looked quite human. The howling screams went on, rising and falling as the women swayed and yelled, and were joined by a sharp short “Yip-yip-yip-yip-yip . . . yip-yip-yip,” until the noise filled the tent; it beat and battered at her consciousness, and she could only harden herself to remain apart from it. She had seen her mother overshadowed by the Goddess, but never in the midst of mad commotion like this.

At that moment, for the first time in many moons, Hecuba’s face was suddenly before Kassandra’s eyes and it seemed she could hear Hecuba’s gentle voice:

There is no reason for customs. They
are,
no more . . .

She had not believed it then and she did not believe it now. There must be a reason why this weird howling should be thought a suitable way to summon the Maiden Huntress.
Are we to become as the wild beasts She is hunting?

Penthesilea rose, stretching out her hands to the women; between one breath and the next, Kassandra saw the Queen’s face blur, and the brightness of the Goddess shone through the very skin, the voice altered beyond recognition. She cried out, “Not to the south, where the men’s tribes wander! Ride to the east, past the two rivers; there remain until the spring’s stars fall!”

Then she crumpled forward; two women of the tribe’s elders caught her and supported her in a fit of coughing so violent that it ended in weak retching. When she raised herself, her face was her own again.

She asked in a hoarse whisper, “Did she answer us?”

A dozen voices repeated the words she had spoken while she was overshadowed:

“Then we ride at dawn, sisters,” Penthesilea said, her voice still weak. “There is no time to lose. I know of no rivers to the east, but if we turn our backs on Father Scamander and follow the east wind, we will surely come to them.”

“What meant the Goddess when She spoke of ‘until the spring’s stars fall’?” asked one of the women.

Penthesilea shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I do not know, sisters; the Goddess spoke but did not explain Her words. If we follow Her will, She will make it known to us.”

Four of the women brought in baskets filled with coiled roots and passed around leathern bottles of wine. Penthesilea said, “Let us feast in Her name, sisters, and ride at dawn filled with Her bounty.”

Kassandra realized how long food must have been hoarded for this midwinter feast. She tore into the tasteless boiled roots like the starving animal she felt herself to be, and drank her share of the wine.

When the baskets were empty and the last drop had been squeezed from the wineskins, the tribe’s few possessions were gathered: the tents taken down and bundled together; a few bronze cooking kettles, a store of cloaks worn by former leaders. Kassandra was still seeing the Goddess’ face through and over Penthesilea’s own, and hearing the curious alteration in her kinswoman’s voice. Kassandra wondered if one day the Goddess would speak through her own voice and spirit.

The tribe of women drew their horses into a line of march: Penthesilea and her warriors at the head; the elderly or pregnant women and the smallest girls at the very center, surrounded by the strongest young women.

Kassandra had a spear and knew how to use it, so she took a place among the young warriors. Penthesilea saw her and frowned, but she said nothing; Kassandra took her silence as leave to stay where she was. She didn’t know whether she hoped for her first battle or whether she was inwardly praying that the journey would be completely uneventful. Dawn was breaking as Penthesilea called out the signal to ride; a single star still hung in the dark sky. Kassandra shivered in the wool robe she had worn at the ceremony. She hoped there would be no rain this night; she had left her riding leathers in the tent, and they had been packed somewhere among the leather bags and baskets.

Her closest companion, a girl of fourteen or so whom her mother called “Star,” riding next to her, made no secret that she was hoping for a fight.

“One year when I was small there was a war against one of the Kentaur tribes—not Cheiron’s band, they’re our friends, but one of the tribes from inland. They came down on us just as we left our old camp and tried to steal away the strongest of our stallions,” Star told her. “I could hardly see them; I was still riding with my mother. But I heard the men screaming as Penthesilea rode them down.”

“Did we win?”

“Of course we won; if we hadn’t, they’d have taken us to their encampment and broken our legs so we couldn’t run away,” Star said, and Kassandra remembered the crippled woman in the men’s camp. “But we made peace with them, and we lent them the stallion for a year to improve their herds. And we agreed to visit their village that year instead of Cheiron’s; Penthesilea said we have become too closely akin to his people by now and should skip a few years because it is not wise to lie with our own brothers and fathers for too many generations. She says when we do, the babies are weak and sometimes they die.”

Kassandra did not understand, and said so. Star laughed and said, “They wouldn’t let you go anyhow; before you go to the men’s villages, you must be a woman, not a little girl.”

“I am a woman,” Kassandra said. “I have been old enough for bearing for ten moons now.”

“Still, you must be a tried warrior; I have been grown now for a year and more, and I am not yet allowed to go to the men’s villages. But I’m not in a hurry; after all, I might be pregnant for nine moons and bear only a useless male, who must be given to his father’s tribe,” said Star.

“Go to the men’s villages? What for?” Kassandra asked, and Star told her.

“I think you must be making it up,” Kassandra said. “My mother and father would never do anything like that.” She could understand a mare and a stallion; but the thought of her royal parents engaging in such maneuvers seemed disgusting. Yet she remembered, unwillingly, that whenever her father summoned one of the many palace women into his sleeping quarters, sooner or later (more often sooner than later) there would be a new baby in the palace, and if it was a son, Priam would visit the palace goldsmith, and there would be handsome gifts, rings and chains and gold cups, for the newly favored woman and for her child.

So perhaps this thing Star was telling her was true after all, strange though it seemed. She had seen children born, but her mother had told her it was not worthy of a princess to listen to the tattle of the palace women; now she remembered certain gross jests she had not understood at the time and felt her cheeks burning. Her mother had told her that babies were sent into the wombs of women by Earth Mother, and she had wondered sometimes why the Goddess did not send her one, because she dearly loved babies.

“That’s why the city-dwellers keep their women locked up in special women’s quarters,” Star said. “They say that city women are so lecherous that they cannot be trusted alone.”

“They’re not,” said Kassandra, not sure why she was so angry.

“They are too! Or why would their men have to keep them locked up inside walls? Our women aren’t like that,” Star said, “but city women are like goats—they will fornicate with any man they see!” With an ill-natured smile at Kassandra, she said, “You are from a city, aren’t you? Weren’t
you
locked up to keep you away from men?”

Kassandra’s knees tightened on her horse; she lunged forward and flung herself on Star, howling in rage. Star clawed at her, and Kassandra jerked Star’s roughly braided hair, trying to drag the girl from her horse. Their mounts neighed and snickered as they fought, slapping and clawing and yelling; Kassandra felt the girl’s elbow connect with her nose and blood begin to drip as her nails raked into Star’s cheek.

Then Penthesilea and Elaria were both there, laughing as they nudged their horses between the girls. Penthesilea dragged Kassandra from her saddle and held her under her arms while she flailed angrily.

“For shame, Kassandra! If we fight like this among ourselves, how can we hope to have peace with other tribes? Is it so you treat your sisters? What are you fighting about?”

Kassandra hung her head and would not answer. Star was still grinning that disgusting grin.

“I said to her that city women are kept locked up because they fornicate like goats,” Star jeered, “and if it were not true, would she have bothered to fight me about it?”

Kassandra said angrily, “My mother is not like that! Tell her to take it back!”

Penthesilea leaned close to her and said in her ear, “Will your mother be different for her saying it, true or lie?”

“No, of course not. But if she says it—”

“If she says it, you fear that someone will hear it and believe it?” Penthesilea asked, raising a delicate eyebrow. “Why give her that much power over you, Kassandra?”

Kassandra hung her head and did not answer, and Penthesilea, scowling, cast her eyes on Star.

“Is this how you treat a kinswoman and guest of the tribe, little sister?”

She leaned from her horse and touched her finger to Star’s scratched and bleeding cheek. “I will not punish you, for you are already punished; she defended herself well. Next time, show more courtesy to a guest of our tribe. The goodwill of Priam’s wife is valuable to us.” She turned her back on Star and leaned toward Kassandra, still holding her tight against her breast. Kassandra could feel the laughter in her voice. “Are you old enough to ride alone without getting into trouble, or must I carry you before me like a baby?”

“I can ride alone,” Kassandra said sulkily, though she was grateful to Penthesilea for defending her.

“Then I shall set you on your horse again,” said the Amazon Queen, and gratefully Kassandra felt Southwind’s broad back beneath her. Star caught her eye and wriggled her nose at Kassandra, and she knew they were friends again. Penthesilea rode to the head of the line of march and called out, and they rode.

A chilly drizzling rain was falling, and gradually soaked through everything. Kassandra drew her striped wool robe up over her head, but her hair was still wet and clinging. They rode all day and pressed on into the night. Kassandra wondered when they would reach the new pastures. She had no idea where they were going, but rode in the damp darkness, following the tail of the horse ahead of her.

She rode in a dark dream, and felt curious sensations attacking her body which she could not identify. Then the flow of a fire appeared before her eyes, and she knew she was not seeing it with her own eyes at all. Somewhere Paris sat before this fire, and across the fire he was looking at a slender young woman with long fair hair loosely tied at her neck. She wore the long, loose tucked-up gown of the mainland women, and Kassandra sensed the way in which Paris could not take his eyes from her, the sharp hunger in his body which confused her enough that she took her eyes from the fire, and then she was riding again, feeling the dampness of her cloak dripping cold water down her neck. Her body was still alive with the tug of what she knew, without understanding, to be desire. It was the first time she had been so wholly aware of her own body . . . yet it was not her own. The memory of the girl’s great eyes, the tender curve of her cheek, the swell of her young breasts where the robe stood away from her body, the way in which these memories aroused totally physical sensations, troubled her; in a flash she began to associate them with the troubling things Star had been saying, and she was filled with dismay and something she was still too innocent to identify as shame.