The Revenants
Authors: Sheri S. Tepper
THE REVENANTS
Sheri S. Tepper
Enter the SF Gateway …
In the last years of the twentieth century (as Wells might have put it), Gollancz, Britain’s oldest and most distinguished science fiction imprint, created the SF and Fantasy Masterworks series. Dedicated to re-publishing the English language’s finest works of SF and Fantasy, most of which were languishing out of print at the time, they were – and remain – landmark lists, consummately fulfilling the original mission statement:
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Contents
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE CITY OF CANDOR
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THE CITY OF BYSSA
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE RIVER DEL
CHAPTER NINETEEN: INSIDE MURGIN
CHAPTER TWENTY: OUTSIDE OF MURGIN
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: THE SISTERHOOD
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: THE COUNCIL
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: MAGISTER
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: THE AWAKENING
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: THE NORTHERN WAY
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: THE WARTY MEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: THE ABYSS OF SOULS
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: THE SOUTHERN WAY
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: THE EASTERN WAY
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: BEYOND THE CONCEALMENT
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: THE STONE CITY
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: ORENA ARMED
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: THE TWO CITIES
THE HISTORY OF THE KNOWN WORLD
This is the story of the Seven Who Presumed – those called the Remnant in Orena-and of Thewson, proud warrior of the southland, driven by gods; and of Leona, Queen of Beasts, whose reign among the animals was stranger than even she knew; and of Jasmine, who loved her child; and of Medlo, prince and outcast, pro-heritor of a kingdom yet unfounded
.
And it is the story of a million anonymous sufferers under the whip of Gahl
.
And of Nathan and Ephraim, whose only frailty was age. And of Terascouros, whose only indiscretion was curiosity
.
And it is the story of Jaer, innocent bearer of a terrible burden
.
But to come to Jaer, we must begin with Jaera
.
Years 1137-1153
The girl, Jaera, should have been smothered within hours of her birth, but she was not. If the family Widdek had been a little poorer, the birthers might have paid more attention; for it was well known that the poor were capable of anything. If there had been any prior rumour of deviation, any gossip or questions, the child might have lived no longer than her first breath; but the family Widdek was so middling, so ordinary, so meeching in its virtues and so mincing in its faults, as to provoke unconcern amounting almost to boredom. Besides which there were already three Widdek daughters and four Widdek sons. Who looks for deviation among such a herd?
The Keepers of the Seals of Separation had last visited the village a decade before, and it was thought likely they would not return for a decade more. The cringing old man whom they had appointed as Deputy Observer was now half blind and spent most of his days before his own hearthfire sipping warmed wine and muttering imprecations against old friends long dead.
So it was that Jaera came into the firelight of a late evening in the month of wings returning, squalled promptly, always a good sign, and suckled strongly when put to the nipple. If she was a bit pale, it was not remarked upon by the birthers. Of course the room was dark. She had a head of good black hair, too, and was as wrinkled as any newborn. The birthers took their silver cheerfully, did not go by the house of the Deputy Observer to report, and were not heard to speak of the baby thereafter in any but ordinary terms. The Deputy Observer neglected to call upon mother and babe, his duty demanding no more in this case than it had done in a half hundred others, equally neglected.
The black hair must have fallen out very soon for it was recalled later that Jaera had always worn a cap tied over her head. That was not, in itself, unusual. There were always mothers who put caps on the babes to protect their soft little heads from chill. It was recalled later, also, that soon after Jaera’s birth, the Wanderer had returned to the woods surrounding the village, this time, it seemed, to stay. At least she built a small house in a glade not far away and seemed to be there whenever someone went to buy a cure for a fever or a balm for a sprain, not that anyone from the village would approach too closely to her house or do anything to break the Seal. This was the woman they came to call ‘The Woman Who Talks With Birds’ because of the feathered creatures that flocked there in answer to her whistles and in appreciation of her scattered grain.
It might have been recalled, but was not, that when Jaera was about five her mother bought from a neighbour a quantity of black dye, saying that the wool from her one black sheep was insufficient for a certain striped cloak she planned to weave. No such cloak was ever woven, but after that time, Jaera was seen without the cap.
These later recollections, however, were not to be part of the village tittle-tattle for some years. Jaera grew as did the other children. With them she learned to scratch a few message words, to card and to spin, dye and weave, plant, harvest, preserve and cook. It might have been noticed, from time to time, that Jaera’s sisters seemed to show her little affection. It could have been determined that man Widdek never spoke of her or to her. Still, there are families and families. Indeed, there were those who argued that since the Separation love was always risky and unwise. Others claimed that in such places as the village, pure since earliest memory, tender sentiment might be indulged – if carefully.
The seasons circled uneventfully. The Deputy Observer died and was put to the flame with stingy ceremony. There was no precedent for appointing another to take his place, so the office remained unfilled. There was a brief flurry of concern over a stranger who appeared one evening at the riverward end of the village, leaned awhile on a gate, then passed around the settled area and away up the Eastern Mountain. He was seen climbing the trail to the place the wizard lived. The gate he had leaned upon was burned and a new one built. The farmwife in the nearest house was whipped on general principles, and the matter was allowed to end there.
The Widdek daughters grew, came to the time of Passage, and put on the maiden bells which advertised them for sale into families as middling as their own. Daughters of those same families were bought in turn for the Widdek sons. Both daughters and sons’ wives paraded big bellies through the square, and only Jaera was left in the house.
A festival of Passage was held in the fall of the year in which Jaera was twelve. Wife Widdek let it be known that Jaera was not yet a woman. The same the following year. Such delay was not really rare, but still the tongues began to wag. The girl had no breasts yet. She did not bathe with the other girls at the village bath house but went instead to the river with her mother. There was no festival of Passage in the following year, but a great one was planned for the year after. The daughter of the village Speaker was to come to Passage then. One old wife, her tongue sharpened by a lifetime of inconsequent malice, told the Speaker’s daughter that her companion in Passage might well be that Widdek daughter of whom such interesting things were said. The girl cried to her mother. The mother spoke to her man.
