The Foretelling (8 page)
Now I saw that Io was laughing. Her face was flushed.
This is what I've been missing! Why didn't you tell me it felt like flying in the wind?
We rode back together and I felt lucky to have a sister. Maybe I would feel lucky yet again when my new sister was born. I was free now, really. But even if I was no longer the Queen-to-be I still felt the burden of something else. The prophecy.
Io and I found the bridle and the stirrups the smith had once made for her.
He said you'd never ride.
I laughed. Perhaps a foretelling could be wrong.
When we began to travel to higher ground, Io no longer followed along with the old women and children, coughing in the dust raised by a thousand horses. But she was slower than the warriors. I kept pace alongside her. In the past, I had ridden to the winterlands out in front alongside Asteria and Astella's archers, and our people looked different from where I was now. For miles there was a yellow storm cloud rising into the cold blue air, as if our people were a line of color, a drop of red blood on the yellow earth. At first, it looked as though our people stretched on forever, but when we reached the higher ground and the mountains appeared you could tell where we stopped and the rest of the earth began.
The mountains were already coated with snow, and from this distance they looked purple and blue. That was winter in front of us. We still had some time to hunt and get ready for what was to come. We had time to move into the caves. I thought of Usha who was now inside me. Her tooth on my leather necklace, her claws packed inside my horsehide bag along with my heavy shirt for winter made of hide and hair, and the stone carving that reminded me of who I was and who I might be. The bear with my face. The gift I'd been given.
The reminder of who I was inside.
I
N THE HOUSE OF MY MOTHER
it was too silent.
Winter had come and stayed for a very long time. The snow fell more deeply than anyone could remember. We were in the caves below the mountains. Asteria and Astella and their warriors had set their tents out in the open, to protect us, but soon even they had to come inside the caves. The world was dark and it was bright. Black inside, blinding white outside.
Our horses were kept in the pastureland below, but soon they could not move; they were trapped in the drifts. We had to go and chop away at the snow with axes, then hack through the icy stream so that they could drink. All through the cooling weather we had cut grass. Now we lined the caves with it, food for our sisters, warm beds for ourselves. But the food became less and less and we had to kill some of our own sister-horses, or they would have starved. We thanked their spirits as we ate them, as we sewed the clothes we made from them and braided together their long tail hair for thread.
Deborah and the priestesses were off by themselves in a small cave where we left offerings. Meat and milk they could warm on their fire. Blankets made of newly tanned horsehide. Every time I went to give the offerings, Deborah seemed smaller. In her black clothes she looked like a raven herself with her black eyes and her beak of a nose and all of those blue lines tattooed on her face that told the story of her life. She had been an archer once, and had burned off her left breast. She had been so young and beautiful men had wept at the sight of her. Now she was a raven waiting for me to bring her mares’ milk to drink.
Don't you want your fortune told?
she'd ask whenever I came to the cave.
We would both laugh then. A black joke we shared, for the augury was what I wanted least of all. My own fortune terrified me. My fate frightened me more than the high snowdrifts.
Don't be afraid of the foretelling,
she whispered.
It's the way the world should be.
We had brought the bees with us, and the caves buzzed from the logs in which they lived. At night, they beat their wings to keep the honey at the right temperature. It froze anyway, and many of the bees froze as well; those that remained went to sleep, as the bears do, as we try to do, outdistancing the winter with dreams.
Io and I still took care of the horses. We would cover ourselves with horsehide until we were sister-horses, unrecognizable as human beings, then we'd trudge through the snow with hay on our shoulders and in our hair. Now I realize that we were happy. Though we were freezing, though our stomachs growled. We would hold hands and spin around in the snow until we fell down. The horses would run to us as though we were the guardians of their spirits. People laughed at me when we came back, sweating and exhausted. My work was not a proper job for a Queen-to-be, but that was someone else anyway. That was my sister who had not yet arrived.
My mother was big with her baby, as were the other women who had been with men at the festival. But my mother was more uncomfortable than the other women, vomiting much of what she ate. At night, she moaned and could not sleep. Maybe the new Queen couldn't wait to be born and was kicking to be free. My mother had picked the best warrior from among the men, the most handsome, the strongest — no one else could have him — and afterward had set him free to run home like a deer. All she wanted was his seed, not his life. Just to start her daughter inside her, my sister the Queen. But he must have planted something else as well, because when the snow was at its highest, our Queen became feverish, burning hot to the touch.
Cybelle made her sister mixtures of honey and milk, but the Queen could not even keep that down. My mother's stomach was huge, but she could not eat. She was starving like some of our mares, even though she was brought food enough for three people.
I knew how bad this illness was when I saw the look on Penthe's face. She sat at the mouth of the cave looking out at the falling snow, her complexion as white as the world outside. We knew she was weeping without seeing her face, even though she didn't make a sound. The daughters from the festival were not supposed to be born until it was nearly spring, and yet my mother seemed already racked with the pain of a woman whose child is fighting to be born.
One morning, Penthe came to me and woke me. Io and I were sleeping side by side to keep each other warm, beneath the same blanket. When I looked up I thought for a minute it was Io who was staring at me, panicked, the white face, the red hair, then I saw the familiar red henna tattoos on Penthe's face and the tears.
I need you to go to the priestesses,
she told me.
Find out what I have to do to make your mother well.
Penthe had never asked anything of me, or of anyone. There was a storm outside, but I got dressed quickly and pulled on my horsehide boots and my thickest shirt. I had to walk slowly, breaking up the snow before me with my axe. Snow got inside me when I breathed and it threaded through my dark hair, turning it white, as though I'd been made old, but I kept on. Stones had been placed at the mouth of the priestesses’ cave to keep animals out, and I climbed over them. I had worn my bear claws to keep me warm, and when the priestesses saw me they backed away, thinking I was a beast.
It's only me,
I said.
But they didn't seem to hear. They were chanting together, and one of them threw a bit of magic into the fire. The flame rose up, redder, brighter, like the sun. Then they saw me and knew me for who I was. Not a bear, but a sister to the bear.
I found Deborah lying in her blankets on the far side of the fire. Her hands had become stiff, a raven's talons. I drank some of the warm mares’ milk I was offered and held the drinking horn to Deborah's lips.
My mother the Queen needs help,
I said.
I told Deborah that the Queen couldn't eat and was wasting away. She seemed ready for her daughter to come even though it was still winter.
Deborah gathered her strength and made me a package of herbs. They smelled fresh, like spring.
She'll be able to eat if she takes this. But there's something else she needs to do.
I didn't like the sound of this. Deborah's breathing was raspy, and she sounded worried. I thought she had seen everything, knew everything, in this world and the next, and that nothing could frighten her. She came close so she could whisper, so the other priestesses would not hear.
She has to let him live.
Penthe was waiting for me in the snow. Her fingers and face were turning blue from the cold and there was snow in her hair. She was pacing back and forth, desperate. I gave her the packet of herbs and followed her as she rushed to my mother's chamber.
The best blankets were on the floor, made of red thread and white horsehide. There was a fire to keep the cave warm. The Queen was shivering, her eyes closed. Her dark skin looked ashy. When she opened her eyes I wasn't sure she recognized Penthe.
Your daughter brought something to save you,
Penthe said.
My daughter?
The Queen's voice sounded far away, as though it had been carried by the wind.
She's not yet born.
Penthe turned to me.
She doesn't know what she's saying. Don't listen to her.
I understood why my mother loved Penthe then. Penthe's heart was unlike any other; it was large enough to include even me.
Penthe made a tea of the herbs. I sat beside the Queen; she was sweating as though it were still summer. I reached and touched my mother's face, something I'd never done before. Her flesh burned me.
That feels so good,
the Queen murmured.
Like rain
.
Help me lift her head,
Penthe said. Together we did so and my mother drank the herbs through her parched lips.
Penthe and I watched as my mother tossed and turned, then fell asleep.
She'll be all right now,
Penthe said.
Strong again.
But Penthe's face wasn't as sure as her words. The henna tattoos of snakes seemed to move in the firelight.
She will be,
I agreed, and Penthe looked at me with gratitude.
In return she gave me something I had never expected. She took my hands in hers.
It's not that she doesn't want you to be the Queen. It's that you don't want it.
I didn't say anything to that. I felt as though I'd been slapped. How could my mother know what I wanted when I didn't know myself?
That night when I went to check on the horses, I told Io to stay behind. It was too cold for her. In the sky, the great bear's tail was to the north. Everything seemed far away and cold. I had not told Penthe the priestess's message, and my mother was too ill to hear. But I was born with the taste of prophecy in my mouth, the bitter taste of the laurel, and I knew what was to come. I sank to my knees and asked Usha's spirit for guidance, but all I heard was the silence of the snow and the horses coming toward me, invisible with all the white flakes that covered them until they were upon me, my sisters, each and every one.
Io came for me when I was out with the horses, spreading out what was left of the hay. I knew the time was near. Io's eyes were bright with tears. She didn't have to say the Queen was worsening. I ran back following in Io's footsteps. I was shaking when I went to see my mother. For a little while the tea the priestess had sent had helped her; she had drank some mares’ milk and the sweat had disappeared from her face. But that relief hadn't losted. Now she was worse, stone cold, wrapped in blankets. She could barely sit up. Leaning against the wall was her painted wooden quiver, marked from battle, marked by her strength. But she was weaker than ever. She was fading in front of us.
I knelt beside her and it took a while for the Queen's eyes to find me. She recognized me right away.
Did the priestess have any message for me?
the Queen asked.
I had never seen her this way. It was fear I saw inside her. I thought about the girl she had been when the fifty had attacked her. I thought she must have looked like this, different from the woman she'd become. For an instant, I felt I knew her. I wanted to protect her, just this once.
The priestess said nothing,
I told her.
Only that you should rest and be well.
The Queen studied me to see whether or not she should believe me.
I gave you the wrong name,
she said.
I felt something hot in my eyes that I knew could not be tears. Could she see that I was something more than sorrow? Could I see that as well?
I should have waited to name you until I knew you. I should have known you before now.
I thanked the Queen and kissed her hand.
I'm Rain, and I'm grateful for that name.
Her hand was too cold even for this cold time.
What can I do for you?
I whispered.
But she had already closed her eyes, and Penthe told me she needed her strength for other things. What those things were neither of us wanted to know or say or even think about. But here is what I saw before I walked away: I saw my mother's shadow, resting there beside her. It had returned to her after all this time.
It was late at night when it happened. Dreamtime, a bad hour for things of this world. When it came, it was horrible. Worse than men dying, worse than women fighting. Blood against blood. Bone against bone. They gathered the other women who would soon have daughters and took them deep into the caves so they would not fret Or panic and then lose their own daughters due to fear. But the screaming followed them, with a jagged edge, like wind. It was impossible to escape such things. It was death from the inside out.