Read Online Being a Green Mother by Piers Anthony - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Piers Anthony
Ads: Link
explain it. They would be executed themselves if they returned. So they decided to remain with the Gypsies and marry the girls they had danced with. The tribe survived, stronger than before, because of the Llano.
“So it may be that the blood of a soldier runs in my veins,” the chief concluded. “I do not begrudge it.”
But he did not know the Llano itself, or the source of the Gypsies. “But perhaps the Gypsies of Germany can help you,” he suggested.
In Germany they had a problem. Consumption had taken out a chief, and the officials had buried his body in a pauper’s grave and driven the wives out of town. The women were bedraggled and absolutely filthy. “But I can get you water!” Orb exclaimed.
As one, the three women shook their heads in negation. “We may not wash or touch water until his body has disintegrated completely in the earth,” one explained.
So it was that Orb learned of the Cult of the Dead. All Gypsies followed it, including those of France and Spain; there had been no death in the vicinity when Orb was there, so she had not encountered this then. When a Gypsy died, all his scant possessions were burned along with his corpse; in that manner his women were freed of their geis and could be clean again. But when the authorities interfered, their plight was severe. “We can not even feed the grave,” they said. For it was the custom to set food on the grave, so that the spirit of the deceased would not go hungry.
Orb stayed the night with them in their tent, though the smell was thick. But no sooner had she fallen asleep when she was awakened by a commotion outside. She scrambled up with the woman and peeked out.
There stood a bedraggled man, dirt sifting from his beard. “Faithless wives!” he cried loudly. “Why have you not brought me food? Are you trying to starve me?”
It was the ghost of the dead man. The women fell down in terror, crying. The ghost advanced angrily on them, making as if to strike. Orb stepped out, acting before she knew it. “It is not their fault, Gypsy!” she cried in Calo. “The townsmen won’t let them near the grave!”
The ghost turned on her. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“Just a woman in quest of the Llano,” Orb said bravely. How could she be debating with a ghost?
“Impossible!” he said. “Even I do not know the Llano! How can you, an outsider, seek it?” He took another step toward the fallen women.
Orb did not know what else to do, so she sang. She started a Gypsy tune, projecting her magic with it.
The ghost paused again, evidently daunted. He did not move till Orb stopped singing.
“There was a man like me, who died,” he said then. “His family could not burn him or his horse, because it was raining and they had no fire. But one among them knew a fragment of the Llano, and she sang it, and the pyre heated and steamed and finally burst into flames, and destroyed it all, and he rested in peace, and his wives were clean.” Then he faded out.
The women scrambled up. “You saved us!” they exclaimed.
“Only for tonight,” Orb said, troubled. “Will the ghost really hurt you?”
“Oh, yes, he was always an angry man in life, and death has not sweetened him. We must feed his grave!”
“Or better yet, burn his body,” Orb said.
“Yes! But how can we do this? The police—”
Orb feared that she would get them all arrested, including herself, but she had to try. “Perhaps he has told us how. I will try to help you. Can you burn his body if you are given access to the graveyard?”
“If the police let us. But they will not.”
“Perhaps they will. We’ll try it tomorrow night.”
On the following night they drove the Gypsy wagon to the town, making as little commotion as possible. They parked at the edge of the graveyard. The family members set to work digging at the gravesite, while Orb settled herself with her little harp and waited.
The police were alert. Within the half hour they arrived in force. Burly
“So it may be that the blood of a soldier runs in my veins,” the chief concluded. “I do not begrudge it.”
But he did not know the Llano itself, or the source of the Gypsies. “But perhaps the Gypsies of Germany can help you,” he suggested.
In Germany they had a problem. Consumption had taken out a chief, and the officials had buried his body in a pauper’s grave and driven the wives out of town. The women were bedraggled and absolutely filthy. “But I can get you water!” Orb exclaimed.
As one, the three women shook their heads in negation. “We may not wash or touch water until his body has disintegrated completely in the earth,” one explained.
So it was that Orb learned of the Cult of the Dead. All Gypsies followed it, including those of France and Spain; there had been no death in the vicinity when Orb was there, so she had not encountered this then. When a Gypsy died, all his scant possessions were burned along with his corpse; in that manner his women were freed of their geis and could be clean again. But when the authorities interfered, their plight was severe. “We can not even feed the grave,” they said. For it was the custom to set food on the grave, so that the spirit of the deceased would not go hungry.
Orb stayed the night with them in their tent, though the smell was thick. But no sooner had she fallen asleep when she was awakened by a commotion outside. She scrambled up with the woman and peeked out.
There stood a bedraggled man, dirt sifting from his beard. “Faithless wives!” he cried loudly. “Why have you not brought me food? Are you trying to starve me?”
It was the ghost of the dead man. The women fell down in terror, crying. The ghost advanced angrily on them, making as if to strike. Orb stepped out, acting before she knew it. “It is not their fault, Gypsy!” she cried in Calo. “The townsmen won’t let them near the grave!”
The ghost turned on her. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“Just a woman in quest of the Llano,” Orb said bravely. How could she be debating with a ghost?
“Impossible!” he said. “Even I do not know the Llano! How can you, an outsider, seek it?” He took another step toward the fallen women.
Orb did not know what else to do, so she sang. She started a Gypsy tune, projecting her magic with it.
The ghost paused again, evidently daunted. He did not move till Orb stopped singing.
“There was a man like me, who died,” he said then. “His family could not burn him or his horse, because it was raining and they had no fire. But one among them knew a fragment of the Llano, and she sang it, and the pyre heated and steamed and finally burst into flames, and destroyed it all, and he rested in peace, and his wives were clean.” Then he faded out.
The women scrambled up. “You saved us!” they exclaimed.
“Only for tonight,” Orb said, troubled. “Will the ghost really hurt you?”
“Oh, yes, he was always an angry man in life, and death has not sweetened him. We must feed his grave!”
“Or better yet, burn his body,” Orb said.
“Yes! But how can we do this? The police—”
Orb feared that she would get them all arrested, including herself, but she had to try. “Perhaps he has told us how. I will try to help you. Can you burn his body if you are given access to the graveyard?”
“If the police let us. But they will not.”
“Perhaps they will. We’ll try it tomorrow night.”
On the following night they drove the Gypsy wagon to the town, making as little commotion as possible. They parked at the edge of the graveyard. The family members set to work digging at the gravesite, while Orb settled herself with her little harp and waited.
The police were alert. Within the half hour they arrived in force. Burly
Similar Books
