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Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
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of surpassing skill, she was now in charge of the Tower at Arilinn, controlling all the working telepaths on Darkover. But Leonie had paid the Keeper’s price; she had been forced to renounce love and marriage, living in seclusion as a virgin all her life. …
Melora had been given no choice. Jalak’s armed men had seized her and carried her away to imprisonment and chains … rape and slavery and long suffering.
Rohana’s weariness was giving her strange thoughts. Did Jalak really change her life so much? Do any of us have choice, really? At our clan’s demand, to share a stranger’s bed and rule his house and bear his children … or to live isolated from life, in loneliness and seclusion, controlling tremendous forces, but with no power to reach out our hand to any other human being, alone, virgin, worshiped but pitied. …
Jaelle’s small hand touched hers lightly, and the little girl said, “Kinswoman … you are so white. … ”
Rohana quickly returned to reality. She said matter-of-factly, “I have eaten nothing. And in a little while I must wake your mother and see that she eats something, too.” She went with Jaelle to where the Amazons were sharing out food and drink; this time she diluted the wine with water from the well and found it sour but drinkable. Kindra went to look at the sleeping Melora and came back, saying, “She needs rest more than food, Lady; she can eat when she wakes,” and looked at Jaelle, saying, “You will be sunburned and saddle-sore if you try to ride in that nightgown, chiya. Gwennis, Leeanne, Devra, you are smallest, can you find the little one some clothes?”
Rohana was surprised and warmed to see how immediate the response was; all but the tallest of the women went at once to their saddlebags, searching, sharing out what they had, an under vest here, a tunic there, a pair of trousers (Leeanne’s, and even these had to be rolled up almost to the knees). Camilla, whose feet were slender, brought out a pair of suede ankle boots, saying, “They will be too big, but laced tightly, they will protect her while she is riding and keep her feet from the sand and thorn bushes.” They were embroidered and dyed, evidently her own holiday gear, and Rohana was more surprised than ever; a neuter, she would have thought, could hardly have maternal feelings.
Jaelle let Rohana undress her and clothe her in the strange garments, looking around hesitantly toward her mother but forbearing to disturb her. She did say shakily, as Rohana belted in the bulky long trousers, and began to lace up the pretty, dyed-leather boots, “I have always been told it is not seemly for a woman to wear breeches, and—and, I am almost old enough to be called a woman.”
“Better breeched than bare Jaelle,” Rohana said, adding more gently, “I know how you feel. Before I came on this journey, I believed nothing could force me to wear breeches and boots, but necessity is stronger than custom; and, as for seemliness—well, you cannot ride in that tattered nightgown with your bare haunches in the wind.”
Camilla came and checked the fit of the boots. “If they are too loose and make blisters, child, tell me and I will find an extra pair of thick stockings. How do women manage to ride in the Dry Towns, little lady?”
“The saddle is made like this”—Jaelle demonstrated—”so that a woman can sit sidewise and her skirts are not disordered.”
“And will slip and fall if her horse stumbles,” said Gwennis, “while I can ride as fast and far as any man, and I have never had a fall. But in the Domains, little one, you can wear those clumsy riding-skirts your kinswoman prefers to wear.”
“Clumsy they may look,” Rohana retorted, “yet I ride well enough in them that I can hunt with hawks in the mountains; in a bad season, when the men cannot spare time for the hunt, the little children or sick people have never had to go without birds or small game for their table, riding-skirts or no; I
Melora had been given no choice. Jalak’s armed men had seized her and carried her away to imprisonment and chains … rape and slavery and long suffering.
Rohana’s weariness was giving her strange thoughts. Did Jalak really change her life so much? Do any of us have choice, really? At our clan’s demand, to share a stranger’s bed and rule his house and bear his children … or to live isolated from life, in loneliness and seclusion, controlling tremendous forces, but with no power to reach out our hand to any other human being, alone, virgin, worshiped but pitied. …
Jaelle’s small hand touched hers lightly, and the little girl said, “Kinswoman … you are so white. … ”
Rohana quickly returned to reality. She said matter-of-factly, “I have eaten nothing. And in a little while I must wake your mother and see that she eats something, too.” She went with Jaelle to where the Amazons were sharing out food and drink; this time she diluted the wine with water from the well and found it sour but drinkable. Kindra went to look at the sleeping Melora and came back, saying, “She needs rest more than food, Lady; she can eat when she wakes,” and looked at Jaelle, saying, “You will be sunburned and saddle-sore if you try to ride in that nightgown, chiya. Gwennis, Leeanne, Devra, you are smallest, can you find the little one some clothes?”
Rohana was surprised and warmed to see how immediate the response was; all but the tallest of the women went at once to their saddlebags, searching, sharing out what they had, an under vest here, a tunic there, a pair of trousers (Leeanne’s, and even these had to be rolled up almost to the knees). Camilla, whose feet were slender, brought out a pair of suede ankle boots, saying, “They will be too big, but laced tightly, they will protect her while she is riding and keep her feet from the sand and thorn bushes.” They were embroidered and dyed, evidently her own holiday gear, and Rohana was more surprised than ever; a neuter, she would have thought, could hardly have maternal feelings.
Jaelle let Rohana undress her and clothe her in the strange garments, looking around hesitantly toward her mother but forbearing to disturb her. She did say shakily, as Rohana belted in the bulky long trousers, and began to lace up the pretty, dyed-leather boots, “I have always been told it is not seemly for a woman to wear breeches, and—and, I am almost old enough to be called a woman.”
“Better breeched than bare Jaelle,” Rohana said, adding more gently, “I know how you feel. Before I came on this journey, I believed nothing could force me to wear breeches and boots, but necessity is stronger than custom; and, as for seemliness—well, you cannot ride in that tattered nightgown with your bare haunches in the wind.”
Camilla came and checked the fit of the boots. “If they are too loose and make blisters, child, tell me and I will find an extra pair of thick stockings. How do women manage to ride in the Dry Towns, little lady?”
“The saddle is made like this”—Jaelle demonstrated—”so that a woman can sit sidewise and her skirts are not disordered.”
“And will slip and fall if her horse stumbles,” said Gwennis, “while I can ride as fast and far as any man, and I have never had a fall. But in the Domains, little one, you can wear those clumsy riding-skirts your kinswoman prefers to wear.”
“Clumsy they may look,” Rohana retorted, “yet I ride well enough in them that I can hunt with hawks in the mountains; in a bad season, when the men cannot spare time for the hunt, the little children or sick people have never had to go without birds or small game for their table, riding-skirts or no; I
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