Read Online Woman Who Loved the Moon by Elizabeth A. Lynn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Elizabeth A. Lynn
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do,” she said, “do I?”
“No.”
Jael set the knife down and pushed the sliced nuts into the cavity. She trussed the bird with cord, held it, hefted it. “It’s a big one. I’m glad you got that new pot from the village.”
“I hate asking for things,” said Akys.
Jael said, “I know. But you can’t build an iron pot the way you can a chair.” Crossing the room, she dumped the bird into the cauldron. “And tomorrow I want to fish. I’ll bring some metal hooks with me when I return in the morning.”
Akys said, quietly, “Why don’t you stay the night?”
Jael shook her head.
During the days she became a human woman. She learned, or relearned, for surely she had known these skills before, to chop wood, to skin, clean, and cook animals, to fish, with coarse strings of hemp she had twisted herself, and a willow pole. She got cold and wet, went hungry when Akys did, and climbed to her cave tired and footsore. But she always went back at night. Fidelity had made her set the lumenings to Record, and she turned them on each evening, awaiting—what? Sometimes she told herself she was waiting for her recall. Touching her machines, she was once more the Goddess. But in the morning, when she went back down the slope to Akys, the reality of Reorth receded in her mind, and all its designs became bits of a dream, known only at night, and she did not think of recall.
Akys never asked questions. The brief tale told at their first meeting remained unembroidered, and Jael had half-forgotten it. She felt no need to have a past. Sometimes Akys looked at her with a stir of inquiry in her gray eyes. But if questions roiled her mind, they never reached her tongue.
Spring broke through winter like water breaking through a dam. They measured time by the rise and fall of the river. In spring the fish came leaping upstream, and if you held out a net—ah, if you just held out your hands—they would leap to the trap, bellies iridescent in the sunshine. In the white rapids they looked like pieces cut from rainbow.
“I want to bathe in the river!” cried Jael.
“It’s too cold now,” said practical Akys. “You’ll freeze.”
“Then I want summer to come.” Jael pouted. “Why does the year move so slowly?” she demanded, flinging her arms wide.
Yet in the cavern at night, she saw the year moving swiftly, and wished that her power extended to the movement of the planet in its course around its sun.
The spyeyes set to Rys told her that armies and ships were gathering. They will be coming in the fall, she thought. They will be ready then. Spykos, king of Rys, was drawing men from all his cities and from the cities of nearby Dechlas. He cemented his alliance with Hechlos by marrying his daughter to Hechlos’ king’s son, and the goddess within Jael-the-woman raged, that these men could see women as so many cattle, bought and bred to found a dynasty. Spykos raided the harbor towns of Nysineria and Kovos—in winter!—distracting them, frightening them, keeping them busy and off guard. Jael watched the raids with a drawn face. It hurt, to see the villages burn.
What will you do?
This was the question she did not allow herself to hear. If she heard it, she would have to answer it. It kept her wakeful at night, walking through her caverns, staring at the dark, unspeaking lumenings.
Akys scolded her. “What’s wrong with you? Your eyes have pits under them. Are you sleeping?”
“Not very well.”
“I can give you a drink to help you sleep.”
“No.”
“Won’t you stay here? It tires you, going home at night.”
Jael shook her head.
Summer came to the mountain with a rush of heat. The children herded the beasts up to the high pastures again. The crags echoed to their whistles and calls and to the barking of the dogs. The heavy scents of summer filled meadows and forests: honeysuckle, clover, roses, wet grass steamy after a rainstorm.
Akys said, “You could bathe in the river now.”
They went to the
“No.”
Jael set the knife down and pushed the sliced nuts into the cavity. She trussed the bird with cord, held it, hefted it. “It’s a big one. I’m glad you got that new pot from the village.”
“I hate asking for things,” said Akys.
Jael said, “I know. But you can’t build an iron pot the way you can a chair.” Crossing the room, she dumped the bird into the cauldron. “And tomorrow I want to fish. I’ll bring some metal hooks with me when I return in the morning.”
Akys said, quietly, “Why don’t you stay the night?”
Jael shook her head.
During the days she became a human woman. She learned, or relearned, for surely she had known these skills before, to chop wood, to skin, clean, and cook animals, to fish, with coarse strings of hemp she had twisted herself, and a willow pole. She got cold and wet, went hungry when Akys did, and climbed to her cave tired and footsore. But she always went back at night. Fidelity had made her set the lumenings to Record, and she turned them on each evening, awaiting—what? Sometimes she told herself she was waiting for her recall. Touching her machines, she was once more the Goddess. But in the morning, when she went back down the slope to Akys, the reality of Reorth receded in her mind, and all its designs became bits of a dream, known only at night, and she did not think of recall.
Akys never asked questions. The brief tale told at their first meeting remained unembroidered, and Jael had half-forgotten it. She felt no need to have a past. Sometimes Akys looked at her with a stir of inquiry in her gray eyes. But if questions roiled her mind, they never reached her tongue.
Spring broke through winter like water breaking through a dam. They measured time by the rise and fall of the river. In spring the fish came leaping upstream, and if you held out a net—ah, if you just held out your hands—they would leap to the trap, bellies iridescent in the sunshine. In the white rapids they looked like pieces cut from rainbow.
“I want to bathe in the river!” cried Jael.
“It’s too cold now,” said practical Akys. “You’ll freeze.”
“Then I want summer to come.” Jael pouted. “Why does the year move so slowly?” she demanded, flinging her arms wide.
Yet in the cavern at night, she saw the year moving swiftly, and wished that her power extended to the movement of the planet in its course around its sun.
The spyeyes set to Rys told her that armies and ships were gathering. They will be coming in the fall, she thought. They will be ready then. Spykos, king of Rys, was drawing men from all his cities and from the cities of nearby Dechlas. He cemented his alliance with Hechlos by marrying his daughter to Hechlos’ king’s son, and the goddess within Jael-the-woman raged, that these men could see women as so many cattle, bought and bred to found a dynasty. Spykos raided the harbor towns of Nysineria and Kovos—in winter!—distracting them, frightening them, keeping them busy and off guard. Jael watched the raids with a drawn face. It hurt, to see the villages burn.
What will you do?
This was the question she did not allow herself to hear. If she heard it, she would have to answer it. It kept her wakeful at night, walking through her caverns, staring at the dark, unspeaking lumenings.
Akys scolded her. “What’s wrong with you? Your eyes have pits under them. Are you sleeping?”
“Not very well.”
“I can give you a drink to help you sleep.”
“No.”
“Won’t you stay here? It tires you, going home at night.”
Jael shook her head.
Summer came to the mountain with a rush of heat. The children herded the beasts up to the high pastures again. The crags echoed to their whistles and calls and to the barking of the dogs. The heavy scents of summer filled meadows and forests: honeysuckle, clover, roses, wet grass steamy after a rainstorm.
Akys said, “You could bathe in the river now.”
They went to the
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