When once the door had closed behind the two, the hum of voices rose to be tinged with low laughter, and another young female hurried over to lean down to Tarla.
“At last I may tell you of it!” said the female to Tarla, excitement and amusement both in her voice. “I wished to speak to you sooner, and came finally to believe that they would never leave!”
“Calmly, Resta, calmly,” soothed Tarla with a laugh as she squeezed the water from my hair. “What is this most important thing which you wished to tell me?”
The female Resta sat herself at the edge of the flooring, and with a hasty glance toward the newly closed door, leaned even farther toward Tarla.
“Famira was drawn from the circle last darkness!” Resta breathed, her eyes filled with laughter. “The rider who claimed her was none other than Cimilan!”
“Cimilan!” Tarla repeated in a gasp, and then she, too, was touched by faint laughter. “Of all the riders there are, he was the one she least wished to be chosen by. I believe I begin to pity her. ”
“Famira reaps no more than what she has sown,” said Resta, showing none of the pity Tarla had spoken of. “Had she been less sure that she would go to Ceralt, she would not have given Cimilan insult so often. She enjoyed parading herself before him, raising his desire as she spat upon his pride, knowing he would not give challenge to Ceralt’s claim of her. Now she wears his strings and follows him about, and continues to weep from his use of her last darkness. Challa says that Cimilan found it necessary to carry Famira here not long past the new light, so that the blood might be washed from her thighs and her pain lessened enough to allow her to walk. I have also heard it whispered that Cimilan drank of the second skin before carrying her to her father’s halyar, and her screams kept sleep from all those within hearing for the entire darkness. The high and mighty Famira is now no more than a rider’s wench, and shall strut no more among us! Cimilan’s leather shall teach her silence, and I, for one, have long awaited such silence!”
Murmurs of agreement came from all about the room, and she called Resta looked about in fierce search for such agreement. Her eyes had blazed hot when she had spoken, and the heat of her words was clearly felt. Even Tarla had agreed with a sigh, and I took my hair from her hands and threw it upon the flooring, then vaulted out of the water before the great mass of hair might tumble back and wet itself further. I stood straight upon the wooden boards and shook my hair free so it might drip its wetness more easily, and she called Resta rose from the edge of the flooring to face me.
“I do not know you,” said she, looking up into my eyes, “yet it seems that you should find as much pleasure in Famira’s fate as we. Was it not she who threw you to the ground not long after Ceralt first brought you here? Her hate for you was deep, and surely you return that hate in some measure?”
No other voices were to be heard in the dwelling, no more than the ripple and splash of water as Tarla drew herself to the flooring. All seemed to await my reply, yet I chose my words with difficulty.
“It is true I have no liking for she called Famira,” I groped, “yet I cannot bring meaning to the feelings you have shown. You glory in the pain and shame given her by another, but I heard no words of the times you yourself faced her. Is there none among you who might have faced this female and spoken of your dislike, then offered her the opportunity to defend her ways or stand in jeopardy of her safety? To find glee in deeds done by others that should have been done by you is not a thing Midanna care for.”
She called Resta seemed touched by confusion, and her hand gestured vaguely as she searched my face. “But we could not face Famira in such a manner!” she denied. “She stands taller than any here save yourself, and even had it been possible to match her, her father would have been furious if she had come to harm! Were we to find our own selves in jeopardy, merely to indicate dislike?”
“One must choose between possibilities.” I shrugged, seeing no confusion in the concept. “Either one lives silently beneath the yoke of others, or one asserts her right to an undisturbed life.
Having failed to assert yourself—through your own choosing—to now speak gleefully of your enemy’s downfall damages with dignity you possess. To feel pleasure at the thing is understandable. To gloat aloud is demeaning.”
The female Resta gazed down at her hands in upset, echoing the silence to be heard from the others. Thinking the matter ended, I began to turn away, yet Resta’s hand came to touch my arm.
“You say we should have faced her,” said the small, dark female. “Would you have faced her? Knowing that Ceralt might well have beaten you for causing her harm? It is whispered that Ceralt’s leather has not been idle, and the High Rider is not a man weakened by infirmity. Would you face his wrath merely to assert yourself?”
It seemed the female sought to find a point I would not contest, a point which showed that I, too, lived as she. The thought of Ceralt was not a pleasant one, yet I strove to keep the bleakness from my eyes.
“The matter is not one of merely,” I sighed, knowing my thoughts would not come through in my words. “Were Famira a warrior such as I, I would face her even though my blood might well adorn her blade. The importance is in the doing, not in what follows the doing. Should the importance of the doing be great enough, that which follows will be fit, no matter its nature.” And then I shrugged, adding, “I know of no other way it might be said.”
Resta fought to make sense of my words, and the crease of her brow remained even after she had gone to sit with others of the females. All spoke quietly among themselves, some argued just as quietly, and Tarla seemed deeply immersed in thought. She brought to me a heavy cloth with which to take some of the moisture from my hair, then aided me in combing the tangles from it, yet in all that time, no word was spoken between us. At last we availed ourselves of body clothes and were about to leave, when Tarla seemed to return to herself from a long distance off.
“Nearly have I forgotten the skin lotion,” said she in annoyance, walking not to the door of the dwelling, but to a wall which contained shelves. Upon one shelf stood many small pots, and Tarla chose one from among them. “Here, Jalav,” said she, turning to hold the pot out. “Do you not believe Ceralt would enjoy this scent?”
I walked toward her slowly, yet found it unnecessary to traverse the entire distance. The odor from the pot she had uncovered reached my nostrils easily, and I knew I wished none of it. Undoubtedly my expression spoke more clearly than words, for Tarla laughed and shook her head.
“Do not wrinkle your nose so,” she chided in amusement. “To see you, one would think this were the essence of long-dead falth. Come and let me spread it upon you, so Ceralt will be pleased. ”
“Such a scent would carry throughout an entire forest!” I protested, unwilling to approach her. “Game would flee instantly and enemies would happily surround it! No one who has ever hunted could wear such a scent, and even Ceralt would know this. He could not intend for me to be done so!”
Pity entered the large eyes of Tarla, and she approached to touch my arm. “Jalav, Ceralt shall not allow you to hunt,” said she, her voice very soft. “He wishes a woman with sweet scents upon her skin, not a hunter who is concerned with game. Let me put the lotion upon you, so his wrath may be avoided.”
I looked silently upon Tarla, then looked away, for Ceralt’s words had again returned to me. No bow, nor spear, nor sword, nor dagger shall Jalav again touch, he had said. I would not again hunt the forests, and Tarla spoke truly. Ceralt wished me made a slave-woman for his pleasure, not a warrior for a hunt. This I had not completely understood, and I slowly sat myself upon the flooring, feeling the emptiness my life had become. The dim, warm room surrounded me, yet I saw it not. I saw instead the many greens and browns of a forest, at times erupting in the splendor of flowers, the golden light falling lazily through thick leafy branches, the flash or stir of children of the wild, the pure, clean air, the blessed ground beneath one’s feet. Never again might I partake of this, and I grieved for my loss in silence, barely noticing Tarla’s hands upon me. The thick, heady scent given my skin made my insides turn, and I knew not how one was expected to breathe when enfolded in its mists. Some of the other females, Resta among them, came forth from their platforms to sit beside me upon the flooring, and all eagerly assured me that the odor was most appealing and that Ceralt would certainly be pleased. I knew not why they should speak to me so, yet I gave them courteous response, as befitted one who had once been a war leader. I knew not what words I spoke, yet I gave them courtesy for their courtesy to me.