Shadow's End (59 page)

“Did you learn what happened to Chur Durwen?”

“He made his way here, to Simidi-ala, and from here went back to Collis.” She smiled a strange, harsh smile. “Have you heard of the recent occurrence on Asenagi?”

I raised an eyebrow and waited.

“Asenagi has had a visit from the Gracious One. It—he has spoken to their tribal leaders. They have been promised immortality….”

I took a deep breath. “In return for?”

“In return for mounting a holy war against nonbelievers, which they readily agreed to do.”

“War!”

“The Gracious One has promised them a very fierce, unstoppable animal to assist them in their battles. This animal will be born from the women of Asenagi and nurtured by the Asenagi themselves. The animal will fight beside the warriors and will carry the souls of warriors killed in battle directly to … well, one assumes Valhalla.” She stared out again at the sea. I saw her eyes were
wet. “A tempting tale, tailor-made for the Asenagi culture.”

“As Lutha once said, it is disgusted with us. I wonder if any of us will manage to choose aright.”

“We will try,” she replied. “We will do our best.”

She kissed me and left me then, alone as I had been before the outlanders came. Later, I saw both her and Leelson being lifted up into the ship that would take them back to Central. He was very pale and focused looking, very set upon his task, his duty, his enormous and quite terrible responsibility. Being a Fastigat, he assumed it was not beyond his capabilities.

And I? I gritted my teeth and set my feet upon the path of righteousness.

Thus was the loom rethreaded.

Thus was the pattern determined.

Thus the shuttle wove.

D
awn on Dinadh.

Deep in the canyonlands shadow lies thickly layered as fruit-tree leaves in autumn. High on the walls the sun paints stripes of copper and gold, ruby and amber, the stones glowing as though from a forge, hammered here and there into mighty arches above our caves. Beneath those arches, the hives spread fragrant smoke, speak a tumult of little drums, breathe the sound of bone flutes. Above all, well schooled, the voice of Shalumn, songmother, soars like a crying bird:

“The Daylight Woman, see how she advances, she of the flowing garments, she of the golden skin and shining eye …”

Years have come and gone since Perdur Alas. I speak often now with Daylight Woman, the Revealer, and with her companion, Behemoth, guardian of all-living. I revere them as I do Weaving Woman and Brother and Sister Rain and the Sisters of Soil. Each morning as my friend Shalumn sings the welcome to day, I pray:
Oh, Great and
Gracious Ones, see the choice we have made; do not destroy us but keep us in righteousness. Dinadh shall become as a paradise; and we will share it and treasure it as is your will.

Each morning before first light, songmother comes to the lip of our cave, raising her voice when the sun touches the rimrock above. Each morning I stand behind her among the sisterhood, they with their faces exposed that all may see the ugliness that comes from seeking more and longer human life at the expense of life itself. Behind us are the other inhabitants of the hive, all joining the song, all hearing the great warp and woof of sound that follows Daylight Woman's eternal march westward. Dawnsong still circles our world endlessly, like the belt that runs from the treadle to the wheel. So much is as before.

Other things are changed. Both Mother Darkness and Father Endless are with us again. They are welcomed with dancing each evening when Daylight Woman departs. Though it is the nature of children to fear the darkness, adults know there can be no light without it. Hah-Hallach and his brethren have been deposed, not for listening to the tempter—for any creature might do that—but for lying to their people after they knew the truth. We have songparents now, mothers and fathers both, as we did on beloved Breadh.

This morning, when the dawnsong is over, Shalumn and I will go to the House Without a Name. In our hive an old woman named H'Nhan died some time ago, leaving an empty place in the pattern. Now a new H'Nhan may be born, to fill that place, and a certain woman has been given the privilege of bearing that child. Today she will lie upon the table, imagining the terror of those who once lay there. There are no Kachis now. The songparents teach that the Kachis were our punishment, but thinking creatures may choose repentance and restitution instead. Now, instead of Kachis we have the reanimated ones from the files on Central: fish and otter; eagle and squirrel; fox
and mouse; all manner of creatures to be woven together with us.

We tell the story of Perdur Alas to our children when we teach them the commandments of Dinadh: “Do not wish to live forever. Do not believe that every man-shaped thing is holier than something else. Do not look into the mirror to see the face of God. Do not weave your life only in one color, for Behemoth will not bless you if you do.”

Now the morning song is almost over. One of the sisterhood offers the bell. Shalumn accepts it. She rings it, once, twice, three times. Quiet falls. Heads are bowed. All in Cochim-Mahn are saying a silent prayer for Lutha Tall-staff, and for all the Leelies, too. May their shuttles carry brightness; may they be comforted in their choice.

Whenever I say the words, I remember our parting:

The ship was slender and white and still, like a tower, all its crew aboard, all its people waiting. At the bottom of the ramp we few gathered in the light of the rising sun. From the bottom of the valley the sea threw the dawn into our eyes. There was not a sound except our voices, as though the world held its breath.

I hear Lutha repeating what she had said over and over during the long night:

“Leely can't go back, Leelson. He mustn't, not ever.”

I hear Leelson:

“Then let the Leelies stay….”

And Lutha again:

“I will not leave my child.”

He reached for her then, and she backed away, blazing at him through her tears. “Don't tell me you'll stay, Leelson! The Fastigats will listen only to one of themselves. You have seen what happened in Hermes Sector! Do you want it to happen to all mankind?”

She took one step, then another, her hand lifted in farewell. Yet still he reached for her, tears streaming down his face.

Then Jiacare's voice:

“Go, Leelson. She won't be alone. Snark and I are staying with her.”

And finally, Snark:

“Kings and women, Leelson. Kings and women! We gotta do stuff like that!”

Lutha and Leelson and Leely. They are with me always. Leelson left her once, because of Leely. He left her at last, because of Leely. If their love was not really love, their courage was surely courage. Heroes have been adored for less.

The sun is upon Shalumn's ankles now, and her voice ascends the sky. She holds her arms wide, inviting us to enter into the pattern, to go forth into a world that was not made and is not kept for man alone.

And we of Dinadh step into the light.

S
HERI
S. T
EPPER
, is the award-winning author of
A Plague of Angels, Sideshow, Beauty, Raising the Stones, Grass, The Gate to Women's Country, After Long Silence
, and
Shadow's End. Grass
was a
New York Times
Notable Book and Hugo Award nominee, and
Beauty
was voted Best Fantasy Novel by the readers of
Locus
magazine. Ms. Tepper lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.