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more in and left them to soak while she washed herself.
She carried more buckets of hot water to the tub, poured them into the soapy
residue until she could almost not bear the heat, added a little cold, then
squatted in the tub to scrub at herself. When she finished, she dried herself,
then scooped the dirty water from the tub, bucket by bucket until it was light
enough for her to manage, hauled it into the kitchen and emptied the rest down
the drain. She finished rinsing out the clothing, then used an old rag to wash
the soap off herself. More hot water, in the sink this time, laced with cold.
She washed her hair, sighing for the mild, scented shampoo her father bought
from traveling peddlers, but at least she was clean.
She wiped herself as dry as she could, squeezed excess water out of her hair,
then stood a moment breathing deeply, surrounded by the warmth and smells of
the kitchen, the burning wood, soap, bread, roast oadat, cheese, chays, damp
stone and others too faint and blended to identify. Then she forced herself to
move, hung the smock and the robe on drying racks from the pantry, set up on
either side of the bedroom fire. She stretched out on the bed, the ropes
squealing under her weight, the mattress rustling. She lay a moment on both
quilts, staring up at the ceiling and seeing for the first time the mosaic of
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wood chips, an image of the mijloc being held in the arms of the Maiden,
constructed from a dozen different natural wood shades, a subtle image that
only developed out of the woodchips as she stared at them. She sighed with
pleasure, closed her eyes, murmured the night chant and began drifting off.
After a moment, she eased the top quilt from under her and pulled it up to her
chin, then fell into sleep as if someone had clubbed her.
The mallet tucked under her arm, the chisel held point out, handle pressed
against her thumb, she was moving both sets of fingers carefully across the
cut-away stone, searching for any spikes of stone that had escaped her, this
fitful fussing a last attempt to convince herself she ought to postpone the
re-carving of the face. She felt uncertain and rather frightened. She touched
and touched the stone, the smooth roughness under her fingers slowly seducing
her into beginning, the stone calling to her to give it shape.
She faced the stone, holding mallet and chisel, breathing lightly, quickly,
searching for the courage to begin.
 Nilis. Her brother s voice, angry and afraid.
She turned with slow deliberation and stepped down from the chair.  Dris, she
said. She ignored the Agli scowling behind the boy. She felt his eyes on her,
hot angry eyes, but all fear had fled somehow, she felt serene.
The Agli closed his hand tight over the boy s shoulder. He said nothing, but
Dris s face went pale and stiff. Nilis was sorry to see that but knew there
was little she could do about it. Dris s tongue traveled across his bottom
lip.  Nilis Gradindaughter, he said, his voice breaking on the words as if he
were older and in the throes of puberty.  Sister, your place is in Gradintar.
Gradintar needs a mistress to see to the women s work. The Great Whore is
finished in the mijloc. I am Tarom. I order you to come home. You must obey
me. Or ... or be cursed. His tongue moved once again along his lip, his hands
were closed into fists, his eyes shone as if he were going to cry at any
moment.  You got to come back, Nilis, I NEED you. Please ... He broke off,
wincing as the Agli s fin-gers dug into his shoulder. The frightened child
vanished as Dris s face went blank.  Disobey, he said dully,  and the curse
of Soäreh will land on your head. He changed again.  Come on, Nilis, huh?
Little brother now too scared to play his role.  Nilis, please, I don t want
to curse you. His face contorted as he struggled not to cry.
 Ah, Drishha-mi, she murmured. She set the mallet and chisel on the floor and
settled herself on the chair.  Do what you must, but don t worry about it. I
can t go back with you. Gradintar isn t my home anymore. You re still my
brother, dearest, you re always welcome here when-ever you are free to come.
Curse me if you must. She found herself laughing, a low warm chuckle that
utterly surprised her, so much so that she lost track of what she was saying.
She blinked, hesitated, finished,  I won t take any notice of it.
A soft hissing from the Agli. She ignored it, a little afraid now, but not as
afraid as she d expected to be. And glad her robe was clean and fresh, her
hair and body were clean and fresh. It gave her a confidence she felt she
could trust more than the mysterious sureness she felt in herself, a sureness
that was a gift of the Maiden and because of this might vanish as inexplicably
as it had come.
Dris s face twisted again. She could see the silent pres-sure the Agli was
putting on him, a pressure he was trying to put on her now. She sat quietly as
the boy began stammering out his lesson, watching him and listening with
sadness and a little impatience.
 O thou follower of vileness, Dris shrilled at her.  Thou whore and betrayer.
Thou apostate. May thy nights be given to torment, the demons of the lower
worlds torment thee in body and mind. May thy days be given to torment,
desires that fill thee and whimper in thee; and may no man be tempted to
fulfill thee. May worms dwell within thee and eat at thee until thou art
rotten and oozing with rot, until thou are corruption itself. May all this be
done to thee unless thou renounce the Hag, renounce this rebellion against thy
proper role, against those created to be thy guides and protectors. Renounce
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the Hag and return to thy proper place, Nilis Gradindaughter. Dris finished
his memorized speech, gave a little sigh of relief that he d got it right. She
read in his eyes horror at what he was saying and at the same time a certain
satisfaction at his daring to talk like that to her.
The Agli was looking smug. She saw in him what she d never seen before. He
hated and feared women. All women, but especially those he couldn t dominate
or control. They were alien creatures who nonetheless could wake feelings in
him he was helpless to resist. It was strange to see so clearly, having looked
into her own real face, strange and painful because it meant she no longer had
the option of pursuing her own goals without fully understanding the pain and
distress her acts caused those around her; yet there were things she had to
do, so she must take on her shoulders the responsibility for that pain. And
with that came the first real understanding of what She had meant when She
said the task was hard enough. Not the physical labor, that was easy. Forgive
yourself. Yes. She saw the greed and fear and uncertainty and unlovely triumph
and need and silly sad stupid blindness in the man standing before her and a
part of her the part that was sustained by the Maiden s Gift understood and
loved all these un-lovely things while the other part of her was angry at Dris
and the Agli for disturbing her serenity, for blocking off the thing she felt
burgeoning in her, angry at the Agli for driving that baby into pronouncing
that curse, a little afraid, but not much, of the curse itself. And even as
she sat musing over these things, considering her answer, that other part of
her cleared into laughter, laughter that bub-bled through her and out of her [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]