Chapter 25

Netra was sitting on a bench in the common room of Rane Haven next to Cara, her best friend. They held an old history text between them, trying to decipher the faded script in the dim light. On the other side of her sat Brelisha, the old Tender in charge of their lessons. Tallow candles sputtered in wrought-iron sconces on the walls, lighting faded murals and cracked plaster. A large, old sycamore tree stood in the center of the room, reaching with its bent arms towards the cracked skylight overhead.

Netra sat up, stretching her back and rubbing her eyes. She and Cara had been trying to decipher this text for over an hour and she was mortally sick of it. Who cared about what happened thousands of years ago anyway? Those people got to live their lives; why did she have to waste hers reading about them?

A warning hiss from Brelisha—the stern-faced woman seemed to always have an eye on Netra, just waiting for her to slip up—and Netra bent dutifully over the text once again, though not without an aggrieved sigh. Cara shifted and gave her a pat on the shoulder, as always trying to cheer Netra up, but Netra was having none of it. She was almost nineteen, an adult. Would the lessons never end?

Netra gave up trying to make sense of the text. Still pretending to read, she listened in on Karyn and Gerath’s conversation. As usual, they were talking about the past.

“The temple at Qarath was big enough to hold over five thousand people in the main worship hall. And the whole floor was tiled in rose quartz, brought in from hundreds of miles away,” Karyn said, shaking her head, her frowsy hair bouncing with the movement. She had pale, unfocused eyes that masked a keen intellect. “Can you imagine? When Thelin FirstMother led services there, people fought to get in. The power of her voice was so strong that the mad were healed just by listening to her.”

“True,” Gerath replied. She was a stout woman who carried an air of perpetual superiority. “But, as great as Thelin undoubtedly was, I don’t think she could hold a candle to Klie Gerthon, FirstMother during the reign of Justus the Third. It was said that she could hear the illness in a person’s Song from a mile away and then…”

Dull, dull, dull. Every night it was the same thing with those two. They were as bad as the history book. Netra tuned them out and focused her attention on listening with her inner hearing. When they tried, about half of the Tenders at Rane Haven could hear at least a little LifeSong. The ability to do so was what traditionally marked a woman as Chosen, and thus eligible to join the Tenders. These days the Tenders counted themselves lucky simply to find women who would endure the poverty and scorn that went with being a member of their order; they couldn’t afford to be too particular about whether that woman was Chosen or not.

Netra was one of the ones who could hear LifeSong. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been able to hear Song. In fact, as a little girl she remembered feeling surprised when she learned most other people couldn’t hear it. It was a part of her life. She heard it all the time, without trying. It was a faint melody playing in the background, a familiar, reliable companion. It was not something she heard with her ears; no amount of ordinary noise could drown it out. It was more something she heard inside her mind. She thought of it as inner hearing.

Over the years she had learned to distinguish between the primary, background melody of LifeSong and the secondary melody of Selfsong that radiated off of other people and animals. It was like hearing a rushing river in the distance and picking out the sounds of smaller creeks and streams nearby.

Selfsong was unique to each individual. It carried within its rhythms a wealth of information—about a person’s mood, health, and so on. Netra was still learning to interpret what she heard, but she was getting better at it all the time.

Cara’s Selfsong was content, quiet. Cara was like that. Steady, calm.

Gerath’s had a hint of irritation in it that was growing as she got deeper into her argument with Karyn.

Suddenly, Netra’s inner hearing picked up another Selfsong approaching. She heard the fear first, so strong her heart speeded up in response. Then she heard the pain, so intense that she dropped her side of the book, her hands feeling like they were on fire.

A moment later she knew it was Jolene who approached, coming in through the back door. She rose up from her chair just as the dark-haired woman stumbled into the room, tears pouring down her face, her skin glistening with sweat. Her hands were doubled into fists, driven under her arms.

Netra hurried to her. “What is it, Jolene? What’s wrong?”

Jolene didn’t reply. Her thin form was shaking uncontrollably. Netra helped her to a chair near the cold fireplace and lowered her into it, where Jolene immediately curled up, eyes closed tight, moans coming from her.

For a long moment none of the other Tenders in the room moved, frozen in place by something they didn’t understand, almost an animal instinct for danger. It was as if they sensed that what Jolene brought into their midst would change their world forever.

Then Siena entered the room. “Jolene!” she cried, and hurried to her. The paralysis broke and suddenly everyone else was moving too, crowding around the woman, exclamations and sounds of concern filling the air like the nervous clucking of disturbed hens.

“Hush,” Siena said, and they quieted. She turned back to Jolene, and knelt beside her. “What happened? Are you all right?”

Jolene raised her tear-stained face, still keeping her eyes closed. Slowly she stretched forth her arms and opened her hands. They were a ruined mess of burned, blistered skin.

There was a collective gasp and the room broke into excited babbling again. Brelisha’s voice cut sharply through the din as she ordered Karyn to bring bandages and ointment.

“What happened?” Siena asked again, an unusual urgency in her voice. Netra heard a note of fear in the older woman’s Selfsong and she wondered why.

Jolene opened her eyes and looked at the Haven Mother. “I built a…I used the dream powder. I had a vision.”

The hush fell again. Dream powder. After what had happened to the Tender who wrote the Book of Sorrows, dream powder was forbidden to all Tenders, the doorways it opened too dangerous to go through.

“Fool girl,” Brelisha hissed. “You might have lost your mind—or worse.”

“Easy, Brelisha,” Siena warned. “She has suffered enough this night.” Turning back to Jolene she said gently, but still with that same odd sense of urgency, “What did you see?”

But Jolene was bent over herself again, weeping silently, shaking her head. Karyn arrived with the bandages then and Siena stood. “I think we had better help her to her room, get her to bed.” She stepped back and all at once Jolene leapt to her feet.

“Someone has to go to Treeside! Soon!”

“Why, Jolene?” Siena asked, and Netra could sense the effort it cost her to remain calm. Something beyond what had just happened here was bothering the Haven Mother. “What’s at Treeside?”

 Jolene shook her head and sagged against Siena, the tears starting anew.

“Bronwyn. Donae. Take her to her room,” Brelisha ordered. The two Tenders took hold of her arms and led her away. “Go with them, Karyn. Give her something strong to help her sleep.” Karyn was already halfway to the door. The remaining Tenders looked around at each other uncertainly.

“This is a perfect example of why dream powder is forbidden,” Brelisha said sternly, addressing Netra and Cara. “There was a time when it was a powerful tool of our order, but that time is long past. We are no longer what we were. No longer do we have the strength to deal with the rigors of what it puts a person through.”

“I knew it was a bad idea when she started reading the Book of Sorrows,” Gerath put in, returning to her seat and shaking her head dramatically. Gerath followed Brelisha’s lead in everything. She folded her hands across her stomach, peering at the room through the little spectacles she wore. Netra had looked through those spectacles once, when Gerath left them on the table. They distorted her vision so badly she couldn’t see the other side of the room, and she suspected they did the same to Gerath, which was why she always wore them so far down on her nose. It was her belief that Gerath just wore them to make herself look smarter. “I knew it could only lead to evil, full of dangerous ideas and blasphemy it is. I don’t know why we still have the book, why we haven’t just taken it and burned it and be rid of it forever.”

“We haven’t burned it because we aren’t children,” Siena said suddenly. Netra still felt the fear in her, but there was something else as well, an angry edge that was growing.

Gerath spluttered and Brelisha cut in swiftly, never one to miss a chance to disagree with Siena. “You see what it’s done to that poor weak-minded woman and yet you still say that?”

“Jolene is not weak-minded.”

“What is she then?” Brelisha asked acidly. She had returned to her seat and picked up the darning she was working on, but now she set it aside and gripped the arms of her chair, as if about to fling herself out of it and into a fray. Her hair was white, straight and thin like she was and swept back in a tight bun. She had perpetual scowl lines around her mouth and her deep set eyes. She looked like a hawk, Netra thought, or rather a vulture, getting ready to swoop down.

“I don’t know,” Siena replied, her eyes drifting to the hallway Jolene and the other Tenders had disappeared down. “I’ve never known.”

“Well, I still say it is foolishness, dangerous foolishness,” Brelisha declared, as if she had said the last word on the issue. “These aren’t the days of the Empire, and we Tenders need to know where our proper boundaries are.” Gerath nodded vigorously in agreement.

But Siena seemed not to have heard her. She turned back to the room and for some reason her eyes went to Netra, but when she spoke, it was for everyone. “Some of us will have to go to Treeside. As soon as possible.”

“What?” Brelisha cried. “You’re going to encourage her madness?”

 “I am going to encourage any chance given to us by the Mother, even if it seems foolish.” There was a sudden iron in her voice that was surprising. Brelisha disagreed with Siena often—in fact she seemed to make a point of it—and usually Siena was restrained, almost passive, in her response.

“But the dream powder—”

“Is an old wisdom given to us by Xochitl in the early days, a way of going directly to her for answers.” Siena had her arms crossed and the stare she gave Brelisha showed no signs of wavering.

“This is madness,” Brelisha insisted. “That path to the Mother was closed long ago. Yuon She proved that. The Mother has withdrawn her protection and there are things lurking on that path far too dangerous for any of us. Who knows what kind of evil waits for us in Treeside?”

“Which is why I will only ask for volunteers.” Again Siena’s gaze went to Netra and Netra felt a thrill of excitement go through her. This was too good to be true. A chance to go on a journey? Anything for that.

“Madness,” Brelisha repeated. “I won’t stand for it.”

“I’m not asking you to, Brelisha. This isn’t your decision to make. I’m the Haven Mother here. It’s my decision and it is made.” Still her gaze was locked on Netra. Brelisha looked poleaxed. Her face was turning red.

 “I’ll go!” It was all Netra could do not to jump up and down, but she managed it. Cara looked at her in horror.

“Good,” Siena said, before Brelisha could get her next angry words out. “Anyone else?”

 “Gerath will go too,” Brelisha grated, her jaw tight. She looked like she was strangling. Gerath’s loftiness disappeared as she gave Brelisha a startled look that was not all that friendly. The portly woman complained of the distance to the privy. To get to Treeside would be a full day’s walk, and some of it uphill. Brelisha ignored her. “At least I know Gerath will be clearheaded about it—whatever it’s supposed to be.”

“It is decided then. You two will leave the day after tomorrow.” Siena left the room.

          

Brelisha stayed where she was for perhaps a minute longer after Siena left the room, stabbing at the piece of fabric in her hands, her lips a thin white line. Then she slipped and stuck one of the needles into her thumb. She threw her needlework down on the table beside her—muttering something under her breath that Netra was reasonably certain wasn’t a prayer—and marched over to the door Siena had gone through.

Netra had returned to her seat on the bench by Cara and she sat there as long as she could, but finally she couldn’t help herself. She had to know what was going on. She stood up and stretched casually. Gerath gave her a sour look, and Netra, assuming her most innocent expression, mouthed the word, “privy,” and started out of the room. Cara caught her eye as she left and she gave the blonde girl a look that was meant to say: Whatever I learn, I’ll tell you.

Once she got outside, she didn’t head for the small wooden building set off by itself behind the Haven, but stood for a moment in the darkness, letting her eyes adjust. Then she made her way along the edge of the Haven, a sprawling stone and timber structure built in a time when there were three times as many Tenders as there were now, and servants besides. The granite blocks were rough under her fingertips, the night breeze cool on her skin. Out here, deep in the Mother’s embrace, she felt alive in a way she never did indoors, like she was part of the night. She felt each twig through the thin soles of her sandals, caught the faint musky odor of a coyote, heard the swoosh of a nighthawk and the tiny squeak of its prey.

She eased her way around a squat cholla cactus and ducked into the deep shadows of a mesquite tree, only a few feet from the outside wall of Siena’s quarters. To her dismay she saw that the shutters over Siena’s window were closed. That was surprising. With summer coming on, they should be open to let in the cool air. She eased up to the window and pressed her ear to the shutters, but all she could hear were low murmurs. She couldn’t tell what they were saying at all. She started to go back inside the Haven, then changed her mind. Why waste such a beautiful night?

She lowered herself to the ground and sat cross-legged. Then she reached inside her robe and withdrew her sonkrill. Sonkrills were talismans intended to help Tenders connect with Song. Their use came about in the chaotic years after the fall of the Empire, as the remnants of the Tenders of Xochitl faced the awful truth of how they had abused their power and sought new ways to recover it, ways they hoped would be smiled upon by the Mother. Only a handful of Havens sought sonkrills, and generally they were of the Arc of Animals.

She held the sonkrill up and looked at it closely, hoping, as she always did, to see the glow she had only seen once before. The talisman remained dark and she sighed softly. Gripping it in both hands, she closed her eyes, focusing on drawing each breath deep into her lungs, then slowly releasing it. In and out she breathed, slipping further inside herself with each breath. Closing off the noise and clamor of the outside world and her own thoughts. Stilling her mind until it was a placid pool. As she had been taught, she visualized each inhalation as a slow tide of LifeSong that flowed first into her lungs and then through every fiber of her body. With each exhalation she felt LifeSong withdraw from the far reaches of her body, narrowing to a single point in the center of her chest, then flowing up and out through her mouth.

When her concentration was strong enough, she took hold of the incoming LifeSong, then let go of herself. As she exhaled and LifeSong withdrew, it pulled her out of herself.

There was a lurch, and she was beyond.

The desert night faded, overlaid with a new world. In this new world a thick mist swirled around her, though she knew it was not really mist, just as she knew she was not seeing it with her eyes.

Going beyond was the primary goal of every Tender’s early training, for it was there that a Tender could see LifeSong, which was a vital step toward controlling it. It was their ability to manipulate LifeSong which for centuries had made the Tenders so powerful.

These days, only a few Tenders actually managed to make it beyond, but once they did they were helpless. The stronger ones could part the mists and see LifeSong, but they could not take hold of it or bend it to their will.

Netra had only managed to go beyond for the first time a few days ago. So what if there were no powers to be gained by coming here? There was a peace here, a sense of oneness with the Mother and all of her creation that surpassed everything else. Other than Cara, she hadn’t told any of the other Tenders about it yet. Right now she just wanted to keep it for herself.

 Netra concentrated on the mists, focusing the power of her will to try and part them. After a few minutes, her efforts were rewarded as the mists thinned, revealing threads of light that glowed with a gentle golden color. One was connected to her akirma. There were smaller threads of light as well, connecting to the plants and various creatures around her.

Looking around, Netra saw two other threads of light similar in size to hers nearby. Those flows probably connected to Siena and Brelisha. She followed the flows until she could see two glowing figures ahead. Siena and Brelisha’s akirmas glowed with a warm, white light, though hints of other colors surfaced here and there, indicating strong emotions or sensations. The white light was Selfsong, that Life-energy held within a living thing’s akirma.

In the center of each woman’s akirma was a brighter glow. That was her Heartglow. Selfsong could bleed away and yet life remain, but once Heartglow left the akirma there was only death.

Something caught Netra’s attention and she looked down. Drifting near her was an unusual flow. Not only was its normal golden glow tinged with a cancerous yellow color, but it was not connected to anything. It seemed to be drifting aimlessly.

Then it snapped forward and struck her. Netra felt a sudden burning pain and she jerked back and fell out of beyond.

She scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding. What was that odd yellow flow? Where had it come from?

Suddenly she felt very exposed and alone out there in the darkness and she hurried to the back door of the Haven and went inside.

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