Climate of Change by Piers Anthony

silence suggested that she wanted it, like the girl who liked the feel of a member in her, but pretended it was nothing. Was Haven a similar tease? Maybe the man had been led on by her seeming acquiescence, and been overcome by desire, and just had to do it.
    Hero had said that sex had been like a great thunderclap of joy coming from his penis and spreading to the rest of him. He thought there was something inside the girl that filled him to bursting with pleasure. Maybe she didn’t like it because she felt the pleasure being taken away from her body.
    Certainly Haven had had no joy of this union, while Harbinger obviously had. The woman gave it to the man. If she hadn’t wanted to, why hadn’t she screamed? She shouldn’t have had to think of it; she should have done it automatically. Why had she spread her legs instead of pulling them together? Had she really been making mistakes, or only pretending to? She wished she could talk with her sister Rebel, who was two years younger, but surprisingly knowledgeable about certain things.
    She gazed in Harbinger’s direction, though it was now too dark to see him. He had acted as if he liked her. He had kissed her hand. He thought she had given sex to him as a gift for the lodging. Could he be blamed? Maybe she
had
given it. Maybe she had pretended to herself that she didn’t want it, but had really offered it to him, by showing her breasts and getting alone with him and not screaming. Because she knew how much pleasure she could give him, to make him glad they were here, so he wouldn’t send them back out into the cold night. All she had to do was flip up her cloak and bare her bottom, as it were. Not much trouble at all, very soon over. So it was her fault.
    Settled on that, at last, she relaxed again. Now the tears came, silently, copiously. She had crossed a boundary, and could never cross back, even if she never saw Harbinger again. Would it have been better to play the game with neighbor boys, and let them go into her, so she knew how it felt, so that she had nothing remaining to lose? What had she lost, really? She didn’t know. But still she cried. Maybe she had done it on purpose, but now she felt the burgeoning grief of it. She haddone wrong; she knew it, even if there was no rationale. The guilt of it suffused her, and overflowed from her eyes.
    She woke several times in the night, her face wet. But by morning she had run out of tears. She had done what she had done, and it was done, and she and Craft would go on, hoping to find land for the family. For the two of them, and Hero, Rebel, and Keeper. That would be the end of this significant night.
    Then she woke to full daylight, and both men were gone. She had finally slept soundly. But they had to get moving, so as to be somewhere good before the next night, for this region was inhospitable.
    She got up, and felt the ache in her cleft. But that would heal. She went out, and the air was much colder. She went to the refuse place and squatted, checking herself more carefully. There was no doubt she had been raped; she had not dreamed it. But she wanted to get well away from here, so as to be able to bury the memory and her guilt.
    She returned to the fire, which was blazing well. The warmth was wonderful. Soon the men returned, with more wood. Harbinger brought out the last of his stored meat and shared it with them, to eat at the flame.
    â€œHe doesn’t have much,” Craft said. “After this he’ll go hungry. There’s no game here at this season.”
    â€œHe told you this?”
    â€œNo. I observed. It won’t be good for us out there, either. I think we should stay and help him. We know some things he doesn’t, about making a house secure. Together maybe we can get through the storm.”
    â€œStorm?”
    â€œHe signaled a storm. I believe him. The signs are there.”
    â€œBut we can’t stay!”
    â€œWhy not?”
    She couldn’t