Climate of Change by Piers Anthony Page A

answer. Not without giving away her secret. Yet if they remained here, for even a few days, she would have to give Harbinger more sex. That was the price of shelter. She had done it once; he would expect it again. Boys did. It was a natural belief, on his part.
    It was soon evident that the storm was indeed coming. It was looming from the northwest, over the range of mountains.
    â€œWe need more wood,” Craft said, turning back to the forest. “You had better help.”
    Well, it was something to do. She followed them along the path. It gave her more time to make a decision, assuming she had some sort of choice. But her choices seemed to be to give Harbinger sex voluntarily, or to get repeatedly raped. Craft would try to defend her, and get himself killed. Unless she warned him, and he armed himself and did what he thought he had to do. She couldn’t have that. So, until they had a chance to get away, it was voluntary sex. Voluntary in the sense that it was the best of bad alternatives.
    That meant in turn that she would have to tell Craft. She hated the necessity, but could not avoid it.
    They reached the forest region. The trees were mostly bare, with some scattered fallen branches. Haven took hold of the largest one she thought she could handle, and dragged it along toward the house.
    The men took more time to gather choice pieces, so Haven led them back. In fact she reached the house, panting with the effort, before they came in sight of it.
    â€œHo.”
    Haven jumped. There was a person there by the hearth. She had been concentrating on her dragging and hadn’t looked. Who was this?
    â€œWo-man,” the other said, surprised. The voice was high. It was another woman! In fact, Haven recognized her.
    â€œCrenelle,” she said, amazed.
    The woman stared. “Haven!”
    They came together and embraced. They had met about a year ago, when Hero had made his unsuccessful trip south to find land. Haven and Hero had stayed the night with Crenelle, and the woman had been fairly taken with Hero, and he with her, but he had to see to his mission first, so nothing came of it. Haven had chided him on their way back: “You should have bedded her. She would have welcomed it.” Actually he had had a night of sex with the girl, but she had insisted that he say he had done something, and he wouldn’t, because he hadn’t, he said. Haven had been confused.
    â€œBut she would have considered it marriage,” he had replied. “Icouldn’t do that.” He had been unable to compromise, though plainly much interested.
    â€œShe’s young, but supple. Marriage to her wouldn’t have been bad.”
    He nodded, reconsidering. “Maybe if we meet again.”
    So it had not happened. But Haven had come to know Crenelle somewhat in that night, adapting to her dialect, liking her. The woman was two years her junior, actually the same age as Rebel, but competent and sensible. But what was she doing here in the north?
    â€œI live here with my brother,” Crenelle answered. Her dialect made her hard to understand in detail, but Haven got the gist of it, because of her prior experience. “We moved north, looking for better land. But this doesn’t seem to be it.”
    â€œYour brother,” Haven said, amazed. “Harbinger?” But now she remembered: Crenelle had mentioned her absent brother, before.
    â€œYes. I had to go trade for supplies for the winter. I hurried back to beat the storm.” She glanced at the looming cloudbank. “But why did you come here?”
    â€œLooking for land,” Haven echoed. Then she gripped her nerve and said it: “Your brother raped me.”
    Crenelle’s response amazed her. “So you married him! That’s wonderful. I wish your brother had raped me.”
    â€œRaped you! But—”
    â€œThis is how we marry. The man abducts the girl he likes and rapes her, and they are married.”
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