children already! Have you any?"
"No, I'm not married."
"But haven't you ever lain with a woman!"
"Well, yes," he said, and then more assertively, "Of course! But when we want children, we marry."
"If you were one of us—"
"But I'm not one of you," he said. Silence ensued. Finally he said, gently enough, "It isn't manners and mores that make the difference. We don't know what's wrong, but it's in the seed. Some doctors have thought that because this sun's different from the sun our race was born under, it affects us, changes the seed in us little by little. And the change kills."
Again there was silence between them for a time. "What was the other world like—your home?"
"There are songs that tell what it was like," he said, but when she asked timidly what a song was, he did not reply. After a while he said, "At home, the world was closer to its sun, and the whole year there wasn't even one moonphase long. So the books say. Think of it, the whole Winter would only last ninety days ..." This made them both laugh. "You wouldn't have time to light a fire,"
Rolery said.
Real darkness was soaking into the dimness of the woods. The path in front of them ran indistinct, a faint gap among the trees leading left to her city, right to his. Here, between, was only wind, dusk, solitude. Night was coming quickly. Night and winter and war, a time of dying. "I'm afraid of the Winter," she said, very low. "We all are," he said. "What will it be like? ... We've only known the sunlight."
There was no one among her people who had ever broken her fearless, careless solitude of mind; having no age-mates, and by choice also, she had always been quite alone, going her own way and caring little for any person. But now as the world had turned gray and nothing held any promise beyond death, now as she first felt fear, she had met him, the dark figure near the tower-rock over the sea, and had heard a voice that spoke in her blood.
"Why will you never look at me?" he asked.
"I will," she said, "if you want me to." But she did not, though she knew his strange shadowy gaze was on her. At last she put out her hand and he took it.
"Your eyes are gold," he said. "I want... I want... But if they knew we were together, even now..."
"Your people?"
"Yours. Mine care nothing about it."
"And mine needn't find out." They both spoke almost in whispers, but urgently, without pauses.
"Rolery, I leave for the north two nights from now."
"I know that."
"When I come back—"
"But when you don't come back!" the girl cried out, under the pressure of the terror that had entered her with Autumn's end, the fear of coldness, of death. He held her against him telling her quietly that he would come back. As he spoke she felt the beating of his heart and the beating of her own. "I want to stay with you," she said, and he was saying, "I want to stay with you."
It was dark around them. When they got up they walked slowly in a grayish darkness. She came with him, towards his city. "Where can we go?" he said with a kind of bitter laugh. "This isn't like love hi Summer ... There's a hunter's shelter down the ridge a way ... They'll miss you in Tevar."
"No," she whispered, "they won't miss me."
CHAPTER SIX: Snow
THE FORE-RUNNERS had gone; tomorrow the Men of Askatevar would march north on the broad vague trail that divided their Range, while the smaller group from Landin would take the old road up the coast. Like Agat, Umaksu-man had judged it best to keep the two forces apart until the eve of fighting. They were allied only by Wold's authority. Many of Umaksuman's men, though veterans of many raids and forays before the Winter Peace, were reluctant to go on this unseasonal war; and a sizable faction, even within his own Kin, so detested this alliance with the farborns that they were ready to make any trouble they could. Uk-wet and others had said openly that when they had finished with the Gaal they would finish off the witches. Agat discounted this,
"No, I'm not married."
"But haven't you ever lain with a woman!"
"Well, yes," he said, and then more assertively, "Of course! But when we want children, we marry."
"If you were one of us—"
"But I'm not one of you," he said. Silence ensued. Finally he said, gently enough, "It isn't manners and mores that make the difference. We don't know what's wrong, but it's in the seed. Some doctors have thought that because this sun's different from the sun our race was born under, it affects us, changes the seed in us little by little. And the change kills."
Again there was silence between them for a time. "What was the other world like—your home?"
"There are songs that tell what it was like," he said, but when she asked timidly what a song was, he did not reply. After a while he said, "At home, the world was closer to its sun, and the whole year there wasn't even one moonphase long. So the books say. Think of it, the whole Winter would only last ninety days ..." This made them both laugh. "You wouldn't have time to light a fire,"
Rolery said.
Real darkness was soaking into the dimness of the woods. The path in front of them ran indistinct, a faint gap among the trees leading left to her city, right to his. Here, between, was only wind, dusk, solitude. Night was coming quickly. Night and winter and war, a time of dying. "I'm afraid of the Winter," she said, very low. "We all are," he said. "What will it be like? ... We've only known the sunlight."
There was no one among her people who had ever broken her fearless, careless solitude of mind; having no age-mates, and by choice also, she had always been quite alone, going her own way and caring little for any person. But now as the world had turned gray and nothing held any promise beyond death, now as she first felt fear, she had met him, the dark figure near the tower-rock over the sea, and had heard a voice that spoke in her blood.
"Why will you never look at me?" he asked.
"I will," she said, "if you want me to." But she did not, though she knew his strange shadowy gaze was on her. At last she put out her hand and he took it.
"Your eyes are gold," he said. "I want... I want... But if they knew we were together, even now..."
"Your people?"
"Yours. Mine care nothing about it."
"And mine needn't find out." They both spoke almost in whispers, but urgently, without pauses.
"Rolery, I leave for the north two nights from now."
"I know that."
"When I come back—"
"But when you don't come back!" the girl cried out, under the pressure of the terror that had entered her with Autumn's end, the fear of coldness, of death. He held her against him telling her quietly that he would come back. As he spoke she felt the beating of his heart and the beating of her own. "I want to stay with you," she said, and he was saying, "I want to stay with you."
It was dark around them. When they got up they walked slowly in a grayish darkness. She came with him, towards his city. "Where can we go?" he said with a kind of bitter laugh. "This isn't like love hi Summer ... There's a hunter's shelter down the ridge a way ... They'll miss you in Tevar."
"No," she whispered, "they won't miss me."
CHAPTER SIX: Snow
THE FORE-RUNNERS had gone; tomorrow the Men of Askatevar would march north on the broad vague trail that divided their Range, while the smaller group from Landin would take the old road up the coast. Like Agat, Umaksu-man had judged it best to keep the two forces apart until the eve of fighting. They were allied only by Wold's authority. Many of Umaksuman's men, though veterans of many raids and forays before the Winter Peace, were reluctant to go on this unseasonal war; and a sizable faction, even within his own Kin, so detested this alliance with the farborns that they were ready to make any trouble they could. Uk-wet and others had said openly that when they had finished with the Gaal they would finish off the witches. Agat discounted this,
Similar Books
