Page 114 of Circle of Days

“May I enter your house?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thank you.”

Yana greeted Bez and got him some water. Pia wondered whether Bez knew that his brother, Fell, had been killed. She might have to give him the news. She was not sure how to put it. Clumsily, she said: “About Fell…”

“I know,” he said. “Gida and I found the bodies.”

Yana said: “Oh, how terrible.”

“We burned them, and Gida sang a song.”

“I’m so glad,” said Pia. “Stam wouldn’t let me.”

“I guessed so. But it must have been you who laid them out so beautifully in the shelter.”

“It was all I was allowed to do.”

“I was comforted to see that my brother’s body had been treated with respect, and I thank you.”

Pia was glad that she had done something right in the midst of horror.

Bez said: “I placed the dog on the pyre at Han’s feet.”

Pia was crying. “Thank you,” she said.

“But I know only the end of the story. You must tell me the beginning. I need to understand.”

“Of course.” Pia wiped her tears with her hands and tried to marshal her thoughts. “Fell brought us a deer—such a generous gift. We were sitting down, talking, when Thunder barked and we knew a stranger was coming. Han went to see who it was. I felt that something was wrong and I followed him. I found him lying on the ground with an arrow in his neck, bleeding to death. I’m sorry, I can’t stop crying.”

“I’m so sorry to make you cry,” said Bez. “But I must know what happened. What else did you see?”

“Stam, standing there, putting another arrow to his bow.”

“So the killer was Stam?”

“Yes.”

“No one else was there?”

“No. That second arrow wounded Fell, and then Stam cut poor Fell’s throat with a knife.”

Bez nodded. “We thought it must have been Stam, but I needed to hear it from you.”

Yana said shrewdly: “Is there some reason, Bez, why you need to be absolutely sure who did this?”

“Yes,” he said solemnly. “The gods demand a balance. When there is a blow, it must be returned. And where there is a murder, the murderer must die. The hammer of the gods must fall upon the head of the guilty.”

On the day before the Midsummer Rite, the priestesses rehearsed their ritual. The dance and the song that went with it were performed only once a year, so they needed to practice. Joia tookthem through it, prompting them with the words and guiding them as they wove in and out of the timber posts. They did it a second time. After the third she was satisfied, and they went into the dining hall for the midday meal.

They sat on the floor in neat rows, waiting, until High Priestess Ello came in; then dinner was served, a stew of cows’ brains and dandelions. Their numbers were reduced, because three older priestesses had died in the winter.

Conversationally, Joia said: “Perhaps we should recruit more novices. The Midsummer Rite is a good opportunity—people see us at our best.”

Ello observed sourly: “More priestesses mean we need more food.”

“But we have to preserve the knowledge that’s in our songs. If the priestesshood should die out, the knowledge would be lost forever.”