Page 12 of Circle of Days

The priestesses intrigued her. They always knew exactly when it was Midsummer Day and Midwinter Day, and the Spring Halfway and the Autumn Halfway too.

If you asked them questions, they would say things like: “Midwinter will be in ten days’ time.

” How did they do that? How did they know these things?

Clearly they had secret knowledge that no one else possessed. The thought excited her.

Roni said: “But their rituals are holy secrets. We might displease the gods.”

“I don’t believe the gods would care about three girls peeking—do you?”

Roni was reluctant to concede the point. “I don’t know. You don’t know, either.”

Vee said: “I agree with Joia. We wouldn’t offend the gods. But the High Priestess might be angry with us. And then we could be flogged.”

Grown-ups were never flogged, but children sometimes were, for serious offenses: setting fire to a house, tormenting a cow, that sort of thing.

Joia had suffered this punishment twice, and it really hurt, but somehow that had not turned her into a rule keeper.

“If the priestesses see us peeking, we’ll run away,” she said.

“They won’t know who we are, they don’t know us, and they can’t run fast in those long tunics. ”

Joia and her friends and everyone else wore a simple knee-length tunic, two pieces of leather sewn together with a bone needle, using the sinew of a cow as thread.

The stitching left a hole for the head and two holes for the arms. The priestesses also wore leather tunics, but theirs were ankle-length and had sleeves, warm but constricting. Joia had never seen a priestess run.

Roni still looked dubious.

Joia said: “You don’t have to come with us if you don’t want to.”

As Joia knew, Roni could not bear to be left out. She was unsure of herself—despite being so beautiful—and she needed the comfort of belonging to a group. “But I do want to go with you,” she said.

Vee said: “When shall we do it?”

“Tomorrow,” Joia said immediately.

Roni was dismayed. “So soon!”

“No point in delaying.” Joia did not want to give her more time to change her mind.

“Let’s meet outside Vee’s house before dawn.

We need to reach the Monument by daybreak or soon after.

” The Monument lay to the southwest of the village, and to walk there took about the time needed to boil a pot of water.

The others nodded assent, and Joia stood up. “It must be nearly time to eat,” she said. The sun was high and she was hungry for the midday meal.

They left the riverside and went separate ways through the village.

As Joia walked she recalled the adventure of the Three Streams Wood. Looking back, she could see that she had been foolish to suggest it, and the others should not have let her talk them into it.

The woodlanders were normally gentle people.

They sometimes came to the Rites, bringing nuts and game to trade.

They needed flints—everyone needed flints, which were the only tools with a sharp edge—but there were no flint mines in the woods.

They also liked to trade for bracelets and necklaces of beads made from carved bone.

However, people said that the woodlanders were easily offended, and then they could be violent. Joia had forgotten this when she led Vee and Roni into the wood.

At first they did not meet any woodlanders, though Joia saw evidence of their presence in the form of hazelnut bushes carefully pruned and trimmed to yield the maximum harvest—a skill only the woodlanders had.

There were three levels of vegetation, she noticed. The pine trees were highest. Oaks and alders were lower and wider. There was an understory of hazel, elder, and birch, and finally moss and lichen at ground level.

She began to feel that she was being watched, hidden eyes peering curiously at her through the foliage. She told herself not to worry. The woodlanders were probably shy. Perhaps they were even afraid of strangers.

The girls did not find a village and soon they were lost.

“We’re not lost,” Joia said firmly. “We just have to walk in a straight line until we come to the edge of the wood.”

A long time later, Vee said: “We’ve been here before. I remember that bog. We’re going around in circles.”

Roni began to cry.

For once Joia did not know what to do.

Then she saw the woodlanders.

They appeared as if from nowhere, moving silently, surrounding the three girls. The women and children were naked, the men wearing leather loincloths. Joia gave the polite formal greeting: “May the Sun God smile on you.”

The correct response was “And on you.” But a woman replied in the woodlander language, which Joia and her friends did not understand.

Joia knew they had their own language, but the ones who came to the Rites had always spoken a few words of the plainspeople’s tongue.

Now she realized that bilingual woodlanders must be exceptional.

But she could not think what to do, so she tried again: “We’re lost and we want to go home.”

The woodlanders spoke among themselves, as if discussing what to do next. Then suddenly three of the men picked up the three girls and slung them over their shoulders. Vee screamed and Roni sobbed. Joia wriggled fiercely, trying to get free, but the man was too strong for her.

The men carried them through the undergrowth, followed by the rest of the group, all chattering excitedly among themselves. Joia feared what they might be going to do. Will they rape us, she thought? Or even kill us and eat us?

She stopped struggling, too tired to go on with a useless effort.

Soon they emerged from the wood onto a grassy plain.

The three men put the girls down.

Joia looked around and realized that they were in exactly the place where they had entered the wood.

Without speaking, the three girls began to run.

All the woodlanders roared with laughter.

Afterward, Joia had pretended that she never thought the woodlanders intended any harm. Vee and Roni said they, too, had never really felt in danger. All three of them were lying, Joia realized.

Her reverie was ended by her sister’s voice. “Are you going to walk past me without speaking?”

Joia came back to the present. “Sorry, Neen,” she said. “I was daydreaming.”

The sisters were close. Neen had often been tasked with looking after young Joia, so they had spent a lot of time together.

Joia now understood that Neen had a strong mothering instinct.

She had played games with Joia, told her stories, sung songs, and taught her the good manners that were so important in the community of the Great Plain.

Joia in turn had worshipped her big sister, and still loved her for her kindness and wisdom.

“I was remembering that time I got lost in the wood,” Joia explained.

“Oh.”

Joia saw that Neen was distracted, and she guessed why. “No word from Seft yet?”

“No. I still have no idea what has happened to him.”

Joia remembered Seft limping away from the Midsummer Rite, his handsome face a mass of cuts and bruises and tears. “Perhaps he just went back to his family.”

Neen said: “Or he might have kept walking, beyond the borders of the plain, to start a new life somewhere else. Or he might have drowned himself in a river.”

Joia was disappointed for Neen. Seft seemed right for her.

Neen wanted to be a mother, and Seft—judging by the easy way he had chatted to young Han—seemed to have the makings of a natural father.

He was younger than Neen—sixteen midsummers to her eighteen—and quite shy, but very handsome, with his pale, narrow face, high cheekbones, and curved nose. Neen said he was clever, too.

Now she said: “I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.”

“Wait till the Autumn Rite,” Joia said. “We’ll either see Seft there or get word of him.”

“I suppose so.”

At some point, Joia feared, Neen would have to give up hope.

Joia did not have the same aspirations as Neen. She did not think she would be a good mother. And she had never fallen in love with a boy.

There was definitely something wrong with her.

It was still dark when Joia woke up. She immediately remembered the adventure planned for the day.

Yesterday she had been all confidence, but now she felt worried.

Was it a completely stupid idea? However, she was desperate to learn more about the priestesses.

They held the secrets of the sky, and Joia ached to know them.

She listened to the night sounds of her family, lying around her on the hides that covered the earth floor of the house.

Neen was breathing evenly, Han was muttering a little in his sleep, and their mother was snoring.

The puppy—now called Thunder—sensed that Joia was awake, and wagged optimistically, his tail beating the ground, but it was a familiar noise and did not disturb the sleepers.

Joia wondered how long it would be before daybreak. She was wide-awake, so it must be soon. She had to leave, silently.

She felt around, found her shoes, grabbed them, then stood up.

She was wearing her tunic—she slept in it, as most people did.

Carrying her shoes, treading softly, she lifted the wicker gate, slipped through the doorway, and replaced the gate carefully, making no noise.

Thunder gave a disappointed whimper that was almost human: she was tied up, and could not follow Joia.

Once again the puppy’s noise did not wake anyone. No one else stirred.

Outside, Joia paused a moment. The chill night air was like a drink of water from a cold stream. There was no moon, but the stars shone in the black sky and showed her the peaked silhouettes of silent neighboring houses.

She might not be the only early riser, she thought anxiously. She did not want to be seen and recognized. Anyone coming across her would ask, in a friendly way, what she was doing up so early; and the person would casually tell her mother, then the truth would come out.

She looked carefully all around but saw no one.