Page 142 of Circle of Days

They always told each other what they had done. Neen oftenlay with a stranger from the north, someone she would probably never see again; she enjoyed the feeling that what she was doing would have no consequences. Seft hoped to find a group of women and men all having sex with each other at the same time. There was no love in it: that was part of the attraction.

They came to the edge of the village. Fires had been lit at intervals, taking the bite from the winter air. Most people were still looking around, some alone, some in pairs, a few in small groups, searching for whatever it was they liked. A few had begun, and several shearling coats were humping up and down already.

Seft and Neen kissed affectionately. Neen said: “Have a good time.”

Seft said: “You too.”

Then they went in different directions.

Sometimes Joia envied those who liked sex with people they did not love, or did not even know. It might be fun to enjoy the pleasure then forget the person. But she could not do it. She had tried, with a priestess at a revel, but it had left her unmoved and reluctant to try again. So, when the poet ended his story, she headed back to the Monument.

There would be a few traders outside now, she expected, guarding the goods left there overnight. Some would be walking around, chatting to each other, while others would be asleep.

However, as she got closer she realized that it was not so. She could hear strange noises and she smelled smoke. She broke into a run.

The possessions of the traders littered the ground outside the earth bank, but there seemed to be no one guarding them. Looking closer, she saw a boy peeping out from under a leather blanket. She recognized him as Janno, grandson of El the flint knapper. She knelt down beside him. “What’s happening, Janno?” she said.

He was terrified and barely coherent. “They killed my sister!” he said hysterically. He pointed, and Joia saw the body of a young woman on the ground.

“I’m very sorry, Janno,” Joia said. “That’s very sad. But you must tell me something else. What did they steal?”

“Nothing!” he said.

Joia was baffled. What did they want? And who were they?

She looked toward the Monument. The moonlight showed her five or six figures on the circular bank, presumably traders who had been guarding their pitches. At first she thought they must be dead, but then she saw that they were moving. They seemed to be peeping over the edge—as she had done so many midsummers ago—but what were they watching? There could be no ceremony going on: none was scheduled, and the priestesses were still at Riverbend.

Fear seized her.

She ran to the bank and up the slope to the top, then looked into the circle. She was horrified by what she saw.

The Monument was burning.

Some thirty men and women were there, and by their bare feet she knew they were woodlanders. She could see the remains of the dry twigs they had used as tinder, and she could smell thebirch tar they had applied to make sure the timbers blazed up quickly. Now all the posts were on fire and some of the crossbars were already smoldering.

Two figures lay still on the ground, and Joia knew by their long tunics that they were priestesses. They must have decided to skip the revel and come straight home, as Joia had. But they had been ahead of her and had tried to stop the woodlanders burning the Monument. The positions of their bodies, and their splayed limbs, told her they were dead.

One of the woodlanders was Bez.

Joia stood upright at the very top of the ridge and yelled: “Bez! Bez! This is me—I am Joia!”

All the woodlanders looked at her. She could tell by their faces that their blood was up and they wanted to kill her. She had acted without thinking—again—and she had done something stupid and dangerous.

But she could not stop now.

She walked slowly down the slope into the circle, making herself appear calm while inside she was terrified. Speaking loudly, but not shouting, she said: “Stop, please, Bez.” She hoped they could not hear the tremor in her voice.

Bez said: “The gods demand a balance.”

One of the woodlanders ran at her and hit her with a club. She dodged, and the weapon missed her head but hit her shoulder, and she fell to her knees. I’m going to die now, she thought. And I have so much yet to do!

She looked at the man as he raised his club again. Then sheheard Bez shout: “Omun!” then something peremptory in the woodlander tongue.

The man called Omun lowered his club and backed away.

Joia’s shoulder hurt like fire but she struggled up. She looked at Bez, his face lit red by the flames. He spoke again in the woodlander tongue, and pointed at the break in the bank that served as the entrance and exit. Some of them spoke back angrily to him, and she guessed they wanted to kill her. But Bez prevailed, and reluctantly they turned away from Joia and began to run.

She shouted: “Why are you doing this, Bez?”