Page 147 of Circle of Days

In reconstructing the Monument, the priestesses had made the best of a bad job: much of the timber was damaged and scorched. Ani began to feel that the place might truly be cursed. It was beginning to look that way.

Some of the traders packed up their goods and left at midday.

One way and another, the Spring Rite was a disaster.

Ani talked to the flint knapper El, whose granddaughter had been killed by the woodlanders. El needed to buy unimproved flints—called “blanks” or “cores”—so that he could turn them into useful tools by shaping them and sharpening the edges. As usual she marveled at how the knapper knew exactly where to hitthe surface of the flint to make a flake fall away. It took a long time to acquire the skill, and most learned by watching a parent for years.

Sitting cross-legged outside the earth circle, with his grandson Janno beside him, El had a fresh flint in his left hand and a round stone in his right. His face bore the grey defeated look of grief. “There’s only one man here selling cores,” he said. “And his flints aren’t the best—not floorstone.”

The hard black floorstone came only from underground mines. She said: “Where are the miners?”

“Some of them were talking about going to Upriver to trade.”

That would be it, Ani thought despondently. The village of Upriver was nearer to the mines, which were along the north side of the Great Plain. “But they’ve always come here in the past,” she said.

“They’re afraid of more attacks by woodlanders.”

That was ridiculous. “The tribe that attacked us no longer exists! Those that are still alive have scattered. West Wood, or the remnant of it, is deserted.”

“I know that.” El shrugged. “But people think this place is cursed.”

She had had the same thought herself, but she was horrified to hear it from someone else. And there was no way to prove that a person or thing wasnotcursed, so the accusation usually stuck.

El added: “I’m only telling you what others are saying.”

“I’m not blaming you, El,” said Ani. “Thank you for letting me know.” She thought for a few moments. “Did they use that word?”

“What word?”

“‘Cursed.’”

“Yes,” he said. “They say the Monument is cursed.”

One morning Pia took Olin into East Wood, to a place where strawberries grew early. After a rainy winter the Great Plain was enjoying a sunny spring. Sure enough, she found the small, dark-red berries growing low on the ground, half hidden by their leaves. She showed them to Olin, saying: “Look! Strawberries!”

Olin repeated “Look!” but he could not manage to say “strawberries.” He had seen only one midsummer, and could say just a few words.

Pia picked a strawberry and ate it. Olin immediately held out his hand for one. She picked another and put it into his hand. In grasping it he squashed it, but he got the remains to his mouth and held out his hand for another.

They ate some more, then Pia began to put them in her basket. “For Grandmamma,” she said.

Olin said: “Gamma.”

Pia picked half the strawberries and left the rest for the woodlanders who lived here. She had noticed that they never picked a bush clean, and she followed their custom.

She lifted Olin and walked out of the wood. Their dog barked a greeting, and Olin pointed at the animal and said: “Dog.”

“Very good!” Pia said. “Clever boy!”

Her mother, Yana, had been weeding, and was now resting outside the house, drinking water and talking to Duff. Pia putOlin down to crawl around, then sat with them and offered strawberries to the visitor.

Duff said: “I’ve been in the wood too.” He picked up a basket from the ground beside him and passed it to Pia. It contained wild leaves and spring onions. “Those leaves are bitter, but something in them gives you a happy feeling,” he said.

Pia smiled. “Happy leaves,” she said.

“I brought you a message as well as some vegetables,” Duff said. “Troon wants to speak to everyone at midday outside his house.”

Pia glanced up at the sky. It was midmorning.