Page 16 of Circle of Days

Inka was instructing Joia and another novice. Joia had met Inka before, at the revel, when she had been holding hands with Vee’s mother, Kae. She was knowledgeable and clever, and Joia soaked up the information she had to offer.

The other novice, Sary, was older than Joia by a couple of midsummers, but she was small and thin and timid. Because of her nervousness she had difficulty understanding and remembering the lessons, so Joia helped her, despite occasionally becoming impatient with her.

Ani had argued stubbornly against Joia’s joining the priestesshood.

Neen had supported her, saying she did not want to lose her sister.

But Joia would not give in, and in the end Ani had said: “You’re going to hate it, but perhaps it’s best you find that out for yourself.

Go ahead, become a novice. You’ll be back home in two weeks. ”

Ani had been wrong. Joia was happy.

The lessons were the best part. She had already learned how to name the numbers: you did not have to remember them all, because there was a logical system for making them up.

The dance steps, which always involved counting, were not difficult for Joia, and she knew them all already.

The songs were more challenging. There were so many of them, and the priestesses never sang the same song two days running.

As Soo had told her, on that fateful day when she had spied on the sunrise ceremony, the songs were a store of learning, the treasure of the people of the Great Plain.

One day Joia would be able to remember all the words, and then she would know as much as anyone in the world.

For today’s lesson they were inside the Monument, sitting on the grass in front of the wooden arch within which the sun rose on Midsummer Day.

“Look at the upright on the right-hand side,” Inka said.

“When we dance on the day after midsummer, we place two counters at the foot of that upright, to show that it is the second day of the week.”

The counters were the pottery discs that Soo had shown Joia.

Sary came out of her shell far enough to say: “We must have a lot of counters, for all the days of the year.”

Inka was always patient with Sary. “Not really, though I can see why you might think that,” she said gently.

“We add a counter every day until we have twelve, and we know that is the last day of the week. On the following day we pick up all the counters and move to the second upright, where we put one down.”

Joia said: “And there are thirty uprights.”

“Yes, so how many days are there in thirty weeks?”

Joia knew the names of the numbers, but she still could not make difficult calculations. She was humbled. “I don’t know, sorry.”

“Don’t worry, it’s difficult. The answer is three hundred and sixty. But in a year there are five more days.”

Joia guessed what Inka was going to say next. In the middle of the Monument, surrounded by the thirty uprights with their crossbars, were five stand-alone arches—paired uprights with crossbars but not joined together—forming an incomplete oval shape. They must represent the five extra days.

Inka went on to say exactly that.

“And finally,” she said, “using this method, we find that after a few years the midsummer sunrise seems to start a little late.”

“But it can’t!” Joia protested.

“You’re right. The sun’s course never alters from year to year. Rather, there’s a flaw in our calculations. The true number of days in a year is three hundred and sixty-five and a quarter.”

Joia could not understand how there could be a quarter of a day.

Inka went on: “So once in every four years we add an extra day. And then the midsummer sun always rises when we expect it to.”

Joia was amazed and thrilled. The priestesses really understood what was happening in the sky. It seemed miraculous.

Inka said: “Now it’s dinnertime. And try to remember everything I’ve told you, so that you can explain it back to me tomorrow.”

Joia realized that it was midday and she was hungry. She and Sary headed for the building that was the dining hall by day and a dormitory at night. Sary said fearfully: “I can’t remember all that. It’s so difficult. She’s going to be angry with me tomorrow.”

“Let’s go over it early in the morning,” Joia suggested. “Perhaps we can help each other remember.”

Outside the dining hall Joia saw her older sister, Neen, leaning against the wall, obviously waiting to see her. “Can I talk to you?” Neen said.

“Is something wrong?”

“In a way, yes.”

Sary went inside. Joia took Neen’s arm and they walked around the outside of the earth bank. The plain stretched away into the hazy distance. Joia said: “What’s happened?”

Neen said: “I’m having a baby.”

Joia smiled broadly. “How wonderful! A new tiny baby in our family.”

“You’ve never liked babies much.”

“Well, no, but I’ll love your baby. And Mamma must be thrilled.”

“Oh, she is.”

“But you’re not so happy.” That much was obvious.

Neen looked uncomfortable. She stopped, and Joia did the same. They found themselves looking at a calf suckling from its mother. After a long pause Neen said: “The father is Seft.”

“Not Enwood.”

“I’ve never lain with Enwood.”

“Really? I assumed…”

“I like Enwood but I love Seft.”

“A while ago you weren’t so sure.”

“The longer Seft stays away, the more I love him.”

This was bad news, Joia thought. Neen was in love with a man who had vanished. It was sure to make her unhappy. But what could she do?

They walked on around the circular bank. Joia tried to be practical. “When you have a baby, you’ll need a man.”

“That’s what Mamma says. I should forget Seft and make up my mind to have Enwood. I know he wants me—he’s made that clear. He doesn’t know I’m pregnant, but when I tell him, he’ll be happy to raise a child conceived on Midsummer Night—it’s the tradition.”

“And you still don’t know where Seft is?”

Tears came to Neen’s eyes. “I don’t even know whether he’s alive.” Neen began to cry.

Joia hugged her, thinking hard. When Neen’s sobs eased, Joia said: “You can wait a bit longer.”

“I can. But the longer I wait, the more obvious it becomes that Enwood is my second choice, and I only want him because Seft has disappeared.”

Joia nodded. “Sooner or later that will put a man off.”

“And the baby makes that worse. Oh, Joia, what am I going to do?”

“You could wait until the Autumn Rite. If Seft doesn’t show up for that, you could give up.”

“It can’t be many more days until the Autumn Rite.”

“Twenty.”

Neen smiled through her tears. “You know that sort of thing now, of course—you’re a priestess.”

They had walked full circle around the outside of the Monument and had come to the start of the track that led to Riverbend. “I should go home,” Neen said.

“I’ll walk with you.”

On the way Joia tried to cheer Neen up. “Would you prefer a boy or a girl?” she said.

“Oh, I don’t mind. I’d love a little baby girl. But boys are sweet, too, when they’re little. I adored baby Han. I still adore him.”

“Mamma will help you when the baby comes. She knows all about it.”

“She should, she’s had three.”

Neen’s tears had dried by the time they reached the house. Ani was outside, stirring a pot, but she looked worried. Joia said: “What’s the matter, Mamma?”

“It may be nothing,” she said. “I went looking for Scagga, to speak to him about a matter to do with the elders, but I couldn’t find him.

His mother told me he was off somewhere making birch tar.

” Birch tar was a glue. “I saw his sister Jara, and asked her where I could find him, and she said: ‘Oh, he’s around here somewhere.’ But she was lying, I could tell. ”

She took the spatula out of the pot and stared at it as if it could reveal secrets. “Scagga has vanished,” she said.

Pia woke up in the middle of the night and said: “What’s that smell?”

There was an instant of silence, then her father jerked upright. “Smoke,” he said. He snatched up his tunic and ran out of the house.

That frightened Pia.

Her mother came awake and said: “What is it?”

“Dadda says it’s smoke,” Pia said.

“I smell it.” Yana pulled on her tunic and shoes, and Pia did the same. She followed her mother out of the house, but then Mamma began to run, and Pia could not keep up.

In the moonlight Pia saw men, women, and children all running in the same direction. The smell got stronger as they ran. Pia heard the word “fire” several times. Of course, she thought, something must be burning—but what?

A few moments later she found out. It was the Break.

The bean crop had sprouted and was now as high as Pia’s waist, and it was burning.

She could see that the fire had started at the far end of the Break and spread south.

But she did not understand how the leaves could be burning. Normally only dry things burned.

Her father was naked and trying to put out the flames by smothering them with his leather tunic.

Other men and women were doing the same.

Yana said to Pia: “Stay well back!” Then she stripped off her tunic and joined those fighting the fire.

Others had taken leafy branches from the wood and were using them to swipe at the flames. Everyone was coughing in the smoke.

Troon was walking up and down, angrily shouting orders, telling people to fetch leather mats or bring water from the river, and to run, run, run.

Someone brought a large pot of water and threw it on the blaze, but it was too little to make a difference.

Pia’s friend Mo came and stood beside her. Mo’s parents were in the field, fighting the fire. Mo was crying, and Pia put an arm around her.

Soon everyone in the village was there, attacking the flames with whatever came to hand. Pia thought they would never put it out, but after a while she saw, with relief, that they had stopped its advance. In the next few minutes the flames began to die down. Mo stopped crying.

Pia saw that about half the bean crop had been destroyed.