Page 2 of Circle of Days

Cog looked suspiciously at him. “Anyone who tries to take it over will get his head broken.”

“Good for you,” said Wun, pretending to endorse Cog’s belligerence. All the while he was taking a good look at the pile of part-finished flints, assessing their quality. “By the way,” he said, “there’s a trader here with a huge collection of antlers. Marvelous.”

The antlers of the red deer, almost as hard as stone and with pointed ends, were among the most important of the miners’ tools, being used as picks. Olf said to Cam: “We should see that.”

They were all looking at Wun, and no one was taking any notice of Seft. Seeing his opportunity, he quietly slipped away, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

There was a straight path from the Monument to the nearby village of Riverbend. Livestock grazed on either side of the beaten track. Seft did not like cows. When they looked at him he did not know what they were thinking.

Apart from that, he envied the herder folk.

All they did was sit around and watch their herds.

They did not have to hammer at a flint seam all day, breaking up the hard stone and carrying it up a climbing pole to the surface.

Cattle, sheep, and pigs reproduced themselves with little help, and the herders got richer all the time.

When he got to Riverbend he stared at the houses, which all looked the same.

Each had a low wall of wattle and daub—thin branches interwoven and daubed with mud—plus a roof of turves laid over rafters.

The doorway was two posts with a lintel lashed to them.

In summer everyone cooked outside, but in winter there was a permanent fire in the central hearth.

Meat was hung under the rafters to be smoked.

Right now a wicker gate half the height of the doorway let in fresh air but kept out stray dogs and all the little creatures that crept about at night looking for food.

In winter the doorway could be completely closed with a more substantial hurdle made to fit exactly.

There were a lot of pigs wandering around the village and the surrounding land, searching with their snouts for anything edible.

About half the houses were empty. They were for visitors, who came four times a year. The herder folk took care of their visitors, who brought great wealth by coming to trade.

Rites were held at the autumn equinox, called the Halfway; at midwinter; at the Spring Halfway; and, as now, at midsummer, which was tomorrow.

A key function of the priestesses was to keep track of the days of the year, so they could announce that, for example, the Autumn Halfway would be in six days’ time.

Seft stopped a herder woman and asked the way to Neen’s house.

Most people knew her, because her mother was an important person, an elder, and he got directions and soon found the place.

It was clean, tidy, and empty. Four people live here, he thought, and they’re all away from home!

But no doubt they had a lot of work in connection with the Rite.

Impatient, he began to search for Neen. He wandered around the houses, scanning for her smiling round face and her lush dark hair.

Many visitors had already moved into the spare houses, he noticed: single people and families with children, a few showing the wide-eyed curiosity of visitors to an unfamiliar place.

He wondered anxiously how Neen would welcome him.

It was a quarter of a year since they had spent that night talking together.

She had been warm to him then, but she might have cooled off.

She was so attractive and likable that there must be plenty of other men interested in her.

There’s nothing special about me, he thought.

And he was a couple of years younger than Neen.

She had not seemed to mind that, but he felt that she was awfully refined.

He came to the riverside, which was always busy, people fetching fresh water from upstream and washing themselves and their clothes downstream.

He did not see Neen, but he was relieved to come across her sister, whom he had met at the last Spring Rite.

She was a confident girl with a lot of curly hair and a determined chin.

He thought she was about thirteen. She would be fourteen tomorrow.

The people of the Great Plain reckoned age in midsummers, so everyone would be a year older on Midsummer Day.

What was her name? It came back to him: Joia.

She and two friends seemed to be washing shoes in the river. Their shoes were like everyone else’s, flat pieces of hide cut to shape and pierced with holes for drawstrings, which were made of the sinews of cows and were pulled tight to make the shoes fit closely.

He went up to her and said: “Remember me? I’m Seft.”

“Of course I remember.” She greeted him formally. “May the Sun God smile on you.”

“And on you. Why are you washing your shoes?”

She chuckled. “Because we don’t want to have smelly feet.”

Seft had never thought of that. He never washed his shoes. What if Neen smelled his feet? He was embarrassed already. He resolved to wash his shoes at the earliest opportunity.

Joia’s two friends were whispering and giggling, as girls sometimes did, unaccountably. Joia looked at them, sighed with irritation, and said loudly: “I expect you’re looking for my sister, Neen.”

“Of course.”

The two friends had expressions that said: So that’s it.

Seft went on: “Your house is empty. Do you know where Neen is?”

“She’s helping with the feast. Shall I show you the way?”

That was kind of her, he thought, to offer to leave her friends and help him. “Yes, please.”

Carrying her wet shoes, she said a cheery goodbye to her friends.

“The feast is prepared by Chack and Melly and all their kin, sons and daughters and cousins and I don’t know what else,” she said chattily.

“It’s a big family, which is a good thing, because it’s a big feast. There’s an open space in the middle of the village, and that’s where they do it. ”

As they walked side by side it occurred to Seft that Joia might be able to tell him how Neen felt about him. He said: “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

He stopped, and she did the same. He spoke in a lowered voice. “Tell me honestly, does Neen like me, do you think?”

Joia had lovely hazel eyes that now looked at him candidly. “I believe she does, though I couldn’t say how much.”

That was an unsatisfactory answer. “Well, does she talk about me, ever?”

Joia nodded thoughtfully. “Oh, I think she has mentioned you, more than once.”

She was being careful not to give things away, Seft thought with frustration. All the same he pressed on. “I really want to know her better. I think she’s… I don’t know how to describe her. Adorable.”

“You should say these things to her, not me.” Joia smiled to soften the reprimand.

He kept trying. “But will she be glad to hear them?”

“I think she’ll be glad to see you, but I can’t say more than that. She will speak for herself.”

Seft was two midsummers older than Joia, but he could not persuade her to confide in him. She was a strong character, he realized. He said helplessly: “I just don’t know if Neen feels the way I do.”

“Ask her, and you’ll find out,” Joia said, and Seft heard a touch of impatience in her tone. “What have you got to lose?”

“One more question,” he said. “Is there someone else she likes?”

“Well…”

“So there is.”

“He likes her, for sure. Whether she likes him, I couldn’t say.” Joia sniffed the air. “Smell that.”

“Roasting meat.” His mouth watered.

“Follow your nose and you’ll find Neen.”

“Thank you for your kind advice.”

“Good luck.” She turned and headed back.

He walked on. The two sisters were different, he reflected. Joia was brisk and bossy, Neen was wise and kind. Both were attractive, but the one he loved was Neen.

The smell of meat grew stronger and he came to the open space where several oxen were being roasted on spits. The feast would not be held until tomorrow evening, but he guessed it took a long time to cook something so big. No doubt the smaller beasts, the sheep and pigs, would be roasted tomorrow.

Twenty or so men, women, and children were milling about, tending the fires and turning the spits. After a moment Seft spotted Neen, sitting cross-legged on the ground, head bent, intent on some task.

She looked different from his memory of her, but even lovelier. She was tanned by the summer sun, and her dark hair now had lighter streaks. She frowned over her work, and her frown was impossibly charming.

She was using a flint scraper to clean the inside of a hide, doubtless the skin of one of the beasts now being cooked. Seft recalled that her mother was a leather tanner. The force of her concentration fascinated him and moved him almost to tears.

All the same, he was going to interrupt her.

He crossed the open space, his tension mounting with each step. Why am I worried? he asked himself. I should be happy. And I am happy. But also terrified.

He stopped in front of her, smiling. It took a few moments for her to tear her gaze away from the hide. Then she raised her head and saw him, and over her face there spread a smile so lovely that his heart seemed to stop.

After a moment she said: “It’s you.”

“Yes,” he said happily. “Me.”

She put down the scraper and the hide, then stood up. “I’ll finish this later,” she said. Taking Seft’s arm, and kicking a pig out of the way, she said: “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

They walked west, away from the river. The ground sloped up, as it usually did near rivers. He wanted to talk to her, but he did not know how to begin. After some thought, he said: “I’m very glad to see you again.”

She smiled. “I feel the same.”

That was a good start, he thought.