Page 62 of Circle of Days

“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 was not cursed, 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 put Olin 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.

Duff read her mind and said: “You’ve got plenty of time.”

She asked him: “Do you know what it’s about?”

“No, but I can tell you that the herders’ Spring Rite was poorly attended, and Troon is gloating over that.”

Pia shrugged. “We’ll soon find out.”

Duff got to his feet. “I’ll see you at noon.”

When he was out of earshot, Yana said: “What a nice young man.”

“Yes.”

“Did you know that he puts his Aunt Uda’s shoes on for her every morning, and ties the laces, because she can’t bend?”

Pia laughed. “I didn’t know that. He’s always kind to me.”

“I think he’s more than kind.”

Pia knew what her mother was getting at, but she asked the question anyway. “What do you mean?”

“You told me he saved your life in the great fire.”

“That’s true. I couldn’t run very fast because I was carrying Olin. Then I fell over, and no one helped me up. I was really desperate. Duff was ahead of me, but he came back. He carried Olin and we ran together.”

“He came back,” Yana repeated. “Toward the fire instead of away from it. To help you.”

“You think he’s in love with me.”

“I’m sure of it.”

“But I love Han. It’s only a year since he died. I haven’t forgotten him. I never will.” This was true, but not the whole truth. She really liked Duff, and thought about him at night, wondering how it would be to kiss him. But that seemed disloyal to Han, and she felt terribly guilty about it.

“Of course you won’t forget him. But while you remember him, you could open your heart to the possibility of loving someone else, one day.”

Pia looked at Duff walking away across the field.

He was so different from Han: small and neat, with curly dark hair that he kept short—she guessed that Aunt Uda cut it for him.

Do I love him? Not the way I loved Han, she thought.

That was an overwhelming passion, something out of my control.

I never examined my feelings, never even thought about them, I was just crazy for him.

It will never be like that with Duff. But perhaps I could love him in a different way, and be happy?

She did not know.

She and Yana returned to the field and weeded the rows for the rest of the morning. Then it was time to go and hear what Troon had to say.

Optimism was in the air as the farmer folk gathered in front of Troon’s house. The drought seemed to be over—and they were all survivors—so they hoped for a good harvest, full bellies, happy children, and well-stocked stores.

Duff and Uda came and stood with Yana, Pia, and Olin.

Troon came out of his house and stepped up onto a tree stump so that everyone could see him. The crowd went quiet.

He said: “The herders’ Spring Rite this year was a washout. Our people who attended did hardly any trading. There were too few people there. Everyone is scared to go there. They think the Monument is cursed. They’re probably right.”

He’s enjoying this, Pia thought, but where is it going?

She soon found out. “This year, on Midsummer Day, we farmers will hold our own feast!”

There was a burst of surprised comment in the crowd. Pia said to Duff: “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Nor was I.”

“I think he’s worried about inbreeding.”

“Because the farmer women are no longer going to the revel?”

“Exactly.”

Troon said: “And we will have a poet!”

Troon let them talk excitedly for a few moments, then held up a hand for quiet. “We will hold the feast here in the village center, beside the river. And naturally people will be encouraged to trade.”

Pia wondered how the herders would react to this. It was a direct challenge to their Midsummer Rite, which was important to them. They would not take it lightly. But what could they do?

“First we need to spread the word,” Troon said. “I’m appointing six people to travel, in pairs, west, north, and east, to tell everybody. When I call your name, please come forward.”

Pia thought he might send the Young Dogs, but he was smarter than that. He began to recite the names, and they were all women. That was unexpected, when Troon still would not allow women to go to the Monument for the Rites.

The chosen ones moved to the front, as instructed. To Pia’s surprise she was among those picked. She wondered why Troon was willing to risk her leaving the farmland. How did he know she would come back?

She was paired with Rua, a woman of her own age who had a son of ten or eleven midsummers called Eron. She made her way to the front, still carrying Olin. When she looked at the other women, she said: “Oh, no.”

They all had babies or children.

Pia understood now why Troon was so sure they would return. She knew what he would say next.

“I’m confident that all of you will gladly return to Farmplace. But just in case there might be a traitor hiding among you, you will have to leave your children here.”

Reflexively, Pia held Olin tightly to her chest. She did not want to leave him. He would be perfectly well cared for by Yana, his grandmother, but Pia’s feeling was instinctive.

She and Rua were assigned to the north, where the flint pits were. They had to tell the miners they could trade their flints for wheat and barley and cheese, with no danger of being killed by woodlanders.

Troon finished by saying: “You leave tomorrow.”

Ani decided that she should have an ally in the elder group, now that Scagga had brought in his sister. She invited Kae, the kindhearted mother of Vee and Cass. Now there were two wolves and two does, with Keff to keep order.

They met to discuss the shocking news that the farmers were going to hold a feast on Midsummer Day.

Keff said: “They have sent messengers all over the Great Plain. And if people go to the farmer feast they can’t come to ours.”

Ani said: “This is terrible news. Our Spring Rite was so lackluster. The Monument is unimpressive now that it’s damaged and rickety. The farmer festival could even overtake ours in popularity.”

“The Monument has nothing to do with it,” said Scagga. “The people stayed away from our Spring Rite for fear of another woodlander attack.”

Jara nodded. “I think that’s right.”

Ani thought it was neither one thing nor the other, but both. She said: “In any case, what are we going to do? The herder community is in crisis, and we are their elders. What do we say to them?”

Scagga said: “We must resist the temptation to act as if better times are already with us. We’ve had some rain, that’s all. It might be a short interlude in a long drought. Until we know, we must continue with rationing and serve less meat at the feast.”

“So our Midsummer Rite will be even less attractive.”

“It will use up less of our shrinking herd.”

“May I suggest an alternative approach?”

“Waste of time.”

Keff directed an annoyed look at Scagga and said to Ani: “Of course you may. Please go ahead.”

“Thank you.” She took a breath. “Our Midsummer Rite has always been the event of the year for the Great Plain and beyond. The ceremony, the feast, the poets, and the revel—people often say it has been the most exciting time of their lives.”

Scagga said: “So what?”

“The beautiful grassland of the Great Plain represents only half of our prosperity. The other half is what we gain from having traders come to us, instead of us going to them. Flints and all the other things we need to trade for come here, and they’re traded for what—in normal times—we have in abundance: livestock. We must attract people back.”

Kae put in: “Otherwise we’ll just see a slow decline into nothing.”