Page 63 of Circle of Days

There was a short silence. Scagga opened his mouth to speak but Keff forestalled him. “I don’t think we need to hear from you again, Scagga. I think you’re right. This isn’t the time to spend a great deal of effort organizing a spectacular event. I fear no one would come to it.”

Ani had lost. Timidity had won. She took her leave politely.

She had one more hope.

She walked through the village and across the plain to the Monument.

Joia was with the priestesses, practicing singing. Ani heard her say: “We must begin each word together, and end each word together. You have to listen as well as sing.”

My daughter, the perfectionist, Ani thought fondly.

She listened as the priestesses sang again, and she was struck by the difference made when they began and ended words precisely together. It was almost magical.

Joia had seen Ani, and when the song was over she said: “That’s enough for today. Well done, everyone.”

The priestesses drifted away, and Ani and Joia sat on the ground to talk.

Ani told her about the elders’ meeting that had just finished.

Joia agreed with Ani, not surprisingly. “We really need to rebuild the Monument from scratch,” she said.

“That’s the only way it will look decent.

And we could do it. But Ello keeps saying no. ”

“Let’s go together and ask her again,” said Ani.

They went to Ello’s tent. She was lying down, but perfectly alert. “In these trying times we must expect less,” she said when Ani and Joia had made their pitch. “We can’t have everything we want. Priestesses must reduce their ceremonies and spend more time gathering wild vegetables.”

It made Joia cross. “Priestesses don’t exist to gather food!” she said. “We’re here to count the days of the year and pass on the knowledge acquired by generations of our forebears.”

“Yes, and we’ll do that again, but not now.”

“The drought is coming to an end—”

“Leave me now. I’m tired.”

Ani and Joia stared at Ello in exasperation, but there was nothing they could do.

They left.

At the end of the day, just when it was getting too dark to weed the furrows, Duff would come strolling along the riverbank to Yana’s farm, and would chat to Pia in the dusk. One evening he said to her: “Can I ask you a question?”

“If you like.”

“A rather personal question.”

“I don’t know. Try me.”

“How long do you think it will take you to get over Han?”

That was very direct. She did not answer immediately.

He said: “Have I embarrassed you?”

“No,” she said. “It’s a good question—one I should ask myself.”

He waited in silence.

After a while she said: “I will never forget Han and I will always love him. The real question is whether I might be able to love someone else.” She paused again. Then she said: “Someone like you.”

He was surprised. “Do you mean that?”

She said: “Someone who is kind and strong and loves me enough to risk his life to save me and my child from a fire.”

He looked pleased.

She said: “Someone who ties his old aunt’s shoelaces in the morning.”

He laughed. “Who told you about that?”

“My mother. She also told me to open my heart to the possibility of loving again.”

“Do you think you can?”

“I don’t know, but I want to try. But if I find I can’t, I’m afraid you’ll be sad.”

“Not as sad as I’ll be if you never give me a chance.”

“All right, then.”

“All right?”

“Yes, all right.”

He looked as if he was not sure what to do next. After a moment he said: “Can I kiss you now?”

“Yes.”

It was a gentle kiss, but long. His lips were soft and his skin smelled good. He stroked her hair and she touched his beard. She felt a glow of excitement, a sensation she had almost forgotten.

When at last they broke the kiss, she said: “Oh, how lovely.”

He smiled. “Yes,” he said. “Lovely.”

Joia found her mother looking depressed on the day before the herders’ Midsummer Rite. “It’s going to be as bad as the Spring Rite, if not worse,” said Ani. “Look around. How many traders are here?”

“Twelve,” said Joia. “But they’re still arriving.”

One of the traders overheard and said: “They’ve all gone to the farmer feast.” The speaker was the flint knapper El.

“But not you,” said Ani.

“I can’t walk that far. But lots of people can.”

Joia said: “Someone told me the farmers haven’t got much food for the feast.”

El shrugged. “Maybe not, but people are curious to find out for themselves.”

“Well, we’re here, and the ceremony tomorrow is going to be beautiful.”

It was. The singing practice had taught the priestesses to sing together, not just at more or less the same time.

It made the music a different experience, and the small audience listened with open-mouthed astonishment and fascination.

The appearance of the sun, and its slow rise above the edge of the earth, was as moving as ever.

It was a pity there were so few people there to experience it.

Joia went to Ello’s house to tell her how good it had been—but Ello was dead, her head on the pillow beside her fire, her eyes half closed as if she had been dozing. Joia felt for a heartbeat but there was none.

She could not feel very sad. Ello had always been against her. A burden had been lifted.

This meant a great change for the priestesses. There would be a new High Priestess, and it would probably be Joia, although such things could not be taken for granted.

Next day the priestesses cremated Ello inside the earth circle, and sang the funeral songs as her smoke rose into the air over the Monument.

Afterward they had a late breakfast in the dining hall. Sary, still small and thin but no longer timid, came up to Joia and said: “We all want you to be High Priestess. No one disagrees. It’s you.”

“Let me speak to them,” said Joia.

Sary looked worried. “Don’t you want to be High Priestess?”

“It depends.”

Joia stood up and they all went quiet.

“I love you all,” she said. “It’s wonderful to sing and dance with you. I’m fascinated by the study of the sun and the moon, and the way they move in the sky. And I really want to be your High Priestess.”

They began to cheer, but she held up her hand for silence.

“However, I will not be your High Priestess with a ramshackle Monument and a nearly empty circle. Our Monument must be a great sight to see, and our public ceremonies should be viewed by great crowds of awestruck people crammed inside the earth circle. We are the spiritual heart of the Great Plain. But right now the community is drowning in a river of pessimism and timidity.”

She studied their faces. No one scowled, looked indignant, or shook their head. They knew she was right. Her words were true.

“If I become High Priestess, you must be prepared for a challenge. We must have a spectacular Monument and crowds of followers. It is our holy duty.” She saw their faces lighten.

This was what they wanted to hear. “If you want a quiet life, say so now, and I’ll withdraw, and let someone else be High Priestess.

” Several women shook their heads. “But if you’ve got the courage…

” A murmur of agreement began and got louder.

“…the courage to make the Monument truly amazing…” The murmur became a shout. “…say so, and…”

Her words were drowned out in a chorus of acclaim. She stopped speaking. She had said enough.

She was High Priestess.