I heard the light scrape of her feet on the threshold, and I lay still
at the bottom of a pit of blackness, from which at unutterable heights I
could make out a point of light or two cut off at times by the
indistinguishable stir of boughs.
Between the trees the lights of the Outliers illumined the space under
the shut branches faintly as the lights in crypts that show where the
bones of saints are laid. I lay revolving in my mind all the
circumstance of my coming here and of my connection with the Ward and
Ravenutzi. Suddenly there flashed forth, like a picture on a screen, the
incident of that letter which I had helped Ravenutzi to make. The token
he had worn so gaily and lost so unaccountably. It had been a true
message dropped conveniently for one who waited for it, and I grew sick
and hot in the dark thinking how he had used me. I must have dozed after
that, for I thought the sound of crying increased outside, and it was no
longer the Ward’s mother, but the tall woman of the woods who called me
by my name to upbraid me. A moment later it changed to Evarra calling me
awake.
As yet no beam shone or bird sang; I saw the shapes of the women blocked
indistinguishably in the mouse-colored mist. I watched them, by that
wild faculty of theirs for covering their traces as the fox covers its
tracks, draw, as it were, the surface of the forest over all the signs
of their occupancy. They strewed dry, rotting fern above the caches,
leaf litter where the hearths had been. When I rose and went out to
them, Evarra touched my bed with her foot once, twice, and it was no
bed, but the summer drift about the roots of trees. As we went hillward
silence spread behind us in the meadows and took the place with
desolation.
By the ridge between Deep Fern and Deer Lake Hollow the women with young
children turned off toward some safe, secret center, there to wait word
from their men. Evarra and the more active women kept on to the Ledge. I
went with them, not being wanted very much, but because in the hurry of
Council no other provision had been made for me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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