Gathering Blue. Lois Lowry

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      “Your space is gone. It’s mine now. Those saplings are mine.”

      “I will cut my own,” Kira conceded. “But I will rebuild on this space. This was my father’s space before I was born, and my mother’s after he died. Now that she is dead, it’s mine.”

      Other women emerged from surrounding cotts. “We need it,” one called. “We’re going to use the saplings to build a pen for the tykes. It was Vandara’s idea.”

      Kira looked at the woman, who was holding the arm of a toddler roughly. “It might be a good idea,” Kira replied, “if you want to pen your little ones. But not on this piece of ground. You can build a pen somewhere else.”

      She saw Vandara lean down and pick up a rock the size of a tyke’s fist. “We don’t want you here,” the woman said. “You don’t belong in the village anymore. You’re worthless, with that leg. Your mother always protected you but she’s gone now. You should go too. Why didn’t you just stay in the Field?”

      Kira saw that she was surrounded by hostile women who had come from their cotts and were watching Vandara for instructions and leadership. Several, she noticed, had rocks in their hands. If one rock were thrown, others would follow, she knew. They were all waiting for the first.

      What would my mother have done? she thought frantically, and tried to call wisdom from the bit of her mother’s spirit that lived on in her now.

       Or my father, who never knew of my birth? His spirit is in me, too.

      Kira straightened her shoulders and spoke. She held her voice steady and tried to meet the eyes of each woman in turn. Some lowered their gaze and looked at the ground. That was good. It meant they were weak.

      “You know that in a village conflict that could bring death, we must go to the Council of Guardians,” Kira reminded them. She heard some murmurs of assent. Vandara’s hand still gripped the rock, and her shoulders were tense, preparing to throw.

      Kira looked directly at Vandara but she was speaking to the others now, in need of their support. She appealed not to their sympathy, because she knew they had none, but to their fear.

      “Remember that if conflict is not taken to the Council of Guardians, and if there is a death …”

      She heard a murmur. “If there is a death …” she heard a woman repeat in an uncertain, apprehensive voice.

      Kira waited. She stood as tall and straight as she could.

      Finally a woman in the group completed words of the rule. “The causer-of-death must die.”

      “Yes. The causer-of-death must die.” Other voices repeated it. One by one they released the rocks. One by one each woman chose not to be a causer-of-death. Kira began to relax slightly. She waited. She watched.

      Finally only Vandara still held her weapon. Glaring, Vandara menaced her, bending her elbow as if to throw. But at last she too dropped the rock on the ground, with a slight harmless toss toward Kira.

      “I will take her to the Council of Guardians then,” Vandara announced to the women. “I am willing to be her accuser. Let them cast her out.” She laughed harshly. “No need for us to waste a life getting rid of her. By sunset tomorrow this ground can be ours and she will be gone. She will be in the Field, waiting for the beasts.”

      The women all glanced toward the forest, deep in shadows now: the place where the beasts waited. Kira forced herself not to follow their looks with her own eyes.

      With the same hand that had held the rock, Vandara stroked the scar on her throat. She smiled cruelly. “I remember what it was like,” she said, “to see your own blood pour upon the ground.

      “I survived,” she reminded them all. “I survived because of my strength.

      “By night-start tomorrow, when she feels the claws at her throat,” she went on, “this two-syllable mistake of a girl will wish she had died of sickness beside her mother.”

      Nodding in agreement, the women turned their backs on Kira and moved away, scolding and kicking at the small tykes by their sides. The sun was low in the sky now. They would attend to their evening tasks, preparing for the return of the village men, who would need food and fire and the wrapping of wounds.

      One woman was soon to give birth; perhaps that would happen tonight, and the others would attend her, muffling her cries and assessing the value of the infant. Others would be coupling tonight, creating new people, new hunters for the future of the village as the old ones died of wounds and illness and age.

      Kira did not know what the Council of Guardians would decide. She knew only that whether she was to stay or go, to rebuild on her mother’s piece of land or to enter the Field and face the creatures who were waiting in the forest, she would have to do it alone. Wearily she sat on the ash-blackened earth to wait for night.

      She reached for a nearby piece of wood and turned it over in her hands, measuring its strength and its straightness. For a cott, should she be permitted to stay, she would need some sturdy lengths of solid wood. She would go to the woodcutter named Martin. He had been her mother’s friend. She could barter with him, maybe offering to decorate a fabric for his wife, in exchange for the beams she would need.

      For her future, for the work with which she thought she might earn her living, she would also need some small, straight pieces of wood. This one was too pliable and would not do, she realized, and dropped it on the ground. Tomorrow, if the Council of Guardians decided in her favor, she would look for the kind of wood she needed: short, smooth pieces she could fit together at the corners. She was already planning to build a new threading frame.

      Kira had always had a clever way with her hands. When she was still a tyke, her mother had taught her to use a needle, to pull it through woven fabric and create a pattern with colored threads. But suddenly, recently, the skill had become more than simple cleverness. In one astounding burst of creativity, her ability had gone far beyond her mother’s teaching. Now, without instruction or practice, without hesitancy, her fingers felt the way to twist and weave and stitch the special threads together to create designs rich and explosive with color. She did not understand how the knowledge had come to her. But it was there, in her fingertips, and now they trembled slightly with eagerness to start. If only she was allowed to stay.

      

      A MESSENGER, BORED AND scratching at an insect bite on his neck, came to Kira in the dawn and told her that she must report to the Council of Guardians at late morning. When the sun was approaching midday, she tidied herself and went, obedient to his instruction.

      The Council Edifice was surprisingly splendid. It remained from before the Ruin, a time so far past that none of the people now living, none of their parents or grandparents, had been born. The people knew of the Ruin only from the Song that was presented at the yearly Gathering.

      Rumor said that the Singer, whose only job in the village was the annual presentation of the Song, prepared his voice by resting for days and sipping certain oils. The Ruin Song was lengthy and exhausting. It began with the beginning of time, telling the entire story of the people over countless centuries. It was frightening too. The story of the past СКАЧАТЬ