Changer’s Moon

4

Several others surged to their feet as Havier Ryan sank to squat. Hern flicked a finger at the lanky brown woman with the wounded shoulder.

“Anoike Ley,” she said crisply. “You say the greater part of your army is made up of women fighters. Explain, please.”

Hern raised his brows. “You ask that?”

“It’s better to get things clear.”

Hern rubbed at his chin. “Hard to know just what to say. Mmm. Some five hundred years ago an ancestor of mine, Andellate Heslin, rid the mijloc of the feuding warlords that kept it in constant turmoil, and made Oras his capital, built it up from a small fishing village perched on the cliffs above the Catifey estuary. He chose to reward certain women who had been of great service to him in this by giving them a diamond-shaped valley between the Vachhorn mountains and the coast of the Sinadeen.” He smiled. “Not so generous a gift as you might think since he was giving them what they already held, but by making their possession official and backing it with his approval and his army he made life a lot easier for them. That was the beginning of the Biserica as we know it now. In the mijloc we serve the Spring aspect of She who has three faces, She who is the circle of birth and death and rebirth. The Maiden. The Biserica is the heart of that worship. But you’d better ask Serroi about the Biserica.” He touched her shoulder, smiled at her, his face changing and softening. “My companion.” He looked up, the palace-mask back in place. “Serroi was a fighting meie of the Biserica before her talent for healing bloomed in her. Don’t let her size fool you. With a bow I have never seen her equal and I wouldn’t be that sure of besting her with a sword given reasonably difficult footing. And she’s better than most at using her head. You’re good, Anoike Ley, the fighters with you, but I’d bet on Serroi to take you out, singly or in combination.” He chuckled, drew one of the springy russet curls between thumb and forefinger. “Or I would have when she was meie. She’s a healer now and that’s a different thing.” He stepped back. “Explain the meien, if you will.”

Serroi made a face at him, turned. All those eyes. Waiting. She found it easier to ignore the others and concentrate on Anoike Ley. “The first thing I have to say to you is that the Biserica is a refuge for all girls and women who have nowhere else to go.” She smiled. “I am a race of one, a misborn of the windrunners. By a complicated chance I escaped the fire that waited me, and by another set of chances the Biserica became my home, the only place where I found real welcome. First thing anyone sees of me is my skin; most stop there, but not the teachers and the sisters of the Biserica. Hern told you what’s going to happen to all of us if the Biserica falls…” She swallowed, looked over Anioke’s head seeing nothing. “There are four types of women who come out from the Biserica. Every village on the Cimpia Plain has a Maiden shrine. Until recent times, every Maiden shrine had a Keeper who was trained by the Biserica. These women taught the children, served as midwives and mediators, advocates for those without hope or power; they presided over the seasonal fests and were involved in all aspects of life in the villages and on the tars. Healwomen are the wanderers, they go where they will, all over the world, drifting back to the Biserica when they feel the need, sending back reports of new herbs and new ways of being sick. They’re trained in minor surgeries, herbcraft, treat both men and beasts. And a few of our artisans go out to earn the coin we need, metalsmiths, glass blowers, stone cutters, leather workers, weavers, potters and others, not many; most prefer to stay home and sell their goods not their services. And there are the meien. The weaponwomen. Some girls come to us with an interest in weapons; if they have the necessary eye and hand coordination, the proper mindset-by that I mean no love of hurting and killing-they are given weapons training and taught the open-hand fighting. Meie also earn coin for the Biserica: They are hired on three-year stretches we call wards, sent out in pairs, shieldmates, acting as guards for women’s quarters, for caravans, as escorts for the daughters of the rich and powerful especially on their wedding journeys, as trainers-that’s enough to give you an idea. We don’t fight wars, except as defenders.”

Anoike frowned. “Sounds like you had it pretty good, helluva lot better, than here. How come you in a bind now?”

“Power. Groups wanting it. The Biserica is the one area on our world the Nearga Nor can’t touch. A prize that mocks at their claims to power. The sons of the Flame who follow Soдreh consider us anathema and want to destroy us. Listen. Woman is given to man for his comfort and his use, Biserica women are decidedly not available for such use. Cursed be he who forsakes the pattern! Cursed be the man who puts on women’s ways! Cursed be the woman who usurps the role of man! Withered will they be! Root and branch they are cursed! Put the knife to the rotten roots! Tear the rotten places from the body! Tear the rotten places from the land! Blessed be Soдreh the Pattern-giver. That’s one of the fuels that drives Floarin, that and her ambition to rule. And that gives you a good idea what’s going to happen to the meien and the others that do what the Followers consider men’s work.”

“Hunh, sounds familiar.” She looked over her shoulder at the others. “You want my vote, I say go. I’d like to get a look at that Biserica.” She sat.