Stone spring

57

The next morning Ana sent word that she was calling a gathering.

By noon, all of Etxelur had come together on the beach before the Giving platform. The snailheads were here too.

Jurgi, slipping through the silent crowd, made sure he stood close to Knuckle. The snailhead was white with anger and hatred – just as he had been almost exactly a year ago, when he had lost his brother.

On the stage itself stood Ana and Zesi. Ana had her arms folded. Zesi, standing alone, wore the same skin tunic she had yesterday; she looked as if she hadn’t washed, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept.

Everybody was utterly silent. In the background was a wash of noise, from the lapping sea, the gulls crying.

When Ana decided everybody was assembled she began. ‘We are here because of what my sister has done-’

‘I did it for you,’ Zesi blurted. She turned to the people. ‘For all of you. I wanted to show you how fragile this thing you’re building is. How much danger you’re putting yourselves in. How much effort you are wasting-’

‘Shut up,’ Ana said softly.

Zesi immediately complied, trembling. Jurgi felt a twinge of fear at Ana’s power, her authority even over her rivalry-ridden older sister.

Ana said, ‘Today we consider what was done. Not why. The why doesn’t matter. Let Knuckle and Eyelid come forward.’

But Eyelid, weeping, stayed with her family.

Knuckle strode forward. He spoke to Ana, his Etxelur language crude and thickly accented. ‘Last year, brother died, because of this woman. This year, niece dies. Because of this woman.’ Muscles bunched in his neck, and his hands were clenched into fists so tight that blood trickled from palms pierced by his fingernails. ‘Punish her your way, but punish her so she never forgets what she did. Never forget my niece.’

Ana walked up to Zesi.

Zesi cowered. ‘I didn’t mean it! Can’t you see? I meant to protect you. I never meant to harm anybody! Do you think I intended for this to happen? Oh, you fools, listen to me…’

But she fell silent before Ana’s cold gaze.

When Ana spoke it was softly, yet the priest was sure everybody present could hear. ‘Zesi, my sister, you are dead to us. Dead as the child whose life you took. Dead to those of Etxelur. Dead to all our allies. Dead to the snailheads.’ There was a growl of agreement from Knuckle’s people. ‘We will not feed you, we will not look at you, we will not speak to you, for you are one with the dead. Go from this place; you do not exist here.’

As she uttered these words the priest watched Ana’s face. It was hard and cold as stone, ancient and implacable. It was the owl’s unblinking stare, the priest thought suddenly, the stare of her deathly Other. Ana was barely sixteen years old.

Zesi looked shocked. But then a spark of her old defiance returned. ‘Fine. I’ll go. I’ll go back to Albia. I’ll take my son. Kirike is the son of the Root. He has a place there, and will win one for me. The moon take you to its ice heart, Ana…’ But Ana did not react, and a new horror broke over Zesi’s face. ‘My son. Where is Kirike?’

‘He is of Etxelur,’ Ana said. ‘You are as dead to him as to me. Don’t try to find him. Go. I can no longer see you.’ She turned away.

As one, the crowd before the platform broke up and moved away, murmuring quietly. Knuckle had his arm around Eyelid, who was weeping steadily.

Nobody was looking at Zesi, as if the curse Ana had laid on her had made her truly invisible. She pursued Ana as she walked off the stage. ‘Ana! You can’t do this! My baby – give me back my baby!’

Her agonised pleas filled the priest with darkness and dread, and he wondered what consequences would flow from this moment.