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"I think I almost persuaded myself that I did. I didn't actually say it —I didn't want to make the Mother angry—but I know I made her think so. Attaroa thinks the pregnancy of a few women proves it."
"She is wrong," Ayla said.
"Yes, of course she is, and I should have known better. The Mother was not deluded by my ruse. I know in my heart that men are here because that is how the Mother planned it. If She didn't want men, She would not have made them. Their spirits are necessary. But if the men are weak, their spirits are not strong enough for the Mother to use. That's why so few children have been born." She smiled at Jondalar. "You are such a strong young man, I would not doubt that your spirit has already been used by Her."
"If the men were freed, I think you would find they are more than strong enough to make the women pregnant," Ayla said, "with no help from Jondalar."
The tall blond man glanced at her and grinned. "But I'd be more than happy to help," he said, knowing exactly what she meant, even if he wasn't entirely sure if he shared her opinion.
"And perhaps you should," Ayla said. "I just said I didn't think it would be necessary."
Jondalar suddenly stopped smiling. It occurred to him that no matter who was right, he had no reason to think he was capable of engendering a child.
S'Armuna looked at both of them, knowing they were making reference to something that she wasn't privy to. She waited, but when it became obvious that they were waiting for her, she continued. "I helped her, and I encouraged her, but I didn't know it would be worse with Attaroa as leader than it was with Brugar. In fact, right after he was gone, it was better ... for the women, at least. But not for the men, and not for Omel. Cavoa's brother understood; he was a special friend of Omel. That child was the only one who grieved for him."
"It's understandable, under the circumstances," Jondalar said.
"Attaroa didn't see it that way," S'Armuna said. "Omel was sure that Attaroa had caused Brugar's death, became very angry and defied her, and was beaten for it. Attaroa told me once that she only wanted to make Omel understand what Brugar had done to her and the other women. Although she didn't say it, I think she thought, or hoped, that once Brugar was gone, Omel would turn to her, love her."
"Beatings are not likely to make someone love you," Ayla said.
"You're right," the older woman said. "Omel had never been beaten before and hated Attaroa even worse after that. They were mother and child, but they couldn't stand to be near each other, it seemed. That's when I offered to take Omel as an acolyte."
S'Armuna stopped, picked up her cup to drink, saw it was empty, then put it down. "Attaroa seemed glad that Omel was out of her lodge. Hut thinking back, I realized that she took it out on the men. In fact, ever since Omel left her lodge, Attaroa has been getting worse. She has become more cruel than Brugar ever was. I should have seen it before. Instead of keeping them apart, I should have tried to find ways to reconcile them. What will she do now that Omel is gone? Killed by her own hand?"
The woman stared into the dancing air above the fire as though she were seeing something that wasn't apparent to anyone else. "Oh, Great Mother! I've been blind!" she suddenly said. "She had Ardoban crippled and put in the Holding and I know she cared for that boy. And she killed Omel and the others."
"Had him crippled?" Ayla said. "Those children in the Holding? That was done on purpose?"
"Yes, to make the boys weak, and fearful," S'Armuna said, shaking her head. "Attaroa has lost all reason. I fear for us all." Suddenly she broke down and held her face in her hands. "Where will it end? All this pain and suffering I have wrought," she sobbed.
"It was not your doing alone, S'Armuna," Ayla said. "You may have allowed it, even encouraged it, but do not take it all on yourself. The evil is Attaroa's, and perhaps belongs, too, to those who treated her so badly." Ayla shook her head. "Cruelty mothers cruelty, pain breeds pain, abuse fosters abuse."
"And how many of the young ones that she has hurt will pass it on to the next generation?" the older woman cried out, as though in pain herself. She began rocking back and forth, keening with grief. "Which of the boys behind that
fence has she condemned to carry on her terrible legacy? And which of the girls who look up to her will want to be like her? Seeing Jondalar here has reminded me of my training. Of all people, I should not have allowed it. That is what makes me responsible. Oh, Mother! What have I done?"
"The question is not what you have done. It is what you can do now," Ayla said.
"I must help them. Somehow, I must help them, but what can I do?"
"It is too late to help Attaroa, but she must be stopped. It is the children and men in the Holding we must help, but first they must be freed. Then we must think of how to help them."
S'Armuna looked at the young woman, who seemed at that moment so positive and so powerful, and wondered who she really was. The One Who Served the Mother had been made to see the damage she had caused and to know she had abused her power. She feared for her own spirit, as well as for the life of the Camp.
There was silence in the lodge. Ayla got up and picked up the bowl used to brew tea. "Let me make tea this time. I have a very nice mixture of herbs with me," she said. When S'Armuna nodded without saying a word, Ayla reached for her otter-skin medicine bag.
"I've thought about those two crippled youngsters in the Holding," Jondalar said. "Even if they can't walk well, they could learn to be flint knappers, or something like that, if they had someone to train them. There must be someone among the S'Armunai who could teach them. Perhaps you could find someone at your Summer Meeting who would be willing."
"We don't go to the Summer Meetings with the other S'Armunai any more," S'Armuna said.
"Why not?" he asked.
"Attaroa doesn't want to," S'Armuna said, speaking in a dull monotone. "Other people had never been especially kind to her; her own Camp barely tolerated her. After she became leader, she didn't want anything to do with anyone else. Not long after she took over, some of the Camps sent a delegation, inviting us to join them. They had somehow heard that we had many women without mates. Attaroa insulted them and sent them away, and within a few years she had alienated everyone. Now, no one comes, not kin, not friends. They all avoid us."
"Being tied to a target post is more than an insult," Jondalar said.
"I told you that she's getting worse. You aren't the first. What she did to you, she has done before," the woman said. "A few years ago, a man came, a visitor, on a Journey. Seeing so many women apparently alone, he became arrogant and condescending. He assumed he would not only be welcome, but in great demand. Attaroa played with him, the way a lion will play with its prey; then she killed him. She enjoyed the game so much that she began detaining all visitors. She liked to make their life miserable, then make them promises, torment them, before getting rid of them. That was her plan for you, Jondalar."
