"I—I am still finding my way."
"I would gladly guide you if you need help. You can join my circle. Our Venerable Mother is most welcoming and wise."
The Venerable Mother. The one who guided the new recruits into what they calledthe Sacred Work.
"Thank you, Vinnah."
"It is the work."
Sullha picked up her trays and walked to the last table.
Her hands were steady despite the disappointment. She'd retreated into the place she went when she needed to handle bad news, the cold flat place where she filed information and made plans and did not feel anything until later, when she was alone, when the feeling could come without endangering her or anyone else.
She set down the last bowl and walked back to the tray station.
The lunch service was over. The serving women were drifting toward the table where they would eat their own meal.
Vinnah caught Sullha's eye and patted the bench beside her in invitation.
Sullha sat.
She filled a bowl from the leftover pot even though she had no desire to eat, but she made herself take one bite after another.
"You are quiet," Vinnah said.
Sullha affected a smile. "I didn't sleep well because of my son's stomachache, and I suddenly feel very tired."
"I can make you some chamomile tea."
"Thank you, but I'd rather stick to water. It will pass."
"All right."
They ate in silence. Vinnah ate with small, efficient bites. Her humming had returned, very softly, the small private tune that meant nothing to Sullha and everything to Number Eight.
She looked at the small mole under Vinnah's left eye, the dark hair shot with gray, the hairline wrinkles at the corners of the eyes, the kind of lines a woman earned by smiling. Vinnah's face was the face of a woman who had been overjoyed to give her son to her god's holy war and hadn't questioned her misguided faith.
She was a Sacred Mother, and she wore her role with pride and devotion.
Sullha wondered if Vinnah had ever been different, before she'd stopped resisting and accepted the story she was told. There had to have been a moment. Sacred Mothers were not born. They were made.
Perhaps she had been different back when she'd hummed to her son. Perhaps having seen him taken away had broken her, and she'd found salvation in the arms of the Sacred Mothers.
The girl Vinnah had been might have hummed to her son because it was the only thing she had left to give him. She might have hummed because it was a piece of her that had not yet been quashed. She might have hummed because she'd loved him, fiercely, and had not known how to express the love except through the small, shared melody between a mother and the boy in her lap.
That girl was gone.
The woman who had replaced her had continued the melody, but it meant something different now. It was a peaceful tune, not a private one. She no longer hummed only when she thought no one was listening. She hummed all the time. The humming had become a sign of her transformation.
21
YAAF
Yaaf stood behind the gate to the playground and watched Sullha.
The gate wasn't locked. It was there so the children couldn't wander off, not to keep the adult women in or out. There was no guard either.
Sullha was sitting on her usual bench with the same tattered book in her lap that she always brought as a prop. She was watching her son with a small smile playing on her lips and shielding her eyes with her hand against the setting sun.
