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The army soon fled back to their ships.
Tribal elders watched from the outskirts of the village, muttering in fear and awe.
Sileas never became the beloved of her village. Instead, she became its battle queen, for the first who spoke against her, the first who admonished her for her actions, received an arrow to the heart.
The blue light then laughed and faded away.
Sileas spent hours with her sisters after that, puzzling out the images in her mind, for even though she was blind to the human world, she still saw plenty.
She had a great many visions. She also had a great many daughters. Only daughters, as a matter of fact, all trained to hunt and kill and war and bed any man they wanted, all given the sight in a scattered form. Like their mother, they sacrificed to Frigg. Each vision came with a price.
The seizures had begun with them.
Tribal elders never told any woman she could not fight again. They never neglected the goddesses, either, worshipping them and their brothers equally thereafter.
But they all paid special attention to Frigg.
Sileas’s daughters took over nearby villages, as ordered by the gods. Those daughters had daughters of their own, which spread to the next villages, ballooning throughout the islands and what would eventually become the Old Country.
As least, that was what the legends said.
Lila lifted a finger to brush the sculpture, the deep grooves marring Sileas’ face and her doe eyes. Lila had always imagined her to be soulful and gentle and fragile, but this woman looked anything but that. Her stout frame could have filled out battle armor. Her biceps could have lifted a mace with ease, sight be damned.
“She reminds me of you,” Lila told Dixon.
Sileas sacrificed her sight by choice. I’m nothing like her.
“You both see more. You both hear more.”
Kenna’s gaze dropped to Dixon’s notepad, the dawn of understanding finally breaking in her eyes. “This statue is almost two hundred years old. The first New Bristol oracle commissioned it for the garden. This was the original site of Waterloo. Of course, when the president of Saxony chose the city as the capital, he renamed it. Did you know that the walls of our compound were once the original walls of the town?”
“Then he tried to kick the oracles out,” Lila recalled, “claiming they should have a special place to call their own downriver. He almost sold it to the people.”
“Lamar was a highborn ass. He quickly relearned a lesson that afternoon. The oracles are battle queens—always have been, always will be. Lamar convinced the matrons to move outside these walls soon after. He was too worried the people might return to the old ways if they got too close to Morag. Houston believed the same. It was the only thing those two ever agreed on.”
Lila looked at the sculpture of Morag Ancrum, a mischievous dimple denting her cheek. She too could have held a mace. “She chose the site of New Bristol, didn’t she?”
Kenna smiled the smile of her great-great-grandmother, then turned on her heel, her white robe swishing as she led them away. “I’ll take you to the library now.”
Kenna led them back to the smooth asphalt lane that ran through the center of the compound. They marched toward another structure several stories high, occupying a place across from the admin building. “We tore down six cabins to build it about ten years ago. Half of it is a computer lab. Mòr said you’d need a computer while you stayed here.”
“I’ll also need access to your network, specifically your logs.”
“We anticipated that. Mòr has cleared it.” Kenna stifled a grin. “Do try not to copy our data and sell it to the empire.”
“I’ll endeavor to restrain myself.”
Kenna climbed up a few stairs and crossed the covered veranda, which wrapped around the entire building. A dozen children reclined on swings and benches, hunching over books and small tables. Some studied separately. Others argued in small groups, their voices hushed as they bent over a page. Whenever any of them looked up, they bowed their heads politely in greeting, eyed the outsiders curiously, then returned quickly to their texts and discussions.
Lila and Dixon raked their boots upon a mat while Kenna opened the library’s doors. Exposed beams ran along the ceiling, and the entire cabin opened into a large room filled with books and shelves. More young people sat inside, crowded upon couches in little nooks and corners of the library, rugs underneath their feet, pillows behind their backs, and paintings above their heads.
“First dibs gets you a nook until the library closes,” Kenna explained as she led them down the center aisle. “They’re all getting a jump on next semester’s reading list. Our children work hard.”
Lila eyed their books as she passed. “They’re all reading different texts.”
“Of course. Why would they read and study the same things? We educate our children in the old ways. They pick their own reading lists and give reports to their fellow students, teaching them the things they learned. Children learn better and faster when they are interested in the subjects, when they aren’t learning from some stuffy adult with an agenda. Not everyone needs to know calculus and philosophy.”
“They must know something of the world.”
