Page 103 of Circle of Days
Joia did not understand that. “What is it?” she said.
“It’s a runner.”
“Do you put the stone on top of it?”
“Sort of. This is just part of what we’re going to construct. There will be two runners, joined by cross struts to form the base of a sled. The base will support a low platform on which the stone will sit. It all has to be put together very soundly with peg-and-hole joints, using short, thick pieces of wood so that the entire thing doesn’t collapse under the weight. The curved ends of the runners will enable the sled to be pulled over minor obstructions without stopping.”
“If this works…”
“We should be able to move a stone from here to the Monument in two or three days.”
Joia did not dare to believe it. It would be very unusual for Seft to make promises he could not keep, but this seemed too good to be true. She said: “I can hardly wait to see the finished thing.”
“You’ll be the first. But you may have to wait awhile.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a striking-looking woman who came down the slope from the shepherd’s house. “I brought you some mutton,” she said cheerfully as she approached, and Joia saw that she had a basket piled with meat.
Joia stared at her. She had a wide mouth that seemed to smile from ear to ear, and her light-brown hair was a mass of curls that shook as she walked. She was about Joia’s age, much too young to be old Hol’s woman.
Seft said: “Thank you, Dee. It’s very kind of your grandfather to send us meat for breakfast.”
So, Joia thought, she’s Hol’s granddaughter, and her name is Dee.
Dee said: “Grandadda says if you ever feel like giving him a piglet he’d be most willing to accept. Pork makes such a nice change from mutton.”
Joia could not keep her eyes off Dee. She seemed to overflow with vivacity and warmth.
“I’ll send him one today,” said Seft. It was important to make friends with the old shepherd. They had invaded his valley and they needed him to see their presence as a benefit, not a nuisance. “By the way,” Seft went on, “this is Joia, one of our priestesses.” Dee gave the formal handshake and said: “What an honor, to meet a priestess.”
Joia said: “I’ve been here before but I’ve never met you. I didn’t know Hol had a granddaughter living with him.”
“That’s because I don’t live with him,” Dee said. “He’s too smelly. I have a flock in the next valley with my brother and his wife. I just come over the hill to check on Grandadda now and again.”
“Well, I’m very glad to meet you,” Joia said.
“Likewise.” She put down the basket. “Enjoy the meat,” she said, and she turned and strode away.
“My goodness,” Joia said quietly. “Isn’t she wonderful?”
Seft gave her an odd look and said: “Let’s cook this mutton.”
That winter was the happiest time of Pia’s life.
She had Han, and they loved each other more every day. She was free: no one could tell her what to do, and every morning she had the delicious independence to decide how to spend the day. They had enough to eat: they had butchered the cow in the autumn, when the wild creatures hid away and many of the birds flew south. They had smoked most of the meat, hanging it under the roof where the fumes from the fire gathered. They were warm and dry, even when it snowed. Han had built the shelter well, and covered the roof with many layers of ferns from the riverside. They slept close together, covered by their shearling coats, blissfully comfortable.
She missed her mother, but she believed they would be reunited one day.
Han was unsentimental. He did not seem to miss his family. He showed no sadness about being separated from his mother or his two sisters, Joia and Neen. He spoke lovingly of Neen’s children, two nieces and a nephew, but he did not say that he longed to see them and talk to them. He did not express regrets.
When the beef ran low, it was spring. The trees were in bud and soon there would be new sources of food, young hares and squirrels, birds’ eggs, and fresh leaves.
Pia’s baby was coming soon. Her belly was huge, the skin taut, and often now she felt movement. As she lay awake, there was a sudden bulge in the dome of her belly as the baby stretched its legs, pushing against its confinement. She wanted it to come now. She was tired all the time, and just standing up in the morning was an effort. Soon she would no longer be pregnant—she would have her baby in her arms.
Life was wonderful, but in her heart she knew it was unreal, like a dream, or a story. Summer would be fine, but beyond that the future was uncertain. She did not know how they would live through next winter. They would not get another cow. Hungry mothers produced weak milk, everyone knew that; and weak milk made for a sickly child.
One thing at a time, she told herself. First, the birth. Then, the summer. And after that they would have to think again.
She felt Han stir beside her. It must be first light. He kissed her, then got up.
