Page 45 of Circle of Days
Joia said: “There might be a way.”
Dallo pretended to be interested. “And what is that?”
“I don’t know,” she said, looking foolish. “But there might be one.”
“In any case, that’s not our only problem,” Dallo said. “Once the farmer’s stone was in the bag, it took twenty people to move it. This stone is ten times the size of the farmer’s stone, so ten times twenty people will be needed to move it. I can’t count that high but it would be impossible to assemble so many people.”
Joia could count very high, Seft knew, and he looked at her, but she kept stubbornly silent.
Dallo said: “It took us all morning to move that farmer’s stone across a field and down to the river. Yet now we’re talking about moving this giant stone a distance that takes all day to walk, up and down hills and over uneven fields. How many days, or weeks, or perhaps even years would that take?” He glanced over at the stone and said: “Best not to mess about with that, Jero.” Seft saw that Jero, the son of Effi, was studying the stone and touching the props keeping it upright.
Dallo turned back to his audience. “All this time we’ve been talking about just one stone,” he said. “But how many of these giant stones would be needed for a new Monument? The inner oval of the wooden Monument has five arches, making fifteen wooden parts, which would mean fifteen stones. But that’s the smaller part. The outer circle would require many more than that, more than I can count.”
There was a bang, and they all looked to see that Jero had dislodged one of the main props and brought the stone down with a crash. He seemed unhurt: he must have got out of the way quickly.
Dallo said: “And we haven’t even talked about accidents caused by foolish people that would delay the process still further.”
Jero looked embarrassed and walked away.
Dallo said: “So what I’ve learned today, friends and neighbors, is that the project of the stone Monument is impossible. Completely out of the question. It was a wonderful idea, but it will never happen.” He looked at Joia. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I must tell the truth.”
Seft looked at Joia’s face, which was set in an expression of stubborn determination. He whispered to Neen: “She hasn’t given up.”
Neen shook her head and said: “She never will.”
Ten midwinters pass
Joia was walking on the Great Plain just outside Riverbend with her brother, Han. They both studied the landscape anxiously. Last year’s hot, dry summer had been followed by a cold, dry winter, and spring was looking no better. Streams crossing the plain often dried up in summer, then were replenished by winter rain: there was a name for such a stream—a winterbourne. But this year the winterbournes had stayed dry. The vast green plain had become a brown desert occupied by thin cattle and scraggy sheep. Fewer females were giving birth, and fewer young lived to adulthood.
The herd was resilient. Some died, and some survived. It was saddening to see bony carcasses lying on the dusty ground, but some beasts—younger, stronger, luckier—still cropped the few shoots that sprang up in the morning, then sought shade in which to hide from the noonday sun.
The herders butchered the dead ones and boiled their scanty meat. People hunted alternative food—deer, beaver, and the wild cattle called aurochs—but these were scarce for they, too, were dying of thirst. The wild vegetables and fruit that gave variety tothe herders’ diet in good times were now hard to find. Half-starved children ate worms, and adults looked speculatively at their neighbors’ dogs.
“What can we do?” said Han.
“Nothing,” Joia replied.
Han had grown up. He had seen seventeen midsummers, and soon it would be eighteen. He had enormous feet. He made himself special shoes, with the stitching along the top, instead of at the side like everyone else, saying his way was more comfortable. His friends called him Bigfoot.
He was tall, handsome, and charming, reminding Joia of their father, Olin. He even had a blond beard. He also had Olin’s fearlessness. He had never seen a tree he could not climb, a river he could not swim, a wild boar he could not kill before it killed him. Their mother worried about him, and so did Joia.
His dog, Thunder, was at his heels. Joia remembered Thunder as a puppy. Han had tried to teach the pup to sit, lie down, wait, and come running, but she had refused to learn anything. Remarkably, she had grown into a loyal and obedient dog. She went everywhere with him.
Han worked as a herder. He was too restless to tan leather, like his mother and Neen, or make rope, pots, flint tools, or any of the other things people needed. He liked being out on the open plain, even in bad weather, striding around and keeping the beasts out of trouble.
Thunder was a herder, too. When Han was moving the cattle, or trying to stop them moving where they should not go, Thunder deduced his intentions from his movements and ran ahead of him,turning the beasts the way Han wanted. She was not unusual. Dogs seemed to be born with some instinctive understanding of herding.
Han said: “How is it for the priestesses?”
Joia hesitated. “Well, we have enough to eat—but, in a way, that’s the problem. People have begun to resent us. They ask why they need priestesses. The spirit has left the Monument, they say, and the priestesses can’t bring it back. They make it sound as if the drought is our fault.”
Han was scornful. “What do they want you to do—jump in the river and drown yourselves, just to save a few bowls of beef per day?”
Joia shrugged. “Perhaps. They’re desperate.”
Han said tentatively: “They don’t like Ello, you know.”
This was not news to Joia. The Second High Priestess was not lovable. “She has a rough tongue. She makes enemies unnecessarily.”
