The Shore of Women by Pamela Sargent Read Free Book Online

were little more than recollections of individual lives, mingled with dubious ideas, or recountings of experiences they had never had or had made up altogether. There could be nothing in my tests to show that I was such a person; Bren was only trying to see if I knew my own mind.
    “I know your mother, Dorlei, has had her own questions,” Bren was saying. “Perhaps that has influenced you. Or maybe it’s a quality you carry in your genes. Diversity is important for survival—we must have doubters, as well as followers and leaders. Doubt can show us how we might make things better.”
    “Mother doesn’t doubt, not really.” I felt that I had to say it. “She does what she must. And I don’t want to be a chronicler.”
    “I cannot force you to be one. Force would be useless for such work in any case. I simply advise. We give our tests so that we can save young women from painfully attempting work for which they aren’t suited. You may not believe this now, but in time you are likely to find yourself growing more interested in our history, and wanting to record your thoughts, and then you’ll regret the time you lost. Study physics, if you must, but you may find that it’s not where your true talents lie.” She waved a hand, dismissing me.
    My life was beginning, and I was suddenly afraid of what it might hold.

ARVIL

    The home of the strangers was six days’ journey on horseback to the south. We took what remained of our provisions and left our camp with them. The strangers shared some of their food with us as we traveled and sheltered us in their tents during the night; we shared our food with them in return.
    The Stalker and Cor cuffed me often. I accepted the blows, knowing that Tal had given me to the Stalker rather than to Eagle Eyes or Arrow because the Stalker was stronger. Tal had done only what he thought was best, but I felt anger toward him. He spoke of keeping to the Lady’s path, yet he had abandoned me.
    The leader of our new band was called by the name Truthspeaker. On the first night we camped together, he went into a trance and spoke in the holy tongue. “Our sin is to be washed from us,” he chanted. “The day approaches when we will live with the Lady and all Her aspects, and men will fight other men no more.” That was all I could understand, for Truthspeaker then fell to the ground and uttered a stream of gibberish while two of his men held his arms and legs. I made a sign and prayed silently, but my mind was not only on guarding myself from unholiness. My thighs burned from riding on a horse behind a stranger all day, and I ached as I thought of the journey still ahead.
    The stranger with whom I had ridden came to my side while Truthspeaker was still babbling. “It is said that Truthspeaker was felled by a powerful blow to the head by an enemy long ago,” the stranger murmured to me. “He lay as one dead and then arose, and it was as if he had come back from the realm of the dead with visions of the truth.”
    This man, named Bint, took a liking to me. I was shy of him at first. Geab and the Stalker had sometimes taken their pleasure roughly with those in my band who were younger, but Bint did not force himself on me. He treated me as if he were my guardian and thus forbidden from using me in that way.
    By the third day of our journey, I was at ease riding with Bint and had overcome my fear of his beast. He pointed out landmarks as we rode and even prayed with me before we slept. The Stalker was content to leave me with Bint much of the time, although he would strike me once in a while just to remind me that he was still my guardian.
    Bint spoke our speech but called on me for words he did not know. He told me much about life in his camp. “See this?” he said once, pulling his coat open. “Sheepskin. We keep sheep. We keep them with us and always have food and coats.”
    “Did you always live with this band?” I asked.
    “Ever since I was a boy. I, too, am from the north, but