Stavia reached them down from the shelf beside the window, each in its own carved ring. Joshua had whittled the rings himself—a dancing lamb for Myra; an owl for Morgot; a wreath of flowers and herbs for Stavia; and a funny goat for Joshua himself. At the back of the shelf were three other rings: a curled-up fish, a crowing rooster, a grasshopper. They belonged to Habby, and Byram, and Jerby. No one used them now except during carnival time when the boys were home.
Joshua joined them for supper, taking his place at the foot of the table with a sigh. “I was glad to see evening come. Everyone in Marthatown either cut themselves or fell down and broke something today. The hospital hasn’t had this much business in months! On top of everything we had returnees.”
“Returnees?”
“Among many other crises, yes. Two of them. One of whom was beaten rather badly, I’m afraid.”
Morgot put down the fork she had raised halfway to her mouth. “That’s not allowed!”
“Oh, the boy said the attack wasn’t sanctioned by the officers. Just some of his peers, he said, acting out their hostility at him.”
“Nonetheless….”
“You should probably mention it to the Council.” He nodded in a particular, meaningful way which Stavia had always interpreted as a reminder to Morgot of something she was in danger of forgetting. A kind of “My dear, not before the children” expression.
“You’re quite right,” Morgot agreed. “Is he staying in Marthatown or moving on?”
“He’s chosen to move on. In about a week, I think. He’ll be well enough then to move to Susantown.”
“I don’t blame them for beating up on him,” Myra said. “You wouldn’t catch my warrior friend acting like that!”
“Myra,” Morgot said in a dangerously quiet voice. “Let us suppose it had been Jerby.”
Myra flushed, started to say something, then subsided, looking both rebellious and confused. “It isn’t the same. Jerby’s only five!”
“He’s only five now. Do you mean you would not be glad to see him if he returned at fifteen? Think of Habby. He’s almost fifteen. Do you mean you would enjoy seeing him beaten by those who chose otherwise?”
“Well, I wouldn’t expect him to act like a baby anymore!” she said unreasonably, her face red.
Morgot shook her head, staring at the girl until she dropped her eyes. “I’ll mention the attack to the Council, Joshua. They meet tomorrow night, so it’s fortuitous timing. More vegetables, Stavia?”
“Please.”
“Myra, more vegetables?”
“I’m getting too fat,” she mumbled.
“Where did you get that idea?”
“Oh, I just think I am.”
“Well, greens will hardly make you any fatter. It will make your skin smooth and your hair shiny, however, which young warriors are said to admire. More?”
“Winter food is boring. Cabbage is particularly boring.”
“Yes, it is. It is also just about the only leaf vegetable we can keep all winter. When the town finishes work on the new sunpits this summer, we should be able to have fresh things a little oftener. Do you want more or don’t you?”
“A little, I guess.”
Joshua shared “the look” with Morgot once more, and the conversation became suddenly very general and amusing, the way it did when Joshua or Morgot didn’t want to talk about something in particular.
CORRIG FOUND STAVIA IN THE KITCHEN, LOOKING ill and middle aged, her eyes puffy from lack of sleep, the text of Iphigenia at Ilium open on the table before her.
“I heard you moving around during the night,” he said as he stroked her hair. “You look dreadful, dear one.”
“I thank you,” she said laconically.
“Well, let’s say then that you look less lovely than usual.” He filled a pan with water and grain and set it upon the stove.
“I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about Dawid. Wondering what’s going to happen to him.”
“That’s normal. It will take a while to accept the fact that he’s gone.” He poured hot tea into the empty cup before her, glancing down at the text. “That’s hardly the most cheerful reading in the world.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m doing it mostly for distraction. I knew it by heart once, all the parts. I’ve seen it every summer, but I haven’t actually thought about it in years. Morgot’s done Iphigenia as long as I can remember. I have to learn it all over again if I’m going to do the part in this year’s production.”
“You’re not doing it until summer. Spring isn’t even really here yet.” His dark brows rose, making perfect arcs over his tilted eyes and long, straight nose, deep furrows curling up from below his chin to bracket his wide, mobile mouth. He licked his lower lip, head cocked, examining her as he chopped up dried apples to add them to the grain.
“I thought it might be easier if I just read it over a dozen or so times,” she said listlessly. “Then it might all come back to me without my trying very hard.”
“You’d have been better off getting another hour’s sleep.”
“I couldn’t sleep. Besides, it should cheer me up. The play’s a comedy.”
“Comedy!”
“Well it is, Corrig. The audience laughs.”
He made a face at her, trying to make her smile. “There are some things about Women’s Country I still find difficult to understand. How old were you when you first did that play?”
“Oh, about ten or eleven, I suppose. We did it every year in school, taking different parts, building sets, making costumes.”
“So you’ve been doing it for at least twenty-seven years. I should think you’d pick something else to do for a while, but Joshua says you Councilwomen never get tired of it.”
“It isn’t that we don’t get tired of it. It’s that the play is part of the… part of the reminders. You know that!” She ran her fingers through her hair, fingering the roughness of scar tissue at the top of her head, wincing at a little tenderness there which had never gone away. “When’s Joshua coming back?”
“Soon, I hope,” he said. “There’s more to do around here than I can
