Commitment Hour

You can measure the distance from town to any part of the forest by the age of the people who use that area as a hiding place. The youngest children make their forts just deep enough into the trees to be out of sight of the Council Hall steeple. As they grow older they venture beyond, in search of OldTech dumps and collapsed buildings they believe have never been seen by Tober eyes. Teen-aged couples steal out even farther, past the haunts of tattletale siblings, to beds of scratchy pine needles where they share love poems and ghost stories. (Ghost stories are the best aphrodisiac a fourteen-year-old knows.) Past the nesting areas of new lovers are the glower-bowers of the jilted, the solitary clearings where older teens brood over the unfairness of life and tell themselves how sorry everyone would be if they were found dangling from an oak. Soon, most of the brooders return to the coupling grounds, but a few proceed to higher degrees of restlessness, ranging farther and farther until their connection to Tober Cove snaps and they are propelled down-peninsula to the cities of the south.

Avoiding turtles had brought me to those outermost regions, a part of the forest seen only by solitaries and the occasional hunter. It was still Tober land, however, and a clear trail led back in the direction of the cove. No doubt the trail would reach more familiar regions soon enough.

I had barely walked twenty paces when I caught sight of a yellow-orange campfire in the forest on my left. Common sense said to avoid it — no honest traveler wandered so far from the main road. More likely, it was some fugitive from Feliss City. Each year, a handful of thieves and murderers came up-peninsula to hide in our woods; each year, the Warriors Society tracked them down and turned them in for bounty at the Feliss army outpost in Ohna Sound. It was a lucrative business: for fifteen years, the bounty money had completely paid for Tober Cove's 'Fish-on-a-Bun' booth at the Wiretown Fall Fair. (We used to call the booth 'Perch-on-a-Bun'… but cityfolk who didn't know perch were a type of fish got the strangest ideas.)

The thought of tangling with a criminal so soon after the last fight turned my stomach. On the other hand, Cappie would have reached the village already and given her version of our battle. She'd likely paint me in a bad light… and people in the cove envied my success so much, they'd love an excuse to look down on me. I could use something to counteract Cappie's spite, to explain why I was late getting home. Reporting the whereabouts of a big-bounty outlaw was perfect for redeeming myself.

As quietly as I could, I laid the violin under a bush and stole through the forest toward the fire. Soon I heard the sound of wood burning, popping and snapping loud enough to cover any noise I made. I managed to get very close, down on my stomach behind a fallen spruce where I could peer through the cover of dead branches toward the lighted clearing.

The fire burned high and bright, set on the edge of one of the many limestone shelves layered throughout our woods. By its light I could see old Leeta, the Mocking Priestess, huddled on a rusty wrought-iron bench. (The woods are full of such things — the whole area was once an OldTech nature park, but the OldTechs liked to see nature made presentable with benches and signs.)

Leeta was dressed in green, with daisies threaded through her loose gray hair and crusty-dry milkweed pods dangling from a fringed band at her waist. Her face was hidden in her hands; I couldn't hear over the crackling of the fire, but from the way her shoulders shook, I knew she was crying.

No man in the world likes to ask a tearful woman, 'What's wrong?' You tell yourself, 'She hasn't seen me yet; I can get away before she notices.' But a true man, a gentleman, shows compassion no matter how hard it is to pretend you care. Taking a deep breath to nerve myself, I stood and said, 'Hi Leeta, how's it going?'

She screamed. Not much, just a little shriek, and she cut it off so quickly I couldn't have startled her badly. Still, she made a big show of it, putting her hand to her heart and sagging as if she were going to faint. 'It's only me,' I said, not hiding my annoyance at her histrionics.

'Fullin,' she groaned. 'You scared me half to death.'

'You're fine,' I said. To calm her down, I added, 'That's a nice dress.'

She looked like she was going to snap at me; but then she put on a dithery smile and said, 'It's my solstice robe. Do you like it?'

'The milkweed is a good touch,' I told her. 'Very earthy.' I nodded sagely, trying to think of something else to say. There was no way I'd ask why she was crying; I didn't have the patience to listen to some tale of woe. 'Nice night, isn't it?' I said. 'Not as crushing hot as last week.'

'There's a chance it could get hotter,' Leeta said.

'You think so?'

'This is the solstice,' she said, falling into the tone of voice she always used for storytelling. 'The height of summer, when Master Day is at his strongest and Mistress Night is languishing. Do you know what that means?'

'Mistress Night has time to catch up on her lapidary?' (During the day, Mistress Night searches the earth for precious stones, which she then polishes and puts on display as stars.)

'It's time to enact the solstice ceremony,' Leeta said. 'To dance the dance that tips the balance back in Mistress Night's favor. Otherwise, the days will keep growing longer and hotter until there comes a time when the sun doesn't set and the earth catches fire.'

'That would be bad,' I nodded. Cappie's father had taught me about planetary rotations, revolutions, axial tilts and all, but now was not the time to discuss celestial mechanics, especially since Leeta had stopped crying. Now was the time to pat her on the shoulder and leave, before she remembered whatever brought on the tears in the first place. Duly, I patted. 'Enjoy the ceremony. I'll get out of your way.'

'Wait, Fullin,' she said. 'I need a man.'

I looked at her in surprise.

'Don't be ridiculous,' she grimaced, giving my arm a mock-slap. 'The solstice dance has to be performed by a woman and a man. The sacred duality — I taught you that, I know I did.'

If she taught me that, she must have done it when I was female. There were a lot of things about my female years I couldn't remember when I was male… or rather, there were a lot of things I couldn't be bothered to remember. In the years I was female, my male soul slept soundly in Birds Home; trying to fish up my female self's memories could be like trying to pin down a dream. Nevertheless, I had to humor Leeta. 'Oh yes, the sacred duality,' I said. 'Man and woman.'

'And I need you to be the man.' She put her hand on my arm and said, 'Please.'

Our Mocking Priestess was a short woman with misty green eyes, and she had been wheedling her way around men for forty years before I was born. I don't consider myself weak for giving in to her. Besides, I could tell the Council of Elders that I tried to rush home with news of the strangers but had to stop to help the priestess with a life-and-death ceremony.

And Leeta looked like she might start crying again if I said no. 'What do I do?' I sighed.

'You dance,' she said. 'It's easy. Find some leaves and put them in your hair.'

I looked at the ground, then up at the spruces and pines surrounding us. 'Will needles do?'

'They're leaves too.'

I scooped up a handful of red, rotting needles and sighed again — it would take weeks to wash them completely out of my hair. Trying not to wince, I sprinkled the debris on my head and patted it down. 'Will this dance take long? I have to get back to town.'

'I thought you were on vigil,' Leeta said. 'Aren't you Committing tomorrow?'

'Something came up.'

'Something involving Cappie too?'

I looked at her warily. 'Why do you ask?'

'Because I wanted Cappie to play the man for this ceremony,' Leeta answered. 'She was quite enthusiastic. I know she borrowed her father's clothing to look the part.'

One mystery solved. And as soon as Cappie had put on men's clothing, she'd have been ripe for possession by devils. I dimly recalled dressing up as a man when I was a teenaged girl: I hid behind closed doors and jumped at every creak of wind, but I put on a complete outfit, pants, shirt, jacket, sheath. When I finally stood in front of the mirror, fully dressed, both man and woman yes, I was excited by the sight, by the weight of the jacket against my breasts. Easy to see how a woman dressed as a man was ripe for possession; I had been strong enough to resist, but Cappie was not.

I felt myself growing aroused at my memories of secret sin and quickly cast about for a distraction. 'If the duality is so sacred,' I said, 'isn't it wrong to use Cappie as a fake man? I mean, when the fate of the planet depends on the ceremony.'

'In any ceremony, appearance is more important than reality,' Leeta replied. 'And Cappie wanted to take part. She really did.'

'Instead of vigil?'

'In addition to vigil,' Leeta corrected. 'Just for an hour or so.' She gave me a glance, as if she was weighing whether to say more. 'The thing is,' she finally murmured, 'a girl who wants to become the next priestess is required to break a few rules. Especially the Patriarch's ridiculous rules about vigil.'

'Cappie?' I said in disbelief. 'The next Mocking Priestess?'

'Why not Cappie?'

'Because… because…'

I couldn't say it to her face, but the female religion was nothing but a hodgepodge of silly rituals — the Patriarch had only tolerated it to avoid a backlash among the women of his day. He often said the female religion amused him; he sanctioned the office of Mocking Priestess with the same joviality he showed when he appointed a Town Drunk and an Official Fool. The cove had been fond of its priestesses over the years, but the fondness stopped short of respect.

Cappie couldn't take on such a ludicrous calling. It would reflect badly on me. True, I didn't intend to stay with her after Commitment, but the other men would still talk. They always do. 'Cappie's not right for the job,' I said. 'Isn't there someone else?'

'I've left it too long,' Leeta answered. 'Doctor Gorallin…' She cleared her throat. 'Gorallin has suggested I put my affairs in order. And it's traditional to choose the next Mocking Priestess from the current candidates for Commitment. I can only pick Cappie. Or you.'

'So why pick her over me?' I asked, affronted.

'Would you do it?'

'Not a chance!'

'There's your answer.' Leeta bent over a burlap bag lying on the ground and pulled out a red sash decorated with animal claws. The claws ranged from a huge yellowed bear talon with a raggedly broken tip, to a gray fleck that might have come from a mouse or chickadee. 'Hold still,' she said, and put the sash over my shoulder.

She fussed for a while trying to get the claws sitting straight. I held my breath, uncomfortable that she was so close but treating me like a sewing dummy. I didn't