The Namura Stone (7 page)

Chapter 3

WHEN THEY FINALLY walked into the Namuri camp, Diva was exhausted. It had taken them all that day and well into the night to reach the clan, and she was nearly dropping. Raven had done her best to keep up, but her age limited her ability and she had to be carried much of the way. Although Tallen had offered to carry Raven all of the time, Diva had insisted on doing her share, and was surprised at how much a toddler could weigh.

They came to the camp, and then Diva stopped, absolutely amazed.

The path out of the marsh was lined with Namuri, and each person was holding a blue namura stone up in front of them. She stared. How could they have known to be here right now? Nobody could have known their time of arrival – they hadn’t themselves.

They walked through the waiting guard of honour and slowly approached the tremendously old and wrinkled woman who was standing at the end of the line of Namuri, a huge stone held out in both hands at the height of her forehead.

“We have been waiting for you both,” she said. “—And for your daughter, too.” The old woman held the stone out towards Raven and waited.

The small girl examined the stone curiously. Then she looked up at the ancient woman for permission to touch it. The old woman nodded. Raven stretched out one hand and touched the stone with the tips of her fingers. She looked surprised and reached further out to take hold of it with both hands.

“Hot!” she said. “Stone ’live.”

The sibyla smiled, pleased. “Yes, child, the blue stones are alive. You have felt their power. Now, I expect you are hungry and tired. Look – over there we have set out a table with some chocolate for you. Do you like chocolate?”

Did she like chocolate? Raven forgot the stone and ran for the table, as fast as her little legs could carry her. At last, something good was happening on this planet. She tried first one piece, tentatively, and then began to grab more, together with sweetfruits and water coloured by squeezed citrus fruits. Diva made to stop her, but the old woman held up a hand.

“Do not stop the child from enjoying herself.” She looked behind her, and two girls of about 12 or 13 stepped forwards. “These girls will look after your daughter, and see that she comes to no harm. They will let her eat enough, but not too much. You may leave her safety to them.”

Diva examined the Namuri girls, remembering just how seriously Petra had taken her mission. These girls could be trusted with Raven, she knew. She inclined her head to them and, laughing together, they followed the little girl in the direction of the table.

“Now you will eat a small amount, and then you will sleep.” The sibyla took her by the arm and led her in the direction of a different table. “You are very tired.”

That was certainly true. She turned around to see where Tallen was, but he had discreetly melted into the darkness. As if she sensed what Diva was thinking, the old woman explained.

“Tallen is with his clan. They will care for him. He needs these days here with us. He is still deeply wounded in his spirit from the loss of his sister.”

“I know.” Diva compressed her lips. “He misses her so much.”

“He will not recover from her loss for many, many years. It is a heavy burden for him to carry.”

Diva smiled, indicating the feast laid out for them. “This is very sumptuous. Thank you.”

The sibyla showed bent and discoloured teeth in what passed as a smile. Diva almost cringed away, then realized that health care could not be much in evidence amongst the clans and felt guilty at her own sparkling white teeth. She bent her head.

The old woman gave a small chuckle. “You have no need to be ashamed of your beauty. It is not a bad thing. But I am not ashamed of my wrinkles, either. Each one was given to me by life to remind me of my mortality and of the experiences I have treasured. But this feast is possible, to a great extent, because of Petra. The head of Sell, Mandalon, has asked for fifteen strong Namuri as bodyguards, and he has insisted on giving the clan money in return. We are now rich.”

Diva smiled. It seemed strange that a whole people should consider themselves rich because of the salaries of fifteen men. She was pleased. “Then Petra is remembered?”

“She is cherished in our stone chants every day.”

“I am glad.”

The old woman waited until Diva finished a small repast and then climbed creakily to her feet. “I will show you to your quarters.”

They wandered through the camp, now quiet and emptied of other Namuri. Diva’s accommodation was a large tent, which consisted of two areas. One was for Raven, who was sleeping comfortably, her two carers alongside her. The other was larger and held a comfortable-looking bed swathed in net.

“You will sleep well here. Do not disturb the nets. They keep the insects at bay. Tomorrow we will talk.” The sibyla gave a nod in Diva’s direction, and then turned away.

Diva shook her head, thought for a moment of all the things she would have to tell Six when she got back, then lay down on the mattress on the floor. The sibyla was right; it was extremely comfortable. She curled up on one side and was asleep in under a minute.

THE NEXT MORNING dawned brilliantly sunny, and Diva could hear the song of birds all around them. The noise of the dawn chorus was so loud that it had woken her up. She was astonished. She had had no idea that there were this many birds anywhere on Coriolis.

Raven was up too, raring to explore this new place. As soon as she saw that her mother was awake she ran over and jumped up and down on the mattress.

“’Aven go out. ’Aven splore.”

Diva nodded. “Do what you want, darling. Have fun.” They touched hands, and Diva smiled to feel how small her daughter’s hands were against her own. She gave the young girl a hug, helped herself to some of the sweetfruits which had appeared, together with a mug of steaming hot chocolate, and then washed quickly from a large jug of warm water which was sitting close by. It all felt almost luxurious, which was something she had not expected.

When she went outside the ancient woman was waiting. “Come, walk with me,” she said.

They made their way out, beyond the village, and the sibyla led her to the place where Petra had been buried, to the enormous old tree by the quickmire. There, she sat down on the ground and waited for Diva to join her.

“You are the first meritocrat to come to our sacred marshes,” she told her.

“I know. I am sorry.”

“Why?”

“I should have seen how unfair the system was … before.”

“It is impossible to have any perspective if you do not move back from the object. You could not see the injustice until you had lived elsewhere.”

“Yes, you’re right. I didn’t have an overview.” Then Diva thought of Six. “Though it was … somebody else who made me realize that things had to change.”

The sibyla exposed her yellowing teeth again. “Your husband, the Kwaidian.”

“Yes.”

“He is a fine man.”

“I suppose he is.”

“You do not know?” And the sibyla put her head on one side, like a bird, waiting for the answer, giving it extreme consideration.

Diva flushed. “I mean, of course he is.”

“You don’t have perspective.”

Diva stared at the stark, gaunt old tree which was silhouetted against the sky. “You mean that my being a meritocrat has stopped me from fully appreciating Six?”

“Yours has also been a heavy burden.” The old woman inclined her head. “Even now it weighs you down, colours your thoughts.”

“I love Six,” Diva’s head tilted upwards, defiantly.

“Yes. You do. But it is a strange kind of love, is it not?”

“No! Well, perhaps. Just a little.”

“You are lucky to have somebody love you that much.”

“I love him, as well.”

“But you wish to change him, and he accepts you just as you are.”

Diva went red. She got to her feet, walking up and down angrily. “I don’t want to change him.”

“Tell me why you are in love with him.”

“Because he is … he is … Oh, I don’t know.”

“You have come here to tell me that you are ashamed of him.”

Diva stamped her foot. “I am not!”

The sibyla held up her hand. “Do not call the dead, my dear. They have earned their rest. Yes. Yes, you are. You are ashamed of your consort when you come to Coriolis. Once you walk into that plush palace of your parents you are very aware that he doesn’t fit in there, and that you do. His presence there mortifies you.”

Diva sat down again and bent her head. “I am a horrible person,” she whispered. “I don’t know why I feel like that. It’s just that he doesn’t … that he can’t …”

“He can’t be the meritocrat you were expected to marry.”

“No, he can’t. But I wouldn’t want him to be. I wouldn’t want to be married to a man like Tartalus. I … oh, I just don’t understand. I am confused.”

“Do you respect him?”

Diva’s face tightened. “Of course I do.”

“Is he learned?”

Diva thought. “Yes. More than I am. He passed everything when we were donor apprentices, when we were captives in the ortholake on Valhai. He is more intelligent than I am.” Then she gave a smile which illuminated all her face. “—Though you wouldn’t think so, because he is always fooling around.”

“Is he kind?”

“Yes. He lets his children climb all over him. He will go to the aid of anyone who wants his help.”

“Is he strong?”

“Yes. He is a great fighter. Probably even better than me, now.”

“Then what is he lacking?”

“Nothing! At least … I don’t think he is lacking anything.”

The old woman gave another black-toothed grin, and her face wrinkled up completely. “You have told an untruth. You do know what is wrong with him.”

“I do?”

She nodded. “Of course. He is self-taught. Rough and charming, to be sure, but it is a self-made charm. He has no polish, he has no culture.” The sibyla gripped Diva by the arm. “Would he die for you?”

“Yes! Yes, of course.”

“And would you give your life for him?”

Tears suddenly welled up in Diva’s eyes. “Yes!” There was a pause, before she went on, in a whisper, “Yes, I would.”

“Then stand back and let perspective creep in, meritocrat. He cannot help not having your culture. He has his own. You have to let go of that part of you. You have to let go of your dignity.”

She lifted her head haughtily. “Why? It is a part of me.”

“It is a part of you that keeps you apart from your husband. You must let it go. You have a different path to travel. You cannot be a meritocrat any longer. In fact, you are no longer one of them. No meritocrat would have dreamed of visiting the sibyla of the Namuri, I fear.”

“Then what must I be?” Diva’s lip was trembling.

“You must be yourself.”

“I am not sure who that is.”

“You have always been sure of yourself. You know exactly who you are. You just have never wanted to give yourself a name. What is the one thing that defines you? What would your name be on Xiantha?”

Diva stared. “You mean that until I give myself a name on Xiantha I will never quite let go of being a meritocrat?”

“That is my opinion, yes.”

“And how can I do that?”

The old woman smiled. “Your friend will help. The one with the crippled fingers.”

“Grace?
Grace
will help?”

The woman nodded. “You will speak to her, and she will help you pick your name. Once you know that, you will be able to forget that you were born a meritocrat, and you will be able to love your Kwaidian with all your heart, as he deserves. Until then, there will always be something holding you back, something causing you to doubt.”

“How do you know all this?”

The old woman indicated the tree. “I sit here every day, under this tree. I listen to the sacred marshes, to the blue stone, and to the revered dead who are buried here, and who wait for my earthly body. And many things become clear to me as I sit under this tree.”

“Then perhaps I should sit here.”

“You are welcome. But we should stop talking. It is important to simply sit and listen. By the end of the week you will be hearing many more things than you do now. You will feel better.”

They sat, patiently, as the sun rose and fell in the overhead sky and the day came and went. It was a strange time for somebody who had never been taught to lose herself in contemplation, somebody who preferred action to meditation. Diva had never felt so calm in her whole life. She loved every single moment of the time she spent with the sibyla, although they spoke no more. It seemed that the old woman had said all that she was about to say, all that Diva needed to hear.

The days slipped by. Raven was having the time of her short life with her two young companions and was quite happy to leave her mother at breakfast each day to return tired but happy that evening.

Diva found the sibyla waiting for her each morning. Waiting to walk with her to the sacred marshes, waiting to share with her the whole day’s wait, waiting to sit silently by her side as the day slid past.

They were magical, quiet, introspective days – a hiatus in her existence – which she thought that she would never forget. By the fourth day she felt she could hear the voices of the long-gone Namuri, echoing through her with a buzz of excitement. She could almost sense Petra, whose energy reached across from death to touch her own. It made her bow her head and feel humble. She knew that the process was healing something inside her which had been broken for a long time. As the days went by, she felt a pressure begin to lift off her shoulders, begin to lighten her soul, until it was hovering over her, ready to be freed from the past. This ancient old woman, the seeress of the Namuri, was helping her find herself.

Diva could sense the sibyla’s help. Words were unnecessary. After the first day, it was as if they could talk to each other without words, and she felt her body unwind from its usual coiled-up tension and become free.