And since he had pledged himself to finding and killing Gnnsa in order to avenge Jedrek’s death, the fact that he was still in Aneira gave her some cause to hope that the gleaner was as well. It wasn’t much. It was pitifully little, really. But taken with the nameless sense she had that Grinsa was nearby, it was all she needed.
The baby’s movements began to grow more gentle and infrequent. Cresenne lay down again and hummed a lullaby that her mother used to sing. Eventually, she must have fallen asleep herself, because when she next opened her eyes, sunlight streamed through the window and the mid-morning bells tolled from the city gates.
“Demons and fire!” she whispered, sitting up so fast that her head spun.
She should have been at the gleaning tent already. No doubt the line of children wound almost completely around the tent by now. Aneira’s Eastern Festival had other gleaners, but she had promised to be there early today, having taken the later gleanings the previous two days.
She threw on her clothes and walked as quickly as she could through the narrow winding streets of Kett until she came to the tents and peddlers’ carts of the Festival.
Meklud had already started the Determinings for her, and he glared at her as she entered the tent, a scowl on his narrow, pale features. A small girl sat across the table from him, gazing at the Qiran, though the stone showed nothing yet.
“I’m sorry,” Cresenne said, standing in the tent opening.
“I should think.”
“Do you want me to start now, or wait until you’re done with her?”
His mouth twisted sourly. “You might as well let me finish this one. I’ve already had her tell me most of what I need to know.”
“All right. As soon as you’re done with her, come outside and find me. I’ll do the rest.”
She stepped back into the sunlight, only to find several of the children watching her.
“Are you the gleaner?” a boy asked.
“One of them, yes.”
A girl stared at her belly. “Does that mean you know what your baby is going to be?”
Cresenne almost laughed aloud. Why was everyone so interested in her baby? Everyone except its father.
“No, it doesn’t. I’ll be just as surprised as any other mother.”
“My mother says that Qirsi babies are born so small that they can fit in the palm of my hand.”
Cresenne stared at the girl, fighting an urge to slap her. It was true that Qirsi women gave birth to smaller babies than did Eandi women. Indeed, romances between Qirsi women and Eandi men were forbidden by the gods and prohibited by law in most kingdoms because Qirsi mothers were too frail to give birth to the children of such unions. More often than not, the women died in labor. The sin of the moons, it was called, for Panya and Ilias, a Qirsi woman and Eandi man who defied the gods and loved each other anyway, only to be punished by Qirsar, the Qirsi god, who placed them in the sky as moons so that all might see how they suffered for their love.
Still, though Qirsi babies were small, they were not abominations, as the tale repeated by this girl implied. For centuries the Eandi had told such stories about her people, perpetuating ancient fears of the Qirsi and their magic. No matter what she thought of the Weaver, Cresenne still shared his desire to see the Eandi courts destroyed.
“Your mother is wrong,” Cresenne said, unable to keep the ice from her voice. “And she ought to be ashamed of herself for filling your head with such dreadful lies.”
The girl gaped at her, her eyes wide as an owl’s. Cresenne turned away and merely stared at the tent opening, waiting for Meklud to finish with the gleaning. The old man would be furious with her if he learned what she had said to the girl-Festival gleaners were supposed to be courteous to all the Eandi, no matter how they were treated-but she didn’t care. Let him throw her out of the Festival. At least then she’d have an excuse to defy the Weaver and leave Kett in search of Grinsa.
Meklud stepped out of the tent a short time later, fixing her with a look that made it clear he would have liked to replace her, even without knowing what she had said to the girl.
“You’re ready now?” he asked, arching a pale eyebrow.
“Yes. Again, I’m sorry for being late.”
“I was supposed to replace you at the midday bells,” he said, leaving the thought unfinished, but looking at her expectantly.
You bastard, she thought. It was only one or two gleanings. But he left her little choice.
“I can continue for a time beyond the bells.”
“To the prior’s bells?”
Enough was enough. “No, Meklud, not to the prior’s bells. I’m with child and I have to eat and rest. I’ll go four gleanings beyond midday, but that’s all.”
He frowned, but after a moment he nodded. “Very well.”
The old Qirsi stomped off without another word, but at least he didn’t have a chance to speak with the girl.
Cresenne glanced at the boy who stood at the head of the line. “I’m ready for you,” she said, stepping into the tent.
They were afraid of her now, but she didn’t mind that. It tended to make the gleanings go faster.
The rude Eandi girl was the fourth child to enter the tent. She came in reluctantly, as if pushed by some unseen hand, but then hurried to the empty chair across the table from Cresenne, her eyes lowered and her cheeks pale. The Qirsi woman watched her for a time, saying nothing and allowing the girl’s discomfort to build. It would be some time before this Eandi child said something hateful about her people again.
“What’s your name?” the gleaner finally asked.
“Kaveri Okaan. But everyone calls me Kavi.”
“Is that what you want me to call you?”
The girl shrugged. “I guess. What’s your name?”
The Qirsi hesitated briefly. Most of the children were too afraid of her and the stone to ask. “Cresenne.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
Cresenne had just been thinking the same thing about Kaveri, her hand straying to her belly.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “What do your parents do, Kavi?”
“My father is a cooper in Tabetto, and my mother works sometimes for the village tailor, though usually she just takes care of us. She’s going to have a baby, too.”
Cresenne had taken a few moments when she first entered the tent to read the list of names given by the city elders to Meklud. The list included the last name of all the local children who were in their twelfth year and thus old enough for their Determinings. Next to the names of some of them-all the boys and a few of the girls-were written the words “wheelwright” or “blacksmith” or “seamstress,” the professions chosen for them by their parents. Cresenne and the other gleaners were expected to steer the children toward these professions with the images they summoned from the gleaning stone. That way the children could begin their apprenticeships now, while they were still young enough to master their trades. Cresenne had seen the name Okaan on the list, but as with so many of the girls, the space next to Kavi’s name had been left blank. She was expected to be a wife and mother, but beyond that her parents had few expectations.
“Is there anything you want to ask the stone?”
The girl looked up for an instant, her pale blue eyes widening once more. Looking at her now, Cresenne realized that she was quite beautiful, with fine features and olive skin. She had long black hair that she wore to her shoulders, and her clothes, though roughly made, were clean and fit her well.
“I want to know what my husband will look like. Will he be handsome like my father?”
Cresenne suppressed a smile. “Anything else?”
She shrugged again. “Will he be rich?”
“Only the stone knows,” Cresenne said. “When you’re ready, speak the words.”
The girl nodded, swallowed. “In this, the year of my Determining,” she began, her eyes falling once more to the stone and her voice dropping to a whisper, “I beseech you, Qirsar, lay your hands upon this stone. Let my life unfold before my eyes. Let the mysteries of time be revealed in the light of the Qiran. Show me my fate.”