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.Even though she knew that she I could hardly expect to findanyone from Neith or its few island 5 neighbors in these hundreds, in thethousands that filled Carbuncle, still she searched, and was disappointed.Thesights and the sounds and the smells of her home surrounded her here; but hergrand;j mother was far too old to make this voyage, and her mother--"Festivals are for the young," her mother had said to her once, with pride andlonging, "who don't have ships to tend and mouths to feed.I had my Festival;and I hold the precious memory of it close beside me every day." Her arm hadgone around her daughter's shoulders, steadying her on the rolling deck.Moon whimpered, seeing the ugly truth hidden in her mother's merry begottenmemory.The woman next to her apologized and edged nervously away.Moon lookeddown at herself as the half fearful sibyl-space opened around her again;suddenly glad that her mother had not come, would not watch her in the racetoday, whatever its outcome was.Her mother and Gran must think she was dead,and Sparks, too, by now; and maybe it was better that way.Their time ofmourning must be long past.Was it better never to let them know the truth, orto always be afraid that once they had learned part of it they would somehowlearn the whole, terrible truth about their children? She swallowed her grief,choking on it, turned her vision outward again.She was not her mother's child.and not Arienrhod's, either.Then what am I doing here? She looked around her in sudden doubt.She was theonly sibyl she had seen here anywhere.Was she the only sibyl among all theSummer people who wanted to compete? Was it really theQueen's ambition running in her blood that made her want to be a queenherself? No, I didn't ask for this! There must be a change; Iam only a vessel.Her fists tightened as she repeated the vow.If no othersibyl ran in this race, maybe it was only because none of them knew the truth.None of them know.She could read on the faces around her the spectrum ofmotives and gradations of desire that had brought the runners here: some ofthem hungry for the power (although the power of a Summer Queen had alwaysbeen more ritual than secular), some for the honor, and some for the easy lifeof being worshiped as the Lady incarnate; some simply for the sheer joy ofcompeting, a part of their celebration, with no cares at all about winning orlosing.And none of them knows why it really matters, except me.Page 241ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlShe kept her fists tight as tension wound its springs inside her, pushedforward again until she could just see the piece of weighted ribbon thatmarked the course's start.The Goodventure elder wasshouting for quiet and announcing the rules.She did not have to be the firstin this race, she only had to be among the sacred first thirty three--and thecourse wasn't long, it was meant to give some besides the strongest a chance.But there were a hundred women behind her, two hundred more.she couldn'teven see them all from where she stood.The voice of the Goodventure elder called them all to the mark, and Moon felther self-awareness slipping, caught in the swell of many moving forward asone.Through a gap between heads and arms she watched the fragile bunting thatheld back their tide--saw it fall at a signal.The mass of runners surged,sending her forward, helpless to resist if she had wanted to, and the race ofthe Summer Queen began.She danced like a reef spotter through the first hundred yards, needing allher concentration just to keep on her feet in the crush before the knot ofbodies began to loosen.As spaces opened she broke between, not always easily,feeling elbows bruise her sides in retribution.She couldn't keep track of howmany were ahead in the shifting field; she could only weave and spring and tryto put as many of them behind her as her feet could overtake.A mile was nothing, a mile was hardly enough to quicken her heartbeat when sheand Sparks had raced along the endless gleaming beachs of Neith.But thismile ran uphill, on hard pavement, not yielding sand.Before she had reachedhalfway her breath rasped in her throat and her body protested with everyjarring step.She tried to remember how long it had really been since she hadrun on that shining sand; couldn't even remember how long it had been sinceshed had enough food or sleep to satisfy the body of a bird.DamnCarbuncle! There were only a dozen women ahead of her, but they were slowlygaming ground.New runners began to come up on her and pass her from behind.She saw with a kind of dread that one of them wore a brown ribbon, notgreen--the second group of runners was overtaking the first starters; and shestumbled as her mind left her straining legs unguided.Two thirds of a mile, three quarters, and there were more passing her all thetime, easily thirty ahead of her now, and a cramp in her side that took herbreath away.They're passing me.and they don't know, they don't even knowwhat they're reaching for! Reaching after it with the last of her strength,she saw the final distance hurtle past; suspended all other awareness untilthe white stone courtyard of the Winter palace was under her feet, and thenext-to-last winter's garland had fallen around her shoulders.Laughing, gasping, dazed, she was swallowed by the ecstasy of the waitingcrowd, joyously praised with handclasps, kisses, and tears.She made her way through them, took her place in the circle of winners thatwas forming at the very center of the courtyard.Looking back, she heard andthen saw the group of musicians dressed in white, draped in garlands like herown, and wearing black chimney hats withWinter totem crests.Behind them came a small procession ofSummers--more Goodventures, bearing a canopy of ornamental net woven withshells and sprays of greenery, held aloft on oars delicately carven with afantasy of sea beasts.And beneath the canopy came the mask of the Summer Queen.She heard the sighsand cries of admiration, like a wind through thecrowd; felt her own wonder rise again at the sight of its beauty.and its power, the face of Change.Her gaze moved to the one who carried it,and she jerked with recognition: Fate Ravenglass.The circle parted to letFate through alone; the rest of the procession circled outside, mingling itsmusic with the crowd's.Page 242ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlThe Goodventure elder bowed before her, or before the strength of herartistry."Whiter crowns Summer, and the Change begins.May theLady help you to choose wisely, Winter woman; for your sake as well as forours." She stood serene in her faith in the Lady's judgment."I pray that I will." Fate bowed in turn, her white gown all but hidden by themask's trailing sunbeams as it rested on her arms.The Lady will choose.Why had Fate Ravenglass been picked asHer representative, if not to choose in turn the one face, the one heart andmind behind it that knew the secrets she knew about this world? But she'salmost blind.Could she even tell one face from all the rest? How would sheknow?The Goodventure elder began to sway from foot to foot; the lacy drape ofbeaded network that covered her clothing clattered and chimed.She began tosing the ancient feast day invocation, and the ring of women began to circleslowly, stepping foot across foot, drawing Moon along.The words of the litanyand response came to her easily, almost hypnotically, rooted as deeply in hermemory, wrapped as profoundly around its most primitive images, as anythingshe still remembered [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]