“Then you’ve met Matron Night Sun, and Poor Singer, and Cornsilk.”
“Yes, all of them.”
“Even the Mountain Witch?”
“Yes.”
“What’s she like?”
He didn’t speak for a moment. “She’s the most frightening woman I’ve ever known.”
Bad Cast stopped dead in his tracks. “How is that?”
“When you look into her eyes, the reflection is of places and worlds that no human should see.”
“I don’t understand.” He started hesitantly forward.
“No, I’m sure you don’t.”
Bad Cast followed Whistle around stone and deadfall, trying to puzzle out the meaning of the words. The tone Whistle used had sent a shiver down his back. He thought back to that morning, remembering how Whistle ducked out of Matron Larkspur’s curtained doorway.
“Did Matron Larkspur call for you this morning?”
“This morning? No.”
“But I saw you step out of her room.”
“That is correct.”
“You stayed with Matron Larkspur?” Bad Cast shook his head. “I can’t believe it.”
“You seem to believe few things.” A pause. “She’s just a woman.”
“She’s Blessed.”
“So?”
“She’s one of the First People!”
Whistle stopped short, turning on his heel. He gave Bad Cast an irritated scowl. “Women, all women, belong to some people or another, whether they’re First People, Made People, Tower Builders, Fire Dogs, or even, gods forbid, People of the Moon. A woman is a woman, no matter who her people might be. She has the same breasts, arms, legs, and sheath. What’s your point?”
“Doesn’t the fact that she’s Blessed frighten you?”
Whistle rubbed his forehead. “They’re not gods, Bad Cast, no matter what they’ve tried to make you believe. Ah, I can see by your expression that you think bedding her might have called down the wrath of the Blessed Sun himself.”
“I’d never …”
Whistle raised an eyebrow, waiting for Bad Cast to finish.
“Never share her bed? That’s your misfortune. Her coupling was driven by a sense of desperation. Were I any judge, I’d say she’d been without a man for moons now.”
Bad Cast gaped. “But coupling with a First Person is forbidden. Look at what happened between Night Sun and Ironwood.”
Whistle’s eyes rolled. “Have you ever been anywhere outside of First Moon Valley?”
“Well … no.”
Whistle slapped his arms to his sides. “Gods, I’m saddled with a self-righteous babe. Right, well, think of it like this: She’s alone. Surrounded by potential enemies. She can’t turn to the Priest. He’s too old. Not her type. Burned Smoke isn’t a safe partner either. Not only is he her war chief, but he’s there, constantly. If she bedded him it would eventually get around, and who knows, they might come to care for each other. As you so aptly noted, look where that got Night Sun.”
“But you’re different?”
He shot Bad Cast a smile. “I’m a safe gamble—a lone warrior passing through on the Blessed Sun’s business. I show up just as she’s embarrassed by an untimely fire. Perhaps sharing her bed will make my report to Webworm more favorable.”
“That doesn’t sound safe to me.”
“Oh? And what if I did brag about bedding her? She could order my throat cut just for saying such a thing.”
“How do you know she won’t?”
“Because she enjoyed herself last night.” Whistle resumed his path along the ridge crest. “Come, don’t you tell me you wouldn’t think fondly of a woman who made you feel like you were still an attractive and potent man.”
“How do you know you made her feel … how did you put it, attractive and potent?”
“Outside of your wife, how many women have you ever made love to, young hunter?”
“A few.”
“Did they pretend enjoyment when that magic instant came?”
“I don’t think so. If they didn’t like it, they told me.” He was remembering some of the times Soft Cloth had derided him for being too rough, too quick, too distracted.
“Just so. Now, do you think the Matron Larkspur would have been under any compunction to pretend? Hmm? She is a woman accustomed to giving orders, to being obeyed. This morning, she asked me to return when my duties allowed.”
“You would do that? Go back to her bed?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“Because of what I learned about her last night.” Then he added softly, “She’s no one’s fool.”