Alis

22
At last the heat broke. One night there was a storm. Great sheets of lightning lit up the sky. Thunder roared and cracked as if the world would split open. The water bounced off the dry earth and swept down the stream bed until it was more like a river. Then there were days of gentle warmth and blessedly cool nights when it was possible to sleep again.
Late one evening, Alis stood at her doorway breathing the scented night air. Galin was out at the bedside of a dying woman. Moonlight silvered the roofs and pathways, deepening the shadows between the houses. Here and there, a little lamplight glinted behind shutters, but mostly the houses were dark. She wondered what would happen if she made up a bundle, put on her shawl, and walked away into the night. It was tempting. But it would do no good. She had rebelled before, and it had brought only sorrow. She turned wearily and went indoors.
Some hours later she woke suddenly, not knowing what had disturbed her. Perhaps Galin had come home, and the sound of his return had penetrated her sleep. She propped herself up on one elbow and listened. She could hear nothing, but maybe he had come in and was sitting motionless with exhaustion as she had found him on other occasions. Well, she would be a good wife for once and go down to him. Very likely he had not eaten, for he did not look after himself. He was a good pastor. If only he were not her husband!
She opened her chamber door and stopped. Someone was calling her name softly but urgently from outside the house; she could hear it now. Sick or in trouble, and wanting the Minister no doubt, but why did they not use the knocker? She felt her way down the stairs to the front door and unlatched it. She felt a weight against it as she pulled it open and then something fell in at her feet. A girl’s voice said, “Hurry! Get him inside. I have hurt him.”
Alis felt the world tilt madly. The voice was Edge’s, and the figure at her feet in the flood of moonlight was her husband. She thought she had only dreamed her waking and that in a moment she would wake indeed in her narrow bed, but then the figure at her feet groaned. The light fell upon a tufted fair head as the girl half lifted him over the threshold and kicked the door shut. This was no dream. In the renewed darkness the voice that was Edge’s said, “Light a lamp. He needs tending.”
Dazed but obedient, Alis fumbled her way across to the table where the oil lamp stood ready with a tinderbox beside it. Her hands trembled so much she could hardly manage.
Edge, for it was indeed her, was kneeling beside Galin. “Help me get his shirt off. We must bind up the wound.”
Alis stared in horror. His shirt was soaked with blood. Stupidly she said, “What are you doing here? What has happened?”
Edge looked up at her. “It was an accident. He took me by surprise and I went for him with my knife. Don’t stand there like a fool. I need some help.”
When Alis did not move she added savagely, “Do you want him to bleed to death? Fetch some strips of cloth, and hurry!”
The knife had laid his arm open from elbow to shoulder—as deep as the bone in places—and the wound yawned like a great mouth. They bound it tightly but still it bled.
“I must fetch the Healers,” Alis said.
Galin groaned suddenly and opened his eyes. His face was gray in the lamplight and clammy with sweat. In a hoarse whisper he said, “Help me up.”
“He’s better off lying down,” Edge said abruptly, but Galin began to struggle up, groaning in pain. They propped him against the wall. His breathing was ragged and the blood was already soaking through the outer bandage.
“Drink.” His voice was a whispered gasp.
Alis brought him water. He looked deadly sick. “I’ll go for help,” she said. “You stay with him.”
“No, I can’t stop here,” Edge said, terror showing on her face.
“They’ll take me.”
In her confusion Alis had forgotten that it was Edge who was the attacker. “But I must get help. He’ll die.” She did not know what to do. How could this be real?
“Alis.” It was Galin—hoarse still but stronger-voiced now. She knelt down beside him. He put his good hand on her arm. His eyes were shut.
“Who is she?” His breathing was easier and he spoke more clearly.
“She’s called Edge. She’s . . . she was my friend in the city. I don’t know how she comes to be here.”
“Friend?”
She hesitated for an instant in her horror at his injury, but her memory of all that Edge had done for her was too strong. “Yes. A good friend. She looked after me. I might have died without her, or worse. But you mustn’t talk. I will go for the Healers.”
He shook his head weakly. “No Healers.”
She stared at him. “But you’re hurt. Your arm is still bleeding, and I don’t know how to make it stop.”
He smiled faintly. “It’s bound tight. Nothing more to be done. No Healers. Stay with me.”
“But . . .” Surely he did not mean it.
“Please.” He gripped her arm.
“All right.” She did not understand, but how could she leave him? She gave him some more water.
He coughed and groaned. A little fresh blood oozed onto the bandage. “Is she still there?”
Alis nodded.
“I want to speak to her.”
Edge crouched down beside him.
With an effort, he turned his head toward her. “Why were you waiting for me?”
“I wasn’t,” Edge said. “I wanted to speak to Alis. I’ve news for her.
But it was too late when I got here. I meant to sit on your doorstep till morning but I fell asleep. I’m sorry I hurt you.” Her voice trembled suddenly. “I didn’t mean to. I was dreaming I was still in the city.
Then—I don’t know—I thought you were attacking me. I . . .”
He shook his head slightly. “It doesn’t matter.” He coughed again, wincing at the pain. Then he said, “You must get away. Come day-break there’ll be no escaping. Help me to my bed first.”
With some difficulty and many pauses for him to breathe, they got him up the narrow stairs and into the front chamber. Once more the blood oozed through the bandage, and the sweat broke out on his forehead. He was breathing raggedly again, gasping as if he could not get all the air he needed. At last he was propped up on the pillows of the bed. When he could speak he said, “Now you must go before it is too late.”
Edge said nervously, “Shouldn’t I wait until the moon goes down? I might be seen.”
He shook his head. “Once this is known, there’ll be a search. You must be as far away as possible.”
He closed his eyes as if he had no more strength to speak. Alis and Edge waited. After a while he said in a weaker voice, “Alis, there is money in the cabinet below, you know where. Give her half of it, and some respectable clothes. If she takes a wagon and is dressed better, she’ll be less noticed.”
He leaned back exhausted and waved them away.
Still dazed with shock, Alis found clothes for Edge and made up a parcel of bread and cheese for her to take with her. The money was little enough but she gave her half as Galin had instructed, putting it on the table so that she did not have to touch Edge’s hand. She shrank from her; she could not help it. Edge said desperately, “Don’t, Alis. It wasn’t my fault. He shouldn’t have woken me like that.”
Alis cried out in protest, “He couldn’t have known. What if he dies?”
Edge clenched her fists. “He won’t! I’ll go and then you can get help. But Alis, did they catch you? How do you come to be married to him?”
“The boy Luke I told you about—I heard that he was dead. So I came back here.”
Edge nodded. “Better here than life on the streets. But this man, your husband”—she looked incredulous—“how can you care about someone like him?”
How could she explain? She had hated Galin often enough and wished him gone, but never like this. “He’s a good man, kind. Even though you’ve hurt him badly—killed him maybe—he didn’t want you caught, did he?”
Edge flinched. “No—he didn’t. There’s not many men like that; most of them are worse than dogs. Jojo was all right, though, and Dancer, too.” She looked at her right hand and shuddered suddenly. “I hope he doesn’t die. I never wanted to kill anyone.”
Edge sat staring at the table, looking pale and sick. Alis watched her. The sour-metal odor of blood seemed to hang in the air. Surely it could not be true that Galin lay bleeding upstairs. And what was Edge doing in Freeborne?
Alis forced herself to speak. “Come, put on these clothes and tell me the news you came to give me.”
Slowly Edge reached out a hand for the first item. She began to wrap herself in the dark garments Alis had found for her, saying as she did so, “Jojo and I left the city. Things are bad there. Mute’s dead and Weasel lost an eye in a fight—he’s nastier than ever. I mean to try life over the sea if I can, but it’s no good for Jojo. He has pains in his head, forgets things. He’s not fit for a long sea journey, I don’t reckon. And he said he wanted to see his parents so I was bringing him.”
“Is Joel with you?”
Edge shook her head. “Don’t know where he is. He just disappeared one morning. We’d slept the night in a barn and I went off to see if I could find us something to eat. When I got back he was gone. He’d gotten like that.”
“Didn’t you look for him?”
Edge shrugged wearily. “Didn’t know where to look. I waited a bit in case he came back. Nothing else I could do.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“Chance. We’d had a lift on a cart with a couple of farm wives and they were gossiping about how the Minister in Freeborne had married a girl less than half his age. They even knew your name. Jojo was asleep. I told him later but you can’t be sure what he’ll remember. When he disappeared, I thought I’d come and tell you, so you’d know what had happened to us.”
The little clock chimed a half hour. “I’ll go now.” She hesitated, then said pleadingly, “I didn’t mean to. It was bad luck.” She gestured to the room above, where Galin lay. “He’ll be all right if you get help.”
Alis’s stomach heaved at the remembrance of the terrible wound. With an effort she suppressed the thought. Now she must get Edge safely away and then persuade Galin to let her go for the Healers.
“You must keep the shawl over your head,” she said. “You will be noticed otherwise. Hide your knife well, and go as quickly as you can. I hope you will be safe.”
She opened the door and looked out. No one. The moon was low in the sky. On the threshold Edge stopped, saying in a low voice, “You were all right, good to me—you and Jojo. That’s why I came.”
Then she shouldered her little bundle, drew the shawl up over her hair, and began to walk away. From the back she looked like any respectable daughter of the Book. Soon the shadows swallowed her up and there was only the sound of her footsteps dying away in the distance.
Alis went inside and shut the door. She wanted to weep but there was no time. She must look to her husband.
He was leaning back on the pillows with his eyes shut. The lamplight caught the gleam of wet blood on the bandage. As she moved toward him he opened his eyes.
“Is she gone?” His voice was a whisper.
She nodded.
“Good.” He patted the bed feebly with his good hand. “Now come and sit by me. We must give her time to get away.”
“Galin.” She felt her voice tremble. “Surely I must get some help for you?”
He shook his head slightly, as if even that were an effort. “Not yet.”
“But you are still bleeding. And I do not know how to staunch the flow.” She was suddenly terrified. He would die.
He turned his head to look at her and motioned toward the cup of water. She gave him a drink. It seemed to revive him, though when he spoke his voice was very weak.
“We must wait. Even if I speak in her defense, she may hang if she is caught, for this attack will have to be reported to the Great
Council. I have blighted one young life. I will not be guilty a second time. Now listen. We must think what we are to say, when they ask how it happened.”
She had not thought of this but of course there would be questions asked. What could they say? Her mind was empty. Haltingly, with many pauses to catch his breath, Galin outlined a plan. They must keep as close to the truth as possible. That way they would be less likely to make mistakes. He would say—or she must say if he could no longer speak—that he had been attacked by a man whom he had caught trying to open the front door. It would put them off the scent and it was more likely anyway. And she must say she had woken near dawn and come down to look for him, expecting to find him asleep in the chair, having come home late. And then, wondering what had detained him all night, she had gone to the door thinking that perhaps he was, even then, nearing home. The rest was simple. She had found him on the doorstep, brought him in, bandaged the wound, and helped him to bed. Then she had summoned aid.
He was silent for a while; she thought he had fainted or fallen asleep, but after a few moments he spoke again. “Alis.”
His voice was very feeble now. She leaned close to hear him.
“I should not have married you. I am sorry. But we thought we were doing right, your mother and I. When the Book named you, it seemed it must be the Maker’s will. I do not believe that any longer. But you will be free now.”
His voice trailed away; the effort had exhausted him. His skin had a waxen sheen, as if he were dead already. She felt sick with terror. If she did not fetch the Healers, he would surely die, but if she did, the searchers would find Edge on the road and bring her in to be questioned. Respectable girls did not wander about in the dark, and what account could she give of herself? Galin had said she might hang.
“Alis.” He had opened his eyes again and was watching her. “Do not trouble yourself so. Stay by me if you will—I would not be alone—but put your head down and rest a little. There is nothing to be done yet.”


She woke with a jerk, feeling stiff and cold. There was light in the room. Was it day already? In terror she started up, but it was only the oil lamp, still burning, and smoking a little for the wick needed trimming. Galin lay back against the pillows, his face tense with pain, but his eyes flickered when she stood up and he tried to speak. She gave him some water to drink and he said, very low and hoarse, “Open the shutters. It must be near dawn now.”
She did as she was told and saw that the moon was quite gone. Soon it would grow light. She readied herself to go.
“Remember,” he said with a hint of a smile, though his eyes were sunken as though the flesh had fallen away already, “you must make a great clamor, as if you had just found me. And Alis, when you have fetched the Healers, bring your mother to me. I must speak with her.”
He closed his eyes as if he had no more strength.
She let herself out into the cool morning air and then in terror that he would die before she could return, she began to run. She had no need to pretend when she reached the Healers’ house: she hammered on the door. They must come. They must come. And wide-eyed with shock but ready to ply their craft, they came. When they were safely in the house, Alis went for her mother.
Hannah was already dressed and was lighting the stove in the kitchen when Alis came in. She looked up in surprise and exclaimed when she saw her daughter’s white face. Alis gave her no time for questions.
“Galin is hurt. He has asked for you. You must come at once.” She saw Hannah go pale.
“What has happened?” the older woman asked. “Is he sick?”
“He was attacked, stabbed. He has lost a lot of blood,” Alis replied.
To her amazement she saw her mother’s lips tremble. And then Hannah was flinging on her shawl and there were no more words.


The Healers had rebandaged his arm but there was nothing more they could do. He had lost much blood, they said. He was very weak. Alis would have tended Galin herself but they sent her away, and her mother went to sit with him. In her room Alis lay down upon the bed, but sleep would not come. If she closed her eyes, images from the night before burned on her sight like visions from a nightmare. She had often wished Galin dead, and now she was afraid that she would get what she had wished for.
Toward nightfall one of the Healers came to fetch her. He had been unconscious most of the day but now he had called her name and was struggling to speak. She went in, but he had slipped beyond reach again.
In the morning he was dead.