Free The Shore of Women by Pamela Sargent

guessed that it led to the shrine. My own trail would not be so obvious on this path, but I would also have to be careful to avoid other travelers. At one point, I heard distant voices and hid in a tree until I could hear them no more. It grew dark and harder for me to see; I was forced to move more slowly.
    It was night when I reached the edge of this wood. I was about to step from the trees and walk toward the shrine ahead when its door opened and I saw a group of shadows against the light. I rolled under a bush as the men walked toward me; twigs cracked as they passed by. I held my breath and was not discovered.
    Climbing to my feet, I sprinted toward the shrine and was panting by the time I reached it. The door opened, and I stumbled inside, shaking mud and snow from my boots. My stomach ached. I tried not to think of food. My meat would have to last for some time.
    I went to the altar. The Warrior dwelled in this shrine. She watched me from behind Her shield as I prayed, and then I went to a couch and donned the Lady’s crown. I called to Her, telling Her of my journey and asking for Her help in finding more food, but She did not speak.
    I was tired and drifted into drowsiness. I do not know how long I lay there. The whisper of the door made me start, and I sat up quickly, knowing that I had slept while wearing the circlet. As I took off the crown, the dark man and the boy glanced at me, then went to the altar.
    They had followed me here; I trembled with fear and rage. They finished their prayers, went to the couches, and put on circlets. I wanted to run from the shrine, but would be no safer outside. I waited until the man sat up and gazed at me.
    “We saw the signs of two bands along the way,” he said. “You didn’t join either.”
    I said nothing.
    “Maybe yours is farther away than you thought. Or maybe they are hiding from enemies. Or they’re dead, or they broke their bond with you for some reason, or they were forced to move their camp.” As he spoke, I was wondering where his own band was and why he and the boy were still alone.
    The man held up his hand, palm out. “Don’t look so angry. We are in a shrine—we cannot hurt each other here. There is always peace in Her presence. Truce.”
    The truce would be over once I stepped off holy ground. The man watched me for a while, then gestured to the boy, who opened his small pack and threw me a burnt bird’s wing.
    I gnawed at the wing, sucking on the bones after devouring the meat. The man gave me another wing, and I finished that one, too.
    “Truce?” he said again.
    “Truce,” I answered. “Where is your band?”
    The boy narrowed his eyes. The man plucked at his thick, curly beard, scratched his head, and then said, “You are alone, are you not? You must speak the truth here.”
    “You must promise me that there will be peace between us when we leave.” I turned toward the statue of the Warrior. “Swear it, by Her.”
    Both raised their hands and promised peace, and I swore peace as well. We were now bound by our vow, for we had made it before the Lady.
    “I am alone,” I admitted, telling myself that they would not have offered food and then sworn an oath if they meant harm. “The rest of my band is dead.” I sent up a silent prayer to the Lady. I could not lie in a shrine, yet could not admit to these two that I had narrowly escaped Her wrath. “But my guardian, Tal, was not with my band when they died, because he was called to an enclave. I’m going to him now. I prayed to the Lady at the shrine where you first met me, and She called me to Her, and now I am traveling north to find Tal.”
    “What is your name?” the man asked.
    “Arvil.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “It is an old name—the meaning is lost.”
    “I am Wanderer. I had another name once, but that is how I am known now. The boy is Shadow, because he follows me. I guessed that you had no band near here, for the men in these parts have a different