The Hum and the Shiver

22

The First Daughters of the Tufa met irregularly, but always on the full moon. There was no arcane significance to this, only the practical: they convened deep in the forest and wanted to avoid flashlights or anything else that might allow them to be followed. There were those who resented the power of the First Daughters, especially among their opposite number in the Tufa clans led by Rockhouse Hicks.

Bronwyn’s recovery would have astounded her grim army doctors. Less than a week after her surgery, she no longer needed the cast, and had replaced her crutches with a single walking stick loaned to her by Carvin’ Ed Shill. The handle was shaped like a rattlesnake’s head, complete with the little pits along its lips. The motif continued to the tip, which was a genuine rattle from a huge diamondback, shellacked and varnished to impenetrable hardness.

When Bliss arrived to pick her up, Brownwyn limped down the yard under her own power. Kell and Aiden flanked her but didn’t actively help. With the setting sun flaring through the thin cotton dress, Bronwyn looked like she was edged with flame. Considering the topic of the upcoming meeting, that was truly a bad omen.

“You’ve come a long way, baby,” Bliss said.

“This isn’t Virginia,” Bronwyn said, “and I ain’t Slim.” Up close the pain and effort tightened her face, but her determination kept her going.

Kell opened the passenger door and helped Bronwyn inside. Aiden watched with evident concern. “Be careful,” he called to his sister.

Kell kissed her cheek and said, “Remember, that cane’s for walking, not whacking people.”

“I never whacked anyone who didn’t need it,” Bronwyn said. She turned to Aiden. “And don’t look so serious, I’ll be back before you go to bed.” She glanced up at the house, but saw no sign of her mother. There wasn’t much Chloe could say, but it still sent a pang through Bronwyn; the meeting was to prepare for Chloe’s possible death.

“I’ll take good care of her,” Bliss said. Once they were on the road, she turned to Bronwyn. “I guess you know we’re going to talk about your mother. Everyone will want to know if you’re ready to learn her song.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“Show me.”

Bronwyn closed her eyes, then began to sing:

Bliss nodded. “That’s good.”

“Mom keeps after me. Says it won’t take long to learn her song when I’m ready.”

They reached the turnoff for the road that led to the meeting. Once they went behind a stand of trees, they would be invisible from the blacktop. They went down a hill until the headlights revealed five other cars parked along the road. Bliss parked her truck; then she and Bronwyn began the descent to the meeting place on foot.

It took longer than normal because of Bronwyn’s injuries. She remembered her first time here, brought by her mother to meet the latest generation of First Daughters, all children like herself. Once a daughter reached what they called “the age of cognition,” she was offered the chance to join her mother in the group, an honor few declined. Bronwyn had not, either, although she’d often wished she had. She suspected some of the others did as well.

There was no light to mark the way, only the cool overhead moon turning everything gray, and the shimmering fireflies that danced in the trees and grass. Here and there, a patch of foxfire glowed on a fallen limb. Bliss stayed close, ready to act if Bronwyn fell but otherwise content to let her struggle on.

They reached the clearing, where eleven other women waited for them. They ranged in apparent age from childhood to close to a century, but not even the oldest betrayed any sign of infirmity. Local legend had it that you could kill a Tufa, but they never did just die. That wasn’t accurate, but it wasn’t a total lie, either.

Bliss stopped. The other women stayed back, mere shapes in the darkness. Bliss raised her chin and sang:

Bronwyn cleared her throat and sang, in a considerably weaker voice:

Bronwyn fought the urge to roll her eyes as she and Bliss made the same elaborate sign with their left hands. She wanted to maintain the solemnity of the occasion, but couldn’t shake both her annoyance at the pretentiousness and the sense that, in this day and age, these arcane convocations were just plain silly. Only the very real threat to her mother would ever have gotten her down in this valley again.

“Welcome, sisters,” said Peggy Goins. She hugged Bliss, then kissed Bronwyn on the cheek. “Ain’t had a chance to properly welcome you back yet. The last time I saw you, there were five thousand people in the way.”

“I should’ve invited you out for some iced tea and pie,” Bronwyn agreed. It was etiquette to say it, but she also meant it; she’d sat in her house and waited for everyone to come to her, like some queen bee. “Same for all of you. My mama would be ashamed of me.”

Bliss turned suddenly and looked behind them up the hill, toward their parked vehicles. She raised a hand for silence. “Someone’s coming.”

“No, someone’s here.” The voice was young and feminine, and as the girl stepped into the moonlight, they all recognized her. “Someone who’s got as much right to be here as any of you.” As if to prove it, she sang:

“Carolanne,” Bliss said. “I thought you and I had settled this.”

“You mean you thought I agreed with you because I quit arguing,” the girl said bitterly. She was seventeen, with black hair cut shoulder length and held back with pins. “I just know when to stop wasting my time. You say I can’t be part of this, and I say I can. I am a First Daughter. I know my mother’s song, and I’ve ridden the night wind.”

“Yes, that’s all true,” Peggy said. “But you don’t have full Tufa blood. That’s nothing anyone can change, and it’s no one’s fault. It simply is what it is.”

“Can all of you prove you have one hundred percent true blood? Is there a blood test they can do for this? You work with blood every day, Bliss Overbay, so tell us.”

“We know,” Bliss said. “And we also know you’re not. You should go, Carolanne.”

“Not before I tell you high-and-mighty First Daughters what I think about your little club.” She held up her left hand and made a gesture they all knew, the first of the Four Signs of the First Daughters. Bronwyn heard someone gasp in surprise.

Bliss showed no emotion, and responded with the appropriate countersign. Then she made a sign herself, and Carolanne responded. “See?” the younger girl said defiantly. “I pay attention, I learn. I’m as good as any of you. You’re lucky I don’t take what I know over to Rockhouse’s people. I bet they’d be just tickled to have this information.”

“It’s not a matter of learning,” Bliss said. “It’s all about the song in your blood. And threats just belittle us both.”

Carolanne made another sign. “My song is as good as any of yours. And I know all your signs, see?”

“The song has to be as old as your blood, Carolanne. If it’s not, you’re not a First Daughter.” Then she made a slow, careful final sign with her right hand.

Carolanne said nothing, and the darkness hid her expression. But her voice gave everything away. “What the hell is that? You just made that up right now, didn’t you?”

“No,” Bliss said with firm gentleness. “We’re just doing what’s always been done. This is not a sorority, Carolanne, we don’t pick or exclude members. You either are one, or you’re not. You can’t become one. And as for telling Rockhouse’s people—”

“Why not?” Bronwyn blurted. Even she was surprised by her words. Everyone turned to look at her.

Surprise far outweighed anger in Bliss’s voice. “What?”

The words tumbled out. “Look, we all have this First Daughter pure-blood thing that none of us asked for, and that for the most part causes us nothing but aggravation. Carolanne here clearly wants to be part of this bad enough to figure out where and when we meet, and to learn almost all of our signs. The fact that she hasn’t given them away says something about her, doesn’t it? Maybe…”

She stopped, suddenly aware of the scrutiny. “Nothing,” she finished abruptly, and turned away. For a long moment only the crickets and tree frogs were heard.

Finally Bliss said, “I’m sorry, Carolanne. But you really need to go. It isn’t safe to be alone in these woods tonight.”

“Is that a threat?” Carolanne snapped.

“Only as much as yours,” Bliss replied evenly.

Carolanne started to reply, then turned on her heel and stomped petulantly into the night.

Now Bliss directed her attention at Bronwyn. With no malice, only puzzlement, she asked, “What was that all about?”

Bronwyn shook her head. “Hell if I know. It just popped out.”

“Is that how you really feel?”

“I think so,” she said. “I hadn’t really thought about it before now. But… yeah, it is.”

Bliss turned to another member of the circle. “Mandalay? Any thoughts?”

A small figure in a simple dress stepped forward. When the moonlight struck her serene face, it showed a child only ten years old. Yet she spoke with the calm authority of one who knew her power. “Some, but there’s more important things to deal with right now. Y’all follow me?”

They fell into step behind her and walked down a short trail through thick trees. Each kept a hand lightly on the back of the woman in front of her, and the line moved slowly so Bronwyn could keep up. The sound of cicadas, wind, and the occasional owl filled the night, rendering it anything but silent.

Each time the owl hooted, Bronwyn shuddered. The owl was a bad omen, and its presence reminded her of the danger circling her family.

They emerged into a small clearing bathed in moonlight. At the center, a table-sized rock protruded from the ground. On one side an image had been chiseled deep enough that innumerable mountain winters had not worn it away. It was a crude line drawing of a human figure with large wings; lines indicated long hair, and the form had the unmistakable curves of a female. Its style was similar to the ancient images found in caves throughout Europe. The wings resembled those of a dragonfly.

The ten-year-old, Mandalay Harris, knelt and kissed the carving. One by one the others followed. Because of her leg, Bronwyn waited to go last.

When this ritual was done, Mandalay climbed onto the rock, sat cross-legged, and said, “Welcome back, Bronwyn. I saw you at your parade; you looked pretty in your uniform.”

Bronwyn tried not to laugh. Despite her heritage and responsibility, Mandalay was still a little girl at heart. “Thanks,” she said. “Glad to be shed of it and back in civilian clothes, though.”

Mandalay nodded, then said firmly, “I guess there ain’t no point in dancing around things. How’s your mama?”

“Nothing so far. Daddy’s got wards up, and we’re all watching out. She ain’t letting it slow her down.”

“All you can do,” she said sadly. “But what about the rest of us? We’re here because Chloe Hyatt may be about to die. None of us want that, and the signs aren’t certain, of course. But we’d be foolish not to be prepared.”

A heavy woman with streaks of gray in her hair stepped forward. “I dreamed I lost one of my bottom teeth. Reckon that means someone in my family younger than me will die. Your mama fits that, Brownyn. I’m real sorry.”

“That mantel clock Chloe gave me when I got married started working again,” another woman said. “It ain’t kept time in three years.”

“And don’t forget the sin eater,” someone else said. “Chloe herself saw him. He don’t come around unless he thinks there might be something left out for him.”

Peggy Goins added, “I’d say we’ve gotten all the warning we’re going to get.”

“That means it could happen any day,” one of the others said.

“Hey, this is my mom we’re talking about,” Bronwyn said. “I’m all for reading sign and all, but we have to be able to do something here. I mean, for how many generations have we been here? How many times have we watched someone die and done nothing but sing about it?”

“That’s what we do,” Mandalay said patiently. “It’s what we are. The night wind blew us here, and keeps us here at her pleasure. We all know that. But no one lives forever.”

“And,” said a tall woman in her thirties, “none of us would want to.”

Bronwyn turned to her, intending to refute her comment, but when she saw the distant, sad look in her eyes, she bit back the words. Delilah had spent longer than any of them alone, after her true love had died on their wedding day. She knew the weight of time more than any of them.

“Yeah, well,” Bronwyn said at last, “I’m not ready to sing my mom’s dirge just yet. And neither are Aiden or Kell. So you’ll excuse me if I keep trying to find the song that will change things.”

“It doesn’t exist,” Mandalay said patiently. “You’re not the first to think it does. But all we can do, all we’ve ever done, is sing the songs we were given.”

“You mean it doesn’t exist yet,” Bronwyn insisted. “A line came to me the other day. Maybe more will come. It could be a new song for her.”

“That’s a dream, Bronwyn. A beautiful one, one we’ve all had, but no more than a wisp of a thing. And you have a greater concern. You have to accept what the night wind has willed to you, and you must learn your mother’s song.”

“I will. But we don’t know for certain we’re reading the signs right, do we? I mean, the clock thing could mean you’re going to die, Sandy, not my mama. Maybe it’s all a coincidence.”

“I’ve read plenty of signs, especially death signs,” Peggy said sadly. “It ain’t a coincidence.”

Mandalay put her hand over her own heart. “And you must agree, you must swear, to pass the song on to your daughter.”

It took a few seconds for the words to register. Bronwyn almost blurted out, “But I don’t have a daughter,” and then realized exactly what she was being asked to agree to. They wanted her solemn word that she would find a consort among the Tufa men, many of whom were already related to her. They wanted her promise to breed a daughter.

“Fuck that,” she said. Her voice trembled not from fear, but from outrage. “I’m not swearing to that.”

Mandalay climbed off the rock, walked over, and looked up at her. The girl’s serious face, bathed in cold moonlight, gave Bronwyn the willies, and when she spoke, her voice bore no hint of childishness. “Bronwyn, listen to me. I know all the stories of you, how you hate to be told what to do, how to behave, who to be with. The Bronwynator was a legend here long before the rest of the world heard about you. But this is probably the most important thing anyone’s ever asked of you. We, your sisters and mothers and daughters, all need you to promise this. We need the certainty that the song will be saved. You won’t face this alone, you know, and it’s not like we’re choosing a mate for you.”

“What do you know about mates, you still play with Barbie dolls,” Bronwyn snapped. She looked at the others. “This is exactly the kind of crap that made me want to leave in the first place. Just because we’re ancient doesn’t mean we can’t make new ways. Are we mud-stuck like the Christians or the Jews? Do we have to take our instructions from a book written for a culture that died two thousand years ago? Or do we write our own songs?”

None of the others responded. The shadows over their eyes made their impressions hard to judge. Even Bliss seemed implacable.

“Fine,” Bronwyn said with a scowl. “Fuck y’all, anyway.”

“Bronwyn,” someone scolded.

She ignored it. “I’ll learn the damn song because I said I would, and because I love my mama. But I’m not promising to add my daughter to this silly-ass girls’ club. You can’t just put me in a field and send a prize bull around to see if I’m in season.”

Mandalay continued to gaze up at her. “Then there’s nothing more to say.”

“No,” Bronwyn agreed, although the child’s eminently reasonable tone made her even angrier.

Mandalay turned to the others. “Thank you all for coming, and for being true to our songs. And I include you in that, Bronwyn.”

Bronwyn said nothing. She turned and began climbing the trail back toward the cars. The others passed her in silence, not out of disdain but simply because idle conversation seemed inappropriate. Only Bliss remained with her, and by the time they reached the vehicles, hers was the only one left.