“But itcouldbe women. You don’thaveto . . . you know. You don’t have to do unnatural things. You could just be with women.”
“The women are in the city—” Theos started again, but Finnvid interrupted him.
“The women couldleavethe city! Or the men could go there! You’ve built this whole artificialculturearound a simple peculiarity of population distribution—”
“The women stay in the city because they’resafethere. We need them, as many as possible, and we need them to be healthy. One man can have many children in a year; we don’t need as many men. So men go to war and keep the valleys safe, and women stay in the cities where they’re protected. They take care of business, and they build things and raise children.” Theos raised an eyebrow. “What’s sounnaturalabout that?”
“Your women are happy with this system? They don’t want to settle down with one man and have a family?”
“If they aren’t happy, they can speak up.”
“And the men will listen? Who will make sure the women have voices? How can they know they’re safe to speak, with no mate to protect them?”
“Why would they need a mate to protect them when they have a whole army?”
“What if it’s the army they need to be protected against?”
“Well, one man isn’t going to do much good against a whole army. But, really, why would the army want to attack a woman?”
“Because she challenged your crazy social structure?”
“Women can challenge things. They can go to the city council and say what they want.”
“Without being shouted down by the men?”
Theos was getting impatient. “It’s thecitycouncil. Thereareno men.” He looked up at the stars for a moment, then said, “Remember back when the world was fresh and new? Back when you were pretending you didn’t speak Torian? Those were good times, weren’t they?”
Finnvid’s snort was suspiciously like a laugh. “They were certainly simpler times,” he admitted. He was quiet for a while, then tilted his face toward the same stars Theos had been gazing at. “Do Torians have stories about them?”
“About what?”
“The stars. Do you make pictures from them, and tell stories about them?”
“I don’t understand. Make pictures from the stars?”
Finnvid nodded, and pointed upward. “Like those stars there. You see the brightest one? And then down from it, and over, how it makes a box? And the little stars in the middle are almost lined up. That’s Greanna’s loom.”
“Who’s Greanna?”
“The mother of all.” Finnvid sounded like a man telling a tale to children. “She creates our lives, and then she and her daughters weave us together on the loom and determine how everything will go.”
“Her daughters?”
“Three pairs of twins: Love and Hate, Birth and Death, Laughter and Tears.”
“What kind of a mother would name her daughter Death? Or even Tears?”
“You don’t object to Hate?”
“Well, I guess Hate isn’t too nice either. I wouldn’t mind spending a night with Laughter, though. She sounds like fun.”
“You’d prefer Laughter to Love?”
“Love would be too complicated.” Theos lifted his hand to point at the stars. “That one? And then . . . that one . . . yes, I see the box. That’s their loom. What else do they do?”
“Well, that’s about the only story for that constellation. It’s just the easiest one to see. But . . . up from there, and off to the right. Do you see those two stars close together, and then the other one beyond them? That’s Varin’s sword. The hilt, and then the tip. And his shield is over there, those five stars in a sort of circle?”
“Aye, I see it . . . but who’s Varin?”
