The Choosing of Avisèd—Chapter One

Beginning a new serialised story from the world of The Shattered Moon

This story is essentially a standalone, and I’d like to think it doesn’t need much prior explanation. If you haven’t read anything from the world of The Shattered Moon before, you can get a lot more background on my website. If you are already a reader (thanks very much!) then all you need to know is that the time of this story is about a year after the events of Book 3, Vows and Watersheds.

The next chapter will follow in a few days.

News had ways of reaching Arranfells. The occasional pedlar would bring word of the wider world; more often it was when one of the herders met one from Kensbeck, up on the swale where the heafs adjoined. That was how it came this time, and it caused more flurry than a fox in the hen-run.

Dawnsingers coming up the dale.

They’d be in Kensbeck already, folk reckoned. Likely they'd be there a few days, three or four… and then it'd be Arranfells.

And there were three of them, said the ones who fancied themselves knowledgeable, and that meant only one thing. A troika for a Choosing.

Troika; a strange word. Avisèd couldn't remember hearing it afore. Well, it was three years ago, last time they'd come; she'd only been seven.

It wasn't until the news had gone round the village and been chewed over by everyone seven times that anyone thought about informing their own Dawnsinger.

Perhaps she knows already, thought Avisèd. Who could say what Dawnsingers did or didn't know?

So the Dawnsinger might have been the last to know. Then again, that might have been Avisèd's Ma, who'd been down at Leasmire gathering bogcress. When she came back, tired and hungry, legs filthy to the knee, Avi supposed she would be more concerned about getting herself clean and sounding off about why, still, she was the one who had to prepare the meal.

It didn't turn out that way. Partly because Aunt Baruvel brought a pail of muttonbone broth with her when she brought the news; and partly because Ma took the news a lot more to heart than Avi had reckoned for. Her broad brown face seemed to turn grey, and she grasped at the old table with both hands.

"Ma?" Avi rushed to her side, though she knew if Ma was going to faint or something she wouldn't have the strength to hold her up.

Ma didn't faint. Instead she did something she hardly ever did. She clasped Avi to her with all the strength in her arms.

"Ma?" said Avi again, muffled against Ma's bosom, but it was a different question she was asking now.

"They're not having my little girl," said Ma in a strange, fierce voice. "I'm not losing a husband and both my children."

Avi thought about saying You haven't lost Biriem, you know 'xactly where he is. But Ma's tone had unnerved her and she thought it better to stay silent.

Ma released her from the embrace, cleaned herself, bustled about with bowls and soup and bread. Just before she sat down, she went very still for a moment, saying, “Ah,” to herself, very quietly. Then she began throwing down the soup at a great rate. Avi couldn’t help thinking if I scoffed like that I’d get a scolding.

The moment she finished Ma was up again and rushing about the cottage, rummaging in drawers, peering in cupboards, ‘in a rare taking’ as she might have said herself. Avi, still ploughing through her own meal, had no idea what her mother was looking for, and wasn’t much the wiser when Ma, with a satisfied exclamation, straightened up brandishing a pair of scissors. Wasn’t there a perfectly good pair in the knife drawer? And another in the sewing basket?

Then all at once… the look in Ma's eyes, the way she clearly couldn't wait for Avi to finish her supper, the way she was holding the scissors. Avi knew, and she went cold all over.

The first thing Ma did was pull off Avi's kerchief. "Won't be needing this again for a few days." Then—strangely—she began braiding Avi's hair.

"Ma, why?"

"Dawnsingers are looking for girls. They see a boy, they won't look twice."

"You want me to look like a boy?"

"These next few days, week, long as it takes, you're going to be a boy."

Avi didn't quite see how that was possible. Maybe—maybe—she could look like a boy. Being a boy could never be that easy. The way some of them glummed about, she thought that even boys seemed to find it difficult.

Ma finished the braid, picked up the scissors. "Hold still now."

"Ma…"

"I know what I'm doing. Used to cut your brother's hair. Pa's too, until…" Answering a question she hadn't asked, but the way Ma's voice went at the end there, she knew she couldn't say more.

The scissors went snip snip snip at the root of the braid. Avi couldn't help it; she flinched. "Hold still, I said," growled Ma, one hand clamping over the top of Avi's head. "I'm cutting your hair off, don't want to cut your ear off instead."

Well, there was sense in that. Hair would grow back in time, she supposed. A mangled ear prob'ly wouldn't.

"I know it's hard," said Ma, softening, dropping her hand to squeeze Avi's shoulder. "It's just this once. They come every two-three years, usually. Next time, you'll be too old."

Will my hair have grown back by then? Avi wondered.

There was the moment of shocking strangeness as, with a few more snips, the braid came away, a sudden lightness, another moment of chill. Ma moved away for a moment; Avi heard her sniff. Maybe it was just a regular sniff. Then she was back, the scissors again snip-snip-snipping, horribly loud when they were close by an ear. Ma's hand on her head, turning or tilting it this way, then that. The whole thing going on until she began to think there'd be no hair left and she'd be as bald as a Dawnsinger. Ma couldn't intend that, surely.

Ma didn't give her time to think, barely even gave her time to sneak one hand up to check there was still hair (not much, but she wasn't bald); the moment she put the scissors down she was hustling Avi across the room and out of her skirt and smock, into…

"Where did these come from, Ma?"

"They were Biriem's. I kept them after he grew out of 'em, 'cause I might've…" She stopped. Avi didn't know exactly, but she knew something had happened in the twelve years between Biriem's birth and her own. Something else that Ma didn't talk about.

The trousers were too large. Avi supposed that was better than their being too small. Cutting the bottoms off the legs and hemming them was no great task for a skilled sewer like Ma, but Avi could see that making them fit well at the waist would be a much bigger labour. Ma sighed. "Let's see how they look cinched in with that old belt."

The belt needed a new hole punched, and six inches chopped off the end, but then Ma began to look a bit happier. "Shirt hangin' over't belt, no-one'll notice. Anyroad, long as them Dawnsingers don't notice, that's all as matters."

"Ma," said Avi, "Everyone else is going to know it's me anyroad."

She'd been right about that. Some just gawped. Some smiled; some in a nicer way than others. Lorin, who was nearest Avi's own age, was a gawper, but her Ma nodded as if she approved. "Smart enough," she said. "Wish I'd thought of it."

"Ma!" said Lorin, "You ain't gonna cut my hair?"

"You get took for a Dawnsinger, you'll get more of a haircut than that. But it's a bit late now. Dawnsingers get here and there's not a girl tween nine an' twelve to be seen, they're gonna smell a rat. Dawnsingers are smart." Then she laughed. "Don't reckon we need to worry. They're not gonna look twice at a girl what can't spell her own name."

"Ma! I can so spell my name."

"If you say so, lass. It's just all the other words, then, is it?"

If you’re enjoying this instalment and you’d like to show appreciation without becoming a paid subscriber, you could always…

The worst part was the boys. The other boys, she had to think, for the next few days. Ma's words were always in her mind: you're going to be a boy.

"If you're a boy, what's your name?" said Hunslem in a jeering tone. It went a bit raspy—his voice was breaking—but Avi knew better than to mock. Besides… what is my name? Avisèd was a girl's name. It was funny Ma hadn't thought of that, when she'd thought of everything else. She thought furiously… "Avi… Aviran."

"Avi Aviran?" he scoffed.

"Just Aviran."

"Is that so? Well, I'm right pleased to meet you, Aviran." He put out his wide fox-red hand like they were strangers, and what could she do but take it? She knew he'd squeeze hard as he could and she knew she couldn't squeeze half as hard in return.

There was more. She tried not to hear, but you can't shut your ears like you can shut your eyes. It got so she felt like kicking someone—anyone—but she thought that getting into fights might be a bit more like being a boy than Ma really wanted.

And the Dawnsingers ain't even here yet… she thought, walking away, not looking to see if anyone was following. She didn't think so; there was jeering laughter, but it was getting fainter.

But then there were footsteps behind; just one set, but coming on fast. She whirled around, ready to shout 'leave me alone!'; but it was only Tarry, hands held low and apart, a smile on his face.

"Don't pay no mind to those muttonheads," he said. "Look, I thought you might want to come with me tomorrow. It's only watching the flock, but there'll be no one else there. Just me and Thiner."

The rock humped up out of the ground, but mostly it was so cloaked in moss you couldn’t tell where rock ended and earth began. There was a bare patch on top, though, and when they sat she thought she knew why. Probably the herders always sat here to rest, to take a drink or eat their midday oatcakes.

She sat close to Tarry but not touching. She didn’t think he liked being touched. She'd never seen him shove and tumble with the other boys. For a while they were silent. The sheep munched and chewed, occasionally snorted, bleated conversationally. One of the ewes nearest to them casually expelled some droppings, not even breaking the rhythm of her chewing.

“Is this it, then?”said Tarry.

“What?”

“Sitting here staring at sheep-shit. And shitting sheep. Wearing the moss off this rock with my arse, till I get too old to even come up here.” He scuffed at the ground with the toe of his boot. Leather, cracked and paled, disturbing a scatter of little round turds, dry and dusty. He laughed, but there was no merriment in it. “You want to be a boy? What for? For this?”

I never wanted to be a boy, she thought. It was all Ma’s doing. Keep me safe. She didn’t know what he wanted to hear, but she didn’t think that was it.

She didn’t know what to say, but words fell from her lips anyway. “I like you, Tarry. You’re not like the other boys.”

He turned his head, looked at her. His eyes were brown, like most everyone in Arranfells, but now in the sunlight she saw that there was green in them too. “Not like the others,” he repeated softly, as if talking to himself. “Aye, suppose you’re right. You see me, do you, Avi?”

She didn’t know what he meant by that. And there was a new idea in her head, sudden, almost frightening; but it felt like it might be a kind of answer, even if she hadn’t been aware of the question. “I’d sooner marry you than any o' them others.”

“Those others,” he said, gently correcting. Then he gave another mirthless laugh. “But you can’t, can you? Boys can’t marry boys, didn’t you know that?”

“But I’m not—“

“—Today you are,” he said, cutting her off. He stood up suddenly. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just up there.”

“Are we s’posed to leave the sheep?”

“Do the rounds,” he said. “Keep an eye out for foxes, check for strays. All part of the job.”

She followed him up the green slope, getting more stony, splashed with purple heather. Up on the ridge the breeze came hurrying to meet them. She thought how yesterday it would have fluttered her skirt, tugged at her hair. Trousers were warmer than a skirt; but, if her legs were warmer, her head was cooler. She could put a skirt on again as soon as the Dawnsingers had gone, just a few days, but long would her hair take to grow again? She supposed it would; babies’ hair did. Some were born bald as Dawnsingers.

Tarry had halted on the crest and she came alongside him. He wasn’t looking for foxes, or for strays, but gazing out into the distance. The land fell away, then rose again, but not as high as where they stood. Beyond, more ridges, the world going down in slow waves and folds to a far-off shimmer.

“Kerrsands Bay,” said Tarry, as if he knew exactly where she was looking. “Can’t really see the town, but when it’s prop'ly clear you can make out the tops of a few buildings. See smoke rising in the winter.” He was looking at her now, she sensed, but she kept her eyes on the view. “Your brother’s there, ain’t he?”

“Aye, long as I can remember. Doing right well for himself, Ma says.” There were letters, two or three times a year, and every few years Biriem would come back for a visit. Tears when he came, tears when he went away again. Sometimes tears, and strange silences, in between too.

“It’s only a day’s walk, they say.”

For a grown up, maybe. She was only ten, after all. All this was because she was ten, up here on the fell in boy’s clothes with her hair all chopped off.

“I’d go,” he said suddenly.

“Where? Kerrsands Bay?”

“No, to be a Dawnsinger. If I could. Better than watching sheep shitting all my life.”

“But you’re a boy.”

“And so are you,” he said. He reached out, gently rested his hand on her neck just below her shorn hair. “If all it takes is for you to cut your hair and put on trousers, why can’t I put on a skirt?” He laughed. “I know where there’s one no one’s using.” He meant hers. It would fit, she supposed. He was twelve—at least she thought he was—but he wasn’t much taller than she was, and the brown skirt had room for growth anyway. “Hide my hair in a kerchief. Who’s to know?”

He wasn’t serious, she thought. And even if you could fool most people into thinking you were a girl, these were Dawnsingers they were talking about. Dawnsingers knew things other people didn’t; that was what being a Dawnsinger meant. Ma’s plan wasn’t just to deceive the Singers by looking like a boy; being a boy meant you could keep out of their way.

It meant you could come up here, with Tarry.

She still wasn’t looking at him. Out there in the hazy distance beyond the Bay, great hills rose, a long humped line of them, pale in the distance, hardly looking any more solid than the great white clouds that rolled across the sky. Hills… another word crept into her mind, a word from taletell: mountains. Were they hills or were they mountains? What was the difference anyway?

She wondered if Tarry would know, but she didn’t think he would want her to ask, not now. She thought back to what he’d said. “Would you really?”

“Would I what?”

“Go for a Dawnsinger. If you could. They have to Choose you, don’t they?”

“I can read,” he said.

“Well, so can I. And do adding and taking away. You need it, for baking and things.”

“I know I can’t go, really,” he said. He sounded so woebegone she felt like wrapping her arms around him, but she remembered her thought that he didn’t like touching. “But you could.”

“If they’d Choose me. They prob’ly wouldn’t.”

“How d’you know?”

He turned then and walked away, along the little heathery ridge.

She caught up with him, dodging round jutting rocks splashed with white and yellow lichen; no moss here, out in the wind and sun. “But Ma…” she said.

“Yes, it was her idea, wasn’t it?”

“It’d break her heart. With Biriem already gone.”

“A day’s walk away,” he said. “He ain’t on the moons, is he?”

She thought about that. Biriem could walk up to Arranfells, and back, when it suited him. Why shouldn’t Ma make the same journey? Why shouldn’t she, Avi, herself? It wasn’t what women did, was all; but then women didn’t cut their hair off and put on trousers either.

And yet here she was…

And, she thought, Dawnsingers had no hair at all.

Turned out whoever'd said there were three Dawnsingers was worse at counting than Lorin. There were four.

And it turned out that was because the troika were bringing a new Dawnsinger. The old one, who'd been the Dawnsinger all Avi's life and most of Ma's, was going back with them, back to the City-Carwerid and the mysterious place called the College where a thousand Dawnsingers, or ten thousand, all lived together and did… well, whatever Dawnsingers did. Apart from Singing every morning, obviously.

Avi had never really thought of their Dawnsinger as old before. She just was. But now, as the ceremony began, she could see she was older than the others. Almost without meaning to, Avi found herself edging closer.

The new Dawnsinger looked youngest of them all. Grown, but not much more; surely not more than twenty. And as the fire flared up the Singer’s face looked almost… scared. Was that even possible?

But when she spoke her voice was steady. She took a little knife from one of the visiting Singers, pricked the ball of her left thumb. A bead of blood, black in the firelight. She crouched, pressed her thumb to the ground. “My blood is in the earth of Arranfells and the earth of Arranfells is in my blood.”

Avi, watching, felt a shiver at those words. There were more, and lots of them, but that was what she remembered most; those words, and the speck of blood.