Fia
grew a bit taller over the course of the next year. She got lanky, as
children of that age tend to be, and a little awkward, as so often
happens. There were times when she would even trip while running. She
was able to turn it into a graceful tumble, and dust herself off, in
the manner of a cat washing itself after an embarrassing fall.
This was the normal course of a child's life. Once upon a time, in
the village, it had also been normal for children to lose one or both
parents at an early age. Not nearly so much since last year. But
there were very many children in the village who could commiserate
with Fia when it came to the matter of Tally's departure. For, as Fia
described it, he had appeared to her only a few times since his last
goodbye – the rest of his connection with the village was rags
bearing embroidered words, appearing in the hands of visiting traders
now and then. It was a wondrous new technology, but not the same
thing as having someone there. And the rags always spoke of where
Tally had gone and how lovely the land was, but nothing about what he
was up to.
So, bereft of the person Fia had been closest to, she was forced
to learn, at last, how to actually connect with her fellow children,
instead of lord her knowledge over them. They had caught up to her in
their skill with reading, after all.
Still no romantic overtures to speak of. There was nobody in the
village who could keep up with her. For this, Meg was grateful. What
she remembered of romance at that age was best forgotten. It had
involved nearly as many stumbles and tumbles as Fia was getting into.
Then again – maybe there was some young lad or lass, from
another village, that Fia was sweet on, for most of the time the girl
could be seen standing up on the hill beyond the village, gazing
northward. Meg didn't know of much in that direction besides bogs and
tangled forests, but maybe there was a little village somewhere in
that wasteland, with someone who could run as fast as Fia.
Or maybe it was some fairy prince that Fia was sweet on. Meg only
brought up the subject to her once, upon a summer evening. When Fia
heard tell of the Good Neighbors, she scowled, and then she dropped
her spinning right on the floor and dashed all the way back to her
hilltop.
"Any idea what's up with her?" signed Deirdre.
Meg shrugged. "She is of that age, where a child is reluctant
to explain personal troubles to their elders. All I can say is that
she will be back to us before nightfall, as ever."
Yet Fia did not come back to the Roundhouse until after nightfall.
This earned her a scolding from both of her mothers, both of them
signing furiously at her simultaneously. Meg was not sure if the girl
had picked up on the full lecture from either mother, but she
appeared to get the hint, and thereafter came back to the roundhouse
always at the moment the sun began to sink below the horizon.
Meg began to think about how other parents of the village handled
the matter. And how they would handle the matter now that far more of
their children were likely to survive to later childhood. And how
everyone would, once news of this hygienic breakthrough spread. And
how potentially everyone in the world would deal with having more
people to feed…
Upon a grey summer morning she brought up the subject to Deirdre,
as they inspected the hemp field. "I fear we rushed into this
business," she signed.
Deirdre, among the stalks, had to step out of them to respond. "I
do not think we started fast enough," she signed. "This
will take a generation to come to fruition. We will have to be
patient."
Meg frowned. "Generation? My dear, we could start seeing the
effects as early as the end of this year. When the harvest comes –
"
"We have enough for our purposes," signed Deirdre. "Was
that your concern?"
"How could we possibly have enough?" signed Meg.
Deirdre nodded to the hemp field. "You don't think this will
serve?"
"They can't eat hemp, my dear."
Deirdre looked confused. "Who are you referring to?"
"The children?" signed Meg. "The larger number of
children that will grow up now?"
Deirdre's eyes grew wide. Then she laughed aloud, enough so that
it was difficult for her to sign. "Apologies, my dear, I thought
you were referring to the writing business. Yes, I can see how we
will have more people to feed soon."
"That is what I mean," signed Meg. "What do we do
with population growth unchecked by previous constraints? Send people
away? Cut down the forests for more farmland, which would only delay
the matter instead of solving it? Confiscate the lands of other
villages? That last one isn't an option, I'm not playing queen. So
what do we do? You jumped into this hygiene thing without looking –
"
"Me?" signed Deirdre. "Alone? No. You were there
with me. You did your utmost to help me get the message through to
everyone. Why are you putting all the blame on me here?"
This Meg could not answer, not at first, for she had realized how
accusatory her slip of the hand had been. After a moment, she signed,
"I am looking ahead to the future, and worrying about
consequences. You look to the future and see your goals, and pursue
them, heedless of the danger to yourself, because you believe in your
dreams that much. Which is, I will admit, one of the reasons I
married you. But what of the danger to others?"
Deirdre sighed. "All I could think of in that task was saving
the lives of the people I knew. I didn't consider any political
implications. I didn't have time." She met Meg's eyes. "Were
you in my position, would you have done any differently?"
"I..." Meg's hands stilled. She moved in close to Deirdre, and put her hands around the small of her wife's back, drawing her closer, and whispered in her ear, "I was in your position. I had the power to save you. And I did not hesitate. Nor would I again, no matter what memories I lost."
Deirdre smiled, and kissed Meg on the cheek, and stepped back out of her embrace, signing, "You know well enough how anyone would act if they knew they could secure the life of their own child, no catch, no strings attached. Would they hesitate either? No. They would not even consider any possible implications. But Let's help them consider those implications." She nodded towards the cluster of roundhouses. "We must discuss this matter, in council with the whole village."
…
It was a most unusual meeting, in Meg's eyes, for not only were
all the villagers included, even unto babes in arms, it was conducted
in silence – or as much silence as could be had when there were
babes in arms, which was to say, a silence occasionally punctuated.
Deirdre had not asked anyone to communicate by sign language;
nevertheless, out of respect for her, everyone in the circle did so,
even those with babes in arms handing their children off when they
wished to speak.
"There it is then," signed Deirdre. "This is the
future we have purchased, for the sake of keeping our children alive.
I am sorry I waited for even a moment to inform you all of how to keep them
alive. Yet I am sorry that I rushed into the matter without considering
it further."
"It's not that bad," signed old Mochán. "There's
still famine and plague to keep population levels down."
Meg cleared her throat loudly.
"I mean," signed Mochán, "there's still famine and
war to keep population levels down."
"Plenty more of it," signed Bleiz.
"We'll be getting involved in it," signed Bébinn. "Will
we or nil we."
"The bird is out of the egg now," signed Conall. "But
that's the future. We have to focus on today and tomorrow and
tomorrow."
"Might be my future," signed a young lass named Órlaith.
"Might be my future," signed a young lad named Aran.
"Can't say I'm against it. But surely our mighty queen Meg will
protect us from the coming storm as long as possible?"
Meg moved as if to respond to the lad. But her hands fell still and silent. She could not be certain how to express to this child the depth of her unease at being called a queen. Fortunately for her everyone else seemed to be hesitating at the look on her face. "Let's say I've had quite enough of queens for one lifetime, as have we all." She let out a long breath. "Anyway...our choices for the coming year are to expand the farmland into the forest, or leave it as it is and hope it's enough to feed us all. Which one do you want?"
"I say you withhold taxes this year," said Fia, as she
appeared beside Bébinn.
Meg cleared her throat loudly.
"Sorry," signed Fia. "But you get what I'm talking
about? We don't have to worry about expanding the farmland if we
don't have to send our grain to the queen."
The general consensus from the circle was that this was the
easiest solution, and of course Meg could handle the matter, even if
the Queen's Hound came snarling to the gate. In the resulting vote,
Meg was the only nay.
…
There was much tension in the roundhouse that evening. Meg glared
at Fia frequently. Fia smirked and said little as she whittled.
At last Deirdre sighed, and signed, "This is the price of
seeking consensus. Sometimes it doesn't go your way."
"The majority becomes a tyrant," signed Meg. "But
you could have voted with me."
Nothing more was said that evening.