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167 pages, Paperback
Published December 12, 2019
Clirando felt a shadow fall on her, like a heavy cloak for travelling. Her sleep-starved eyes half glimpsed Araitha suddenly, standing there in the shade behind the goddess’s statue, motionless, with face averted. “This is my true punishment, then.” “You may see it as such,” said the priestess. “Or as a chance at salvation. The seas at this time of year are calm as honey. The voyage will last no longer than nineteen days, and perhaps rather less. Go now and tell your band. Pack anything you may need, for battle or for mere existence.”
...
Next thing, the magicians pointed up into the sky. Above, the moon was lifting toward the zenith. Only the most engorged stars gleamed strongly enough to be seen against her extravagant light. The magicians started to wave their arms and call up at the heavens. “Stars! Stars come down and visit us! No one will miss you up there, on such a moon-white night.” And the stars came. They detached themselves from the black sky, circling, swarming like diamond bees down toward the island. Clirando heard Zemetrios murmur beside her. She too was astounded and filled by the wildest happiness. Why should stars not fall from heaven?
“There’s more. There’s the sacrifice.” “Sacrifice?” Seteva repeated softly. He tried to go on grinning – doves spotting the valour of Remusa – but he saw flames curling out of a well. “In five days’ time. To make the rain come end-of-season.” “You mean an ox, or do these barbarians use horses?” “Worse. I mean a girl. A temple girl, a virgin.” The fire ran into his mouth and through his belly.
...
In the East, our holy books inform us that when the first man had been made, the god breathed the divine breath into him, which became his soul, and caused him to become quick. It was then necessary to create woman. But the god did not breathe life directly into the woman. Instead he opened the man’s body and removed from it a piece of the soul, and this he gave to the woman. Since then, for every man created, a piece of his soul is subtracted to quicken a woman. In memory of this deed the seed also passes from male to female. But if a man finds by chance the woman who contains that fraction of his own soul, he will know her, as he knows his own image in a mirror.
...
“Wait,” said Nylerus. “Where are you going?” But horse and rider went by him, between the fires, and through the circle of firelit men, up the spine of one hill, descending from sight over another. “The Remusan is going to Tophiteth, the place of burning,” one of the men said malevolently. He spoke in the eastern language, his words striking on the quiet of the young night, scoring it like writing on a wall. “The Remusan is going to Hell.”
To lose love was a very terrible thing. To lose affection for one’s own self – this must be worse. For you could, at least in your mind, move far off from others. But from yourself you never could, until death released you. [loc 1161]
A novella ('The Heart of the Moon') coupled with a short story ('The Dry Season'): I hadn't read either of these before, and they contrast one another excellently.
'The Heart of the Moon' is set in a secondary world reminiscent of ancient Greece: Clirando, on discovering that her lover Thestus is having an affair with her best friend, Araitha, bests them both in combat and sends them into exile. Araitha, in return, curses Clirando never to sleep again -- and when the ship she sailed on is wrecked, Clirando has no hope of the curse being lifted. She is sent on a holy mission to Moon Isle, where a mysterious conjunction takes place once every seventeen years. There, Clirando meets a number of disconcerting entities, and falls in love with Zemetrious, who's also tormented by his past. A spiritual journey, an inn-room with only one bed, and a psychological resolution: classic Lee.
'The Dry Season' is also set in a world with echoes of antiquity, in this case Imperial Rome -- the Remusa featured in some of Lee's other work. Seteva is a military commander who falls in love with a young woman who's about to be sacrificed. He does not listen to the excellent advice he is given. No good comes of it.
I have loved Tanith Lee's work since I encountered her writing when I was in primary school. Given the sheer volume of novels, stories, plays and screenplays she produced, it's not surprising that I am still, six years after her death, discovering new fiction by her. I don't regard either of these stories as representing her best work, and I didn't enjoy them as much as I had hoped: but they are strong stories and it's good to see them in print.