The Dark Lady

worried, Leonardo? What would have happened if the box contained, say, a pair of gloves, or some candy?”
    “It would have meant that I was forever denied the sacraments of my race,” I said.
    “I thought your Pattern Mother already cast you out.”
    “I have been cast out physically. Had she not sent the sacred soil, I would have been cast out spiritually as well. My soul would have been doomed to wander lost and alone for all eternity.”
    “Well, at least now I understand your yelp of joy,” said Heath. “Has this particular ceremony got a name?”
    “The Celebration of the First Mother,” I replied.
    “And you'll get another box of dirt for your birthday?” he asked.
    “It is not my birthday,” I replied, “but my Acceptance Day. It is a joyous time.”
    “How does it differ from the Celebration of the First Mother?”
    “When I am at home, there is an enormous feast.”
    “And that's it?” he asked, surprised.
    “Vows of House and Family are repeated in an elaborate ceremony, and my fealty to the House is reaffirmed.”
    “How is she going to ship that in a box?” he asked with a laugh.
    “When a Bjornn male is no longer on Benitarus II, the feast becomes the sole symbol of reaffirmation. My Pattern Mother will send me vegetation grown from her own fields, and my act of eating it will seal the bond between us.”
    “It must be a bit of a letdown compared to what you experienced before you left home,” commented Heath.
    “It is,” I agreed. “But the individual's happiness is meaningless. The House is all.”
    “If you say so.”
    “And now may I borrow the cutting instrument, please?” I asked.
    He nodded, walked to the galley, and returned with a knife a moment later.
    I held my hand over the soil of the First Mother, and then paused before pricking my finger.
    “Will the sight of blood distress you, Friend Valentine?” I asked.
    “Only my own,” he replied easily.
    I cut through the flesh, and allowed my blood to trickle onto the sacred soil.
    "Purple?" said Heath, frowning.
    “Not all blood is red,” I replied.
    “Do you want a bandage or something?”
    “The flow will stop shortly,” I assured him, and indeed it did a moment later.
    “I suppose you'll want to do the next part in the dryshower,” suggested Heath.
    “Yes, if you do not mind.”
    “As a matter of fact, I insist,” he replied. “I hate messes.”
    I thanked him, waited for the ship to leave Graustark and set off on its voyage for Far London, and then completed the Celebration of the First Mother in the privacy of the dryshower.
    I had hoped that during the trip Venzia would tell us still more about the Dark Lady, but it turned out that he had already told us everything he knew. This did not, however, keep him from speaking about her incessantly, for he was totally obsessed with meeting her and learning the answer to his question.
    Heath remained skeptical. He would join in each discussion, make pertinent observations, and speak of the Dark Lady as if she were precisely what Venzia believed her to be— and yet, between the end of one conversation and the beginning of the next, he would somehow once again become convinced that she was actually an alien, or, at best, a normal woman with the supernormal power of telepathy.
    As for myself, I was so relieved that my Pattern Mother had not condemned my soul to eternal exile that even my status as an outcast who could never again return to his home world became bearable. To keep my mind from dwelling on my predicament, I concentrated on our quest for the Dark Lady, trying to force all thoughts of House and Family from my mind.
    When the others were asleep, I attempted to capture her likeness again, though once more my meager artistic abilities failed me. One day I even tried to draw her as a Bjornn, her pale skin Patternless, her trappings black, her features perfect, her eyes sad, the Deity Herself set to ink and paper... yet when I was done she did not look like the Mother of All Things, but only like a Bjornn female with Patternless skin and perfect features. Somehow I knew then that the Dark Lady, whatever her origin and whatever her quest, came only for Men and not for the Bjornn.
    I wrote another letter to my Pattern Mother, thanking her for her gift and telling her what I had learned, but I knew that she would not reply. I also wrote my Pattern Mate, formally divorcing her (though the separation was automatic with my banishment), and wishing her good