Red Room Where the Writers Are

A Lesson:

“Hm?” said Ansella. The lesson. It had been something about Venna’s brothers, the treacherous rapist Eddin, the violent rapist Farr, and the lecherous rapist Nerr. At least she thought that’s what it was about. She never really listened to lessons or sermons anyway; she preferred service and offerings. But it was so warm and pleasant under the tree. Ansella didn’t pay much attention to the words, bobbing gently up and down on the rhythmic cadence of Ibbit’s strong, sure voice instead, a voice that eased her doubts about Ibbit’s interpretation of scripture. “No, Sister,” Ansella sighed in contentment. “I understand.”

“You understand enough, darling,” smiled Ibbit. She stood up from the bench surrounding the tree and reached down to Ansella on the ground. “Come. Walk with me.” She took Ansella’s arm and tucked it firmly in her own, leading her down the dappled paths away from the great house. “You’ve come so far in your understanding, Ansella. I’m very proud of you,” said Ibbit.

Ansella turned a face open with pleasure up to her taller companion. “Really? I sometimes wonder if I fully grasp what you’re telling me.”

Ibbit surreptitiously looked around them. They were standing in the orchard, the low branches of the pear trees shielding them from sight. “Annie, don’t worry about that,” she murmured. Ansella felt Ibbit’s strong arms encircle her, healer’s hands working at her nape until she loosened and opened completely.