The Foretelling by Alice Hoffman

he knew enough not to cry. There was a bit of blanket soaked in mares’ milk for him to suck on. He stared right at me, unafraid. Like me, he had yellow eyes. His hair was black, like mine.
    Deborah had dragged herself out of her blanket. She was watching us. We were never to name boy babies, for they wouldn't be with us long. They would be disposed of, or given back to the people from which they had come. Name something, and it belongs to you. Everyone knew that.
    But I went against the rules.
    Anto,
I said. It was our word for black horse.
    Deborah nodded. She knew I had chosen the right name for my brother. She did not berate me for breaking the rules.
    He's the one you dreamt,
the priestess said.
Now your fortune is upon you.

In the age of

    I N THE AGE OF WOMANHOOD you cannot know what will happen. You were one thing as a girl, but who will you become? I had been rain, sorrow, the sister of the bear, the keeper of the horses, and now I was the Queen. We traveled back to our spring pastures, our summerlands. Slowly, in grief for all we had lost. We left behind our Queen and our highest priestess, cared for by her daughter, since Deborah was unable to complete the journey. We left behind the horses that had not made it through the hardest winter in memory. We left behind who we had been when we'd been in service to our Queen. But we were coming back to the summerlands with twelve new daughters, all bundled into blankets that were tied to their mothers’ backs.
    It took us nearly a month to make this journey. And in this time I saw Astella and Asteria whispering to each other, arguing, I think. But I never could tell for certain; they always made themselves quiet whenever I was near. My aunt, Cybelle, rode beside me, to give me her blessing and try to stop the talk that I was not my mother's daughter, not the one she'd had in mind as the leader for her people.
    Let them buzz,
Cybelle whispered.
Just like the bees. Soon enough they'll stop and go about their business.
    Io rode with her mother, for Penthe couldn't be trusted not to flee and wander back the way we'd come. She had refused to leave the Queen. When we left, we'd had to drag her away from the catacombs and tie her with rope to the neck of her horse. Even now, Io had to keep a close eye on her mother.
    In front of us the pastures were green, like a sea. I rode standing up, to honor my mother's spirit. We built our city of tents as soon as we arrived in good pastureland, and mine went in the place of the rightful Queen. That night, before anyone rested or ate, I was bathed in mares’ milk and a huge platter of meat was set before me. I was given new boots and a new shirt, one the young girls had been working on since the Queen had died. People lowered their eyes when they spoke to me, but I could tell, all wasn't well. There were rumors and a division amongst us. The archers stayed off by themselves. They did not offer me their allegiance or sit beside me. They never once called me their Queen.
    One night Penthe came to me. She bowed as though I were truly the Queen and I asked her not to do so. She was Penthe, and I was Rain, neither needed to bow to the other. All the same, Penthe wasn't the same as she had been; her hair had turned white and her red henna tattoos were fading. She had one foot in the spirit world searching for her beloved Queen and the other foot in our world.
    They say you haven't even killed three men,
Penthe said.
    I haven't killed three, I've killed six. The Jour who killed Usha, my bear, and two in my first battle.
    Penthe nodded, understanding I had not told anyone about this because I had not wanted to attend the festival.
    Well, then they say you haven't killed the boy.
    Penthe was looking directly into my face. It was the time of bees and there were logs all over our city filled with the Queen bee's servants, each one dripping honey. The air was sweet, but now it was cloying. Too much. Too sweet.
    What boy?
My chest hurt with my