Taminy (22 page)

Saxan
straightened, uncomfortable with the tenor of his peer’s commentary. “I believe
that is his prerogative.”

“Aye,
well. So they say.” The old fellow sneezed, then whipped out a kerchief to mop
up. “Damned allergies. Can’t isolate the damned pollen, can’t concoct the right
inyx. Heh. Speaking of prerogatives, I’ve also heard-”

Whatever
Parthelan had been about to say was drowned in the sudden wash of sound that
accompanied the seven man Osraed Council into the chamber. Osraed Wyth came in
behind them to take a seat at the end of the curving table reserved for the
Council members. He looked up at the encircling galleries of Osraed drawn here from
as far south as Lin-liath and Hrofceaster and as far north as Cuinn Holding,
and blinked. His narrow, angular face turned white, then red before he closed
his eyes.

“Huh!”
muttered Parthelan. “Look at ’im. Sitting there, quivering like a half-set jelly.
I tell you, Saxan, the quality of this institution is diminishing every year.
No wonder we have arrived at another Cusp. When the only Prentices chosen are
an undersized pup and a shivering Eiric-”

“Brother
Parthelan, please!” Saxan breathed.

It
was pure mercy that Osraed Bevol chose that moment to address the gathering. He
struck the crystal summons bell before him on the table and stood to survey the
room as the singing tone died away.

“Welcome,
Brothers,” he greeted them. “As you all know, our Beloved has changed Aspect
once again in this, the six hundred and fifth Year of Pilgrimage. She has, in
fact, returned to Her original Golden Aspect. In this new ... manifestation,
our Mistress has chosen two new Osraed, whom you met at Tell Fest.

“You
have heard the Tell of Osraed Wyth. You know that his entitlement was marked by
portentous occurrences and that he is commissioned to further the Meri’s
purpose here at Halig-liath by whatever means the Meri bids him employ. He is
further appointed Weard of the Covenant and has already begun his work at
collecting and anthologizing all writings pertaining to that critical subject.
The aim of this meeting is to acquaint you all with the changes that are to be
made here, at Halig-liath. Osraed Wyth will now speak to us.” He gestured at
the younger Osraed, then seated himself.

The
youth came to his feet with a brushing of hands on robes and a shuffling of
feet. He made his way to the center of the Council’s crescent table and faced
the galleries, looking so ill-at-ease that Saxan couldn’t help but feel sorry
for him.

“Quivering
jelly!” snorted Parthelan beneath his breath.

Saxan
hushed him just as Wyth raised his eyes and began to speak.

“For
too long,” he said, his voice much stronger than the Cirkemaster expected, “we
have taught our Prentices the letter of Law, the flesh of Doctrine, the mere
clothing of Faith. We have recited to them histories that exist only as a
recording of actions. Faithfully recorded, aye, but missing their motive and
their meaning. We must change that. The Meri ...” He paused, scanning the faces
in the gallery one by one.

Saxan
felt a chill pass over him with the touch of those dark, liquid eyes. It was
not unpleasant, in and of itself, that touch, but behind it was an open
doorway, and through that doorway, Osraed Saxan-a-Nairnecirke saw darkness. He
shivered.

“Huh!”
muttered Parthelan from beside him. “The daft boy’s gotten all tongue-tied.”

Saxan
ignored him.
No, old man. He has not. He
reads us. He measures us.

“The
Meri,” Wyth repeated, “demands of us passion. She desires our devotion, our
love. Not our cool respect or our shrewd appreciation of Her teachings. Our
passionate devotion is what binds us to Her Covenant. Our love for Her draws
Her love to us like a great magnet—like the force that holds our world in its
course about the Sun. This will now be taught at Halig-liath: That the essence
of the Meri is love, and the essence of our Covenant with Her is love. This
must guide everything we do here—from selecting our Prentices to teaching them
the Art. This Covenant will be at the heart of our teaching.”

He
paused again, as if waiting for response. There was silence, though heads were
nodded and brows furrowed and arms folded over velvet-covered chests. Saxan
found himself among the nodding, and waited eagerly for the new Osraed’s next
words.

“The
second matter is this: Halig-liath will now officially and publicly open its
classrooms to female students.”

That
pronouncement was greeted by a small storm of sound. Osraed Wyth weathered it
in silence. Saxan found he couldn’t so much as croak, but only stare at the
serene center of sibilant storm. He glanced aside, once, to catch Osraed Bevol’s
face set in a somewhat sardonic smile, then returned his gaze to Osraed Wyth,
unable to muster anything more than dumb amazement.

Six
hundred years. Six centuries Osraed had gone to the Sea boys and returned as
men—Divine Counselors. And now ... and now cailin would go and return—as what?

An
Osraed from Lin-liath stood to be recognized. “You can’t mean to teach them the
Art, Osraed. Surely, they are not capable.”

“The
success here of Meredydd-a-Lagan would seem to prove otherwise,” Wyth told him.
“And Osraed Bevol will tell you that the girl, Gwynet, whom he sponsors, is as
natural a talent as any boy who’s ever studied here.”

“But
they cannot be Osraed,” objected Parthelan, out of turn. “Whatever is the
point?”

Osraed
Comyn Hillwild, a great, braid-bearded, barrel of a man, interrupted. “Are they
to be trained up as teachers for the Hillwild? Ren Catahn has said Halig-liath
will send teachers to Hrofceaster.”

“Who’d
want a woman teaching their children the Arts and Sciences?” asked the
Lin-liath Brother. “Women are only suited to teaching the trades, we all know
this.”

“Then
we ‘know’ a falsehood, Osraed,” Wyth observed. “And in answer to your first
question: the point of teaching girls is that they become Osraed as we became
Osraed—by finding favor in the eyes of the Meri, by following Her path to the
Sea.”

“When
shall this begin?” asked one of the Academy Osraed.

“After
Harvest there will be female Prentices at Halig-liath. The Osraed Tynedale and
Bevol will oversee the acceptance of applicants. For the purpose of furthering
the enrollment of girl children, we will waive the usual age guidelines for
first year candidates. We will also publish a call to every village, settlement
and holding in Caraid-land asking that their daughters be sent to Nairne as
applicants for Prenticeship.”

“Absurd!”
muttered Parthelan. “Completely absurd!”

“Not
if it is the Meri’s will.” Osraed Wyth was looking right at the old man. “And
it is the Meri’s will.”

Parthelan
shifted in his seat while, beside him, Saxan wriggled guiltily, realizing he
had echoed the old Osraed’s thoughts.

“And
if you cannot convince the average Caraidin of that?” asked Parthelan.

Osraed
Wyth’s eyes didn’t blink. “The Meri will find Her own candidates.”

“Where?”
Parthelan persisted.

“She
will find them in the Gyldan-baenn,” said Osraed Comyn, glowering at the elder
Counselor. “We do not question the Meri’s will or Her Chosen.”

“Our
Hillwild Brother is correct.” Osraed Bevol rose from his place at the Council
table. “It is not appropriate for us to question the Meri’s will. When She
chooses Her Counselors, we have no right to offer our approval or disapproval.
When She gives Her word, we have no right to argue it, alter it, silence it, or
ignore it. Not if we are to call ourselves Osraed. Not if we are to be true to
the Covenant.”

In
the ruminative silence that followed, Osraed Saxan felt, with chilling
certainty, that a line had been drawn in the ether and that every man in the
room would find himself, eventually, upon one side of it or the other.

oOo

“Eadmund!”

The
Osraed turned to find himself all but surrounded by his Tradist peers. Glancing
around at the group of faces, Eadmund was immediately uneasy.

Osraed
Ealad-hach spoke again, his voice thin with obvious agitation. “What does this
high-handed behavior mean? How do you explain yourself?”

Eadmund
frowned, perplexed. “What are you talking about? What high-handed behavior? I’ve
done no-”

“Sending
teachers to the Hillwild—autonomously?” A red stain spread across the bridge of
Ealad-hach’s nose. “If that is not high-handed, I don’t know the meaning of the
words!”

“But
I-”

“I
spoke to Comyn. I know where Catahn got the promise of teachers. You usurp the
prerogatives of the Hall.”

Eadmund
had been going to say he hadn’t wanted to make so bold a move—that it was all
Bevol’s idea—but the attitude of the elder Osraed, the deep censuring frowns on
the faces of his companions, made him feel wronged.

Feeling
wronged, he said instead, “The Hall! The Hall has not met since late last
autumn, and it shows no sign of meeting any time soon. The Hillwild have
petitioned Cyne Colfre for teachers and he has ignored them. The Brothers of
the Jewel have ignored them. Catahn had no recourse but to come to us and we,
as Osraed, as members of the Assembly, had no choice but to grant his
petition—at least until some other provision can be made. It is within our power
as Osraed.”

“It
is not your responsibility-” began Faer-wald.

“Not
our responsibility?” Eadmund echoed. “Not our responsibility to educate our
country’s children? How can you say such a thing?”

“I
can say it with the force of tradition behind the words. The Osraed of
Creiddylad educate the people; we educate future Osraed.”

“The
force of tradition is not Law. It’s not even inspiration. And you must allow we
educate very few Osraed. Most of our students go unchosen. If the Osraed of
Creiddylad will not make use of those unchosen souls, then surely we must.
Osraed Bevol is inspired to do it.”

“Bevol!”
spat Ealad-hach. “Always Bevol! Forever Bevol! He will bring Caraid-land to
ruin with his meddlesome inspiration. He is inspired to advocate the abandoning
of order.”

Eadmund
was aghast. “Bevol is at Apex, Brother. And he is trying to be of help-”

“Of
help, yes!” said Ealad-hach. “But to whom?” He raised a finger before Eadmund’s
face. “There is power afoot, Eadmund. There is movement beneath and above and around
us. There are strange forces at work. We need look no further than the Meri’s
change of Aspect for proof that. We must be cautious of those forces.”

Eadmund’s
entrails trembled. “What are you saying? What are you suggesting? I wasn’t
pleased when Bevol first spoke of unilaterally sending teachers to the
Gyldan-baenn, but I recognize his right to do it. He is at Apex, he is also a
senior of the Hall and, above all of that, the Meri made education his special
concern. You cannot be suggesting that Osraed Bevol is motivated by anything
other than the love and inspiration of the Meri.”

None
of them answered him, but only gazed at him silently, their faces closed by
suspicion.

“Osraed
Bevol has a Tradist ally, then,” Ealad-hach said at last.

“Ally?
You speak as a warrior, not as a Divine Counselor. The subject is the education
of children, Brothers. A subject on which we should not be divided. You speak
as if we could be adversaries.”

“There
is more to this than the education of children, Eadmund,” said Faer-wald. “What
we speak of is the crumbling of traditions—the decay of order.”

“There
is no progress without change.”

“There
is no order without structure. Bevol advocates disorder. We are not happy when
our Cyne flouts our traditions. Should we be any more approving when one of our
own does it?”

Eadmund
shook his head, frustrated. “It’s not the same. You know it’s not the same.”

“Perhaps
you need to meditate on your beliefs, Eadmund,” said Ealad-hach. “Perhaps you
need to ascertain whether you may still call yourself a Traditionalist.”

After
a moment of pregnant silence the others moved away, leaving Eadmund alone in
the Council chamber. Or so he thought. But in picking up his portfolio and
turning to the door that led to his chambers, he saw he was not alone. Osraed
Tynedale stood, half-concealed by the shadow of one great, open door.

“You
heard?” Eadmund asked, feeling a belated dew spring up on his forehead.

Tynedale
nodded.

Eadmund
shook his head, smiled wanly. “All that fuss about whether to afford the
Hillwild some Cleirachs and teachers.”

One
brow glided up Tynedale’s smooth, round forehead. “Is that what it was about?”

“Yes.
Didn’t you hear them?”

“Oh,
I heard them. And still I ask you, is that really what it was about?”

The
portly Osraed bid Eadmund good-eve and left him to rub at the sudden lump in
his throat.

oOo

“Taminy!”
Iseabal squeaked, jumped and nearly dropped the ceramic platter she was
holding.

Her
mother glanced over at her from before the half-open oven door. “What is it,
Isha?”

“Oh,
it ... it’s Taminy. She just came into the yard.” She pulled her eyes from the
kitchen window and hurriedly set down the platter. “I’ll go out and meet her.”
She did that, scurrying through the vestibule and out onto the wide verandah.

Taminy
was just mounting the steps as she got there, and smiled up at her. Holding out
a basket, she said, “I’ve brought some fresh herbs and fruit for your supper.
We’ve got apples already ripening.”

Iseabal
stared stupidly at the basket, then jumped and took it, dropping a
half-curtsey. “Oh, thank you. Mama will be delighted. Um ... can you stay for
supper?”

“I’d
be pleased to, Iseabal. Thank you.”

“It
won’t be just us.” Iseabal couldn’t quite keep a frown from her face. “Mama
invited Doireann and Aine, too.”