Taminy (7 page)

He
realized his hands were stretched out toward the Triumvirate—toward its Apex.
He lowered them and went on. “Her eyes were like jewels,” he said. “Like
garnets in the Sun.”

“Aaah,”
said one of the other Osraed, “indeed She has changed Aspect,” and others
nodded.

“I
felt,” said Wyth, “as if I knew Her. And of course, I did. I have spent my life
learning Her ways and singing her duans and longing for a day when She would
give me one of my own. Overwhelmed, I threw myself to the wet sand and ... She
laughed at me.” He smiled again, eyes watering. “It was music. And out of the
music came Her voice saying, ‘Rise, Wyth Arundel. Rise and come to Me.” He
stopped, passing eyes over the faces of his listeners.

Here, now, they will cease to believe me.

“‘Come
to Me?’” repeated Faer-wald. “She bid you come ... into the water?”

“Those
were Her words, Osraed. I spoke them just as I heard them. I swear I will never
forget them.”

“And
... did you-?” Ealad-hach’s voice was white as his crown of hair.

“I
could scarcely believe I’d heard Her right. I’ve studied the Pilgrimages all my
life. No one has ever been summoned into the waters. I thought She must be
tormenting me on account of that dream. So, I asked if She meant I was to come
into the Sea. ‘The Water of Life, Wyth,’ She said and laughed again and said, ‘Come
into the Water of Life and see if you do not get wet.’ I was horrified—certain
I must be punished for my arrogance. But She told me that I wasn’t arrogant,
only ignorant.”

He
chuckled. “I hadn’t thought arrogance to be a worse offense, but of course it
is. For in ignorance, one simply doesn’t know; in arrogance one knows, yet
refuses to understand. I understood the Goal, then—the End of Longing: To get
wet. To drown in that Water; to absorb that knowledge; to let it permeate every
atom. And as I understood that Goal, She held out Her radiant arms to me and I
stepped into the Sea.”

Ealad-hach
gasped, seeming to strangle, momentarily, on the air he breathed. Wyth glanced
at him, then went on.

“It
was warm. She was warm. Her radiance embraced me, surrounded and engulfed me.
Warm as sunlight, comforting, loving. She is love!” he added suddenly, going
from dreamy to zealous. “We teach laws here and histories and dreams and inyx.
I tell you, what we must teach, above all else, that She is love.”

He
paused and looked about at the circle of faces old and older. It had been years
since a new Osraed had been willed to Halig-liath. Years since any doctrinal
changes had been made.

“We
must teach that,” he repeated and knew Calach would record it faithfully as the
first doctrinal utterance of his Mission. “We must make it part of the morning
invocation.”

“Now,”
Wyth squared his shoulders and sat as tall as his body would allow. “I am
coming to a part of my Tell which ...” Something like fear fluttered beneath
his breast bone. He must have no fear. He must continue. He must give the whole
Tell.

He
glanced at Ealad-hach, trying to gauge, from the old hawk face, what effect his
story was having. But Ealad-hach was little more than a shadow, sitting far
back in his tall chair.

Wyth
looked to Bevol and found an eager gaze. He delivered the rest of his tale
directly to Meredydd’s Master.

“The
Meri held me in Her arms and drew me beneath the waves with Her. And, as they
closed over my head, I had no fear. She smiled at me. I couldn’t see Her smile,
but only feel it. And then, She kissed me ... first on the lips, then on the
brow.”

A
whisper wafted in a circle about him like an eddy of wind, invisible and cool.

“And
She called me Her son.”

The
wind was sucked from the room leaving it soundless and motionless.

“You-you
jest.” Ealad-hach half-rose from his place, his hands, on the table, supporting
him. “You’re playing a game with us. No, testing us. The Meri has commissioned
you to test the Osraed.”

Wyth
shook his head. “No, Osraed Ealad-hach. I do neither.”

“This-this
is unprecedented!” exclaimed Eadmund. “For centuries the selection of Osraed
has followed a prescribed pattern. For centuries! Never in the history of the
Divine Arts has the Meri drawn an elect into the Sea, never has She kissed him
upon the mouth and never has She referred to him as Her son! What can you
possibly mean by all these things?”

Osraed
Bevol rapped quietly on the tabletop, stopping the flow of questions. “We are
out of order. Our new brother, Wyth, brings us a Tell that is stunning, to be
sure, but we have no reason to doubt his words. Indeed, to do so would be
tantamount to sacrilege. It is certain from the reports of both our new Osraed,
that the Meri has changed Aspect. I seem to recall that the last such Cusp
brought some significant changes in the Laws and Observances.”

“But
not like this!” objected Eadmund. “This is outrageous!”

“Who
are we to judge the Meri’s decree outrageous? Look at our young brother, Wyth.
Can you doubt that he has been touched by the Meri? Can you doubt that he
speaks only what the Meri commissions him to speak?”

The
entire assemblage turned, as a man, to peer at the Kiss, brilliant, on Wyth’s
brow. They could not doubt, and Bevol knew it.

The
Apex nodded at Wyth. “Tell us, Osraed Wyth, what were the words of the Meri to
you after She bestowed Her Kiss?”

“She
said, ‘Am I not the Mother of Osraed? From this night you are no longer the son
of the woman who bore you. This night, you have become my son, for I have given
life to your soul.’ She did that.”

“And
did She extract from you any promises?”

“That
I would use the knowledge She gave me well, and ...” He grinned at the memory,
causing several of the Osraed to wriggle uncomfortably. “And that I would learn
to laugh.”

“And
what is your Mission, Wyth Arundel?”

“I
am to be attached to Halig-liath. I am to protect the Covenant between man and
Meri. I am to bring about certain ... reforms in Divine Doctrine. I would
prefer not to speak of these things until I’ve rested. I haven’t slept for
several days.”

“What
sort of reforms?” asked Ealad-hach sharply, ignoring Bevol’s chairmanship. “Have
they do to with admitting cailin to Halig-liath?”

“Ealad,
please!” Calach stared at his compatriot in bemusement. “The poor boy is
exhausted. Look at him. What an experience he has had! He has obviously been
singled out for great honor.”

But
Ealad-hach would not desist. “Does it mean nothing to you that, according to
the testimony of Osraed Bevol, Meredydd-a-Lagan entered the Sea as this boy
claims to have done? Does it mean nothing to you that I have dreamed of that
event?”

“Meredydd?”
echoed Wyth as Osraed Tynedale repeated, “Claims?” Wyth scarcely heard what was
said for the next few seconds. He cared only that Osraed Bevol would know what
had really happened to Meredydd.

“Meredydd
was transformed,” he murmured, unthinking. “The Meri told me.”

They
heard him and poured out as astonished a silence as when he had spoken of the
Meri kissing his mouth.

“Transformed?”
Even in the semi-dark that hovered protectively about his head, Ealad-hach’s
face was pale. “In what way, transformed?”

Wyth
looked to Bevol. “She said you knew, Master. She said if I asked, you would
tell me.”

Bevol
sat placidly at the center of attention, glancing from face to face, his lips
not quite smiling, his eyes revealing nothing. “Yes,” he said, “I do know.
Meredydd-a-Lagan was transmuted into an Eibhilin form. I saw it happen. Skeet
saw it happen. Even Gwynet saw it, though I doubt she understood what she saw,
any more than our brother Ealad understands the implications of what he
dreamed. I don’t doubt the two things are related.”

Bevol
turned his eyes to Wyth then. “I will tell you of Meredydd’s last moments on
the Meri’s Shore, but later, when you are rested. Then we must discuss the
changes the Meri wishes to be made here and your inclusion on the Council.”

Wyth
felt an odd prickle in the core of his mind. “No, Osraed Bevol. I ... I am not
to serve on the Council. I am ... to be Weard to the Covenant.”

“Weard
to the Covenant?” repeated Faer-wald. “Why? Why does the Covenant need such
protection?”

“It
simply does or ... it will.” The prickle was waning. “I’m not sure yet,
exactly,” Wyth said apologetically. His head dipped in a moment of habitual
self-deprecation. “I can only say it will soon become clear.”

oOo

“What
is clear,” said Osraed Faer-wald later, “is that we are once more at a Cusp. A
dangerous Cusp.” He shook his shaggy, greying head and watched the first-year
students scurry cross-court toward the Refectory for the afternoon meal. “The
Meri has changed again—in both Aspect and behavior. Such a change is always
accompanied by calamity.”

“Surely
knowing that, we can do something to ameliorate it,” suggested Eadmund. “Isn’t
that most likely to be our role in this—to discern where the tests lie and to
rise to them? Imagine, brothers, what blessings would be forthcoming if we can
but successfully navigate this treacherous period.”

“What?”
asked Ealad-hach peevishly. He rubbed his temples and cringed from the glare of
sun in the cobbled yard below. “Blessings? How can you see blessings in this
situation?”

“I’ve
studied the past Cusps,” Eadmund began.

“As
we all have,” interjected Faer-wald.

“Of
course, but I think we must dimly understand their significance. You say that
changes in the Meri’s Aspect have always been accompanied by dire calamities.
Why so? In Cyne Earwyn’s time the reason was obvious. He had engaged in war
against the Deasach. Cyne Liusadhe wrought unjust vengeance on the innocent
kinsman of a traitor.”

“And,”
said Faer-wald, “lest we forget, the Osraed had so completely lost the spark of
their purpose that the Meri caused nearly everyone of them to be replaced.”

“Are
you suggesting that’s happened again?” asked the Osraed Kynan.

Eadmund
shook his head. “No, but we must consider our own responsibility for this
event, if we have one. Have the Osraed displeased the Meri in some way—angered
the God that sent Her? Or is the problem somewhere else—among the people,
within the other arms of government, perhaps? Consider the reports we’ve heard
from Creiddylad. Consider how the Cyne has repeatedly postponed the General
Assembly. Isn’t it possible we are being warned of some calamity arising from
evil elsewhere so that we might take some action? Or that the whole thing is a
test of our spiritual awareness? These things are not mutually exclusive. And
consider this: If the Meri was displeased with us, surely She would simply tell
us through Her new elect. Yet, She has chosen two Osraed this season and has
warned neither of any such displeasure-”

“Ah,”
interrupted Faer-wald, “but that’s not strictly true. She did express
displeasure with the socio-economic situation in Creiddylad and is sending
Lealbhallain-mac-Mercer there to look into it. And, dare I say it, She is
obviously desirous of having female Prentices at Halig-liath—though why She
should wait all this time-”

Kynan
waved that aside. “Obviously, women haven’t had the capacity until now,
regardless of what men like Osraed Bevol say. I want to hear Eadmund’s point.”

“My
point is that these Cusps, these periods of difficulty, must be tests,
otherwise the Meri would simply and forthrightly tell us what was Her will. The
fact that there is any mystery at all supports the idea that we are being
willfully placed in a position wherein we must fall back on our spiritual
resources.”

He
glanced about at his listeners for approval and Ealad-hach gave it.

“Osraed
Eadmund is right. This outrageous claim of Wyth’s can only be understood in
that light. Sonship—what is that? A concept without precedent. The Meri is,
Herself, the offspring of God. What can it possibly mean to say that Wyth is
Her son—that he is God’s grandson? Pah!” He gave his temples one last impatient
shove, then lowered his hands almost forcibly, shaking the sleeves of his robe
down over them. “What disturbs me most, Osraed, what troubles my soul day and
night, is that these Cusps always involve women. Always. Every time a female
goes to the Sea, there is calamity. I have dreamed of an entire train of women,
going back to antiquity, who have visited the Shore. Some were convicted of the
Wicke-craft by the highest courts of the land, and yet marched themselves down
to the Sea to wait for the Holy One. Night after night, I see them. Condemned
by the very act of taking Pilgrimage without leave-”

“Except
for Meredydd-a-Lagan,” murmured Eadmund.

“What?”

“Except
for Meredydd-a-Lagan, who took her Pilgrimage with the permission of the Osraed
Council.” His eyes were back-lit with hope. “This is significant, brothers. I
know it is! Don’t you see? Women have gone to the Sea without sanction, without
permit, and calamity has always followed. But this time, a cailin went forth
with the agreement of the Council, if not,” he added, glancing at Ealad-hach, “the
blessing of all its members, and almost in response, we are suddenly to be
instructed to enroll women at Halig-liath.”

“Meredydd-a-Lagan
died in the commission of heresy,” said Ealad-hach. His voice was a dry old
rope, twisted and frayed.

The
others glanced at him and tried not to show their discomfort at his open denial
of Wyth’s Tell.

“Are
we to take the position, then, that Wyth Arundel and Bevol are lying?” Osraed
Faer-wald’s broad brow wrinkled ferociously. He shook his head. “No. No, it’s
inconceivable. An Osraed lie?”

“An
Osraed can be misled by strong emotions. Bevol is an old man—not as old as I,
to be sure, but old. He has lost his wife, his child, and a Prentice who was
like a daughter to him.”