up.”
She did as commanded and discovered the crystal was cool to
the touch even though it had been sitting in the direct Sun. She felt of it
with her fingers, caressing the facets; she tapped it with her fingernails.
“It is cool,” she told him. “And hard and has sharp planes
and angles.” She held it up to her eye and gazed through it at the sunny garden
outside. She saw a myriad gardens. “It changes the world one looks at through
it. It multiplies the world.”
“And does this describe what I hold in my hand, as well?”
Her eyes pried at his expression, trying to divine what
point he was making with her. “Well,” she said, “if what you hold in your hand
is a crystal, I suppose it might.... Well, yes, of course it does. Except that
it might be a different color, or perhaps it has no color at all.”
The Osraed smiled and set the second crystal next to the
first. It was a completely clear gem, but when the Sun struck it, the white
light shattered into a myriad of colored shards, strewn with the azure ones
across the pages of Meredydd’s book.
“By knowing a piece of crystal, anwyl,” he told her, “all
that is crystal is known, since any differences are only words and the reality
is crystal. Just so, by knowing a piece of iron, all that is iron is known,
since any differences are only words and the reality is only iron. And just so,
by knowing love, all that is love is known, since any differences are only
words and the reality is only love.”
He sat down across from her on a short three-legged stool. “Now,
tell me how this applies to your Pilgrimage.”
Meredydd gave the matter a moment of thought, then replied, “The
Pilgrim must be observant and learn from the things she observes about other
things not observable.”
“All right. Now, I have asked you a question; you may ask me
one.”
She had a question, the one sitting topmost in her mind. “What
do I do first? Tonight, I mean.”
“You go to your Farewelling.”
“I mean, after that.”
“That would be getting ahead of yourself. First, you go to
your Farewelling.”
o0o
This Solstice Festival was different than all other Festivals.
That it was the eve of her own Pilgrimage (an eve she had never really expected
to see, she now realized) charged it with an excitement she had never known
before. The aloof behavior of her fellow Pilgrims and the avoidance of people
she had once thought of as friends injected an element of pain.
The festivities began in the great courtyard at Halig-liath
where a formal ceremony took place in honor of the Pilgrims. There were eight
this Season. Her classmates Brys, Scandy and Lealbhallain were among them. She
was not cheated of her moment on the dais beneath the Osraed’s high gallery.
Osraed Bevol bestowed upon her a pale crystal; Ealad-hach, his mouth twist as
if he had sucked an unripe crab-apple, handed her the Scroll of Honor; Osraed
Calach set the traditional wreath of flowers upon her hair.
Then, in the gathering darkness, the celebration moved down
along the palisades to the Nairne Road in a long, snaking, noisy parade. Pipers
and drummers played before the honored Pilgrims and a crowd of well-wishers
trailed behind—every ambulatory man, woman and child in Nairne beating, shaking
or tootling something to frighten away the evil spirits that few, if any,
believed in. They paraded through the Cirke-yard, crossed the Halig-tyne at
Cirke Bridge and proceeded up the main avenue of town toward the river bend.
Along the quay, the parade disintegrated into a merry
rabble. The pipers and drummers continued to play while the Pilgrims were led
out to dance. Cailin came to the quay-side green, bedecked with ribbons and
flowers, they each chose a Prentice from the group of Pilgrims to dance with
them. But there was no one for Meredydd. The first girl onto the grass went
straight to Brys-a-Lach and shot Meredydd a sidelong glance eloquent with
ridicule.
“None’ll dance with a Dark Sister,” she
She did as commanded and discovered the crystal was cool to
the touch even though it had been sitting in the direct Sun. She felt of it
with her fingers, caressing the facets; she tapped it with her fingernails.
“It is cool,” she told him. “And hard and has sharp planes
and angles.” She held it up to her eye and gazed through it at the sunny garden
outside. She saw a myriad gardens. “It changes the world one looks at through
it. It multiplies the world.”
“And does this describe what I hold in my hand, as well?”
Her eyes pried at his expression, trying to divine what
point he was making with her. “Well,” she said, “if what you hold in your hand
is a crystal, I suppose it might.... Well, yes, of course it does. Except that
it might be a different color, or perhaps it has no color at all.”
The Osraed smiled and set the second crystal next to the
first. It was a completely clear gem, but when the Sun struck it, the white
light shattered into a myriad of colored shards, strewn with the azure ones
across the pages of Meredydd’s book.
“By knowing a piece of crystal, anwyl,” he told her, “all
that is crystal is known, since any differences are only words and the reality
is crystal. Just so, by knowing a piece of iron, all that is iron is known,
since any differences are only words and the reality is only iron. And just so,
by knowing love, all that is love is known, since any differences are only
words and the reality is only love.”
He sat down across from her on a short three-legged stool. “Now,
tell me how this applies to your Pilgrimage.”
Meredydd gave the matter a moment of thought, then replied, “The
Pilgrim must be observant and learn from the things she observes about other
things not observable.”
“All right. Now, I have asked you a question; you may ask me
one.”
She had a question, the one sitting topmost in her mind. “What
do I do first? Tonight, I mean.”
“You go to your Farewelling.”
“I mean, after that.”
“That would be getting ahead of yourself. First, you go to
your Farewelling.”
o0o
This Solstice Festival was different than all other Festivals.
That it was the eve of her own Pilgrimage (an eve she had never really expected
to see, she now realized) charged it with an excitement she had never known
before. The aloof behavior of her fellow Pilgrims and the avoidance of people
she had once thought of as friends injected an element of pain.
The festivities began in the great courtyard at Halig-liath
where a formal ceremony took place in honor of the Pilgrims. There were eight
this Season. Her classmates Brys, Scandy and Lealbhallain were among them. She
was not cheated of her moment on the dais beneath the Osraed’s high gallery.
Osraed Bevol bestowed upon her a pale crystal; Ealad-hach, his mouth twist as
if he had sucked an unripe crab-apple, handed her the Scroll of Honor; Osraed
Calach set the traditional wreath of flowers upon her hair.
Then, in the gathering darkness, the celebration moved down
along the palisades to the Nairne Road in a long, snaking, noisy parade. Pipers
and drummers played before the honored Pilgrims and a crowd of well-wishers
trailed behind—every ambulatory man, woman and child in Nairne beating, shaking
or tootling something to frighten away the evil spirits that few, if any,
believed in. They paraded through the Cirke-yard, crossed the Halig-tyne at
Cirke Bridge and proceeded up the main avenue of town toward the river bend.
Along the quay, the parade disintegrated into a merry
rabble. The pipers and drummers continued to play while the Pilgrims were led
out to dance. Cailin came to the quay-side green, bedecked with ribbons and
flowers, they each chose a Prentice from the group of Pilgrims to dance with
them. But there was no one for Meredydd. The first girl onto the grass went
straight to Brys-a-Lach and shot Meredydd a sidelong glance eloquent with
ridicule.
“None’ll dance with a Dark Sister,” she
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