fugitive
Pilgrimage, drowned in the sacred Western Sea. Taminy, whose father returned
alone and empty-handed, a seemingly broken man, to give up his duties at
Nairne-Cirke and move his household to Ochanshrine at Creiddylad. One hundred
years ago. One hundred years.
“They
spent the rest of their days in worship and service,” said the moonlit girl. “They
wanted to be as close to me as they could. They wanted to serve the Meri’s
Cause.”
He
couldn’t reply. He had no words to speak, no mind to invent them. Overwhelmed,
he stumbled away into thicker darkness, leaving her behind him—a silky, silver
shadow against the Gyldan-baenn and a star-filled sky.
oOo
Leaving
the barrage of light and life above and behind, Osraed Ealad-hach took refuge
in the darkness of his aislinn chamber. Beneath the soft glow of several tiny
lightglobes, he sat, pondering the impenetrable black core of the room, the
crystal that would light it cupped in trembling hands.
He
hadn’t been here since the dreams began—since Meredydd-a-Lagan had had thrust
them into his nights. He had been afraid to come. Afraid to call out the ghosts
and the visions he knew were there. Now, his fear had slid headlong into
terror. Now, less than ever did he want to call up the visions; now, more than
ever, he knew he must.
Because
of that girl.
He
raised a hand from his lap, cradling the crystal toward the heart of the
chamber. The hand shook and his soul shook with it. Whimpering, he pulled the
hand back. Already images formed, but in his head, behind his eyes; the girl,
dropping her cowl, pulling off her scarf; the girl, dancing on the cobbles, her
beautiful, cwenly face alight with pleasure and excitement; the girl, walking
the battlements with Osraed Wyth, her hair pale gold in the light of moon and
stars.
Ealad-hach
moaned sickly, pressing his temples as if his hands could shove the images into
retreat. And her name—Taminy!
Why
Taminy? Why that wretched, cursed, wicked name?
A
flicker of anger insinuated itself into Ealad-hach’s fear. Bevol had chosen
that name, like as not. Chosen it because of what it implied about that young
woman. Well, he was not gullible as all that. The girl was not Taminy-a-Cuinn,
that much was certain. Her name was probably not even Taminy, or hadn’t been
until she met Bevol-a-Gled. Taminy-a-Cuinn she could not be, but she could yet
be the creature of his nightmare.
The
thought did not let Ealad-hach breathe any more easily. Still, he sat more
comfortably in the confines of his private chamber. It was only a matter of
knowledge. He would call for the aislinn. That would tell him what to do.
He
leaned forward with a will and put the crystal on the raised and tiled platform
at the center of the little room. He fed it his energies then, his dreams, the
floating images, the contents of his unconscious thought. Verdant light danced
over and around the facets, but it was a faded light, fitful and weak. He tried
harder, murmuring a duan to give force to his thoughts.
The
light intensified, steadied. About the crystal, mist that was not mist began to
form, spiraling slowly like a twisted wheel of cloud. It grew up, fanned out,
gained substance. It separated into earth and sky and sea; a white curl of
wave-foam raced up a beach, a moon burned the clouds silver, a wind stirred the
air.
Yes, this was the place. Now, show me. Show
me the girl .
And
there was Meredydd-a-Lagan—clear, sharp, as if alive. She melted, was burned
away and, burning, she walked into the waters.
There!
There was the girl! Rising from the waves in what seemed a robe of translucent,
lucent green. It shed like a skin and she stood, glittering, in the moonlight.
The
old Osraed’s lips moved more swiftly, his duan grew louder, more rhythmic.
Sweat beaded on his brow and his cheeks trembled. Her face—he must see her
face!
But
he could not see it. No duan, no amount of concentration would show it to him,
would make the moonlit phantom any more
Pilgrimage, drowned in the sacred Western Sea. Taminy, whose father returned
alone and empty-handed, a seemingly broken man, to give up his duties at
Nairne-Cirke and move his household to Ochanshrine at Creiddylad. One hundred
years ago. One hundred years.
“They
spent the rest of their days in worship and service,” said the moonlit girl. “They
wanted to be as close to me as they could. They wanted to serve the Meri’s
Cause.”
He
couldn’t reply. He had no words to speak, no mind to invent them. Overwhelmed,
he stumbled away into thicker darkness, leaving her behind him—a silky, silver
shadow against the Gyldan-baenn and a star-filled sky.
oOo
Leaving
the barrage of light and life above and behind, Osraed Ealad-hach took refuge
in the darkness of his aislinn chamber. Beneath the soft glow of several tiny
lightglobes, he sat, pondering the impenetrable black core of the room, the
crystal that would light it cupped in trembling hands.
He
hadn’t been here since the dreams began—since Meredydd-a-Lagan had had thrust
them into his nights. He had been afraid to come. Afraid to call out the ghosts
and the visions he knew were there. Now, his fear had slid headlong into
terror. Now, less than ever did he want to call up the visions; now, more than
ever, he knew he must.
Because
of that girl.
He
raised a hand from his lap, cradling the crystal toward the heart of the
chamber. The hand shook and his soul shook with it. Whimpering, he pulled the
hand back. Already images formed, but in his head, behind his eyes; the girl,
dropping her cowl, pulling off her scarf; the girl, dancing on the cobbles, her
beautiful, cwenly face alight with pleasure and excitement; the girl, walking
the battlements with Osraed Wyth, her hair pale gold in the light of moon and
stars.
Ealad-hach
moaned sickly, pressing his temples as if his hands could shove the images into
retreat. And her name—Taminy!
Why
Taminy? Why that wretched, cursed, wicked name?
A
flicker of anger insinuated itself into Ealad-hach’s fear. Bevol had chosen
that name, like as not. Chosen it because of what it implied about that young
woman. Well, he was not gullible as all that. The girl was not Taminy-a-Cuinn,
that much was certain. Her name was probably not even Taminy, or hadn’t been
until she met Bevol-a-Gled. Taminy-a-Cuinn she could not be, but she could yet
be the creature of his nightmare.
The
thought did not let Ealad-hach breathe any more easily. Still, he sat more
comfortably in the confines of his private chamber. It was only a matter of
knowledge. He would call for the aislinn. That would tell him what to do.
He
leaned forward with a will and put the crystal on the raised and tiled platform
at the center of the little room. He fed it his energies then, his dreams, the
floating images, the contents of his unconscious thought. Verdant light danced
over and around the facets, but it was a faded light, fitful and weak. He tried
harder, murmuring a duan to give force to his thoughts.
The
light intensified, steadied. About the crystal, mist that was not mist began to
form, spiraling slowly like a twisted wheel of cloud. It grew up, fanned out,
gained substance. It separated into earth and sky and sea; a white curl of
wave-foam raced up a beach, a moon burned the clouds silver, a wind stirred the
air.
Yes, this was the place. Now, show me. Show
me the girl .
And
there was Meredydd-a-Lagan—clear, sharp, as if alive. She melted, was burned
away and, burning, she walked into the waters.
There!
There was the girl! Rising from the waves in what seemed a robe of translucent,
lucent green. It shed like a skin and she stood, glittering, in the moonlight.
The
old Osraed’s lips moved more swiftly, his duan grew louder, more rhythmic.
Sweat beaded on his brow and his cheeks trembled. Her face—he must see her
face!
But
he could not see it. No duan, no amount of concentration would show it to him,
would make the moonlit phantom any more
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