by G. H. Duval
He laughed. “Of course! How else could they officiate them?” His eyes danced, already warming to a soft orange, knowing full well the devastating effect his words would have on her.
She didn’t disappoint him, turning from him in silent terror as all blood drained from her face and her hands went numb. She would be searched by the First Seer! Having never witnessed a Declaration overseen by the Firsts, she didn’t know if the forms of observance were different than what she had been taught. And she had the burden of being first in line! A terrible, sudden sweat broke across her shoulders and shot down her back while a slight tremor began in her knees.
The au Feur looked about to speak again, but a loud exulting fanfare made that impossible. The fanfare grew closer, fueling the already fervent crowd, and the First Stewards—preceded by trumpeters with gleaming instruments—rode into the square to the thunderous adoration of their people. I cannot fall! She told herself sternly. Stand up, Spring! Nice and tall!
The Firsts entered the square on horseback surrounded by their Honor Guard—a Shepherd of each affinity dressed in the black and silver of the Firsts. Each held aloft a lance topped by the Firsts’ Standard. As impressive a sight as they made, it was common knowledge that the First Seer’s real protection was the Formynder, and he needed no protection for himself.
Formynder Shavare dismounted and helped his wife do the same before they glided to the two center stones. Their Honor Guard took up equidistant positions around the lower arc of the circle, and the Formynder held up a hand. Obediently, the crowd went still, eager for the ceremony to begin. When Shavare spoke, his voice was serious, almost challenging, and it carried easily above the throng—a trick of his Air Aspect, Spring assumed.
“Tonight, we come together to honor Hirute, and to accept those who would pledge themselves—wholly and without reservation—to His most perfect service. As a nation, we are grateful to those who would serve rather than compel. Grateful to those who would submit rather than command. Grateful to those who would sacrifice rather than gain.” He paused and bowed to Siare.
“Not all should serve, however.” First Seer Siare spoke into the attentive silence. Her eyes, a stern jade that mirrored the caution in her words, settled on each of the candidates for several agonizing moments before she continued. “Though Hirute graces many with His gifts, He calls only a few to formal service. We shall soon discover which of you, if any, have been so called.”
Her eyes returned to Spring and remained there. “Child of Earth, do you seek to serve?”
Spring exhaled the breath she’d been holding, relieved that the formalities, at least thus far, mirrored those to which she was accustomed. “I do,” she answered, her voice not quite as strong as she intended. Siare smiled, and Spring cleared her throat.
“I do!” she said again, more fervently this time.
“And who would speak to this child’s virtues?” Siare asked, her eyes moving through the throng.
“I, Jate au Terre, do speak for her.” Jate stepped forward, bowed low, then took his place on the stones, respectfully walking the long way around the circle of loam.
Next, Jayden emerged. “I, Lord Jayden of House Hevlin, do speak for her.” Spring blushed at the pride in his voice and watched him with her heart in her eyes as he paid his respects to the Firsts and took his place beside Jate.
“And who holds the bonds of this child?” Siare asked next.
“We do.” Spring’s father moved forward, her mother moving stiffly at his side, and they bowed before taking their places.
Siare turned to Jate. “Master of Earth, is this child dedicated?”
“She is,” Jate answered, his deep voice vibrating in Spring’s bones through their shared Aspect.
“The Earth is vigorous yet wise. Gentle yet powerful. Slow yet persistent. Does this child possess these qualities?”
“She does.”
Siare’s gaze swept to Jayden. “Lord Hevlin, is this child honorable?”
“She is.”
“The Earth is both mother and reaper, tester and teacher. Does this child possess the honor to shoulder this burden?”
“She does.”
“We shall see.”
Siare turned once more to Spring, and their eyes met. Siare’s entrance into Spring’s mind was smooth—a mere breath of a touch. Spring felt her First at the edges of her mind, sensed the memories to which Siare was availing herself, but Spring could not fully grasp any of them. She was relieved that the search could be so kind, so private, and so blessedly quick. It took but a span of heartbeats before Siare spoke again.
“Truth!” She declared, affirming for all gathered that she had looked into Spring’s heart and judged her suitable. Once more, the crowd applauded, though more contained this time.
“Child of Earth, you may join us,” Siare continued when the applause subsided.
Spring took the two short steps to the circle. She stopped at the edge to remove her sandals before stepping onto the loam. She sank into the loam until her ankles were submerged and the hem of her dress brushed against the dirt. The train of the luxurious garment draped along the ground as she made her way to the center. She was happily preoccupied as she did so, ignoring for a moment the presence of the Firsts before her and the throng around her. Instead, she opened herself to her Aspect in fractions, the way Jate had taught her.
As it always did, her skin tingled with the energy of her Aspect’s merging. She grew warm yet shivered in pleasure. In a near whisper, the voice of her Aspect spoke to her. Quietly and slowly at first, it told her of its needs and desires. Then, growing more excited, it urged her to take in more, to give of herself so that the Earth could expand within her. Spring relented and widened her Aspect tether, allowing the boundary between herself and the Earth’s essence to blur. The loam moved against her, eager to sprout new life, and it practically demanded a channel for it. She whispered patience through her bond, promising fulfillment in due time.
The Formynder smiled and gave her the slightest nod of approval before turning to her parents. “And do you, Harlan au Terre and Lena au Terre, hereby relinquish all parental rights and obligations from this Shepherd,” he asked. Spring thought she heard an odd emphasis when he’d spoken her mother’s name and the word “all.”
“I do,” spoke her father, his voice tight.
“I do,” her mother repeated, her voice similarly wrought.
“Do you free her of all ties natural and spiritual that she may be bound to the will of her choosing?” Shavare persisted.
“I do,” said Harlan, his voice warming with pride.
“I do,” said Lena, though her voice strained and nearly broke.
“Do you leave her in the hands of Hirute, alone, in order that she may serve the One most high, of her own volition and free will?”
Again, her parents gave their consent, tears now openly moving down her mother’s face, and Spring’s own icy resentment toward her mother thawed in some small measure.
“Very well.” He nodded. “Will you speak for yourself, Spring of Coerdom?”
Spring raised her chin and tried to match the solemnity in the Formynder’s voice. “I will.”
“Whom do you serve?”
This was the question she would answer twice, and her answers were the most vital part of the ceremony. The crowd grew silent, expectant, allowing Spring’s voice to carry to the farthest reaches of the court.
“I serve Hirute, in All His Names,” she began.
Her skin flushed and her heart slowed as the loam beneath her feet began to shift, mote by mote; but that was not all she felt shifting. She felt disconnected from her body, as if she were floating, and she realized her parents’ release was more than symbolic. Her next words would re-attach those bonds—the parts of her made from her mind, her body, and her soul—to whatever she freely chose. The Earth hummed to her, caressed her, soothed her. The loam began to form up around her ankles, moving in the slightest of increments toward her calve
s.
“I serve the All-Father,” she began again, “who sires us all. I serve the Teacher, who guides us all. I serve the Lover, who courts us all.”
Her voice rose, assuming depth and power as she moved through the litany.
“I serve the Companion, who comforts us all. I serve the Great Shepherd, who seeks us all. I serve Hirute, Maker of the World and Steward of Creation!”
Her voice rang with devotion, and her Aspect joined her. It sang with her—a soft rumbling that rolled through the courtyard from the point where she stood. The crowd cheered, finally released.
For the All-Father!
Blessed be our great Hirute!
The Great Shepherd is with us!
Inwardly, Spring resettled, firmly rooted in her body once more and the seed of her childhood belief in Hirute blossomed into something much stronger—firm and sound. A certainty she had never known she was missing turned to iron in her bones.
In the midst of the celebration, Shavare and Siare remained calm, sharing a small smile with Spring and bowing their heads to her. Then Shavare spoke again, and the crowd quickly fell silent, ready as ever for the closing of her ceremony.
“Whom do you serve?” he asked again, but this time he allowed a measure of excitement into his voice, anticipation for what was to come. Spring realized it was that part of him that shared her affinity who spoke to her now, and that he, too, could feel every ounce of the Earth’s pleasure for the binding that was taking place.
Spring smiled, hands outstretched with palms facing the ground. “I serve the Eternal Mother, who gives us daily life, who sustains us as we live, and who cradles us as we die.”
The loam was now to her knees, encasing her like greaves, and two slim pillars of soil twined up from the ground to answer the call of her palms. When the shafts of soil reached her hands, they coiled, covering her hands completely. Small green shoots appeared where the soil touched her skin. Beneath her dress, she felt roots crisscrossing along her feet and calves.
“What is your true name?” Shavare asked, finally, and Spring could feel the crowd poised to explode.
“I am Spring au Terre!” she declared, turning her palms toward the sky as small flowers burst into full bloom within them.
Again, the crowd erupted, none louder than those who stood for her and the candidates yet to declare. Shavare and Siare stepped from their stones, each embracing her in turn with the blessing, “Welcome home, beloved lamb. May Hirute guard and guide thee, Shepherd of Coerdom.”
Finally, Spring’s parents came to her, embracing her as the Firsts had and with the same blessing on their lips. The loam that was twined about her legs pressed tightly for one last moment before retreating back along her skin to the ground at her feet. The small shoots and flowers that had come to bless her binding fell into the loam and were welcomed home instantly, disappearing before her eyes.
Her parents nodded approvingly and walked her to the opposite side of the circle, Jayden and Jate behind them, as the next candidate turned toward the Firsts, awaiting his questioning.
“We are so very proud of you, darling,” her mother said, squeezing her again, and, in the depth of her wonder, she accepted her mother’s affection. When Spring turned to better see her father, he waved her off with a smile, unable to speak through the sudden arrival of tears. After a few moments, he took a deep breath and faced Jayden.
“She is a woman, now, Milord. And I charge you with being her equal.”
Jayden blanched, then blushed, before straightening his spine with a victorious smile. With near reverence, he bowed slowly and deeply to Spring’s father. “It is my greatest honor to accept your charge, Kar Jasper.”
He rose, moved closer to Spring, and with a gentle smile took her hands in his. Spring was overfull with emotions—joy, certainly, but a great deal more than that. It seemed, from the exchange she’d just witnessed, that Jayden had resolved to pursue her even though she’d chosen formal service. She had many questions for him—would he really wait for her to complete her studies to marry, and even then, would he truly take to wife a Shepherd in service? But this was not the time to speak.
The next candidate stepped forward onto a cylinder suspended just above the loam that was, as far as Spring could tell, made entirely of fire. That was not something she had seen at any Declaration before, not even Brandin’s. For his Declaration, a Steady had created and sustained a small pillar of fire that Brandin had held between his hands. This must be something the Formynder added to the proceedings, and Spring had to admit that watching Gauldry stand directly atop the flames, his leggings pulled up and his feet in no way scorched or burning, was impressive indeed. The ceremony moved to the point where Gauldry was being searched, and Spring’s role, like everyone else’s, was now to listen.
Fourteen
“Embrace that which seems different—the unique and perhaps frightful—for the strength of the flock rests in its diversity, not in its purity.”
–Helig Ra’d, Teachings of the Great Shepherd
Mina yawned. Then she froze. She once again remembered that such behavior was considered rude by Shepherd Callae, who was her instructor in something called ‘mindfulness’. She marshalled her concentration, focusing on her lesson rather than daydreaming about where she wanted to be.
The first-year’s classroom was a simple, large space with impressively large windows overlooking the courtyard where the budding Shepherds of the other affinities were permitted to hone their Aspects. But the fact that all the pupils like her, those who served Hirute directly through Spirit and not one of the Natural Aspects, were restricted to this cluster, well...that apparently made their niche special. None of the Shepherds from the other affinities were permitted within. As far as Mina could tell, however, it was just a room filled with uncomfortable stunted benches. They were set facing one another and dispersed in no pattern that she could understand. The benches only allowed for one to two occupants, so she and her peers—other children of various ages who shared her affinity—were spread across the benches as they had been assigned.
The children varied widely, in age and appearance, as they had come to the Steading from all over Coerdom. Mina’s favorite activity—besides daydreaming—was to analyze her fellows and try to discern where they had lived, who their families were, what they had loved, and what they had left behind. Invariably, she would think of her parents or Brandin at such times, a stab of sadness at what she had lost never too far removed. Whenever her mind strayed thus, she was emphatically corrected by Shepherd Callae. It was infuriating.
Her instructor didn’t seem much older than Brandin, but she was as observant and fearsome as Mina’s mother had been. Try as she might, Mina could get nothing past her. The very moment her mind would turn from the numbing, excruciating, boring ‘mindfulness’ exercises to something more interesting, Callae’s eyes would snap toward Mina—her blue eyes swirling with grey. Though Mina was learning that this quirk was common to those working the Spirit Aspect, it continued to unnerve her; never mind that her own eyes did it as well. She couldn’t see herself, now could she? But it didn’t bother her when Mother Wilha or Siare did it.
The thought of the First Seer’s face—her kindly smile, the fiercely protective set of her jaw—brought warmth to Mina; her love for Siare was an almost physical sensation. The tinkling sound of water from their private pond played enticingly at the edges of Mina’s mind, and she turned to it in response. It was almost an unconscious habit now.
A cleared throat broke her budding reverie and she glanced up at the aggrieved sound to find swirling grey eyes trained on her. “My apologies, Doyen Callae,” she whispered, abashed. She knew that her words, no matter how softly spoken, would disturb some of the others—those who were new to the niche or weaker in their gift. In a room of total silence, that brief sound may as well have been a cacophony. Mina was well tired of being the source to which so many unfamiliar eyes turned—to gawk…to judge.
Pardon? Callae
said in Mina’s mind. Did you intend to address me, Mina? Her tone was as stern as her eyes, yet not unkind.
My apologies, Doyen Callae, she repeated, mind to mind this time, as was expected.
This act with those she barely knew remained supremely uncomfortable for Mina, no matter how simply the ability came to her. Perhaps it mirrored too closely what she had experienced before they had learned what she was. She had learned quickly, and not gracefully, that accomplishing this type of communication so easily was not the case for many of those attending niche with her. This was, in fact, the reason her fellow pupils were not organized by age but rather by ability; though they were all in their first year at the Steading.
Mina’s ability was well beyond that of her peers, a fact she exposed regularly by accident and seemingly at the most inappropriate times. She had not yet been formally announced as a Candidate, so her bad habits were not well received by her fellow students. She had been paired with a boy five years’ her senior, also recently come to the Steading. His name was Keth and he was not pleased at being paired with one so much younger than he—someone who easily, clumsily in fact, exceeded his own proficiency. He considered her barely more than a peasant from the countryside, perhaps even a dangerous one as she had not come to the Steading immediately upon expressing as dictated by law. It did not matter to this Keth that Mina and her family had not known that she had expressed. He held her in contempt, nonetheless. The fact that he was skilled enough to shield these thoughts from Mina, yet chose not to, told her as much as the sentiments themselves.
Mina trained her bored mind and eyes back to Keth’s face and began the exercise anew. If he thought he could intimidate her, he had even more to learn than he feared. After waiting for Callae to move on to observe other students, Mina let the small, secretive smile play on her lips that Keth so despised. She had smiled this way genuinely in his presence the first day she was assigned to be his niche partner, Mother Wilha having personally deposited her to Shepherd Callae’s care, and the smile had blossomed as Mother Wilha’s voice bade her farewell, mind to mind. Keth had watched her and the force of his instant dislike had rolled into her as powerfully as a physical push. She had marveled at his reaction and filed it away for later consideration.
