“I couldn’t persuade you to go back to bed. You—or Whomever was using your body—insisted on sitting in the chair below the Goddess-stone. When I didn’t meet the children in the meadow, they came here. You told them the same thing: tell all who would listen that the Goddess would speak today. You sent them out to call everyone in.”
“Everyone in the valley?” Greer asked.
“Almost,” Hannah grinned. “Some couldn’t be reached, and a few had doubts, but everyone else came. The entire yard from the Sanctuary to the Ruins was jammed. I didn’t realize we’d accumulated so many people.”
“Then what?” Greer asked.
“When everyone had gathered in the yard, you stood up and went to the doorway to address them. You said, ‘Whosoever wishes council of the Goddess shall have it this day. Bring your questions forward and lay them before the stone and they shall be answered. But,’ you said, and your voice became hard and your eyes glittered, ‘do not ask what you do not want to hear. If the answer may not be to your liking or may be fearful to you, do not ask, for my answers are the Goddess’ own, and must be Truth.’ Then you sat again before the Goddess-stone and allowed people to petition.”
Greer was stunned by the impact of her divining. It was so far beyond anything she had ever done and there had been moments when she’d felt sure she would never be surprised by anything again. She had thought her role of instrument had settled into a fairly predictable pattern of fairly normal activities; now this. It was hard to accept, especially when she’d done it all unconsciously.
“What did I say?” she prompted. “What questions did people ask?”
Hannah thought back. “There were many, although not at first. After the warning you’d given, some people shrank away. Finally someone—Asherah, I believe—came forward. She asked what path you would have her follow in this life, what things she must attend to.”
“And did I tell her?”
“Yes. You told her she was a dreamer, a builder, an envisioner. You told her you would have her trust in her visions and follow them, regardless of where they led. Even if they led to death.”
Greer was quiet for a moment. “I said that?” she asked in a soft voice.
Hannah nodded.
“And did Asherah accept that?”
“Absolutely. I could not even see a change in the expression on her face except that perhaps the fire in her eyes burned brighter. She walked out of the Sanctuary taller and straighter than I’ve ever seen her and everyone stepped aside to make way for her.”
“Oh,” Greer said, shaken. She sipped her tea. “What else?”
“After Asherah, it seemed everyone wanted to come forward. They clamored for recognition until you shouted for silence. Then they regained their calm—and their fear, I think—and came forward quietly by turns. One woman said she’d lost her child on her way here and she no longer wanted to live. She cried and threw herself at your feet. Her man and another child stood behind her, weighted down with sadness.”
“What council did I offer?”
Hannah swallowed uneasily. “You asked if that were her man and her child with her. She said yes, but said she was too heartbroken to go on. She said she felt great guilt and was tortured with thoughts that she should have done more to save her child. The pain and the guilt were too great to bear and she said that she wanted only to die. You said, ‘So be it. Death is an option that is open to you, although that is not the path you chose for this life.’ The woman said she did not know what her path was, that she did not remember choosing this for herself. You said, ‘You chose a path of learning through pain, one of the most difficult paths there are. The ideal is that you live through this heartbreak and learn from it, going on with your life and loving those around you ever more sweetly. But it is not unusual for a soul to regret a difficult path it has chosen and to opt for a softer way. You may recant your decision and choose death if that is your desire.’ And you rose up as if you would call down the very thunder from the sky. ‘Tell me now,’ you said, ‘if death is your choice, and it will be given to you.’”
Horrified, Greer gasped. “I said that? What happened then?”
“The woman’s face drained of all color and she tried to speak but could only stammer. Finally she began shaking her head, not quite as committed to dying as she had been. She said she could go on, but the pain was so great. She was not sure she could bear it.”
Hannah stopped then, her eyes softening. “You spoke again, very tenderly this time, and told her that the pain would be great, for great learnings are born of great pain. And you said you had no magic to take the pain away. Dying was easy, you said; living through pain such as hers was the hardest journey, but one that led to the greatest of learnings. You commended her for her choice of lives and for her choice to continue on. In tears, her husband and daughter hugged her and bore her out of the Sanctuary.”
“I wish I could have been there!” Greer said, then realizing the truth of it, broke into laughter. Hannah laughed with her.
“I am relieved to see that you are still Greer,” she said gratefully. “I feared we had lost you.”
“Go on,” Greer said. “What else happened?”
“Something very strange that I don’t understand. A woman came forward and said she feared for her husband. She did not explain more but right away you said, ‘Send him to me tomorrow.’ The woman screamed and cried and no one could comfort her. The man himself was somewhere back in the crowd and I heard he seemed struck with fear, but no one knows why. Do you?”
Greer shook her head slowly. “Who is this man?”
“A newcomer. I believe his name is Cade.”
“I do not know of him,” Greer said, thoughtful. “I have no idea why I would direct him to see me tomorrow.” She met Hannah’s quizzical eyes. “I imagine the Goddess will provide what answers She chooses, when She chooses. What else?”
Hannah thought back. “Two men came, disputing the way to build a canal in the new grove. Their ideas differed, and they asked you to choose the best.” Hannah studied Greer curiously. “You explained to them a third way, one neither had considered, and it had to do with gravity and the porousness of the soil and all sorts of details that only you seemed to know. It was very curious.”
Greer agreed quietly.
“Then a woman came forward who said her baby was very sick, and she asked you to heal it.” Hannah hesitated.
“And?” Greer prompted.
“You—you told her the baby could not be healed. You said it would die.”
“Tell me exactly the words,” Greer said.
“You said, ‘I know the child of which you speak. It has given itself to you for a short time only and that time is almost gone. The child will not recover from its illness. You are free to do what you can to save it as I have no doubt you will. But remember this: when the child dies, I would have you bury it in the open land to the southeast and I would have you plant a small tree over it. In that way the child you love so much may remain a living memory in your lifetime.’”
Greer stared sightlessly at the far wall of her room. “I have seen the new orchard there. It was shown to me while I dreamed today. It will be there to the southeast and will be planted one tree by one tree as we mourn and honor our dead.” She fixed her eyes on Hannah. “I, too, will be buried there.”
Stunned, Hannah felt compelled to ask, “And I, too?”
The image of the orchard faded from Greer’s mind. “I do not sense you there,” she said. “Perhaps you will outlive me.”
“Perhaps,” Hannah murmured without conviction. She sighed, and Greer saw for the first time that it was late and Hannah was exhausted.
“Forgive me,” she said. “You are tired. Let us both have a good night’s rest and talk more in the morning.”
Hannah smiled wanly. “I haven’t minded. There isn’t much more to tell. You are the one who should be tired; you did what I only speak about.”
“Did I?” Greer asked, expecti
ng no answer. “I wonder.”
The next morning Greer awoke feeling more alive than she remembered ever feeling before. The consecutive day and nights of rest—whatever kind of rest it was—did her well. She arose before Hannah and fixed their morning meal, something she was not usually quick to do.
“Such energy!” Hannah laughed when she came to the table and found it laden. “You must have slept well.”
“I did something well, thank the Goddess,” Greer agreed. “I doubt I had much to do with it, but I feel absolutely vibrant. Look at what a beautiful day it is! The autumn colors of the trees make it seem as if the hillsides are on fire. I feel such gratitude today, I cannot tell you.”
“Tell the Goddess,” Hannah joked.
Greer smiled. “She knows. Here is your tea.”
The women had a lively breakfast and had not yet worked up to cleaning up after when a sound alerted them to someone’s presence in the gathering room. Greer went to see to it while Hannah cleared the table.
“Yes?” Greer greeted the lone man. He stood nervously, half resigned, half evasive. Greer approached only as close as seemed comfortable for him. “What may I do for you?”
The man shifted his eyes from her face to his own feet, and back. “I am ... Cade. My wife was here yesterday. She took council of you, and you commanded— ”
“Ah, yes,” Greer said evenly. This must be the one. “Would you care to talk privately? Or will the presence of my healer be distracting to you?”
Cade looked confused. He apparently hadn’t expected Greer to be the least bit considerate. However the fact that she was did not improve his mood. He was a big man, tall, stocky, with a florid face. He was uncomfortable and showed it.
“Privately, if you please,” he said.
Greer nodded. “Please sit here for a moment. I’ll prepare a place for us.”
She ducked past the curtained doorway into the private common room to find Hannah just slipping into shoes. The healer looked up curiously.
“Cade is here,” Greer said. “We’ll use this room if you’re about to go.”
“Yes, I’m just leaving. I’m sure the children will be anxious to understand all they can about yesterday.” She leveled a concerned look at Greer. “Will you be all right here?”
“Perfectly,” Greer assured her.
Nodding, wishing she could know what the day held, Hannah left.
Greer ushered Cade into the common room and bade him sit. She offered him fresh fruit but he declined and sat sullenly. Greer settled herself in a chair opposite and, hoping earnestly that the Goddess knew what she was doing, began.
“Now, what is it I can help you with?” she asked.
Cade flushed and Greer sensed anger only checked by fear. “You are the one who commanded I come here. You are the Deliverer, the All-Seer; don’t you know?”
“I’d like to hear it from you.” Taken back as Greer was by the man’s sarcastic tone—for who before had ever crossed the Sibling?—she still managed to keep her voice and face controlled.
Cade glared at her. “I can’t help it! I’ve always been this way. Do you think I enjoy it, that it’s something I’ve chosen purposely? I’ve tried, I really have, but it’s just not there for me. And I don’t think that makes me any less human than you or anyone else.”
“What’s not there for you?” Greer asked.
Hardening himself to what might come, the man gripped his chair and bit out the words. “The Goddess,” he said.
Almost instinctively, Greer shuddered and she caught herself before her eyes glanced skyward. “You don’t believe, then? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I—I don’t know what I believe,” he sighed, “but I don’t feel Her at all. How can I help what I feel—or don’t feel? My wife is afraid I’ll be struck down for it, or turned to a pillar of fire, but I still just can’t believe!”
Greer nodded, if not understanding, at least accepting, and thought quickly. Then abruptly, she knew thought was not the sense from which she needed to draw; her feelings were her strength now.
“I sense that this has been a heavy concern for you, hiding your disbelief and now voicing it to me. It must have taken much courage.”
From the shock on the man’s face, it was obvious that this was not what he had expected to hear. Some of his anger almost visibly melted away.
“I—yes,” he murmured. “Is it so terrible, not to believe?”
For a moment Greer slipped back, and she was fifteen again, standing at the broken parapet of the Ruins, welcoming the day, rededicating herself to the Goddess, primarily with love, but with some fear, also. She’d been taught fear of the Goddess’ wrath at disrespect, at dishonor, at less than total dedication. Now, years later, she searched for that fear and found it missing. There was no wrath.
She brought herself back to the table in the common room. “No,” she said to Cade, “it is not so terrible. For whether you believe or not, you are a creation of the Creative Spirit and as such even your disbelief is endowed and purposeful. I do not know what that purpose is—for I do not see All—but I know it exists.”
Cade looked visibly stirred. “Then you do not condemn me?”
Greer smiled sadly. “Certainly not. How could I condemn part of the Creative Spirit? That is not the way of the universe; that is not the way of Love and Truth. But what about you, Cade? Have you no Source in which to put your faith? Have you no master, no guide? I should think that would be terribly lonely.”
For a moment, Cade sat straighter and it looked to Greer as if he would bluster about self-sufficiency and needlessness. After a pregnant moment, though, his face flushed slightly and his body sagged and he cast his eyes to the ground.
“Yes, it is lonely. My wife seems to always have comfort and companionship, even when she is alone, and I don’t. I wish I did. But I cannot believe blindly in ... in nothing.”
The blasphemy no longer startled Greer for she realized that, under the Goddess, there is no blasphemy. This man was Her creation, Her vehicle, Her labor of love, and as such moved in whatever ways She saw fit. No simple human could judge those ways.
“I am sorry you feel that way,” Greer said. “I would pray that sometime you will find your own comfort and companion, however that might be. Until then, you are welcome here in our valley for as long as you may wish. I would only ask that you give to our colony what you can, and we will do the same.”
Cade’s smile was bright with relief. “I am willing to do that. I have a small healing talent. Not like your healer, I am sure, but sufficient. I turn it mostly to animals.”
Enthralled, Greer listened as Cade described some of his experiences, his methods and his theories. The sun rose high in mid-sky as they talked, Greer asking countless questions, Cade answering as completely as he could with obvious enjoyment. They laughed as he described the antics of a bird with a splinted broken wing that Cade remembered taking in his home one winter, and privately Greer thought back to Balat and Hava, and her own little owl, Dya.
“We need you here,” she said finally. “I am glad you’ve come.”
“I wish my wife could hear you say that,” he said sheepishly. “She worries about me.”
Greer needed no time to think. “Well? Let’s go tell her.” She stood up. “Come on.”
Stunned, Cade struggled to his feet. “You would do this? For me?”
“For anyone,” she qualified but she moved around the table and put her arm through his. “Come. Show me where you live. I’d like to meet your wife.”
“You met her yesterday,” he reminded her.
“Ah,” Greer said and stopped. She turned to Cade and met his eyes squarely. “I have no memory of yesterday. I was not the person you saw giving council. When you came in this morning, I knew absolutely nothing about your secret. My body was an instrument only, yesterday, for whatever Spirit moved in me.”
She searched his eyes. “I hope you will forgive me the small falsehood I perpetrated this morning.�
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Instead of seeing anger as Greer might have expected, she saw Cade’s eyes narrow with laughter. He fairly bellowed at the joke.
“Truly,” he said when he could speak again, “if there is a Goddess, She did well to choose you. I may not believe as you do and I may not feel as you do, but I am your servant for life. You have my commitment, Greer the Sibling.”
Touched, Greer took his arm again and walked with him through the door into the gathering room and beyond. They would have walked directly out into the open yard but their way was blocked. Hannah, and a woman Greer immediately surmised to be Cade’s wife, stood just beyond the doorway and behind them stood countless other people, restless with curiosity.
“Cade!” the woman cried, relief obvious on her face. He went to her.
“He is whole and uninjured,” Greer told the woman as the couple embraced.
The woman eyed Greer warily as Cade released her. “I was afraid,” she acknowledged. “I thought you might strike him down.”
“For being true to his own Inner Spirit?” Greer asked kindly. “No. Let no one fear that. It is not the way of the Goddess to destroy that which is different; rather, it is Her way to embrace All, and honor it.” Greer smiled at Cade. “Your husband is already honored by me. I am confident his skills will bring honor from the rest.”
A ripple of exclamation broke in the front of the crowd and washed backward over the people gathered there; a cheer went up from some. Hannah’s children danced with bursting excitement.
“Go now,” Greer said quietly to the couple. “And be blessed.”
That evening, Hannah and Greer sat in comparative quiet in the common room. Hannah sewed, humming contentedly, and Greer pored over an old book, practicing her reading. At the end of a particularly difficult paragraph, she sat back in her chair and stretched.
“Are you tired?” Hannah asked solicitously.
“A little,” Greer said, “but it is a good kind of tired.” She pushed the book back onto the table and stared up at the ceiling. “I feel blessed today, Hannah. I feel as if I’ve done something the Goddess finds pleasure in.” She paused, working it out in her mind. “The entire time I met with Cade, I kept following my feelings—my heart—and just did and said what I felt I must. Then, when it was all over, I got the strangest feeling.” She looked at Hannah. “I felt as if I’d passed a test of some sort, and I hadn’t even known I was taking one.”
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