by Carol Berg
And so were my uncle and grandsire and merry Thokki set free to dance again in Aeginea.
“So why art thou heartsore, rejongai?” said Kol, as the two of us strolled down the strand that evening at sunset. “Didst thou expect some other marvel than these thou hast described to me? The world is changing. And thou art fully of the long-lived and fully of the human kind. That is not at all usual. In the coming seasons thou shalt restore the Canon.”
“I feel knob-swattled,” I said, rubbing the wound in my side that ached more than it should. “Neither here nor there. The prince needs a pureblood adviser and has asked me to stay with him…and I desire greatly to do what I can to help him and teach him…but I want to be here and learn…and I need to travel and begin to reclaim what we’ve lost…and then, there is a woman…human…very human…”
Kol halted and put a hand on my shoulder. “Sleep, Valen. When thou art…knob-swattled…it is the call to sleep. Take thy season, and thou shalt wake clear and purposeful. It is our way. Necessary. No lesson is more worth the teaching. Renew thyself, that thy work shall be worthy.”
“Thank you, vayar.”
“Address me as Kol, rejongai. We get on well.”
PART FIVE
God’s Holy Book
Chapter 36
The drips and splats, dribbles and trickles have annoyed me for days. Pesky noises. I want to hear words, not plops and spatters. So easy to forget words when I nestle in the deeps close to the fire or flow through my clean and healing channels to mind the roots. Words land on my surface like pebbles and sink down to where I sleep, nudging me to wakefulness. I curl around them, cherish them, and comprehend matters that have naught to do with seeds or roots or beasts.
It is the woman comes most to bring me words. “The king has taken up residence in Palinur. Prince Bayard swore allegiance in the Temple District, and Osriel named him Defender of Navronne. He left immediately and is to live on his ships. Prince Perryn is branded a traitor on his forehead and is exiled in Bayard’s service. The people do not know that Bayard is forbidden to set foot on Navron soil again. But his children shall be fostered in Evanore, while Perryn’s are married off to foreign lords. Bayard is satisfied. Riel says he might find use for this onetime brother of yours—Max—who negotiated all these matters.
“The change in Riel is astounding. In these few short weeks, he has had no flare of the saccheria. No cough. No limp. No fever. Whether his pain is truly gone or just so much lessened that his dead nerves cannot feel it, I find myself weeping like a sentimental granny to see him ruddy-cheeked and able to ride and work and love his mooning wife. You will think me entirely changed.
“Those people not touched by the solstice magic are coming slowly to understand that he is not as they believed. It will take time and work, but Riel’s peace—in the kingdom and within himself—are his best heralds.”
I laughed to hear this and dived down to the earth fires and embraced them. My instincts had told me true: The land heals the righteous king.
Comes another day: “The queen blossoms, though not without sadness. The child will arrive with the summer. Two years Nysse Archon will give them together. But kings’ children are often fostered, and unlike Caedmon, Riel and Elene will get to see their little one often as he grows. And yes, I know it is he, though I’ve not told them. And another secret, only for you, the child is also a she…for it seems our king got twins upon his beloved. Which will be firstborn and have to go, and which will dawdle and get to stay at home?
Perhaps you can persuade Nysse to allow them to trade places from time to time! With Jullian as their tutor, they will learn. With you as their sworn guardian, they will laugh and thrive.”
Joy and grief forever mingled. Ever will I give my friends what they need of me.
“Gildas was hanged yesterday…”
Justice. But I do not rejoice in ending life.
Did I make a child with Sila’s handmaid? I will have to know before it breathes. No child of mine will suckle on hate.
“Bright news this day, dear Valen: The monks have come home to Gillarine. Brother Sebastian is named abbot. They send their prayers for you. They don’t seem to realize what an unlikely messenger I am, who puts no faith in gods or prayers. I am helping Brother Anselm set up his new infirmary, and so they allow me to stay in the guesthouse despite my sex. They would like it better were I a married woman. And I would like—
“You must understand, Valen, I’m neither ashamed of my virgin state nor overprotective of it. Can you truly hear me? I must not believe it, for I would never say such a thing in front of you. In truth, I’ve never understood what men and women found together. My parents…” She spoke of a pureblood mother who came to regret the life she had given up for love, and a warlord father who resented that his wife held power he could not master. They grew apart and disliked the reminder of their connection in their daughter. A harsh and loveless lesson they taught. “…but at least I was clever enough to bury myself in books, not the doulon!
“Ah, friend, sometimes I think I hear you laughing as the ice melt dribbles into your pool—into you.
Even if you are truly here, I suppose you sleep. Rest well, Valen. Riel needs you. The world needs you. And I…I will be pleased to see you and argue about gods and prayers, souls and immortal life.”
She touched me that day—dipped her hand in the pool, and I burned with such fire at the remembrance of her hands that the trees on the ridge will be full green well before the spring change.
The dancer comes, too. He does not speak to me with words, but with leaps and spins and everlasting grace. He charges my dreams with glory, and my lands with the health and nurturing that I can only begin to provide. I feel the shifting of the air as he drives his spirit upward, and I yearn for my body that I can begin to learn how he does it.
The sun warms me on this day, and I feel lazy and still. And lonely. Yet, though the snows lie deep upon the mountains, the sap rises in the trees. I will sleep again another night or three or seven, but spring shall soon fill my loins and call me to the dance, and I shall have my way with living. Teneo!
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