Standing atop the Assembly Stone, the priest called out to the crowd, “My neighbors and kin of the Folc of St. Arin's Lake, do you come together before the gods for honest speech and sober judgment, after the ways of our ancestors? Who comes to this Assembly? Is the Holly Clan present and spoken for?”
“Yes!” shouted a portion of the people around us; then one of the men by the fire-pit raised a holly branch aloft, saying, “I, Holt, Elder of the Holly Clan, speak for my people.” With that, he cast his branch into the fire-pit.
“Is the Ashwood among us and spoken for?” the priest intoned.
“Yes!”
“I, Aldworth, Elder of the Ashwood Clan, speak for my people.” I was startled to recognize the quiet-spoken shepherd in the elder who held aloft his branch; Halred had been cultivating well-placed allies indeed.
“Is the Linden among us and spoken for?”
This time it was Edwach who claimed the right to speak for his people and cast a linden branch on the fire-pit.
“Is the Red Oak among us and spoken for?”
“I, Guthlac, Elder of the Red Oak Clan and Headman for the year, speak for my household and for the weaponed-men of the Folc.” The man in the red tunic who had signaled the start of the Assembly tossed his branch on the fire-pit.
“Who speaks for the women?”
A small, white-haired woman with a distaff and a stalk of grain stepped forward. “I, Maethild of the Ashwood Clan, widowed from the Linden Clan, Headwoman for the year, speak for the women of the Folc.”
“Arise, Guthlac and Maethild,” said the priest, “and take my place upon the Assembly Stone.”
Maethild tossed the stalk of grain onto the fire-pit and stood with her foot on the stone step, waiting for the priest to make way. As soon as he descended the other side, she strode to the top with energetic movements, her long white braid swinging as she climbed; Guthlac followed her with strides measured to hers, not to catch up too fast for all his length of leg.
When they stood together atop the stone, Maethild brandished her distaff like a weapon and demanded, “Who comes to light the fire?”
“I, Halred, Priestess of the Hidden Goddess,” said our host, moving to the fire-pit. She knelt and struck sparks with flint and steel until one caught. She fanned the fire till it blazed steadily, spreading across all four woods. Then she rose and stood over it, her proud face illumined in its glow.
Only then did Guthlac speak. “We, the four clans of the Folc of St. Arin's Lake, meet in the sight of the Four Gods of the World-Wheel. We salute the hearth of the Hidden Goddess. But who is here for the Rising God?”
“I, Anlaf, listen for the voice of the Rising God,” said the priest.
“And who is here for the Bright Goddess?” said Maethild.
“I, Halred, listen for the voice of the Bright Goddess,” said Halred, as Anlaf sighed audibly.
“And who is here for the Turning God?” said Guthlac.
Silence fell, and the Folc bowed their heads.
“We have no priest of the Turning God,” Maethild answered— a ritual response, for of course all had known this before. “Let the god himself choose by lot who shall listen for his voice. Let Red Oak provide the choosing straws.”
Guthlac descended from the Assembly Stone and took from the hand of one of his kinsmen a bundle of straws. He moved through the crowd, offering the bundle to each to take a straw. It surprised me to see that he offered the bundle to Hwyn, who raised her eyebrows, then drew a straw like all the others. Next he thrust the bundle at me: “Take one, stranger.”
Hesitantly, I put my hand forward and drew a straw half the length of Hwyn's.
Guthlac smiled fiercely, straightened, and called aloud, “The god has chosen!”
“Who? What?” The people crowded closer, nearly trampling me. Halred gasped and pushed her way back toward us.
“What's your name?” Guthlac asked me.
“Jereth,” I said. “Are you sure—”
“Jereth the Outlander, guest of Halred, is here for the Upside-Down God,” Guthlac proclaimed.
“What?” Edwach shouted above the babble of the crowd. “Guthlac, what foolery is this? How can he stand for the god?”
“I can't even stand,” I muttered, but no one listened.
“He's not even one of us,” Edwach said.
“He's one of the gods' children,” Guthlac retorted. “The priests speak for them, not for us.”
“This is an Assembly of the Folc,” Edwach protested. “How can a stranger have a voice in our councils when his very right to be among us is in question?”
“The priests speak for the gods, not the Folc,” Guthlac repeated. “We can bind him by the same oath we'd ask of any neighbor that drew the short straw: to choose only as the god prompts him. What, would you go against the lots and discard the traditions of our people?”
“He should never have been offered the choosing straws,” Edwach said. “This is your fault, Guthlac—your plot, maybe.”
“Do you accuse me of falsifying the god's choosing, Edwach? For generations there has been no war between two houses of the Folc, but—”
Halred cut in, “Guthlac, my friend, think what you say— though you do so in my own cause, I beg you—”
“Good sirs,” I said from my spot on the ground, “do not fight on my account—”
“IF I had wanted to cheat,” Guthlac roared, “which I did NOT, I would have wanted one of my OWN clan to support me in the final choice. The stranger belongs to none of our clans. It could not have fallen out better.”
“Anything YOU like so well cannot be good for MY clan,” Edwach shouted back. “You know it was my son who brought him among us. You want him to stay and burden my household. And if you want a fight, my lord of the Oaken Skull—”
“QUIET!” shrieked Maethild from atop the stone.
The noise on all sides subsided, save for the distant bleating of the flocks.
“Let's solve this like kin and neighbors, not barbarians,” said Maethild. “The Upright God and the Upside-Down God can be no less in harmony than the Bright and Hidden Goddesses—is that not so, Mother Halred?”
Halred gave her assent.
“Then let the Priest of the Upright God decide whether a stranger can stand for the Upside-Down God in our Assembly,” she said. “My cousins, my neighbors, can we agree to that?”
There was a murmur of agreement, with some muted grumbling from Halred who, caught with her own words, could now do nothing.
Anlaf ascended the Assembly Stone again, and looked out at us all with an expression of utmost gravity—my old abbot to the ends of his fingers. At last he spoke. “While the stranger is undoubtedly a child of the gods, that does not give him the right to a share in the councils of the Folc,” he said. “My answer is no. Gather the straws again and choose one of our own.”
“Old hypocrite,” Halred muttered.
I handed my short straw back without protest as Guthlac gathered them up, grateful to be spared this unsought honor. I'd been a priest of the Upright or Rising God, at the furthest extreme of the Wheel from the Upside-Down or Turning God, and whatever Halred might say, there was little harmony between the two gods' priesthoods. I knew no more of his worship than we were taught to avoid the deadly sin of slighting one of the Four Great Ones. I breathed a sigh of relief as the lots were redone and Athel of the Linden Clan drew the short straw, taking the priest's role for the evening. He was another of the farmers who had sought Halred's help along the way.
“Well, at least he's a man I trust,” Halred whispered to me. “In Edwach's own clan, as well, so he can hardly complain.”
I nodded distractedly. Athel recited the oath from memory without prompting, as though he had heard it many times or even spoken it many times before: “I pledge to the Turning God, the Upside-Down God, Lord of Change and Time, to listen for his voice during this Assembly and speak or be silent as he bids me, not seeking my own gain or my clan's advantage but the god's
working in the world.”
What would that mean in reality, I wondered? Would Athel be silent, awaiting the divine word, or assume that anything that passed through his head was the god's prompting? I had always wondered about such things, even when I had given my life over to the Tarvon Order. Well, small matter, so long as it was not my burden anymore. I watched Athel move to the front rank of the crowd, near where I sat. With all the powers of the Wheel and of the Folc accounted for, the Assembly could now begin in earnest.
“My kin and my neighbors,” Guthlac called, standing once again atop the Assembly Stone. “We are gathered here to settle the dispute between Mother Halred, Priestess of the Bright and Hidden Goddesses and healer of the Folc, and Lord Edwach, Elder of the Linden Clan. We are come to judge whether the three strangers should be allowed to shelter among us—and if they are, on what terms they may stay.
“Edwach, as the discontent, speak first or give up your complaint.”
These seemed to be rote words only, for Edwach took no offense at the brusque demand. He stood and spoke: “My friends, you know as well as I that these are lean times. We have had three poor harvests, and the late spring and scant rain do not augur well for the one we can expect this year.
“Our flocks have dwindled: our goats are drier, our sheep smaller, their wool thinner than of old. And we have slaughtered too many for lack of fodder for them or food for ourselves through the winters.
“To take in strangers in time of plenty is a kindness. To do so in time of hunger is a cruelty to our own people: our kin and the sharers in our toil and our harvest. We must keep our own for our own. The strangers must go.”
Guthlac turned to Halred: “Mother Halred, how do you answer? Speak now, or yield to the complaint against you.”
Halred rose. “Is anyone here hungry? These are lean times, but if anyone had yet run out of food, I would think I as healer would have heard of it. And if we do find hunger among us, we should bring it to the Assembly and amend it.
“Together our ancestors came into this land from the Ferend River Valley, depending on one another for survival, whatever their clan. And we still depend on each other. All shepherds run to guard the flocks if a wolf appears, not asking whose sheep are threatened. All pray together; all feast together; and if we starve, all shall starve together, for there are too few of us to keep the wolf away if the Folc dwindles smaller than we are now. And so if anyone starves among us, it is matter for the whole Folc to learn how we can draw more nourishment from the land or, if it will not support us, to leave together for some more fruitful land. And so I ask, is anyone hungry now?”
For a moment there was silence. Then Edwach objected: “Of course no one is hungry now, in high summer, now that milk is as plentiful as it will be all year and fruits are ripening at last, not only in our gardens but in the wild hillsides. It is in the winter and the spring to follow that we must fear the cost of sheltering these strangers.”
Halred replied, “Still, none have yet starved, and none need starve: before winter, there is still a harvest to be won from the land, with the gods' good will. And we will not gain their good will by turning away three hapless travelers, one of them injured. Hard hearts, greed, and cowardice, neglect of the guest-code and the ways of our saints and forebears—those will plead poorly for the blessing we seek. Better to court the gods' favor with hearts bent to their will, generosity, courage, sacrifice.
“We must return to the holy ways: share what we have as one Folc, welcome guests in the gods' names. We must return to what is good in us, what is true to the way of the Folc. Leave such alien ways as ear-marking of beasts by clan and shepherd, and share like the kinfolk we are. Only then will the gods hear us.”
“You speak glibly of the old ways of the Folc,” said the old priest, Anlaf, “but it was not our tradition of old for one priest to take vows to two of the Four Great Ones on opposite sides of the Wheel.”
Halred answered, “Nonetheless, we call it sin to slight any of the Four Great Ones who embrace our world together. Why, then, should priests not learn the lore of all four, save that human life is too short? If I'd had my will, I would have learned at the feet of your master and Wendlac of old, and we would not now need to cast lots to represent the Turning God.”
“And you would hold three portions of the judgment of the Folc instead of two. Yes, Halred, I see through your pious talk to what lies beneath: the hunger for power.”
“If you envy me such power, study from me and be priest of two Great Ones yourself—”
“And take on your corruption?”
“Corruption! Dear gods, give me patience!”
The hubbub rose around them as all order broke down. These people really are one family, I thought; any dispute brings back all the old grievances, right to the beginning of time. If it goes on much longer, we'll hear who pulled whose hair when they were toddlers. Who but a family could fight like that? At least they weren't confined together in a ship's cabin, as my family had often been—though perhaps living alone in this lonely land might be much the same. My head began aching again to listen to them, and I was thankful when Guthlac and Maethild, as one, shouted, “ENOUGH!” and, “QUIET!”
The din died down to a murmur, and Halred and Anlaf stopped, red-faced and trembling, in midsentence.
“Small wonder the gods frown on us, when the only priests we have profane our place of Assembly, squabbling like ill-taught children,” Maethild scolded.
This may not have been her best tactic: indeed, it threatened to start everything over again. Both priests opened their mouths to protest, as if one thought guided them both.
But Guthlac cut in: “We have strayed far from the matter we came to settle: the harboring of three strangers among us. Halred, you have argued in their favor that need is not dire enough to justify denying them; that our oldest customs demand hospitality to strangers; and that the gods will smile on generosity and frown on hard-heartedness. Do you have anything to add to your plea, or will you give way to the free parley of the assembled Folc?”
“There is more,” Halred said. “Helpless as they seem now, the strangers may be a help to us in the end. We are short hands, with so many young of all houses gone over the hills to seek their fortune. We are too few to turn any away lightly.”
“Why, what can a wounded man do for us?” laughed Edwach.
“He will recover soon, if the gods smile upon it, and if my good neighbors and kin will allow him a few days' rest under my care,” said Halred. “And his companions are unhurt. But it is not only labor of the body we lack. We have not had news from outside the valley all year, and these have traveled far. More than that, I have spoken to them, and I doubt they are ordinary wanderers. Be wary of turning a stranger away, for if the old tales are true, St. Tarvi came among our people as a beggar, and none would have expected anything of him at first sight.”
“Well, let us see these strangers,” called a voice from the far end of the crowd. “Let their leader rise and speak.”
“You speak for us, Hwyn,” I urged.
Hwyn got to her feet. “What would you ask me?”
Again the voice came from the back, “Stand up so we can see you.”
“I am standing,” Hwyn said. Half-smothered laughs began to ripple out around us; Halred tried futilely to hush them.
“Come up on the Assembly Stone with us,” said Guthlac.
Hwyn scrambled up the stone stairs, onto the broad back of the stone, and stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her face darkening to crimson as the laughter reached the back of the crowd. Standing next to Guthlac—a powerfully built man, one of the tallest of the Folc—she scarcely came higher than his waist.
“Go on, laugh,” she said at last. “It is nothing new to me. Someone told me the Folc were a people apart, but in this, at least, you are like all others.”
That stilled the laughter, for the most part. From the back of the crowd, a man rose to speak: “Good sister, I at least see nothing to
laugh at. You have crossed the Hills of Penmorrin to come here, as I did once, and must have more strength in you than any wise man can laugh at. What shall I call you?”
“I am called Hwyn. My friends are Jereth and Trenara.”
“My name is Paddon,” the man said. “I came to the Folc as a stranger in better times, five years ago. Then there was no need for an Assembly to argue my fate: they gave me food and water when I had none, and I worked the fields, was adopted by the Red Oak Clan, and married a woman of the Linden Clan. I am one of the Folc now—and if any says I am not, he may do my share of the hay-making tomorrow. But do you and your companions mean to stay on as kin and neighbors, or to leave when you no longer need our help?”
“You ask fair questions, Paddon,” Hwyn said. “In truth, I must confess we never meant to make a home here. We were on a journey when we were attacked; Jereth was wounded, and we had to flee into the Hills of Penmorrin without stores of food or water. We became lost, and Jereth's wound festered till he seemed likely to die of it. We would not have prevailed on you for so much as a crumb if our case had been less desperate. But neither do we mean to take and give nothing in return. I can do work of many kinds. Don't let my size deceive you: heavy loads and long days' labor are no strangers to me. When Jereth is recovered, he can work as well, until we work off our debt to the Folc. We will do what we can to requite your kindness to us, but we cannot abandon our journey.”
“Why, where are you going?” said Paddon.
But Edwach cut in, “You say you and the wounded man will work. But there are three of you. What of the third?”
“Trenara is simple,” Hwyn said. “There's not much she can do. We will have to bear her share of the burden.”
“Fine lot you've taken into our land, Halred,” scoffed Edwach. “One invalid, one fool, and the best of them no bigger than a child.”
“Hwyn and Jereth share with Trenara without hope of recompense,” Halred said. “Their generosity should shame us if we turn them away. But beyond that, whatever weaknesses you may see, look deeper. Jereth is a scholar from the Tarvon Monastery, and may bring wisdom of use to us in dark times. And Hwyn has something of the prophet about her; I have heard her singing a holy hymn, and the power gathered about her like thunderclouds.”
The Eye of Night Page 19
