closely—and did more than listen.
When all was accounted for and the students sat cupping
varying degrees of satisfaction or disappointment in their hearts, Taminy
dismissed everyone but Aine and Iseabal into Desary’s hands to work at their
Weaves. The two girls curled, expectant, by the hearth.
Taminy joined them on the great braided rug, crossing her
legs carefully beneath her. She glanced from one to the other, making them
fidget, then said, “Aine, summon Wyth to us, please.”
Aine blushed and smiled simultaneously, then closed her eyes
and sat in perfect stillness. To Taminy her thoughts were bells pealing out a
summons. Melodic, they were, but forthright, even demanding. They tolled a
message that would no doubt take its recipient by surprise and sheer force.
Taminy smiled wryly and hoped Osraed Wyth wasn’t handling
anything delicate at the moment.
Aine’s eyes opened and she flushed a deeper red—her face
competing with her hair for vividness. “I got him!” she whispered. “He’s
coming. He was just down the hall in his study. For just a second, I saw the
room through his eyes.” She pressed her hands to her face. “Will I ever get
used to being able to do this?”
Taminy laughed. “Someday, I suppose. Although I hope you’ll
always marvel at it. I do.”
“ You do?” Aine
shook her head. “How can that be?”
Taminy gazed down at her entwined fingers. How, indeed. “I
live between two worlds—this and That. The world of Form and Shadow and the
World of Light. When I’m pulled into That world, it seems as natural as . . . as
breathing. When I’m in this, I stand amazed that I ever knew That, at all.”
“Do the two worlds never merge?” asked Iseabal, and Taminy
felt her concern as a warm stole about her shoulders.
“Oh, more and more,” she said, smiling reassurance. “Day by
day.”
The chamber door opened just then, admitting a damp chill
and a startled-looking Wyth Arundel. Wide-eyed, he all but tip-toed across the
floor.
“Did I . . . ? Did you . . . ? Did Aine summon me?”
“Well, don’t sound so surprised, Wyth Arundel. Why might I
not be able to summon you?”
Wyth gave the girl a wary glance, then perched himself
carefully on the edge of a chair.
“What did you want, then, Aine?”
Aine stopped just short of tossing her head. “Nothing at
all. It was Taminy bid me call you.”
“There’s a Claeg force arriving from the lowlands,” said
Taminy. “They’re bringing us about a dozen more pilgrims. We’ll need to make
arrangements for them. Catahn and the Aeldra will find them lodging, I’m sure,
but it means the classes will expand and I think you’ll have to teach some
yourself.”
Wyth sat back in his seat. “But Mistress—Taminy . . . I
thought you were training these girls to be teachers.”
“I was, but, well . . . of the group, only Aine and Isha are
quite ready to teach and I need them elsewhere, now. That is, if they’re
willing to go.”
Both girl’s heads snapped about as if tugged by puppet
strings.
“What? Where, Taminy?” said Iseabal and, “Needed where?”
asked Aine.
Taminy rose and began to pace the braided pathways beneath
her feet. “Winter’s fast coming and the passes will be all but closed. We’ll
lose touch with Creiddylad and with Nairne, as well, unless someone there can
Weave a strong enough Speaking rune. Leal could. Fhada could. I can reach them
in their dreams, in their unguarded moments, but to get word from them—well, they need to be taught
the discipline. It’s a lost skill among the Osraed these days—or all but lost.
Even in my days at Halig-liath, a boy was thought to be a prodigy if he carried
a strong enough Gift to Weave images as you girls did today. And only if that
spark showed early, was it fanned.”
She stopped pacing and faced them. “Well, you are prodigies, but more than that,
you’ve now got the discipline to make your Speakweaves consistent and clear.
And you can
When all was accounted for and the students sat cupping
varying degrees of satisfaction or disappointment in their hearts, Taminy
dismissed everyone but Aine and Iseabal into Desary’s hands to work at their
Weaves. The two girls curled, expectant, by the hearth.
Taminy joined them on the great braided rug, crossing her
legs carefully beneath her. She glanced from one to the other, making them
fidget, then said, “Aine, summon Wyth to us, please.”
Aine blushed and smiled simultaneously, then closed her eyes
and sat in perfect stillness. To Taminy her thoughts were bells pealing out a
summons. Melodic, they were, but forthright, even demanding. They tolled a
message that would no doubt take its recipient by surprise and sheer force.
Taminy smiled wryly and hoped Osraed Wyth wasn’t handling
anything delicate at the moment.
Aine’s eyes opened and she flushed a deeper red—her face
competing with her hair for vividness. “I got him!” she whispered. “He’s
coming. He was just down the hall in his study. For just a second, I saw the
room through his eyes.” She pressed her hands to her face. “Will I ever get
used to being able to do this?”
Taminy laughed. “Someday, I suppose. Although I hope you’ll
always marvel at it. I do.”
“ You do?” Aine
shook her head. “How can that be?”
Taminy gazed down at her entwined fingers. How, indeed. “I
live between two worlds—this and That. The world of Form and Shadow and the
World of Light. When I’m pulled into That world, it seems as natural as . . . as
breathing. When I’m in this, I stand amazed that I ever knew That, at all.”
“Do the two worlds never merge?” asked Iseabal, and Taminy
felt her concern as a warm stole about her shoulders.
“Oh, more and more,” she said, smiling reassurance. “Day by
day.”
The chamber door opened just then, admitting a damp chill
and a startled-looking Wyth Arundel. Wide-eyed, he all but tip-toed across the
floor.
“Did I . . . ? Did you . . . ? Did Aine summon me?”
“Well, don’t sound so surprised, Wyth Arundel. Why might I
not be able to summon you?”
Wyth gave the girl a wary glance, then perched himself
carefully on the edge of a chair.
“What did you want, then, Aine?”
Aine stopped just short of tossing her head. “Nothing at
all. It was Taminy bid me call you.”
“There’s a Claeg force arriving from the lowlands,” said
Taminy. “They’re bringing us about a dozen more pilgrims. We’ll need to make
arrangements for them. Catahn and the Aeldra will find them lodging, I’m sure,
but it means the classes will expand and I think you’ll have to teach some
yourself.”
Wyth sat back in his seat. “But Mistress—Taminy . . . I
thought you were training these girls to be teachers.”
“I was, but, well . . . of the group, only Aine and Isha are
quite ready to teach and I need them elsewhere, now. That is, if they’re
willing to go.”
Both girl’s heads snapped about as if tugged by puppet
strings.
“What? Where, Taminy?” said Iseabal and, “Needed where?”
asked Aine.
Taminy rose and began to pace the braided pathways beneath
her feet. “Winter’s fast coming and the passes will be all but closed. We’ll
lose touch with Creiddylad and with Nairne, as well, unless someone there can
Weave a strong enough Speaking rune. Leal could. Fhada could. I can reach them
in their dreams, in their unguarded moments, but to get word from them—well, they need to be taught
the discipline. It’s a lost skill among the Osraed these days—or all but lost.
Even in my days at Halig-liath, a boy was thought to be a prodigy if he carried
a strong enough Gift to Weave images as you girls did today. And only if that
spark showed early, was it fanned.”
She stopped pacing and faced them. “Well, you are prodigies, but more than that,
you’ve now got the discipline to make your Speakweaves consistent and clear.
And you can
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