saying, ‘Rise, Wyth Arundel. Rise and come to Me.” He
stopped, passing eyes over the faces of his listeners.
Here, now, they will cease to believe me.
“‘Come
to Me?’” repeated Faer-wald. “She bid you come ... into the water?”
“Those
were Her words, Osraed. I spoke them just as I heard them. I swear I will never
forget them.”
“And
... did you-?” Ealad-hach’s voice was white as his crown of hair.
“I
could scarcely believe I’d heard Her right. I’ve studied the Pilgrimages all my
life. No one has ever been summoned into the waters. I thought She must be
tormenting me on account of that dream. So, I asked if She meant I was to come
into the Sea. ‘The Water of Life, Wyth,’ She said and laughed again and said, ‘Come
into the Water of Life and see if you do not get wet.’ I was horrified—certain
I must be punished for my arrogance. But She told me that I wasn’t arrogant,
only ignorant.”
He
chuckled. “I hadn’t thought arrogance to be a worse offense, but of course it
is. For in ignorance, one simply doesn’t know; in arrogance one knows, yet
refuses to understand. I understood the Goal, then—the End of Longing: To get
wet. To drown in that Water; to absorb that knowledge; to let it permeate every
atom. And as I understood that Goal, She held out Her radiant arms to me and I
stepped into the Sea.”
Ealad-hach
gasped, seeming to strangle, momentarily, on the air he breathed. Wyth glanced
at him, then went on.
“It
was warm. She was warm. Her radiance embraced me, surrounded and engulfed me.
Warm as sunlight, comforting, loving. She is love!” he added suddenly, going
from dreamy to zealous. “We teach laws here and histories and dreams and inyx.
I tell you, what we must teach, above all else, that She is love.”
He
paused and looked about at the circle of faces old and older. It had been years
since a new Osraed had been willed to Halig-liath. Years since any doctrinal
changes had been made.
“We
must teach that,” he repeated and knew Calach would record it faithfully as the
first doctrinal utterance of his Mission. “We must make it part of the morning
invocation.”
“Now,”
Wyth squared his shoulders and sat as tall as his body would allow. “I am
coming to a part of my Tell which ...” Something like fear fluttered beneath
his breast bone. He must have no fear. He must continue. He must give the whole
Tell.
He
glanced at Ealad-hach, trying to gauge, from the old hawk face, what effect his
story was having. But Ealad-hach was little more than a shadow, sitting far
back in his tall chair.
Wyth
looked to Bevol and found an eager gaze. He delivered the rest of his tale
directly to Meredydd’s Master.
“The
Meri held me in Her arms and drew me beneath the waves with Her. And, as they
closed over my head, I had no fear. She smiled at me. I couldn’t see Her smile,
but only feel it. And then, She kissed me ... first on the lips, then on the
brow.”
A
whisper wafted in a circle about him like an eddy of wind, invisible and cool.
“And
She called me Her son.”
The
wind was sucked from the room leaving it soundless and motionless.
“You-you
jest.” Ealad-hach half-rose from his place, his hands, on the table, supporting
him. “You’re playing a game with us. No, testing us. The Meri has commissioned
you to test the Osraed.”
Wyth
shook his head. “No, Osraed Ealad-hach. I do neither.”
“This-this
is unprecedented!” exclaimed Eadmund. “For centuries the selection of Osraed
has followed a prescribed pattern. For centuries! Never in the history of the
Divine Arts has the Meri drawn an elect into the Sea, never has She kissed him
upon the mouth and never has She referred to him as Her son! What can you
possibly mean by all these things?”
Osraed
Bevol rapped quietly on the tabletop, stopping the flow of questions. “We are
out of order. Our new brother, Wyth, brings us a Tell that is stunning, to be
sure, but we have no reason to doubt his
stopped, passing eyes over the faces of his listeners.
Here, now, they will cease to believe me.
“‘Come
to Me?’” repeated Faer-wald. “She bid you come ... into the water?”
“Those
were Her words, Osraed. I spoke them just as I heard them. I swear I will never
forget them.”
“And
... did you-?” Ealad-hach’s voice was white as his crown of hair.
“I
could scarcely believe I’d heard Her right. I’ve studied the Pilgrimages all my
life. No one has ever been summoned into the waters. I thought She must be
tormenting me on account of that dream. So, I asked if She meant I was to come
into the Sea. ‘The Water of Life, Wyth,’ She said and laughed again and said, ‘Come
into the Water of Life and see if you do not get wet.’ I was horrified—certain
I must be punished for my arrogance. But She told me that I wasn’t arrogant,
only ignorant.”
He
chuckled. “I hadn’t thought arrogance to be a worse offense, but of course it
is. For in ignorance, one simply doesn’t know; in arrogance one knows, yet
refuses to understand. I understood the Goal, then—the End of Longing: To get
wet. To drown in that Water; to absorb that knowledge; to let it permeate every
atom. And as I understood that Goal, She held out Her radiant arms to me and I
stepped into the Sea.”
Ealad-hach
gasped, seeming to strangle, momentarily, on the air he breathed. Wyth glanced
at him, then went on.
“It
was warm. She was warm. Her radiance embraced me, surrounded and engulfed me.
Warm as sunlight, comforting, loving. She is love!” he added suddenly, going
from dreamy to zealous. “We teach laws here and histories and dreams and inyx.
I tell you, what we must teach, above all else, that She is love.”
He
paused and looked about at the circle of faces old and older. It had been years
since a new Osraed had been willed to Halig-liath. Years since any doctrinal
changes had been made.
“We
must teach that,” he repeated and knew Calach would record it faithfully as the
first doctrinal utterance of his Mission. “We must make it part of the morning
invocation.”
“Now,”
Wyth squared his shoulders and sat as tall as his body would allow. “I am
coming to a part of my Tell which ...” Something like fear fluttered beneath
his breast bone. He must have no fear. He must continue. He must give the whole
Tell.
He
glanced at Ealad-hach, trying to gauge, from the old hawk face, what effect his
story was having. But Ealad-hach was little more than a shadow, sitting far
back in his tall chair.
Wyth
looked to Bevol and found an eager gaze. He delivered the rest of his tale
directly to Meredydd’s Master.
“The
Meri held me in Her arms and drew me beneath the waves with Her. And, as they
closed over my head, I had no fear. She smiled at me. I couldn’t see Her smile,
but only feel it. And then, She kissed me ... first on the lips, then on the
brow.”
A
whisper wafted in a circle about him like an eddy of wind, invisible and cool.
“And
She called me Her son.”
The
wind was sucked from the room leaving it soundless and motionless.
“You-you
jest.” Ealad-hach half-rose from his place, his hands, on the table, supporting
him. “You’re playing a game with us. No, testing us. The Meri has commissioned
you to test the Osraed.”
Wyth
shook his head. “No, Osraed Ealad-hach. I do neither.”
“This-this
is unprecedented!” exclaimed Eadmund. “For centuries the selection of Osraed
has followed a prescribed pattern. For centuries! Never in the history of the
Divine Arts has the Meri drawn an elect into the Sea, never has She kissed him
upon the mouth and never has She referred to him as Her son! What can you
possibly mean by all these things?”
Osraed
Bevol rapped quietly on the tabletop, stopping the flow of questions. “We are
out of order. Our new brother, Wyth, brings us a Tell that is stunning, to be
sure, but we have no reason to doubt his
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