Story for the Day: The Divine Connection
While Frewyns and Galleisians worship many gods, they do not worship every god there is. Myrellenos, god of the Lucentians and god of the ancient Marridonians, while not directly related to the gods of Frewyn, is part of the same spirit group, but good luck finding out any more information about her when Aoidhe is by:
The first rays of aurora peaked out
over the horizon, the twittering of sparrows hiding under the boughs of a
nearby cypress sang out against the ocher canvass of morning, and Brother
Brudha
awakened to the sound of Sister Ilena, who was humming the morning hymn
and sweeping the hallway. He dressed and said his morning prayers, and when he
was refreshed and revived, he emerged from the room to be met with Sister
Ilena, standing in the doorway and looking deplorably, her arms trembling, her
breath lost, her broom rattling in her hand.
“Brudha,” said she, in a dreadful
whisper, “you must come.”
Brudha placed a hand on her
shoulder. “What is it, Ilena?”
“I—I don’t know—I just—I was
sweeping in the hallway, and the door—the door to—“ She seized Brudha’s hand
and began leading him down the hall. “Please come, and you’ll see.”
She led him to the room in which
the older boys slept, and knowing what he had already felt, Brudha placed a
hand reassuringly on Ilena’s arm to quiet her nerves and entered the room.
The two beds where Ailbhe and
Aidhill slept looked as though they had never been used: the sheets were neatly
pressed, the blankets perfectly laid, the pillows resting languidly against the
backboards, and when he peeled back the blankets to inspect further, he found
two large black feathers resting on the
topsheet. He held them up to the light, a pearlescent sheen shimmered along
their vanes, and he smiled to himself in the secret felicity of knowing that the
boys were now soaring over the Sheabac and being cared for by two parents who
were part of a proud and prominent family. The ancient benediction of the Gods
was now their heritage, and Brudha could not but be sanguine for them, though
it cost him some feelings of wistful rememberance, the hiraeth of a doting
parent his eternal legacy.
“Have they hid somewhere, Brudha?”
said Ilena, in a panic. “Is it a game they’re playing? Are they hiding under
the bed, or are they in one of the cabinets somewhere?”
“No, Ilena,” Brudha replied,
embracing her. He gave her an exuberant look. “They’ve been adopted.”
“Adopted?” she cried. “What?
But—just like this? At night? And without anyone’s seeing—but how can you be
sure?”
He showed her the black feathers,
and she seemed not to understand him. He would have to tell her everything, and
taking her hand, he brought her into the hall again and said, “Come, sweet
Ilena. We will sit down to breakfast, and I will tell you the whole story.”
He conveyed her to the refectory,
where scones and apricot jam were piling atop buttered biscuits and bilberry
scones, and when tea was brought and a few sips were taken, he told her all
that had happened the day before, about the various visitations, of Fuinnog and
Borras in the common room-- he had not seen Fuinnog at the hearth, but from his
previous conversation with Aoidhe in the refectory, and of what the children
had told him, he reckoned Fuinnog as meaning to be as rebellious as Aoidhe in
one respect at least.
Her nerves were tolerably calmed,
and when she had sipped more of her tea and considered, she said, “But are you
sure, Brudha, that they will be all right?” her teacup rattling against the
saucer as she put it down. “I do believe you, but really, I am so afraid—“
“Yes, Ilena. I am very sure. They
are probably at the Sheabac right now, hunting for fish and chasing seagulls,
waving around the tooth that Aidhill knocked out of Ailbhe’s mouth.” Brudha
smiled and shook his head. “Those boys,” he mused, in a reverie, “they are
probably in a dream, with all the flying, exploring, and uncharted landscape
they could ask for.”
“But are you sure that is good for
them, Brudha?”
“Yes, I think so. Fuinnog will be
an excellent teacher and a guide for them. They will guard the highlands as
Romhaine did.”
“But why all this secrecy now,
Brudha, if they appeared to you so plainly last night? Why take the boys away
like this? Why not ask us directly?”
“They want no record of it, I suppose.
It is not as though Fuinnog is allowed to have children—none of the Gods are
permitted, I believe, though that does not seem to stop them. We know now that
Aoidhe has sons who live among us, and while there are stories of Fuinnog caring
for children that have wandered away from their parents, I believe he wanted children
he could call his own.”
Ilena sighed and looked forelorn,
and Brudha browsed the back of her hand with his fingertips.
“If it will ease you, Ilena, I will
ask Aoidhe later whether the boys really are with Fuinnog—“
Aye,
they’re with him.
Brudha straightened and stared at
the far wall, and Ilena watched and waited.
A cloud of smoke sweltered into
Brudha’s subconscious, and he felt a familiar grin at the back of his neck. Aul’ bird couldn’t take it no more, seein’
me have all the wee-uns I’m wantin’. The crepitation of dried leaves under
the influence of seething flame crackled in his ear. Asked the Aul’ Man if he could have ‘em. You know how he is, lad. He gotta ask the Aul’ Man if he can breathe.
Afraid he’s gonna come down on him with the THOU SHALT NOT DISOBEY MY COMMAND
and such, but Borras said what for
him, and I said a few words, now he’s got two wee-uns o’ his own.
And
the children are well, another voice assured him.
Borras,
the first voice demanded, clear on outta
here. This here’s my talkin’. The lad’s my friend, and I’m tellin’ the story.
Away y’go now. Go aff and find yer own friends. This’n here belongs to me. Aff
and look in on yer boy. Sure he could use a visit now.
“Your boy?” said Brudha, seemingly
to himself. “Borras, you too have a son here amongs us?”
The voices were silent. Somewhere a
knowing smile was given, and one of the omniscient existences were gone.
Ain’t
the only one what’s out givin’a good hashiff to what asks, lad. He just won’t
tell you about it ‘cause he’s afraid o’ sayin’. Hear him talkin’? The voice
stopped and seemed to be waiting for someone to speak. Sure ain’t sayin’ what now, aye? But I’ll tell ya, lad, he give a
right good hashiff to a girl out in Westren. Coulda been a right good bheann
for him, but he loves Suibhne too much to keep a second. Just wanted to answer
a prayer, and when she has the lad, she gives him away. There was a shake
of the head, and an exhale aspirated at the back of his mind. Don’t understand you folk sometimes. You ask
us for what, we give it to ya, and then you don’t want it no more. The
voice paused, and sly features painted on a consciouss canvass. Here come the lad, said the voice, in
mirthful tones. No lettin’ on now. I’m
gonna sit over here and mind mahself.
The
voice quieted when Cgnita and Eilen entered the room. Brudha and Ilena turned
toward them as they approached: they were smiling at each other, they were
speaking to one another in amorous tones, they were holding hands, and the
satisfied aspect each was giving the other bespoke an evening blissfully spent.
A cachinnation echoed from within, a brume of pipe smoke blustered by, and the
presence shifted from the back of Brudha’s mind to somewhere beside him, as
though it were waiting for Cgnita and Eilen to join them.
They
did join them, and when the morning pleasantries were gone through and more tea
was brought, Cgnita asked Eilen whether she should like any tea, and Brudha
folded his arms over his chest and gave them an assenting smile.
“It is
a question over tea, Brudha,” Cgnita insisted, “not an admission of any kind.”
“You
had a pleasant evening,” Brudha observed.
“We
did, thank you. We spent all evening on the hill. The stars were out, the
dinner cook gave us was splendid—there was really nothing to keep us inside. It
was a little cold, I grant you, but the frost was so mild, it was nothing at
all to worry about. The headland was radient last night. I’d never seen
anything so beautiful.”
Here
was a glance at Eilen, and Eilen and Ilena coiled into themselves, each
crimsoning over in delightful mortification, while Brudha surrendered to quiet
mirth and admitted nothing.
“Beldynn
comes today,” Cgnita joyfully announced, taking a teacup for himself.
“I
cannot wait to meet him,” said Eilen, recovering her complexion between
delibations. “I am all atremble, there is really so much I must show him.”
“I, too,
am looking forward to his visit,” said Brudha thoughtfully. “I has been too
long since we have seen him here.”
“It is
too long since anyone has seen him anywhere other than the Haven. And how was
the rest of your evening, Brudha?” said Cgnita, lifting the cup to his lips.
Brudha
felt the consciousness beside him hover in anticipation. “It was meaningful,”
was his smiling answer.
Cgnita
looked up from his cup to study Brudha’s expression, but it was too late: his
tea was all over his fresh clean robes, what was once white was now bemired
with blotches of brown. Something had knocked his cup from his hand, and the
teacup was rolling helplessly along the ground, the last few drops of tea
trickling out in a stream beside the table, and Brudha chuckled, and Cgnita
festered in hateful silence.
“…And
on the day that Master Beldynn is to visit,” Cgnita maned, weltering in misery.
“Oh
Cgnita,” Eilen cried. “How odd that the cup should have fallen like that.”
“Yes,
my dear, very odd indeed,” said Cgnita flatly, staring at Brudha. “It must be
my nerves.”
“Well, the stain is still fresh. Perhaps
we can draw it out with a warm cloth.”
She hurried to the kitchen, to
speak for a cloth and boiled water, and Ilena followed, thinking that salts and
caustic soda might do just as well if they could be got, leaving Cgnita and
Brudha to themselves.
“Of all the times he could have
done this—“ Cgnita eulogized, his shoulders withering, and then, with a heated
look, “—And if you think I don’t know he is there—I know he is somewhere near
by, Brudha. I can smell that pipe smoke from here. It is practically wafting
off your shoulders. Come, Aoidhe, there is no need to pretend you aren’t there.”
I
ain’t anywhere, lad, the voice laughed. Just watchin’.
The familiar intonation abraded the
cleric’s nerves, and Cgnita glunched and shuddered. “You are just watching as I
am eating a shoe, Aoidhe.” Cgnita took a cloth from the tea trey and began
dabbing the large stain on his robes with it. “I know you pushed my hand. Why
else would you be laughing now?”
‘Cause
you ruined yer robes and all.
Wrawling guffaws echoed internally,
and Cgnita decided that he hated this morning.
“Aoidhe,” Cgnita sighed, pinching
the bridge of his nose, “I really do believe that you will be the death of me
Naw, ain’t gonna kill ye, lad. Can’t do no japin’ if you ain’t down there.
“Now
that I come to think of it, I should be terrified to die just now. Aoidhe must
grow tired of me before I attempt to throw myself down a well. If I transend to
his plane of theoretical existence while he is still attached to me, I shall be
his especial friend forever.”
Brudha
shrugged and looked subrisive. “You could find enjoyment in haunting everyone
in this realm together.”
“I
shall haunt you first, Brudha, for encouraging him.”
“I do
not encourage him, Cgnita,” Brother Brudha simpered. “I simply do not
discourage him.”
“Which
is rather the same thing.” Cgnita dabbed his robes and made a drawn out sigh.
“Oh, well done, Aoidhe. You have spoiled my ceremonial robes,” he grunted,
tossing the cloth aside. “I suppose I should be grateful you did not make my
nose bleed or push me into a sty.”
Can still do it, if yer wantin’. There
was an exhale and a gesture to further this somewhere. For more colour and all.
“I have
enough colour, thank you. And you will please not to scheme against me whilst
Master Beldynn is here. He will be arriving a few hours hence, so you had
better get all your japes in now, Aoidhe, because if you jostle me about whilst
he is here, I will have him banish you into some hideously tiresome realm where
all the witches go.”
Naw, he ain’t gonna do that, lad. I’ll tie his
beard to his belt if he try any o’ that Marridon magickin’ on me.
“He is
quite powerful, Aoidhe,” said Brudha, with playful warning, pouring Cgnita
another cup of tea, “and there is talk of his having a brother, a prominent
wizard in Marridon who has many mysterious connections.”
Ain’t no mystery in it, lad. I know that
brother o’ his.
Cgnita
instantly put down his cup and gaped at the far wall. “You do?”
Sure I do. He’s servant to wassername over
in the east.
“In the
east…” Brudha repeated, looking . “Do you mean Myrellenos, Aoidhe?”
Aye, thassername. Good lookin’ bheann with
all that hair flowin’.
“You
know Myrellenos, the goddess the Lucentians worship?”
Sure I know her. Everyone do. The voice
paused, and someone somewhere scratched his head. Yer lad with the crinkled hat a friend o’ hers.
“You
mean Master Beldynn?” said Brudha, amused at Aoidhe’s description of the
ancient enchanter. “There, you see, Cgnita? Our Gods are not the only to have friends.”
Cgnita
pursed his lips. “You realize that is not a comfort to me. Isn’t Myrellenos
everywhere, just as you are unfortunately everywhere?”
Aye,
but her form is in the east, just as mine’s aff with my boy. Don’t matter
though. We can listen to prayers and give blessin’s from anywhere. She just
likes stayin’ in that special realm o’ hers—Mlys, or somethin’.
“Mlys
is a real realm?” asked Cgnita suspiciously. “So the Lucentians believe in a
real God.”
Sure she’s real. Why wouldn’t she be? We’re
real.
“Are you and our Gods related to
Myrellenos, Aoidhe?” asked Brudha. “Are all Gods related? Are they all living
entities that have a life of their own, or are they bound to us by belief?” but
the sudden opening of the refectory door and the entrance of one of the royal
guard made Aoidhe silent.
Brudha rose from the table, whilst
Cgnita tried, with futile desperation, to clean his robes and eadeavour to
salvage his pride, and the guard approached and bowed, looking first at Brudha
and then at Cgnita, wondering what all the bitter lamentation was about.
“Brother Brudha,” said the guard.
“A message for you from His Honour.” He held out a small note. “Matias Dreen
will be tired this afternoon for his crimes. His Honour asks if you would like
to be present to give your testimony for the record.”
“I will,” said Brudha, taking the
note.
“And there is word that the boy is
safe at the holding in Bramlae.”
Brudha smiled, and his heart was
relieved. “Thank you, sir. I am very glad to hear of it.”
“As well, Master Beldynn is to be
here within the hour.”
“What!” cried Cgnita, jumping up.
“And how is this possible, sir? I was given to understand that he would be here
later in the day.”
The guard suppressed a smile. “His
Honour heard of it from the Regent at Barrellynn, good cleric, that His Grace
Master Beldynn has left the Haven and is already on his way.” He glanced at
Cgnita’s robes. “So perhaps a change of dress is in order.”
A smirk and a bow, and the guard
quitted the refectory, leaving Cgnita to imitate the guard, muttering to
himself in heated disdain, and Brudha to chuckle to himself, thinking of
Cgnita’s misfortune with kind consideration.
“I did not know of the change in
hour until now, Cgnita,” Brudha assured him.
“You might not have known,” Cgnita
huffed, “but I have an idea of who did and purposely did not say anything about
it.”
He flouted at the space beside
Brudha, and the air warped as a laugh rippled across the hall.
Didn’t
know much, lad, the voice laughed. Wouldn’t
change anythin’ anyhow. You don’t got no other special robes.
“Oh, abominable morning,” the
cleric moaned, raising his features to the ceiling and throwing up his hands. “Brudha,
I believe I’m going to have to ask you for some lay brother robes—why are you
laughing?”
“Because my other set is currently
being washed, and the only other set available that I won’t have to send out
for are Ilena’s officiation robes.”
Cgnita looked unenthused. “You
know, Brudha,” with feigned delight, “I believe I shall wear them. If they are
not mine, and if they are a woman’s set, Aoidhe will laugh at me all day and
refuse to stain them.”
An eteral hand made a triumphant
gesture, and Cgnita had almost resigned himself to wearing a woman’s robe when
Eilen and Ilena returned to the hall, followed by the cook, who was carrying a
bucket and a kettle.
“Oh, aye, yeh’ve ryght begrannowed
yehself,” said the cook, in a musical tone, “but ‘tis no matteh. That’ll come
out. It’ll take some doin’, but we’ll have it out.”
The cook pulled a large brush from
the bucket, and Cgnita took a step back.
“What are you going to do to me?”
he asked.
“Ay’m doin’ nothin’ teh yeself. Yer
takin’ that robe off, and Ay’m boilin’ it down and washin’ it in the vinegeh.”
“I do hope you mean to strain it
and scent it. I cannot smell like an infirmary floor when Master Beldynn
comes—which,” turning to Eilen, “will be within the hour, as the guard has just
informed us.”
“Within the hour?” Eilen cried.
“Aye, well,” said the cook,
gripping Cgnita’s woven hemp belt, “betteh be washed afore he comes.”
She gave a sharp tug, Cgnita
whirled round, and in one swift motion, she peeled the cleric’s robe from his
body and thrust it into the bucket.
“What have you done!” Cgnita
shrieked, looking down at himself.
“Cool yeh porridge, cleric,” the
cook humphed. “Yeh wearin’ yer undehthings. Yeh not traipsin’ about in the
alltehgetheh.”
Cgnita held his arms around himself
and scowled at the cook. “You are an evil woman, peeling a man from his robes
as though he were a sheep to be sheared.”
“Aye, well,” said the cook,
disinterested, “Ah seen sheared sheep and naked men, and yeh don’t got what teh
fryghten meh.” She poured the contents of the kettle into the bucket and began
shuffling away. “Ay’m off teh scrub and strain this in the warshin’. Best fynd
a shirt before the wee-uns come in.”
“Yes,” said Brudha, “it is time we
should be waking the children, though I’m sure they’re awake already.”
Ilena went directly to the
dormitory, and Eilen held Cgnita’s arm and helped him out of the refectory.
“Did you see what she did, my
dear?” Cgnita said, in a quiet and injured voice, as he hurlped away from the
church. “She stripped me like a sullied child!”
“I admit,” Eilen returned, smiling
to herself, “I was fascinated at how easily she got it from you.”
Brudha reveled in high glee
watching Cgnita sepulcheringly trundle back to the infirmary. What a morning it
was already, and who could say what other pleasures the day might yet achieve?
Master Beldynn on his way, the Archaeolgical Soceity showing interest in the
site, Matias Dreen being brought to trial and the boy well on his way to
rehabilitation, Brudha had nothing left to do but finish his tea and clean the
table in preparation for breakfast for the children.
An erubescent glow radiated behind
him, and when he turned, Aoidhe was standing there in full form, his pipe
tucked in the corner of his mouth, his hat resting at the back of his head. “Don’t
you worry about ‘em boys, lad,” said he, patting Brudha on the shoulder.
“They’re havin’ a right time of it, flyin’ round the crags and learnin’ how to
fish and such.”
Brudha could not but smile up at
the mountainous and jovial God. “Should I worry for their education, Aoidhe? They
might be learning how to care for themselves and protect the land, but they
must learn better how to read and write. They know only the little we have
taught them. ”
“Aye, Romhaine’ll show ‘em.”
“Is she still alive then, after all
this time?” Brudha asked, in awe. “There must be extenuations made for her
after hundreds of years.”
Aoidhe shrugged. “Don’t really
count alive or not alive, lad. She’s around, shise shin. She looks after the Sheabac when Fuinnog is off doin’
sky things. She’ll teach the boys what’s what.”
Brudha canted his head and looked
sagacious. “As a question, Aoidhe, can you read and write? I had always
wondered if the Gods bothered with such things.”
“Aye, I can read and write.
Somewhat. My writtin’ don’t come out like yers do. We got that Aul’ Fremhin way
o’ writin’ things.”
“But your speech is Common—at
least, I believe it is.”
“That’s it, lad,” Aoidhe declared,
touching Brudha’s chin affectionately. “We got us our Gods’ language, but yer
hearin’ Common ‘cause yer thinkin’ Common. We Gods hear all languages the same.
We can’t just not answer prayers ‘cause they’re in another language and all. You
pray to us in Aul’ Fremhin or Common, we’re gonna hear it.”
“So if I began to think in Auld
Fremhin--”
Aoidhe suddenly turned toward the
infirmary. “Talkin’ for another time, lad. I gotta ruin a robe what the lad’s
found.”
He winked and began to fade as he
strolled toward the door, and Brudha held his sides and laughed.
“You will not be happy until Cgnita
meets Master Beldynn in a sundress,” said Brudha, shaking his head.
“I’d right love that, lad,” Aoidhe
beamed, his figure shimmering and dying away. “Yer after givin’ me all these
ideas, I’m gonna right use ‘em.”
“As you will, Aoidhe, only please
do not tell him I gave you the notion.” Here was a sly grin. “I want him to
think it came all from you.”
With a last nictation between them
and the promise of the God’s returning to trip him later, Aoidhe was gone, his
presence moving over the threshold and leaving the refectory, and Brudha was
left to himself, thinking of all the delightful misery that was sure to be
Cngita’s morning, and offering a prayer for Ailbhe and Aidhill, for their
continued safety and happiness for their new life along the northern coast.
Comments
Post a Comment