by Cory Huff
The church leaders pondered over what to do about this miracle. It was the first genuine, undeniable miracle with multiple witnesses that the leaders had encountered. Their faith’s origins had no traditions for what to do. They pondered and discussed among themselves what to do. They fasted and prayed for guidance from the Creator. In the interim, they elected to hold space for Aidan to continue his training.
Aidan was hiding.
He was inside the unfinished temple, sitting on a small, wooden, workman’s bench behind the great white block of marble that would eventually be carved into an altar or something. He wasn’t sure.
He probably wasn’t supposed to be in here. One benefit of being a miracle worker was people letting him do things he wasn’t supposed to do. He had crept in before the workmen got their start, and they pretended not to notice him while he was here. He had needed a break from the people. For the last three days, he had been beset at home, at church, and everywhere else by miracle seekers. People who wanted to see him stood outside his home. People who wanted to ask him about what happened with Angus followed him to the Church grounds. There had been some people asking him to heal their illness.
Aidan had panicked when that happened. He didn’t know how to call forth that healing power on command. He knew he’d done it twice, but both times had been under great duress. He hadn’t thought about it. It had just happened. Ever since the first person had asked him for a healing, Aidan had been anxious and unable to concentrate. He couldn’t find the peace that came in those moments, and his personal prayers were continually interrupted by people singing and shouting outside his tiny house.
Strom had been helpful. After the Lord Commander had told Strom that Angus was out of bounds, Strom had come looking for Aidan and found him before the beginning of sword practice, grabbed his arm, and practically dragged him into the church’s big white infirmary tent to get the whole story. He had listened quietly, nodding in the right places. At the end of the story, as Aidan emotionally recounted the blood on his hands and how it contrasted with the inner peace he felt, he looked at Strom and asked, “What’s ‘appening to me?”
Strom had sat quietly for a long time, studying Aidan. The compassion in his eyes helped Aidan settle. Then Strom had said, “I don’t know Aidan. The priests have their ideas, I’m sure, but I don’t think any of us can know what’s happening. I think it’s between you and the Creator.”
Aidan had looked at Storm with big eyes, feeling lost. “What do I do now? People are following me…” his voice trailed off. He felt so overwhelmed.
Strom had tears in his eyes. “Ask Him Aidan. Ask the Creator. These blessings come from Him. Ask Him what to do with them.”
So here Aidan sat, hiding in an enormous granite and marble temple that was unfinished, working up the courage to do just that. He couldn’t ask at home. Too many people, including his father and brother who were constantly checking on him as if to see what new miracles he might perform.
Aidan was familiar with how to pray now. It was just like talking. He spoke to the Creator who he couldn’t see, but could consistently sense as a comforting presence just at the edge of his consciousness. He knelt down, turning to put his elbows on the rough-hewn bench. “Dear Creator…I’m not really sure what to say. It’s been a few days since…Angus,” he took a deep breath. “I am…grateful…I guess for what ‘appened. For healing ‘im. For ‘im not dying. I’ve been so overwhelmed by everything that’s ‘appened since. By the people. By everyone saying things and thanking me. But…I don’t know…I’m scared by it all.”
A familiar peace came over Aidan.
“Ok, scared ain't the right word. When I think of what ‘appened, right there in the moment, with you guiding me, I feel at peace. What makes me uncomfortable, Creator, is the way people are looking at me. I don’t know wha to do. They expect me to ‘eal them too, and I don’t know if that’s what you want me to. Am I s’pposed to become some sort of ‘ero from a story?”
The peace that Aidan felt deepened, and Aidan paused for a long while, listening. Breathing deeply.
Aidan thought that perhaps the problem was that he was afraid of what others wanted. He was afraid of letting them down. He was afraid of the attention. But he was not afraid of what the Creator asked him to do.
“What do you want me to do Creator? ‘ow can I serve you?”
He knelt there, a long while again. Listening.
Aidan knew that he needed to help a friend. He wasn’t sure which friend, but he knew that someone needed his help. He wasn’t sure how he knew. He intuited it.
He stood up and walked out the door of the half-built temple, confident that it would become clear who needed his help.
CHAPTER TEN
Friends in Need
Nia woke up in the quiet, peaceful grove. That’s how she thought of it now, despite the violence that had brought her here. The wolves had attacked her outside. The spirits had healed her here. She lay there, in the cool Summer sunrise, enjoying the feel of the grass on her back. She still felt peace and connection.
She also felt a need to relieve herself. She stood and walked toward the pond. It didn’t feel right to do that here in this sacred space, so she would wade through the pond again and find another spot in the woods. The water was very cold, despite the Summer, but she quickly stepped around the edge of the magical hedgerow, did her business, and came back. As she was walking back through the cold water, she saw a glint of metal. Gold. She stepped down further into the cold pond, reached down for the gold. She grasped it and shook the mud off of it, and she saw more metal in the mud. She brushed through the mud with both hands and felt pieces of metal all over. The motion of the water stirred the mud and made it hard to see, but she could feel objects and catch glimpses of them. Various sizes. She pulled up the first piece. A plain golden band, no decoration. She grabbed another object. A bronze statue, the size of her forearm, in the crude form of a man with a missing leg. The leg might have been shorn off the statue. There were markings down one side of the statue. The markings were similar to the carvings on the altar. She kept going. She found several additional rings, all plain gold bands. She found coins with figures she didn’t recognize on them. Fantastical people with goat legs, horns, or wings. Other small statues in the shape of people, a dog, a horse, and a sun. A finely made dagger with more of those markings on the hilt. Two swords, an axe, and a shield, all with more of those markings. All decorated in gold or otherwise finely crafted.
Her feet were freezing and she was starting to shiver. Unable to carry everything she had found, she settled on just two things. She stepped out of the water and looked down at the ring and the statue in her hands. What were these objects, and why were they here? Who had put them there? This place was sacred. Maybe they were offerings of some sort? Her mother had given offerings to the Spirits. Was this the same? If it was, she should put these back.
The breeze picked up and Nia paused to listen. She looked up and realized that there was an old woman standing in the grove. She was short, almost as short as Nia, with her long grey hair pulled up into a bun. Her skin was beautiful, despite her age, clear and with just a few wrinkles. She had a soft smile and leaned on a carved wooden cane. She projected an aura of power and confidence that was familiar.
Nia gasped and dropped the artifacts she had pulled out of the pond. She fell to her knees as she remembered that night. She had lost consciousness here in the grove, her arm bleeding, as lightning had struck and driven off the wolves. In the shadows of successive lightning strikes that made the earth tremble, as the wind picked up, this old woman had appeared, standing over Nia. The woman had whispered ancient words to her. Despite the noise, her whisper had been clearly audible. Nia couldn’t recall the language. It had been unfamiliar, but full of power. Nia had felt her arm grow cold, then warm, then she had passed out.
Nia had woken up again several times during the night to see the woman standing over her, holding vigil. Each time Nia woke, seem
ingly every few minutes, the woman spoke to her again in that unfamiliar language. The words had penetrated her understanding, and she somehow knew that she would live. This woman’s voice was the voice Nia heard on the wind while she was watching the Squires train. It was this woman’s voice that taught her how to move, how to heal.
In her mind, Nia’s mother’s voice whispered stories of the wind bringing knowledge and weather. The spirit’s name leapt from Nia’s tongue. “Gaoth,” she said, “You are the spirit of the wind, Gaoth.”
“Well yes, dear, of course I am. Who else would I be?” The old woman smiled brightly. Her voice was warm, like a beloved grandmother’s. “And you are Nia. We are so very grateful you’ve come back, and so very grateful for this vow you’ve made. We had best get started formalizing it right away.”
Nia did not respond. The lump in her throat prevented her from speaking. Her mother had been right. All of the things her mother said about the Spirits, about how to show respect for them, raced through her mind. She didn’t have any food to offer. That was for sprites and brownies anyway, not the powerful primal spirits themselves. Her mother had always taught her that Gaoth, along with the other spirits, never just appeared to mortals. In ages past, the spirits worked through members of a priesthood more ancient than memory. They had always been around. Her mother had lamented the disappearance of the old ways as the Church of the Creator rose to prominence. Her mother had always seemed to imply that she knew more than she had told Nia. She had implied that she had more to tell her. But her mother had died.
Nia stood there, mute, as all of these thoughts raced through her mind. After a long moment of silence, she realized that Gaoth had said they needed to get started formalizing her vow. Nia didn't know what to do.
Gaoth seemed to be patiently waiting. She arched an eye brow, “Do you have a gift for me?”
Nia shook her head no. “I’m sorry spirit, I have nothing to give.”
Gaoth smiled a sweet, benevolent smile. Leaning on her cane, she responded, “What’s that at your feet?”
Nia started and looked down, seeing the ring and the statue. “But these were already yours weren’t they? I got them from the pond. Aren’t those treasures yours?”
Gaoth said, “I will grant them to you. They’re yours now. Pick them up.” Nia did so and Gaoth smiled, “Do you have a gift for me?”
Nia nodded. She turned, and hurled the statue into the pond with all of her might. It spun, end over end, and splashed into the water. She palmed the ring and wound up to throw again.
“Wait,” came Gaoth’s matronly voice. “I accept your gift. The ring is yours. Put it on.”
Nia put the ring on her left hand index finger. It felt … weighty.
Gaoth, still unmoving, spoke again. “Invoke the oaths.”
“I’m not sure what you mean…” said Nia.
“The oaths Nia. They’re right here, on the altar. We sensed your intent when you were in distress so we chose to intervene before you spoke the oaths. It has been so long since the last Druid among the people of Atania. But we have deviated too long from the required forms. Speak the oath.”
Nia spoke haltingly, “I’m sorry Gaoth. I don’t know the oat.”
Gaoth frowned and finally moved. She lifted an old, wrinkled finger and gestured at the stacked stone altar. “You can read them off of the altar.”
Nia walked forward and looked down at the lines carved deeply into the stone. The red flakes of her blood still there. “Is this a language? If it is…I…don’t know how to read this.”
Gaoth was silent for a long time. She was as silent as the center of a cyclone. The longer the silence went on, the more the hedgerow felt like a storm wall, encircling her with the promise of danger. Gaoth’s mouth trembled. Her body shook with some monumental effort. Nia could see tears in Gaoth’s eyes.
“Then I will teach you.”
An old man named Tine watched Nia. He looked to have been powerfully built when he was younger, but now was bowed with age. Despite that age, he still sported fiery red hair and a beard to match. He also had a temper to match. He crept through the woods outside of that sacred grove where Nia spoke to his sister, Gaoth, pondering how he would bring this one in line. She wanted to serve the spirits of old? Fine. But she would serve them with fear and respect, as was appropriate.
He had seethed as he watched her dig through the trinkets she found in the pond. Humanity had lost all respect for the spirits. Now that they were rediscovering the spirits, Tine would remind them of the fear that they once held in their hearts for the primal essences of the world.
That Gaoth would lower herself to the role of a teacher of letters was inexcusable. Tine did not accept Nia’s gift. She would pay a much higher price if she wanted to serve the spirits and be their new Druid. The priestesses of old had paid in blood.
“This is beith. It represents the birch tree,” Gaoth drew a line in the dark earth next to the pond with her yew cane. At one end she drew another line, perpendicular to the first. Nia thought it looked like a capital “T.”
“The birch tree symbolizes renewal. This symbol is invoked at times of birth or new journeys,” Gaoth smiled. “There's a reason this is the first letter we teach.”
“Where does this language come from?” Asked Nia. “I see it on this altar and on some of the gifts in the pond. Who created this language? Was it you?”
“The Ogham was the first language of…” Gaoth paused, swallowed, closed her eyes and took a long slow breath. Was she in some kind of distress? Was that possible for the spirits? She cleared her throat and said, “the first language of spirits like me. We taught it to your people many years ago.”
She took another long, slow breath and used her yew cane to extend the line further down the dark earth. Just a few inches below the first perpendicular line, she drew two perpendicular lines. “This is luis, or the Rowan tree. The Rowan tree is among the most magical of plants. Invoking the Rowan is to call down protection or to peer into the future.” She looked at Nia sharply, “Do not peer into the future without guidance. You could do yourself, and others around you, grievous harm.”
And so on it went. Nia learned the Ogham alphabet from Gaoth herself, the spirit of the wind. She drew all 25 letters in the dirt, matching each one to a specific plant. In addition to the birch and Rowan, there was alder, willow, ash, hawthorn, oak, holly, hazel, apple, vine, ivy, fern, blackthorn, elder, fir, gorse, heather, two kinds of aspen, yew, spindle, honeysuckle, mistletoe and beech. She also made Nia draw all of them and repeat them back to her by memory. After hours of memorization work, Nia slumped down.
“Good. You’re doing well,” said Gaoth, smiling benevolently. “Your mind is working and exhausting your body. Rest here for the night, and we will start again in the morning.”
Nia laid down in the grass and rested as Gaoth walked out of the grove, her feet sloshing through the cold water. After a half hour of rest, Nia realized that she hadn’t eaten all day. She made her way out of the grove and foraged for berries and some edible roots. Guessing that Gaoth meant to teach her everything she needed to know, and keep her here until she knew it, Nia also went back to her camp. She found her snare and set it near a well traveled game trail. She would have meat tomorrow.
Sleepy, she half-stumbled her way back to the grove and immediately fell into a deep slumber, dreaming of lines drawn in the earth.
The next day was more of the same. Gaoth tested her memorization, and began teaching her how to string the letters together to make words.
Nia, frustrated with the tediousness of learning to speak a new language, asked, “Is it necessary to speak these oaths in a new language?”
Gaoth simply nodded.
“Can’t you just teach me what the oaths are and how to say the words, even if I don’t speak the language fluently?”
Gaoth shook her head no and added, “It is required that you understand the words, and mean them. It is also required that you understand the dangers
of this knowledge. You may choose to stop at any time.” There was a glint in her eye that made Nia uncomfortable. That hardness hadn’t been there yesterday. What was going on?
Nia sighed, and nodded her head. Looking at the altar, she had an idea. “Can you use the words on the altar to teach me the language? I can learn how to say those words as my first sentences, yes?”
Gaoth smiled a small, pleased smile. “Yes, I suppose we can do that. This is my first time teaching the Ogham in…a very long time. This will do.”
Nia walked to the altar, and looked at it. She recognized each of the individual letters and started sounding them out.
Beith…Aum…Gort…ruts…Aum…Coll…Edhadh…
Nia spent the better part of the next hour figuring out the letters and how to speak the words of the first sentence. With Gaoth’s help, she understood the sentence to mean, “By the grace of Rune’s great spirits.”
The full inscription was a poem of sorts. It read:
By the grace of earth’s great spirits
Let our shadows lengthen and tend
Earth, Air, Fire and Water
Let this promise never end
“What is this promise?” Asked Nia.
“The promise to become a priestess, Nia,” said Gaoth. Her shoulders slumped. She was leaning heavily on her yew cane. “If you will promise to take the oath of the Druid then you must promise to never break that oath, for we will show you things you never could have imagined.” She paused to let that sink in. “We will end here for the day.”
Nia watched Gaoth leave the grove again. She seemed to totter a little, perhaps feeling her age today.
Nia foraged again. She checked her snare and found a small hare. She built a small fire in her old camping spot and feasted on rabbit and berries. When darkness began to descend, she kicked dirt on the fire and ran back to the grove just as she heard wolves begin to howl.