by Jim Grimsley
I worked as hard as the women asked and did as I was told without thinking, even when what they wanted seemed hard or impossible. I learned to trust them. Maybe pupils had given the lake women trouble in the past. I was determined they would remember me as one who had given them no trouble at all.
Vithilonyi drew near, the Festival of Lights, a holiday in all Aeryn but celebrated with special reverence in the north. For a night every house across the Fenax would have a candle or a lamp burning in every window, tax or no, and every house in Cordyssa would be the same, alight with tongues of flame, each windowpane shimmering. This was a holiday at Illyn Water as well. Even the Anyn peoples celebrated it, nowadays, and it was close to my name-day.
In fact I was troubled about Vithilonyi for some days in advance, from the moment I learned that the holy day also marked our last in this part of Arthen, for on the morning after Vithilonyi camp would be struck and moved to its summer home. How would I find Illyn Water from a place far away? I had heard we would be riding twenty days before we reached Suvrin Sirhe, the northeast part of Arthen, a valley nestled high in the foothills of the Pelponitur.
I was afraid to ask the lake women what to do for fear of what they might tell me. Suppose they said I would have to abandon camp altogether, living with them along the lake shore, wherever their house was hidden?
I finally did ask Vella, who was teaching me the hidden grammar and syntax of Wyyvisar beside the lakeshore, alternately whispering into my ear while I murmured sounds, then ordering me into a trance while she sang songs over me. When we were both tired she made tea on an open lawn near Illyn, spreading out her shawl, which grew to become a large wool blanket, big enough for both of us to sit on. She had brought an oet, a transportable jaka pot fueled by hot ifnuelyn wood, and she set it up on a flat stone, brewing a pungent, steaming tea. We had been in that part of her country for a day; I had slept the night before on the open lawn, with only Words to make warmth and comfort. I had eaten nothing but was taking in sustenance from the air. A magician must be able to sleep in ice or snow, if necessary, she said, and do without water or solid food for a long time. She was making the magic that caused this, it being beyond my skill at that level; my body must become accustomed to many new pathways and intersections before I could do the work myself, she explained.
She handed me a large cup of tea and a chunk of waycake. Vella was a gentler teacher than Commyna, more given to praise and kind words than to Commyna’s doses of sarcasm and scorn. Though in the end she was as harsh a mistress in what she asked for. When we were done with the tea, I sat in fire and in boiling water for her till end of day, as she showed me the pathway for carrying the heat of both around my body, for refusing to interact with the fire and the water, even for burning and healing again. All simple and easy when she was the one doing the work, all I had to do was open my mind and feel what was happening as fully as I could.
In the Illyn afternoon, when the western sky was salmon-colored, strung with tatters of cloud, she talked at length about famous magicians of the past, and about magic itself. Finally I got up the nerve to mention to her that camp was moving, and I didn’t know what to do about it.
“What do you mean, do about it? What is there to do but move?”
“But it will be hard for me to get here.”
“Oh.” A slow smile spread across her round features. “We’ll find you when we want you, Jessex. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“But camp is moving all the way to the eastern mountains.”
Vella looked very prim and reassuring. “Illyn Water will be there waiting for you. Stick close to Nixva and let him find his own way. Trust that hideous dog of yours, too. He has a good nose, despite its appearance.”
I felt stupid when I realized what she was telling me. I should have known better than to assume that Illyn Water was an actual place in my world, that could be found by anyone as easily as Nixva and I had found it.
The lake, the surrounding landscape, these were not illusions. Vissyn had drilled me in the differences. Illyn Water was a real place, always there, shifted slightly out of Arthen. A bubble they were making, out of sight.
We returned to my lesson in Wyyvisar. At the end of it I was aware of knowing no more than before, though Vella said I was making good progress. She would be leaving me here overnight again, now that the sun was going down. Tonight the weather would be colder. Did I need her to teach me the Words again, or did I remember them?
I remembered. She smiled with satisfaction and turned away, leaving me cake and tea and a packet of cheese wrapped in cool green leaves. By the time her figure vanished round the broad bend of the shore, the sun was in the last splendor of its setting and evening was closing round the world. I sang Kithilunen quietly. I had no lamp so I lit a small fire instead, using the local tinder for fuel, and as my spark I employed the Word I had known for many days, spoken at the tips of my fingers, springing from there to the wood and burning.
I was far away from the world, from any world of my memory. I sat by the glowing fire in the twilight, the lake sparkling before me, shimmering surface reflecting the emerging stars. The wind smelled of forest and decaying leaf, of flowers heaving out scent, of the season warming, seeds awakening. I though of camp and of my friends there. I thought of Kirith Kirin and sang Kimri, picturing his face. When I thought of him I felt a sense of foreboding. I carried the thought with me when I walked that night, brooding beneath the stars, mysterious Words whirling in my head. I was hardly conscious of my youth any more, I had become an old man through love of magic, this new work I was learning, this fire that sprang from the air when I moved a Word in the space I could make in my mind. I was fourteen, lying down with my love in the grass, saying the Word that would bring warmth to the air around me even while I slept, the Word that would comfort my body while it lay on the cold hard ground. Sleep came easily. I dreamed of riding with Kirith Kirin across an endless plain.
4
On the morning of Vithilonyi, in honor of the day, the kyyvi does not extinguish the lamp with the coming of sunrise, but lights two more, carries them one in each hand before the altar, and places them on stone pedestals. I managed this pretty easily and sang Velunen. Sun rose in perfect waves of color like a fire burning beyond the trees. I walked to the portal of the tent, watching Nixva stamping in the yard. A large crowd had come to the ceremony that morning; custom is to sing Kimri on festival morning, and most folks had come for that. I took up the first words of the song.
Of the festival mornings I’ve known in my life, that one is among the most enduringly beautiful. I sang “Light in the Darkness” for the birds in the trees, for the warm spring air, for the feeling that a change was coming, that light would be needed.
Holiness arose in the clearing at that moment, a fullness like the throbbing in the air at the end of music. We love music because it is the echo of God’s mind, we say, and we mean it reminds us that she is still there, somewhere, though silent. Everyone took up the song. I ran to Nixva and lead him past the fringes of the crowd. We rode away to the sound of singing.
Nixva carried me to the lake by a different route each day. That morning we rode through familiar country, the land of iron-hued trees, of grass like spun silver and flowers like bright jewels, Raelonyi, and my heart leapt. I said the name aloud and Nixva tossed his head, galloping between the dark tree trunks, pounding the earth with his sharp hooves. He ran like something full of fire. We passed around Hyvurgren Field, entering from the east.
Horses grazed round the shrine. Three figures were kneeling by the altar, singing in Wyyvisar, a hymn that raised the hair on the back of my neck. I knew the Words. They sang of renewing the Woodland once again, of the progression of seasons, of scales of time weaving in and out of scales of space, phrases I could understand but not connect in any way. I rode quietly toward them, listening to their sad, somber song. When they stopped singing, a good while after I arrived, they turned to me as if they had known all along
I was in the field with them.
“Thank you for listening so patiently,” Commyna said. “We chose the Hyvurgren Shrine for our ceremony this year, since it is close to your camp, Jessex.”
“Do you do this every year?”
“Yes, every year on Vithilonyi. It’s necessary to us, to return here, though only a few people know it.” She smiled at me in the gentlest way. “All the creatures who were born in Arthen must return now and then, or they die.”
“Sister,” Vella called quietly, “please rejoin us. It’s time to continue.”
“Should we add Jessex to our circle?”
“Do you think that’s wise, Commyna? He won’t know what we’re doing.”
“All the better,” Commyna answered. “He will feel something from it. Yes, I think it’s a good idea. Take my hand, Jessex.”
Vissyn broke in very quietly. “There is a spy watching us, sisters.”
“A spy? In the forest?” Commyna looked all around.
“Yes. A most cunning man, known to us all.”
“Oh, him,” Commyna said. “I might have known.”
“He’s suspicious of the boy,” Vella said.
“It won’t really do any harm to let him watch, will it?” Vissyn asked, with a sly look at the others.
“I don’t see what it could hurt,” Vella said, after a moment’s thought.
“It will serve him right, since he is so impertinent as to sneak up on us while we are minding our own business. Taking advantage of knowledge he gained unfairly.” Commyna faced the shrine with a guileless look that was cat-like, nevertheless, in its promise of mischief. She took my hand again, and Vissyn took the other. We stood in a ring in front of the stone altar, where in a metal lamp a fire was flickering. A throb of power ran through my hand, a pure tangible strength, a vibration that rose over all of us, and Vissyn whispered, “You add to us nicely, son of Kinth. You have good strings.”
Vella told her to hush, and awareness of time left me, completely, as it had not since the day of the storm when the lake women first took me from Nixva’s back. A pure music came from among our joined hands along with singing like a cold wind. But I was not afraid; I was a part of the force that was singing, and the song carried me with it.
The song made me think of many things, above all of the women themselves. When they sang they gave out a feeling of strength and light that filled my vision. They said they had performed a ceremony in Arthen each year, but for how long? When they sang they felt as old as the earth underfoot, and the song was renewing everything, the forest, mountains, rivers, oceans, the worlds, the changeable stars, the emptiness of heaven. Their song called for a light like no other light, they called for the Hand to light the Lamp-that-lights-the-Lamps, a line of another old hymn, and when the light came to my inner eyes I lost sight of the world for a long time.
The singing ended but I was sustained by brightness, seeing only the sere white light, a small sun landed in my brain. The lake women led me to my horse by their voices, and I knew this was another of their tests, but I was blissful and laughed, finding Nixva by the sound of his breathing, which I knew like my own. I mounted him and got my balance, the light making me laugh, obscuring everything. Next thing I remember we were at Illyn Water, drinking tea and smelling the breezes. I saw only the light for a long time, but I could hear them clearly, and described for them how I had felt during the song, and what I was seeing now. We spoke in Wyyvisar, the Words moving from one mind into another, as formal as spoken language and as audible if one had the ear. I was beginning to understand better and better.
I must learn to see past the light but retain it, Vella said. I could do this only by Words. Since a song had brought the light, most likely a song would be needed for vision to exceed the light. Patiently she helped me to understand how such a song would be made, what Words would be used, and what form, what melody, what level of application, what object. I must breathe deeply, sit quietly, make an image in my mind and sing.
I listened to her attentively, feeling sudden joy. What she described seemed plain and easy. I knew this was another test, but this time I was not concerned, this time I relaxed as each of the women had taught me to do, centered my breathing and cleared my mind. The song came to me, waiting for me already. The sound made sense, it was a harmony I sang softly, into the emptiness of the small place. Wind blew against my real face. I had learned to be in both spaces at the same time. Now I must deal with the light. I was glad while it shone in my eyes, but I was just as glad when it became a mist, when the mist cleared. The lake women were seated in a circle watching me. They were smiling with quiet pride.
“Congratulations, Jessex,” Commyna said. “Happy Vithilonyi.”
“Happy Vithilonyi, ma’am. What are you congratulating me for?”
“You’ve just made your first song,” Vissyn said. “You’ve moved Power.”
“I can’t believe it,” Vella said, sitting up straight, gazing big-eyed at the rest of us. “You’ve been with us such a short time.”
“Be quiet, sister,” Commyna ordered sharply. “He’s really very slow, I think he could learn Wyyvisar much faster.” She paused, her eyes twinkling. “However, you should be pleased with yourself. The moving of Power in Words marks your transition from seventh level apprentice to sixth level adept. You are no longer quite a beginner. A fine gift on festival day.”
I sat up a bit straighter. It surprised me that the news should mean so much. No one said anything, but I felt some pride coming from the women too, and finally Vella said, “Well, like it or not, Commyna, he does pretty good for a mortal boy.”
“He would have to. He has a short life. The lessons only get harder from here.” Commyna’s expression was typically dry. “However, in honor of festival day, and of your passage to the sixth level, you will get the day off, Jessex.”
“camp is moving tomorrow,” I said.
“Never mind that,” she answered. “We’ll find a time and come for you. You will be living on Nixva for the next few weeks anyway. Don’t fret, you’ll get your time at Illyn.”
Again I was surprised at how much this news relieved me. This was plain to read on my face, and Vissyn said, laughing, “I believe he’s enjoying himself, anyway.”
“I am,” I said. “I’ve never had so much fun doing anything.”
“It’s good that you like your work,” Commyna said in a serene voice.
This was the end of my instruction for the day. I asked Commyna what suuren I should report to Mordwen for this ride, since the invention of the suuren-object had become part of our daily routine. Ordinarily she did not take much time to choose the object I was to report but today my question made her thoughtful. After consideration she said, “We have a problem today, Jessex. This morning you were seen joining us in Hyvurgren Field by someone from camp.”
I remembered the discussion about the spy in the forest, just before we began singing at the shrine. “I don’t know who could have followed me,” I said. “Nixva is a fast horse.”
“The visitor may not have been following you, necessarily,” Vissyn said. “There are a few folks who know we come to Arthen for this particular holiday.”
“Who was in the forest this morning? You know, don’t you.”
Vissyn smiled. “Yes. We know.”
My heart sank; I didn’t know why. “It was Kirith Kirin, wasn’t it?”
Commyna answered, “Yes. Because it was him, we didn’t interfere to hide you.”
I gazed at the lake beyond them, confused. “If he asks me questions, how will I answer? You’ve told me to say nothing about magic away from the lake.”
“Nor has the rule changed,” Commyna said. “Don’t worry so much. Kirith Kirin knows more about us than I can explain to you in one morning. He won’t expect you to tell him anything. If he asks you a question, answer him yes or no. If he asks you more than you think you should tell, refuse to answer. He won’t press you. It’s very simple.”
This was de
livered in nearly the same voice she would have used to scold me. I said I would do as I was told. She explained further, in a gentler tone, “He may be disturbed by what he knows. If he should seek counsel from one of his friends, if he should tell them something about what he’s seen, you must acknowledge nothing. If he’s disturbed and seems angry, you must not worry, the anger will pass.”
I felt a sudden sense of dread. She would hardly warn me unless it were likely. “Why would he be angry?”
She watched me for a long time. After a moment she said, “It can’t be easy, knowing so little of your own fate, when other folks know so much. I’m sorry, Jessex. I can’t answer your question. Kirith Kirin has had hopes for you that may be changed, or may seem to be changed, by the fact that you are our pupil. Just remember what I’ve told you. If it seems Kirith Kirin is cold to you, or angry, don’t let it trouble you. The anger is his own and will have nothing to do with you. The feeling will pass from him in time.”