Balat was speaking, intoning words of reverence to the Goddess and Her infinite patterns, yet Grace heard him only peripherally. She felt hot inside, and with sudden explosive energy pulled her hands free of the bundled pouch of her wraps; the chill air cooled the sweat that slicked her palms. Hot and cold mingled across her body and in her senses, like waves of heat chased by chill winds, followed by feverish pulses. Her whole body throbbed with an almost painful vibration, one that matched the silent ebb and flow of the air, the pulsing that heralded the dawn. For an instant, the newly breaking sun became the bloody, living heart of the universe, and its vital throbbing sent pulses of life and light through the body of the cosmos. Like a heart torn free of its cavity, yet still connected, the blood-red sun pumped energy to all that was.
To Grace, it seemed as if that first bloody shaft of sunlight were a shining sword that struck her forehead and impaled her there. Pain, as if her brain burned, filled her, and she dropped to her knees in the snow. She threw back her head, eyes closed against the brilliance, and cried out. The touch of the sun’s fire filled her, consumed her, devouring the world until there was nothing left but darkness.
A woman in the crowd screamed. Balat dropped his stick and the fire-hot crystal and ran to pick Grace up from the snow where she had fallen. She was lying in his arms, but radiating heat.
“Help me!” he commanded the others. A few startled men ran forward to help him lift her, but stopped when a frenzied throbbing beat the air. Suddenly it seemed as if the forest and the very sky exploded with birds, all beating the air with their wings. The strong strokes of the innumerable birds set the air to surging, as if a great wind gusted through the clearing. People cried out or ducked beneath trees. Balat roared for order, but no one heard.
The birds all called out cheerfully.
Grace awakened slowly, as if dragging her heavy body up from the depths of a thick, soupy ocean. Her entire body ached and her head felt twice its normal size. She opened her eyes and moaned with the pure effort of it.
Balat was there. “Rest,” he told her, holding her hand in both of his.
Grace shifted restlessly, shook her head and paid for it with pain.
“What ... happened?” she whispered.
Balat grinned. “We are not quite sure,” he said cheerfully. “You gave all of us quite a start.”
“I?” Confusion wrinkled her brow and that, in turn, produced a throbbing ache in her forehead.
“Yes, you,” Balat affirmed. He seemed boyishly pleased. “It appears you became a vessel for the Goddess and that She sent great omens through you. Why, the snow melted around your feet, and spring birds—birds we wouldn’t normally see for two moons or more—sang over your head. All the people are beside themselves with excitement. You’ve never seen such diligence to get the planting tools ready. The forest is fairly ringing with the sounds of preparation and on the third new moon, they will be all out there planting with great zeal.”
“Birds? Planting? I don’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I do, either, but that really doesn’t matter.” He calmed somewhat and hunched forward on his stool to brush the wayward hair from Grace’s brow. “I read the signs differently perhaps than the others, and the message I received is infinitely clear to me: you are the shakar I have been waiting for. You are holy.”
Still troubled, Grace tried to make sense of it all. Thinking hurt. “You said that word before, out there. What does it mean?”
“It means pupil or student. You have been sent to me so that I can pass on all my learning to you. You will know everything that I know—and more.”
“What learning? About planting? About the forest and the birds?”
Balat smiled indulgently. “No, little Grace. You will learn to be a channel for the Goddess Herself. You will become Her spokeswoman, and speak Her words. You will learn everything.”
Grace felt panic knot in her stomach, and the pain of it showed clearly in her eyes. Balat noticed and frowned.
“Of what are you afraid? Not of the Goddess?”
“No, I ... No. I don’t know. The—the burden, the responsibility. I am only a young girl. Surely someone else should bear the weight of this better than I. You—you are strong, knowledgeable; you could ...”
“I could not.” His words were clipped, bearing no argument. “The Goddess chooses who She will.” Thoughtful for a moment, he returned to the subject of fear. “You say you cannot bear the responsibility. Let me ask you: do you fear what you did today? Does it hang like a stone around your neck? Do you wish it had not happened?”
“Oh, no.” Grace’s response was instant. “I feel ... grateful. I am honored to have been chosen. But—”
“Do you feel responsible for what you did? My people believe you have shown them proof that their planting year will be the most productive ever. Do you feel responsible for that?”
Grace shook her head but had to pause to straighten out her thoughts. “No, I was only the ... the messenger. I am not responsible for the content of the message itself.”
“Exactly.” Balat seemed pleased again. “When I say I will train you to be a channel for the Goddess, I am saying only that I will teach you how to be open so that, like today, the Goddess may speak through you when She will. You will do nothing that you did not do today. Where is the burden in that?”
Grace had to admit that Balat’s arguments made sense. The fear she felt had retreated into a small corner of her stomach, although it did not disappear completely. It felt like an old fear, one from before the time of her illness. But next to Balat’s words it seemed small. She had to leave the fear for now and follow Balat.
“What must I do, then?” she asked.
Balat was obviously relieved that Grace had moved past her anxiety. “For now,” he said, “rest, get your strength back completely and relax. Everything will happen it its appointed time.”
“All right,” Grace nodded. “I will try to be the best pupil I can for you.”
He reached out a hand and gently tipped her chin up so her eyes met his. “Grace, do you remember yet who your people are?”
She shook her head.
“Apparently it is not for us to know this now, but if the time comes when it is necessary for us to know, it will be made clear to us. For now, I see that you were taught discipline by those people. Discipline is not bad and can be very important at times. But I feel that you were taught the discipline of harsh words, perhaps even a discipline of punishment. As much as possible, I want you to let go of that. I am going to teach you the discipline of the pure heart. Once we have opened a clear-flowing channel from you to the Goddess and back, you will do Her will, not because you should, but because it will be your will, also. You will feel as She feels and think as She thinks. Your words will be Her words. You will no more think of being good, being dutiful, being the best. You will simply be as you are—as the Goddess intends. So for now, let go of that discipline. Listen only to your heart. It will be your final authority, greater even than my own. Will you do that for me?”
“I ... I will try.”
“That is all I ask.” Balat smiled. “Now, rest. You have had a very exciting day.”
Grace slumped back upon her bed, obviously spent, but still wide awake. “Balat, did I speak today? I can’t remember.”
“Yes. You spoke first to the others and then later, apparently, to the Goddess herself.”
“What did I say?”
Balat gave her a pleased, conspiratorial look. “We aren’t sure. It was in another language that we do not know. Yet everyone there was convinced that you asked for and received a blessing on our fields.”
“And ... Snow melted around me? Birds came and sang?”
“They filled the forest.” He chuckled happily. “Rest, little shakar. Rest and grow strong. There will be time enough to discuss miracles later.”
CHAPTER 7
Grace rose from her sickbed much more quickly this time than from her first illn
ess, but even though she regained her resilience, a deeper residue remained with her.
“It feels almost like muscle aches,” she said to Balat one day, trying to explain. “But it’s not muscles. It feels much deeper than that. Actually my muscles don’t pain me at all, but this other, deeper thing feels ... bruised.”
Balat had checked her limbs and bones after her fall, and so knew that physically she was not injured. He had a feeling for what she said, although no experience with it himself.
“There are times when it seems we have two bodies,” he told her. “I have heard of people who sleep, but who are seen by others in far, distant places at that same time. And I have known a man who lost a leg, yet the leg that was gone often pained him. I am of the mind that we have two bodies: one physical, and one other-than-physical. I believe that what happened to you the other day had little effect on your physical body but greatly affected your psychic body.”
“Yes,” Grace said, grasping the concept immediately. “That is what it feels like.”
“I think perhaps the energy that the Goddess channeled through you may have been too great for you to carry yet, and that is why you feel bruised. Once you reach a place where you are completely purified, completely open, Her energy will pass through you like wind through a tunnel, and you will feel no discomfort from it.”
Grace nodded, accepting that. But now something else stirred her.
“I don’t think the Goddess ever touched me before I came here to you,” she said slowly. “I don’t remember, but I feel as though She never did. If that is so, why does She use me now?”
“Hmm.” Balat sat back and pondered that. Knowing Grace was holy, seeing the light that shone in her, he had assumed she had always been gifted. Now he reevaluated that assumption.
“Perhaps,” he said, thinking as he spoke, “you were not sufficiently open before you came here, but once here the purification had already begun. Maybe your people did not keep to a strict, cleansing diet, or perhaps that well-intentioned discipline became a block. In any event, it seems that we have already begun the process that will clear you for the Goddess’ use. Or,” and he paused playfully, “it just wasn’t time before and now it is. Who knows how the Goddess unfolds Her plans? Not us.”
So saying, Balat started Grace on a strict but satisfying diet of only those natural foods that the body used most efficiently, and a program of guided meditation. Although he set some constraints on her as to the regularity with which she would do this, he left her to be guided by her heart in the actual process. Grace’s first morning and final evening duties were to convene with her own heart, to open herself to the will of the Goddess and to allow that will to move through her. In the proper time, she would receive encouragement to go on to other more important things.
While Grace began her training, the rest of Balat’s colony set to the work of preparing their fields, closely tracking the tides of the moon with an enthusiasm and optimism never before seen. The fields were converted from natural meadows and parklands that abutted the forest so that on any given day one might hear the cheerful calling of people from anywhere around the forest’s perimeter.
The season of warm days and new growth burst upon the forest world as duly promised by Grace’s omen. Every tree, it seemed, was filled with birds or small animals that called and chattered and made nests. Deer glided through the forest on silent feet, does leading twin fawns and stags in magnificent vitality. All around, the very air was imbued with a feeling of prosperity and plenty.
While Grace was generally removed from Balat’s colony and knew little of what the ordinary people did, she was sensitive enough to know that things went well. She claimed no credit for their prosperity, but thanked the Goddess for it daily, only pleased that she had been allowed to be a part of it. She needed no more affirmation than that, for she was beginning a lifework of great contentment.
As the days warmed, Grace began to spend more time outside. She and Balat roamed the forest and parklands, searching out and identifying plants and seeds. Sometimes Balat sent her out on her own, and although she always accomplished whatever task he gave her, she also took time to explore on her own. She experienced the forest as a growing young animal might, moving soundlessly through the shadowed depths or breathing in the sunlight as she lay atop a warm rock. She met and became familiar with the other animals: the delicate, long-necked deer, the chubby ground squirrels, the swift and silent birds of prey. The forest seemed a wondrous place to her, yet she was always drawn to the open land most of all. She loved it when she could see to the far horizon, when the sky arched wide and high overhead, and the sun shone brightly. Those places felt like home to her.
One day while walking the edge of a freshly plowed field she found a rock that glinted pink in the sun. She pulled the rock from the ground and brushed the rich earth from its surface, and it gave back a delicate, rose shine. She knew this was like the stones that Balat kept and wondered briefly if it might be a transgression for her to handle it but thought not. Turning the rock curiously in her hand, she hurried back to the cabin to show Balat.
“So,” he said when he saw her, “you have found a crystal.” He had been chopping firewood outside the cabin but put down his ax readily enough when Grace showed him her discovery. Now he sat on the wooden bench he had made and motioned for Grace to join him.
“Where did you find this?” he asked, taking the rock from her outstretched hand.
“At the edge of the far west field. I saw the sun flash on it as I was walking.”
“So it called to you.” Balat turned the rock in his hand and the sun glinted repeatedly from its jewel-like facets. “It is a very beautiful crystal. What will you do with it?”
Grace took the rock back from Balat’s outstretched hand. “I don’t know. I like it. May I keep it?”
“You may if the crystal allows you to.”
Now Grace was confused. “How can a rock allow anything? It has no arms and legs, no mind. What can it do?”
“Ah,” Balat said, “what indeed? Who created that rock?”
“The Goddess, of course. She created everything.”
“All right. Does the Goddess’ spirit remain in everything, or once something is created, does She withdraw from it?”
Grace turned the rock in her hand, watching the play of light on its surfaces. “Her spirit remains, always.”
“Always?” Balat insisted.
“Yes, always.”
“Very well,” he said. “Her spirit is within you now, of course. When you die, won’t Her spirit leave with yours?”
“My spirit will leave my body, and that part of Her that is me will leave also.” Grace pieced it out slowly as she spoke. “But my body, even lifeless, is a wonderful thing, and She is still there. And as it breaks down, as it is reabsorbed into the tide of nature, She is there, also. Her spirit is everywhere, always.”
“So everything, even if not alive, has spirit,” Balat summarized.
“Yes.”
“All right, then, that crystal has spirit. It has no head, no arms or legs, no eyes or mouth, so it cannot talk and make its spirit known, but it has spirit.”
That sounded right to Grace. She nodded.
“If you have spirit and that crystal has spirit, why then shouldn’t you communicate together?”
“You said it cannot speak. How can it communicate?”
Balat grinned. “I’ll show you.”
After their evening meal that day, Balat took a candle and led Grace out into the graying forest. The sounds of people were waning, ebbing. As the twilight sky dimmed from blue to black, small animals began to move cautiously into the open. The gibbous moon seemed to follow them through the trees, and Grace saw a white owl skim soundlessly through the treetops and wondered if it were Hava.
Balat led her to a clearing deep within the forest, the furthest from the cabin she had been. All around, huge trees rose up to columnar heights, their trunks like grand pillars of a cosmic temple
. Many spans overhead, the green of the trees came together in the dimness to form a wide, unbroken canopy, the roof of the temple. Grace stared about in awe as the ordinary forest transformed itself into a holy place. The wonder of it pressed in upon her and she kneeled to its grandeur.
Balat did not seem to notice. He was busy at the sight of an old firepit, clearing out charred debris and dislodged earth that half-filled the cavity. While Grace watched silently, he mounded dried pine needles in the center of the pit, then built over it a tiny pyramid of twigs that he’d broken off a particular bush nearby. When the arrangement seemed to suit him, he brought out his fire rocks and struck a spark off into the needles. The little pile smoked and smoldered, then poofed into flame. As the flames grew and began to eat up the sticks, he motioned for her to come sit beside him.
“Wait until the smoke turns blue,” he told her in a low voice. “When it does, stand and hold your crystal in the plume of smoke; hold it with both hands and turn it so the smoke enfolds it. Cleanse the crystal with the smoke as if you were washing it. You will know when it has been cleared completely. Then the crystal can speak to you.”
Obediently, Grace watched the tiny fire as it licked at the sticks. The smoke was still white, although at times a coil of blue snaked up. She saw that the blue came from a place where the fire had eaten through the gray bark and was now greedily devouring the heart of the wood. Another blue wisp lifted into the white, and another.
“Do you see the serpents of the fire?” Balat asked. Seated behind Grace, to one side, his question came to her as a bodiless voice. He sounded far away.
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