“No, we can speak of it. We all know. I am dying. But it pleases me to know that I will be with Khassis when I die.” He looked to Greer, his eyes pooled with tears. “For that, I thank you.”
“I would give you life if I could,” she said softly.
Joel smiled grimly. “I know you would, even if it meant never having Khassis as I do. Lady—”
“Greer,” she said.
He nodded. “Greer. I—I am grateful to you. Last night’s pain is nothing to the love I feel. I have no animosity toward you. Now or ever.”
Moved, Greer bowed her head and spoke to the Goddess.
“Now I am truly blessed.”
Joel died that winter.
As if for him, the summer was brighter and more radiant and more fruitful than any could recall, and he and Khassis enjoyed leisurely walks and joyful picnics and long, warm nights. At the ceremony of the summer solstice, the rays of light from the Goddess-stone fell on his face, and for that moment he seemed healthy and whole and transcendent. For a moment, Khassis could almost hope he had been healed and Greer could almost hope with him. But when the starburst of the solstice sun waned into ordinary daylight, the magic was gone and Joel was simply Joel: valiant, brave and dying.
In the fall he took a turn for the worst. As the nights cooled and the breezes turned chill, he seemed to take on one tiny illness after another: a cold, a sniffle, a headache. Each one passed—Khassis kept him warm with thick covers and hot steaming teas, and Hannah laid the warmth of her hands on him—but with the passing of each, he was visibly less, as if each tiny illness took a piece of him and left him smaller. He had good days when he smiled and joked from his bed, but even those took their toll, and the days after would be the same eroding, disheartening days as after a bout with some symptom. Khassis began to pray for Joel’s exhaustion, for a day when he would simply sleep, undisturbed by pain or vitality that could sap him, and soon it was those deathlike days that were the blessings. After the equinox, the sickness began to rage and Joel was attacked daily by the horrors of it. Some days he was blind, on others deaf; some days he seemed paralyzed or had no control over his shrinking, flailing body. Sometimes he screamed in pain or just cried silently for hours. Some days he lay as if dead and other days he pleaded to Khassis to kill him.
Through it all, Greer did what she could, as Hannah directed her, to ease his pain, but that amounted to little. Her role was more as a support to Khassis and even then there was little she could do. Day after day she watched him tending his lover, exhausted, aching, discouraged, and her heart went out to him. She wanted to take his pain, give him hope and vitality, restore him to laughter, but she could do none of those things. All she could do was be there, stand beside him and lend her strength, keep his silent vigil with him and love him. All she could do was be a column for him to lean on, a rock to steady himself against, and no more.
She had copious amounts of time to ponder. Often when Khassis was so bound to Joel that he was deaf and blind even to her silent presence, Greer would walk the stream or sit upon the escarpment and wonder at the dark face of the Goddess. The bright face—the face of sun and moon and warmth and light—was so familiar to her, she could feel it star her heart whenever she chose, whenever she closed her eyes and reached for it. But the dark side—that was the side of shadows, of darkness, of shifting images and unrevealed horror. That was the side she knew not, and entered only when forced to.
One quiet day she approached the Goddess-stone, and examined closely the black, congealed mass of its dark face. The cooled lava had wrapped around the crystal like an oozing cancer—like Joel’s disease—and covered over the clear stone like a hideous, noxious scar. She peered at the blackness. Even in immobility, it writhed and convulsed and coiled upon itself. It was frightening in its power. Against the clear beauty of the crystal it seemed an abomination and yet even so it was a child of the Goddess. Greer stared at it and tried to feel love for it, for it was as much a creation of the Goddess as the crystal, but she could not. Disturbed, shaken, she turned away.
In midwinter, the dark face beckoned to Joel and he went to it. A pall lay over the Sanctuary, and Khassis’ cries echoed through the temple. During the days that followed, people came and made a ring around the Sanctuary, standing side by side in a living circle of mourning. Sometimes they sang and Greer would hear the voices like a low dirge in her bones.
They buried Joel in the new grove. Already three tiny trees had been planted there. The first one, planted over the grave of the child that the oracle had seen, was already woman-tall and reaching. The other two were smaller; an old one had died of the summer sickness and in the fall one of their young men had been struck down by a mountain cat while hunting. The breeze that day bowed the trees down to Joel’s grave and they spoke to him with their dry, rustling leaves and welcomed him.
“In spring we will plant a tree for him, also,” Greer told Khassis. “Any tree you wish.”
He might not have heard. He kneeled beside the mounded earth and let silent tears slide down his face.
“A tree of life,” he said finally. “A big tree, one that is strong and tall and undying. One that nothing can hurt.”
Greer nodded. “We will find such a one for you. For him.”
And in the spring they did: an oak tree. It was only child-height, but it was sturdy and strong and had thick, healthy bark. Khassis found it growing near the escarpment and with Greer’s blessing set it over Joel as a memorial and a guardian. He planted it one rainy spring day as Greer and Hannah watched, then asked them to leave him alone with his memories and his emotions. He sat before the tree all that day and part of the night, until Greer came barefoot through the dark for him and led him back home.
The tree grew well.
For a time Khassis was quiet and morbid, and Greer and Hannah expected no more of him. He moped about the Sanctuary or walked alone along the stream. Sometimes his pain was so strong he would cry at the slightest reason and he would shut himself away in his room for long hours. No one rushed him; he had time to grieve.
Then one day in midsummer, his sorrow drove him in another direction. He took up again his humor and he regaled again the women with energetic stories of hard lessons and easy foolishness. He acted out his stories with a new, raw edge, a drive that wasn’t evident before, but when the women responded with the hearty laughs that had been absent so long, he seemed to settle in and from then on his humor was much as it used to be. He, as well as the women, seemed much healed by the sharing of laughter, and he spent less time alone and uncommunicative. He marked it as the resumption of the rest of his life.
In late summer, the oracle made itself known in Greer again. She commanded Hannah to call the people in and when Hannah feared to leave her alone while she did the bidding, Khassis stepped forward to offer himself as the guardian of the oracle. Reassured, Hannah and the girls took the news around and Khassis helped the oracle to her chair below the Goddess-stone. From then on, he would not leave her side. From that day forward, it was known that where Greer was, Khassis would be.
The oracle that day was a frightening thing. She seemed angry and her answers were harsh and commanding. One woman came forward in tears, saying her neighbor had built a shed on the common land their houses shared, and she begged the oracle to command him to share it. Instead, the oracle rose angrily to her feet—Khassis at the ready—and put the fear of the Goddess in the woman.
“You cry over such a covetous matter?” the oracle demanded. “If this life in houses causes you pain, then get back, all of you, get back to the way of birds and animals and hunt for only what you may eat and find shelter only when you are cold or tired. Get back to the land and to the honoring of seasons. Get back to the earth and commune with it and hear its songs. Do not keep yourself separate from it, or like the god-worshippers of the old time, you will die.”
The pronouncement stunned all the listeners. Die like the people before the Shift? But they had the Sibling; it wa
s her destiny to bring them greatness. How could the Goddess be angry with them?
The oracle, seated again, heard the anxious whispers that hissed through the room. She sat very still for a long moment, then lifted a hand to silence the people.
“You forget,” she said, “that your greatness lies in your most simple selves. Your greatness lies in the fact that you are a part of the universe and connected to it and not separate from it. Do not shut yourselves off from the earth, for you shut yourselves off from your own selves—and from me. I live in the earth, in the soil you plant in, in the water you nourish with, in the stars you track across the sky. Do not turn away from me. Stay connected with me, and you shall have greatness.”
That evening, when Greer regained consciousness, Khassis told her what she had said. The speech of the oracle confused her as much as it had everyone else.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Was I not supposed to set up Her New Order here? Was I wrong to establish the Sanctuary and receive all who came?”
“I don’t know,” Khassis said, as bewildered as she. “I don’t see how it can be wrong when She moved you to do this.”
“I must think on this,” Greer said, shaking her head tiredly. “I cannot imagine our Order coming to the same end as the god-worshippers.”
She was almost too drained to notice the fear that sprang into Khassis’ eyes but it was so blatant she startled.
“What is it? You look terrified.”
Khassis quickly shuttered his expression and looked away from her. “It is better you do not know.”
“No,” Greer said sharply. “I will have no secrets between us. And whatever fear you bear will be lessened if I can bear it with you. Tell me.”
Khassis looked hunted. He knew he could keep nothing from Greer, yet he dreaded telling her. She stared at him and waited. Finally her stony patience won out.
“When you spoke today as the oracle, I feared you were speaking to me; chastising me.”
Surprised, Greer said, “Why? You keep to the earth as much as any; more so now that Joel’s tree grows so tall. Why would you fear that?”
“Because,” he said on a long, shuddering sigh, “I do not see the Goddess in my life. I see—a God.”
Rocked, Greer sat back. Her breath went out of her and she studied this man she thought she knew. “A God-worshipper?” she said softly.
Khassis nodded. “I have never seen the face of the Goddess, except as your face. In my mind—in my heart—I see a God. I see Him with Joel’s eyes and Joel’s patience, and Joel’s love.” The fire of adoration in his eyes died as he considered the punishment for his blasphemy. “If the oracle pronounces a death sentence on us, perhaps it is because of me.”
“No,” Greer said firmly. She had no idea where her conviction arose from, but it swelled in her, strong and unyielding. “I do not believe that. I believe the Goddess allows all, even Gods. You are part of Her; therefore your God is part of Her. I cannot believe She would destroy us for that.”
“But the God-worshippers before; the Shift and the Bad Times ...”
Greer dismissed all that. “I have been reading the old books,” she said, “and I found something there. From what I understand, the God-worshippers denied much of their world. They disallowed much that was part of creation—part of the Goddess, or their own God. They set sides and on one side were things that were of their God, while on the other side they set things that were of an un-God, things that they feared or that pained them—the Dark Face. I believe they disallowed the dark face of their God entirely, not understanding that the dark is the other side of light, that night is the other side of day. Here—give me your hand.”
Taking Khassis’ reluctantly offered hand, Greer held it vertical so that the candlelight fell all on one side while shadow draped the other.
“This side is light,” she said. “Do you agree?”
“Of course.”
“And this side,” she said, touching his shadowed palm, “is dark.” He nodded. “What I see, though, is that both sides are still your hand. They cannot be separated. If you cut them apart, you would destroy the hand; you would destroy both sides. I believe the God-worshippers tried to cut the sides apart and so destroyed the whole.” She released Khassis’ hand. “I believe that all sides of this universe—the dark face, the God-face, the un-God face—are all an inseparable part of the whole—of the Goddess—and so are holy. And I believe the Goddess allows you, allows your God, allows all.”
Khassis looked thoughtful. “I think I see,” he said slowly. “But there are some things that are horrible. Can they, too, be holy?”
She saw the memory in his eyes. Softly, she said, “Yes, I believe even those things are holy. Even agonizing death is a part of the Goddess’ dark face. It may be frightening and painful, but it is still the Goddess. And I believe She destroys with as much love as She creates. We must embrace Her dark side even as we embrace the light.”
Khassis shuddered with a chill. “You may be right,” he said; “I do not know. It is much to think about.”
She smiled wanly. “We have much time to think about it,” she said. “But please do not feel you are destroying the New Order with your God. I will never believe that.”
He looked still doubtful, but relieved. “I am glad for that,” he said. “Very glad.”
CHAPTER 28
While the revelations of the oracle on that high summer day seemed to cast a subtle pall over the valley, still the crops grew and the people thrived. Many forgot the threat of doom. Life was too idyllic to seem damning.
Joel’s tree grew. Its young trunk began to harden, embodying the invulnerability that had originally prompted Khassis to plant it. He and Greer visited the grove often, always together, for Khassis remained the guardian of the oracle and the guardian of the Sibling. They were seldom apart, even at Joel’s grave. There they could often be seen standing close, holding hands, or sitting in the slender shade of the tree and talking.
Donnie turned two. He was a tall, carefree child who threw all his energy into the business of being young. Often Greer and Khassis took him with them in their tours of the residences, or on picnics, or even to Joel’s grave. He had a naive enthusiasm that endeared him to both. He embraced life in a raw, reckless manner that celebrated the Goddess even as it endangered him. Carol, his mother, complained that he had scratched or scarred every inch of skin on his body before he was two and Greer thought that was more true than not, but she loved Donnie’s intensity, his fierce participation in life. She sometimes thought this was a child who might die falling off a mountain but he would die believing to the end that he could fly. She and Khassis watched him closely but silently encouraged him to be all that he was and wanted to be.
Greer was surprised one bright fall day to have Khassis bring her a message.
“There is someone here who asks for you,” he reported to her in her private room. “He has an odd accent but says he is a friend of yours.”
“Did he give a name?” Greer asked.
“It is an odd name,” Khassis said, nodding. “Jeh.”
Greer’s eyes widened as memories flooded through her like a warm tide. Jeh and Beth and Balat and those years in the forest. More excited than she’d been in a long time, she rushed past Khassis but called him on.
“Come and meet him,” she said without stopping. “He is a very good friend.”
She burst through the doorway into the meeting room and was shocked into a stop. Jeh? This man was old! Watching him for a silent moment as he stood and stared at the Goddess-stone, she wondered when he had grown so many gray hairs in the long, shoulder-length, brown mane. When had he gotten those wrinkles around his eyes and mouth? And who was that young woman beside him?
“Jeh?” she breathed.
He turned. Yes, it was he. Those same eyes, able to see magic in colored thread and people’s hearts. She flew to him and embraced him, feeling the loom-working strength in his arms. Before she knew it, she was
crying.
“Grace,” he murmured, holding her warmly, “little Grace. I did not come to see you cry.”
Laughing through her tears, Greer dashed them from her eyes and stared up at her old friend. “It has been a long time since anyone called me that. I am so glad to see you! How have you come here? Is Beth with you? Will you stay with us here in the valley?”
Jeh laughed and tousled her hair. “Slow down, Gra—Greer, I mean. I must get used to the person you are now. I will answer all your questions and ask some of you, as well.” He gave her one of his warmest smiles, then by way of inquiry, glanced past her to Khassis.
“Oh, forgive me,” Greer said to both men. “I’ve forgotten my manners. Jeh, this is Khassis, my beloved friend and protector. Khassis, I want you to meet Jeh. He was—is—a magician and weaver and a dear friend of my youth.”
During the introduction, she had noticed the questions in Khassis’ eyes, the way he looked at her as if she were someone he had never seen before. She realized he had never heard her called by her earlier name nor had he ever seen anyone treat her as familiarly as Jeh had.
“I am glad to see Greer has a protector,” Jeh said to Khassis. He clasped hands with Khassis and met the slighter man’s eyes evenly. “I think we must share a common concern for her welfare.”
“That may be true,” Khassis replied warily. His reservations were clear and were accepted without comment by the older man. That in itself boosted Khassis’ respect for the tall stranger.
“And this,” Jeh said, bringing the quiet young woman forward, “is my daughter, Mesa.”
“Oh, my!” Greer said, startled. “Mesa, you are so grown up! The last time I saw you, you were a child!”
“Yes, Lady,” Mesa said, bowing respectfully. “You treated me then for the summer sickness.”
“Yes, I remember. With Balat.” Quickly, to stem sudden tears, Greer embraced the girl, then presented her to Khassis. They nodded to each other.
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