Six hundred years. Six centuries Osraed had gone to the Sea boys and returned as men—Divine Counselors. And now ... and now cailin would go and return—as what?
An Osraed from Lin-liath stood to be recognized. “You can’t mean to teach them the Art, Osraed. Surely, they are not capable.”
“The success here of Meredydd-a-Lagan would seem to prove otherwise,” Wyth told him. “And Osraed Bevol will tell you that the girl, Gwynet, whom he sponsors, is as natural a talent as any boy who’s ever studied here.”
“But they cannot be Osraed,” objected Parthelan, out of turn. “Whatever is the point?”
Osraed Comyn Hillwild, a great, braid-bearded, barrel of a man, interrupted. “Are they to be trained up as teachers for the Hillwild? Ren Catahn has said Halig-liath will send teachers to Hrofceaster.”
“Who’d want a woman teaching their children the Arts and Sciences?” asked the Lin-liath Brother. “Women are only suited to teaching the trades, we all know this.”
“Then we ‘know’ a falsehood, Osraed,” Wyth observed. “And in answer to your first question: the point of teaching girls is that they become Osraed as we became Osraed—by finding favor in the eyes of the Meri, by following Her path to the Sea.”
“When shall this begin?” asked one of the Academy Osraed.
“After Harvest there will be female Prentices at Halig-liath. The Osraed Tynedale and Bevol will oversee the acceptance of applicants. For the purpose of furthering the enrollment of girl children, we will waive the usual age guidelines for first year candidates. We will also publish a call to every village, settlement and holding in Caraid-land asking that their daughters be sent to Nairne as applicants for Prenticeship.”
“Absurd!” muttered Parthelan. “Completely absurd!”
“Not if it is the Meri’s will.” Osraed Wyth was looking right at the old man. “And it is the Meri’s will.”
Parthelan shifted in his seat while, beside him, Saxan wriggled guiltily, realizing he had echoed the old Osraed’s thoughts.
“And if you cannot convince the average Caraidin of that?” asked Parthelan.
Osraed Wyth’s eyes didn’t blink. “The Meri will find Her own candidates.”
“Where?” Parthelan persisted.
“She will find them in the Gyldan-baenn,” said Osraed Comyn, glowering at the elder Counselor. “We do not question the Meri’s will or Her Chosen.”
“Our Hillwild Brother is correct.” Osraed Bevol rose from his place at the Council table. “It is not appropriate for us to question the Meri’s will. When She chooses Her Counselors, we have no right to offer our approval or disapproval. When She gives Her word, we have no right to argue it, alter it, silence it, or ignore it. Not if we are to call ourselves Osraed. Not if we are to be true to the Covenant.”
In the ruminative silence that followed, Osraed Saxan felt, with chilling certainty, that a line had been drawn in the ether and that every man in the room would find himself, eventually, upon one side of it or the other.
oOo
“Eadmund!”
The Osraed turned to find himself all but surrounded by his Tradist peers. Glancing around at the group of faces, Eadmund was immediately uneasy.
Osraed Ealad-hach spoke again, his voice thin with obvious agitation. “What does this high-handed behavior mean? How do you explain yourself?”
Eadmund frowned, perplexed. “What are you talking about? What high-handed behavior? I’ve done no-”
“Sending teachers to the Hillwild—autonomously?” A red stain spread across the bridge of Ealad-hach’s nose. “If that is not high-handed, I don’t know the meaning of the words!”
“But I-”
“I spoke to Comyn. I know where Catahn got the promise of teachers. You usurp the prerogatives of the Hall.”
Eadmund had been going to say he hadn’t wanted to make so bold a move—that it was all Bevol’s idea—but the attitude of the elder Osraed, the deep censuring frowns on the faces of his companions, made him feel wronged.
Feeling wronged, he said instead, “The Hall! The Hall has not met since late last autumn, and it shows no sign of meeting any time soon. The Hillwild have petitioned Cyne Colfre for teachers and he has ignored them. The Brothers of the Jewel have ignored them. Catahn had no recourse but to come to us and we, as Osraed, as members of the Assembly, had no choice but to grant his petition—at least until some other provision can be made. It is within our power as Osraed.”
“It is not your responsibility-” began Faer-wald.
“Not our responsibility?” Eadmund echoed. “Not our responsibility to educate our country’s children? How can you say such a thing?”
“I can say it with the force of tradition behind the words. The Osraed of Creiddylad educate the people; we educate future Osraed.”
“The force of tradition is not Law. It’s not even inspiration. And you must allow we educate very few Osraed. Most of our students go unchosen. If the Osraed of Creiddylad will not make use of those unchosen souls, then surely we must. Osraed Bevol is inspired to do it.”
“Bevol!” spat Ealad-hach. “Always Bevol! Forever Bevol! He will bring Caraid-land to ruin with his meddlesome inspiration. He is inspired to advocate the abandoning of order.”
Eadmund was aghast. “Bevol is at Apex, Brother. And he is trying to be of help-”
“Of help, yes!” said Ealad-hach. “But to whom?” He raised a finger before Eadmund’s face. “There is power afoot, Eadmund. There is movement beneath and above and around us. There are strange forces at work. We need look no further than the Meri’s change of Aspect for proof that. We must be cautious of those forces.”
Eadmund’s entrails trembled. “What are you saying? What are you suggesting? I wasn’t pleased when Bevol first spoke of unilaterally sending teachers to the Gyldan-baenn, but I recognize his right to do it. He is at Apex, he is also a senior of the Hall and, above all of that, the Meri made education his special concern. You cannot be suggesting that Osraed Bevol is motivated by anything other than the love and inspiration of the Meri.”
None of them answered him, but only gazed at him silently, their faces closed by suspicion.
“Osraed Bevol has a Tradist ally, then,” Ealad-hach said at last.
“Ally? You speak as a warrior, not as a Divine Counselor. The subject is the education of children, Brothers. A subject on which we should not be divided. You speak as if we could be adversaries.”
“There is more to this than the education of children, Eadmund,” said Faer-wald. “What we speak of is the crumbling of traditions—the decay of order.”
“There is no progress without change.”
“There is no order without structure. Bevol advocates disorder. We are not happy when our Cyne flouts our traditions. Should we be any more approving when one of our own does it?”
Eadmund shook his head, frustrated. “It’s not the same. You know it’s not the same.”
“Perhaps you need to meditate on your beliefs, Eadmund,” said Ealad-hach. “Perhaps you need to ascertain whether you may still call yourself a Traditionalist.”
After a moment of pregnant silence the others moved away, leaving Eadmund alone in the Council chamber. Or so he thought. But in picking up his portfolio and turning to the door that led to his chambers, he saw he was not alone. Osraed Tynedale stood, half-concealed by the shadow of one great, open door.
“You heard?” Eadmund asked, feeling a belated dew spring up on his forehead.
Tynedale nodded.
Eadmund shook his head, smiled wanly. “All that fuss about whether to afford the Hillwild some Cleirachs and teachers.”
One brow glided up Tynedale’s smooth, round forehead. “Is that what it was about?”
“Yes. Didn’t you hear them?”
“Oh, I heard them. And still I ask you, is that really what it was about?”
The portly Osraed bid Eadmund good-eve and left him to rub at the sudden lump in his throat.
oOo
“Taminy!” Iseabal squeaked, jumped and nearly dropped the ceramic platter she was holding.
Her mother glanced over at her from before the half-open oven door. “What is it, Isha?”
“Oh, it ... it’s Taminy. She just came into the yard.” She pulled her eyes from the kitchen window and hurriedly set down the platter. “I’ll go out and meet her.” She did that, scurrying through the vestibule and out onto the wide verandah.
Taminy was just mounting the steps as she got there, and smiled up at her. Holding out a basket, she said, “I’ve brought some fresh herbs and fruit for your supper. We’ve got apples already ripening.”
Iseabal stared stupidly at the basket, then jumped and took it, dropping a half-curtsey. “Oh, thank you. Mama will be delighted. Um ... can you stay for supper?”
“I’d be pleased to, Iseabal. Thank you.”
“It won’t be just us.” Iseabal couldn’t quite keep a frown from her face. “Mama invited Doireann and Aine, too.”
Taminy’s smile didn’t twitch. “Why, that’s fine.”
Iseabal stood awkwardly for a moment, then glanced over her shoulder. “I’m helping mother just now.”
“Perhaps she’ll let me help, too,” Taminy said, and stepped up onto the verandah.
Iseabal nodded and led into the house where she presented her mother with the basket of herbs and introduced Taminy.
The Mistress of Nairne Cirke greeted her daughter’s friend with smiling interest. “Taminy, it’s good to meet you, at last. Iseabal speaks highly of you.” She peeked at the herbs in their net bags. “Ah, fresh rosemary and basil. I can use this tonight.”
“I thought they’d do well for rock hens,” Taminy said.
“Now, how did you know we were having rock hens for supper?”
“Oh, I must have mentioned it,” said Iseabal quickly. “Um, mama, may I-may I ... show Taminy my room?”
“Come to think of it, when did you have time to run to Gled and invite Taminy down? You’ve been here all afternoon.”
Iseabal glanced at Taminy out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t lie. She just couldn’t. And she especially couldn’t ask Taminy to lie with her. “I didn’t, mama. I was going to go after helping you chop the vegetables.”
“Well then, how-?”
“I just dropped by, Mistress,” Taminy said.
“Oh, well then, you’ll need to let Osraed Bevol know you’ll be staying.”
“Oh, he knows, Mistress.” Taminy smiled disarmingly. “He’s an Osraed, after all. I reckon there’s little I do he doesn’t know of in his way.”
Iseabal’s mother returned the smile, if warily. “Of course.”
Aine appeared as the Sun dipped to the treetops, and announced that Doireann had been unable to come. Iseabal thought there was some smugness in that pronouncement. And no wonder—Aine would now be in the powerful position of getting to dispense gossip to the deprived Doireann.
Supper was an amiable enough event, though Iseabal thought her father seemed distracted and a little morose. She watched Aine like a hawk during the meal, afraid that at any moment the other girl would blurt out that Taminy was a Wicke. She didn’t, though. She only seemed to be very interested in everything Taminy had to say. Especially the answers she gave to the Cirkemistress’s motherly questions—questions Iseabal knew the answers to, but had not revealed, though for what reason, she couldn’t have said.
“And how did you come to be in Osraed Bevol’s care, child?”
The Cirkemaster rallied at last from his thoughtful bog and sought to make conversation. “I’d heard he found you upon his return from Meredydd’s ... journey.”
“It may be said he found me,” Taminy replied. “Though it may also be said that I found him. On the Sea shore, as it happened.”
“Ah, you’re from the Seawode, then. Storm, is it—or Mercut?”
“Neither, Osraed. I ... I’m from Nairne-way by birth, but became displaced.”
“Your family moved?”
“Aye, to Creiddylad, eventually. My father served at Ochanshrine.”
“Oh, yes. Iseabal mentioned that your father was a Cirkemaster. What was his name? Perhaps I know him.”
“Pardon, sir, but that is doubtful. He was not originally from Nairne, you see, but from Cuinn Holding.”
The Osraed Saxan frowned. “Cuinn Holding ... that’s well north of here.”
Taminy nodded. “Yes, sir. North and east. Above the fork of the Halig and Ead.”
“And where are your parents now, child?” asked the Mistress of Nairne Cirke. “Are you orphaned?”
“Yes, Mistress. They’ve both died to this world. So, I came to be with Osraed Bevol, who is my mentor and guardian. I tutor young Gwynet in reading and such. She has a great deal of catch-up to play to come level with the other first years.”
The Cirkemistress shook her head and gave her husband a significant look. “Ah, I can’t say I agree with the sending of young cailin up to Halig-liath. The child should be in the Cirke School where she can get a good, practical education. Don’t you agree, Saxan?”
The Osraed raised his head and gazed down the table at his wife, his eyes glancing off the faces of the three cailin in between. “Well, Ardis ... this morning I would have agreed, and said that you echoed my sentiments exactly. But what I heard this afternoon foils both our arguments. At today’s meeting of the Osraed Body, Osraed Wyth told us that cailin must now be admitted to Halig-liath for full training in the Divine Art.”
Iseabal felt as if all the air had been sucked from her lungs and her body given an extra squeeze for good measure.
“Full training?” Ardis-a-Nairnecirke’s voice was airless, as if she’d suffered a similar fate. “What-whatever for?”
Osraed Saxan spread long, tapered fingers. “Whatever else for? That they may take the Pilgrim’s Walk and become Osraed.”
Iseabal darted a glance at Aine. The other girl’s hazel eyes were as big as sorchas and her mouth was slightly agape. Beside her, Taminy looked on with calm interest.
“But that’s absurd!... Isn’t it? Can he mean that? To train our daughters to Runeweave and cast inyx?”
“He means,” Saxan said, “what he says—that our daughters be entitled to the same education we give our sons, and to exercise the same talents.”
“But they can’t exercise what they don’t have.”
Saxan studied his fingertips. “Meredydd-a-Lagan would seem to have had the Gift. Taminy tells us Bevol’s Gwynet may have it.”
Iseabal was fairly holding her breath now, her eyes flickering between her father and Aine and Taminy. Would Aine speak? Would Aine tell all that Taminy could fetch birds from the trees?
“How can you countenance such a change, Saxan? How can the Osraed? In six hundred years-”
“Yes, yes, I know. In six hundred years—and five—there have been no sanctioned female Prentices at Halig-liath. Well, none except Meredydd-a-Lagan, and she was barely tolerated.” He shook his head. “Understand, Ardis—we have no choice. Wyth is the Meri’s elect. We cannot argue with either Her selection or Her directives.” He turned his gaze to the three girls sitting along the sides of the long table. “What do you think?” he asked them. “You, Aine—would you go to Halig-liath?”
Aine’s face blazed in sudden color. “Me, sir? Never!”
“And why not?”
“Well, it’s not proper, sir. I’m a Lorimer’s daughter; I’m expected to pick up a piece of the trade. My father’s not taught me the making of bits and harnesses to have me scrap all and become a Prentice.”
“But you’ve brothers to take the trade, Aine. And neither of them has ever shown a bit of interest in a divine education. What about you?”
“No, sir. I am too old and I’ve no Gift, thank God. If I did, I’d hide it as deep as I could.”
“But I’ve just told you, Osraed Wyth has brought us the Meri’s own word. She has enabled you.”
Aine was adamant. “I have a gift f
or only the Lorimer’s art, Master Saxan. I fancy I throw a buck stitch better than either of my brothers.”
Saxan pursed his lips, his eyes shifting to the opposite side of the table. “Taminy? What do you say? Would you go to Halig-liath?”
“Well, sir, to be honest, my education has been so complete, I feel as if I have already been. Halig-liath is not for me, now. But I believe it is the highest calling for others. Our Gwynet has a real Gift. It only makes sense that she should learn the handling of it.”
Iseabal flinched as her father, nodding, moved his eyes to her. “Isha, would you wish to go to Halig-liath?”
She stared at her lap. “I ... surely I’ve no Gift.”
Nonsense, someone murmured. Iseabal thought it was Taminy, but no one else seemed to have heard her. It came to her then, as clearly as if she relived it—her hands cupped around the crystal, Ileane, the warmth permeating her palms, the light inspiring her eyes. She blushed a deep rose.
“What if it was shown that you did have a Gift?” Saxan leaned forward in his chair.
“Saxan, stop this,” pleaded his Mistress. “You’re asking your daughter to entertain heretical thoughts. Imagine our Iseabal weaving Runes and-”
“Osraed Wyth has said those thoughts are not heretical.” The Osraed’s eyes never left his daughter’s face. “Come, Isha, tell me. If you could go to Halig-liath ...?”
Iseabal raised her eyes and looked down the table at her father. “I would, papa.”
“Iseabal!” Her mother was gaping at her, clearly horrified. “How can you say that so calmly? How can you have had such desires and I not know it?”
“I didn’t know, either,” murmured Iseabal.
“Dear God, child, what inspires you to such a thought—that you have a Gift?”
Face blazing, fingers twisting tortuously in her lap, Iseabal shook her head mutely. She saw Aine glance across the table at Taminy. I know, her eyes said, and she opened her mouth to say it aloud.
“It’s my doing,” Iseabal said quickly. “It’s my thought—no one put it into my head.”
Her father raised his hand to forestall his wife’s retort. “What makes you think you may have a Gift, Isha?”
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