Some of our elders, though, seemed as giddy with spring as we were. One afternoon I saw Fet and Fodla sitting together in the sun outside the earthworks. While Fodla watched with rapt attention, Fet wove a wreath of yellow daisies. When it was done, she presented it to Fodla, who wore it for the rest of the day with as much dignity as if it were a crown.
Everyone in Merin's house was happy and at ease. We had survived the winter. The seed was in the ground and growing. No one threatened us or what belonged to us, a few lost cattle notwithstanding. As much as I loved the colors of autumn and the stark beauty of wintertime, the warm air, the scent of flowers and new grass, and the smiles on the faces around me were irresistible. How was it possible to be unhappy even for a moment at such a time?
And yet no matter how beautiful the day, perfect happiness eluded me. For no reason I understood, the loneliness that had haunted me when I first came to Merin's house returned when I least expected it, and one thing about springtime made it worse. On midsummer's day, many of the young women the Lady had fostered would return to their homes, taking the young men they'd chosen with them. It was futile trying to keep lovers apart in springtime. I couldn't go anywhere without finding some young couple sitting with their heads together or lying on the hillside in each other's arms.
It made my heart ache sometimes to see them. I didn't begrudge them their happiness, but I couldn't help wondering how long I would have to wait before that kind of happiness came to me.
One thing more than any other was forbidden to apprentices. No young woman who aspired to become a warrior was permitted to lie with a man, not even during the spring festival. A few had dared, and the year before, one of them conceived a child. She was sent home, because the obligation of motherhood takes precedence over all others, but I was sad for her. She was the first daughter of her house. She went home without her shield, and not long afterwards her younger sister came to take her place.
I had years to go before I would become a warrior. I could give no thought to love until I had won my shield.
The first day of the spring festival was the warmest day we'd had so far. For two whole days together, the young people of the household, the companions and apprentices, would be free to do as we pleased, while our warriors would have to look after themselves. It was the time of the Maiden, and we were the maidens in Merin's house.
Taia and I were both up early. Together we went to the kitchen to see what good things there would be to eat that day. Whole lambs had been dressed and spitted for roasting. Great piles of fresh spring greens, washed and trimmed, lay ready to garnish the meat. For breakfast, there were baskets of eggs, cooked in their shells, and crusty round loaves.
Freshly dug wild roots lay soaking in a bowl of water. I recognized a few that my mother used to make a spring tonic, and I begged a few pieces to make some for Taia and me. While it was brewing, I thought of Gnith, and I brewed another bowl for her.
Gnith lay on her pallet. Her eyes were closed. She appeared to be asleep, but I felt her spirit, alive and bright and waiting.
"Are you sleeping, Mother?" I asked her.
At once her eyes flew open. "Who are you?"
I set the bowl of tea down beside her. "This will do you good."
"Tamras."
"Yes."
I helped her to sit up and held the bowl for her as she drank. Taia sat down on a stool nearby to drink her tea. She regarded Gnith with curiosity.
"Are you well, Mother?" I asked.
Gnith nodded. "Yes, indeed. Very well. Never better."
Taia leaned toward me and whispered, "I thought she was -- you know." She tapped the side of her head with one finger.
"Hush," I said.
Gnith ignored Taia and took another sip of tea.
"This is good," she said.
A trickle of tea ran down her chin. I wiped it away.
"May I ask a blessing, Mother?" I said.
"A blessing? What kind of blessing?"
It was a long tradition in my family, and in every other family I knew, for children to ask a blessing of the oldest woman in their household on festival days.
"A blessing for the day," I replied. "For the spring festival."
A twinkle came into Gnith's eye. She took my hand.
"I see," she said. "A maiden comes to an old woman in springtime to ask a blessing. There can be only one thing she wants."
"What's that?"
"Love."
I heard Taia give a little snort. I blushed. "Not this time, Mother."
"Why not?"
"I have so many other things to accomplish before I think about that."
"Nonsense."
Gnith's fingers tightened around mine, and she gave my hand a little shake, as one does to get a child's attention. She looked around to see if anyone was nearby. She didn't seem to notice Taia.
"Listen," she said. "I'm going to tell you a secret." She crooked her finger at me, and when I leaned toward her, she whispered, "Every thing in the world can wait but one. Only love can't wait."
It would have to wait for me, I thought to myself. Out loud I said, "First I have to win my shield."
"Oh, you will, you will," she said. "No doubt about that. No doubt at all."
I found her words reassuring. Sometimes I still doubted I would ever have the strength and skill to be worthy of my shield.
Gnith took my chin in her hand and peered into my eyes. Her eyes were great dark pools that drew me until I felt something within me let go.
"You can't leave your heart behind," she said. "Don't ever try."
I couldn't speak. Her eyes had captured me, and I could only wait and listen.
"A blessing you already have within you. You need none from me. You have a gift, and you must use it."
She let go of me and looked away.
"What gift?" I asked her.
Gnith took another sip of tea. "Who's that?"
She pointed a gnarled finger at Taia.
"Her name is Taia," I said.
I didn't know Taia's lineage, but Gnith evidently did.
"You bear your grandmother's name," she said.
Taia nodded. "Yes. It's an old name."
"Older than me?"
"Yes, Mother," Taia said. "Even older than you."
"Nothing is older than me," said Gnith.
After breakfast I left the house with Taia and Sparrow and several of the other apprentices. Many people from the household and the nearby farms had gathered in a meadow by the river. As we approached them, music drifted toward us in the still air. The shrill voices of pipes and flutes reached us first, followed by the voices of women and men, singing a song I had known from childhood.
I hadn't much of a singing voice, but I could carry a tune, and I had always loved to join my voice to the voices of others. I sat down among the singers and blended my voice with theirs. Together we sang the old songs, which every springtime felt as new as the tender shoots of grass and the innocent spring light.
Sparrow sat down nearby to listen, while Taia and the others went on down to the river. As the day grew warmer, many shed their clothing to swim in the cold water and lie afterwards on the riverbank to warm themselves again. At last the heat became too much for us, and Sparrow and I wandered down to the riverbank to dangle our feet in the water. A cool breeze caressed my face. Tiny fish nibbled at my toes.
"You look happy," Sparrow said.
At that moment I was content.
"I am," I said. "Are you?"
Sparrow shrugged. "Happy enough."
She didn't sound all that happy to me.
"Eramet would want you to be happy."
She sighed. "I thought I'd be over it by now."
Asking Gnith's blessing that morning had put me in mind of all the times I had crept into my grandmother's bed early in the morning on festival days and begged a blessing from her. She had been dead for many years, but I still grieved for her.
"You don't stop loving someone just because she
died," I said.
Sparrow leaned over the water and gazed down into it. Her reflection made her look like someone in a dream.
"The worst thing of all is knowing I'll never see her again," she said. "Sometimes I think I'll turn around and there she'll be, laughing at me for missing her so much."
I took Sparrow's hand and squeezed it. I hesitated to speak my thoughts, but at last I leaned close to her and said, "I know it hurts, but I envy you. At least you've loved someone."
"Haven't you?"
"Not in the way that you loved Eramet."
"Well," she said, "someday you will."
I wasn't at all sure of that just then. I had begun to feel a little melancholy.
"Maybe," I said. "Maybe someday."
"You needn't be in such a hurry. Love is a sword with two edges."
Yes, I thought to myself, and the want of it also has an edge.
"And in the meantime, you have me," said Sparrow.
She gave me a lopsided grin and pushed me into the river.
By midafternoon I was worn out. We had swum in the river and played chasing games and hiding games. Then we'd gone with some of the country girls to gather yarrow. I wanted it for making medicines, but they would put it under their pillows, to give them lovers' dreams. We sat with them afterwards by the river, weaving wreaths for the maidens' dance, gossiping and telling the bawdy jokes and stories people tell at that time of year.
When it was time for the feasting to begin, we trudged back up the hill to Merin's house. Trestle tables had been set up outdoors, on the meeting ground outside the earthworks where we had celebrated the harvest festival. Warriors and country people, women and men, the very young and the very old, picnicked side by side.
Like everyone else, I ate too much and drank too much ale. Sparrow caught me nodding over the remains of my dinner.
"You'd better take a nap or you'll miss all the fun," she said.
Since the companions' loft had become so crowded with new girls, Sparrow and a few of the other apprentices had set up a bower outside the earthworks. Several of us slept there, and it also gave us a pleasant place to go during the day when we tired of the crowded household and the stifling air indoors. It was just a bit of wickerwork on a flimsy frame, but it gave us some shade and some privacy. Sparrow and I took refuge there. Several other girls were there already, sleeping away the heat of the afternoon.
Sparrow woke me. "Let's go," she said. "They've started."
For a moment I didn't know what time of day it was. I seldom slept during the day, and I thought it must be morning, but I was fully dressed and I couldn't remember having gone to bed. The light was wrong, too, for morning. I felt confused and frightened, until I remembered.
Sparrow held out her hand to me and pulled me to my feet. The sun had set, and the golden haze of twilight settled over the hillside. The evening breeze drifted cool against my skin.
I heard music coming from the meeting ground. When we arrived there, people were already dancing. The lively music of pipe and harp lifted their feet, and underneath it all the beating hearts of drums, strong and steady, were more felt than heard.
We watched as people of all ages danced a circle dance. Hand in hand, the dancers flew over the ground. Some wore brightly colored ribbons, pinned to their clothing or tied around their wrists and ankles, that fluttered as they moved. Suddenly a girl wearing a garland of hawthorn flowers broke into the circle, and the circle became a line of dancers as she led them into the crowd of people watching. The line broke apart into several shorter lines. As they wound in and out among the people, they picked up more dancers along the way. When the lines of dancers passed each other, they joined together again, and the circle almost reformed, but at the last moment it spiraled in upon itself. People were moving in all directions and watching them made me dizzy. When the spiral had drawn itself into a knot so tight that the dancers could hardly move, the garlanded girl burst out of it, drawing the line out behind her. The dancers repeated the spiral pattern over and over again. Then they unraveled the knot one last time, and the dance ended.
The dancers collapsed breathless on the ground. A new group of dancers stood up to take their turn. Girls in groups of six or eight formed themselves into circles. Each girl carried a long ribbon, and as they danced, they wound their ribbons in and out, weaving them together like threads on a loom. It was a beautiful dance, full of color and intricate pattern, with a meaning that even the youngest among us understood. For the first time that day, I missed my warrior. I wished she was beside me, asking me questions about the dance and what it meant. These girls were weaving the web of life. I doubted that Maara had ever seen anything like it.
When the maidens finished, it was time for the young men to dance. Their dance was different from the others. Now we heard, loud and strong, the voices of the drums, as each man danced alone, leaping high into the air and turning somersaults and handsprings -- anything to catch the attention of the girl he had his eye on. Their bodies were beautiful with strength and grace.
I was surprised to see Kenit among them. I pointed him out to Sparrow.
"Why is Kenit dancing?" I asked her.
"Why not?"
"He's a warrior. Is he looking for a country girl?"
"It would seem that he is."
Then I saw what Sparrow had already seen. A lovely girl with pale skin and long, dark hair stood at the edge of the crowd. Her eyes were on Kenit, and it was plain to see that he danced only for her. Other young men tried to capture her attention, but when they came between her and Kenit, she stepped aside, so that she could keep him in sight. He danced closer and closer to her, until, when the dance ended, he stood before her. She reached out her hand to him. He took it, and they walked away together.
It was growing dark. Someone lit the fire at the center of the dancing ground, and another circle dance began.
The young people had begun to pair off. Couples lay together around the ragged edge of firelight. They appeared to be watching the dancing, but I saw the shy caresses, the fingers entwined together, a stolen kiss. Women my mother's age lay in their husbands' arms as though they were newly wed. Sparrow slipped her arm around me.
"Dance with me," she said, and before I could protest, she took me by the hand and led me to join the circle of dancers.
It was a dance I didn't know, but the steps were simple, and soon I was dancing as if I'd known them all my life.
My body enjoyed moving with the dancers. I felt as I had when I first set out with Laris and her band of warriors, a part of something greater than myself. But this was different. This was the dance. I didn't need to think about what my feet were doing. They moved of themselves, as I moved with the others, dancing the pattern of our life together.
I saw faces I knew well and faces I knew not at all, caught in a flare of firelight, now here, now gone. Sometimes I thought I saw a face from home, but when I looked more closely, a stranger's face smiled back at me. Still, in the midst of strangers I was at home, and these strangers were my family.
Someone built up the fire. It lit the earthworks and the palisades of Merin's house, until they stood out, bright against the night sky. I had never seen them look more formidable. I thought about the people, long dead before I was born or thought of, who had made this stronghold for themselves and for their children and for me.
A generation past, this ground had been a battlefield. My mother's sisters fell here. Their blood lay in the ground beneath my dancing feet, and perhaps someday my blood too would claim this land again for the children who would be conceived this night. Though I was still so young, I felt the presence of the coming generation, waiting to be born into the world that we would make for them.
The music stopped. Sparrow stood before me, breathless, and took both my hands in hers.
"Where are you?" she said.
I shook my head, to bring myself back into the present moment, into this wonderful spring night.
Sparrow led me ou
t of the circle of firelight.
"You look as if you've seen the fairies dance," she said. "Or have you been dancing with them?"
"No," I said, but I still felt the souls of the unborn all around me. They lingered in the air, as close as a whisper, waiting to ask me whether I would be the door through which they might enter into life.
I understood then a little of what the young girls were feeling as they lay in their lovers' arms. More than desire, the deep longing for life that beat like a heart in the ground beneath our feet opened them to their young men and to the souls of the children who would be born to them.
"Come," said Sparrow.
Hand in hand we walked out into the darkness.
We wandered down the hill. The moon was low in the sky behind us, and the stars gave so little light that it felt as if we were descending into the earth. We must have passed couples lying together on the hillside. I never saw them. They were wrapped in darkness as in a shroud, and what they did was not for us to see.
When we reached the river, we saw a few couples sitting shoulder to shoulder at the river's edge. We found a place a short distance away from them, where the drooping branches of a willow tree hid us from view.
"You're very quiet," Sparrow said, as we stood there together, gazing at the moving water.
We hadn't exchanged a word since we left the dance. I may not have had the power of speech. I had stepped out of my own time and place, and the night wrapped itself around me like a stranger's cloak.
Sparrow put her hand on my back, between my shoulder blades. Her touch was comforting and real. It brought me back a little. She slipped her arm around my shoulders. The warmth of her body drew me close.
I closed my eyes, and in this deeper darkness, another world revealed itself. It was the world Maara had tried to show me. Of all the worlds we can't see, she said, this one was the most important, because every human heart lives in it. I saw in my mind's eye the image of a spider's web, whose threads bound every heart to every other, into a web of hearts. Woven into it, along with the hearts of the living and the dead, were the hearts of the unborn. Someday they would stand where I was standing now. They would breathe the air of another fragrant springtime, would wrap themselves in darkness, would join together to strike the spark of yet another life.
The Warrior's Path Page 24