Meri (8 page)

“It seems to me,” said Bevol mildly, “that Meredydd is not
the one whose mind is clouded. If Aelder Wyth has reacted to her in this way, how
is it her fault?”

“She is fire!” protested Ealad-hach. “And like fire, she
burns, bright and fair and fetching. The fire enchants the moths; the moths are
enticed to their own destruction.”

Bevol shrugged, the corners of his mouth turning upward.

“And is that the fault of the flame? The intelligent man
uses flame as a light to guide his footsteps, as a beacon to call the lost to
safety, as a spark with which to start his fire and warm his soul.”

Calach nodded, pursing his full lips. But Ealad-hach ignored
the remark.

“Perhaps, brother, if you remove this cailin from
Halig-liath now, history will not repeat itself.”

The words enticed Meredydd even as they chilled her. What
had history to do with her and in what way was she repeating it?

The remark brought to mind something Ealad-hach had said in
class about a cailin going as a Prentice from Halig-liath. Curiosity pushing
her fear aside, she might even have asked, but the door behind her opened and
light from the outer hall fanned across the gleaming floor. Meredydd felt the
coursing of dread up her spine and knew the late-comer was Wyth.

He approached slowly, quietly, treading upon the polished
stone as if it was as slippery as it only looked, circling wide to Meredydd’s
right—away from his mother. He bowed respectfully to the Osraed.

“Mother,” he said, almost whispering the word. “Mother, what
are you doing here?”

Moireach Arundel glanced from her son to the Osraed
Ealad-hach. “I am here to see that you become an Osraed instead of a fool. Here
is my son, Osraed Ealad-hach. Ask him if what I’ve said is not true.”

“You mother charges that Prentice Meredydd is distracting
you from your calling,” said the Osraed. “That you are... enamored of her. Is
this true?”

Aelder Prentice Wyth’s face was the color of a hen’s egg and
gleamed damply in the broad shaft of dappled light he shared with Meredydd.

“I...” he said, then his mouth worked for a moment in
silence. He glanced wildly at her out of the corner of his eye, then dropped
his gaze to the floor between his feet. “I’m...”

He stopped, took a deep breath and tried again. “My feelings
for—that is, my feelings about the Prentice are...very strong. I don’t know if
enamored—”

“You see!” said Moireach Arundel. “See how he stumbles and
stutters? She has clearly bewitched him.”

“What?” Wyth looked so startled, Meredydd nearly laughed
aloud—might have if she was not grimly aware of where she was and why.

“Your mother charges, specifically, that Prentice Meredydd
has attempted to seduce you with an eye on higher marks in your class. That
you, only yesterday, expelled her from your class—”

Ealad-hach sent Moireach Arundel a significant glance. “—would
seem to support the idea that the cailin’s presence... disturbs you.”

“No! No, it’s not true!”

“She does not disturb you?”

“She does, but—” He shifted nervously from one foot to the
other. “But it’s not
that
. She’s
never
tried to-to seduce me. Please, believe
that. I—” He turned his face toward the accused, causing a banner of red light
to fall across it. “She has done nothing.”

“Then you deny that you are attracted to her?” asked Calach.

Moireach Arundel rose. “My son is accused of naught. He is
not on trial here.”

“Moireach, no one is on trial here,” said the Osraed Bevol. “We
merely wish to ascertain if there has been any breach of religious covenant or
Academy regulations.”

“Practicing wicke-craft is a breach of religious covenant,
is it not?”

“There has been no proof that wicke-craft has been practiced
by either of these young people. Your son contests that there has been no wrong
done.”

Moireach Arundel pointed at Meredydd. “She is a thief. She
steals my son’s life. That is the wrong she has done.”

“No, mother! No. I.
I
have done wrong.” Wyth turned his face to the three Osraed behind their table. “I
have abused my position as an Aelder at this Academy and I have abused Prentice
Meredydd—humiliating her when I could, censuring her when I could not. I would
have been pleased if she had tried to seduce me, but she didn’t.”

Meredydd gaped at him, not believing, for one moment, what she
was hearing. His mother made a strangled mewing sound and Ealad-hach cleared
his throat.

“Then you do admit,” he said, “that she has distracted you
from your pursuit of the spiritual. That her presence has interfered with your
preparations for Pilgrimage.”

“My passions have interfered with my pursuits, Osraed
Ealad-hach.” He glanced warily at Meredydd then. “She tried to warn me. I didn’t
want to hear it, so I ejected her from my Dream Tell class. She only told the
truth.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Moireach Arundel. “But she spoke to him in
dreams. Surely that is wicke-craft.”

“It is also a facet of the Divine Art, Moireach,” said
Calach mildly.

“It was my dream,” said Wyth. “I gave it to her to
interpret. It was stupid of me, I realize. She could hardly interpret it any
other way but what she did. It wasn’t...flattering and I was angered and
ashamed. It was I who misbehaved, not Meredydd.”

Meredydd glanced at the Osraed. Ealad-hach was frowning and
seemed uncertain, Calach was looking bemused and Bevol was smiling. Cheered,
Meredydd smiled, too.

Moireach Arundel shrieked. “Smug, vile creature! My son is
ruined and she grins like a glutted cat!”

“Your son is hardly ruined, Moireach,” said Bevol
reasonably. “In view of the circumstances, he has acted with honesty and
courage to admit so much. I think perhaps, he should apologize for abusing his
authority as an Aelder and apologize to Meredydd, as well, for whatever he
feels merits apology.”

Moireach Arundel was livid. “Apologize? To
her
?”

Wyth ignored her. “I am sorry, Osraed. I accept your
punishment—whatever it might be.”

“We will have to consult,” said Calach, glancing at his
fellows.

“And what about her?” asked Moireach Arundel, waving a hand
at Meredydd. “She is not guiltless.”

“Yes, she is,” said Wyth. “She has never encouraged me.”

“Her very presence encourages you! It isn’t natural, Osraed,
for young men to hold such intimacy with the cailin. Especially not here, not
in such a holy place. Halig-liath is sacred ground, intended for sacred
pursuits, not earthly ones. Having her here encourages the pursuit of the
flesh. The boys strive to catch her wanton eye rather than the eye of God; they
seek her grace, not the grace of the Meri. She should be removed.”

“That is for us to decide, Moireach Arundel,” said Calach. “But
we shall take your words under advisement.” He made a graceful gesture that
pointed her to the door and she left in a sweep of burgundy robes.

“Aelder Prentice Wyth,” said Osraed Calach, “there have been
rumors of your behavior with regard to Prentice Meredydd. Not all of which have
reached your mother’s ears, I think. The rumors hint at a certain attachment to
her person. Perhaps you should contemplate whether the goal of this attachment
is an honorable one.”

The red blaze down Wyth’s elongated face deepened to
crimson. “Yes, Osraed,” he mumbled.

“We must consult,” said Ealad-hach. “You are both excused.”

Meredydd fled the chamber as if a horde of snapping beasts
had risen out of the floor in pursuit. She thought Wyth might have called to
her, but she didn’t stop. Home she ran, burning up her humiliation before it
burned her up.

o0o

“You must remove her, Bevol,” said Ealad-hach. He no
longer sat, but paced the chamber, rubbing his hands as if the aging joints
contained premonitions of inclement weather.

“Why? Because one Prentice has fallen in love with her? She
is a lovable girl, Ealad.”

“That she is a girl is precisely the problem. She shouldn’t
be here at all. She doesn’t belong here.”

“Nonsense. Her natural talents alone make her a candidate
for Osraed-hood. Why else do you think I enrolled her at Halig-liath?”

“Ah, to raise my ire. You have always been a changer-up,
Bevol.”

“And you have always been a Trad—don’t look so shocked at
me, you old Scir-loc. Yes, and you deserve that appellation, too, by the Stone.
The Cyne may be set upon it, but you, old fellow, are set
in
it. And in your ways.”

Ealad-hach bristled, notwithstanding the criticism was
delivered with wry humor. “Someone has got to be set, here, Bevol, for you are
like the wind.”

“It is my namesake.”

“More’s the pity. You blow this way and that and fail to see
the danger in this situation. Your girl is talented, aye. I’ve seen that. But
if you meant to do her a favor by encouraging her, you’ve erred grievously. If
one of my daughters had shown such a nature, I’d have schooled her in how to
tame it. For what is praiseworthy in a man is sinful in a woman.”

“Tradist nonsense,” observed Bevol.

“A rational view of the Scripture,” countered Ealad-hach.

“The Scripture does not once refer to the Prentice as ‘she.’”

“‘He’ is merely the common pronoun. Would you rather the
Prentice be referred to as ‘it?’”

Ealad-hach pointed a long finger at Bevol. “This is not a
humorous matter, brother. Your girl is drawing censure from every quarter. The
Moireach Arundel is not the only parent who has expressed displeasure at
Meredydd’s presence here.”

“And are we to be swayed by public opinion, then?” Osraed
Calach, who had been watching the verbal duel in total silence, finally spoke
up. “I had rather thought we were intended to shape it.”

Bevol nodded. “Your scriptural argument was much better.”

“Then I shall return to it. There is no scripture that makes
a place for a woman in the Art.”

“And there is no scripture that denies her one.”

“Brother, a man with the Art is Osraed. A woman with the art
is Wicke. It is as clear as that. Our histories show the evil that comes of
allowing cailin to pursue those talents which, I grant you, they may perversely
display from time to time. When the Wicke were driven from Creiddylad in the
reign of Liusadhe, their wickedness, when set loose in the land, drove the Sea
to a boil and the Meri to a change of aspect. Because of those embittered
women, entire villages were lost to the waves and Creiddylad was swept by
plague.”

“If you choose to interpret it that way....”

“In what other way can it be interpreted?” demanded
Ealad-hach.

Bevol shrugged. “Perhaps the Meri was enraged with Cyne
Liusadhe for expelling the Wicke in the first place and the plague occurred
because they weren’t there to stop it.”

Ealad-hach fixed him with a baleful glare. “You come so
close to blasphemy at times, Bevol, I wonder you ever became Osraed.”

“And you come so close to stagnation at times, I wonder you
continue to be ambulatory. Meredydd stays.”

“She will cost us, Bevol.”

“She stays.”

“She is Wicke, Bevol. You know it.”

“She is a cailin. Sweetly rebellious, intelligent and
strong. She has a good heart. She would make a splendid Osraed. You,” he added,
pointing at Ealad-hach’s razor beak, “should be thankful we have her here at
Halig-liath.”

Frustrated, Ealad-hach turned to Calach. “What do you think?
Do you side with me or with Bevol?”

Calach’s pale brows crept beneath his fringe of straight
colorless hair. “I don’t side with either of you. For the sake of Meredydd I
would like to see her stay. Her tenure here will not be long; she’s of an age
for Pilgrimage and she certainly passes on her marks. For the sake of
Halig-liath...I would like to see this all laid to rest...amicably.”

Ealad-hach glared at Bevol. “She must go.”

Bevol merely studied him, wide-eyed. Then his eyes traveled
around the room, stopping here or there as if distracted by a glint of light or
a flash of color. “Well,” he said, finally, “there is one way for her to leave
that I might agree with.”

“And that is?”

“Let her go on Pilgrimage at the Solstice.”

Ealad-hach ogled at him. “Have you so little love for your
Prentice? You must realize what will happen to her.”

“Yes, she could see the Meri.”

“As Taminy-a-Cuinn saw the Meri? Do you wish her to share
that unfortunate’s fate?”

Bevol smiled and smoothed his beard. “What do you know of
Taminy-a-Cuinn’s fate? Only what you’ve read. Only what you’ve interpreted—just
as you interpreted the tale of Cyne Liusadhe’s unhappy Wicke.”

“I did
not
interpret!”

“No, of course not. Come, Ealad, surely you see that the
easiest way to settle this dispute is to send Meredydd on Pilgrimage.”

“Sacrilege.”

“Sense. Surely the best judge of what the Meri wants in an
Osraed is the Meri, Herself.”

Ealad-hach paused in his pacing and favored his brother with
a dour stare. Calach glanced back and forth between them, eyes narrowed,
speculatively.

Finally, Ealad-hach nodded—once and curtly. Then he left the
chamber in a swirl of green robes. Bevol, looking after him, smiled. So did Calach.

“Scoundrel,” he said, and left the room by another door.

o0o

Meredydd came down from her room to help Skeet prepare
dinner. He didn’t ask why she had come home so early, or why she had run up the
stairs as if daemons were in pursuit or why he had heard her crying. Skeet did
not pry. But he did listen. When Osraed Bevol came home some time later and
took Meredydd aside into the parlor, he hunkered on the staircase just beyond
the door and pricked his ears. The information that went in to those ears would
never find its way out, but it served his understanding.

“They want to dismiss me from Halig-liath, don’t they?”
asked Meredydd. She turned it into a statement, feeling somehow that if she
said it first, it would hurt less.