The Weaver's Lament (8 page)

They laughed together as she took his arm and walked with him to the livery, where the horses they would ride to the Circle were awaiting them.

“I know that your travel time is insignificant, but I am also aware that you have the same limited amount of it, day into day, as the rest of us, and that you are very busy with your work,” she said. “Easily as you may compress your journeys, you cannot expand the time spent, and I appreciate that you chose to spend it with us.”

“It was my pleasure,” Meridion assured her as they walked into the stable. “And traveling on horseback with you will be one as well. I always loved it as a child when we went riding together, you and I. Father was always a wonderful riding partner, and teacher, as well, and I learned a great deal every time we set forth together, but there was something different about doing so with you.”

“Oh?” She picked up the currying comb after greeting the horse in a soft woodland language, then set to work.

“Yes,” Meridion said, grooming his mount as well. “While Father's instruction was about seat and gait, use of tack, emergency roll-off and other skills, you were always looking off in the distance, pointing out some particularly beautiful trees or interesting landscape, or bringing the horses to a halt to dismount so that we could examine some unique flowers in the grass. I remember the day we found the fairy huts and spent the entire afternoon exploring the forest at Highmeadow, and didn't even venture more than a league from home.”

Rhapsody chuckled. “I remember that day well. It was a beautiful one.”

“Just as I know you cherish the time you spend with your children, Grands, and Greats, we all look forward to having that opportunity to be with you and Papa, you know.”

“Thank you,” Rhapsody said. Her emerald eyes sparkled. “Will you tell me something that is none of my concern?”

Meridion chuckled. “I thought everything was a Namer's concern.”

Rhapsody laughed. “Only if the Namer is your mother. And then she only
thinks
it's her concern—but that's the mother's opinion, not the Namer's.”

“Ah. Well, ask away.”

The Lady Cymrian's smile softened. “Seeing Cara and Evannii, or, in fact, any of your siblings with his or her spouse or betrothed, leads me to wonder if you are lonely.” She winced as Meridion sighed. “I don't mean to intrude, Meridion—”

“Do I seem unhappy to you, Mimen?”

“Not a bit. You seem content, fulfilled—a wise and reliable brother, an indulgent uncle, a stalwart friend. I just wondered why you seem so satisfied alone, as if you don't see any need for a partner in life.” Her eyes twinkled and a teasing tone entered her voice. “I do hope your father and I have not ruined your view of marriage forever.”

Meridion laughed again. “Of course not. I'm not lonely, Mimen; I'm just waiting.”

“For what?”

His face grew solemn, though his eyes still smiled.

“Not what—who. I've seen her, Mimen. My soul mate—but she's not of this time. She hasn't been born yet, I think, and I don't believe she will be for some time. But she's getting closer.”

“How have you seen her?” Rhapsody asked, curious. “I thought you were unable to know the Future.”

“I can't know it the way I can the Past, because the strand of Time in the Past is set, and therefore solid enough to pass into, even if I can have almost no presence there. I have glimpses of the Future, just as you do, but more keenly; I see her in my dreams, and occasionally when I pass through a place where one day she will be, I think. It's only momentary, like the feeling you used to describe as a goose walking over your grave.”

“That's an old farm expression from Serendair. Do you know her name?”

Meridion shook his head. “No. But every time I see her, I know even more certainly that she is the other half of my soul. I can't really explain it.”

“You don't need to,” Rhapsody said, cleaning the horsehair from the currying brush and hanging it on the stable wall. “I understand, believe me. When I beheld your father for the first time, my eyes literally stung. It was like tears had filled them for no apparent reason, and I could see him utterly clearly. And I knew as well.”

Sounds like Eye-Clear,
Meridion thought absently. He had spent a good amount of time at the Namers' summit giving a tutorial in how to distill the elixir that allowed for undiluted sight, when it was essential to strip away visual distractions and see something clearly, particularly for physicians before undertaking surgery or engineers in delicate manual undertakings. He shook off the thought.

“In any case, it has made me somewhat disinterested in anyone else in the meantime,” he said. “But I'm not lonely, Mimen; I'm just waiting. It may sound hackneyed, but one of the many things I'd like to emulate in my father is to have only loved one woman in my life. It may not be the way for everyone; I can understand the value in having learned of love from a variety of sources, gaining experience and perspective before finally reaching the ultimate state. But this is just what my guiding sense tells me is right.” He grinned. “And it's not set in stone. Should someone come along that sets my world a-spin, I am more than willing to change my plans.”

Rhapsody patted the roan and finished tacking it up.

“What's she like?”

Meridion considered. “I don't really know how to describe her,” he said, tending to his own mount. “She doesn't look like anyone I could compare her to, dark of hair and eye, and seemingly studious. I know this sounds odd, but it would not surprise me if she had a touch of Bolg in her bloodline.”

Rhapsody stopped short and turned in amazement. “Really?”

Meridion shrugged. “It's possible; I'm not sure. But for now, I am willing to wait until it feels right. And, up until now, no other person has made that happen.”

“Well, thank you for telling me,” Rhapsody said as he finished tacking up and adjusted his horse's hackamore. “I'm not actively worried about you; I merely want life to hold all the love it can for you, just as I wish for all of our family. I have always wished that the last thing I might be allowed to say to each of my children is what the Patriarch before Constantin said to me as he was leaving for the Light—‘Above all else, may you know joy.'”

“I appreciate your concern. But one thing I've learned from the bequest of an unusually long life span is that filling the empty space with placeholders until what is meant to be there is present is not always the best way to go. I've seen many examples of it.”

Rhapsody nodded. “I know. Well, if you're ready, let's be on our way—it is my hope that we will have some time in each other's company before our paths diverge, and that you will arrive at Highmeadow a day or so ahead of me.”

“Off to visit Elynsynos?” Meridion inquired as he led his mare from the stable.

“Yes. I haven't seen her in such a long time, and I want to make sure she is well.” Rhapsody's smile faded to seriousness. “I always hope to get perspective from her on the dragon aspects of the family with which I alone am unfamiliar.”

“I imagine that can be very strange when it's not in your blood,” Meridion said. “It's even strange to me, and I have the vertical pupils and the throat structure to do the roar to prove my qualifications.”

Mother and son laughed as they closed the stable door, mounted up, and rode off to the northlands.

 

7

THE REPOSITORY, TYRIAN CITY, SOUTH OF THE CIRCLE

Three days later, Cara and Evannii met up with Meridion and Rhapsody at the central wing of the Repository, one of the museums where lore was collected and displayed for the public.

It was here that mother and son had hosted the Symposium of Namers for a fortnight, one of the largest gathering of the practitioners of the science of musical healing and education in the Known World. Meridion, one of the foremost experts on many elements of Naming lore, had conducted a number of workshops and teaching sessions, including the escorting of several of the Sea Mages from the island of Gaematria through the new wing that housed the maritime collection.

The three women followed Meridion around a corner and came to an abrupt stop.

“What is all this, Hamimen?” Evannii had asked, standing at the vestibule of a wing of the Repository, an archway over which read the inscription
Explicarum Mortes
.

“The new hallway of Death,” Rhapsody said blandly.

Cara nodded while Evannii blanched.

Rhapsody nodded. “This is actually a significant part of a Namer's training,” she said, smiling slightly. “One of the most common of the aspects of our practice is death rituals, the various songs, prayers, ceremonies, and observances which celebrate the passage from life through death into the Afterlife. As you know, we have a similar dedication to the passage into life as well, birthing and Naming ceremonies and the like, but there is no event about which more lore is written, more time is spent in study and memorization, than death rituals.”

Meridion led his two nieces to the wall just inside the exhibit, where a mural of four riders on four strange horses was displayed.

“This is an old legend, popular among the adherents to the Filidic religion of the western continent, of which your aunt Laurelyn is the Invoker now,” he said solemnly, his blue eyes twinkling, their vertical pupils expanding excitedly. “I'm sorry you both couldn't attend her investiture; it was truly an interesting ceremony, and only takes place rarely.”

“We were sorry as well,” said Cara as Evannii nodded in agreement. “We were still in Manosse when it happened.”

“It is one of those sorts of events that only gets attended by those who are nearby or if the weather cooperates,” Meridion said, opening up the case below the mural. “Unlike the kinds of celebrations that can be planned months or years in advance—such as the family summit we are all about to attend—when the Invoker dies, the Filids have death traditions that prescribe an almost immediate transition, including a fairly unique kind of funeral pyre. The Songs of Passage and the dirges that are sung for the high nature priest in a religion to which the entire western half of the continent, including nearly all of the Lirin kingdom, adheres are extraordinarily beautiful, as well as being heard only rarely.”

“Can you tell us, Uncle, of this lore?” Evannii asked, pointing at the mural of the horsemen. “I have never seen anything about this in Manosse.”

Meridion's face lit up as it always did when he was discussing lore.

“It is believed in the tradition of the Filids that death has four different manifestations, as represented by these images,” he said.

He pointed to the first one, a painting of a tall man with a restful expression on his face, which was pale as was his hair, a shade of white that reminded Evannii strongly of the moon. His eyes, however, were dark and devouring, as were the brows above them. The horse he was pictured atop appeared to be in the midst of constantly changing colors.

“This is the one that is most well known, which I find rather amusing, given that his body count may be the lowest,” he said impishly. “This is the manifestation of the Peaceful Death, the Lord Rowan, who is also known as Yl Angaulor, the Hand of Mortality. He is said to live beyond the Veil of Hoen, which is the Cymrian word for ‘joy,' a place where time passes differently than it does on our side of the Veil. His wife, the Lady Rowan, is known as the Keeper of Dreams, the Guardian of Sleep, Yl Breudiwyr. They are considered sacred entities by physicians and healers, because it is said that if you seek their aid in a life-or-death situation, they may take you, or the person you are caring for, beyond the Veil to assist in healing that person.”

“Do you know of anyone who has ever gone?” Cara asked.

“A few,” said Meridion lightly.
Both of your grandparents, and Constantin, the Patriarch of Sepulvarta,
he thought, glancing at Rhapsody. “The Veil of Hoen is reputed to be a place between life and death, on this side of the Gate of Life. Those who are grievously injured are often healed and returned to this state of being. Those who are beyond their talents pass through the Gate of Life to the Afterlife, as does everyone eventually, the Filids believe. So, for purposes of this display, the Lord Rowan represents Peaceful Death.”

He pointed at the others. The next was a more terrifying image, a large, muscular horseman, clad in armor from which spikes emerged, a whip of many tails in his heavy-gloved hand. He wore a war helm above a face that was half skeletal, half sunken, and rode a tall, broad steed that seemed to be formed of dark wind and fire.

“This is the manifestation known as the Wracked Death,” he said a little more somberly. “He represents the experience of those who die violently, or in pain, or wither away in the grip of terrible illness.”

The young women exchanged a glance and a wince.

“Is any part of the exhibit about the Afterlife?” Evannii asked hopefully. “I would think that might be a pleasant collection.”

“It will be opening next year,” Rhapsody said as Meridion waited eagerly to continue his presentation. “I find the research into that subject at the moment to be somewhat controversial. I have long thought that the traditions and beliefs of various cultures have brought about the existence of their mythical figures and entities, rather than the other way around. Lore manifests into reality sometimes; that's why Namers have to be especially careful about what they say.

“There are many people who believe with certainty that they know what color the paint on the walls of their homes in the Afterlife will be. The more I study the lore, the more I have come to believe that paradise is not the same for everyone, and that we don't all live in it together. I think we each make our own places in the Afterlife—”