Meri (4 page)

“Salt, Master?”

He nodded. “Salt.”

She went into the pantry for that, emerging with a little
jar of sea salt which she brought immediately to him.

“Put a handful of the salt into the water.”

She did, then waited for the next instruction.

He smiled. “It’s time to go to school, anwyl,” he said and
pushed back his chair and rose. “Put the salt away and we’ll be off.”

Meredydd eyed him dubiously, wondering if she was supposed
to ask what she had just done or simply laugh. But he was already on his way
out of the kitchen, humming to himself and patting his hands together
rhythmically. With a backward glance at the bowl of water, she returned the
salt to the pantry and followed him from the room.

o0o

Theology was her first class that morning—Osraed
Ealad-hach presiding. The subject was the Regeneration of the Meri, an
important theme at this time of year with Solstice coming on and Pilgrimages
being planned.

It was a subject which never failed to engender heated
debates. Ealad-hach was a Traditionalist—Tradists or Trads, in Prentice
vernacular. His students considered his views to be particularly hoary and
called him Scir-loc or “White Hair.” Meredydd had always wondered why he taught
theology when the special knowledge given him by the Meri was in the field of
Earth Sciences. It had always seemed to her that Osraed Bevol had a shrewder
understanding of the scripture. His gift of knowledge was broader, encompassing
sciences of earth, sky and spirit as well as the arts of healing and divining.

As a Tradist, Osraed Ealad-hach held that the Meri was, by
Her very nature, eternal and unchanging. The Book of the Meri clearly stated
that She shared God’s very nature, and so Her regeneration occurred through Her
selection each generation of new Osraed—Divine Counselors—who, after receiving
Her inspiration, would then dispense Her wisdom wherever needed.

There was, too, the figurative or symbolic regeneration
which she afforded to the faithful believer. According to Ealad-hach’s personal
theology, it was irrational and unscientific to suppose that the Meri literally
regenerated.

“‘The Spirit was the First Being,’” intoned the Osraed at
the beginning of the discussion, “‘the Creator of all, the Guardian of the
Universe. The Vision of the Spirit, the Mother of all wisdom, It gave in
revelation to Its first-born, the Meri.’ That, of course, is Chapter One, Verse
One of The Book of the Meri. You all know it, have committed it to memory; no
doubt, some of you whispered it with me.”

He smiled beatifically and tapped his reading lenses into
the palm of one hand. “We know too, of course, that the First Being does not
change Its skin—figuratively speaking—or evolve. It is above egress and
regress, beyond change. And it stands to reason that the Meri, being the ‘first-born,’
of the First Being, is also above and beyond all physical phenomena.”

This observation led one of the Prentices to ask, as he was
expected to, why then, the Meri
appeared
to
regenerate. Why every generation, or thereabouts, changes were noted by the
Prentices singled out by Her for the role of Divine Counselor.

“According to the Book of Pilgrimages,” the boy remarked, “there
have been changes in the color and radiance of her...person and even in the
color of her eyes and the expression in them.”

“Ah,” said the Osraed Ealad-hach, and the assembled
Prentices rolled their eyes in preparation for the coming lecture. “If you had
read your history with attentiveness, you would have noticed that the aspect
changes of the Meri are connected with upheavals here, in Caraid-land, most
especially those involving the spiritual conditions of its people and rulers.

“For example, our histories tell us of a great war that had
embroiled all of Caraid-land and her near neighbors. The Royal policy so
enraged the Meri that She changed aspect in the darkest days of the war and
sent forth a legion of storms that destroyed most of Cyne Earwyn’s navy and
that of his enemy, as well. At the same time that She lashed the Sea to
rebellion against human arrogance, She unleashed upon the Royal House at
Creiddylad a plague of Osraed all Telling a future that frightened the Cyne
into finding a peaceful solution to the war.

“And then,” he reminisced, as if he could remember it,
himself, “there was the year that an Osraed Council ordered all practitioners
of the Wicke expelled from Nairne. Those embittered females then spread across
the countryside, leaving evil in their wake. No sooner had they left Creiddylad
than that city was struck by a plague that killed by the hundreds. That year
the Meri changed her aspect and elected not one Prentice to be Osraed for many
Seasons. It was ten years before another Osraed was chosen. And then...” His
eyes fell on Meredydd briefly. “...there was at least one occasion upon which a
girl went from Halig-liath as Prentice.”

Startled, Meredydd raised her eyes and met his in what she
thought must be an audible collision. Old Scir-loc merely raised his brows and
moved to stand behind his workbench.

“Begging pardon, Osraed Ealad-hach,” said Lealbhallain
tentatively, “but if the Meri is, as the Book says, a child of the First Being
and Its Vision, then is not the Meri a creation?”

Ealad-hach turned and speared the young Prentice with a
practiced and accurate eye. “The Meri is identical with the Creator.”

“But, pardon again, sir—but I have heard it advanced by the
Osraed Bevol that the Meri is both a creature and an instrument of creation. ‘The
Lover and the Beloved have become one in Thee,’” he quoted swiftly, practically
tripping over the words in his haste to get them out. “He explained to me that
it is Her spirit that is transcendent, but that her body, being a physical
phenomenon, must be subject to the Universal laws of integration and
disintegration, and that-and that She-She....”

The look with which Osraed Ealad-hach fixed poor
Lealbhallain had so intimidated him that he simply stopped speaking.

“It is the Osraed Bevol’s
opinion
that the Meri’s body is a physical phenomenon. It is not an opinion that
we
share. Do
you
share that opinion?”

Leal swallowed noisily, drawing a snicker from his
confreres. “Well, sir, I.... That is, it would explain...certain
...things...sir. About the Meri, I mean.”

“And do you deem it necessary that the Meri be explained?
She is the Meri. Perhaps She need not be explained at all. Perhaps She is
inexplicable.”

Prentice Brys-a-Lach and his pet, Phelan Backstere, both
hummed and nodded sagely, patting their fingers together in silent applause.

“Then why do we even discuss the subject?” asked Meredydd,
before she could think better of it. “Why aren’t we simply told, ‘The Meri is
as the Meri is,’ and have an end to it? What good does it do to study something
which will not permit study?”

Ealad-hach, a tall man, raised himself to his tallest and
looked at Meredydd over one high ridge of cheek bone. “Are you being
impertinent, Prentice Meredydd?”

“No, sir. I’m being frustrated. The Corah tells us we must
seek out knowledge with open minds and that when the conscious spirit commands
the mind, the mind can think all thoughts.
All
thoughts, not just two or three, not just thoughts of here and now, but of
spiritual things. Thoughts of the Meri. Thoughts of the First Being.”

“So, you think you can study your way into the Meri’s good
graces, do you? Recall, Prentice, what the Book of the Meri tells us on that
score; Chapter Two, Verse 5: ‘One does not reach the Meri through much
learning. Nor is She reached through the intellect or religious teaching. She
is reached only by those chosen. To Her chosen, the Meri reveals her glory. On
Her chosen She bestows Her kiss.’ Her
chosen
,
Prentice Meredydd, not the well-studied or the thoughtful or the hard-working.”

“Yet,” argued Meredydd, “Osraed Morfinn, in his ‘Commentaries
and Meditations,’ says, ‘If men thought of God as much as they think of the
world, would not all attain liberation?’ Is that a purely rhetorical question,
then? Are we not intended to think of God; to think of the Meri and to strive
for understanding? And in striving for understanding, must we not question our
own beliefs to make certain they conform to the truth?”

Ealad-hach fiddled with the sleeve of his robe, winding a
stray strand of thread around one finger. “What is your point, Prentice?”

“Merely that if the Meri is, indeed, our living Link with
the Creator, then the fullest knowledge of Her should be sought.”

“If you will recall,” said Osraed Ealad-hach, “this
discussion began with the advancement of a theory, by Prentice Lealbhallain,
that the Meri has a physical nature which is—how did he put it—subject to the
physical laws of integration and disintegration. Do you support his theory?”

“I support no particular theory, Osraed. I have yet to be
certain.”

“You are of an age for Pilgrimage, Prentice. Don’t you think
it prudent to be certain of what you believe you will find at the end of the
Journey before you get there?”

“I suppose—”

Ealad-hach pounced. “I think you must do better than
suppose, Prentice. I think you had better be certain that it is not a merely
physical creature you seek.”

“I never suggested that She
is
merely physical. I simply shared my perceptions of the Corahtic references.”

“Your theory, Prentice Meredydd, will appear on my desk
tomorrow morning. I will meditate on them over Cirke-dag, while you meditate on
the nature of the Being you claim to worship and adore—oh, and along with that,
Chapter Twelve of the Book of the Meri.”

Meredydd’s cheeks flamed. “But Osraed! I advanced no theory,
I—”

“No, you advanced careless, inconclusive thinking. It might
serve you to recall another passage from the Book of the Meri. The one in which
we are told that the Meri is not reachable by the careless. I want more than
perceptions from you, cailin. I want conclusions!”

“Only if they match your own,” Meredydd muttered.

“What?”

She blushed all the way to the roots of her hair. “Nothing,
Osraed. Nothing.”

“I thought,” murmured Lealbhallain during a break between
sessions, “that you were being open-minded, not careless.”

They stood in the circular concourse where the three great
wings of Halig-liath’s academy met, waiting for the Osraed Ealad-hach to vacate
the classroom. It was cool there and the breeze was fanned by the passing of a
myriad lively young bodies. Their laughter, talk and scuffling was carried
upward into the shallow conical vault where it circled like an invisible but
noisy flock of birds before fluttering out through the open casements.

Meredydd sighed, savoring the caress of air against her
still flaming cheeks. “Thanks, Leal. I wish
you
were the Osraed. I’d have much better marks.”

“What’s the matter, then,
Prentice
Meredydd?” Brys-a-Lach appeared unexpectedly at her shoulder, making her jump. “Don’t
know how to handle old Scir-loc, of a sudden?” He grinned at his crony Phelan,
who had materialized behind Lealbhallain.

“You shouldn’t call him that, Brys. It’s...disrespectful.”

“Eh?” said Brys, feigning deafness. “Eh? Wha’s-at? What
shouldn’t I call him, cailin?”

“Scir-loc!” she whispered fiercely.

Brys made a comically horrified face and glanced over her
shoulder. She could hear Phelan wheezing frantically behind her. She turned, a
scowl creasing her face, and saw old Scir-loc, himself, barely a yard away and
glaring at her. His bony face was red as a chicken’s wattle and she could
almost see him shaking in rage. He said nothing, but turned on his heel and
disappeared into the Northern Wing.

Meredydd whirled on Brys. “You-you unscrupulous...
fish
! How can you be so-so mean-spirited and
still dare to call yourself a Prentice?”

“Oh, Meredydd!” Brys cooed. “Please abuse me further. It
tickles my ears royal to hear you use such words for me.
Unscrupulous fish
! By the First Being, you make
me quake! I dare call myself a Prentice because my father says I dare.”

She started to coil herself for another attack, but saw
Aelder Prentice Wyth entering the classroom just down the North Wing hall. “I
don’t want to be late for class,” she said and shoved past him. Lealbhallain
followed close behind.

Today Aelder Prentice Wyth chose to discuss the use of
symbology in riddles. Riddles had always seemed to Meredydd an absurd way of
imparting information, and she’d decided they were more of a mental game than
any part of spiritual discipline. Osraed Bevol had never stressed them in his
private tutoring, but she had always done reasonably well with them anyway.

Wyth began with that hoary old poser, “What has four legs in
the morning, two legs at noon and three legs in the evening.”

Everyone’s hand went up except Meredydd’s. She was
exercising her mind in the excellent web supplied by the window-frame spider,
climbing, sliding, swinging. It vibrated beneath her like ship’s rigging in a
stiff breeze, chanty-singing, strong and resilient.

“Did you hear me, Prentice Meredydd? Prentice Brys says you
are daydreaming and not paying a bit of attention to me. Is this so?” Aelder
Wyth stood nearly atop her.

Meredydd blinked. “No, sir,” she lied before she could stop
herself.

“Good. Then you will be able to tell me what enters a trap
but is never caught.”

She could hear the web whispering lightly from the window, a
breeze brushing its silken fibers. She strained to hear what it said, then
smiled up at Aelder Wyth. “The wind,” she said. “The wind enters a trap but is
never caught.”

Aelder Wyth was not impressed. His long, angular face
displayed a tight displeasure out of keeping with such a minor incident. “Remove
that mocking grin from your face, cailin, and tell me the answer to this
riddle: That which flies gives birth to that which does not fly; that which
does not fly gives birth to that which flies.”