She jumped and spun. "Oh, Taminy! I'd such a start. Did you see?" Her hand trembled toward the homey fire, docile again within its grate.

"Aye." The older girl faded from the shadows, her long, flaxen hair catching fire sprites and weaving them through its length.

"What was it, please?" the child begged. "Say, mistress, were't demons?"

Taminy's laughter lay pleasantly against Gwynet's ears despite the fright she'd had, for the older girl was usually so muted and wistful.

"Demons? Of course not, Gwynet. It was you."

"Me? How? I've ne'er called fire up like tha'. I swear it."

Taminy came to stand on the hearth rug and reached down to pick up the blue crystal. "You've never used a rune crystal before, have you?"

"Used it? Oh, mistress Taminy, I wasn't using it. I don't know how."

The other girl sat beside her on the braid rug, the crystal still in her hand. "You mean you're not supposed to know how. And the Osraed won't deign to teach you for another year or more. You'll cull them, sort them, type them and codify their uses, but you'll not weave one tiny inyx through them, oh, no. And that" -she nodded toward the innocent flames-"is probably why. Half the houses in Nairne and the Cirke stable, besides, would be burnt to the ground the eve of the day you lot were turned loose with these."

Gwynet blushed. "But what'd I do?"

Taminy held the crystal up before her eyes and frowned into its faceted depths. "What did you do?"

"I was just picturing."

"Picturing?"

"Aye. Like I used to do in leaf dew. I pictured the crystal was all these little worlds with bright, hot waters flowing out the skies and then-" She shook a hand at the fire and peeked up at Taminy's pensive face. "Are you sure it weren't demons? Dew never done that."

"There are no demons, Gwynet."

"My old guardian, Ruhf said-"

"Your old guardian Ruhf was making excuses, Gwynet. There are no demons, only wicked people ... and weak ones."

"Am I wicked, Taminy?"

"No. You're not. But even innocence can be dangerous. You must be very careful with this crystal. Careful not to 'picture' in it without Osraed Bevol about to guide you. You wouldn't want to burn Gled Manor down."

"No, mistress!"

Taminy fell silent then, her eyes locked on the stone in her hand. Puzzled, she seemed to Gwynet, as if she grasped for something that eluded her; as if she had lost something and thought the crystal must contain it. She wilted just a little, like a flower set too long on a sunny sill. Then she blinked, shook her head and handed the rune crystal back to Gwynet.

"What you just did, Gwynet, without meaning to, was start a Weaving. You reached through the crystal and wove your will to the flames and pulled them to you."

Gwynet was stunned. "I did? I ...? But, mistress, I don't know any-any spells-any inyx, I mean. And I don't know any of the runesongs-the duans. How could I Weave when I don't sing and I don't know the words?"

"You said your dewdrops never did anything like that. What did they do?"

Gwynet studied the other's fire-lit face and tried to remember. Remembering was hard sometimes. It was all bound up in pain and feeling like a rabbit in a hunter's snare, but she remembered going to the rill in the early morning to bathe and she remembered the dewdrops.

"They ... they made me feel all wonderful. Like I were happy. Sometimes I might wish that the sun'd shine all day and Ruhf'd not be like to lay hands on me." She lowered her head and blushed. "Sometimes I let myself fancy it worked. That he were lookin' askew at me and might will to touch me, but couldn'a. I'd pretend my wishing done it."

"Perhaps it did."

Gwynet puzzled that. "But how?"

Taminy stood, her face fading back into the shadows of the dusky room. "Ah, Gwynet, some people are born singing duans. They breathe them in from the ether and breathe them out into the world."

"Meredydd was like tha', weren't she?"

"Yes, she was."

"And you. Are you like tha'?"

Taminy was already moving toward the door, receding completely from Gwynet's fire-lit patch.

"I was once," she said, and was gone.

Osraed Bevol arrived home a bit late that evening, his mind still picking its way through the signs and portents of his last meditation. Gwynet was engaged in the sage pursuit of practicing her alphabet, while Skeet, upon seeing him, commented reproachfully on his tardiness and began scurrying to put the meal on the table.

"Where is Taminy?" he asked the boy, watching him ferry pots of hot food into the large dining chamber.

"Upstairs." He cocked his head, flicking his eyes upward. "She did come down today, though. Roamed about the house a bit.... Spoke to the Little One about crystals."

"Did she?" Bevol nodded. "That's encouraging."

Skeet's eyes dropped to the bowl of vegetables in his hands. "Aye, I do suppose. What must it be like, Maister Bevol? What must it be like to be dumped back upon the earth after living in the Sea? What must it be like to have to walk where before ye've darted like a silkie?"

Bevol shook his head. "That, Skeet, is something you and I will never know. Nor is it something Taminy could describe to us even if she would." His gaze went to the ceiling of the dining room as if he could see through it into the chambers above. "But, we will do all we can to help her adjust, for she must do more than walk, Skeet. She must run. She must fly." He sighed volubly. "I sometimes wonder if Mam Lufu might not be better suited to this."

Skeet cocked his head pertly. "Mam Lufu weren't the one summoned."

Bevol pointed at the tip of the boy's nose. "Get on with the supper, Impertinence."

He left Skeet's grin unanswered and went up to see Taminy. She was in her chambers-chambers that had so recently been Meredydd's-gazing out over the fields at the front of the house. She turned from the window as he entered the open door and sat facing him on the window seat.

"How was the day?" he asked.

"It was a cool day for Eightmonth," she said and toyed with the fabric of her skirt. "Gwynet drew fire this afternoon. Through that blue crystal I gave her. She has a natural Gift."

Bevol nodded. "I suspected as much. And did you instruct her in its use?"

"I?" She laughed self-deprecatingly. "I've not been able to croak so much as a Sleepweave. You know that. I simply explained to her how the crystal worked. She found it hard to believe the talent that drove it was her own. I told her you would show her the use of it and not to 'picture' in it until then."

"Picture in it?"

The girl's porcelain pale face lit in a tender smile. "She paints a picture in her mind, focuses it in the crystal and makes it real. Just like that. She's been weaving with dewdrops ... to keep from being beaten and to make herself not mind the abuse." Taminy shook herself visibly. "She'll be expecting you to speak to her about the crystals. Perhaps after supper-"

"After supper would be a good time for you to speak to her about them, yes."

The girl glanced up sharply. "But Osraed, I cannot."

"Have you forgotten your history? Your culling standards? Your technical knowledge?"

"No. You know I haven't. I remember everything about the Art, except how to use it. I can't Weave. My duans are just unfocused ditties. I'm an empty vessel, Osraed. I poured myself out into the Sea and the Meri took all of me. I don't begrudge Her that," she added. "I don't."

"No, child, of course not. But don't discount yourself so harshly. You had a native Gift. That will return, if slowly. Those who have gone before you are proof of it."

Her eyes held such a roil of frustration and hope, of doubt and faith, that Bevol was moved to go to her and gather her into his arms, awfully aware of what he held there. A unique being was Taminy-a-Cuinn. A singular meld of young woman and aged saint, of earthly frailty and divine virtue. She was a dust mote with the properties of a star, a drop of the finite that had been breathed upon by the Infinite. What did a man, even an Osraed, say to that?

"You are Taminy-a-Cuinn," he said. "You were chosen by the Meri to be Her Vessel. Trust that She will not allow you to remain empty for long."

"I will trust, Osraed Bevol," she murmured against his shoulder. "And I will try to instruct Gwynet, if you desire it."

"I do. I do desire it. As I desire that you eat a good, healthy meal this evening. At table with the rest of the family."

She leaned back from him and smiled. "I do like the sound of that word, dear Osraed-'family.' You make a duan of it."

"So, Gwynet, you've learned the use of a crystal this evening." Osraed Bevol broke bread into his stew and passed Taminy a secret wink.

"Oh, no sir!" the child came back immediately. "I did something by accident complete. I was only picturing and ..."

She glanced at Taminy for assistance.

The older girl smiled. "You summoned fire."

"Oh, no, mistress!"

"A natural," said Bevol, nodding. He speared Gwynet with sharp eyes. "But you'll have to learn control. Discipline. Taminy will teach you that. You'll show that old Tynedale a trick or two before you're a Pilgrim."

Gwynet bowed her head, acquiescently. "Yes, Maister," she murmured, and didn't quite hide her secret smile.

Skeet set out a bowl of greens and slid into his seat, eyes jet-bright. "I did the bartering in town today, Maister, as ever. I've wonderful cream scones for breakfast."

"And wonderful gossip for supper, I've no doubt." Bevol's expression was wry. "What's today's portion?"

The boy served up Gwynet's greens, then heaped up his own plate. "Nairne's agog over Meredydd, still."

"Of course. And likely will be till I'm in my grave and they can safely say I was mad."

Skeet passed the bowl to Taminy. "Ah, well, the Backstere has it you're poor in the head-torn by the talons of grief. Popular tale is she was magicked into a sea snake or some'at. That's the Backstere's go at it. Lealbhallain the Loyal heard none of that. He believes you, Maister, bow and bind. 'She's transformed,' he says, 'made over out of Light.' Brys-a-Lach, now, he says it's all heresy, either way: snake or silkie. Said she deserved to drown, he did." He scowled with sudden fierceness. "Called her a heretic ... and worse. Said the Moireach Arundel was right about her seducing her boy, Wyth. Said she tried to seduce him too." He paused and glanced at Gwynet. "I'd've liked to cast a Wartweave on him."

"I've no doubt," said Bevol mildly. "Don't let it upset you. When it's old news it will be supplanted by the new."

"Aye!" Skeet brightened, waving his fork in the air. "Has been. 'Speaking of heresy,' says the Backstere, 'have you heard the rumors from the capitol?' 'Which ones, says,' Arly Odern, and the Backstere gives the tell of his uncle from Creiddylad and some strangeness with the Cyne."

"This isn't about those murals again."

"Ah, no. This is that tell you bid me keep my ears up for. Though, to all earfuls, those murals are an eyeful."

Bevol shot the boy a warning glance. "You were giving a tell ...?"

"Backstere's uncle goes to the Castle Cirke in Creiddylad once a moon. And at last Waningfeast, the Cyne just up and does this ceremonial."

Taminy looked up from her plate, eyes watchful. "What did he do?"

"He up in the midst of the recitation of the Covenant and sips the Holy Water right out of the Cup. Tells everyone the Meri moved him to it."

"That's all he said?" asked Bevol.

"Well, that's all the Backstere said, anyway. Might've said more but for Marnie-o-Loom. It'll be all over the village by morn, like as not. Once the Backstere's got it-" He shrugged eloquently.

"Aye," Bevol agreed wryly. "Gossips nearly as well as he bakes."

"You'll want to hear about Marnie," said Skeet. "She was abroad the night we came home from Meredydd's Pilgrim Walk."

Bevol was all attention-for his supper. "Was she?" He glanced at Taminy, a sop of stew-dripping bread in one hand. "And what did she see on this night of nights?"

"Cat smug, that one," opined Skeet. "Looks me over grand as a Moireach and says, loud, so the whole shop hears, that she thought Meredydd had come home with us. 'Two girls I saw,' she says. 'Bevol, and that boy and two girls-one little, one big.'"

"Ah," Bevol nodded. "So now I'm hiding a humiliated Prentice under my roof, is that her tell? I thought they'd all settled that Meredydd was dead or inyxed into a myth."

"Marnie'd have none of that. Here she'd been, chewing on this tidbit for weeks and just biding till she might uncork it. All a-sudden, Backstere's got this tasty bit about the Cyne-Marnie'd have to best that."

Bevol shook his head, chuckling. "Well, now. I wonder how long it will take for Marnie to get her sly chatter up to Halig-liath?" He sighed, set aside his napkin and eyed Gwynet's near empty plate. "Sop that up child, and you and Taminy will begin a study of rune crystals."

CHAPTER 2.

What is seen in Nature in a flash of lightning-That is Wonder.

That comes to the soul in a flash of vision. Its name is Tighearnan, which means "Lord;" and Halig, which means "Holy;" and Caoim-hin, which means "the lovable, the gentle."

As Tighearnan, That should have obedience.

As Halig, That should have reverence.

As Caoim-hin, That should have adoration.