"And ... did you-?" Ealad-hach's voice was white as his crown of hair.

"I could scarcely believe I'd heard Her right. I've studied the Pilgrimages all my life. No one has ever been summoned into the waters. I thought She must be tormenting me on account of that dream. So, I asked if She meant I was to come into the Sea. 'The Water of Life, Wyth,' She said and laughed again and said, 'Come into the Water of Life and see if you do not get wet.' I was horrified-certain I must be punished for my arrogance. But She told me that I wasn't arrogant, only ignorant."

He chuckled. "I hadn't thought arrogance to be a worse offense, but of course it is. For in ignorance, one simply doesn't know; in arrogance one knows, yet refuses to understand. I understood the Goal, then-the End of Longing: To get wet. To drown in that Water; to absorb that knowledge; to let it permeate every atom. And as I understood that Goal, She held out Her radiant arms to me and I stepped into the Sea."

Ealad-hach gasped, seeming to strangle, momentarily, on the air he breathed. Wyth glanced at him, then went on.

"It was warm. She was warm. Her radiance embraced me, surrounded and engulfed me. Warm as sunlight, comforting, loving. She is love!" he added suddenly, going from dreamy to zealous. "We teach laws here and histories and dreams and inyx. I tell you, what we must teach, above all else, that She is love."

He paused and looked about at the circle of faces old and older. It had been years since a new Osraed had been willed to Halig-liath. Years since any doctrinal changes had been made.

"We must teach that," he repeated and knew Calach would record it faithfully as the first doctrinal utterance of his Mission. "We must make it part of the morning invocation."

"Now," Wyth squared his shoulders and sat as tall as his body would allow. "I am coming to a part of my Tell which ..." Something like fear fluttered beneath his breast bone. He must have no fear. He must continue. He must give the whole Tell.

He glanced at Ealad-hach, trying to gauge, from the old hawk face, what effect his story was having. But Ealad-hach was little more than a shadow, sitting far back in his tall chair.

Wyth looked to Bevol and found an eager gaze. He delivered the rest of his tale directly to Meredydd's Master.

"The Meri held me in Her arms and drew me beneath the waves with Her. And, as they closed over my head, I had no fear. She smiled at me. I couldn't see Her smile, but only feel it. And then, She kissed me ... first on the lips, then on the brow."

A whisper wafted in a circle about him like an eddy of wind, invisible and cool.

"And She called me Her son."

The wind was sucked from the room leaving it soundless and motionless.

"You-you jest." Ealad-hach half-rose from his place, his hands, on the table, supporting him. "You're playing a game with us. No, testing us. The Meri has commissioned you to test the Osraed."

Wyth shook his head. "No, Osraed Ealad-hach. I do neither."

"This-this is unprecedented!" exclaimed Eadmund. "For centuries the selection of Osraed has followed a prescribed pattern. For centuries! Never in the history of the Divine Arts has the Meri drawn an elect into the Sea, never has She kissed him upon the mouth and never has She referred to him as Her son! What can you possibly mean by all these things?"

Osraed Bevol rapped quietly on the tabletop, stopping the flow of questions. "We are out of order. Our new brother, Wyth, brings us a Tell that is stunning, to be sure, but we have no reason to doubt his words. Indeed, to do so would be tantamount to sacrilege. It is certain from the reports of both our new Osraed, that the Meri has changed Aspect. I seem to recall that the last such Cusp brought some significant changes in the Laws and Observances."

"But not like this!" objected Eadmund. "This is outrageous!"

"Who are we to judge the Meri's decree outrageous? Look at our young brother, Wyth. Can you doubt that he has been touched by the Meri? Can you doubt that he speaks only what the Meri commissions him to speak?"

The entire assemblage turned, as a man, to peer at the Kiss, brilliant, on Wyth's brow. They could not doubt, and Bevol knew it.

The Apex nodded at Wyth. "Tell us, Osraed Wyth, what were the words of the Meri to you after She bestowed Her Kiss?"

"She said, 'Am I not the Mother of Osraed? From this night you are no longer the son of the woman who bore you. This night, you have become my son, for I have given life to your soul.' She did that."

"And did She extract from you any promises?"

"That I would use the knowledge She gave me well, and ..." He grinned at the memory, causing several of the Osraed to wriggle uncomfortably. "And that I would learn to laugh."

"And what is your Mission, Wyth Arundel?"

"I am to be attached to Halig-liath. I am to protect the Covenant between man and Meri. I am to bring about certain ... reforms in Divine Doctrine. I would prefer not to speak of these things until I've rested. I haven't slept for several days."

"What sort of reforms?" asked Ealad-hach sharply, ignoring Bevol's chairmanship. "Have they do to with admitting cailin to Halig-liath?"

"Ealad, please!" Calach stared at his compatriot in bemusement. "The poor boy is exhausted. Look at him. What an experience he has had! He has obviously been singled out for great honor."

But Ealad-hach would not desist. "Does it mean nothing to you that, according to the testimony of Osraed Bevol, Meredydd-a-Lagan entered the Sea as this boy claims to have done? Does it mean nothing to you that I have dreamed of that event?"

"Meredydd?" echoed Wyth as Osraed Tynedale repeated, "Claims?" Wyth scarcely heard what was said for the next few seconds. He cared only that Osraed Bevol would know what had really happened to Meredydd.

"Meredydd was transformed," he murmured, unthinking. "The Meri told me."

They heard him and poured out as astonished a silence as when he had spoken of the Meri kissing his mouth.

"Transformed?" Even in the semi-dark that hovered protectively about his head, Ealad-hach's face was pale. "In what way, transformed?"

Wyth looked to Bevol. "She said you knew, Master. She said if I asked, you would tell me."

Bevol sat placidly at the center of attention, glancing from face to face, his lips not quite smiling, his eyes revealing nothing. "Yes," he said, "I do know. Meredydd-a-Lagan was transmuted into an Eibhilin form. I saw it happen. Skeet saw it happen. Even Gwynet saw it, though I doubt she understood what she saw, any more than our brother Ealad understands the implications of what he dreamed. I don't doubt the two things are related."

Bevol turned his eyes to Wyth then. "I will tell you of Meredydd's last moments on the Meri's Shore, but later, when you are rested. Then we must discuss the changes the Meri wishes to be made here and your inclusion on the Council."

Wyth felt an odd prickle in the core of his mind. "No, Osraed Bevol. I ... I am not to serve on the Council. I am ... to be Weard to the Covenant."

"Weard to the Covenant?" repeated Faer-wald. "Why? Why does the Covenant need such protection?"

"It simply does or ... it will." The prickle was waning. "I'm not sure yet, exactly," Wyth said apologetically. His head dipped in a moment of habitual self-deprecation. "I can only say it will soon become clear."

"What is clear," said Osraed Faer-wald later, "is that we are once more at a Cusp. A dangerous Cusp." He shook his shaggy, greying head and watched the first-year students scurry cross-court toward the Refectory for the afternoon meal. "The Meri has changed again-in both Aspect and behavior. Such a change is always accompanied by calamity."

"Surely knowing that, we can do something to ameliorate it," suggested Eadmund. "Isn't that most likely to be our role in this-to discern where the tests lie and to rise to them? Imagine, brothers, what blessings would be forthcoming if we can but successfully navigate this treacherous period."

"What?" asked Ealad-hach peevishly. He rubbed his temples and cringed from the glare of sun in the cobbled yard below. "Blessings? How can you see blessings in this situation?"

"I've studied the past Cusps," Eadmund began.

"As we all have," interjected Faer-wald.

"Of course, but I think we must dimly understand their significance. You say that changes in the Meri's Aspect have always been accompanied by dire calamities. Why so? In Cyne Earwyn's time the reason was obvious. He had engaged in war against the Deasach. Cyne Liusadhe wrought unjust vengeance on the innocent kinsman of a traitor."

"And," said Faer-wald, "lest we forget, the Osraed had so completely lost the spark of their purpose that the Meri caused nearly everyone of them to be replaced."

"Are you suggesting that's happened again?" asked the Osraed Kynan.

Eadmund shook his head. "No, but we must consider our own responsibility for this event, if we have one. Have the Osraed displeased the Meri in some way-angered the God that sent Her? Or is the problem somewhere else-among the people, within the other arms of government, perhaps? Consider the reports we've heard from Creiddylad. Consider how the Cyne has repeatedly postponed the General Assembly. Isn't it possible we are being warned of some calamity arising from evil elsewhere so that we might take some action? Or that the whole thing is a test of our spiritual awareness? These things are not mutually exclusive. And consider this: If the Meri was displeased with us, surely She would simply tell us through Her new elect. Yet, She has chosen two Osraed this season and has warned neither of any such displeasure-"

"Ah," interrupted Faer-wald, "but that's not strictly true. She did express displeasure with the socio-economic situation in Creiddylad and is sending Lealbhallain-mac-Mercer there to look into it. And, dare I say it, She is obviously desirous of having female Prentices at Halig-liath-though why She should wait all this time-"

Kynan waved that aside. "Obviously, women haven't had the capacity until now, regardless of what men like Osraed Bevol say. I want to hear Eadmund's point."

"My point is that these Cusps, these periods of difficulty, must be tests, otherwise the Meri would simply and forthrightly tell us what was Her will. The fact that there is any mystery at all supports the idea that we are being willfully placed in a position wherein we must fall back on our spiritual resources."

He glanced about at his listeners for approval and Ealad-hach gave it.

"Osraed Eadmund is right. This outrageous claim of Wyth's can only be understood in that light. Sonship-what is that? A concept without precedent. The Meri is, Herself, the offspring of God. What can it possibly mean to say that Wyth is Her son-that he is God's grandson? Pah!" He gave his temples one last impatient shove, then lowered his hands almost forcibly, shaking the sleeves of his robe down over them. "What disturbs me most, Osraed, what troubles my soul day and night, is that these Cusps always involve women. Always. Every time a female goes to the Sea, there is calamity. I have dreamed of an entire train of women, going back to antiquity, who have visited the Shore. Some were convicted of the Wicke-craft by the highest courts of the land, and yet marched themselves down to the Sea to wait for the Holy One. Night after night, I see them. Condemned by the very act of taking Pilgrimage without leave-"

"Except for Meredydd-a-Lagan," murmured Eadmund.

"What?"

"Except for Meredydd-a-Lagan, who took her Pilgrimage with the permission of the Osraed Council." His eyes were back-lit with hope. "This is significant, brothers. I know it is! Don't you see? Women have gone to the Sea without sanction, without permit, and calamity has always followed. But this time, a cailin went forth with the agreement of the Council, if not," he added, glancing at Ealad-hach, "the blessing of all its members, and almost in response, we are suddenly to be instructed to enroll women at Halig-liath."

"Meredydd-a-Lagan died in the commission of heresy," said Ealad-hach. His voice was a dry old rope, twisted and frayed.

The others glanced at him and tried not to show their discomfort at his open denial of Wyth's Tell.

"Are we to take the position, then, that Wyth Arundel and Bevol are lying?" Osraed Faer-wald's broad brow wrinkled ferociously. He shook his head. "No. No, it's inconceivable. An Osraed lie?"

"An Osraed can be misled by strong emotions. Bevol is an old man-not as old as I, to be sure, but old. He has lost his wife, his child, and a Prentice who was like a daughter to him."

Faer-wald waved his hands as if to ward off the thoughts his crony was voicing. "No, Ealad, I reject that. I reject it. Bevol may be aging, but I will not swear that he is tetched. And Wyth is fresh from the Meri's touch. Her Kiss is almost unbearably luminous on him. How can you accuse him-"

"I do not accuse him," said Ealad-hach testily. "And you're right, of course. It is inconceivable that one of us should lie. No, we must assume that Wyth is giving the Meri's Tell. What we must use all our resources to determine is what that Tell means. We must pray, brothers. We must pray for guidance. Our brother Bevol is right in one thing: We cannot suffer this evil to remain faceless. We must name it before we can fight it."

Eyes closed, the Osraed Wyth savored the caress of wind on his face. Laden with the spices of the river and the silken cool of approaching autumn, it teased and tempted him. He could smell the Backstere's; he could taste the river. He opened his eyes and let them wander the long, high, verdant valley-a bed of green velvet upon which the Halig-tyne and her sentinel woods lay like a necklace of emeralds and silver.

"I feel as if I've been gone a lifetime," he said. "I think I half expected to come home to find my house empty and Halig-liath covered with vines. I thought everything would be changed."

Beside him Bevol smiled and leaned elbows on the sun-warmed parapet. "Everything is changed, Wyth, because you are changed."

Wyth followed his elder's gaze to the bottom of Halig-liath's great mount where the Holy River wound about its base, and where, bright-hued and clean, the doll-sized houses of Nairne cheerfully cluttered her banks. He felt as if he could reach down and snatch that villager just leaving the tavern. Snatch him up and plop him down onto the deck of one of those little, toy fishing boats bobbing along the quay.

"That isn't enough. Not for Her. Not for the Meri. She wants Halig-liath to change-and soon. She wants the order of things to change."

"You will give a full account tomorrow, if you are able."

"Will I also give the Pilgrim's Tell before Cyne Colfre at Mertuile? Or will he send his ambassador up again this year?"

"Ah." Bevol's gaze went down the river and out to Sea, making Wyth suspect he could see all the way to Creiddylad. "Well, as a matter of fact, we have heard nothing from our Cyne about this year's Grand Tell. A message from the Privy Council told us only that our monarch is involved in delicate negotiations with a delegation from the South. That the royal Court may not receive us again this year. There was no mention of any ambassador. I believe you will have to give the Tell to only these hallowed walls and the good citizens of Nairne village." His hands gestured up and back toward the Fortress above them, then swept the panorama below. "If you've no objection, the Osraed Council favors this coming Cirke-dag. Lealbhallain is eager to be off on his mission."

"I'm agreeable," Wyth said. "Will you now tell me about Meredydd?"

Bevol did not take his eyes from the valley. "When you are more rested."

"Please, sir. Don't put me off. I want to know."

Bevol glanced at him askew, then nodded. "Very well. I will tell you of her last moments, as I promised." He took a deep breath. "Come into my sanctum and I will Weave it for you."

Wyth followed the older Osraed back along the parapet and into the cliff face through a doorway laboriously hewn there centuries before. There had been colorful little tiles around it once, but they had discolored in high wind and hard winter or fallen away. Through dim, cool passages smelling of earth musk and time, Bevol led the way to his private chambers, the place he studied and wove inyx, prayed and meditated. With a tingle of delicious longing, Wyth knew he would soon have such a place of his own. He ran a hand along the cool walls-walls that had seen the passage of hundreds of Osraed and felt the caress of their fingers as they went to and fro in the Holy Fortress's secret heart of hearts.

It was to a circular inner chamber within his offices that Bevol led his guest-a room that took light from a series of arcing shafts cut through the native stone above, and ending high on the roof top of the Academy's South Wing. Light cascaded down the paneled walls, leaving the core of the little cell in partial darkness. A palpable darkness, Wyth thought, that seemed to pace the heart of the chamber like a restive cat.

"Please sit," invited Bevol, and Wyth did, finding the padded bench about the perimeter of the circle a more than adequate perch.

Seating himself, Bevol placed something on the floor at the heart of the living darkness and sat back, his eyes on the spot. It was a crystal. One of the largest, clearest crystals Wyth had ever seen-a crystal that seemed to suck the timid light away from the safety of the walls to trap it within.

"I have already described Meredydd's Pilgrimage to you. She did well, though she didn't know it. She chose wisdom as her guide, found the Gwenwyvar, saved Gwynet-a-Blaecdel from certain destruction and found, in herself, the ability to channel healing. Yet, her greatest test came during her vigil."

Bevol's hands moved, drawing Wyth's attention down to the great, clear stone. The thick, light-spangled darkness around it began to eddy. "It was a long, difficult vigil, tested by wind and rain. She confronted loss, guilt, vengeance, self-loathing and love. Do you see her waiting, Wyth?"

"Yes!" he whispered and didn't lie. In the darkness before him, she sat, woven from the warp of the crystal and the woof of Bevol's mind. She sat conversing with ghosts, consorting with her own spirit, expelling her own demons. He saw her mother and father in the parade of wraiths. He saw himself.

"She fought her own exhaustion and lost; she fought a storm to a draw. And when it was over, when she thought herself lost, the Light came into the water. She had been preparing to leave, but there the Meri was."

"Green!" exclaimed Wyth softly. "The Light is emerald green. Leal went the next week and said it was amber. It was amber when I went."

"So it was ...Watch." Bevol directed his gaze back to the pool of vision. "The Light excited Meredydd beyond joy and she leapt up to see if Skeet was watching her Great Moment. But Skeet was watching naught but his own soul slip away."

Wyth could see the boy as Meredydd had seen him, face down in the shallows like a sodden doll. He felt the tearing of her spirit between the advancing Light and the boy's advancing darkness. He watched her make a choice of which he could only say that it was just like her-just like her to use every ounce of herself in one inyx. To sing all of her soul into one duan.

Huddled over Skeet's limp form, she drew Light from the ether and poured it into his failing heart. Then she breathed life into his lungs.

Wyth was amazed to the core. If he had always known Meredydd-a-Lagan was exceptional, he had never suspected she was invested with that powerful a Gift. "But ..." he whispered, "only an Osraed can restore life, and even then ...Has she been accepted without ever having seen the Meri?" He shook his head and spread his fingers toward the aislinn pool in a gesture of bemusement. "What am I seeing?"

"A birth," said Bevol. "Watch. What do you see?"

He saw a darkened empty strand and felt his spirit fall heavily. "The Light is gone. The Meri has abandoned her."

"Ah," breathed Bevol. "Ah, but see-she returns to her post. Steadfast, disciplined, she waits once more until ..."

Until she began to shift uneasily in the sand and rub at her arms as if chilled or in some other discomfort. Until the chafing became fevered and turned to anguished clawing. Until scrapes and scraps and ribbons of cloth began to come away in her hands and fall to the sand. Until there was no cloth left to rend.

Horrified, heart plummeting from throat to stomach, Wyth watched the aislinn Meredydd shred first her clothes, then her flesh until ... until ...

He was astonished and ashamed, rocked by waves of wonder and fear. Her naked, golden radiance was beyond beauty, as if, with clouds torn back, he glimpsed a corner of heaven. He felt as if he had stolen a look at God's face. No, not God's face, but ...

Wyth's breath caught in his lungs as the golden, gleaming Being that had been Meredydd-a-Lagan stepped into a Sea that throbbed with emerald glory to meet a second Eibhilin creature face to face. Together, arm in radiant arm, they slid beneath the waves.

Wyth dared breathe, the air leaving his body reluctantly as if it might never return. "Then it's true. Meredydd is a Being of Light-one with-"

Bevol raised a hand. "But it's not over. Watch."

The waters within Bevol's aislinn pool of tame darkness pulsed and flickered with ghostly lightnings of gold and green. Then, from the roiled brilliance stepped a Being of verdant luminosity. She came to shore, losing her radiance drop by drop until she stood in naked humanity, peering out of the vision pool with laughing green eyes.