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She returned to the letter:?Therefore I say that he shall be the better for the trials he has met and shall meet and I would spare him none of them; for unless a man be tested to the utmost, none may know what hidden weakness lies in him; nor may he know his own strength. On his testing and his strength much will turn. Devils seek to rule men; the Gods give us opportunities to rule ourselves, which is infinitely more difficult, and to assist each other upward through the cycles, which is harder still. I think your son may be equal to this task, when his testing is complete.? ?Cryptic,? Nigel said. ?No, my love. Some things have to be said in such fashion. I like the man?s style, sure. And he?s shrewd. We owe him a debt, for the rescue and the care of our folk and the help they gave.? ?He wasn?t entirely disinterested, old girl,? Nigel said dryly. ?His people are having their problems with the Prophet and the CUT as well.?
Their daughters came in-Maude, calm and quiet at fourteen, with hair halfway between brown and dark auburn, and yellow-locked Fiorbhi
Juniper?s fingers moved unconsciously as if on strings, while she wove the girl?s words into a song she?d been making. How much of the letter to put into it? The earlier ones she?d made of Rudi?s journey had already traveled from here to the Protectorate and back, sometimes with changes that surprised her. Then she?d weave them anew…
Fiorbhi
Nigel knew as well.?Have you considered what you?re doing, Juniper?? he said quietly.
The girls huddled together over the pages she?d allowed them-there were a few things in the letter she didn?t want anyone else seeing just yet, and a few others not for a child?s eyes. They whispered excitedly to each other, reading out the choice bits, gasping when their elder half brother was in peril, Fiorbhi
Nigel shook his head.?You?re putting his name on everyone?s lips from woods-ru
His gaze turned inward for a moment, and then he quoted from a poet they both loved: ?And yet half a beast is the great God Pan
To laugh as he sits by the river;
Making a legend out of a man.
The true Gods weep for the loss and the pain
For the reed that will never grow again
As a reed, with the reeds, by the river.?
Juniper sighed and closed her eyes for a second.?I know,? she said softly.?And it?s a bitter thing to do to a child you love.? ?If it?s any consolation, my darling, Rudi would do the job very well indeed.?
Unwilling, she laughed.?No consolation at all… well, not much. But there?s no choice in the matter, none at all. I?m a musician, and before that a mother… but at seventh and last, I am Her priestess, though that road lead through the hard and stony places.?
Nigel picked up a letter that bore Edain Aylward?s laborious scrawl on its envelope of coarse handmade paper.?I?ll send this along to Sam; he?s out observing the maneuvers. He?ll be pleased at how young Edain?s done.? ?Proud as punch,? Juniper said, grateful for the distraction.?As proud as I am of Rudi, and with near as much reason.? ?Proud as punch, but in a very understated way.? ?He?s English, poor man.?
When she was alone in the upper room, Juniper read Mathilda?s letter and smiled, as much at the things not said as the words themselves. She murmured those aloud to herself: ?Rudi and I keep thinking how nice it would be if we could just go off together and start a farm, or run an i
Juniper chuckled to herself:?Since we were kids! Says the withered crone of twenty-three!?
Then she continued reading:?Maybe it?s that we?re so far away from home, and duties, and rank-so that it?s just us now.?
She sat in thought on the bench before her big loom where the brightest lantern hung, turning the paper between her fingers and thinking. Thinking long enough that the flame died down, and she needed to stand and adjust the wick in a smell of scorched linen and oil.
She had loved Sandra Arminger?s child as if she were her own-perhaps not more than that strange weaver of secrets and hidden plans did, but more warmly, and she believed she?d had some hand in the shaping of a young woman they could both be proud of.
Foster daughter, you were never just a pawn in the game of thrones. How I would delight to see my grandchild in your arms! Friendship, love… it?s odd how they can tip the one into the other. And Love is a tricksy God, wearing more faces than the stars or the leaves of autumn or the snowflakes in winter, terrible and beautiful, sweet or deadly. Even your evil tuilli of a father truly loved you, I think; the one wholly good thing he did in all his monstrous, wicked life. What one of Their gifts brings us more joy, or more suffering, than love? Love between you and my son there has always been, since first you came here captive, proud little spitfire that you were! So brave and so lonely, and Rudi was your only friend. But not passion of that sort, not until now… though thrown together in desperate peril as you?ve been…
She stood and went to face the northern wall, where her Book of Shadows stood on its lectern, and her private altar with the blue-mantled figure of the Ever-Changing One crowned with the Triple Moon, and the Horned God dancing in ecstasy amid skyclad worshippers with the panpipes to his lips. She unpi
A questioning, like a pressure on her soul. She drew a breath and went on: ?Give him this, at least, on the road You have chosen, the one he has chosen to walk willingly with open eyes, consenting to his fate. Let him know the sweet before the bitter. Let him know the arms of a lover who loves him heart-deep, with mind and soul and body. Let him know the gladdest and deepest Mystery; let him see the child of his love born and raised up before Your altar for the naming. So mote it be.?