The Eternal Song, Part Twelve: Priestess
As if welcoming a guest to her home, Riadne had swept the cave’s floor and had brought pine branches inside. The fragrant branches both decorated the altar and covered the uneven granite; it was still very much a work in progress. The only finished area was the central pedestal where the Goddess statue now stood. The crystal formation above the altar sparkled with a clear light radiating from the statue’s head. An illusion created by the angle of sunlight through a crack in the cave wall, it looked so realistic that Riadne might have believed the icon glowed with its own light, had she not known better.
Three long rows of urns, all freshly dusted, occupied the right side of the cave. On the left the stone floor was still bare, except for Riadne’s hammer and chisel, which she had placed in the corner along with her broom and dustcloth. She also had a jug, painted like the urns in bright colors, for carrying water from a nearby stream.
Riadne’s visitor crouched down to enter the cave’s narrow opening and then stood up inside, rather slowly, her bright hazel eyes taking in the scene. The hood of her cloak had fallen to her shoulders, revealing thin hair gone fully gray. Her name was Hulda; she was the second-eldest of the Grandmothers and had been the priestess of the temple in the valley. She had taught Riadne to read and write, along with many other girls and a few boys over the years. Like any other skilled craft, Hulda had lectured her young students, writing demanded both love and precision. Simply rendering the bare shapes of the glyphs was not enough. One had to put one’s spirit into them, forming each stroke with joyful appreciation for the object or action that the glyph represented. Writing, properly done, was both a gift of magic from the Gods and a way of showing one’s gratitude to them.
“Ah! A garland of light. You do the Earth Mother honor.”
Hulda turned aside from the altar and surveyed the urns with their simple pastoral scenes before adding, “You show the truth of our people’s lives also. The brushes of the ancient storytellers told tales no less real in their day. When the Dawn-god came down from the mountain in the shape of a unicorn, welcoming our ancestors to this island from distant shores, so it was set down in the scrolls at the village’s founding. Yet those of us who have not walked with gods can speak only to what we have seen.”
The crystal now glowed only at its highest point, as the sun sank lower outside the cave’s front wall. Riadne watched its light fade, thinking of gods and legends, and wondering how far she could trust what her own senses told her.
She went back outside with Hulda, kneeling to crawl through the tiny doorway and then walking through the tunnel formed by the pine trees. For once there was no wind on the mountain’s high slopes. The afternoon sun felt pleasantly warm on this early spring day. Riadne pushed up her sleeves, enjoying the warmth. Hulda looked at her hands, work-roughened and crisscrossed with pale scars, some of which extended over her wrists and up onto her forearms.
“Those scars should have been mine.” Hulda spoke quietly, gazing down upon the low clouds that almost always covered the forest. “But I couldn’t bear the thought of breaking the urns. When Awiyan told me that you went to get the scrolls, I left the village with the others, instead of going to the temple as I should have done. I failed to carry out my duty. After that, ashamed of my failure, I gave you no help in your tasks here.”
Riadne let her sleeves fall, covering most of the scars. The hem of each sleeve of her cloak had been embroidered in blue with a border of interlocking circles, a symbol of eternity.
“You have made no accusations against me, in all the months you labored here alone,” Hulda continued, “but we both know this to be true. And it will not be long before my resolve is tested once again, with decisions even more difficult. Eldest Grandmother falters. Her mind and spirit are still strong, but her body is nearly spent. She will not see another Midsummer. Soon the task of protecting the People in these times of danger will fall to me, and I must be ready for it. No matter how hard it may be, when the time comes to act, I shall not fail again. This I vow.”
Hulda glanced back toward the hidden cave before she spoke once more.
“You are the Earth Mother’s priestess now, Riadne.”
Part Eleven: Scout.
Part Ten: Lost.
Part Nine: Mountain.
Part Eight: Forest.
Part Seven: Shards and Dust.
Part Six: Warning.
Part Five: Gifts.
Part Four: Midsummer.
Part Three: Hunters or Hunted.
Part Two: Rehearsal.
Part One: Beauty.
Gwen McKay on 07/13/11 in Art/Play/Myth, featured | 2 Comments | Read More
Comments (2)
Still going strong.
Thanks!