Unsettled, Jennifer turned to the impassive profile of the Priestess. “What is it?” she asked. “What are they doing?”
Jaelle smiled thinly. “It is a dance of prophecy. Their fate lies in when they are called.”
“But what—”
“Watch!”
The blindfolded girl, standing straight and tall, was chanting again:
When the wandering fire
Strikes the heart of stone
Will you follow?
Will you leave your home?
Will you leave your life?
This time, when the voice and the dancing stopped together, a deep sound of protest ran through the watching crowd. For the one chosen now was one of the youngest girls. With a toss of her honey-colored hair and a cheerful smile, she stepped into the ring beside the two boys. The taller one placed an arm around her shoulders.
Jennifer turned to Jaelle. “What does it mean?” she asked. “What kind of prophecy…?” The question trailed off.
Beside her the Priestess was silent. There was no gentleness in the lines of her face, nor compassion in her eyes as she watched the children begin to move again. “You ask what it means,” she said at length. “Not much in these soft times, when the ta’kiena is only another game. That last one they now say means only that she will leave the life her family has led.” Her expression was unreadable, but an irony in the tone reached Jennifer.
“What was it before?” she asked.
This time Jaelle did turn to look at her. “The dance has been done by children for longer than anyone can remember. In harsher days that call meant death, of course. Which would be a pity. She’s an attractive child, isn’t she?”
There was a malicious amusement in the voice. “Watch closely,” Jaelle continued. “This last one they truly fear, even now.” And indeed, the people around and behind them had grown suddenly quiet with strained anticipation. In the stillness Jennifer could hear the sounds of laughter from the market, several streets over. It seemed farther than that.
In the circle on the green, the blindfolded girl raised her arm and began the chant for the final time:
When the wandering fire
Strikes the heart of stone
Will you follow?
Will you leave your home?
Will you leave your life?
Will you take… the Longest Road?
The dancing stopped.
Her heart pounding inexplicably, Jennifer saw that the slim finger was pointing unerringly at the boy who had carried the blindfold. Raising his head, as if hearing some far-off music, the boy stepped forward. The girl removed her blindfold. They regarded each other a long moment, then the boy turned, laid a hand, as if in benediction, on the other chosen ones, and walked alone from the green.
Jaelle, watching him go, wore a troubled expression for the first time. Glancing at her unguarded features, Jennifer realized with a start how young the woman beside her was. About to speak, she was checked by the sound of crying, and, turning her head, she saw a woman standing in the doorway of a shop behind them in the lane; there were tears pouring down her face.
Jaelle followed Jennifer’s glance. “His mother,” the Priestess said softly.
Feeling utterly helpless, Jennifer had an instinctive longing to offer comfort to the woman. Their eyes met, and on the face of the other woman Jennifer saw, with an aching twist of new understanding, a distillation of all a mother’s sleepless nights. A message, a recognition, seemed to pass for an instant between the two of them, then the mother of the boy chosen for the Longest Road turned her head away and went into her shop.
Jennifer, struggling with something unexpected, finally asked Jaelle, “Why is she hurting so much?”
The Priestess, too, was a little subdued. “It is difficult,” she said, “and not a thing I understand yet, but they have done the dance twice before this summer, I am told, and both times Finn was chosen for the Road. This is the third, and in Gwen Ystrat we are taught that three times touches destiny.”
Jennifer’s expression drew a smile from the Priestess. “Come,” she said. “We can talk at the Temple.” Her tone was, if not exactly friendly, at least milder than hitherto.
On the verge of accepting, Jennifer was stopped by a cough behind her.
She turned. Diarmuid’s man had moved up to them, sharp concern creasing his face. “My lady,” he said, acutely embarrassed, “forgive me, but might I speak with you in private for a moment.”
“You fear me, Drance?” Jaelle’s voice was like a knife again. She laughed. “Or should I say your master does? Your absent master.”
The stocky soldier flushed, but held his ground. “I have been ordered to watch over her,” he said tersely.
Jennifer looked from one to the other. There was suddenly an electric hostility shimmering in the air. She felt disoriented, understanding none of it.
“Well,” she said to Drance, trying to pick her way, “I don’t want to get you in trouble—why don’t you just come with us?”
Jaelle threw her head back and laughed again, to see the man’s terrified recoil. “Yes, Drance,” she said, her tone coruscating, “why don’t you come to the Temple of the Mother with us?”
“My lady,” Drance stammered, appealing to Jennifer. “Please, I dare not do that… but I must guard you. You must not go there.”
“Ah!” said Jaelle, her eyebrows arched maliciously. “It seems that the men here are already saying what you can or cannot do. Forgive me my invitation. I thought I was dealing with a free visitor.”
Jennifer was not oblivious to the manipulation, and she remembered Kevin’s words that morning as welclass="underline" “There’s some danger here,” he’d said soberly. “Trust Diarmuid’s men, and Matt, of course. Paul says be careful of the Priestess. Don’t go anywhere on your own.”
In the dawn shadows of the palace, it had made a good deal of sense, but now, in bright afternoon sunlight, the whole thing was rankling just a little. Who was Kevin, making his way through the court ladies, then galloping off with the Prince, to tell her to sit tight like a dutiful little girl? And now this man of Diarmuid’s…
About to speak, she remembered something else. She turned to Jaelle. “There seems to be some real concern for our safety here. I would like to place myself under your protection while I visit your Temple. Will you name me a guest-friend before I go?”
A frown flicked across Jaelle’s face, but it was chased away by a slow smile, and there was triumph in her eyes.
“Of course,” she said sweetly. “Of course I will.” She raised her voice so that her words rang out over the street, and people turned to look. Lifting her arms wide, fingers spread, she intoned, “In the name of Gwen Ystrat and the Mormae of the Mother, I name you guest of the Goddess. You are welcome in our sanctuaries, and your well-being shall be my own concern.”
Jennifer looked to Drance, questioningly. His expression was not reassuring; if possible, he appeared even more consternated than before. Jennifer had no idea if she’d done right or wrong, or even of exactly what she’d done, but she was tired of standing in the middle of the street with everyone watching her.
“Thank you,” she said to Jaelle. “In that case, I will come with you. If you like,” she added, turning to Drance, and to Laesha, who had just scurried up, her new gloves in hand and an apprehensive look in her eye, “you can both wait outside for me.”