S. Stirling - The Sword of the Lady

Outside they walked on a country lane. Land rolled around them, green field and wood and orchard. It was like and unlike the land of little farms around his birthplace, like the summers of his remembered boyhood when the chores were done and he lay watching the clouds and dreaming vast formless dreams until his mother called him in for dinner. Far distant mountains climbed steep and blue, their peaks floating like ghosts of white. He thought the silver towers of a city rose in their foothills, tall and slender and crowned with banners. 'And partly you are here to give you heart for what is to come. Much depends on you.' 'Then…' He looked around.'Victory is not assured' Even though we have reached our goal''

Dmwoski shook an admonishing finger.' This is our common goal, my son. And no victory is ever assured until the very last. We are made in His image; and so we have freedom, which must necessarily include the freedom to fail. Adam and Eve walked with Him in unimaginable closeness when time itself was young, and they failed their test. Yet even their failure was redeemed, for mercy is infinite and grace fills all creation.' 'But… forgive me, Father, but if you are here, don't you know whether we succeeded or failed'' 'No. That I am here is… sealed in Eternity, as it were. But how I arrived at this is still-from your point of view-contingent, because it is in Time, not in the eternal Now. Did I die defending the altar at the last, against a tide of triumphant darkness' Did I die of old age, in bed, with you among the watchers, contented and tired and longing for this with hope and confidence' That, my son, is up to you.' 'And where are my companions'' 'They also are being told as much Truth as they can bear, in the words that will mean most to them.' 'As am I'' Ignatius ventured.

Dmwoski laughed again.'There is one God, maker of Heaven and Earth,' he said.'Start with that, my son, for it is absolutely true. But you must build your own faith. That is something only you and God can do together.'

A bird flew from the hedgerow by them, caroling and trailing colorful feathers. Their sandaled feet scuffed through the thick white dust of the road; insects chirped. Beyond the hawthorn barrier apricots glowed like little golden suns in their world of green leaves.

Ignatius shook his head in rueful acknowledgment.'You still reward work accomplished with yet more work, Father!'

They laughed together. He stooped and picked up an acorn: 'I remember, Father, how once you lectured my class of novices and used a seed like this as a simile for the soul. How every stage of the tree's long life was implicit in it, yet never guaranteed before it came to pass'' 'I'm glad you remember. I taught you as best I could… and what I taught you is true. Very true, I find. But not… complete.' 'How could it be'' Ignatius said.'Didn't you tell me also that Truth is a ladder of many rungs, and that from each we gain a new perspective''

The abbot rested a hand on his shoulder; it was a light touch, but the younger monk felt a sudden shock at the depth of the contact. As if he was a ghost, a figment, and the contact had revealed him as unreal, a dream within a dream that strove to wake itself from illusion. 'I tried my best,' Dmwoski said.'I sinned as all men do, and sought forgiveness, and sinned again despite my wishes. Yet perhaps the most important thing I accomplished in my life was my part in forming you, my son.' 'That… is a humbling thought.'

Dmwoski snorted.'It should be! I merely had to be the best possible version of myself. For every day of your life, you must strive to be the chosen Knight of the Immaculata!' 'Yes,' Ignatius said, and was elsewhere.

Rudi Mackenzie made another step, and another. Arrows drifted past him, and he could see them turn as the fletching caught the air. He cast away the world-huge weight of his shield and knocked the sallet helm off his head. Their clatter on the cobbles was distant, like the beating of surf on beaches a world away. Mathilda staggered beside him, then slid to the ground and crawled, dogged and brave, and her love like a force behind him, pushing him forward into a world of resistant amber. A building loomed, handsome and simple, three stories of red brick with white pillars beside the door.

The door swung open, and light blazed from it. His hand went up before his eyes, but the light shone through it, through him, as if it were real and he a shadow. Within it was a shape, straight sweep of tapering blade, crescent guard, long double-lobed hilt, pommel of moon opal grasped in antlers. Pain keened into his ears, his eyes, his mind. A lifetime of it passed in each step. His foot touched the first step, the second, the threshold'Mother'' Rudi Mackenzie said, walking forward.

The three figures around the campfire looked up at him. His eyes flicked back and forth. The fire killed some of his night vision; he could sense huge trees rearing skyward, like the Douglas fir in the Cascades above Dun Juniper but grander still and with more deeply furrowed reddish bark. Scents like spice and thyme and flowers drifted on air just cool enough to make him glad of his plaid.

He glanced down for an instant. He was in shirt and kilt and plaid. The short slight redheaded figure in the middle wore a shift and arsaid, and leaned on a rowan staff topped by a silver raven's head. On her left was a tall thin woman with black skin and broad features scored by age, her cropped cap of white hair tight-kinked, wearing unfamiliar clothes that had the look of a uniform. On her right was a not-quite-girl of a little less than his own age, long-limbed and blond and comely, in a strange outfit of string skirt, knit tunic, feathers and a necklace of amber-centered gold disks. 'Mother'' he asked again.

Then the wholeness of what he was seeing caught him. Three women, youthful and matronly and aged… 'Yes,' the one who bore the countenance of Juniper Mackenzie said. 'I am.' 'Are you-' He hesitated.'Are you my mother' Or… Her''

His hand moved in a sign. She answered it.'And the answer to that, my lad, is… yes!'

Impish amusement glinted in her green eyes for a second. The black woman snorted; there was something about her that reminded him of Sam Aylward, though there was no physical resemblance at all. When she spoke there was a soft drawl to her words: 'Call me a Crone, and you're toast, bukra boy.'

Rudi didn't know what a bukra was, but he suspected the word-she prounced it as bookra — wasn't a compliment.

He brought the back of his right hand to his brows. 'As you wish, Wise One,' he said-which was just another name for the eldest of the Three. 'Damn, but it's annoying to be just a person again when you're used to being an archetype. Or vice versa. I suppose we had to. I feel like someone has squeezed me down into a can of Coke.'

She looked at her own hands, flexing the fingers as if the sensation were unfamiliar. 'Marian, how long have we known each other'' the blond girl said, a soft purling lilt in her tones. 'Forty-seven years, or untold billions, depending on how you define we and know.' 'And either way you're still a grouch.'

She smiled at Rudi.'And they called me Deer Dancer, in my day. I died three thousand years before your birth, on another turn of the Wheel. I was the Maiden sacrifice, and I was the Mother who loves, and in my age I tossed silver hair to dance down the Moon. Now I wear this face of Her once more, for a little while.'

Two ravens soared down from the branches and landed on one of the logs that flanked the fire, preening and grooming themselves. Somewhere a wolf howled. Sparks drifted upward, into boughs underlit by the flames, towards stars larger and brighter-colored than any he'd seen before; yet that paled beside the shining glory of a full moon. Despite the darkness, what he could see was hard-edged, somehow more definite than any vision by the light of common day.