[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
said, "can do the same. Jupiter, Juno, Neptune, Mercury, Vesta, Pluto."
There was a great flash of light and color and they were gone, had been gone
for some time. Only the five young maidens were left, the young goddesses,
embodied virtues. "Well done," Arete said softly.
"That should last for a few hundreds of years," the youngest said, "or as long
as the Romans remain temples of virtue and honor."
"What about you?"
"Oh, we already have our Latin names: Virtus, Amicitia, Spes, Fortuna,
Sapientia."
"Sophia, in Greek," the littlest maiden said, leaving Cynthia to wonder how
Wisdom could be so young until she took a look into her eyes.
"Now, then," Arete said, "there's the matter of your fee."
Cynthia shrugged. "I can say I've put my head into the lion's mouth and
brought it out again. What I really want isn't in your gift."
"Well, no. Kore, I mean Proserpina, wasn't here today, was she?"
"No. I haven't seen her in a while."
"She's probably in Eleusis," Sophia said.
"You could go there," Philia said.
"I'm not Orpheus," Cynthia said. She glanced at the sun, barely a
handsbreadth above the horizon. "I've missed my ship anyway. And he didn't
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succeed either, did he?" And crying aloud, "But if I had his chance, my head
would fall from my shoulders before I turned it to look back."
"Go to Eleusis and ask," said Tyche. "There's always a chance."
"We'll all come and speak for you."
"And meanwhile " Sophia held out a little coin, tarnished bronze and not
worth much, and gave it to Tyche.
"When you get back into the town, you'll see a merchant on a red carpet,
offering for sale a very poor statue
of Aunt Artemis," said Tyche. She gave the coin to Arete.
"Buy it with this." And Arete pressed the coin into Cynthia's hand, and for
several long moments that was the only solid thing there was, as the red light
of sunset washed her in a sea of flame.
When she could see again, she was standing at the edge of the dock, her feet
on the pavement, her bag on her shoulder, the coin in her hand. Beside her
sat the merchant on the red rug. She tossed him the coin the man smiled
and picked up the battered figure of Artemis. It was unusually heavy for a
piece of clay, and it was no surprise when by chance she stumbled over her
threshold and dropped the thing. It shattered and spilled out a hoard of gold
coins: enough to fill all the empty places in her hem, enough to get her to
Athens or even farther. Eleusis, for instance. She stripped off the honey-wet
gown and put on the old worn one. Enough even to spend a little at the next
market Samos, probably.
She undogged her window latch and let in the salt breeze and the sun's last
hour of light. What had the other maiden's name been, the one who seldom
spoke? Elpis, that was it: Hope. Outside the anchor thudded on the wooden
deck and the captain shouted to raise sail. Eleusis, maybe, and back again.
THE WILL OF THE WIND
by Christina Krueger
Almost every year I get half a dozen stories which take place in a school of
sorcery, and every year I resolve not to print any more and then a story like
this one comes along, and I find I have to print just one more.
Christina seems to have thought out more carefully than usual what would
be the curriculum in such a school, and how the students would react to it. I
think it was Ted Sturgeon who defined the art of fiction as that of creating
"passionate emotional relationships," which is as good a way of describing it
as any and better than most. Ted has left us now, but his legacy as a great
and a wise writer lingers on.
Master Stormcaller Yvarlin Grayfeather swept into the room and silenced her
chattering class with a brisk snap! of her white-and-gray wings before folding
them against her back.
The twelve acolytes settled, and the avir priestess began the day's lessons in
the meditation and emotional discipline necessary for controlling the fickle
element Air. Those blessed with the Windlady's Gifts were fey and
temperamental by nature, and a great deal of patient effort was needed to
a
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Click here to buy
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help them grow into their abilities. Yvarlin inwardly glowed with pride as she
worked with her talented group, all of whom were nearing graduation.
This year's students were all Mage talents, with no candidates for the
Priesthood. Yvarlin accepted this with equanimity, knowing through long
experience not to question the will of the Gods. With one exception.
That exception sat at the students' common table with his hands folded
before him, his black eyes bright with intelligence. This student possessed
such a natural ease with Air that he didn't need instruction so much as simple
guidance. Yvarlin relished the chance to work with such a gifted pupil, but she
often felt a surge of bitterness for the unfairness of his situation.
Sallik Citarha was of the shape-shifting nimir, a people faced with even more
prejudice and misunderstanding than the winged avir. He had been born
tayec, which meant "Balanced One" in the nimir tongue. The hermaphroditic
tayec were born only once in a handful of generations and were treated with
near-worship. Tayec children were raised in a cloistered environment of awe
and mysticism, and were groomed from infancy to become shamans and
oracles. Unfortunately, such children had little chance to be children, or to be
cherished for themselves.
Nimir were the children of Amaevith Earth Mother, and they rarely [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl rafalstec.xlx.pl
said, "can do the same. Jupiter, Juno, Neptune, Mercury, Vesta, Pluto."
There was a great flash of light and color and they were gone, had been gone
for some time. Only the five young maidens were left, the young goddesses,
embodied virtues. "Well done," Arete said softly.
"That should last for a few hundreds of years," the youngest said, "or as long
as the Romans remain temples of virtue and honor."
"What about you?"
"Oh, we already have our Latin names: Virtus, Amicitia, Spes, Fortuna,
Sapientia."
"Sophia, in Greek," the littlest maiden said, leaving Cynthia to wonder how
Wisdom could be so young until she took a look into her eyes.
"Now, then," Arete said, "there's the matter of your fee."
Cynthia shrugged. "I can say I've put my head into the lion's mouth and
brought it out again. What I really want isn't in your gift."
"Well, no. Kore, I mean Proserpina, wasn't here today, was she?"
"No. I haven't seen her in a while."
"She's probably in Eleusis," Sophia said.
"You could go there," Philia said.
"I'm not Orpheus," Cynthia said. She glanced at the sun, barely a
handsbreadth above the horizon. "I've missed my ship anyway. And he didn't
a
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T
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B
B
A
A
Click here to buy
Click here to buy
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succeed either, did he?" And crying aloud, "But if I had his chance, my head
would fall from my shoulders before I turned it to look back."
"Go to Eleusis and ask," said Tyche. "There's always a chance."
"We'll all come and speak for you."
"And meanwhile " Sophia held out a little coin, tarnished bronze and not
worth much, and gave it to Tyche.
"When you get back into the town, you'll see a merchant on a red carpet,
offering for sale a very poor statue
of Aunt Artemis," said Tyche. She gave the coin to Arete.
"Buy it with this." And Arete pressed the coin into Cynthia's hand, and for
several long moments that was the only solid thing there was, as the red light
of sunset washed her in a sea of flame.
When she could see again, she was standing at the edge of the dock, her feet
on the pavement, her bag on her shoulder, the coin in her hand. Beside her
sat the merchant on the red rug. She tossed him the coin the man smiled
and picked up the battered figure of Artemis. It was unusually heavy for a
piece of clay, and it was no surprise when by chance she stumbled over her
threshold and dropped the thing. It shattered and spilled out a hoard of gold
coins: enough to fill all the empty places in her hem, enough to get her to
Athens or even farther. Eleusis, for instance. She stripped off the honey-wet
gown and put on the old worn one. Enough even to spend a little at the next
market Samos, probably.
She undogged her window latch and let in the salt breeze and the sun's last
hour of light. What had the other maiden's name been, the one who seldom
spoke? Elpis, that was it: Hope. Outside the anchor thudded on the wooden
deck and the captain shouted to raise sail. Eleusis, maybe, and back again.
THE WILL OF THE WIND
by Christina Krueger
Almost every year I get half a dozen stories which take place in a school of
sorcery, and every year I resolve not to print any more and then a story like
this one comes along, and I find I have to print just one more.
Christina seems to have thought out more carefully than usual what would
be the curriculum in such a school, and how the students would react to it. I
think it was Ted Sturgeon who defined the art of fiction as that of creating
"passionate emotional relationships," which is as good a way of describing it
as any and better than most. Ted has left us now, but his legacy as a great
and a wise writer lingers on.
Master Stormcaller Yvarlin Grayfeather swept into the room and silenced her
chattering class with a brisk snap! of her white-and-gray wings before folding
them against her back.
The twelve acolytes settled, and the avir priestess began the day's lessons in
the meditation and emotional discipline necessary for controlling the fickle
element Air. Those blessed with the Windlady's Gifts were fey and
temperamental by nature, and a great deal of patient effort was needed to
a
a
T
T
n
n
s
s
F
F
f
f
o
o
D
D
r
r
P
P
m
m
Y
Y
e
e
Y
Y
r
r
B
B
2
2
.
.
B
B
A
A
Click here to buy
Click here to buy
w
w
m
m
w
w
o
o
w
w
c
c
.
.
.
.
A
A
Y
Y
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Y
Y
B
B
r r
help them grow into their abilities. Yvarlin inwardly glowed with pride as she
worked with her talented group, all of whom were nearing graduation.
This year's students were all Mage talents, with no candidates for the
Priesthood. Yvarlin accepted this with equanimity, knowing through long
experience not to question the will of the Gods. With one exception.
That exception sat at the students' common table with his hands folded
before him, his black eyes bright with intelligence. This student possessed
such a natural ease with Air that he didn't need instruction so much as simple
guidance. Yvarlin relished the chance to work with such a gifted pupil, but she
often felt a surge of bitterness for the unfairness of his situation.
Sallik Citarha was of the shape-shifting nimir, a people faced with even more
prejudice and misunderstanding than the winged avir. He had been born
tayec, which meant "Balanced One" in the nimir tongue. The hermaphroditic
tayec were born only once in a handful of generations and were treated with
near-worship. Tayec children were raised in a cloistered environment of awe
and mysticism, and were groomed from infancy to become shamans and
oracles. Unfortunately, such children had little chance to be children, or to be
cherished for themselves.
Nimir were the children of Amaevith Earth Mother, and they rarely [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]