This is a handy collection of the stories about Idair, in the order in which they are purported to appear in the Chronicles. Some of these only exist as references; some have actually been told, and links for those will take you to the stories themselves. Of course, those links contain spoilers for the novels, so don't peek until you've read 'em in context.
The Coming (First Scroll)
The First
Flower
The Naming (First Scroll)
Idair and the Gold (First
Scroll)
The Delivery (Second Scroll)
Iandar and the
Thief
The Freeing of
Anron (Third Scroll)
Injunction Against Proselytizing (Fourth
Scroll)
Idair and the Temple
Sincil and
Anron (Sixth Scroll)
Sincil's Choice
The Burning
(Seventh Scroll)
First Instructions (Seventh Scroll)
For the love of Idair and in the name of the Spirit which we will never know, we begin the story of Idair who made us. And we will tell you how she came to us, and what she taught us, and how she fought the Dark One, and how she returned, and how with her fire we go on.
And because when we speak of Idair we would speak only the truth, we tell you first the things that we do not know.
We do not know who she was, before she was Idair.
We do not know where she was, before she was here.
We do not know where she went, after she returned.
We do not know where we will go, after we are gone.
We do not know why she was not always with us.
These things we do not know, and there are many others, and we cannot write them all, for the things we do not know increase daily even as the things we do know.
This thing we do know. One day, we needed her, and she came.
On the day Idair came, Sincil was in the forest drawing water from the stream. And she was alone at that time, for she lived in a house in the midst of the trees and if there was a village nearby, she did not know its name or how to find it. And as she was drawing water, and wondering as she often did who had made the water, and why, and whether the stream would always be there, she heard a noise, as if a wild animal were caught in a thicket.
And Sincil set the pail down by the stream, and listened. The noise she had heard she did not hear again; but as she was lifting the pail, she heard the voice of another woman, and it seemed to be crying out in alarm.
And although Sincil was frightened, she said to herself, ‘She seems to be in trouble; and if it were myself in trouble, I would want someone to come to me.’ And so she took her pail and walked toward the sound of the voice.
There was at the top of the hill a great tilu tree whose branches were full of blue-green leaves. Sincil went often to sit under that tree, wondering to herself about this or that. And when she saw that underneath the tree, there was a woman standing, she thought for a moment that perhaps it was herself. But then she thought, ‘it cannot be myself, it must be someone else.’ And so she called out to her, ‘Can I help?’
The woman turned her face toward Sincil, and Sincil was full of wonder, for it seemed to her as if this woman was very strange, and her hair was fiery red, but her face was very pale, and she was trembling.
‘I do not know,’ said the other woman.
And Sincil said to her, ‘Perhaps I can help you, if you tell me what it is that you need? I heard you cry out, and you seem frightened.’
‘I am frightened,’ said the woman, although she was no longer trembling.
And they looked at each other, and finally the other woman said, ‘Can you tell me where I am, and who you are?’
And if Sincil thought these were strange questions, she said nothing, but simply answered, ‘You are in our country, and I am Sincil.’
And as the sound of her name seemed to mean something to the other woman, Sincil said, ‘Do I know you?’
And the other woman answered, ‘You do, and you do not.’
And before Sincil could ask what she meant, the other woman said, ‘I am sorry; I have had a shock, and my mind is not right. Please do not mind what I say.
Sincil nodded, and said to her, ‘Why do you not come with me to my house, for you look as if you need to rest.’
‘Thank you,’ said the other woman. ‘You are kind.’
And they went back to Sincil’s house, and as they were sitting by the hearth eating Sincil’s bread and drinking water from the stream, she said to Sincil, ‘Do you live here all alone?’
‘Yes,’ said Sincil. ‘I have always lived here all alone.’
‘Always?’ said the woman.
‘As long as I can remember,’ Sincil answered.
‘Where are your parents?’ asked the woman.
‘Parents?’ asked Sincil, for she did not understand.
‘Your father and mother. Where are they?’
And Sincil frowned, for she was puzzled, and she said, ‘I do not understand. What is a father? What is a mother?’
And the other woman looked as if she were greatly startled, and she said, ‘You do not remember a man and a woman, who took care of you when you were a child?’
And Sincil understood at last, and she said, ‘When I was a child, there was a man who went out to hunt, and he brought me food, and made me clothing. I think it was he who built this house. Is that a father?’
‘Yes,’ said the woman, ‘I think that must be who I mean.’
‘He is gone,’ said Sincil. ‘He went hunting one day, and did not return.’
And the woman seemed saddened to hear this. And Sincil asked, because she was curious, ‘What is a mother?’
The woman said, ‘You do not remember a woman, who was with your father, and helped him care for you?’
‘I do not,’ said Sincil. ‘Is that a mother?’
And the woman looked as if she were about to answer, and then she stopped, and thought for a time, and then began the answer again.
‘There are two ways to be a mother,’ said the woman. ‘One way is to give birth to a child, and the other is to bring one up. Often a mother does both things; but sometimes only one or the other.’
‘What does that mean, ‘give birth’?’ asked Sincil.
And the woman said to her, ‘It is long to explain, but I will try.’
And after the woman had explained to her what birth was, Sincil was thoughtful, and said, ‘It sounds as if it must be painful.’
‘It is,’ said the woman.
‘Why must it be painful?’
And the woman paused, as if she were surprised by the question. Then she said, ‘Because it matters; and anything that matters is painful.’
‘Then why do mothers give birth?’ asked Sincil.
‘Some because they must, and others because they wish to,’ the woman answered.
‘Why do they wish to?’ Sincil went on.
‘Because they would like to have children to care for,’ the woman answered.
And Sincil understood this, for she thought that it would be a good thing to have someone to care for. ‘Did I have a mother then?’
‘You must have,’ said the woman.
‘Why do I not know her?’ said Sincil, as she began to feel sad.
‘I am not sure,’ said the woman.
‘Perhaps I never had one, after all?’
‘You must have had one. You must have come from somewhere.’
And Sincil found that the other woman had become very quiet. And it looked to her as if the other woman was saddened, as if she had done hurt to someone without meaning to. And because she wished to make the woman less sad, Sincil said to her, ‘What should I call you?’
And the woman looked at her, and Sincil noticed for the first time that her eyes were green, and that fear and sorrow seemed to be melting in them.
‘Call me Idair,’ she answered.
‘It is a strange word,’ Sincil replied. ‘Does it mean something?’
‘Yes,’ said Idair.
‘What does it mean?’ Sincil asked, because she suddenly wanted to know.
And Idair looked as if she would not like to answer. But then she said, ‘It means that I am the woman who made you.’
Sincil did not understand what Idair had said. And yet she felt happy. And she smiled at Idair, and said to her, ‘Does that mean you will be a friend to me?’
And Idair said, ‘Yes. Always.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sincil. ‘I have long wanted one.’
‘I am sorry for that,’ Idair answered. ‘I should have come sooner.’
And as Sincil wondered what that meant, Idair stood, and said, ‘What is it that you eat for your evening meal? I would like to help you make it.’
‘I will show you,’ said Sincil.
And they went out together. And there were many things that Sincil did not understand. But she was happy, for she was glad to have a friend.”
Sincil was much with Idair in those first days, because Sincil's little house was remote and she lived in it quite alone, her parents having both died without giving her any brothers or sisters. And so one morning when the sun was warm and the leaves of the trees were a sunny green, Sincil walked with Idair down to the brook that ran through the forest, and they happened to pass through a clearing.
Sincil was continuing on, but she realized that Idair was not behind her, and turned to look after her. And Idair was standing in the middle of the tall grass, which stretched unbroken in a yellow-green carpet from one edge to the other, and she said, 'I am sorry--I am just trying to think of what it is that is not right.'
And Sincil was patient, for in the time that she had known Idair she had often seen her stand thus perplexed, and although she thought that Idair must be a very strange woman she was fond of her. So she waited until Idair said, 'I see now what it was. Never mind, lead on.'
But Sincil was curious, and she asked, 'What is it about that field, that you thought was wrong?'
'It is a small thing, and does not matter,' Idair said. 'It is just that a field like that ought to have flowers; and there are none, which is strange, for it seems to be springtime.'
Sincil had many questions, but the first she asked was, 'What is a flower?'
Idair looked at her in astonishment, and she said, 'You have never seen a flower?'
And Sincil was a little daunted, for it seemed as if Idair expected her to know what this thing was, that she had never heard of, and she said, 'If you tell me what it is, then perhaps I will know how to answer you.'
Idair paused, and it seemed as if she were about to speak, but had stopped, and started again, and stopped, as if she were worried to choose the right words.
'A flower is something that...for a plant to bear fruit, it must be made fertile, and the bees must help, and so there is the flower...' And as she saw that for all her kindness and wish to be courteous Sincil was none the wiser, Idair stopped and began again.
'Where I come from,
When the sun is warm,
And the young shoots
Stir in the loosened earth,
Reaching thin and sharp
Into the light,
You can see, closed up
Inside the green skin
A hard knot of color;
Leaves but not leaves,
Softer and brighter,
Held tight and secret
Against the cold world.
This is a flower,
A jewel hidden bright
In its green veil,
Waiting to bloom
Into something new.
And
Sincil thought she understood now, and would have spoken, but Idair went on:
'When the time comes,
The leaves part,
And give up the bud
To light and the air;
And the closed fist opens.
Among the petals
Fragrance moves;
Light dips its brush in
Their brightening colors.
But loosening circlets
Of silk and scent
Still cup that center,
Uncountable petals
Folding soft and hard
In on themselves.
This
is a flower;
Magic half-ready,
Holding and held
In your eyes, open
now
To your curious hands and
The breath of the breeze,
Curled
around power
Unshed and unburst.'
Sincil wondered was she finished,
but her hands were still moving in the air, and it seemed as if she would go on,
and Sincil found herself held by the words, even if she was not sure she
understood, and rather hoping she would continue. And so she did:
'And
then when those layers
Unfold from the center,
In ring after ring, in
the
Flush of wide bloom
And that hidden inside
Spreads itself on the
wind
That ruffles the riot
Of loose-shaken petals--
What laughs
itself into
Bright joy, having opened
Its heart to the magic
That
only it answers,
Beautiful now in
Abandon, abundance--
Beautiful
always,
As bud, bloom, or blossom--
This is a flower,
A thing
with no reason
To be, an extravagance
Nobody needs;
Brief-lived, a
month in
Its birth, a few days in
Its death, scattered out
On the
wind...
I called it a small thing
That did not matter;
I think now
that was
A mistake; though your world
Does go on, it may be
That
what's fragile, what's born
To be lost, and what nobody
Needs, the way
bodies
Need food, is what's most
Necessary...'
Sincil expected
more, but Idair was still in thought, and so she cast her eyes about as she was
waiting. And she saw, in the middle of the clearing, that there was a thicket of
brambles, and she saw also that among the dark green leaves there was yellow,
gathered into clusters at the ends of some of the stems. And she went to the
brambles, and when she reached them she saw that there were little islands of
soft yellow leaves that were not leaves. And so she turned, and as Idair was
still quiet and not speaking, Sincil ventured to say, 'These here among the
brambles, would these be flowers?'
Idair looked up, and she saw the
brambles, and suddenly it was as if she were greatly astonished, or mightily
afraid, and she said, 'Yes...yes, those are flowers.' And Sincil smiled, pleased
that she had known them when she saw them, and said, 'They are very pretty; I
have never seen anything like this before.'
And after a moment Idair
said, 'Where I come from, these are called roses. It is a name for a kind of
flower; there are many kinds, and each kind has its name. Some must be
cultivated, but some grow wild, scattered profligate over fields like this
one...'
Idair gestured wide with her arm, and Sincil saw that flowers
appeared in the field, tall and short, purple and pink and red, hidden among the
grasses or nodding above them. And she said, 'I am glad to see them; I will look
for them more carefully.'
And then as Idair seemed to be frozen as if
with some kind of dread, Sincil became worried, and asked her, 'But what is
wrong? They are very beautiful.'
And Idair said, 'I am frightened.'
Sincil said, 'Of the flowers?'
'Of myself,' said Idair.
Sincil looked at her, and said to her, 'I see that you are; but I do not
see why. I am not frightened of you.'
'That is lucky,' said Idair. 'I am
grateful.'
Sincil turned to walk on, and Idair followed her. And Sincil
said, 'You say that it seems to be springtime?'
Idair said, 'Yes.'
'What is "springtime?" '
But Idair shook her head, and said,
'Please, ask me later.' And they walked on."
And so by the time night fell, Idair and Cailte and Sincil were very tired. So that when they saw a large house standing in a clearing at the edge of the wood, with a candle in its windows, Idair did not even hesitate, but went up to the door and rapped on it with her own hand.
And the door opened, and inside was a tall man with a rough brown beard, who looked at them with the eyes of a mistrustful man, and said, 'Who are you, and what do you abroad here at this hour of the night?'
'My name is Idair,' she answered, 'and I am doing nothing, aside from looking for shelter for me and for my friends, who have walked with me a long time today.'
'And would you be looking for it here?' said the man, glancing at them with an eye of disfavor, because they were besmirched with the mud of the roads.
'We are,' Idair answered. 'If you are too mean, or too frightened, to let us stay in your house for the night, which looks large enough, then we will move on, and there will be an end of it.'
And the man looked at Cailte, who seemed very tired, and Sincil, who looked as if she were ready to cry with fatigue, and said, 'I suppose you must come in, it would be unlucky to refuse you.'
And Idair looked vexed, but said nothing, for they were all very tired. And although he did not do it gladly, Iandar, for that was the man's name, gave them all a good dinner and took them into one of the rooms where they made their camp. And when he had gone, Cailte said, 'He has heard of you then, and your power?'
'It would seem so,' Idair answered.
'But why does that not make you happy?' Sincil asks.
'I am not used to this,' Idair said, after a long while. 'It does not seem right, that I have this power.'
'But who else should have it?' Cailte answered. 'We are your children, and you wish us well. It is well that you have power.'
Idair said nothing but 'Let us get sleep, we need it sorely.'
But they were not to have the sleep they needed, for in the dark of the night they awoke, suddenly, to the sounds of violence. They looked, and saw that the door was open, and ran out, following the noise. And when they got to the hallway, they saw Iandar standing there with a knife in his hand, and a strange man in the doorway, clutching a bag.
'Drop it now, and count yourself lucky to flee with your life,' Iandar said. 'That is my property. I will defend it as is my right.'
'It will be my property as soon as I walk out that door,' said the other man. 'And you are not the one to stop me.'
And the strange man opened the door. But before Idair could say anything, Iandar flew at him, with strength and speed, and the knife flashed, and the man screamed.
'What are you doing?' shouted Idair, in horror.
Iandar stood up, his breath loud in his throat. The strange man lay on the floor and his blood was pouring in waves onto the floorboards.
'You see,' said Iandar, holding up the bag. 'It is my gold, and he was taking it from me.'
But Idair did not listen, for she was kneeling by the stricken man, and looked as if she were trying to make him well again by wishing. But she could not. And when she had accepted that she could not, she looked up at Iandar.
'Come here,' she said.
Iandar obeyed, not understanding why, and knelt by her to look at the face of the stricken man. It was a young man, and he would have been handsome, but he was dabbled all over with his heartblood, and horribly pale.
And Idair took the hand of the stricken man, and said to him, 'What do they call you?'
'I was called by my mother Little Apple,' said the man, with the difficulty of the dying. 'Later I called myself Nightbird. Now I will be called nothing, and no one will remember me.'
'My name is Idair,' said Idair. 'I will remember you.'
'I have a brother,' said the stricken man. 'He lives still with my father, in the forest north of town. His name is Anron.'
'I will tell him that you spoke of him,' Idair said.
'Do not tell him how I died,' the stricken man answered, turning to look at her. 'I do not want him to be ashamed, and I do not want him to avenge me.'
And Idair touched his hair with her hand, and said, 'He will not be ashamed, and he will not avenge you. I give you my promise.'
And as Iandar watched, the stricken man's spirit departed, and his body was without life. Idair closed his eyes, and stood to look down at Iandar, who still knelt by the body of the stricken man, and was very quiet.
'He was taking from me what is mine,' Iandar said at last. 'It is the rule, in this place, that we may defend what is ours, even to the death.'
'You have killed this man for a thing,' Idair said, her voice loud in her anger. 'For a lump of common stuff, for gold, for nothing, you have stopped a beating heart.'
And Iandar took up the bag and handed it to her. 'It was not nothing. See, my whole hoard, saved through all my youth. My safety and security for my old age. It was not nothing.'
Idair saw that he was troubled as he spoke of his gold, and this increased her wrath, and she turned the bag upside down so that the gold fell out of it onto the floor.
'Your whole hoard,' she said, kicking it into the corners. 'This is nothing, I tell you it is nothing.' And from her open hands, as she stretched them out, fell more gold, striking the boards of the floor, piling up as she threw it down, while Iandar and Sincil and Cailte stared. 'Yellow metal, too soft to make tools or put to any honest use, good for nothing but shine and lure and provoking the itch of desire and greed.' And the gold piled higher, and Iandar began to be troubled. 'Gold I can make, if that is what you need, or iron or stone or wood or any other thing that you need, I can make, I can pull roses from the air and I could choke you with a handful of diamonds but I cannot make a dead man live again.'
And Iandar's face began to fall, but Idair continued in her wrath. 'For this dead stuff, for nothing, you have destroyed the one thing that has real worth. Now you have more gold, and the world has less magic.' And she called to Cailte and Sincil, and they came to her, and Idair said, 'We are leaving.'
And Iandar, with tears in his eyes, said, 'It is the rule here, that we may defend what is ours, even to the death.'
And Idair said to him, 'If that comforts you, then I regret that I ever saw you, and I am bitterly sorry that I ate your bread.'
And they left his house, and they struck north, toward the place the man had said they might find his brother.
And it happened on the morning of the next day, that as they were breaking camp, they heard one behind them, and it was Iandar. And Idair said to him, 'You have enough gold now, I will not make more.'
And Iandar said, 'I do not want gold. I do not want anything, but for you to answer my question.'
'And what question is that?' Idair said.
'How must I repay the world for what I have done?' said Iandar. 'What remedy must I provide?' And as Idair looked at him, and seemed troubled, he said, 'Must I die? I will, if it is the right remedy.'
'Would you really?' Idair asked.
And Cailte was troubled, for it seemed to her as if Idair might really tell him to die. And Iandar said, 'Yes. Is that what is required? Is that the remedy?'
'No,' Idair said, quickly. 'Death does not repair death.'
'Then what is the remedy?'
And Idair looked at him, and sadness came to her, and pity, and she said, 'There is no remedy. What you have taken cannot be replaced.'
And Cailte and Sincil saw that Iandar was greatly troubled, and that tears came from his eyes, and it seemed that he would not bear the knowledge she had given him. And Idair became gentle, and she said to him, 'You talk of remedy and rule, and while you talk of those things, there is nothing to be done. But there may be something to be done, yet. You may yet bring magic back to the world, in some other way.'
'What other way, Idair?' he said, beginning to have hope.
'I do not know,' she said. 'If anyone ever finds out, it will probably be you.'
'If you want to find out,' Cailte said, 'you should come with us. Knowledge and wisdom fall out of the trees when Idair walks under them.'
And Idair looked at her, vexed, not because she had invited Iandar but because Cailte had praised her. Her eyes returned to Iandar, and she said to him, 'If you want to come with us, you are welcome. We are going to find the brother of the man you killed.'
'I will come with you,' he said.
'Then let us go,' Idair answered. And they went."
And so it was that they finally came to the house that the thief had spoken of, where they might find his brother and his father, and tell them of what had befallen the other son, who was called by his mother Little Apple and who later called himself NightBird. Idair had long been turning over in her mind what she would say to them, for she had promised the thief that she would not tell his brother Anron how he had died. 'Or at least,' she had said to Cailte, 'I promised him that Anron would not be ashamed of him, or avenge his death. I wonder if I can keep my promise, and tell what happened? I think Iandar wants to confess it.'
'I do not know, Idair,' Cailte said. 'Only you can answer such questions.'
And Idair shook her head, and said nothing, so that when they finally came upon the house in the cool of the afternoon, and Idair lifted her hand to rap on the door, Cailte still did not know what Idair intended to say. And indeed it looked as if they might never find out, for when she rapped on the door, there was no answer, and when Sincil peered in the window the house was empty.
But then they heard noise in the yard, and when they went round the house they saw a young man, in trousers but no shirt, hewing wood and drawing water, with his skinny arms prickling in the cooling air as he swung the axe toward the chopping block.
'May the day be good to you,' Idair said to him. 'We came looking for a youth named Anron, and for his father. Would you be either?'
'I would,' said the young man. 'I am Anron, at least my father calls me that. And why would you be seeking me, when there is not a soul outside this house I could say knows mine, excepting for the birds and the beasts, and one brother I had once who left me here long ago?'
'We were sent here by that same brother,' Idair said, 'with a message for you.'
And Anron dropped the axe by the bucket of well water, and he said, 'You have seen Little Apple?' And Idair nodded, and Anron said, 'And is he well?'
Idair's brow furrowed, and she passed a hand across her hair in perplexity. And finally she said, 'I hardly know how to answer you, except that it should not be here. Is there a place we could go, where you might rest for a moment, and hear a story?'
'We can go inside,' Anron said, with a look at the sun. 'My father is still hunting, the house is empty. Please, come with me.'
'Anron walked ahead of them toward the doorway of the house, and Sincil followed after, half a pace behind him, making talk with him and asking him small things to set him at ease. But Cailte lingered near Idair, who stood by the block and the split wood and watched him walk away.
'What is it, Idair?' she said.
'There is something about him that bothers me,' she answered, with her brow still furrowed.
'He seemed like he had an open heart,' Cailte faltered.
'I believe he does,' Idair said quickly. 'It is not that. I mean that there is something about him that troubles me, that makes me fear for him.'
And they began walking toward the house, Idair deep in thought and Cailte bending her eyes on Anron to see if she could see what Idair saw. But her sight was not as Idair's, for nobody's is or ever was...
hic desunt nonnulla
'...and so I offer myself here, as prey to your anger, and I beg you if there is a remedy I can provide, that you name it to me, for if I can give anything, even my own life, I will give it, to put this right.'
Anron looked at him, and the tears were standing in his eyes. And Anron said, 'You have taken out of the world the last thing that loved me. There is no remedy.'
And he fled the room, and Iandar looked down at his untasted food, and his heart was as lead within him. But Sincil walked through the door into the house's other room, and Idair followed her, leaving Cailte to comfort Iandar as best she could.
'What you say is not true,' Idair said, as Anron wept on the sill of the window. 'He was not the last thing that loved you.'
'My mother is dead, and my father is my father,' Anron answered. 'Little Apple was the only other human creature who knew me, and now he is gone.'
'I am a human creature,' Idair said. 'I know you, and I love you.'
Anron looked at her, and asked simply, 'Why?'
'Because it is my job,' said Idair.
And they talked to Anron for a long time, and gradually Anron mastered his grief, and they returned to the table, and Anron said to Iandar, 'There is no remedy and shall be none, but I cannot return him to life by hating you. And since I have made you understand what my brother was, I am sure you will suffer enough, knowing you have taken from the world such a brave and kind man. So stay with us, please, for the night, along with your friends, who are dear to me because they were with him in his last hour.'
And they were almost ready to be merry, but there was the sound at the door of a heavy hand falling, and Anron stiffened where he sat, and said in a stiffened voice, 'Please excuse me, my father has returned.'
He left to open the door. Cailte said, 'What is it, Idair? What do you see?'
Idair shook her head. 'It is too vague,' she answered. 'Something about the way he moves now. It is...it is as if his body were not his own.'
And Cailte was puzzled, and would have asked her what she meant by it, but the father had entered the room, and was looking down on them from his burly height, and said as one heavy fist landed on the table, 'I hear one of you killed my son?'
'I did,' said Iandar, standing solemnly at his end of the table. 'And I offer myself here as prey to your anger. Do as you see fit.'
'I'm sure he deserved it,' said the father. 'He was a thief from his earliest years. Sit, man, and take your share of the dinner. You are all welcome in my house.'
And Iandar sat, but with misgiving. And it was with misgiving that Idair listened to the father talk, and answered his questions, and cast her eye ever on Anron, who listened too, attentively enough, but as if under some kind of constraint that she did not understand. And it was with misgiving that Idair allowed him to make them a sleeping place in the stables in the yard, and bed them down in the straw near where the horses stood.
'It is well enough,' Cailte said, as they watched the father return to the house. 'If you do not like the straw, I can spread out my coat over it, and--'
'It is not that,' Idair said. 'It is a well enough place, you know I would not complain.'
'Then what is it?' Cailte asked.
'It is maybe nothing,' Idair replied. 'Let us go to sleep.'
But Cailte, as it often happened, could not sleep because she was thinking, and so it was that in the dark of the night she saw Idair sit upright in the straw, and shake her head, and get to her feet.
'Idair,' Cailte whispered. 'Where are you going?'
'Go back to sleep,' Idair said. 'It may be nothing.'
'And if it is not nothing, then what may it be?' Cailte insisted.
'I do not know,' Idair answered. 'Only why should he quarter us here when we might just as well have stayed in the kitchen?'
'Perhaps he is nervous about his gold,' said Sincil, who was still angry with Iandar, for having taken life and for having made Anron sad.
'I heard that,' said Iandar.
'In the name of the spirit, is no one sleeping tonight?' Idair demanded.
And as she said it, there was a strange muffled sound from the direction of the house, as if to say that in the house no one was sleeping either.
'Stay here,' Idair said, stepping to the doorway. 'It may be nothing.'
But it seemed as if it were not nothing, for within minutes of her leaving there was a loud cry of protest in Idair's voice, and many words she shouted that they did not understand, but that they felt must mean no good, and Cailte went running to the house, with Sincil and Iandar after her.
And they found Idair in the house's other room, and the father was standing there in nothing but his shirt, and it seemed as if he had been flung suddenly against the wall, for he was stumbling, and Idair was facing him in great anger, and Anron was huddled in on the pallet in a corner, and Sincil saw that he was naked, and that he was afraid, but that he was also watching Idair as if he were beginning to hope for something.
'This is my own house,' said the father.
'I do not care!' Idair shouted. 'I tell people I am not here to give commandments but by the spirit I will give you one now. You do not do this!'
And Cailte was terrified in the silence, and she said, 'Do what, Idair?'
But Idair did not answer, and instead repeated, in her high anger, 'You do not do this to a child!'
The father was vexed, although he was also frightened, and he said to her, 'My wife is gone, and if I wish to use him in her place, then he is my child to do with as I please.'
And with that Idair became even angrier, and she shouted, 'He is my child too, and I did not put him in the world to be abused in this horrible manner.'
'Where is the abuse?' asked the father. 'I give him shelter and food, and he gives me the use of his body. It is a common enough arrangement.'
And Cailte was worried, not only because she saw horror on Iandar's face and anger on Sincil's, but because it seemed to her that Idair's anger would become too great for the place, and that something terrible might befall them all. And Idair said,
'You do not do this,
You do not do this to a child.
Because if the
body is given,
It must be given freely,
And between parent and child
Nothing is free.
You do not do this
To a child,
Because a
child has not
Learned his body;
Because it is not yet
His to give.
You do not do this
Because a child cannot
Refuse what you ask,
And so it cannot
Be a gift,
But only theft.
You do not do
this,
Because for this theft
There is no remedy;
Because you cannot
restore
What you have taken.
You do not do this,
Because you are
stealing
All your child has,
His body, his freedom,
Himself.
You
do not do this,
Because it does
Permanent harm."
And as the father was still staring at her, as if he had been shot through with arrows fixing him to the wall, Idair turned to Anron, and she said, 'I will not take from you the chance to choose your fate, and so I will not tell you, come with us, but I will say, that we are leaving this place, and that if you leave with us, we will take care of you, and for certain sure this thing that calls itself your father will never touch you again.'
Anron stood, although he was embarrassed to be naked, and he said, 'Please take me with you.'
And Idair turned on the father, and she said to him,
'Somehow I made you too,
Although who knows how or why,
And so I
cannot unmake you;
Only let you know
That this that you have done
Is
the crime at the root
Of crime,
And you may tell anyone
Who asks
what happened
That Idair came to you,
And she said
That whatever
else you forget
You are to remember
That you do not do this
To a
child,
And that because you used him
As if he were nothing
But a toy
for your need,
We are taking him from you,
And so shall it be done,
To any who do so,
As long as I have the power
To see it done,
Because a child is a gift,
And such as you
Are not worthy.'
And Sincil had gone to a corner and fetched clothes for Anron, who put them on, and he walked with them out the door of the house, and they started down the road. And Anron said to Idair, 'Who are you, that you were able to speak to him thus, and he could not raise a hand against you?'
And Idair said to him, 'Friend, that is a long story, but if you stay with us a while, I will have time to tell it you.'
'I will,' he said, and they walked together, to leave that place behind them as fast as they could."
It happened at around that time, when Idair was preparing the First Followers for their final battle, that Sincil and Anron were much in each other's company, since they had been entrusted with the job of gathering food. Anron had been a hunter, and although those talents were no longer useful to him, he still had great knowledge of plants and roots. Sincil had made the habits of birds her special study, and knew how to follow them to water. So they spent day after day in the woods alone, and what talking they did, had to be done to each other, and after some days of talking they found there were other things to be done during their long hours of wandering. And Sincil was happy under the branches with his hand in hers, but also distressed, and wept many a night, thinking of what had passed between them, and what she wished would come to pass between them, and fearing another dream that would leave her troubled and damp under her covering sheet, Sincil determined that she must leave Idair's fellowship, lest worse happen. She broke the news to Anron, who took it badly, and would have prevented her, but saw that her mind was set, and told her that since she had taken her decision he would wish her well, and that she need not fear him pursuing her.
So Sincil made her preparations, saying farewell to Iandar and Cailte and the many friends that she had made, sinking beneath the weight of her heavy heart. But to Idair she was afraid to say anything, even farewell.
Anron could not or would not hide his sorrow, and though he voiced no complaint his face made his lament. Idair's mind was at this time much occupied with the coming battle, but even so she saw Anron's distress, and asked him the cause. He would only say that Sincil was leaving. What she guessed we may not know, but certain it is that the next instant found her bearing down upon Sincil, who stood trembling by her tent, fearing Idair's wrath.
"Sincil," Idair said. "I have heard this, and I have heard that, but what I want is to hear why you are leaving me, now, just when I am going to have greatest need of help and comfort."
And when Sincil saw that Idair was not angry, but rather sad, she could not keep the truth from her, and said, "It is not that my heart turns from you, or that my courage fails me, but that I am afraid to stay where I am beset by temptation and shame is my certain fate."
"Temptation?" Idair asked. "If the Dark One has reached your heart, this is indeed a sad day."
"No, Idair," Sincil protested, "the Dark One can offer me nothing, I do not fear that. I fear myself, I fear the weakness of my own body."
"The body wants to live," Idair said gently. "This cannot be changed. My body too is afraid--"
"No," Sincil cried. "It is not fear, it is--it is--my body wants--it dreams--and Anron--I--it is best that I go, before I bring shame to myself and disgrace to you."
And Idair looked at her, and a look of vexation darkened her features, and she said, "How long have you been with me?"
"Since the beginning, Idair."
"And have you been with me all that time," said Idair, "and you still don't know the difference between love and shame?"
"What is love, Idair?" asked Sincil.
"I cannot believe this," cried Idair, and seizing Sincil by the wrist, she hurried her through the camp into the center of the clearing, where Anron was setting the day's food out by the fire, and the followers were gathering to help prepare the meal, and Anron, thinking Sincil had already been judged and condemned, was rising with a cooking spit in his hand ready to fight for her, yes, even to fight Idair. And Idair said to him, "Put that thing down, you fool, and answer this poor woman's question."
"What question is that, Idair?" he answered warily, the spit still in one hand.
"What is love?" Idair said. "Can you answer this question, Anron?"
"I do not think so," Anron said.
"That's where you're wrong," Idair replied. "Here is Sincil. Tell me--tell all of us--what you feel for her."
Anron looked at Sincil, and he said,
"Until I knew her,
Until we spoke under the trees,
Until her hand
touched mine,
I knew nothing of life
Or of myself.
Alone, I am
half a man
With half a heart,
A dead tree with no pith.
Idair,
you know,
And, but for Sincil,
You alone know
The pattern of wounds
Marking my life,
You know, and but
For Sincil, you alone
Know
from what pain
You saved me,
It is only the truth
When I say
that you saved,
And for saving I thank you,
But only Sincil
Could
heal me,
Only with her
Did I return
To full life
Nothing I
say will
Explain how she came
To mean more to me
Than my own poor
life
Nothing I say can
Show you why now
Her heart is the world,
And all else is void.
I only know that for her,
To save her hurt
or
Bring her joy,
I could do anything,
Yes, even let her
Leave
me and take
My life with her,
Yes, Idair, it is
Only the truth--
even lift a weapon
to defend her
against you."
Idair nodded, and turned to Sincil, and said to her, "You hear what Anron says of you; what reply does your heart make?"
And Sincil said,
"My heart is not learned;
I cannot speak in figures,
My words
lack your fire,
But every good thing
I feel has its root in
His
tender heart;
Without him I am not
Who I am; gone from here
I
would not be Sincil
What I cannot say
He hears; and so much
Must
go unsaid--
Nothing is perfect,
A part always lacks
In the whole,
there is
Darkness no light
Can reach, but what
One human can be
To another, he is
To me; the only speaker
Of my strange tongue;
For whom I would give
My life, more than that--
Yes, even your
fellowship,
It is only the truth--
For whose sake I would do
Any
hard thing,
Even to leave you, Idair,
To save both our hearts,
To keep pure and holy
This thing we have made,
This strange
bright place,
This new fire."
"Well, Anron," said Idair, when Sincil
had finished speaking, "you have made a fine speech, but she has made you a
better." And so saying, she lifted from a bundle of firewood beside her a length
of creeper vine that someone had tied it with. "Listen to me, both of you, this
is your answer:
This is love,
All you have spoken,
And all you
have not spoken;
This is love,
The fire that twins you,
The
sudden knowledge
Of another's heart,
Of your own heart,
Of their
union.
I will not say love
Is happiness; great love
Is not
always happy,
And when love cries out
And cannot be answered,
The bitterness of it
Is a sorrow beyond
Anything you have
tasted,
A cup I hope
None of you
Will drink from.
But
behold,
You are lucky,
And have answered each other;
Stretch out
your hands
That I may join your bodies
As your hearts have already
joined."
And Sincil stretched out her hand, and it met Anron's, and their
fingers twined. Idair took the vine, and wrapped it around their linked hands,
and said,
"From this source
Springs all life,
From this fountain
All beauty;
From this union
All strength,
From this love,
All love,
From this root,
The green shoot;
From this stalk,
The flower."
And as she spoke, the vine, which had been dead, became
green again, and buds appeared among its uncurling leaves. And before the
followers, the buds opened, wreathing their joined hands with red and white
petals, and the scent of pollen filled the air around them.
"You see blossoming on your wrist the flower of your love," Idair said. "Will
you care for this vine and keep it green, now, then, and always?"
"Always, Idair," said Sincil.
"Always, Idair," said Anron.
"Not to me," Idair said. "Say it to each other."
And they turned to each other. "While I live and after," Sincil said, "I will live in you."
"Always, forever," Anron answered, "you will be my heart."
"Listen to me," Idair said to the crowd that had gathered. "Through the words they have spoken and by the blossoming of the vine Sincil and Anron have shown that their spirits are joined. Where the spirits have joined, let the bodies follow, without shame and without fear. What you have made is true and right. Anyone who comes between you will answer to me."
Sincil stood looking at Anron and Anron stood looking at Sincil. And they would have stood thus until sunset, probably, but Cailte called out, "So will you kiss him, or not?"
Sincil laughed, and kissed Anron. And she carefully unwound the vine from their hands, and made a circlet of it, and placed it on his head, and there was great laughter everywhere in the camp that evening, except in the tent of Sincil, where the silence was broken with other sounds, less mirthful perhaps but no less happy.
Nobody knew who wrote down the stories that made up the Chronicles. People assumed it was Cailte or Sincil. The shriias refused to say, since there was no way to know. Taric thought it had to be Sincil. How could anyone else know what it felt like to have a lover lost in the darkness outside the camp.
Idair saw how unhappy she was, and she said to Sincil, ‘I am going out to look for Anron and Iandar. Would you come with me?’
And Sincil’s heart was still pale and quivering but she said, ‘Yes, I will go with you, so that whatever has happened, I will know it.’
So they went into the wood, and they followed Anron’s traces, but a long time passed and they saw nothing. Sincil had tried to be brave, but as dawn neared she became wild with grief, and the tears came from her eyes.
Idair stopped, and said, ‘Come between these two trees and rest.’
They say where two trees screened them with their branches from the sight of the Dark Leader and his minions. And Sincil tried to cry without making a sound. And Idair said to her, ‘I am sorry; I should not have let him go.’
And Sincil cried, ‘How shall I live without him? Why did I ever come to love him, if he was to be taken from me? Why did I not simply go on as I was, so that this terrible grief could not come to me?’
Idair was silent, and it seemed to Sincil that she was sorely distressed. And at last Idair said to her, ‘Would you rather that you had never loved him?’
Sincil said, ‘Why do you ask me that, Idair?’
And Idair said, ‘Because you were my first friend here, and to see you wretched hurts me badly. I do not know if I can find Anron or if he is even still alive. But if you wish, I can take this grief from you, by changing the story.’
Sincil said, ‘How would you do that, Idair?’
Idair answered, ‘If you think it would be best, I can make it so that you never did fall in love with him. So that you never joined with him, and this grief never became possible. If that is what you want, then I will do that.’
Sincil thought for a long time, for it was a very heavy question. She thought of the time before they had fallen in love, and the time after. She thought of their joining and of the few nights they had had together. She remembered looking at Anron as he walked into the wood, and how frightened she had become. She imagined what she would feel, if she heard that he had died, knowing that Idair could not make him live again.
‘Idair,’ Sincil said. ‘I have made my choice.’
And Idair asked her, ‘What have you chosen?’
And Sincil said,
‘I have chosen
To love him
And if I must
To lose him
I have learned
What love is;
And so have learned
What we are
We are brands
Waiting for flame
We were not born
To be safe
To stay whole
I am a torch
Wasting in fire,
Let me waste
And if he is lost,
Go ask my ashes
If they regret
Their burning
They will say,
To be safe
Is the loss;
To be whole
Is the grief
I am the brand,
Give me the fire;
I am the brand
And the brand says
It is better to burn.'
And Idair said to her, ‘It is a true thing you have said. And what you have said will stand.’ And Idair stood up, and said, ‘Let us go, we may find him yet.’”
And so on the sixth day they saw appearing on the top of the ridge the minions of the Dark One in their black garments, with their sharp swords girt at their waists and the black and blood-red flag of their sovereign snapping above their heads at the top of a long lance-pole. They were more quiet than the fall of night and more numerous than flies on a lake of blood. And the first followers saw this, and their hearts stood in their mouths. Then one ran to find Idair, who was sitting in her tent, and she came out to them. And she looked up at the minions on the hill, and said, 'Are you sure there are enough of you? I think you only have us outnumbered by three to one.'
'And one stepped forward, who wore around his neck the silver chain that was a mark of service to the Dark One, and said, 'You have given your promise; now perform it.'
'First release the hostage to me,' Idair said.
And the host parted and Iandar was thrust from their midst, stumbling down the hill with his hands bound behind him. Cailte ran forward to help him down. Seeing her run, one of the minions put an arrow to his bow.
'Hold your hand!' shouted Idair in a voice that froze him there. 'Let her bring him safe home. It is in the pact.'
So the host suffered Cailte to lead Iandar back down the ridge toward Idair and the first followers. And Idair said to them, as he approached, 'You know I am going with them, and neither you nor I know what will become of me. If I do not return in seven days I wish you to leave this place and return to your villages. Do not try to save me.'
'But Idair,' said Anron, 'what will happen? Will they kill you?'
'Perhaps,' Idair said. 'Perhaps not.'
'But...if they kill you,' said Sincil, 'what will happen to you? Where will you go? Can you still be with us?'
And Idair looked at them, and at Iandar and Cailte who had reached them now, and said to them, 'I do not know what will happen if they kill me, or where I will go, or if I will still be with you. This is a question to which I have no answer.' And they were silent for a long while, and she said to them, 'It is a hard thing, I know. And you know that I do not want to go. But the Dark One wants me, and if I do not go, it will destroy all of you, and all that we have done and made.'
And he with the chain about his neck shouted harshly, 'You have given your word. Come to us instantly or the pact will be void.'
'Idair,' said Iandar, with tears in his eyes, 'you should not have done it. It is too high a price for my rotten life.'
'Do not blame yourself,' Idair said. 'It would be this stratagem or some other. I should not have waited for them to take you, but have offered myself at once.'
And as the minions above on the hill began to stir their arms and put hands to their weapons, Idair shouted, 'I am coming, you vultures, give me one-half minute to say goodbye.'
And Idair raised her hands above them, and she said, 'Whatever happens, I have loved you all, and you have taught me much that will not be forgotten. Bring home what you have learned, and share it with your families, with your villages and your people.' And they saw the tears in her eyes, and they were sore afraid. 'I am leaving you now,' she said to them, walking backwards away. 'But remember this at least. Nothing and no one is lost forever.'
And turning away from them she walked slowly toward the minions in black on the hill. He that was their leader saw her coming, and shouted, 'My sovereign grows impatient. Bestir yourself or I will order my archers to hurry you along.'
'Hold your noise, you bitch's bastard,' shouted Idair in great wrath. 'I obey the sound of no man's voice.'
When their leader heard this, he was sore enraged, and summoning four of his strongest men, they charged down the hill to meet her as she came toward them at the same slow pace. And when they reached her, they laid hands upon her, and bound her hands behind her. And then their leader ordered that she should be stripped, that any magic in her garments should be destroyed. She fought this with all her strength, but there were too many of them, and the first followers could not help, for the Dark One had made it so that after Idair was delivered to the minions, there was a great and paralyzing fear among them, that nearly put them out of their minds. But at last they had taken from her her skirt and the tunic she wore, leaving only her white undergarment for the sake of modesty. And then they hauled her over the ridge, and Idair disappeared from their sight.
And for six days and six nights the followers made camp in the valley. Every morning and every sundown they would send one up to the top of the ridge to look toward the mountainside where the Dark One's forces had their cave. And every morning and every sundown the follower returned with the same news--that there was no one to be seen, and that there was no sign of Idair, and that all was as silent as the grave.
And on the seventh morning, when Cailte was sent up to the ridge top to watch, the followers still asleep were awakened by her cry.
'Come to the hilltop,' she shouted. 'I see fire at the mouth of the cave.'
And the followers rushed up to where she stood. And indeed, at the mouth of the cave, where all had been black rock and no light, there was a mighty glow, as of great flames playing about inside the cavern with their yellow and red and orange light. It was long that they watched, but at last, from out of the mouth of the cave came a great and terrible cry, and the minions of the Dark One ran streaming out of it, scattering like ants across the hills in great confusion and distress. And behind them, chasing them out into the open air, was a great ball of flame, that swung and whirled and seemed from their distance to perhaps have a shape but not quite.
And when the last minions of the Dark One had been scattered, the flame began moving swiftly toward them, and Anron, who was afraid and clutching Sincil's hand for comfort, cried, 'What is it, what is this thing coming toward us that has destroyed the host of the Dark One without blade or arrow?'
Sincil craned her neck to look at the figure of flame that was burning toward them. 'I think,' she began. 'No,' said she, as the figure neared them, 'I know. It is Idair, and she is on fire.'
And they were sore amazed, but they saw that it was true, and so following Cailte and Sincil they rushed down the slope to greet her. When she saw them she stopped, and seemed as if she would embrace them, but feared that they might burn. And Sincil, going as near to her as she might for fear of the flames, said to her, 'Tell us, Burning One, are you Idair, and have you come back to us?'
And she said to them,
I am Idair,
And I am not Idair;
I am she
who you knew
And also I am different.
I have met the Dark One
And
all is changed,
Changed utterly;
So that neither I nor you
Can
remain the same.
But yes, I am Idair;
And the Dark One did not kill me;
No, did not harm
A hair of my head;
And the host of the Dark One
Is scattered and gone.
I have not come back,
For I never left;
All this time
I have been in there
Fighting for you,
Learning,
for your sake
And mine, the secret
Of the fire I bring you.
And
Idair touched her shoulders, and the fire withdrew, so that they could see her
body, but there remained fire in the hair streaming behind her, around her hands
and her feet. And where her undergarment had been after they stripped her,
instead there was a garment of fire, woven of tiny flames that danced and were
never still. And Cailte ran to her and embraced her. And Idair folded her arms
around her, and when she released her, Cailte saw that her own hands too were
glowing with this fire.
And Iandar saw this, and he cried, 'Put her out,
put her out, she is burning!'
But Cailte laughed, and said to him, 'Yes,
I am burning, but it does not hurt me. This is Idair's fire.'
And Idair
said, 'You understand, then.'
And Cailte said, 'I understand a little,
Idair, but there must me much more that I do not understand.'
'I will
stay with you, so that I may teach you more,' she said. 'I have brought this
fire to you that you may use it to fight the darkness, to make for each other a
world that is better than the one to which I came, all that time ago. I can stay
only a short time, and I must return; but you will remain, and your descendants,
and they will keep the fire in the land, and the fight will go on, until one day
if the spirit wills it there will be no darkness.' And they looked at her, and
she saw on their faces their joy at her return, and she said to them, 'I am glad
to be back. It was very lonely there, and I missed you greatly.'
'We
missed you too, Idair,' said Anron.
And Idair smiled. And then she said,
'Is there any food in the camp? I am very hungry.'
So they returned to
the camp, and there was much rejoicing, and there was great feasting and
merry-making and song and dancing, for Idair had come back to them safe, and the
Dark One was no more, and all was well in the land.