Chapter 84: Welcoming the First Lamb

The Welcoming of the First Lamb, considered by scholars, including Herrwn, to be the most ancient of their shrine’s sacred practices, was exclusively a female rite. It was conducted at whatever time of day or night the lamb from which the rite took its name was born and in whatever field the birth occurred. It was one of just two high rituals in which the villagers were present from start to finish—and the only one where the villagers knew the ceremony was going to take place before those who would be performing it did.

“It’s born!”

Nimrrwn arrived at the classroom entrance with the announcement as Cyri was reciting the closing passages from the Triumph of the Sea-Goddess’s Daughter. Heeding the summons, she made a hasty apology and was out the door before Herrwn finished giving her permission to go.

Since he had no active part in the coming rites beyond leading the other priests to join the villagers on the sidelines, Herrwn had the luxury of slipping into a pleasant state of relaxed anticipation as he washed and changed into his best robes—he even had time to stop and look out the window. He took the songs of the birds in the trees below as a sign that he was sharing in a joy that filled the valley and the world beyond.

The feeling stayed with him as he met Caelym and Ossiam and the other priests in the main courtyard and followed the son of the chief herder to a field where the villagers were already gathered as close around the mother and lamb as their shepherd would allow.

The Welcoming was among Herrwn’s favorite rituals. In his mind, there were few sights more beautiful than that of the shrine’s priestesses, young and old, dancing toward him, their ceremonial gowns and shawls—the blues and greens of the midwives, the greens and golds of the herbalists, the purples and silvers of the keepers of the sacred calendar—all swirling in synchrony, and few sounds more lovely than the interwoven snatches of children’s songs and lullabies sung in the archaic form of their language used by mothers at the beginning of time.

As the priestesses arrived in the field, their dance steps changed, becoming slower but more intricate as they formed a semicircle on the far side of the ewe and lamb from the priests and villagers. The song that so far had been sung in a vibrant chorus shifted into individual parts, each in turn singing of some divine offering—the crystal streams of the mountains, the flowers in the meadows, the shelter of the trees—that the Goddess gave along with the gift of life itself.

From where he stood Herrwn had a clear view of the younger priestesses, and he was, to put it mildly, shocked to see that Arianna kept her eyes on Cyri’s feet, copying her steps, and that when it was her turn to sing there was a fraction of a moment between when she parted her lips and when she sang, during which she cocked her head toward Cyri, who responded by whispering something out of the side of her mouth. The interchange was subtle, so subtle that it was unlikely anyone without Herrwn’s experience and acumen would notice—so subtle that it must have been done many times before this.

The priestesses finished, turned, and danced off. Instead of staying to watch the village children come forward and feed bouquets of clover to the mother sheep, Herrwn slipped away and returned to his quarters to mull over what he’d witnessed.

The next morning when Cyri arrived to start her lesson, Herrwn greeted her with a solemnly spoken recital of what he’d seen. She had come into the classroom bright-eyed and eager but seemed to wilt at his stern reproof. Bowing her head, she whispered, “I am sorry, Master, and ask for your forgiveness.”

As tempted as he was to pardon what he knew was a well-meaning indiscretion, he remained somber. “When the day comes that Arianna must be ready to receive the spirit of the Great Mother Goddess, you will not be able to accept it for her.”

Keeping her eyes cast down, she whispered even more softly, “I know that, Master, and I am sorry and I ask for your forgiveness.”

“And do you understand that by whispering her lines to her you do more harm than good, as she will have no reason to learn them herself?”

“I do understand, Master, and I am very, very sorry.”

“And have I your promise that I will never see this again?”

“Yes, Master, I promise you will never see this again.”

“Then let us go on with the day’s lesson—which is?”

“The first story in the epic of Caerwyn and the Fairy Queen,” Cyri answered promptly and with a just-audible sigh of relief.

Herrwn was well aware that his admonition and her promise required only that she be more discreet in the future. While he did not approve of or condone Cyri’s coaching her cousin, he saw no use in forcing a commitment that would put her in the position of refusing to give aid to a fellow priestess when it was asked for—and, in particular, to a fellow priestess who was both her closest kin and certain to be their next chief priestess.

No, he mused as Cyri began reciting the opening to Caerwyn’s next adventure, the responsibility for insisting that Arianna be fully prepared for her part in sacred rites was not a burden to be laid on her younger cousin.

Still, it was something that needed to be addressed. But, just how—and with whom—to bring up this problem was a delicate issue.

For a concern regarding a daughter with a living mother—and not just any living mother but one no less than the embodiment of the Great Mother Goddess—the answer should have been obvious. Herrwn, however, had no intention of saying anything to add to the simmering tensions between Feywn and Arianna, so, seeing no better alternative, he decided that he would have to say something at his next meeting with Rhonnon.

What had begun as occasional encounters with the chief midwife had become regular meetings, or at least as regular as their respective duties and obligations allowed. Herrwn found that their conversations, which always opened with Rhonnon asking how Cyri was progressing in oratory and his answering, “Most satisfactorily,” helped fill the void of Olyrrwd’s absence, and he suspected that for Rhonnon they provided a sounding board for the decisions she was having to make in her unacknowledged role as the overseer of the shrine’s practical affairs.

Almost a month went by after the Welcoming before the two had a chance to sit together after the midday meal. It was an unusually hot day for early summer, and while their bench was in a shaded nook in the north corner, the rest of the courtyard was in the direct sun and the others had left to find things to do in cooler places. Relieved to have the extra privacy, Herrwn answered Rhonnon’s opening question as usual, saying, “Most satisfactorily”—but then plunged on, “in her own studies, of course, but also in those required of others.”

“Arianna, you mean?”

“You knew?”

“I’ve wondered, though I’ve never caught them at it—but then I’ve never caught Arianna at any of her lessons.”

It was an odd response, one that seemed to change the question from whether Arianna was studying enough to whether she was studying at all. Herrwn waited, expecting Rhonnon to say something further. It wasn’t like her to leave an important, in this case crucial, question hanging.

“Have you …” He stopped.

“I have spoken with Feywn, urging her to begin her daughter’s formal training as her chosen successor and give her the guidance she must have to be ready when the time comes for her to receive the spirit of the Goddess!”

“And she said?”

“Nothing! She looked through me as if I were a servant pestering her about what meat to cook for supper and walked away.”

Herrwn did not know what to say to this—but having told Rhonnon what he’d seen, he could do no more, and so he changed the subject to Ossiam’s most recent predictions.

Though still hazy, the oracle’s visions and portents had remained more hopeful than not. And with everything else they had to worry about, at least—

“At least Ossiam sees that the boys are safe, that they are thriving and well-loved in the hearth of the loyal kin of Benyon.” He thought saying this might lift Rhonnon’s gloomy mood, but even though she seemed to be agreeing with him, there was no cheerfulness in her voice when she echoed, “At least Ossiam says the boys are safe.”

If her tone had been sardonic instead of simply tired, it could have been something Olyrrwd would have said, and for the first time it occurred to Herrwn that Rhonnon might have doubts about the reliability of Ossiam’s powers.

For a while they sat in silence on opposite ends of the bench. Then, sensing that their conversation was finished, Herrwn got up and bowed. He started across the courtyard to begin his rehearsals for that night’s performance but paused and glanced back to see Rhonnon, her midwife’s shawl fallen off her shoulders, looking like a weary old woman longing to lay down her burdens and rest.