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Offline Evie

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Visionaries--Part Two--Chapter Two
« on: November 18, 2011, 09:25:04 am »
   Chapter Two

   St. Hilary’s-Within-The Walls
   May 23, 1136, the Feast of St. Elen


   Sister Helena sat in one of the cubicula of the Basilica’s Schola with four of the older students, leading them in an advanced scrying class.  In the small classroom, seated cross-legged around a large polished metal bowl filled with water were an interesting assortment of scholars from various walks of life--Lord Sivney, the Queen’s young half-brother; Cass Draper, the draper’s widow’s daughter from the City of Rhemuth;  Jemmy Kitchener, the erstwhile scullery lad from the Castle kitchens who had won a page’s education and eventually a place in Sir Sextus’s household as his squire due to his quick-thinking bravery that had saved the King’s life four years earlier; and Lady Avisa de Arilan, who at age twenty-seven was nearly twice the age of the other students in her class, but her knowledge of the Deryni arts had flourished in the past year since her marriage to Sir Sextus, and her keen interest in practicing her new-found learning in the company of other Deryni had led her to request the favor of being allowed to take certain Schola courses alongside her husband’s new squire.

   "Nearly any reflective surface can be used for scrying," the magistra reminded her students, "although I prefer a shiral crystal for the purpose, if one can be found and if it is large enough to see the images in its depths easily.  However, for new adepts in the art of scrying, a larger reflective surface is much easier to read than a small one, not to mention that large shirals are rather difficult—not to mention expensive—to obtain.  So what else can be used?"

   Jemmy glanced at the bowl between them and grinned back up at the magistra.  "Well, since we’re using one today, I’d guess a bowl of water would work," he quipped.

   Sivney chuckled, while Cass rolled her eyes at the squire and nudged at his knee with one foot.  Avisa shook her head.  "I can tell you’ve been in Sextus’s company long enough to have acquired a clear grasp of the obvious, Jemmy."

   Helena smiled.  "Yes, Jemmy, I salute your keen powers of observation.  Now, what else can be used besides that?"

   The lad, now that he was done jesting, turned more attentive.  "I’ve seen Sir Sextus use a goblet of wine before."

   "Yes, that works well.  What else?  Cass?"  The magistra turned towards the draper’s daughter.

   "Firelight.  Mirrors.  I suppose a window might work, under the right circumstances, if it were glazed."

   Helena nodded.  "Those are all good choices.  Anything else?"  She looked at Sivney and Avisa.

   "Jewels," Sivney offered, "if they’re polished to a shine."

   "My husband also favors obsidian," Avisa added.

   "Yes."  Helena smiled.  "So you see, not having access to a good-sized piece of shiral shouldn’t deter any of you from trying your hand at scrying.  In fact," she said, fishing out a tiny bead of shiral the size of a dried pea and holding it in her palm, "while I can scry using this, if nothing better suited to the purpose is available, give me a bowl of water or a goblet of wine any day.  The images produced will be much easier to see."

   "But what if you do have access to a large enough shiral crystal?" Sivney asked.  "Say, if it were the size of an egg or larger?"

   "Then you’d be a fortunate man indeed," Helena assured him, "since the inherent power of the crystal itself would work in your favor.  But I’m going to assume for the purposes of this class that most young Deryni aren’t going to own such a crystal just yet, or even if you do, that it won’t always be kept ready to hand so you can scry with it at a moment’s notice.  So, let’s see how well the four of you paid heed to your magistra in Princess Rothana’s  foundational lessons on scrying."  She lit candles at the four corners of the room and drew a thick velvet curtain shut over the small chamber’s window, plunging the room into near darkness save for the flickering firelight.  Returning to her seat in the circle, she smiled at her dimly-illuminated class.  "All right, focus on our scrying surface and allow yourself to enter a light trance."

   "What should we be scrying for, Magistra?"  Avisa asked, the faintly distant quality to her voice hinting that she was already beginning to follow Helena’s instructions.

   Helena’s thoughts cast about for an easy subject to start off with.  Someone close by, here on the Schola premises, would suffice.  "Let’s find out where Bishop Duncan is at the moment," she suggested.

   The class grew silent, focusing their attention on the task.  After a few moments, Helena heard a quiet giggle, then another.  The cubiculum also grew oddly brighter.

   There was an image in the water.  It showed the object of their search, standing backlit against an open door, smiling down at them.

   Helena turned quickly as the rest of the class burst out in laughter.  She spotted the hem of Duncan’s cassock, followed the fabric upwards to see his face.  He, too, looked amused.  "Sorry to interrupt, class."  He raised an eyebrow at their instructor.  "Looking for me, were you?"

   She joined in the laughter, hoping that the room was still dark enough to conceal her growing blush.  "I figured you’d make for a handy first attempt.  I had no idea how handy, of course."    

   "I had an odd feeling I was being watched, and since I knew this lesson was in progress, I just thought I’d stop by and see how things were going."  He grinned at her students.  "Glad to know my watchers are benign, and that I don’t need to set up additional wards around the Schola."  He glanced at Helena.  "When do they learn about anti-scrying measures?"

   "Next lesson," she told him.

   "Good."  He inclined his head at the class.  "Carry on."  The door swung shut behind him.

#

   "You enjoyed that far too much," she accused him later in the relative privacy of his study.

   The rector grinned unrepentantly up at her.  "Of course I did.  That’s what you get for picking me as a test subject."  He chuckled.  "How did the rest of the class go?"

   "They all did well.  They’re a bright group of scholars."  Helena looked puzzled as he reached into a lidded box on his desk and drew out a small wrapped package, handing it to her.  "What’s this?"

   "It’s your birthday present.  I’m sorry to be a day late with it, but I didn’t return from my visit with Prince Azim until close to midnight last night, and I figured that was hardly the time to call upon you."

   She reached for it, her eyes filled with surprise.  "You know my birthday?"

   "It was the Feast of St. Elen yesterday, and I thought I’d heard you and Sister Therese discussing both of you having May birthdays recently, so I took a chance.  If I’ve guessed wrong, then happy name day instead."

   "Thank you," she said softly, fingering the ribbon securing the present’s wrapping.  She smiled.  "From the size and weight of it, I’ll assume it’s not a Torenthi carpet," she joked.

   Duncan laughed.  "No, I think I’ve learned my lesson on that score," he assured her.

   She studied the parcel thoughtfully, hefting it in her hand.  "And it’s too small and yet too heavy and altogether the wrong shape to be a packet of sweetmeats like those you gave to Sister Therese a few weeks ago."

   He grinned.  "You know, you are allowed to open it."

   "And end the suspense early?  Spoilsport."  Her blue eyes twinkled up at him before returning their careful study to the gift in her hand.  "This fabric wrapping is quite lovely, and not of Gwyneddan make, I should think.  Judging by the pattern, my guess is that it came from the Anvillers' land, especially as you’ve just come back from spending a week there with Prince Azim."

   Duncan nodded.  "And what of the ribbon?"

   Helena examined the brocade weave of the silk ribbon more closely.  "That looks to be from even farther east, but I suppose that's no surprise, since I imagine it came from one of the Anviller souks along the trade routes."  She glanced back up at him.  "How am I doing so far?"

   Duncan chuckled.  "Quite well.  Do you plan to open your present before your next birthday?"

   She grinned.  "Impatient, are you?"  She opened her belt pouch, pretending to consider stashing the small present away for a later inspection, then paused, her eyes laughing up at the rector.  "Oh, I haven't the heart to torment you!  You're like a young lad, fair bursting with excitement to open up his Twelfth Night present and help everyone else with theirs also."  

   "Guilty as charged," he affirmed, his eyes laughing back.

   "Well, I suppose I can’t draw this out too much longer," she said, deliberately untying the ribbon with maddening slowness, drawing it through her fingers in an attempt to flatten out the wrinkles in it and giving it a thorough inspection before laying it to one side.  "I suppose I shall have to open it after all."  Her fingers lingered on a fold of the fabric, hesitating to reveal its secrets, as she gave the loosely wrapped gift one final anticipatory examination, savoring the mystery of its contents just a short while longer.

   Duncan’s suppressed laughter burst forth from him.  "You, my dear lady, are a tease!  If you’re not going to open that, I could just take it back."

   In answer, she released the gathered folds of fabric, allowing them to fall open to reveal the tiny statuette perched on the cloth draped over her palm.  She gave a quick intake of breath as she beheld the craftsmanship of the object she held.  "Oh, my!   Oh, Father, it’s truly……oh, it’s lovely!"  She glowed with delight as she brought a finger up to trace the delicate lines of a sleeping kitten painstakingly carved out of moonstone.  The kitten also seemed to glow from within as it caught the sunlight streaming through the window and reflected it back, shimmering softly beneath Helena’s wondering gaze.  She blinked back tears.

   "I’d say it reminded me of Pouncer, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen Pouncer that still," Duncan joked, lightening the moment.

   Helena swallowed hard, regaining control of her voice before speaking.  "No, even when she’s fast asleep, she’s a twitchy little beast."  She ventured a look up at him.  "Thank you, Father Duncan."  The words seemed inadequate, and she gave him a spontaneous one-armed hug, drawing back from him nearly as quickly, feeling flustered.  "I’d…um…better go find a place for my pretty kitty in my chamber.  I’m afraid I might break it if I carry it around with me all day."

#

   She wasn't sure how to react.

   Helena closed the curtains of her Llanneddan box bed, creating a ball of handfire and setting it free to glow over her head as she sat within, its soft bluish light bouncing off the white-painted canopy of the enclosed space and illuminating the cozy nook which was her bastion of privacy in her shared room.  She placed the figurine carefully within the bed's built in cabinet, making room for it alongside the small stack of books she had most recently borrowed from the Royal Library and the rector's study, and using the fabric square that had wrapped it as a shelf covering.  She wished she could keep it on display more openly, but she was afraid one of the Basilica cats might damage the fragile carving if they leaped upon it or batted it off some more accessible tabletop and treated it as a plaything, and at any rate, keeping it in her enclosed bed would mean it would remain close by her.  As the daughter of a merchant who had imported such wares from far-flung kingdoms to her native Llannedd, she knew that the carved figure, though quite beautiful and cunningly wrought, was not so costly as to make an unseemly present from a man to a woman who was no kinswoman.  Still, it was by far the most precious gift any man had given to her since she'd left her father's home as a young maiden off to her great-aunt's household in Joux to seek her place in the world.  Gaston had certainly not bothered to bring home pretty trinkets to please a wife.  Oh, perhaps a small present now and then during his courtship of her, and a time or two after that, when their marriage had been young and he'd still believed she would give him his desired heirs soon.  But even then, his gifts had normally been chosen at a moment's whim, not with any sign that he'd given the matter much thought.  Even her wedding ring, she'd discovered later, had been left to his squire's choosing, for he'd been too drunk with celebrating his upcoming nuptials to give the matter of ring selection any thought, might well have even shown up for the wedding without one had not his squire reminded him of the need.  How foolish, or perhaps simply naive, she'd been to ever have fancied herself in love, or even well on her way to it, with such a man!  That illusion had died soon enough, of course.

   She reached out a fingertip to stroke the smooth curve of the figurine's curled body, lost in thought.  Had Bishop Duncan simply chosen a carved figure at random from one of the stalls at the Anviller souk?  No, she'd come to know him too well to believe that.  He'd have given the matter some thought, considered what he knew of her likes and dislikes—and it hardly took great powers of observation for anyone here at the Schola to have discovered her love for cats, after all—and selected his gift with care.

   Then again, he'd do the same for anyone, she realized, no matter how great or how small the gift.  The sweetmeats he'd selected for Sister Therese had been her favorite kind, Therese had confided to her later, thrilled and a bit astonished that the bishop had troubled to discover what sort would most please her.  So Helena knew she couldn't read too much into the bishop's thoughtfulness.

   Her mind knew this, but her errant heart wished to believe otherwise, if only for a few moments.  She picked up the figurine, cradling it in her cupped palms, and laid her cheek against its smooth form for a moment.  In that unguarded moment, with her shields relaxed, a flurry of quick images sifted through her mind at the touch of cool stone against her skin, nearly causing her to drop the statuette in surprise.  Instead, she lifted her head, focusing on the luminous stone, and allowed the impressions to well up within her.

   A gem-cutter, work-hardened hands working the soft moonstone, wielding metal tools with skill and love for his craft.  An exchange, a trader's wagon next, a long journey to distant lands, the carved stone changing hands several times until at last it reached a desert merchant's stall.  Examined, assessed, replaced by several potential buyers until one man had come—a priest in Gwyneddan garb—his blue eyes lighting with pleasure as he studied the carved cat closely, turning it this way and that, holding it in his palm beneath the desert sun before making his final choice.  Coin had been exchanged and a wrapping selected, and at last the stone cat had left the marketplace, tucked securely inside the bishop's clothing, next to his heart.

   Helena’s mind returned to the present.  She found herself cradling the cat against her chest, her cheeks wet with tears.  She brought it to her lips, laying a gentle kiss atop its head, and returned it to its resting place on the cabinet shelf.

#

   Saint Hilary’s Basilica sacristy
   May 24, 1136


   Bishop Duncan washed his hands in preparation for vesting for the Mass. "Da, Domine, virtutem manibus meis ad abstergendum  omnem maculam ut sine pollutione mentis et corporis valeam tibi servire," he prayed as he performed his ablutions.  Give virtue to my hands, O Lord, that being cleansed from all stain I might serve you with purity of mind and body.   Purity of body he could claim easily enough, but purity of mind was more difficult this morning.  Even now his mind threatened to drift back to the dream that had awakened him, but he wrenched his thoughts back to the moment.

   Putting aside his wayward thoughts, he reached for his amice, the snowy white linen vestment which represented the helmet of salvation.  Kissing the cross embroidered upon it, he murmured, "Impone, Domine, capiti meo galeam salutis, ad expugnandos diabolicos incursus."  Place upon me, O Lord, the helmet of salvation, that I may overcome the assaults of the devil. It was a symbol of humility, the amice, and he certainly felt humbled that morning, no more a master of his own mind now, it would seem, than he’d been as a hot-blooded young man in the throes of his first love.  The memory of his long-lost Maryse brought the ghost of a smile to his face, but he could hardly afford the distraction at the moment, so he cast off that thought as well as he finished touching the amice to the top of his head and tying the linen covering around his neck and shoulders before reaching for his alb.

   "Dealba me, Domine, et munda cor meum; ut, in sanguine Agni dealbatus, gaudiis perfruare sempiternis."  He kissed the cross on the alb as well, donning it over his cassock and amice as he pondered the words he had just prayed.  Purify me, O Lord, and cleanse my heart; that, being made white in the Blood of the Lamb, I may come to eternal joy. As always during this preparatory time of vesting before the Mass, he felt peace settle over him like a garment, assuring him of the certainty of his true calling.  Nevertheless, there were moments when it was a difficult thing to be a priest.  Today, the carnal man within him was at war with the spiritual leader and healer of souls he was called to be.  He’d had such moments before, had learned to accept both sides of his nature, yet such struggles were at times no less difficult for his having come to terms with them years ago.

   Reaching for his cincture, he tied it around his waist, praying as he did so, "Praecinge me, Domine, cingulo puritatis, et exstingue in lumbis meis humorem libidinis; ut maneat in me virtus continentia et castitatis."   Gird me, O Lord, with the girdle of purity, and extinguish in me all evil desires, that the virtue of chastity may abide in me.  It was not, the bishop understood, the natural desire of a man to unite with a woman as one flesh which was evil, for if that were so, how then could any man and wife know the joys of holy matrimony, that blessed sacrament, much less fulfill the Lord’s command to be fruitful and multiply?  But just as a man who had already chosen a wife must vow to forsake his pursuit of other women and remain faithful to her, he had chosen long ago to forsake the earthly joys of marriage for the higher calling of his priesthood.  It was, at times, a heavy burden to bear. He had hoped the passage of time would still his fleshly yearnings, but as he had reached his middle years with little sign of such desires waning appreciably, he’d resigned himself to the knowledge that, for him at least, the struggle was apt to prove the work of a lifetime.  So be it, then.   As struggles went, it was a common enough one among men who sought to be faithful stewards of their passions, regardless of whether or not they were clergy.

   He took up his stole, the green silk soft between his fingers, and kissed the cross embroidered in gold thread upon it before draping it around his neck and securing the ends of it with his cincture. "Redde mihi, Domine, stolam immortalitatis, quam perdidi in praevaricatione primi parentis: et, quamvis indignus accedo ad tuum sacrum mysterium, merear tamen gaudium sempiternum."  The flow of the silk in his hands reminded him briefly of his dream again, of the soft silken fabric sliding over creamy shoulders as his beloved one slowly untied the lacing securing the neckline, the gown falling away to display luminous bare skin as her brilliant blue eyes laughed merrily up at him.  No, he mustn’t think of that now!  Should try to banish the dream from his mind completely, tucked away behind tight shields and forgotten so he wouldn’t be tempted to linger over it again, allowing an innocent nocturnal longing to smolder and blaze up into the flame of unchecked lust.   Restore unto me, O Lord, the stole of immortality, which was lost through the guilt of our first parents: and, although I am unworthy to approach Your sacred Mysteries, nevertheless grant unto me eternal joy.

   There was only the chasuble left to put on, for as the bishop officiating over the day’s Mass he would not don the maniple signifying his acceptance of suffering until he stood before the holy altar, after praying the Confiteor before the people.  As he put on the green chasuble with its golden cross emblazoned on the back, signifying the yoke of Christ which he bore, he prayed, "Domine, qui dixisti: Iugum meam suave est et onus meum leve: fac, ut istud portare sic valeam, quod consequar tuam gratiam. Amen." He gave a wry smile as he considered the meaning of the prayer. O Lord, Who said: My yoke is easy and My burden light: grant that I may bear it well and follow after You with thanksgiving. So be it.  And indeed, so might it ever be.

   Bishop Duncan put on his pectoral cross on its green and gold cord, took up his mitre and crozier, and awaited the moment when it would be time to begin the Mass.


Chapter Three:  http://www.rhemuthcastle.com/index.php?topic=782.0
« Last Edit: November 25, 2011, 11:36:04 am by Evie »
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

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Offline AnnieUK

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Re: Visionaries--Part Two--Chapter Two
« Reply #1 on: November 18, 2011, 10:32:25 am »
I hope Jemmy's cheek is natural and not a result of spending too much time with Sextus.  And who'd have thought a goblet of wine would last long enough to be scryed in before being drunk!

And Helena - dodgy territory, girl. Time to backpedal, and fast.

Offline Evie

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Re: Visionaries--Part Two--Chapter Two
« Reply #2 on: November 18, 2011, 10:43:54 am »
Sextus does have remarkable self-control when he chooses, he just can't often be bothered to exercise it.   :D
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

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Offline Jerusha

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Re: Visionaries--Part Two--Chapter Two
« Reply #3 on: November 18, 2011, 12:43:17 pm »
Sir Sextus is not the only one who needs remarkable self-control here.  But it is an understandable situation, as both Father Duncan and Sister Helena are caring, compassionate souls.  As I mentioned somewhere in an earlier post, I hope they can develop a lasting, comfortable, companionable relationship.  (That doesn't mean there won't be the occasional wishful sigh along the way.) 

Or a few bumps and potholes.  This is an Evie story, afterall.   ;)
From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night...good Lord deliver us!

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Offline Alkari

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Re: Visionaries--Part Two--Chapter Two
« Reply #4 on: November 18, 2011, 02:48:18 pm »
(That doesn't mean there won't be the occasional wishful sigh along the way.) 

Or a few bumps and potholes.  This is an Evie story, afterall.   ;) 

Only a few?  We are speaking of a literary Marquis - or rather, Marquise - de Sade here!  :)   " Torture them a little, then a little more - and just when they think it's over, keep torturing them! "   


Offline Evie

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Re: Visionaries--Part Two--Chapter Two
« Reply #5 on: November 18, 2011, 03:06:14 pm »
LOL!  No, that's KK.  I don't do full on torture so much as...um...the occasional mild torment.   ;D
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

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Offline derynifanatic64

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Re: Visionaries--Part Two--Chapter Two
« Reply #6 on: November 18, 2011, 07:38:45 pm »
Duncan and Helena's relationship is definitely evolving.  One lesson that needs teaching is how to know when someone is scrying for you.  Duncan certainly had fun catching Helena on that lesson.
We will never forget the events of 9-11!!  USA!! USA!!

Offline Alkari

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Re: Visionaries--Part Two--Chapter Two
« Reply #7 on: November 19, 2011, 12:38:01 am »
LOL!  No, that's KK.  I don't do full on torture so much as...um...the occasional mild torment.   ;D
I'm sure poor Duncan occasionally thinks you are torturing him!  :D

 


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