Ashes Under Uricon (The Change Book 1) (13 page)

Taid clapped his hands. “To convert the sinners from the error of their ways. What a clever girl you are.” He looked at the others, who were all staring in my direction. “What did I tell you, colleagues? Our work has not been in vain.”

I blushed, conscious of their stares.

Cordelia said, “Well, indeed. That is more than enough for today. Thank you, Non. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Friends, what a wonderful breakfast we shall have today.”

Everyone in the room clapped their hands. “Are we finished?” I said quietly.

“For today, my dear. Only for today. Tomorrow we continue. Tomorrow we begin the longest journey. But we travel with joy in our hearts.”

In a babble of voices, we rose from the table and made our way into the dining room.

For several days the questioning continued. We seemed to have broken the ice that day and the sessions became more and more informal. They probed my past, my relationships – always an important subject in their eyes – with my mother, my sister, my grandfather. For that last one Taid was absent from the room, one of the others taking his role as scribe. The relationship session I found the most difficult started with my father. I say ‘started’, because it soon became something else entirely.

I have no knowledge or memory of my father. I don’t even know his name. My mother only spoke of him once to my knowledge, to tell me that he was dead, and that I should be grateful for that. I had asked her one day when I was about five or six. Other children in Schola spoke of their fathers; it seemed odd to me that I did not have one. My mother said simply, “He’s dead. Be grateful. Don’t mention it again.” So I didn’t.

The Professors seemed mildly shocked when I told them this. Matthew, who had returned to the sessions, though he said very little usually, was most surprised. “You must have some knowledge of your father. Your sister is younger than you, is she not?”

“By some twenty-three months,” I replied.

“How old were you when she was born?”

“I was just under two years old.”

“Your sister has the same father as you, I presume?” He was becoming more and more persistent.

“I presume she has. Yes.”

“So for somewhere around what – two years by my calculation, your father must have been around.”

“Presumably. But I don’t remember him being around.”

“Your father impregnated your mother on two occasions that we know of. Once to produce you. The second time to produce your sister. On the second occasion you would have been around fourteen months old. Yes?”

“If you say so.” I looked at Taid, who had stopped writing and was looking directly at Matthew.

“What is your point, Matthew?” he said. “Are you suggesting that a fourteen month old child should be aware of when its parents are copulating?”

“Not at all, Richard. Not at all. Please do not be so vulgar. What I am suggesting is that a child of that age would surely have some knowledge of the man who must have been around at the time.” Matthew’s voice had returned to its normal, calm state.

“She says she doesn’t,” Taid said. “Shall we accept her word for that? And move on?”

Matthew lowered his head, grumbling. The questioning turned to other matters. I spent some time later that day wondering why Matthew had been so persistent in trying to get me to say that I knew my father, but I soon forgot it.

The following day, Matthew was absent once again. This time the questions were about relationships that I had not yet had, a subject which at first I found baffling. I had begun to see – particularly since the session when Taid explained ‘metaphor’ to me – that the questions I was being asked were not necessarily concerned with their surface subject. I began to understand that their questions were a very subtle way of opening my mind. My education in the other world had effectively shut that down, as I have explained already. Now it was their task to break through the substantial barrier created by that education, to allow me to see things in ways that I had never thought possible.

For this session, Jennifer, the woman from the Isle of Man, was leading, accompanied by Campbell. Her first question was very direct. “Do you think you will be married one day?”

It took me by surprise. “I suppose so. I can’t honestly say I’ve given it much thought.”

“Who will you marry?”

“I have no idea. A man presumably.”

“Any particular man?”

“Until I meet him, how on earth can I say?”

Campbell spoke in his soft Scottish accent. “Why could it not be a woman?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Could what be a woman?”

“Why, the person you marry. Could it not be a woman?”

“Women don’t marry other women.” It was an instinctive response.

“Do they not? Wouldn’t you like to marry Eluned? You seem to think of her in the way that a woman thinks of the person she is married to.”

“Marry Eluned? That would be absurd. She is my friend. She could not be my husband.”

“So marriage is between a man and a woman. No other way is possible.”

I tried to take the offensive in these questions. “What would be the point? There would be no children. Without children marriage has no meaning.”

“Are you not capable of bearing a child?” He was not going to back down that easily.

“Presumably I am.”

“Is not Eluned capable of bearing a child? After all, you have both been naked together, so I presume you would know that.”

“What’s your point, Campbell?” I was really squeezing my knees together hard. I had not lost my temper during any of the previous sessions, but I was getting perilously close to it now.

“Two women. Both with a child-bearing capacity. We must assume they can produce at least one child.”

“But a woman needs a man to do that.”

“Have you never heard of ‘artificial insemination’? Or ‘insemination by donor’? The problem is not as great as you make it out to be.”

I had no idea what he was talking about now. “Look, Jennifer’s original question asked me if I intended to marry. As that is in the future, I said I didn’t know. You may think otherwise – and I have learned to accept that there are other ways of considering the world than those I once believed. I believe marriage is between a man and a woman for the purpose of producing children. For some strange reason you, Campbell, seem intent on suggesting that it could exist between two women ...”

“Or two men,” Campbell interrupted, a sly smile on his face.

“All right, between two women or two men. Incredible though it may be, that appears to be your belief. It is not mine.”

Jennifer spoke up. “Why is that, my dear?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Why can you not believe that two women or two men could be married?”

“As I said, what would be the point?”

“Does everything need to have ‘a point’, as you put it?”

I was about to answer when it dawned on me where this was leading. At last. Campbell, in the way that he always seemed to do, was deliberately provoking me. Provoking me into providing my so-called beliefs, which were nothing other than the result of what had happened in my education. My head had been filled with what I believed to be facts, and I was unwilling or unable to question them.

I looked at Jennifer and smiled. “No. Everything doesn’t need to have a point. Does it?”

She clapped her hands. “Excellent, my dear.”

Campbell laughed loudly. “So marriage could be between two women?”

“Or two men,” I added wickedly. “Why not? Why not between a man and a table? Or a woman and a chair? Nothing is fixed. I must stop thinking in that way.”

Jennifer clapped her hands again. She closed her folder. The session was over.

In this way my mind was slowly opened. Opened to a world without boundaries. Without rules. Without limits.

There were one or two further sessions after that one, but the content was not particularly significant – to me at least. Perhaps they were further enlightening me. If they were I did not recognise the method. There was a gap of over seven days following what turned out to be my last session of questions. At least I knew now, unlike after the first session, that I was not in trouble. I presumed the Professors must have had something that took them time to discuss.

When the knock came on the door that morning, I was still half-asleep, lying in my bed. I was watching Eluned as she washed and dressed, noting how meticulous she was about each movement, each gesture. She immediately turned to the door and said, “Your needs must wait, my lord.” She finished dressing before helping me wash and dress. When we were ready she unlocked the door. Taid stepped in.

“Good morning, ladies. I’m sorry if I disturbed you. Non, we have need of you this morning. Eluned, you may accompany my grand-daughter today.”

This was unusual in that he had greeted us, which he had not done before, and in that he was expecting Eluned to accompany me. She recognised this at the same time as me. “Will there be need of me?” she asked, quietly.

“Very much so, my dear. Today Non begins her journey into understanding.”

I looked at him. Shocked. “My journey?” I stammered.

“Yes, indeed, cariad. We believe that you are ready to set forth. Eluned will remain as your companion as you travel.”

I looked at her. “But where are we going, Taid?”

“Into the past to prepare for the future.” He laughed. “Don’t worry, the journey begins in the library. We are not sending you away from here. For the present.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Eluned’s shoulders relaxed. We had both somehow imagined that we were about to be sent away to who knows where. “How can we ‘journey’ in the library?” I asked, curious now.

“You will voyage into the mind of man through what he has written. You will be like Columbus, setting sail for the unknown. We hope that you will also discover new worlds, as he did.”

“Ah, I see now. That is a ‘metaphor’.”

Taid laughed, as did I. Eluned looked confused. “Metaphor indeed, cariad. Come, let us set sail.” He turned to the door.

“My lord,” Eluned said as he stepped into the corridor. He paused. “‘
Paulus vero cum adhuc sustinuisset dies multos fratribus valefaciens navigavit Syriam et cum eo Priscilla et Aquila.’”

Taid turned back. “‘Paul, when he had stayed yet many days, taking his leave of the brethren, sailed thence into Syria, and with him Priscilla and Aquila.’ You know Latin, Eluned?”

Eluned smiled. “It is the Lady who speaks, my lord. These are not my words.”

“Hmmm. I wonder who she is referring to. I could see you two as Priscilla and Aquila, but I wonder who would be Paul? And where would be Syria?”

“Are those words from the Bible, Taid?” I asked.

“The Acts of the Apostles, cariad. I don’t suppose you know that book. Paul was the first so-called ‘apostle’ who does not appear in the gospels.”

“Eluned says she has never read the Bible. She always says it is the Lady – sometimes she says the Domina – speaking. How can she know these things? Who is the Lady? And I don’t think there is an Apostle called Paul, is there?”

“Too many questions, Non. Too many questions. They will all be answered in due course. Come, the others are waiting for us.” He took my hand. That was something else he had not done for a long time.

When we entered the library it was to find the seating once more re-arranged. At each end of the table were three chairs, one on the end and one to each side. At the far end, one of the men, Aidan, sat with a book on the table before him, with two of the women, Jennifer and Cordelia, beside him. At the near end was a similar arrangement, except that the third woman, Mere Rhiannon, sat facing a book with the remaining two men, Campbell and Eguski, each side of her. There was a low hum in the room, which I soon realised was coming from the two Professors at the ends of the table. They were reading aloud from the book before them, while the others wrote furiously on the pads of paper before them.

Taid moved down the table, leading me to a chair that was placed at the centre, facing the windows. Beside it was another chair, which Taid indicated Eluned to take. He then moved to the side of the table opposite and we all sat down together. On the table before me was a pad of paper similar to the others, with a pen resting beside it. Suddenly the murmuring stopped. The resulting silence was most odd.

The door opened. Matthew and Mererid stepped into the room. They took up a position before the windows, which meant that their faces were obscured by the light from the outside.

“Now that we are all here,” Matthew began. The Professors turned their heads or their chairs to face him. “Now that we are all here, we must tell the young lady what is required of her. A word of introduction first, perhaps.” He turned to Mererid.

She began to read from a sheet she held in her hand. “There is a text written in the old language known as the ‘Armes Prydein’, translated as meaning ‘The Prophecy of Britain’. It may have been written in the tenth century. What is particularly interesting is that it contains one of the earliest mentions of … well, you all know who. There is, of course, a copy of the original in this library.

“Much of it is the usual mumbo-jumbo of the time. Lists of kings and princes who may, or may not, have existed. That is not important. In later times, the name of the person we are referring to was corrupted. Thanks mainly to the French...” - she looked directly at Mere Rhiannon - “... she became encumbered with a great deal of rubbish. Things such as supposedly having magical powers. Worst of all, of course, she was roped into the enormous foolishness surrounding the so-called ‘Arthur’.

“Some time ago, Matthew realised that the so-called ‘prophecies’ contained in this text could in fact be very relevant to the world which we unfortunately inhabit today. When he brought these thoughts to me, we examined the text together and came to the same conclusion. Whoever was responsible for composing the ‘Armes Prydain’, in the dim and distant past, had an uncanny ability to describe what has happened to us since the abomination known as the ‘Change’.”

I half stood up in my chair. “An ‘abomination’? She can’t call the Change an ‘abomination’.”