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"He's one of Diarmuid's," she whispered.
Which was a nuisance, but before he had left in the morning, Kevin had told
her about the dead svart alfar in the garden, and Jennifer had decided that
for once she wasn't about to object to having someone watch over her. Her
father, she thought wryly, would find it amusing.
The two women walked along a street where blacksmith's iron rang upon anvils.
Overhead, balconies of second-floor houses leaned out over the narrow roadway,
blocking the sunlight at intervals. Turning left at a crossing of lanes,
Laesha led her past an open area where the noise and the smell of food
announced a market. Slowing to look, Jennifer saw that even in a time of
festival there didn't seem to be much produce on display. Following her
glance, Laesha shook her head slightly and continued up a narrow alleyway,
pausing at length outside a shop door through which could be seen bales and
bolts of cloth. Laesha, it seemed, wanted a new pair of gloves.
While her friend went inside, Jennifer moved on a few steps, drawn by the
sound of children's laughter. Reaching the end of the cobbled lane, she saw
that it ran into a wide square with a grassy area, more brown than green, in
the center. And upon the grass, fifteen or twenty children were playing some
sort of counting game. Smiling faintly, Jennifer stopped to watch.
The children were gathered in a loose circle about the slim figure of a girl.
Most of them were laughing, but the girl in the center was not. She gestured
suddenly, and a boy came forward from the ring with a strip of cloth and, with
a gravity that matched her own, began to bind it over her eyes. That done, he
rejoined the ring. At his nod the children linked hands and began to revolve,
in a silence eerie after the laughter, around the motionless figure
blindfolded in the center. They moved gravely and with dignity. A few other
people had stopped to watch.
Then, without warning, the blindfolded girl raised an arm and pointed it
towards the moving ring.
Her high clear voice rang out over the green:
When the wandering fire
Strikes the heart of stone
Will you follow?
And on the last word the circling stopped.
The girl's finger was leveled directly at a stocky boy, who, without any
hesitation, released the hands on either side of him and walked into the ring.
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The circle closed itself and began moving again, still in silence.
"I never tire of watching this," a cool voice said from just behind Jennifer.
She turned quickly. To confront a pair of icy green eyes and the long red hair
of the High Priestess, Jaelle. Behind the Priestess she could see a group of
her grey-clad attendants, and out of the corner of her eye, she noticed
Diarmuid's man edging nervously closer to them.
Jennifer nodded a greeting, then turned back to watch the children. Jaelle
stepped forward to stand beside her, her white robe brushing the cobblestones
of the street.
"The ta'kiena is as old as any ritual we have," she murmured in Jennifer's
ear. "Look at the people watching."
And indeed, although the faces of the children seemed almost unnaturally
serene, the adults who had gathered at the edge of the square or in shop
archways wore expressions of wonder and apprehension. And there were more
people gathering. Again the girl in the ring raised her arm.
When the wandering fire
Strikes the heart of stone
Will you follow?
Will you leave your home?
And again the circling stopped on the last word. This time the extended finger
pointed to another of the boys, older and lankier than the first. With only a
brief, almost ironic pause, he, too, released the hands he was holding and
walked forward to stand by the other chosen one. A murmur rose from the
watchers, but the children, seemingly oblivious, were circling again.
Unsettled, Jennifer turned to the impassive profile of the Priestess. "What is
it?" she asked. "What are they doing?"
Jaelle smiled thinly. "It is a dance of prophecy. Their fate lies in when they
are called."
"But what-"
"Watch!"
The blindfolded girl, standing straight and tall, was chanting again:
When the wandering fire
Strikes the heart of stone
Will you follow?
Will you leave your home?
Will you leave your life ?
This time, when the voice and the dancing stopped together, a deep sound of
protest ran through the watching crowd. For the one chosen now was one of the
youngest girls. With a toss of her honey-
colored hair and a cheerful smile, she stepped into the ring beside the two
boys. The taller one placed an arm around her shoulders.
Jennifer turned to Jaelle. "What does it mean?" she asked. "What kind of
prophecy . . . ?" The question trailed off.
Beside her the Priestess was silent. There was no gentleness in the lines of
her face, nor compassion in her eyes as she watched the children begin to move
again. "You ask what it means," she said at length. "Not much in these soft
times, when the ta'kiena is only another game. That last one they now say
means only that she will leave the life her family has led." Her expression
was unreadable, but an irony in the tone reached Jennifer.
"What was it before?" she asked.
This time Jaelle did turn to look at her. "The dance has been done by children
for longer than anyone can remember. In harsher days that call meant death, of
course. Which would be a pity.
She's an attractive child, isn't she?"
There was a malicious amusement in the voice. "Watch closely," Jaelle
continued. "This last one they truly fear, even now." And indeed, the people
around and behind them had grown suddenly quiet with strained anticipation. In
the stillness Jennifer could hear the sounds of laughter from the market,
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several streets over. It seemed farther than that.
In the circle on the green, the blindfolded girl raised her arm and began the
chant for the final time:
When the wandering fire
Strikes the heart of stone
Will you follow?
Will you leave your home?
Will you leave your life?
Will you take . . . the Longest Road?
The dancing stopped.
Her heart pounding inexplicably, Jennifer saw that the slim finger was
pointing unerringly at the boy who had carried the blindfold. Raising his
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