Free Taminy by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff Page A

said.
    oOo
    He
was utterly exhausted by the time he reached Arundel. Exhausted and overwhelmed
by his new knowledge. There were still things he didn’t understand; who the
girl was that came out of the Sea as Meredydd entered it; how Ealad-hach could
find so much to fear in the idea that a female might be Osraed; and how he had
not recognized Meredydd in the Meri when he saw Her.
    Dear
God, when She kissed him!
    What
was he to do now, he puzzled. In light of all he knew, what must his next task
be? She would tell him, of course. He knew that as surely as he knew he
breathed. But his certitude was underpinned with white terror; given what he
now knew, what would the touch of the Meri’s spirit feel like when it next came
over him?
    It
was darkening as Killian, in his last task as Wyth’s Weard, drove the new
Osraed out to his family estate. No longer bored, the younger boy was still
agog with the events he had witnessed. He would return to his own family and
regale his relations and friends with tales of how a great, gleaming creature
plucked Wyth from the beach and attempted to devour him.
    But
he would have to give his tell soon, for every night of sleep would separate
him further from the already corrupted memory. In a week he would remember the
Pilgrimage as only marginally eventful and pray his would be more spectacular.
    Deposited
before Arundel Manor, Wyth stood and listened to the creak and rattle of the
Nairne-bound carriage. He stood, staring at the house’s brick facade as a moon
peeked shyly over the eastern hills. Dim lights went on in several first floor
windows, dashing his hopes that his mother might not be at home.
    He
inhaled deeply of the cool, fragrant air and followed Killian’s progress across
the Bridge to Lagan. His errant thought of Meredydd he withered where it
bloomed, ears groping for the rush of the Halig-tyne. She crooned in sweet
sibilance, pulling his thoughts away downstream to wash them.
    Wyth
stirred and considered picking up his pack and opening the door. But the door
was already opening, he realized, and he stood, dumb, peering into the dark
entry way.
    “Who
is it, please?” asked a familiar, scratchy voice, then, “Oh, but it’s Master
Wyth—oh!” And the manservant ran, leaving the door wide open.
    Smiling,
Wyth shouldered his pack and stepped inside, closing the heavy carved door
behind him. The hall was dim, lit only by the wicks of two floor lamps on
either side of the stair. The servants hadn’t gotten to lighting the door lamps
yet, nor any of the upstairs lights, it seemed. But the dark was soothing to
Wyth. It was muted, peaceful. He desired peace and quiet above all things just
now.
    He
was not to have it. He was at the center of the large entry when the servant
reappeared from the direction of the dining chamber, followed closely by the
Moireach Arundel.
    “Wyth!
Wyth, you’re home! Dear God!” She slipped past the gawping servant and hurried
to her son’s side. Her eyes went at once to his forehead and read his success.
She stopped, hands hovering halfway to her mouth, eyes huge and flowing with a
slurry of swift-passing emotions. Wyth could not read any of them with external
senses, yet knew them to be ambiguous.
    Pride
won out, and the Moireach waved at the staring manservant. “Lights, Adken!
Lights! All must see my son’s triumph!”
    It
was then that Wyth realized Adken was not alone in the dining room doorway.
Silhouetted there were at least five other individuals who must have been
dining with his mother. That lady was beside herself with excitement. And, as
the wicks glow brightened the entry way, Wyth found himself surrounded by
family and friends. He was overwhelmed once again.
    Deluged
in their expressions of delight and amazement. It took him a moment to realize
that he was being overwhelmed by more than the mere expression of those things.
Deep inside, a door had opened, allowing their emotions to walk through his
soul.
    Agape,
he stood, fielding