My precious girl stands beside the Thanis River, her body arched over the current, caressing each ripple and mixing her tears with the cold, cold water.  Only here beneath her outspread arms can I find peace.

The sun is rising, and we are alone.  I thank the Goddess for this privilege.  Others come during the day, but at this hour she is mine, and all is as it used to be.  Her tears fall softly on my face, tasting faintly of dew and salt.  This is my deepest joy. 

When the sun is higher, I leave her, and the old sorrow returns.  I bear this burden until the sun rises again.  Until then I am a shadow of a man.

I knew her as Brynna, but the people here now call her simply "Solace."  She was born of sorrow, so the midwife named her accordingly.  What the sorrow was, only the Goddess can say.  She knew nothing of her father, and her mother died of grief shortly after giving birth.  Brynna never knew their names.  So soon an orphan, the midwife dedicated her to our Goddess Ynniva, just as I was, and so many others here.  The Order raised her also, but with a difference:  many believed that she was predestined for great service.  This is how I knew her.

I first saw Brynna when she was brought before the Oracle.  She was five years old.  I was thirteen and newly appointed to serve in the Holy Chamber, having sacrificed my manhood the previous year and endured intensive training in the rituals of my caste.  I was very young to achieve this honor, but a remark by one of the oracular priestesses secured my place:  "The youth with the grave expression—with age, he will inspire the proper amount of fear."  I smile to think of it now; I who was afraid of all but a handful of my peers would inspire fear!

I stood with the Holy Guard to the Oracle's right.  Our duties were simple:  protect the Oracle if necessary and intimidate laymen and supplicants.  It had that effect on me.  Next to the larger, older boys, I felt insignificant.

Brynna came at the Oracle's request, which was unusual; the Divine seldom spoke to children.  A priestess, holding the tiny hand, led Brynna to the sacred trigram below the Seat of Power.  The child watched the Oracle without fear, but there was something melancholy in her face, an expression that only a person who has endured many trials could possibly have.  A child's face, with ancient eyes the color of peridot.  Her head was crowned with auburn hair that blazed eerily in the torchlight. 

As I studied her, she looked across the Chamber at me, into my eyes, with a sad smile that seemed to say, "I am lonely, too."  My breath caught in my throat, and she looked away before I could smile in return.  In that moment, I was lost forever.

The Oracle acknowledged no one, though she knew that the child was before her.  She sprawled across the golden Seat of Power, gathering her energy for a time.  Without warning, the Oracle kicked and screamed, howling like an animal in heat.  I was somewhat accustomed to the scene, but the coming of the Goddess never ceased to inspire me with awe and wonder.  She clawed the Seat of Power, tearing her holy white robe, writhing in ecstatic communion.  Gradually her screams subsided, and she lay still, her chest heaving.  Then the Goddess stood and pointed at the girl, who waited quietly, though I could see her lips tremble.  Ynniva spoke:

     Child of sorrow born
     Must sorrow endure;
     Light the shadows,
     Nourish the seed,
     And bear the fruit of Solace. 

The Oracle collapsed, unconscious.  The little girl looked distraught and confused.

The young priestess collected the child, now weeping, and took her away.  I watched her go with a heavy heart, then I chanced to look at the Oracle.  Those wild, empty eyes seemed to rest on me, and a chill raced up my spine.  I dropped my gaze, then remembered my training:  I stared straight ahead, back stiffened, arms at my sides.

The remaining hours of my shift passed very slowly.  I felt like crying several times, but it wouldn't do to humiliate myself in front of the older boys, much less be punished by Let, my senior.  That little girl had stirred something in me, and without her there was a void in my heart.  The Holy Chamber, with its marble floor, golden ornament, and aging tapestries, lost its luster (Ynniva forgive me for saying it). 

For days I could not concentrate on my duties, and Let had to correct me more than once.  I knew that the heaviness in me would lift if I could only be near the red-headed child.  I had left my group-mates when I was promoted, so I had no one to talk to about this ache.  It grew with each day, and a desperation took hold of me.  Finally, I asked Tighe, a boy who stood next to me in the Holy Guard, if he recalled her.

"Which one?  The babe?  Oh, yes, dragged her out bawling, as I recall."  He was very tall, and always spoke with his arms crossed in front of him.

"Did you..." I began, "do you feel that she..."

"Out with it, now.  I haven't got all day."

"Is your heart empty after having seen her?"  It all came out in a rush, and I regretted it.  He looked down at me in astonishment, then shook his head and walked away, muttering, "Children!"

After that, I resolved to be near her no matter the cost.  I could think of no better way than to return to the duties of my youth and go back among the apprentice servants of the Children's House.  The thought of giving up my rank and position in the Holy Guard should have made me ashamed, but it made me happy instead.  I asked Let for permission.

Let was shocked, and I had to repeat my request.  "How can you ask me that, Covin?  Service in the Holy Chamber is the highest honor for our kind."

"Thank you, Senior Let, but I have a calling.  I humbly ask again."  I stared at my feet with my hands clasped behind my back in the posture of respect.

"What is the nature of this calling?" 

"It...it is a child, sir, thank you...called before the Oracle.  The Goddess...the calling is in my heart, sir."  My face flushed with shame or embarrassment, I did not know which.

"Which child, Covin?"

"The red-haired child with the eyes of an adult."

"Ah," he said.  "The child of sorrow."  He seemed to study me for a time, then he put a hand on my shoulder.  "You understand that if you transfer, you must begin anew?  Begin with the base duties and work your way up?"

I nodded.

"Then it will be done."  He left me, and my heart began to sing.

Senior Firrol initially put me to work in the kitchen, cleaning the grease from the great iron ovens.  The jibes of boys younger than myself did not discourage me.  I was working in the Children's House, and with patience I knew I would eventually see the girl again. 

I performed my duties well, with spirit, and eventually Firrol allowed me to serve food.  I thanked the Goddess, for now I saw the child at every meal.  When she was near, I felt my cares fly away, leaving me happy and unburdened.  I cherished these moments.

At first we exchanged proper greetings, but I soon developed the courage to ask her name.  She smiled, a thin veil over the incessant, unknowable sadness that lurked behind the pale eyes.  "They call me Brynnad'dell," she said.

"Then I shall call you Brynna," I replied, wondering at my sudden boldness.

Her smile widened and briefly chased the sadness to deeper recesses.  "Tell me your name," she said.

"Covin."

"You were in the Holy Chamber."

"Yes."

"Why are you here now?  Are you being punished?"

"Oh, no!  Nothing like that.  I...asked to come here."

"I see," she said.  And I knew that she did.

I spoke with her daily and was fortunate enough to become her friend, or at least more than an acquaintance.

After I had worked in the mess hall long enough to prove that only very stupid boys would request a demotion, Firrol promoted me to work in the Children's Gardens, part of the Senior Gardener's domain.  This allowed me greater freedom to speak with Brynna, since the children played for two hours each afternoon.  I contrived to tend whatever flower or shrub was nearest to her, and we whiled away the time with pleasant conversation.

Brynna was greatly interested in the plants that I tended, and I told her what I knew of them, which was very little, although I tried to inflate my scant knowledge with a lot of words.  She would look over my shoulder, wrinkle her brows, and "take the lesson," as she put it.  All lessons inevitably ended in playing Mule, with myself as the Mule, of course.  Toting her around on my back was no great burden to me, because she was the tiniest child I have ever seen and weighed very little. 

We did not always play.  On the days when gray clouds cast shadows over the garden, their somber appearance intensified the sadness in Brynna.  At these times, Brynna would say odd things.  One afternoon the rain drove us indoors, and we watched the storm through the tall windows that face out onto the garden.  She stood quietly, then she said, "The gods feel sadness for the follies of man; that is why the skies darken, the thunder rattles, and the rain comes, sometimes lightly, sometimes in torrents.  It would seem that sadness is essential, then, for what life is there without rain?  Can we not realize happiness without sadness?  I do not believe that.  Surely our eternal gods can order the world so that sadness has no place in it.  I feel certain they could, if they only desired it." 

I did little more than listen to her then and lamely comment that "sadness dwells in all things."  Then she laughed like a child and turned the conversation to lighter themes.

So we continued, very happily I must say, until Brynna reached her tenth year.  Soon after this anniversary, the High Priestesses assigned her to the Healing Chambers.  I was devastated when I heard the news; I had no friend but Brynna, the group-mates of my childhood having long since moved on to other duties.  But I should not have doubted her.  Brynna insisted that I accompany her as her servant, a request the Priestesses granted.  I did not realize what an unusual circumstance it was, but I uttered many prayers of thanks to the Goddess for helping me to find my true vocation:  I vowed to protect and cherish Brynna until the end of my days.

The change meant honor for Brynna, since the Healers were second in prestige only to the oracular priestesses; what little esteem the Order claimed among ordinary citizens was due to their abilities to cure and comfort.  Still, stupid creature that I was, I did not understand why Brynna was going among them.  While I helped Brynna gather her meager belongings, I asked her the meaning of it.

"Why am I going among the Healers, Covin?  Because of my gift, and my curse."
     "I do not understand."

She smiled her sad smile.  "My sorrow is others' joy.  This is my gift as a Healer."

I often reflected upon this.  Why is it that the Goddess seems to prefer revelation through paradox?

It was my delight to accompany Brynna wherever she went and give her any little assistance that I could.  Because of this I came to understand her gift and what it meant for her.

Although nominally a student of the Healing Arts, she required little instruction from the Healers.  Indeed, I often think she taught more than she learned.  She studied with them and learned their rites, but it soon became obvious that most of the Healers did not know what to do with her.  The Mistress Healer observed this and undertook to teach her personally.

The Mistress Healer never spoke to me, of course, but she seemed to be in awe of Brynna and her power.  She watched Brynna as though she were trying to solve a puzzle.  This analysis offended me; Brynna was not an ancient scroll to be deciphered!  She was a darling, innocent girl, and it grieved me because I seemed to be the only one who treated her as such.

When Brynna had been among the Healers six months, the Mistress Healer and two others took her into Haddon Mill, the nearby town, for the first time.  A woman of means (and generous to the Order) was suffering a depression from which no one could revive her.  The Mistress Healer decided this would be the ideal test of Brynna's abilities, so the Healers and I accompanied Brynna on this errand of mercy.

The lady lived in a large stone villa where servants busily came and went through the many doors like ants in a tall mud hill.  I wondered that so much effort was required for the comfort of so few.

A servant led us through hallways draped with expensive tapestries, rugs, and other fine things, up a broad staircase and into a sumptuous receiving room, where the lady reclined on a sofa.  A few lamps burned low in the corners, and the tall windows were covered, creating a gloom that undoubtedly mirrored the patient's state of mind.

The lady waved a pudgy, jeweled hand weakly at our party and said, "Thank you for coming to assist me, my dear, but I fear it will do little good."  She expelled her breath in a long sigh and covered her eyes.

Brynna seated herself on the edge of the sofa and spoke in a tongue I did not know; this must be an uncommon rite, because it greatly surprised the Mistress Healer.  She stared at Brynna as though she had raised the dead.  I smiled with pride at my bright young girl.

When she finished the prayer (I assume that was the purpose of the ancient speech), Brynna took the lady's hand and looked earnestly into her face.  If anyone had described the scene to me, I would have thought it comical:  the little girl with serious, adult eyes ministering to the older woman.  Yet so it was, and I dare say that no one who looked upon it thought of Brynna as a child. 

The lady soon uncovered her eyes and returned Brynna's gaze, first with fear and disbelief, then with growing amazement.  At last she smiled and said, "Oh, my dear!" and laughed and wept for joy.

I admit that I cared little for the problems of this woman, so I watched Brynna keenly, and I was most distressed to see tears falling from her eyes, slowly at first, then more heavily.  Her lips quavered, and she slumped back onto the sofa. 

The lady petted my girl and called loudly for tea, then she worked her way off of the sofa and bustled into a corner, where she withdrew gold coins from a coffer.  She bustled back and offered them to Brynna, who shook her head.  The Mistress Healer rescued the coins and groveled before the lady of wealth.

The spectacle continued for the better part of an hour, as the Healers toasted their patroness with tea and flattery, while my dear girl sat silently with a sorrow that was now her own.  I longed to comfort her, but knew I could not until we were alone.

We were at last able to escape the villa and begin the walk back to the Sanctuary.  When we reached the edge of the town, Brynna stopped and looked at me, but her eyes were far away.  I said nothing and waited.  The Healers paused several paces away, and they, too, waited.  Finally Brynna turned and walked down a nearby lane.  We followed, the Healers whispering among themselves while the Mistress Healer scrutinized all that she did.

Brynna came to a little cottage, neatly kept but in need of some repair, and knocked boldly on the sagging door.  After several minutes, a ragged boy opened it and peeked up at Brynna, saying nothing.  Brynna said, "May I come in?"

The boy stared and opened the door wider.  I followed her inside.  The Healers waited outside, except the Mistress Healer, who watched from the doorway.

The cottage consisted of a single room with a hearth.  A woman was lying in a bed in the corner, attended by another boy and a girl.  She watched us with suspicion.  "I've paid up," she said.  "I've paid up!"  She pulled the blankets up to her chin.

Brynna came to the woman and sat beside her, as she continued her frightened insistence that she had paid up.  Brynna took her hand and caressed her brow as she prayed to the Goddess.  Then my darling began to shudder and shake, and tears came over her like a storm, coursing down her sweet face in torrents, until I feared that the force of it would quite overcome her.  I took a step, but the Mistress Healer grabbed my arm and held me back.  The two of us watched the storm batter her small body, and it hurt me to see it.

Gradually I noticed that the bedridden woman was growing calmer, and she held Brynna's hand with strength and affection.  She sat up and embraced her benefactor for a long time.  Eventually, they parted, and the woman said, "Thank ye!  Thank ye!  Bless ye, child!" 

Brynna, pale and exhausted, looked up and saw me through her tears.  She held out her small arms, and I rushed to pick her up.  She clasped me tightly, and as we left, the poor woman blessed and thanked us out the door.

As we returned to the Sanctuary, the Healers walked ahead of us, and I carried Brynna in silence.  After she had rested for a time, she said, "I'm so sorry, Covin, you can put me down now."

I did as she asked, adding, "I would never tire of carrying you."

She stood on her toes and kissed me on the cheek, then we walked side by side.  She said, "You are probably wondering about those women."

"I worry more about you," I answered.

She smiled at that and looked around at the decaying autumn landscape, darkened with the shadows of a dying day.  "I will describe what happened as best I can.  The woman of means had a sadness with inactivity at its root.  She feels herself to be of little use to anyone, but she knows no remedy, and this weighs heavily upon her.  I have eased her melancholy, but I think it will return.

"The poor woman had lost her youngest child to fever.  The strength of her emotion drew me to her, and I am glad of it.  It will ease her distress."

I pondered this.  "What you do...it is hard on you."

"Yes," she said.

I considered further.  "I see the good in it, for the woman who lost the child.  Yet—it seems wasteful for you to suffer so for more trivial cares."

"You refer to the wealthy woman?"

"I do."

She stopped and turned to me.  "Remember, Covin, no one's sadness is ever trivial.  Even hers—yes, even hers!—is deserving of compassion."  She squeezed my arm affectionately, and we resumed our pace, she walking into the sun while I fell into her long shadow.

The Mistress Healer began to devote more of her time to Brynna's training, so she delegated her bureaucratic duties to other Healers.  Brynna did not find this to be strange, but I understood the significance of it.  Now only the three of us went out among the townspeople, about three times a week—any more was too hard on Brynna.  I was pleased to be rid of the whispering entourage, but the Mistress Healer unnerved me with her constant examination of everything.

From my perspective, the Mistress Healer did not actively teach Brynna.  She was simply present when Brynna worked.  The Mistress Healer was an austere woman, but with time she softened toward Brynna's childish ways.  I even saw her smile occasionally on our walks into town, when Brynna would skip ahead and sing and call back to us.

As my girl became a woman, old beyond her thirteen years, she gained renown in Haddon Mill and in towns far away.  The desperately sad, the lonely, and the forgotten made pilgrimage to our Sanctuary, and the Mistress Healer arranged a schedule whereby Brynna would receive them in the Healing Chamber thirteen times each moon.  Postulants accepted donations at the entrance, and in truth, you couldn't see Brynna unless you had a few coins.  Still, from the most trivial cares to the weightiest grief, Brynna absorbed them all and left solace in their stead, and the Goddess was praised far and wide.

I worried over my girl because there was no one else to do it.  She was so small—stunted, I think, by the very sadness that she bore—and her great, pale eyes held the world's compassion, condensed into green ice.  But these were not the only reasons that I worried over her:  I loved her.  Great Goddess Ynniva forgive me, I love her still.

As the demand for Brynna's services increased, so she bore it, bore all of the sadness that sought her out, as the Oracle had said she must.  Unfortunately, her fame also attracted the curious, who made the pilgrimage solely with the hope of seeing Divine miracles or a freak of Nature, or simply to revel in someone else's pain.  I despised these hypocrites and endeavored to keep them away from Brynna.  This was a constant, futile battle on my part; the Mistress Healer allowed anyone with enough silver into the Chamber.  Brynna accepted them all, regardless of their motives, while I hovered and fretted and served her faithfully.

After one of many very long days of collecting sadness, Brynna lay exhausted in the Healing Chamber, and I carried her to her room and set her down on her bed to rest.  She thanked me with a weak smile.  I sat across the room and watched her, as usual; worried, as usual.  Finally she said, "I'm all right, Covin.  I'm all right."

I nodded and kept watching.  "Brynna."

"Yes, Covin?"

"Where does it go?  The sadness.  Where does it go?"

She sighed, a faint whisper.  "Into my heart."

I kept watch until she fell asleep.  Then I cried.

When Brynna turned sixteen, she spent her birthday in bed.  She had worked the previous day, and one man's grief almost ended her short life.  The Healers kept vigil over her, and I was barred from her room.

I will never forget her collapse.  A man, misshapen and bent like a windblown tree on a mountainside, came to her late in the day, newly arrived from the north, he said.  He could only offer a worn piece of copper, which the Healers accepted; one look at the man and you knew that he was no mere gawker.  His pain was real:  every line of his face seemed a scar, whether from blade, fire, or both, I cannot say.

He approached Brynna, shaking and weak, and the look of compassion that she bestowed upon this poor creature would warm the coldest heart.  She began the ancient prayer, but when he was still a few steps away, she faltered.  He knelt before her, and she slid onto the floor and encircled him in her arms.  They gripped one another tightly, rocking.  Then Brynna began to moan.  It began as a low, despairing sound and grew into an inhuman wail, shrieking and otherworldly.  I have heard that the Death Goddess cries in the night before the door of her victims, but surely no mortal ever heard such a sound as this!

Brynna threw her head back, her eyes staring darkly skyward, fingers clutching the man, her hair wild.  No artist could better depict absolute despair.  I watched this drama unfold and could not move, as no one in the chamber could move.  Every face looked on with amazement.

Brynna's eyelids began to flicker and her chest heaved.  I knew better than to interfere with her work, but this display was far beyond anything I had seen, and she was clearly in distress.  I could no longer restrain myself:  I went to her and pulled her from the man, who fell to the floor senseless.  I cradled Brynna in my arms and took her to her room, still breathing, but with unseeing eyes.

The Mistress Healer appeared within minutes and shoved me away from the bed where Brynna now lay.  Quickly ministering to her, she said, "Get out."  I could not respond; I was too distraught.  She turned again and said, "Get out!" with fury in her face.  I turned and ran away.

Brynna lay in that state for several days, and I could not see her.  I stayed near her door, hoping for any information about her condition at all, but the Healers would not speak to me and always seemed to be in a great hurry.  I waited there for days, weeks?  I am not certain.  I think one of my peers brought me food and drink, but I could not take much of it.  It was the worst trial of my life.

One gloomy morning, a Healer awakened me and said that I could go in to see Brynna.  I was not myself, and I did not understand at first, but she helped me up and told me that Brynna was awake and wished to see me.  "Thank the Goddess!" I said and staggered toward the door of her room.

I approached Brynna cautiously, afraid of what I might see.  She was reclining on pillows, very small and pale, but awake and looking at me.  She waved feebly.  "Hello, Covin," she said.  "Will you read to me, please?"

I could hardly contain my joy.  "Anything for my precious girl!"  I picked out her favorite volume, well-worn with so many tellings, and sat beside her on the bed.  She held my hand and smiled as I read her the tale of Oggan, the defender of Harmuth and vanquisher of the Winged Bear.

I stayed with Brynna as she recovered, against the wishes of the Mistress Healer, but at Brynna's insistence.  One afternoon, when we finished a game of Ants and Butterflies, she became serious and said, "Covin, I will need your help one day."

"I hope that I help you every day."

"Faithful Covin!  What would I do without you?  Yes, you do help me every day.  I'm sorry; I did not quite say what I meant.  One day, I shall ask a very special favor of you.  When I do, it will be important that you do precisely as I ask."

"I will do anything that you ask, of course."

She smiled.  "I know you will.  You are so good to me."  She rubbed her hands across her knees, over and over, and muttered, "I think it must be done."

I leaned across the game table and took her hand.  "What happened?"

She turned her face to mine.  "I am learning so very much.  There are, as you have noted, simple melancholies, depressions, things of that sort.  And there are weightier ones also, as when a loved one dies.  But there are some sadnesses that are so heavy, so deep and so black, that they alter the mind and extinguish all humanity.  Oh, Covin, the horrible, horrible things that people will do to themselves, and to others!" 

She began to cry, with violent sobs, and I was greatly alarmed.  I shushed and held her until she was better again.  Then she looked at me and saw that I was afraid.  She caressed my face, as though I were the child and she an old, wise woman.  "I'm all right.  It won't happen again.  I understand so much more now."  She looked at me seriously and added, "I will return to work before long."

The blood left my face.  "Brynna, you can't..."

She took my face in her hands.  "Covin, this is why I am here.  I must serve my purpose.  In this matter, at least, I know better.  But, fear not," she said, caressing my hair.  "You shall always be with me, come brightest day or darkest night."

Ah, the blissful paradox of joy and regret!  How I loved to hear such words, and how painful it was to know that it wouldn't be so, couldn't be so.  My heart understood, even if my head did not wholly comprehend Brynna's design:  she was too weak to continue, but clearly she would not stop.

She could sense my sadness and so made to comfort me, but I put up my hand and shook my head.  "No, please."  I grabbed her hand and kissed it, then smiled at her.

She returned the smile and looked thoughtful.  She said, "At such moments, you remind me of the Mistress Healer."

"Yes?"  I tried, but I could not keep the disgust from my voice.

She did not remonstrate, however.  "Yes, you do.  She will not allow me to take her sadness, either."

I had never considered the Mistress Healer to be more than a grim shadow of authority—a necessary evil.  I did not know what to say.

Brynna turned her face to the window and said, softly, "I think she is afraid that without her sadness, she will have nothing left."

She leaned down and kissed me then, and my heart was at peace.

The weeks passed, and Brynna returned to work, paying a heavier and heavier toll as more people came to her.  In spite of my pleas, Brynna would not rest as long as people needed her help.  If anything, she worked more intensely than before.  I could admire her self-sacrifice, but I harbored a bitterness for it as well:  her strength was clearly waning, and I was beside myself with worry.

I began to carry her to and from the Healing Chamber, as she could not spare the energy to do it herself.  Any little thing I could do for her, I did.  I treasured the glorious evenings, when we talked until she fell asleep.

As winter approached, the cold crept into her body and chilled her radiant soul, which seemed to ebb with the year.  When she could rest, I lay next to her, to keep her warm and support her with my love as she had so often supported me; yet she was fading.

The year died quietly, with a blanket of snow and gray skies, waiting patiently for the new cycle to begin again.  As the new year slumbered on beneath the cold and ice, Brynna revealed her heart to me.

"Covin, you understand how I have taken the sorrow into my heart?"

"Yes."

"Over the years, it has accumulated many layers of sadness, and they go very deep indeed.  Very deep."  She sighed and drifted away for a time, but then she came back.  "Covin."  She gripped my hand weakly.  "Do you know what sadness lies at the center?  At the heart of my heart?"

My throat was tight, and I could not speak.  I shook my head.

She looked into my eyes.  "It is the knowledge that no matter what I do, I cannot erase the sadness of people, of mankind."  I made to protest, but she put a finger to my lips.  "All that I do, all that I have done, is to shine a sliver of light into a void that consumes it and leaves no trace behind.  I cannot cure sadness, Covin.  It will always exist.  I understand that now, and I accept it.  What I can provide, I will, with your help."

My tears fell onto her cheek.  "You know I will do anything that you ask of me."

Brynna smiled and cried her own tears, tears from her heart.  My own mixed with hers and ran down her face and into her hair.  She looked earnestly into my eyes.  "You must perform that favor for me.  It is important!  Covin, when I am dead, you must cut the heart from my body—waste no time! you must do it before anyone knows—and take it to the meadow and bury it beside the Thanis River.  Promise me!"

I was too stunned to answer her, too horrified at the prospect of doing such a thing to my beloved girl.

"Promise me!" she repeated, gripping my tunic with her small hand.  "If you love me, you must do this!"

I kissed her forehead and whispered, "I promise."

She died in the night.

Early in the morning, after watching her lovely face, peaceful at last, for a few short hours, I took a knife and pierced the tender breast that had held me close so many times.  I could not consider what I was doing, could bear no thought in my mind lest I should weaken and fail in this last service to her.  I removed her warm, heavy heart, taking care not to damage it, and wrapped it in a thick woolen scarf.  Well before sunrise, I stole out of the Sanctuary; it was cold and dark.  I buried her heart here, in the bend of the river, out under the stars.  I watched over it until sunrise.

I had no other home but the Sanctuary, so there I returned, still in shock from Brynna's death and little thinking of the inquisition I was likely to face.  The Mistress Healer had discovered the body of my dearest, and she turned her wrath full upon me.

She stood with two other Healers at the main entrance to the Sanctuary.  "You!  Where have you been these hours?  Ynniva forgive you, what have you done to Brynnad'dell?  Her body lies cold where you have murdered and mutilated her, you disgusting shadow of a man!"  Her face was twisted into an expression of pain and horror.

Two of my peers stood ready to take me.  Murdered. Mutilation—no, that was something I could not explain, to the Mistress Healer or to anyone.  I said nothing.

"Speak, you!  I command you to answer!" 

The reality of her death and what I had done—even though I had sworn to do it—was full upon me then.  I fell to the ground and wept.

The Mistress Healer, her hands shaking, gestured at the servants.  "Take him below," she said with a whisper.

The Sanctuary disciplines its own, and I was placed in an underground chamber, alone, with no light save a candle.  A member of my caste, one whom I did not know, brought me food and water once a day.  He never spoke to me; I think he was afraid.  I spent the rest of my hours in grief and darkness.  It felt like death. 

The only change in my solitary existence was a visit from someone, I wasn't sure who, although I now believe it to have been the Mistress Healer.  Whoever it was came quietly to my door and passed a gift through the slot, then left without saying a word.  I unwound the length of cloth and discovered two items:  a small icon of the Goddess and a pomegranate. 

The icon was carved of wood and was of a very simple design; yet there was something in her face that reminded me of Brynna.  I suppose it could have been wishful thinking, but I imagined the Goddess with eyes of green and hair of red.  The icon gave me hope, and I keep it with me to this day.

As for the pomegranate, it reminded me of earth and sunshine, and how the seasons must be changing.  I could not bear to eat it, but I kept it with me in the cell, even after it had rotted.

After a time—how long, it was impossible for me to judge—two of my brothers came and brought me before the Oracle.  The bright lights of the Sanctuary hurt my eyes.

My former comrades held my arms as I stood in the trigram before the Seat of Power, blinking and trying to see.  I had not been in the Holy Chamber since I relinquished my post those few short years ago to be near a precious red-headed child.  I wept before the Oracle without shame.

The Oracle ignored me.  She stared up toward the back of the Chamber where the tapestries depicting the Goddess hang.  Her wild black hair was draped across her arms and chest, the Seat of Power, and her face, obscuring her vision, if she saw anything with those black eyes.

An acolyte stated the case, then bowed and backed away.  Within seconds the Oracle's body convulsed and shook.  I believe there was foam at the corners of her mouth, but I cannot be sure.  Shrieking, writhing, and rending, it was just as I recalled from that earlier, fateful day.  At last the body relaxed, and the Goddess said:

     The seed is planted;
     Wait for the fruit
     And honor my legacy.

I was led away from the Holy Chamber while the priestesses divined the Oracle's meaning.  The two guards helped me to the kitchen, where the cook scrounged a meal for me.  They watched me eat with awe in their eyes, perhaps because I was the only one of our caste in known memory to have been addressed by the Goddess.

When I had regained some strength, I asked Mellar what sign now came with the dawn.  He seemed nervous and afraid to answer.  Finally he replied, "The archer."  Ah!  So late!  Almost a year.  But not so late as I thought.

When I finished the meal, they took me to a waiting chamber.  Several hours passed and I grew hungry again.  At last an old priestess came to me.  "Leave us," she said to my comrades.

When we were alone, she sat next to me and searched my face intently.  She peered into my eyes as though she meant to read the contents of my soul.  Finally she said, "You loved Brynnad'dell?"

"I do."

She stood to go.  "From this day forward, you will obey none but me.  There is something I want you to have the charge of.  There is a particular spot in the meadow, where the Thanis River turns...  Ah, I see you know it.  Go, then.  You will tend to it every morning.  Praise Ynniva."

I made my way to the little place by the river as quickly as my weakened legs could carry me.  Winter clouds darkened the sky, which helped me to see.

When I reached the place where I had buried Brynna's heart, I was so astonished at what I saw that I fell to my knees.  A willow tree stood in that spot, already twice as tall as myself.  I crawled to its shade and lay beneath the curtain of drooping limbs.  I could not feel grief; a familiar calm descended into my heart.  Then I understood:  Brynna's gift was alive in this tree.  I caressed the long, narrow leaves that reached for the ground, and droplets of water—was it merely dew?—fell upon my face.  I was home.