The Book of the Blue House

It did not start to snow in earnest until Wheelturn, and everyone who lived in the city knew that the snow would not last.  For the last two days the sky had been a dark grey that made the short days shorter, but as the the streets were filled with lights and the vendors remained open longer in defiance of the approaching winter, the lights of houses sparkled with the life within. In the first week of December, the tree sellers had arrived from the forest, trundling in great firs and spruces to be set up in houses, and the minsters were all hung in purple for the coming of Annatide. Even the increasing news of war did not keep spirits down, or did not keep them down much, and then tonight, on the first of the three nights of Wheelturn, the great streets were filled with the lights of floating lanterns against the pewter grey night, and the great grinning floats of the spirits meant to keep away the demons of winter, and the elaborately painted balloons of the many horned wide eyed demons themselves, that, like the dancers in red and yellow and green beneath them, seemed to dance to the noise of blowing trumpets and childrens’ noisemakers.

     Rubbing their hands together, dressed in woolen caps, jackets and fingerless gloves, Derek and Cal led their companions through the streets, darting between crowds to get a better view of things.

     “What ho! Wait, move please. Thank you, kindly!” they heard Lorne as he came with a carousel of food and drinks and was followed by Gabriel who began passing them around. At the solemn parts of the night parades, there would be Blue Priests marching, but none of them was old enough to be counted in the solemn processions, and tonight they could be boys with their skull caps pulled over their ears against the cold, for, as Conn noted to his sister, no matter what they say, it does indeed get cold in Kingsboro.

     Lorne passed Conn a cone of hot beans, and Conn passed one to Jon and to his sister.

     “Where’s Sara? Ah Sara! Cal said, “You’re no fun! Aren’t you watching?”

     There were tables lined up on the streets for the more sensible, and Sara was with her brothers and sisters, sitting on a bench at one of these tucking away into a chicken wrap and eating her beans.

     “I don’t stand to eat,” she said, “and I can see just fine.”

     To demonstrate, she pointed in front of her, and Cal decided to take her on faith.

     The time of the Turning, when many of the Marnen made their long trip back to Marnen Ro and a new group arrived, had taken place a few weeks ago, and Sara’s parents had left, but her siblings had remained along with some cousins who had made a life in the city. Theo was pointing at the float of the Godbrother and Godsister, Vana and Wayan, and his pet goose flapped its wings and squawked.

     Cal sat down with them for a bit and stuck his hand in Theo’s chicken basket, pulling up a fry. In a tight dot of dark Royans, they saw Obala and her sister, niece and nephews.

     “Out of the way folks, out of the way!” they heard a rough but merry voice, and Sara was surprised to see it was young Matteo with a great smile on his plain face, looking silly under a floppy cap with its flapping ears and great peak and behind him came Brian, and Quinton laughed as he limped along.

     But already, through the noise and the trumpets and the drums they heard a solemn chanting, and soon it revealed a great dais, every terrace of it lit with burning tapers, and some made the sign of reverenc, but some even fell to their faces as the Brotherhood of the Virgin marched with the great canopied image of the Mother of Sorrows, the Lady Aiuryn, crowned, her hands extended in blessing, and they chanted

            “O perissótero,

            perissótero glykiá Panagía!

            Mitéra agápi kai áfovos.”

     Even Sara stopped her eating, and Jon and Nialla unlinked hands. Derek was seized with emotion and took off his hat and bowed as slowly the glowing dais, borne by black robed men, processed into the night, filling it with golden light while its bearers sang:

Parigoreíte kai katafýgete Panagía, 

Auría.

Ó, ti elpízoume, empistéveste. 

prosefchitheíte, prosefchitheíte gia mas.

Idoú oi adýnamoi, eínai exairetiká gia

tous lypiménous. 

Voithíste mas, Auíri! 

Párte tous pónous mas, 

therapéfste tis thlípseis mas. 

Prosefchitheíte, 

prosefchitheíte gia mas.

     In the morning of the world, when Tethys had given birth to Amana, the Mother of the Earth, her sister Aiuryn had remained in the places beyond the boundaries of the universe, alone and pleased to be so.  But in later times, when she heard the sighs and aorrows of women and men, she put her light in heaven so that all who were lonely could find her, and she was called Lahn, The Weeping One and she wept with all sad souls and was the final recourse to those who called to her. Weeping was not enough, so though virgin, she bore first Laryn, who taught the birds to sing, and then Maia who was the Lady of all graces and all green things, and Maia was the mother of Annatar, Shepherd of Souls, whom the Blue Priests called Adaon and served. So now, in the winter night, all called to the Virgin, and all bowed their heads who remembered when they had called to her, and when she had answered.

     When her great dais had passed there was a long space of silence before the next dancers came, and the next float, and on this came the King of Merriment. There would be no float of Adaon until near the end of the month. Nialla saw a vender with fried cheese curds and thought that she didn’t need any, then thought better of it and called him for some.

     “Oh me too!” Conn cried.

     Tonight he thought of home, of his and Nialla’s borthers and sisters, of Mother and Father in that little house. He had written home twice, not telling very much, but as much as he could. But perhaps his letters got the same treatment as his sisters, for he heard nothing from his family. Generally he tried to put them out of his mind and enjoy his days, and so he put them out of his mind best as he could now and enjoyed this night.

     Westrial as Westrial, was over a thousand years old. But before that it had been a part of the Sinercian Empire and even before that it had been the land, or part of the land of Locress, as old as Chyr and Solea and older than Rheged to the northwest and Solahn in the Far South.  While in the far north the Hale, who had come as raiders, eventually created the kingdoms of North Hale, South Hale and Inglad, here their cousins the Aiul could only share what had once been Royan land, and the Royans shared it with the Tribes.  Far in the north, the Royan Gods were unknown and there was only the One Faith, but it could never be so in Westrial. This was the land of Adaon, Uleve, Maia and Belmarine, Amana, Tethys, Nessle, Wehlan and Aiuryn and all the High Lords and Ladies of the Anyar and the Vanyar.

     When the One Faith had come frpm Sinercia, though it brought one God, it was understood in Westrial that that One God was but another form of Varayan, the All Encompassing One, he who was called Annatar and Adaon, the mischievous Lover of the Blue Priests, Adaon the Lord of Magics of the old sorcerer priests. And though the Sinercians said that this God dwelt in three, a Triune divinity, even in Purplekirk and even in Newkirk where Archbishop Herulain prayed, rather than the triangle with the open eye that stood over altars to the east, here it was the image of Adaon flanked by his Grandmother and Mother, Amana and Maia, or by one of his sisters and his Aunt, Uleve.

     In a halo about the head of Adaon in the Blue Temple were the words:

God sees all     

God knows all

God loves all

God accepts all

God embraces all

God is all

     But those who had learned to read Old Royan knew there was no word for God in that language. There were three great families of Gods, and the Gods and Goddesses were referred to as HE and SHE, their pronouns fully capitalized.

     In Westrial it was well known and well taught that there was no one way of God, but all together made the perfect Wheel, and even the old Royan religion had no one orthodoxy, hence the length and variety of parades, and why Wheelturn was also Annatide, was also Calatanae, and in this part of the year, as people yawned and bellies were full, the streets were brighter at night than in the day.