The Rite of Spring: The Student

The Rite of Spring: Fragment 40g

The Student
in which Beinnain tries on a trinket, and Taynuic bleeds for her

"Well", she said,

"what is it? What's the secret?"

I hesitated, not knowing what to say. Not knowing where to start.

"Come on..."

she said.

"Look, remember that woman you told me about yesterday - the one who's a sort of prisoner..."

Beinnain nodded.

"Well, look, when I was leaving here last night, this man came up to me - he's a friend of my father's... sort of..."

Beinnain nodded again.

"Well", I said, "he gave me this thing and said could I get it to her - this morning, before the ceremony..."

"So what is it?"

"It's a sort of an ornament..."

She looked more interested.

"Can I see?"

I took it out of my bag, and carefully unfolded the soft leather wrapping. Inside was a dragon, made of gold. Its tail was made of beautifully jointed segments, so that it could curve and coil. The wings were not made solid; instead, the bones which spread the wings were made out of rods of gold, and the skin of the wings from a mesh of tiny gold rings. The rods were sprung, so that when released, they folded naturally against the dragon's back. A chain joined the two wingtips, and you could see that it was designed to be worn as a sort of neckpiece. If you lifted it by this chain, the wings spread out upraised. Worn by a woman, you could see that the wings would lie against the shoulders; the head of the dragon would lie at the base of the throat; and the long tail would hang down to the waist.

Beinnain examined it intently. Gently she extended a wing, and let it fall back. She lifted it by the chain, and held it in front of her. She took the tail in her other hand, and curled it around.

"Oh...", she said.

"Isn't it beautiful... isn't it beautiful..."

She laid it down again, infinitely carefully.

"Why didn't your friend just give it to a priest, if he wanted it to get to her?"

"He isn't my friend", I answered very quickly, and then paused for a long moment while we both thought about that...

"I think he is a priest of the Eye... maybe he thought if he gave it to a priest of this House, it wouldn't get passed on. Look, it isn't a weapon, and it isn't hollow so there can't be anything inside it, there can't be any harm... I think it's something sacred to her..."

Beinnain was still devouring it with her eyes.

"I think we should give it to Tan", she said. "He'll know what to do."

"But aren't they - isn't he - keeping her prisoner?" Beinnain looked up.

"Yes... I'm not sure... there'll be a reason."

I said

"there can't really be a reason for keeping someone prisoner, can there?"

"Well", she said, "if the God had ordered it..."

"But if the God had ordered it, she would be held by the Hand, wouldn't she? I've never heard of anyone being held by the Cock..."

"I don't know", she said.

"But there will be a good reason. There will..."

"Look, there can't be any harm in giving it to her, can there?" Beinnain didn't answer. She was staring at the golden dragon again. "Could I try it on?"

she asked. She glanced around. There was no-one else in the room - it was a little quiet room on the river side of the House, on the ground floor. We'd gone there for somewhere we could talk privately. She lifted it, and unhooked the chain.

"Tay, put it on for me?"

I took the ends of the chain in my hand, noticing how although the links at the end were fine, those in the middle were broad and flat, obviously to help spread the weight on the wearer's neck. I fastened it. Beinnain turned round.

"There! how does it look?"

It was magnificent, splendid, beautiful - except, it seemed to me, that the cloth of her tunic impeded it, stopped it lying right, stopped it swinging.

"It's wonderful", I said. "It would look even better against your skin."

"Yes...", she said. "Oh, I wish there was a mirror in here. Take it off, Tay."

I took it off, and she peeled the tunic over her head.

"Now..."

she said, and I put it on again. "Oh... it feels so cool... sort of cool and tickly..."

She turned to face me, swaying her body so that the dragon's tail twisted and writhed across her stomach.

"Oh, it's so..."

And then, suddenly, she screamed, and fell to the floor, her face and body knotting in agony. I pulled the dragon away. From the back of its head there now projected a tiny steel fang not more than a thumb long. A thick greenish yellow fluid dripped from it, opaque as milk. I held her by the shoulders as she bucked and screamed. There, in the base of her throat, was a little bloody mark. Without thinking, I bent and sucked at it. There was an aweful, bitter taste in my mouth. I spat on the floor, and bent to suck again.

Hands pulled me up, held me. I struggled.

"Let me go!"

"What's happening here?"

a voice.

"She's poisoned. I think she's poisoned. Let me go!"

I struggle furiously. The hands hold me.

"She'll die... suck it out. Please suck it out..."

Someone pushes past; I see only black clothes. They bend to suck. I begin to relax, shaking with shock, gasping. Another person, bending to the dragon.

"No! don't touch it!" The person straightens. A man, tall. A priest.

"What is it?"

he asks. "I don't know..."

Beinnain is still screaming, threshing.

"I don't know!"

"How did she come by it?"

His voice is steady, calm, sure. "She... I... she wanted to try it..."

"Did you bring it here?"

"I... it was... I was..."

"Did you?"

"Yes..."

The aweful noise went on. There was blood around her mouth. Someone was kneeling, holding her legs. The person who had been sucking has holding her head, stopping her from bashing it on the floor.

"Why didn't you stop her?"

"I d... I d... I didn't know..."

"Then how did you know she'd been poisoned?"

Still calm; but still, very firm. I could just shake my head. I was crying.

"What is your name, boy?"

"I am... I am called Taynuic...sir..."

"So", he said "and what is your House?"

Again I could only shake my head.

"What is your House, Taynuic?"

"I... we... I don't... my father... I don't have a House..."

He nodded, and said

"So" again. He looked down at the dragon, lying discarded on the floor.

"Alright, Duirloch, let him go."

He bent and examined the dragon. He turned it over with the toe of his boot. Suddenly there were blankets spread over Beinnain; I didn't see who'd brought them. A girl was dragging in a palette. Someone else was bending with a beaker of something.

"No!"

said the calm man. "Conan has gone for the Nose. Better wait... we don't want to do more harm".

He turned the dragon further, so that it lay on its back on the stone floor. Gently, with the toe of his boot, he pressed down on the head. The fang retracted. He released his boot, and it slid out again. He looked up at me.

"What is this thing?"

he asked. "I don't know... honestly I don't know. I... it was given to me..."

"And this spike wasn't sticking out then?"

I nodded gratefully.

"No, that's right, sir. It didn't stick out... that is I didn't... until... until..."

I was still weeping. I wanted to look at Beinnain, to see what they were doing to her, but I couldn't look away from the man's face. He looked at the dragon, with a hard, thoughtful expression. Suddenly he looked up at me again. His eyes were narrower, colder.

"Who were you to give it to, boy?"

"There is a woman you have prisoner here..."

I said, and paused, horrified at my own words.

"Sssooo... and who gave it to you?"

His voice was suddenly like ice.

"A man... a man called Skiary..."

"So. And of what House is this Skiary?"

"I don't... I think he is of the Eye, sir."

There was a long pause. The man called Duirloch said

"Tan, they've rung the third sand..."

The calm man said

"I know... look, can you find Meathre and ask her to get Aonan ready? Tell her to apologise for me - I really meant to go with Aonan myself, but I'll need to wait here for the Nose. Tell her to explain. Aonan would rather it was a woman, anyway, I think... it's a pity she hasn't met Meathre... yes. Organise that. Tell Meathre she'll need to get Aonan across early, because of... because of what we agreed. Tell her to stand by her through the Rite." He knelt down beside Beinnain, who had stopped screaming now. She lay frighteningly still.

"Is she still breathing?"

he asked in a sharp voice. Oh no! don't let her die. He caught her wrist, feeling for a pulse. The girl who was kneeling by her head said

"she's breathing... not very deep... will she be alright?"

The calm man said

"we must pray that she will. Look, if she stops breathing, even for a moment, you must breath for her, as if she was drowning. Do you know how?"

The girl nodded. She was one of the ones who had come with us the day we went swimming.

After that a long time passed. We stood around, silent, watching the still, silent body on the floor. Then someone hurried into the chamber - a thin woman in a grey robe, carrying a bulging satchel. The fastening of the satchel was in the form of the Glyph of the Nose. She knelt at once by Beinnain. She felt the pulse in the side of her neck, and then in her wrist. She laid an ear to her ribs. She pulled back the lid of each eye, and peered in. She examined the small wound in the throat. She straightened.

"How was the poison administered?"

She asked all of us. The man Tan answered by pointing to the dragon. She picked it up, carefully, and turned it over to look at the fang. The gold mesh of the wings fell about her wrist.

The milky stuff had dryed to a sour coloured crust. She took a small, sharp knife from her satchel, and scraped some of this off. She tasted it. Her face became hard.

"What is it?"

asked Tan. The woman looked at him.

"It is a thing which attacks the fibres that bind our muscles to our will. It is only harmful in the blood."

"Will she... will she... live?"

I asked.

"Probably. Seeing that she has lived so far. If she lives another two sands she will live - if we wish her to live."

Tan looked at her sharply.

"Why should we not wish her to?"

"This stuff", the woman said, all the while hunting in her satchel,

"may take away that which allows a person to talk, to think, to do all the things that make a person a person. Do you understand? If she lives, it may be as a plant lives, healthy but without will. Someone fetch me some boiling water. Do you want her to live?"

I noticed for the first time that Tan looked very strained.

"She is in my care", he said. "If it is within your power, let her live."

The woman took a pouch of oiled leather from her bag, and, opening it carefully, took out another small, sharp knife. She laid back the blanket again, and made a cut about two thumbs long down the base of Beinnain's throat, just where the wound was. Blood welled out. She took a sponge and wiped it away. A large basin of boiling water arrived. The woman dropped the sponge into the bowl, and took another from her bag.

"You!"

she said, looking at me. "Find tongs in my bag, fish that sponge out and give it a good wringing out."

I did so. The hot water burned my hands. The woman threw the second sponge into the water, and took the other from me. So we went on for some minutes. The water in the basin had become thick, crimson. The woman called for more boiling water, and some clean plates. When these were brought, the woman dripped some of Beinnain's blood onto one, from the sponge. Then she held the wound closed with one hand. She asked me to find a small red box in the bag, and, when I found it, to open it. There was a threaded needle inside. I reached to give it to he.

"No! don't touch it. Give me the box!"

She sewed up the cut she had made with six neat stitches, tying each one in turn. Then she turned back to her bag and took a bottle from the bag. From this, she dripped a single drop into the little puddle of Beinnain's blood on the plate. It turned blue.

"Hmmm". She looked up at us. Her eyes came to rest on me. She swirled her little sharp knife in a clean bowl of boiling water, and handed it to me.

"Draw me some blood from your thumb - careful, for the knife is sharp!"

I gulped.

"Why do you want my blood?"

I asked, frightened. "I have drained as much of the poisoned blood from her as I dare. She must have more or she will die. In the goodness of the God her blood is of the common type. If yours is the same, I will give her some of yours. Otherwise, I shall have to find someone else."

I felt at once frightened, and immensely hopeful. I prayed that my blood would be of the right kind. I made a small cut in the ball of my thumb, and let blood drip out onto a plate. It is surprising how much courage it takes to stick a knife into yourself, even to make a little cut, even to save a friend's life. The priest of the Nose dripped some liquid from her bottle into the blood, and again it turned blue. "Good", she said.

"Bring a chair - one with a high back."

Just at that point someone came in and said

"Tan! They have rung the fourth sand!"

and all the other people went out. A few moments later someone came back with a chair, but after that we were alone. It seemed suddenly quiet, although no-one but the woman had spoken for some time.

The woman set the chair by the palette, and bade me sit on it. From her bag she took another pouch. With the tongs, she swirled one of the sponges in a fresh basin, squeezed it out, and washed it and wrung it out again. She took another bottle, and soaked the sponge in liquid from it. There was a sharp smell to it.

"Hold out your arm."

She pushed up my sleeve, and cleaned the skin in the inside of my elbow. The liquid was cold, and stung slightly. She cleaned her knife again. From her bag, she took a roll of bandage. From the poutch she had taken out earlier, she took a fine, coiled tube, with a quill bound into each end.

"I am going to make a cut in your arm", she said. "I want you to turn your head away."

I looked away. The pain was surprisingly slight. I felt her press something into my arm, and then the bandage wound on, tightly.

When I looked again, the tube emerged from a bandage on my elbow. I could see dark coloured blood flowing down it. When it started to drip from the quill at the other end, the woman put a clip on the tube so that it stopped flowing. She folded back the blanket, and lifted Beinnain's arm so that it lay on top of her covers. Beinnain's face looked very pale and still.

"Is she still breathing?"

I asked. The woman nodded. She made an incision in the inside of Beinnain's elbow. Beinnain made no move, no sound. The woman pressed the quill at the other end of my tube into the wound, and bound it in with another bandage.

"Now", she said, "I want you to sit quietly and keep squeezing and releasing your fist. This will take a long time."

I sat. I squeezed my fist. The woman brought another small bottle from her satchel, and sniffed it in a considering way. Then she stood up. "Will you be alright for a few moments?"

I said I would. She went out, and I heard her calling outside, and, after a pause, a distant sound of voices. I realised then how quiet the House was. The Rite must be happening now, I realised; Beinnain was missing it. Suddenly I felt sharply sad for her, and guilty, as if I had deliberately cheated her out of it. I looked down at her. I could just make out the slight movement of the blanket as she breathed. She lay, pale and still, lost in her mass of hair as if it belonged to someone else. I watched the blood flowing slowly down the tube that linked us, and again I was comforted by the thought of my life going out to save hers.

At last the woman came back with a small brazier. Someone came in after her with more blankets. They lit the brazier, although it was already warm in the room. The other person went out. The woman threw sweet incense onto the fire, and came back to kneel beside Beinnain. She turned back the blankets, and, being careful to avoid the tube, began to massage her chest with aromatic oil from the little bottle. The mixture of scents became heady, like wine. The movement of her hands was smooth, hypnotic. I almost drowsed.

"Keep squeezing your fist."

I started, blinked. I squeezed my fist. I looked down at Beinnain. She was still, palid, unmoving.

"Is there anything else I can do?"

"You can pray."

I looked down at Beinnain. "How shall I pray, Priest of the Nose?"

"Pray in whatever way seems good to you, lad. The God will know your intention."

"I do not know how to pray any more", I said.

"Teach me how to pray in your way."

The priest stopped in her movements for a moment, looking up at me. "How were you taught to pray, lad?"

I looked at her. She was of middle years, with a thin face; her grey hair was braided up, and bound on the back of her head.

"I was taught to chant the Rite of Calling Up, and the Rite of Calling Down, and the Hymn to the Sun."

"Do that, then."

She went back to her massaging. Beinnain's skin had become glossy and slick with oil, and the muscles under it now moved fluidly, not dryly as they had before. The glow she had had in life was returning.

"Those are the Rites of the Eye,"

I said, quietly.

"I am no longer sure that the Eye serves the God."

"What other Rites do you know?"

I blushed.

"With Beinnain, I was learning the Rite of the Plough, but I cannot perform that now..."

Her hands moved over Beinnain's face now, smoothly, strongly.

"And what others?"

"Lady, I know that it is the way of the Foot to travel, seeking the God, but I cannot do that now. I know that it is the way of the Hand to make things to the glory of God, but I cannot do that now. I know that it is the way of the Mouth to recite the words of the God, but I do not know them. I know that is the way of the Stomach to eat and drink in worship of the God, but I cannot do that now. I know that it is the way of the Ear to listen in silence for the voice of God, but I do not know how to do that. Lady, how do you worship the God?"

The stong hands forked throught Beinnain's thick hair as mine had once done.

"You are worshipping the God in my way now", she said. "The God cares for your intentions, certainly, but He cares far more for your acts. As you act now to save the life of your friend, as you give your own blood to the life of your friend, so you are doing the God's work, and the God sees that, for the God sees all things. And the God sees your intention in doing it, and will reward your intention, in His own way."

"Does that mean that it I really want Beinnain to be well, she will be?"

The priest shook her head, without interrupting her work.

"The God is not a servant, to obey our orders", she said.

"But the God cares for each one of us, for the lass and for you both. The God will cause that to come about which best fulfills His love for all of us, but -

she looked up at me suddenly "only if enough of us bind ourselves to do the God's work. If we see the work the God has set before us, and we leave it undone, so some part of the God's will will miscarry; someone in need of the God's love will be failed. So therefore pray, not only by singing or by listening or by making or by eating, but by looking in the world for acts of love undone, and doing them. That is the wisdom of the Nose."

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