Collective Consciousness I Midsummer Festival

Chapter 3 Letters

Gracious Lord Xan,

I hope this letter finds you and your family well. The winter has been long and we have the house of Marlox in mind. Isolation and freeze cannot be easy, but we hold faith in the hardiness of your people. I expect my correspondence will lift your spirits, for I have already found a fated Lilith aspirant of Fyador’s Zenanda.

In the days of silence, four seasons ago, she came to us, her tiny mouth resembles a rose bud, her huge eyes, the shape of almonds and a whisper of strawberry flaxen curls upon her forehead. We call her Dahl. She roared like a full grown lioness constantly, demanding to be held close by a wet nurse, even whilst sleeping. The nurses didn’t seem to mind, they took turns gazing upon her perfect face. She spoke but four months later, when the first leaves graced The Goddess’s twigs, “She” or “Shi”, the sacred sister- and the babe pronounced the word correctly.

This moon alone, sweet Dahl has spoken three prophecies that were actualized. We had her in mind for Fyodor, but I daresay she might surpass her position. No one can tell in a Zenanda so young. She certainly would be a special gift for Marlox if she did not progress in such a direction. Regardless, she will have to be brought into her power by one of equal significance!

News is spreading fast between towns and even the arrivistes and woodlands have sent representatives to discuss our little Dahl. She has been given inner quarters, for protection.

I wanted to be the first to deliver the news to you.

Dahl's first prediction was in reference to the rain. Dahl reached up her tiny hand, bedimpled and pud, towards the clear sky and stated loudly that the five-month drought we’d experienced this year would end, in the first coherent sentence anyone had heard her speak.

“Water comes when sun lays down.” I recorded the times, the prediction, at just after high sun, and the rain came just as Eos kissed the horizon. The sky turned fiery pinks and oranges, as great clouds suddenly formed and precipitation rolled in. It was as though Oya had come to do Dahl’s bidding. It was shocking to the entire sanctuary, but just as soon, it could be assumed to be a coincidence.

The second prediction was for the animals, full of adorable compassion. Dahl met one of our chickens, in her romps, crawling around the canteen. They often scurry in when the doors are open to the sunlight, but it was quite chilly this harvest. Someone wondered aloud how the fowl had come in. The creature met her at her own level and she sat near it, instead of barreling towards the chicken, as one might expect of any year-old infant. As though choreographed, this common barn animal climbed right into her lap. I was in the hall at the time and gestured to the nurse closest to the child to attend her. An anticipation fell over the entire room, everyone seemed to notice at once and yet no one moved, the nurse did not pick her up as I'd motioned for her to do. The rain had an impact everyone certainly felt.

The babe spoke, “Coyotes.” and looked up at her caretaker with wide eyes and then began to sob, not as a baby would, but a sorrowful weeping, her forehead resting gently upon the fowl’s feathered back. She'd not said that word before.

That night, I had Surry send a small watch to the chicken coop. One of the girls ran off into the garden and she and her mate fell asleep in the soft hay. The careless guard was awoken by a particularly brutal hunting party of coyotes, starved by drought in the outer parameters of the canyons. They took a third of our 100 strong roost in a few minutes. Dahl tried to tell us. We couldn’t donate the eggs to the shelter this month. We might not recover till spring.

The effect of this prediction was able to be contained, for a time. The fact that the guard was punished by being expelled from the temple was our flaw. She went around town selling her story for coin, not that I blame her. I began to keep a close eye on Dahl at most waking moments, that month.

The third prediction came yesterday and it was for Mother Tara. Only last week I had the woodland tribes at the temple’s gate. The stories of the incidents will not be kept! Everyone who came to talk to me about Dahl heard some odd, extreme version of the rain prediction made by an infant. The Actos had heard she’d actually conjured the downpour!

Yesterday, Dahl found Terra near the Clay Beach, just beyond the pebbles. It is impossible that this deposit has not been found yet. It has been at least a hundred years since any Argilcoline has been found near the temple and many teams of excavators have searched. Precious stones, once our most valuable export, our lovely clay, all of it, have been well documented to have been stricken from this area, during the time when the temple was relocated due to erosion.

The nurse who dotes upon her the most, had the patience to follow the baby, as she wandered on the shoreline. She reports that she was playing with some plants when she sank her little digits into the earth and there, Argilcoline was scooped by those tiny fingers! Her spirit is so connected to the Great Now that she had this Knowing (this is what I’m calling it, her Knowing) that priceless Terra was right there, only a couple yards from our land. And she is only two years old!

I must admit I have never seen anything like my sweet Dahl. I trust you to cherish the information I give you in this letter, as I do your little aspirant. Blessings upon your light of the world, little Fyodor.

I must also admit to you, my friend, that I pray Dahl's prodigy does not further develop. I fear that she will be taken from me by the "greater good". She will be demanded, and might be in danger if sought so highly. I am absorbed by her and feel threatened by the spread of news. I cannot keep her a secret and no one like her has existed for 5,000 rotations. Her kin’s bones are encapsulated by stone, here, in the deepest tombs. We will not let their magic be disturbed, and here is this astonishing power, in the form of a vulnerable cherub.

Please keep us in mind as I do you and yours.

Your fellow,

Resilda

Greetings High Priestess,

I will not repeat any of the information you wrote in your last letter here, but I want to express my gratitude for the confidence you have in me.

The winter has been tumultuous, so much so that I have hired a messenger in advance, for, no one can make it up or down the mountain to deliver the post. I am anxious to learn how your prodigy has progressed, but might not have that opportunity until the snow melts. In the meantime, you can take heart that all news I get is directly from you, and that no one on this side of the range will have heard of your Dahl for months yet.

Of course, I cannot speak for the more southern towns and tribes.

We are staying cozy. All of our days are spent keeping the livestock warm, the roots peeled, the water thawed. We’re very safe in our stone walls and feeling quite festive, with the sun rituals and silent observations. I have enclosed a sketch I did of the Toddler prince, for your company and city. I’ve also sketched for you the queen’s beautiful face, aglow in the firelight. Take comfort in your royal family, thriving in love and clarity, celebrating the evergreens who occupy the serene snowfall.

You mustn’t dedicate this child to Fyodor so quickly. I appreciate that the most beautiful of his generation is recognized as his Lilith, in theory. I’d like to bring this up conceptually. Upon my next visit to Renata, we will hold discussions on the tradition, altogether.

I understand that you love all your aspiring priestesses and the young mothers, that you would never consent to their pain in any way, but since Fyodor was born, I have been analysing many aspects of our practices more critically.

I feel from your letter that you are particularly fond of this Dahl, regardless of her rare power. We both know that any child, whether or not dedicated to The Goddess, could have Grace charged in their palms and fingertips, but most grow out of it.

I’ve never seen you faun over one of your pupils in this manner. I understand, as I now have my own, that this kind of love is usually reserved for sons and daughters. There is no law writ commanding that the fairest dedication must be the Prince’s Lilith.

You never keep the little priestesses or abbesses close after they begin to write their entries. Let us see how this student progresses. Maybe you could apprentice this Dahl in your position, and we make plans for the next “prettiest” child, for my progeny.

I am planning a hunt in the snowmelt and after, when the greenery has thickened, I will see you on the sun-kissed shores of Renata, apparently standing on clay again!

I drink my winter mead to your new love, my Dear Mother and fellow.

May prosperity keep you,

Xan