I want to accompany them into the next life. I might prove to be a good guide, because I’ve visited those worlds before.”
Loni thought how ironic fate was. She had been afraid of the Voices because they might set her on the path that would lead her to the fire, and yet there the fire was, waiting for her.
Talbo looked at his wife. Her eyes were growing dull, and yet she still retained the same peculiar charm that had first drawn him to her. He had never told her certain things, about the women he
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received as part of the booty of battle, the women he met while he was traveling the world, the women who were expecting him to return one day. He hadn’t told her this because he was certain that she knew everything anyway and forgave him because he was her great love, and a great love is above the things of this world.
But there was something else he had never told her, and which she would possibly never know: that she, with her affection and her gaiety, had been largely responsible for him having rediscovered the meaning of life, that her love had driven him to the far corners of the Earth, because he needed to be rich enough to buy some land and live in peace with her for the rest of his days. It was his utter confidence in this fragile creature, whose life was now fading fast, that had made him fight with honor, because he knew that after the battle he could forget all the horrors of war in her arms, and that, despite all the women he had known, only there in her arms could he close his eyes and sleep like a child.
“Go and call the priest, Talbo,” she said. “I want to be bap-tized.”
Talbo hesitated for a moment. Only warriors choose how they will die, but that woman had given her life for love, and perhaps, for her, love was a strange form of war.
He got up and walked down the steps in the wall. Loni tried to concentrate on the music coming from below and which was somehow making dying easier. Meanwhile, the Voices kept talking.
“In her life, every woman can make use of the Four Rings of Revelation. You have used only one, the wrong one,” they said.
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Loni looked at her fingers. They were torn and cracked, the nails filthy. There was no ring. The Voices laughed.
“You know what we mean,” they said. “The virgin, the saint, the martyr, and the witch.”
Loni knew in her heart what the Voices were saying, but she couldn’t remember what it meant. She had heard about it a long time ago, in an age when people dressed differently and saw the world differently, too. She’d had another name then and had spoken another language.
“They are the four ways in which a woman can commune with the Universe,” the Voices said, as if it were important for her to recall these ancient things. “The Virgin has the power of both man and woman. She is condemned to Solitude, but Solitude reveals its secrets. That is the price paid by the Virgin—to need no one, to wear herself out in her love for others, and, through Solitude, to discover the wisdom of the world.”
Loni was still looking at the encampment down below. Yes, she knew these things.
“And the Martyr,” the Voices went on, “the Martyr has the power of those who cannot be harmed by pain and suffering. She surrenders herself, suffers, and, through Sacrifice, discovers the wisdom of the world.”
Loni again looked at her hands. There, shining invisibly, she saw the ring of the Martyr encircling one of her fingers.
“You could have chosen the revelation of the Saint, even if it wasn’t the right ring for you,” the Voices said. “The Saint has the courage of those for whom giving is the only way of receiv-
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ing. They are a bottomless well from which people can constantly draw water to drink. And if the well runs dry, the Saint offers her blood so that others need never go thirsty. Through surrender, the Saint discovers the wisdom of the world.”
The Voices fell silent. Loni heard Talbo coming up the stone steps. She knew which ring should have been hers in that life, because it was the one she had worn in all her past lives, when she had been known by other names and had spoken other tongues.
With that ring, the wisdom of the world was discovered through Pleasure, but she didn’t want to think about that now. The ring of the Martyr was shining, invisible, on her finger.
Talbo came closer. And suddenly, when she gazed up at him, Loni noticed that the night had a magical glow to it, as if it were a sunny day.
“Wake up,” said the Voices.
But these were different voices, which she had never heard before. She felt someone rubbing her left wrist.
“Come on, Brida, get up.”
She opened her eyes and immediately closed them again, because the light from the sky was so intense. What a strange thing Death was.
“Open your eyes,” said Wicca.
But she needed to go back to the castle. A man she loved had
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gone off in search of a priest. She couldn’t just run away. He was alone and he needed her.
“Tell me what your Gift is.”
Wicca didn’t give her time to think. She knew she had been through something extraordinary, much more powerful than her experience with the tarot cards. Yet still she didn’t give her time to think. Wicca neither understood nor respected her feelings; all she wanted was to find out what her Gift was.
“Talk to me about your Gift,” Wicca insisted.
Brida took a deep breath, holding in her anger, but there was no escape. The woman would keep insisting until she told her what she wanted to know.
