The Silver Hand Chap 3

This from the third chapter, where Asfrith Weaver has gone to the Garth as body servant to Ingrun......

As she walked across the yard in the cold, flat, light, and stepped under the low doorway of the chamber, Assie felt herself grow a little lighter and more peaceful. The harrow was the heart of the Garth, and it made her feel safe and calm just to step into the dim light of the round stone chamber. A small red candle burned on the stone shelf, and the colourful cloths and the snowdrops set out there, shone in the light. The green and white of petal and leaf was so beautiful, it caught her breath and reflected it back to her in rich deep colours. There below the altar lay the Hammer of Thor. Solid and heavy. A reassuring reminder of what she had always been told. “Once called, Thor comes”. She looked up then. The priest had caused a new image to be placed in the harrow, high up on the wall. There hung the Christ on his tree, nails riven through his hands and feet, blood dripping from the holes, his face contorted and white. Fr Eldgrim kept trying to explain to her about the death of God. It seemed to her that he could think only of death and forgot what even the flowers knew as they drooped and dropped their petals.

She liked better the Easter idea, of the God coming back in the green. That’s what the whole of nature does. Comes surging back green, new and fresh. The crocuses were open wide now, their pale purple and white unfolded to the early spring sun. Their joyous bursts of colour seemed more like the act of a God than this horrible torture and dying. Assie turned from the cruel and brightly painted rood, and looked to the corner. Here was a sight that was as it should be. The Norns, the Three Weavers. What Was, What Is, What May Be. Erd, Werdandi Skauld. Before them burned a guttering lamp. A warm, soft light filled their corner from the quiet flame always dancing. They held the web of all life, in a thread that passed from hand to hand. Assie stood staring for a moment. The old words whispered themselves through her lips. She watched the sudden light as it poured through the window, taking part in the shifting changes of sun and cloud outside.
Lady tall, Lady white
Take the thread, hold it tight….
The trees outside were changing in a slow, quiet movement that was apparent only as thick, sticky buds on the trees. Soon it would carry them forward through a whole year, fresh green unfurling into the deep colour of summer. And while the trees unfolded their majestic cycle of a whole year, the clouds were flying overhead in constant restless change. The river flowed broad and steady past the orchard edge, it shifted from minute to minute. A sparkle of light across the deep pool, the flight of geese casting shadows. In every instant a change.
Lady true, Lady green
Weave us well, weave our dreams.

Lady fair, lady red
we will go where we are led
Assie stood with her eyes half closed, murmuring the song as she stood. She let the light saturate her and allowed her mind to move out into the changes that revolved around her. There she was in the centre of the spinning days and nights, seasons, sunlight, wind and water. Not standing but in movement herself, shimmering and singing, the cold wind blowing right through her empty bones.
Lady White, day and night .
Green and red, hear all I’ve said.

And let......
Assie paused. Normally at this point in the song you had to slip in what you most wished for. Singing it had carried her right back to the starry night sky at home. Standing hand in hand with her mother, under the first showing of the new moon, making their wishes. Laughing and joking. leaning into her mother’s side and wrapped round in her cloak she had always felt warm and held.

She longed with all her might to be back there, with her mother, standing under a clear night sky, wishing on the stars. But the thought passed and another took her. Her mistress stood before her now, swelling and softening as the new baby grew inside her. She thought of the delights of a little newborn. She remembered suddenly the hot smell of her little sister’s head. His mouth opening like a bird’s as she looked for the breast.
Ingrun’s baby be strong and......
“Well child. Asfrid is it not? That’s a pretty song. Sing it again why don’t you?” Assie turned at the voice. Cool, low and level. A shiver ran up her back. She looked up into the steady blue eyes that held her and found that her voice had entirely gone. She mouthed sounds but no sound emerged. “Come now child. You were singing gaily enough a moment or two ago” Assie shook her head. She clasped her hands behind her back, the two sweating palms meeting. “And why then do you sing before God a song so unsuitable that you can not sing it to me. You must pray to the virgin properly or not at all.”
“Who is the virgin?”
‘she is the mother of God of course!”
“What’s a virgin then?” The Priest went a darker shade of red.
“A woman who hasn’t know a man”
‘then how does she manage to have a babby?”
‘she is the Mother of God, not of some human child. Of course she is pure.”
‘the God’s don’t care about pure….. I never heard of no virgin Godesses!”
“You brazen creature, to stand in my chapel, uttering profanities!”
“It in’t your chapel, whatever that is. It is the Harrow for the Garth. It’s our holy place. What are you on about?”
“Stupid girl. You understand nothing. Nothing at all. How can I explain? How can I make you understand…..?” Fr Eldgrim, in his flapping black garments, was clearly giving way to rage and frustration. Assie bobbed a little curtsey and fled.