[Wise Child 02] Juniper by Furlong Monica

Author:Furlong, Monica [Furlong, Monica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 1990-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

Warm from the heat of the fire, busy in the caverns and passages of our own minds, Trewyn and I dozed, propped up against the wooden chest. When I at last awoke, Angharad and Euny were sitting once more on the far side of the fire, looking as if they had never disappeared. They sat still and silent, without a glance in our direction.

They were different, however, as everything else was different. Both of them had the same golden glow that I had noticed in the stones. The folds of the yellow shawl that Angharad wore seemed deep with mystery. Even Euny’s worn black garments had a luminous sheen to them. Angharad’s face, always full of kindness, now seemed so pure, generous, and good that I felt full of reverence as I looked at it. Euny’s dark stern face held the desperate sadness of a lost little girl, yet I could see how gradually, painfully, that loneliness had grown into a great strength. Euny, I saw (though I felt I had always known this about her), was totally without fear. Whatever this strange uncomfortable ceremony was about, I decided that Angharad and Euny were to be trusted.

Euny was now building up the fire, though it was already hot in the hut, and Angharad had begun to chant a slow rhythmic melody. Trewyn and I had been taught the words and automatically joined in. As the heat grew in the hut, I could feel perspiration running down my face. Trewyn too looked desperately hot and turned anguished eyes to me. Yet Euny was still pushing twigs and logs into the fire.

Angharad and Euny now rose to their feet, and with Angharad making the mouth music that is common in her country, they began a sort of dance. It was nothing like the kind of merry occasion in which young men and women dance together. Rather it was as if Euny and Angharad were tracing out a pattern on the floor, seeking some knowledge with their feet. Occasionally they touched hands, turned toward or away from each other, led by the strange crooning cry of Angharad’s singing, weaving the shape of the dance. First Trewyn, then I, got up and found ourselves irresistibly dancing with them with sure steps that no one had ever taught us. We danced, it seemed to me, for hours, weaving and dipping, turning and touching hands. Sometimes we danced—sometimes the dance danced us.

I think after this we all slept in total exhaustion. I was aware of waking once, cold since the fire had died down, stiff from the iron hardness of the ground, and desperately hungry. I could see daylight under the door, and I longed briefly to be part of that world outside, but sleep mercifully drew me back again into its embrace.

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