Chapter 12-344: Auld Lang Syne (1/2)
The Lady’s Cathedral was changed, but some things did not change.
There was a lot more white now, of course, and a holy air of peace and serenity that was not shot through with lies and sanctimonious men preaching about the folly of sins they indulged in shamelessly.
Still, there were pews, and there was an altar (although the ancient one he knew was not in this chapel any more) and could that be the same pipe organ after all these years?
He looked about, and approved of the changes even as he lamented the time passing. The Christ had been put into the ground, the great bright windows displayed not the stations of the cross and the old miracles, but images of peace and mercy and healing, wrought by the hands of those favored by the Divine.
As befitted the Gentle Mother. All in all, taking the best of the soft side of the old Church, and making something newer and grander out of it.
He could sense his lady’s amusement at how poorly both of them fit in here. In response, he turned to her and asked, “Ye play, do ye not?”
She lifted a high and elegant eyebrow, and without hesitation strode towards the massive organ tucked into the side of the chapel.
It took only a minute for her to figure out its workings, long enough for him to walk up to edge of the dais and take off his hat. Unlike a dirt-eater like he, she’d been expected to learn the arts of a proper noblewoman.
There was a Sound Bubble up and about, so the nuns wandering about would not be disturbed in their duties. Most of them were in the healing chapels that had replaced four of the six halls of worship in the cathedral. To the Amanans, more sites glorifying the Mother were wasted space, and the different chapels were devoted to treating the pregnant, the newborn, young children, and the elderly.
He’d read that elders from all across Ireland came to The Lady’s Cathedral to receive final rites and pass on. The Ivory Chapel, once the Jebb Chapel, was the most solemn in the cathedral, and he could feel the quiet of the spirits waiting here.
Die upon holy ground, and you are not trapped in the Shroud, was the word among the faithful... and only the faithful. If you were an unrepentant bastard like himself, well, this was as good a place as any other, is all.
When the first notes arose under Amaretta’s fingertips, he opened his mouth, and Sang the Prayer of St. Francis.
Perhaps the words were alien to his heart now, but for his mother, he’d Sing... and the Gentle Mother was perhaps a better audience then that pig of a pastor, sure enough...
“Make me a channel of your peace
Where there is hatred, let me bring your love
Where there is injury, your pardon, Lord
Where there is doubt, true faith in You...”
It had been his mother’s most beloved song, perhaps as a result of the violence that swirled so often around being Blooded... and perhaps when she’d had children of her own, hoping they’d not fall to the fate of so many Blooded.
“... in giving of ourselves that we receive
And in dying that we’re born to eternal life...”
He took a deep breath and released it as the long, low notes of the organ fell silent.
“Aye there, Mamai. I can Sing now, aye.”
“You can indeed.”
He turned his head slowly, unsurprised as the nun in white and her wimple took a single step forward. Obviously, she had stopped in for some reason, entered the Sound Bubble when she saw a stranger where they should not be, and stopped despite herself when the full force of the Heartsong hit her.
She knew enough to discern the crackling, lively magic of Minstrelry from the auld power of Bardsong, and had immediately decided that interfering with what was obviously a very private moment was unwise.
That said, anyone who could bring forth such a Song was undoubtedly a very powerful Bard, indeed, especially if they dared to dress all in white.
And had there not been a Bard all in white down the road in Shannon, just the night last?
“I have not heard that version of the song since I was child,” the nun said calmly. “We have song service for the people publicly, sir... you would be more than welcome to Sing to the Mother with us!” she offered immediately, clearly impressed.
“I was nae singing to your Mother, lassie; I were singing t’ mine, knowin’ she could finally hear me.”
She flinched despite herself when she saw his eyes go crimson, but was not worried. If he had dark intentions, he would not have been able to enter these holy grounds at all.
And she had not been called ‘lassie’ in a great many years, and so flushed despite herself. The Blooded could indeed get quite old, although she’d not met many of such years.