 
## A Year and A Day

by Francis Rosenfeld

© 2016 Francis Rosenfeld

Smashwords Edition

Cover Design © FrinaArt at SelfPubBookCovers

### Contents

Winter

December

The Night of The Mothers

The Birth of Life Itself

January

The Blessing of the Waters

The Spirit of Awakening

February

The Festival of Candles

The Feast of the Blue-green Dragon

Spring

March

The Reading of Blessings

The Dawn of the Flowers and Seeds

April

The Feast of Returning to Life

The Return of the Thunderbirds

May

The Night of Power

The Day of Enlightenment

Summer

June

The Gifts of the Spirit

Bonfire Day

July

The Festival of the Chariots

The Day of Abundance

August

Ancestors' Day

The Snake Ceremony

Autumn

September

The Celebration of Harvest

The Feast of Trumpets

October

The Blessing of Animals and Nature

The Celebration of the Victory of Good

November

All Souls' Day

The Manifestation of God

And a Day

The Ceremony

About the Author

Other Books by Francis Rosenfeld

Winter

December

The Night of The Mothers

On the longest night of the year, the women of Cré gather quietly, dressed in their festive garments, whiter than snow, to walk the gentle hill towards the Hearth of the Gemini, whose limestone walls glow ghostly in the distance. They have no lights to guide them, other than those of the stars and the moon, as they slowly join in long files, which in turn join larger streams, which in turn join the main procession to pass through the gate of the Hearth together, like confluences of rivulets and rivers finding their way to the sea.

Nobody utters a single sound, as it has been the tradition for thousands of years, and with each year passing, the significance of this silence amplifies and lends more decorum to the sacred ritual. It isn't forbidden to talk, there is no mention in the law that everything has to happen in silence, but every woman and girl past the age of thirteen knows and abides by this unspoken rule, as a measure of respect and pride in their tradition.

Once past the gate the group disperses to fill the large round hall at the center of the Hearth, settling into their customary places, by family and by rank, grandmothers, mothers and daughters, quietly sharing the celebration of womanhood and the privilege of being allowed to bear the gift of life.

The hall is completely dark, but no one stumbles, or fails to find their place. For every one of them, including the thirteen year old girls, for whom this is the first time they are allowed to participate in the Night of the Mothers, the Hearth's great hall is as familiar as their own homes. There isn't a single person in Cré, man, woman or child, who hadn't spent time there during the warm months, because it is the home of the Twins, and the Twins' daily activities are the blood and purpose of city life.

For those for whom this is their first celebration the place feels different during the Night of the Mothers, however, and a bit intimidating in its highly ceremonial decor, because this is the first opportunity to experience the hall in the Twins' absence, devoid of the usual laughter and chatter and playful chaos the two carry with them everywhere they go. Their sunken beds, shallowly carved in the stone floor and marking the center of the hall, are empty, their edges strewn with mistletoe and ivy. The shape of the beds is strange, two halves of the same circle, barely separated by a slab of agate, so thin it is translucent, and whose bright orange, blue and burned sienna hues provide startling contrast to the sparseness of the room.

Almost thirty feet tall and surrounded by slender columns, its vaulted ceilings stripped of unnecessary details, the room is otherwise empty and every word spoken in it reverberates in endless echoes and bounces about the structure, rising higher and higher, until it reaches out to the sky through the large oculus at the top of the central dome. The opening seems small seen from below, on account of it being so high up, but it is in fact the exact size of the circle that borders the Twins' beds in the center of the floor, and perfectly aligned with them too, so that whatever sparse rays the starry night lets through will all be shining down on their circular bed, connecting it to the sky via a column of ethereal radiance.

As their eyes adjust to the scant light, the women of the Cré start distinguishing the activity that is unfolding around them, whose only indication is the soft shuffling of feet. Right in front of them, on the other side of the twin stone beds, the matrons of the High Council wait for the clock tower to strike midnight, the hour when the celebration of the winter solstice traditionally begins. At the center of the group, the city matriarch waits patiently to preside over the ceremony.

She is a dignified woman whose hair is almost as white as the loose ceremonial scarf that covers her head, an artful piece of needlework, the work of a master creweler, embroidered with white silk and silver thread. Nobody remembers how old the matriarch is, not even the women of her generation, but her unwrinkled face looks ageless, almost like it is carved in stone.

The clock strikes midnight and the soft shuffling subsides, and every eye in the room turns towards her.

With very measured gestures she repeats the ritual of the lighting of the candle, the same way she had done for many decades, and the soft flicker of the candle flame, the only light in the room, casts a halo around her features as she speaks the first words of the ceremony.

"Tonight we celebrate the woman folk who had been graced with the gift of bearing life. This is the longest night of the year, and yet our souls are filled with light, hope and patient anticipation of life's renewal. We are grandmothers, mothers and daughters, who have joined together to rejoice in the knowledge that those who have never known a mother will return to us in the fullness of time, as they do every year. Tonight we share the light, to remember that we are daughters of women and mothers of women, we are of the same flesh, we are of the same blood, and we are bound through the centuries to all those who have come before us and all those who are yet to be."

The little flicker of her candle flame touches the wicks of the candles held by the matrons to her left and to her right, and then their tiny flickers multiply by tens and by hundreds as the warm glow disperses through the crowd to form waves and streams of light, and it feels like all of a sudden hundreds of faces appeared, framed by artfully embroidered white scarves, faces young and old, placid and curious, poised and fidgety, the celebrants of the feast.

"Each winter solstice the Night of the Mothers is one and the same, forever reverberating through time. The cradles of the Twins are still empty, but like expectant mothers who await childbirth we have came to whisper to them our wishes and prayers, knowing they will be granted in due time. With reverence, we ask the matrons of the High Council to start the procession."

The restless flow of white garments and candle lights accumulate towards the center of the hall, as the members of each matrilinear line approach the center of the Hearth together, to make wishes for the coming year and to place white anemones in the shallow beds. Time seems to stop flowing in the monotonous rhythm of their silent procession, and only the growing mound of white flowers attests to its passing. As the last woman approaches the circle, the first glow of the morning perches on the horizon. The matriarch speaks again.

"We have gathered to witness the longest night of the year together. We have seen the first dawn of the year renewed. Let us now part so that we may return to our homes, but let our hearts remain united by its light."

This was little Aifa's first grown-up celebration, and she walked clumsily on her way home, wobbling behind her mother and grandmother, gazing with tired eyes at the glow of the sunrise, still quiet, despite the fact that after the ceremony was over, the unspoken custom of keeping silent no longer applied. She was trying to take in as much of the meaning of this event as she could, and had to admit that all the preparation she did before it did not completely jive with the experience itself. Her preparation had been more involved than usual because she was to become a Caretaker, like her mother, and her grandmother before her, and all of her female ancestors, going so far back in time nobody in the family could remember when this great honor was bestowed upon it. They were the keepers of the Hearth, the many earthly mothers of the Twins, the immortal beings who, in their long, endlessly repeating existence, had never known a mother of their own.

Aifa had never been all that good with children and worried endlessly about being made responsible for the well-being of what one could call a pair of demigods. The Twins were human, sure, if one could call human a being which disappears without a trace each year at the beginning of the dark season, only to reemerge, as a young child, when nature comes back to life in spring. There were many legends regarding the origin of the Twins, like there were many legends relating to every holiday, feast and celebration in their symbolic year; legends and traditions were the life blood of Cré's society, the meaning of life itself. Some believed the twins had descended from the sky, others that they were the fruit of an enormous blue-green flower, whose petals had subsequently scattered across the Earth to become the oceans and the seas. Others swore the Twins were born fully human, only to be subjected to an enchantment that made them relive the same year. The truth is nobody really knew, and the shelves of the anthropology section of the library were buckling under the massive weight of Twin mythology, whose sheer volume of information was daunting to all but the strongest of heart.

All of this symbolism was somewhat lost on Aifa, despite her model upbringing; by the age of thirteen any educated child was expected to know all the intricacies of the Twin myths, but lore and legend didn't make up for the fact that, as far as she'd heard, the Twins were a pain to take care of: they listened to no one, feared nothing and were given to tantrums and fits. If one asked Aifa, if there was anything worse than an entitled baby demigod, it must have been two entitled baby demigods. Goodness gracious! Having to teach words, and foods, and colors to a couple of eternal youths with the emotional development of a three year old!

To make things worse, the Twins were over six foot tall, or so she'd heard, and Aifa worried about having to keep up with them. She was small and delicate, like all the women in her family, and whatever strength she possessed was more of spirit than of body.

She didn't dare protest her predetermined fate to serve as babysitter to the gods, anybody would have been outraged if she dared complain about something deemed to be such a great honor, and which had been automatically bestowed upon her by the mere circumstances of her birth. Short of the High Council, the Caretakers were the most respected members of the community, and Aifa mumbled under her breath that without doubt, this was due to the thankless and never ending nature of their work. It is one thing to raise a child once, it is a completely different thing to raise the same child again, and again each year, starting over every spring with a new teaching of foods, words and colors, like pushing the proverbial boulder back up the hill.

Aifa's grandmother didn't have much patience for the teen's lack of mental discipline, which she perceived to be a failure in her granddaughter's upbringing, but she secretly cheered the girl's stubborn spirit, a great quality for one to have if the success of one's task bears on perseverance.

"You're so quiet, granddaughter," she commented, out of the blue, startling the thoughtful teen. "Did you enjoy the ceremony?"

Aifa was buried so deep in her philosophical musings, that the sound of her grandmother's voice made her jerk and she had to replay the question in her head before responding.

"It was beautiful, Doyenne," Aifa replied, with the deference her grandmother's position entailed. The latter kept pushing.

"And yet not exactly what you expected?"

Aifa didn't know if it would be appropriate to elaborate on her opinion, but since her grandmother insisted, she gave it a good try.

"It's not that, it's just...I expected it to be...I don't know..." She hesitated again. "It's just that we all gathered at midnight, by candle light, to welcome the year's renewal. I didn't expect it to be so...traditional."

Aifa's grandmother started laughing heartily.

"So, you expected it to be more whimsical, magical, more like a fairy tale?"

"Maybe, a little bit," Aifa admitted. "I...I just thought I'd feel different after the ceremony, that's all."

"There is no circumstance on earth that will make you feel like anything other than what you already are. The real magic, my dear child, the one that endures, is the one born right inside your heart."

The Birth of Life Itself

It was the week before the feast of the Birth of Life, a time when the city of Cré was usually bustling with activity. Everybody rushed to finish the preparations for the feast, get the gifts wrapped, and most importantly, get ready for the big social gathering that happened at the Hearth each year to mark this event.

Aifa and her grandmother had woken up very early that morning, to get to the market before the sun was high up in the sky. They got out of their home at sunrise, bundled in warm winter gear, and found their way to the marketplace through the stone streets of Cré. They walked briskly along narrow walkways, and through arched passageways, and up flights of stairs, they walked so fast Aifa could barely keep up with her grandmother, who had maintained herself in great shape, despite her advanced age.

There were two reasons that allowed this to happen. First, it was a matter of personal pride for every man and woman in the city to take good care of both their body and their mind: the body had to be healthy, tastefully attired and always flawlessly groomed, and the mind had to be clear of distasteful or dismaying thoughts. This was a moral imperative for the elders in particular, since they were to set themselves as examples for the younger generations. Nobody was ever sick in Cré, the advancements of medicine had made ailments of the body a thing of the past. Second, if somebody needed to get anywhere, they had to walk there. The topography of the city did not allow for roadwork accessible by any sort of vehicle. Between the stairs going up the hill, and the passageways at times so narrow one could only squeeze through them sideways, it was not easy to be out of shape in this city and still be able to function.

"Keep up, granddaughter. We don't want to get there late, all the good stuff will be gone," the lady admonished, without turning her head. Her voice betrayed no effort, as if the last three flights of stairs they had just climbed were flat ground. Aifa picked up the pace to catch up with her.

The streets already started getting crowded, filled with the colors and scents of the holiday. There were bakers, carrying their baskets full of still warm bread on their backs, who rushed past them to sell their merchandise door to door. There were silk fabric merchants, praising the softness and delicacy of their fabrics to those who stopped to admire them. There were artisans displaying their crafts and perfumers dabbing scent on small cloth swatches. There were coin minters, and sausage vendors, and farmers with bushels of seasonal fruit, blending into a colorful crowd that moved through the city like rivers through stone canyons.

Everything in Cré was made of stone, because its architecture was meant to last forever. There was no such thing as a temporary structure and most of the dwellings were hundreds, if not thousands of years old.

"Thank goodness we're almost there," Aifa's grandmother said, engaging the last flight of stairs that wrapped around an imposing building and exited unexpectedly into the market square. "I told you we'd be late, everybody's already here."

"What are we looking for, doyenne?" Aifa asked.

"Fruit, cheese, greenery for the wreaths. White silk thread for your holiday dress. I can't believe you're still working on it, you're going to be still sewing on those last stitches as you're walking into the Hearth."

The celebration of the Birth of Life Itself was one of the many holidays during which the city dwellers gave in to self-indulgence. The usual mores regarding self-discipline and restraint went out the window, and were temporarily replaced by sinfully hedonistic excess, mirth, and good cheer driven by the strongest of spirits.

"Oh, dear! I almost forgot the chestnut brandy. Your grandfather would never let me hear the end of it", Aifa's grandmother mumbled, grabbing a couple of bottles to add to her shopping basket, which was already almost full and was getting quite heavy.

The market smelled of pine needles, hot spiced tea and fruit pies, the usual blend of scents that accompanied the winter holidays, and especially the feast of the Birth of Life Itself, the day when the community celebrated the Twins' birthday. Of course, nobody knew when, or even if, the twins had been born; entire philosophical schools spent centuries debating their origin; some thought they had to be born in their bodies at some point in time, others insisted that the two had just been, forever, without beginning or end. That didn't prevent the good citizens of Cré from celebrating their birthday, which some of the very old manuscripts in the library archives had placed at the beginning of winter, with all the pageantry and excitement the blessing event called for. If other holidays invited to self-reflection and altruism, this one was a feast of pure joy and child-like merriment, and it was so celebrated, no holds barred. Grown men and women walked the crowded streets of Cré munching on candy apples and praline chestnuts, fortified against the cold by the strength of the hard cider in their cups. The city was filled with evergreens, holiday decor, music and laughter during the giant birthday party for the Twins.

The market square was surrounded on three sides by the oldest buildings of Cré, and it marked the old center of the city, the location of the first settlement, which had remained its heart through the millennia of its existence. The Hearth itself was there too, gracing the center of one of the market's long sides; during the large celebrations the entire plaza became an extension of the ancient hall, a much needed outlet for the overflow of people.

The fourth side of the market, opposite the Hearth of the Gemini, was looking out to the open waters over the old city wall, whose impenetrable fortifications reached hundreds of feet down into the sea, and whose foundation was constantly battered by its merciless waves. The whole city harbor could be seen from there, not too far away, with its ships moored by ropes covered in ice, and projecting a forest of frozen masts and sails onto a somber sky.

Aifa loved the sea with a passion quite difficult to understand for the average citizen of Cré. Ever since its inception, the city had been conceived as a shelter, a fortress against the whims and perils of the restless waters, and with the exception of those who had made braving the waves their life's work, the populace simply ignored the presence of the sea, comforted by the security of their indestructible haven of stone.

"It runs into your blood," the grandmother commented as she watched Aifa gape at the rhythmic movement of the waves, which to her sounded almost like a heartbeat.

"What does, doyenne?"

"The sea water," the grandmother smiled. "It runs in your blood. Mine too. Some of us have been born to it."

"Don't you ever wonder what's out there, under the surface?" Aifa turned towards her grandmother, eyes filled with wonder.

"There is wondering about it," the grandmother answered cryptically, "and then there is knowing. Always strive for the knowing, granddaughter, and you won't have to search for the answers to your questions. The answers will find you."

"What is knowing, doyenne?"

The grandmother didn't answer.

"Why do you think you are drawn to the sea? Certainly nobody taught you to be curious about it, our culture doesn't have much interest in studying it."

"There is something out there that calls out to me," Aifa said, almost as if in a dream. "I can't explain why I feel this way, there is no rational explanation to justify it, but I have no doubt there is something out there for me. Something I should learn about."

"The call of the sea," the grandmother replied thoughtfully. "You wouldn't be the first to hear it."

"What do you know about it, doyenne?"

"There are folk stories, most of which have never been written down. Old wives' tales say the first settlers found two children with long flowing hair running and playing on the beach early in spring, a boy and girl who looked so much alike it wasn't easy to tell them apart. The only way to know for sure which one you were talking to was to look into their eyes: the boy's eyes were blue, the girl's green."

"The Twins!" Aifa gasped. "So, do some believe they have come from the sea?"

"Nobody said that, they just said that the children were found on the beach."

"And then? What happened after that?" Aifa's eyes widened.

"The villagers thought the poor children were lost, and took them back to the city, where they cared for them, fed them, clothed them, taught them their ways and their laws. Legend says the children matured miraculously fast, and by the end of fall they were all grown up, ready for their life to begin. When the first snow fell, some swore on their lives they saw the two disintegrate into a myriad tiny snowflakes that got carried by the surf back out to sea. Whether that is true or not, it has never been established, but the fact remains the villagers thought the Twins were lost and mourned their passing. The whole village loved them and people were inconsolable, and for three whole months they kept looking for their beloved adopted children and praying that wherever they were, the kindness of nature will keep them safe from harm. Just when they had resigned themselves never to see them again, the Twins returned, healthier and more beautiful than ever, but with no memory of ever having known the villagers at all. So the good people of Cré brought them back into the city, fed them, clothed them and taught them their ways and their laws, and by the time winter drew near, the two disappeared again."

"So, how come there is no mention of this in the library archives?"

"Anthropologists collected and studied these oral traditions and found no evidence to attest to their validity. They concluded the stories were just that, stories."

"So, how do we know that their birthday is in winter?"

"I'm not sure there is consensus about that either, but there is no harm in celebrating their birth some time, is there?"

"But what if they just materialized, out of nothing, the same way they disappeared?"

"Ah, so you decided to ascribe to that school of thought. There is no proof they are anything other than fully human, you'll see when they arrive. They eat, they sleep, they feel joy and pain, just like the rest of us."

"Can they get hurt and die?"

"For that year, yes. There is evidence of several years when that happened. But they always return healthy and unharmed the next spring."

"What happened during those years when they died, doyenne?" Aifa asked.

The grandmother hesitated before answering, but because their society had based its entire moral code on the pursuit of truth, she continued.

"It wasn't good, child. It felt like existence itself mourned their passing. There was famine, and drought, and terrible storms, it felt as if the whole balance of nature had been disrupted."

"Is that why the High Council decided to create the order of the Caretakers?"

"That's right. You have inherited a great honor. Just in case the Twins get on your last nerve, as they undoubtedly will, always remember that you are not babysitting two obnoxious youths with endless reserves of energy, you are caring for the well-being of life itself."

Aifa looked out to the open waters, as if to search for that something that kept calling out to her from under their dark surface. She couldn't explain it, and she didn't dare mention it to her grandmother, but she just knew the Twins were there, they were going there every winter, they were going home.

The grandmother frowned, almost imperceptibly, at the intense determination in her granddaughter's eyes.

"Don't dwell too much on fairy tales, granddaughter. If you were meant to be of the ocean, you'd have been born a fish. I think learning our ways is more than enough to occupy your time for the foreseeable future."

"Ain't that the truth!" Aifa thought, dejected. The education system of Cré started at the age of three and spanned over two decades. There was so much to learn that it was virtually impossible for a youngster to get a general education, and then specialize, so varied knowledge paths split relatively early, around the age of ten, in order to accommodate the sheer volume of information relating to a specific vocation. The mere thought of ten more years of it made Aifa tired.

"But what of the sea water in my blood, doyenne?" she dared ask eventually.

"Oh,dear child! Don't you give credence to an old woman's ramblings. I forget myself sometimes," the grandmother said, with her back turned, so that her granddaughter couldn't see her smile. "Use both straps for the basket, dear, you need to keep your spine straight under the load, and fix your apron, it looks like it's hanging to the side."

January

The Blessing of the Waters

Aifa had always asked herself, ever since she was a little child, why would a community decide to perform a ceremony that featured water during the time of year when it was almost guaranteed to be frozen. Of course if she asked her mother, she would have gotten hours of cross-referenced instruction about the significance of the holiday, complete with historical dates and the most important writings about it.

It had to do with the Twins, of course, everything in Cré had to do with the Twins, but as far as the particular time of year, she couldn't remember a reason. To her family's dismay, whose members were never satisfied with the level of interest Aifa showed to her doctrinal studies, she didn't much care what the reason was, but that didn't prevent this holiday from being one of her favorites, because it involved something very special indeed: a trip to the sea shore.

She didn't mind the cold, or the treacherous hike along the cliff side, made barely practicable by snow and ice, she didn't mind the ceremonial carrying of water, and the religious imperative that no drop be spilled. She saw this annual descent to the sea as a precious gift, and she liked to keep this opinion to herself, for no reason.

The Blessing of the Waters brought everyone out to the shores, nobody would dream of missing the joyful event and the field trip associated with it. Young and old, as soon as the bells rang to mark sundown, filled their ceremonial cups, used only for this day and no other, with water from the fountains of their homes, and started their slow walk towards the beach, to return the waters to the sea.

They held the ceremonial vessel in the cupped palm of their right hand, as a reminder of older times, when they had arrived tired and ragged to these rocky shores, and knelt down by the sweet tasting mountain streams to appease their thirst. In the left hand they carried the small bundle of salt, the salt of the earth, to bless the fishing nets.

"Don't spill your water, granddaughter, it is just not done!" Aifa's grandmother preemptively admonished; her words made the young girl sigh, because she knew full well there was no way she was going to get all the way to the shore with all her water in the cup. Her grandmother did her best not to notice when the slip-ups occurred, but her mother and father never hesitated to give Aifa a piece of their mind.

"It's not humanly possible!" Aifa quietly protested, somewhat peeved that her grandmother provided living proof that wasn't true.

"The secret is not to fill your cup all the way up," the latter chuckled softly.

"But mother says..." Aifa retorted.

"I know what your mother says. Do you want to get to the shore with all of your water or not?"

Aifa eyed her grandmother's cup, when she thought the latter wasn't looking, to assess exactly how full the vessel should be. Grandma's cup was filled to the brim. She sighed and gave up, placing another mark in her mental column of reasons why Cré needed the twenty year education system.

"It teaches you balance, granddaughter," grandmother answered her unasked question. "Don't worry, with practice you'll get there."

"What kind of practice only takes place once a year?" Aifa asked herself. "By the time this feast rolls around again, it will be like I've never done this before." She looked to her grandmother in search of an answer.

"Just because the feast is only once a year, it doesn't mean the practice has to be," the former replied. "Watch your step!"

They had been lucky that year, the temperatures were low, but not extreme. In other years the water in the cups would freeze by the time they got all the way down to the sea, and they had to grease the cups to make sure the ice didn't stick to them. Water was, however, much easier to carry in solid form.

During those very cold years, a fascinating phenomenon occurred: because of the frigid temperatures, the water sublimated, rising in ghostly wisps of fog until the ice was all gone, as if the spirit of the sea was trying to bring the water back to a state that would allow it to return to its source all by itself.

The long trip along the side of the cliff was blessed every year with the most spectacular painted skies - every shade of purple, rose, bright orange, green and yellow, reflected on the ever moving turquoise waters of the sea. Aifa was secretly convinced that the Twins put up that show for the citizens of Cré on purpose, to make them forget the bitter cold and the seemingly endless rugged climb to get back home.

"We made good time," grandmother commented, looking at the sky. "With any luck we'll get back while it's still light outside."

The group of people who had already made it to the beach was growing slowly, surrounding the members of the High Council who were preparing to start the ceremony.

"I see you still got your water, for the most part," grandmother teased. Aifa looked down, feeling awkward, but her mother nudged her to pay attention, for the ceremony was about to begin.

"We are gathered here, as we are every year, to return our waters to their source. We have been blessed with rain, so we lacked for nothing. In gratitude, we offer a gift of water from our homes."

"Do I pour the water now?" Aifa whispered to her mother, stomping her feet to keep warm. The beach wasn't exactly user friendly at this time of year.

"Not yet, have patience," her mother calmly admonished her, and her poise felt a little intimidating to Aifa. Her mother didn't seem to notice the cold and had the graceful and relaxed posture of a marble statue.

"We thank our fishermen for their sacrifice, we know it's not easy to be away from the safety of the city, at the mercy of the waves. We have brought salt for them to salt their nets, so that their fishing is always blessed with luck."

Aifa looked longingly at the frozen masts, and at the sails, and the thick ropes, off of which the icicles dripped like weird sparkling beards, and thought to herself that whatever that sacrifice was, it must be worth it. She wished she could, just once, be out there, on the open seas, to breathe in the salty air and listen to the seagulls, and watch the sun rise over the water, however that was an unlikely prospect, given the fact that, by birth, her fate had already chosen otherwise for her.

"Aifa," her mother chided. "Your salt."

Aifa shook off her reverie and joined the line of people who were waiting to deposit their symbolic mineral offering into a large bowl, placed on the line where the sea met the land, in the neutral territory along the border between two worlds, accessible by both, belonging to neither.

"Let us give our offerings of water, to be returned to us in good time for a bountiful harvest. May the water be blessed so that all the people, and all the other living things whose lives it sustains, be they of the land, of the sea, or of the sky, may also be blessed and thrive."

Aifa approached the water line, walking slowly on the salt bleached beach covered in wispy snow and frozen seashells and clumps of seaweed encased in ice. Everything sparkled in the low light of the setting sun, and as she poured her cup into the sea, slowly and reverently, as the ritual required, Aifa thought she never, in her entire life, had seen a most beautiful sight.

"They must be in there somewhere," she pondered, looking around and trying to figure out which was the exact place on the beach where the Twins were first seen. If she really listened, she could almost hear their laughter and their footsteps echoing against the rocky cliffs.

"It's only the wind, child," her grandmother whispered, breaking the spell of the sea. "They are not here."

"What do you think they will look like this year, doyenne?" Aifa tried to imagine the endless variations on the theme of long brown hair and blue-green eyes that the Twins countenance embodied each spring.

"You'll find out soon enough," grandmother smiled. "Don't be too impatient; be thankful for the rest you're getting for now, you're going to need all your strength when they arrive."

"Are they really that boisterous?" Aifa doubted.

"Oh, dear me! Every hour on the hour, I tell you. Night and day!" grandmother said. "It looks like I was right, we're going to get home by daylight. Come, granddaughter, it's time to return."

Aifa started the long stretch home, thinking to herself that it would have been nice if the sea level wasn't so far down, and feeling embarrassed to fall too far behind her grandmother, who, as always, engaged the hike with no effort at all.

The night was drawing near and it was getting really cold, and the sky turned dark shades of indigo and ultramarine which made it feel colder still. Aifa held on to the little empty cup, hidden under her heavy winter wrap, and the cup was warm from the touch of her hands, as if it too was made of flesh and blood, not stone. Aifa thought it so strange that this little artifact was going to accompany her through all the events of her life, and when she would finally go to her place of rest, the cup will go with there with her. It had been chosen with great care by her family, as her mother was getting ready to bring Aifa into the world. What a strange thing this was, to have an object made for you and you alone, an object that waits for you to be born and follows you into the afterlife when you are gone. The little cup got even warmer under her fingers, as if it understood. "This cup of life was given me," Aifa automatically mouthed the little mantra that the people of Cré recited at the end of each day, "to hold my spirit inside it like water."

Somewhere in the fishermen village somebody was preparing the nets to be salted in the morning, and little lights started glowing, one by one, in the small abodes by the sea. "They always get home first," Aifa thought, huffing and puffing her way up the last portion of the slope, the one right before the city gates, which was the steepest. She was tired and hungry, and was looking forward to the traditional steaming cup of tea; she resented her age, which didn't allow her to strengthen it with something a little more substantial, like the grown-ups did, 'cause it sure seemed to do the trick for them. "At least the hike keeps the blood flowing, otherwise I'd be frozen like a pillar of ice by now." It was getting really cold fast, and dark enough that the world turned off most of its colors and retired for the night in somber shades of blue and gray. "I guess the Twins got the right idea," she begrudged them. "Skip this horrid season altogether and show up in spring, when it's nice and warm." And then she felt bad about it, and she wondered how cold the deep sea was, if they were indeed there, and thought that maybe their winter world was more daunting than hers. "What on earth am I thinking!" she shook her head. "They're Gods, for crying out loud. I wonder if we could maybe suggest to them to lighten up a bit on the winter weather, maybe come back a little sooner this year."

"You're lost in your own head again, granddaughter. Be here with us, will you? We'll be home pretty soon."

"Doyenne," Aifa started, since she had nothing better to do on the long cold way home. "Do you think we could persuade them to change the weather?"

"What in Creation are you thinking, child!" grandmother retorted, outraged. "Do you think you know better than nature what to do with the seasons?"

"Not a lot, you know? Just a little bit," Aifa tried to soften up the impious comment. There was no way to get anywhere with her grandmother once the great scheme of things was touched upon irreverently; she was really strict about these kinds of things. Aifa prepared herself for a good talking to on the subject of ethics and morality, but grandmother was tired, hungry and cold too, so she deferred to comment.

The Spirit of Awakening

"Wake up, granddaughter," Aifa's grandmother shook her gently, so she wouldn't be startled out of her deep sleep. "We need to go to the Hearth soon, we don't want to keep people waiting."

Aifa got up quickly, washed her face and hands and put on the clothes that she'd been setting aside the day before, hand made and never worn before, like tradition required. She knew they weren't going to leave immediately, one had to sit and think, and write down what one perceived to be one's shortcomings from the previous year, to be relinquished to the sacred fire.

It was forbidden for anyone else to read what those shortcomings might be, and the fact that she was allowed to choose her sins for herself, if one could conceive of such thing, made Aifa feel light and free. She wasn't perfect, she knew that, and she could think of many things she would have liked to change, but for some reason only her rebellious little mind understood, she refused to write them down. She spent some thoughtful time in silence, with her family, thinking of all that had been and all that she wished would be, and scribbled down on her little piece of paper, carefully folded in four, a large amount of words, to be entrusted to the flames.

What words those were, that was to remain a secret between her and the holy flames, a secret which belonged to her alone and whose cumulative layers had built up to a small treasure of insight over the years, one that she guarded jealously inside her mind.

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, granddaughter," her grandfather commented on occasion, "there can't be that many things to write down."

Aifa smiled and said nothing, but continued to scribble her thoughts until it was almost time to leave.

The house was filled with candles, to bring light from the darkness, and with the tempting aroma of the decadent sweets the entire family had spent the previous day baking and decorating.

"Why do we write down our shortcomings, doyenne?" Aifa asked, feeling a little guilty about her private gesture of assertion.

"We write down the things that trouble our souls, so that their burden no longer weighs down our spirit, so that we can walk into the new year renewed and purified," grandmother explained patiently again, as she had done so many times before.

"What kind of things?" Aifa continued her probing, not realizing that the question sounded very odd, considering that she had spent over an hour writing down hers.

"Well," grandmother paused for a few moments, "if it's something that you did and that burdens your soul, then it belongs on the list."

"What if it burdens my soul but it's not of my doing?" Aifa asked innocently.

"If it is in your life, granddaughter, it is of your doing," grandmother replied gently.

"Even the rain on my birthday?" Aifa grabbed onto the example from that very year, when what was supposed to be a sunny family picnic packed with simply revolting amounts of sweets, had to be moved indoors when a summer downpour started suddenly. Strangely enough, the thought of the rainy birthday didn't make her sad at all, it was a beautiful memory. For a few moments her mind wandered back to the warmth and excess of summer.

"Even the rain on your birthday," grandmother agreed.

"But the rain didn't make me sad. I liked the rain," Aifa continued her musings.

"Then you don't have to write it down," grandmother said.

"I always like the rain," Aifa remembered enthusiastically.

"Everything is good in the right measure. Even happiness loses its luster if carried to excess. If you don't believe me, wait until the Twins arrive."

"Are they happy?"

"With a level of enthusiasm that risks overflowing."

"But why would that be wrong, doyenne?" Aifa asked, surprised.

"In itself it's not wrong at all. All of us aspire to be happy, first and foremost, but if you get swept up in the flow of your own emotions, whether they be good or bad, you lose sight of the true nature of being."

"What is that?"

"That things, nature, events, are not there to make you happy or sad, they just are. Haven't you noticed how everything in nature is always in motion? Everything is forever, and yet nothing endures."

"Like the Twins?"

"Like the Twins."

Aifa stayed quiet for a moment, to ponder on the implications.

"But the mountains are not in motion," she finally found the counterexample, eager to find that one point of reference, that immovable center around which she could orient her existence.

"Sure they are. They just move so slowly our lives are not long enough to observe it. Not everything there is moves to the same clock. Speaking of which, if we don't go right now, we're going to be late."

It wasn't easy for Aifa to make the transition from these existential conversations she had with her grandmother to the solid and straight forward level of the here and now, where being late for the Spirit of Awakening was considered unacceptable. The discussion still nagged at her on the way to the Hearth.

They took off their shoes in the antechamber, as it was the custom, and went into the large stone hall barefoot, wincing a little while trying to adjust to the coldness of the floor. The space was already full when they arrived, and they had to search to find a spot large enough to accommodate the entire family. They laid down their white silk mats and sat close to each other, waiting for the ceremony to begin. There was so much light from the candles, and the murmur of the crowd blended with the monotonous preparatory chants and the weird hum of the bells, into an ethereal vibration of excited matter. After a while, Aifa lost track of space and time, in this strange disoriented state filled with lights, scents and sounds, and being there, having been there before, felt almost like a dream.

Her life passed before her eyes, the joys, the sorrows, the celebrations, the triumphs, the setbacks, the love, the loss. She just watched them pass by, like a wide eyed art lover admires paintings in a museum, paintings they've seen a thousand times before, noticing little details that escaped her on previous trips, wondering about meanings she didn't grasp at the time, but which seemed so obvious to her now. She remembered her recent trip to the seashore as if she were there right then, still fascinated by the unearthly colors nature had displayed around her, feeling the smell of the salty air fill her lungs, the wind in her face, the sparkle of the frozen sand. She realized suddenly that she didn't remember any of the pain, not the pins and needles in her frozen feet, not the pangs of hunger that had accompanied her on the way up the cliff, or the heavy yoke of tiredness that pressed her down like a ton of lead.

"How privileged are we to be able to travel to our past and our future," one of the members of the High Council recited the beginning verses of the ceremony, "and how burdened with the curse of never being able to escape them."

"He's right," Aifa thought, because in that moment she wasn't really there, she was on the beach, with the seagulls, watching the painted skies and pouring her water back into the ocean. "Maybe the twins were there too, just like I am there right now, during those moments when I thought I heard them," she thought. Their very life essence was contained in the memory of their first arrival, which was now forever bouncing echoes off the side of the rocky cliff.

An eerie thought dawned on her, too scary to ponder. What if this being there now, as real as it felt, was also a memory? What if it wasn't even her memory, but if not hers, then whose? Maybe they all relived the memories of the Twins' eternal lives, made unrecognizable by the passing of generations. What if she wasn't here at all?

"Don't slouch, daughter, it will ruin your posture," her mother admonished softly, bringing her back from her reverie.  
The hums of the bells continued through the night, and so did the recitation of the verses, and nobody in the large hall seemed to really be there anymore, they had all departed for the landscapes of their memories, where they kept their own lives from unraveling in the continuous, ever changing stream of reality. It was a repository, the mind, of all the things one valued about one's life. Aifa finally understood the necessity of burning the feelings that weighed down her spirit. There was just so much space to be filled, and she wanted to reserve it all for things of value.

"Acquiring wisdom, granddaughter?" her grandmother smiled, and then went back to her contemplation of the year to come, to bless it, ahead of time, with beauty, happiness, harmony and peace.

Aifa tried to find evidence, as strange as that sounded, of her being there or of her dreaming about being there, but how does one find that evidence, and how could she understand it if she did? If all one had ever experienced was being asleep, how could one even understand the concept of being awake? Their sleep would be their reality, just like the tree dimensions of being are all humans could ever perceive. And if she was dreaming, and all the other people were also dreaming, were they all dreaming together or each lost in their own world? And if by some weird turn of events, one of them happened to wake up, would the world disappear, like the dream world dissipated into nothing upon awaking? She decided to ask her grandmother these questions on the way back home, in the hope that maybe the latter could shed some wisdom on the subject. Grandmother was the wisest person Aifa knew.

"Maybe you wouldn't care about it anymore," grandmother postulated, not very sure herself. "You don't really care about the sadness of a dream when you wake up in the morning, do you? Most of the time you won't even remember it."

"But I do remember my dreams," Aifa whimpered. "I wouldn't want to forget them, some of them were so beautiful I would like to go back inside them again. And even the sadness lingers through the entire day after a nightmare. And some of the dreams, good or bad, return to visit for days or weeks. What if I do remember everything, but it's no longer there? How would I be without it?"

"You are asking things of me that I have no way of knowing, dear child. How could I? I am no wiser than you, I have just seen a lot more of life. We all come here to learn, there is no limit to the learning, it is without end. What I can say is that you will find some answers eventually. A lot more of them if you unburden your mind of that list in your hand."

As they walked in the slow file, to cast their folded pieces of paper into the holy fire, Aifa felt the cold stone floor under her bare feet, hard and solid like she thought reality was. Her soul wavered between the real and the not real, torn between the cold hard floor and the painted skies on the beach, so deep in this struggle of the spirit that she didn't feel the floor anymore, just kept advancing on top of it, relieved to release her worries and her troubles to the fire, to be stripped of their emotional baggage, to have them transformed into pure energy and set free.

Her turn came. She placed the folded piece of paper into the fire and waited a few moments to watch it burn whole, then turned to rejoin the file and make room for the next person in the line.

Aifa spent her whole trip back rehashing the battle between 'it is a dream' and 'it is not a dream', because she didn't want her grandmother, and grandfather, and mother, and father, and siblings, and beloved pets, and enviable fate bestowed upon her, that of being Caretaker of the Twins, or even the Twins themselves, to be all part of a dream that she wove in her head, which would melt down to nothing at the first ray of dawn, but as she walked home at midnight, with the hard snow squeaking under the soles of her shoes, there was nothing but the night surrounding her, and the rhythm of the breath that the cold turned to mist the moment it left her lungs. She couldn't even see her grandmother, that's how dark it was, nothing but the night and the sound of the hard snow crushed under foot.

"Doyenne?" she started to panic.

"I am right here, child," grandmother reassured her. "Aifa?"

"Yes, doyenne."

"Wake up."

February

The Festival of Candles

If you were born in Cré at the beginning of February, you would be among the youngest people to enter the Hearth. It was the yearly tradition that new mothers should bring the babies who have been born over the course of the previous year to receive a blessing. Aifa was born in the summer, so she was a few months old when she first breathed the air of the Hearth, which was believed to be able to imbue people with health and vigor, and even, in some instances, restore health, but many of the babies that had been brought to the Hearth that year, bundled by their doting mothers in several warm blankets, were merely days old.

It was a new experience for Aifa to be there during the Festival of Candles, because not all the congregation was expected to participate; it was an intimate gathering of mothers and their babies, with just enough members of the High Council to offer the blessings. There was also another group of 'mothers' which was always expected to be there: the Caretakers.

People had always associated this particular holiday, which celebrated those who loved and nurtured infants, with the Caretakers, those devoted souls who took it upon themselves to care for and love the Twins every year, and for this reason they too were celebrated, like the new mothers, every year.

Of course, since the Twins' arrival was not expected for another forty days, they had the advantage of being the heart of the party without having to soothe and cajole fussy babies. The Festival of Candles, which fell right at the mid-point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox, was sort of a relief holiday, which expressed people's gratitude for having already gone through half of the winter.

To sweeten the pot even more, nature usually cooperated and showed up with mild temperatures, as if to ensure the well-being of the babies. Sometimes it was sunny, but for the most part it sifted plushy snowflakes, so large and fat they almost looked like goose down, from a somber sky thick as a blanket and not too far overhead. If that happened, new mothers looked at this gift from the sky as a sign of favor and wrote it down in their babies' journals for safekeeping.

Since this was Aifa's first year as a Caretaker, she was very nervous about the steps of the ceremony, even though she had rehearsed them with her grandmother for an entire month prior to the event. She didn't want to get any of the steps wrong, or sing out of tune. It was a feast of dancing, and singing without words, a song of pure joy.

The edges of the Twins' stone beds were decorated with big bunches of snowdrops, which the older children of the community had gathered from the forest. Their sheer quantity was auspicious. The fact that the children were able to gather so many snowdrops augured a year of good harvest. Usually Aifa would go with them, priding herself in finding more flowers than the others in her group, but not this year, this year she had responsibilities, which she took very seriously, even at the young age of thirteen.

"Now, when we get there, remember to go straight to your spot, just like we rehearsed," grandmother said, adjusting the young girl's robe one more time, unnecessarily, to mask her own nervousness. "Do you remember your songs?"

Aifa nodded.

"Doyenne? What are the ribbons for?"

"Oh, dear," grandmother sighed, concerned by the possibility that all those careful preparations might have been for naught. "To bless and give to the mothers and babies, wrapped around a bundle of snowdrops. Now you're asking me? Haven't we discussed this several times already?" As she spoke, she gazed at her granddaughter, who had a look of sheer panic on her face, and decided that stressing her granddaughter out even more was counterproductive, so she reassured the young one and secretly hoped that when the time came, Aifa had the sense to follow the protocol of the older Caretakers and do what they did.

"Now, remember. When the mothers start singing, you and the other Caretakers will begin to dance."

"Are you going to be there?"

"Of course I will, and so will your mother. We won't be able to guide you, though, because we will have to focus our own moves, so pay attention!"

"Yes, doyenne."

"Where is your headdress? Oh, here. Finally! Let's go."

They arrived at the Hearth early for a change, noticing on the way that the sky was promising fluffy snowflakes to usher in an auspicious year. Aifa had found her spot, but since they were going to be there by themselves for some time, before the mothers arrived, she decided to wander around the large hall, just to pass the time. At the bottom of one of the columns, marking the northern direction, she thought she saw a few indentations. She was sure the shadows were playing tricks on her eyes, because it was blasphemous for anybody to desecrate the Hearth in any way, and just the thought of the offending chisel touching its sacred stones seemed anathema.

It wasn't a shadow, though, but an inscription, ruggedly carved by an inexperienced hand, and, to add insult to injury, it spelled her name and the year of her birth.

"Who would be callous enough to do such a thing?" Aifa thought, and then realized that she would be suspected in this desecration, should somebody else find it. "Why would they choose my name? I didn't do anything, I don't even know what this is about! And right at the north point on the compass, no less, there is absolutely no chance it will go unnoticed."

What to do...What to do...

"Aifa!" her grandmother's voice snapped her out of her agonizing dilemma. As she lifted her eyes, she saw that many of the mothers had already arrived and realized how weird she must have looked to them, crouched as she was in the center of the space, staring at the bottom of a column. "Care to rejoin us, child?" grandmother said, less than pleased with the public spectacle.

Aifa took her spot in the ceremony, trying to blend in with the rest of the Caretakers, whose ease and comfort with the setting gave her little pangs of jealousy. To her grandmother's great relief, the celebration went to the very end without a hitch. After the young mothers left, carrying their precious bundles and their bunches of snow drops, wrapped in silk ribbons, out into the plushy snowflakes, another, even more intimate celebration was about to begin.

The mothers and grandmothers of the young girls who had joined in the ceremony for the first time were called to lay their hands upon them in blessing and offer flowers and sweets to the new members of their group.

Aifa's mother approached her first, and placed her hands on her flower headdress, so gently they felt like butterfly wings. Aifa had always felt a bit intimidated by her mother, who seemed almost ethereal to her at times. She had this far away look in her eyes, as if she wasn't there half the time, but in another world to which regular people didn't have access. She'd seen that look many times before, her grandmother had it too, on occasion, it seemed to be the trademark of the Caretakers, they who cared for the well-being of life itself.

Her mother stepped back and her grandmother approached; she placed her hands on Aifa's head with a little firmer grip, to remind the latter, without words, that she was supposed to focus on the ceremony.

The festival ended with the traditional treat of decadent sweets, but not even her favorite confections could take Aifa's mind off the surprise she had found earlier. She kept looking in that direction, without even wanting to, confounded by her own fascination with her own name carved into the stone of the Hearth.

"I see that you found it," her mother spoke, close to her daughter's ear, so softly that at first the latter thought she imagined it. She turned towards her mother, wide eyed, trying to understand what she meant.

"Your name," her mother smiled.

"But it is forbidden!" Aifa exclaimed. "Who would be allowed to do such a thing, and why my name? Am I in trouble, mother?"

"No, dear," her mother laughed. "Not in the least."

"But why?" Aifa couldn't help herself.

"Don't worry, daughter. You'll find out in due time." That look in her mother's eyes returned, as if she were suddenly recalled from the here and now into that wondrous world of hers only she knew. "The stone has memories," she whispered.

The Caretakers were getting more and more impatient, now that the arrival of the Twins was drawing near. Spring was in the wind, they could feel it instinctively, even though winter didn't show any signs of slowing down, and, quite to the contrary, was right now covering the earth in a soft and airy blanket of fresh snow. The Caretakers had already started preparing the home of their symbolic children, cleaning and burning sweet smelling incense and scrubbing the floors with mint and pine to chase away the ghosts of wickedness and ill health.

Once the flowers of spring started to bloom under the snow, the younger members of the order took it upon themselves to go out and bring fresh bouquets of of spring bulbs every day, and the halls were filled with the scents of crocuses and wood hyacinths. There were always flowers in the Great Hall, as long as flowers were in bloom, and when the weather turned too cold, it was decorated with evergreens and colorful berries.

Even the doors were scrubbed and covered in a fresh coat of beeswax each spring, to nourish and protect their ancient wood against the caprices of weather. Even the pebbles in the courtyard were neatly raked every day, to keep their surface even, and many of the Caretakers, as the time approached, went out to the pond in the middle of the courtyard, which during the summer was surrounded by a bounty of water loving plants, to guess by looking at the ice if it had started to thin out, like first time mothers try to recognize the first signs of labor.

The days were still short and by six o'clock the light grew dim, but the Caretakers were comforted by the glow of the candles and the flurry of ever thickening snowflakes swirling in the wind. The familiar surroundings looked almost like a fairytale, and Aifa half-expected to see the Sparkles join in a luminous dance on the ground.

The very old fairy tale about the Sparkles had been Aifa's favorite all through her childhood, and she always remembered it in the voice of her mother, who had read it to her every evening, for years, with the patience of a saint.

"Are you trying to see the Sparkles, granddaughter?" her grandmother teased.

"Doyenne," Aifa said reproachfully. "You know there are no such things."

"Whatever happened to you to make you so sure of things? Last month you weren't so keen on reality," grandmother probed her with curious eyes. There was no guile or admonition in her gaze, just curiosity in its purest form.

"So, you're telling me that I can see Sparkles," Aifa countered.

"Only if they think you're worthy, dear," grandmother burst out laughing, and the young girl couldn't tell if the latter was teasing her or speaking the truth.

"But, doyenne, it's just a fairy tale," Aifa insisted. "Somebody made it all up!"

"Oh, my sweet child! You are so eager to believe in the reality of the world that surrounds you, you're almost willing to give it all away. What do you think reality is made of?" She gently caressed her granddaughter's hair, now freed from the surprisingly heavy load of her headdress. "Keep looking for those Sparkles, little one, and maybe one day they'll show themselves to you."

Aifa wanted to ask her grandmother if she ever saw the Sparkles herself, but since she couldn't tell if the latter was serious or joking, she didn't want her doyenne to laugh at her. Her mother looked like she'd seen the Sparkles at some point in her life, an impious thought rose to the surface of her consciousness, and she shoved it back down to the deep, forcefully, appalled by such disrespect. And then she remembered her own name, carved in the stone of the Hearth, and wondered: if that was possible, what else was also possible? All the way back home she searched the thick flurries for any signs of Sparkles.

The Feast of the Blue-green Dragon

Towards the end of February winter started easing its grasp on the mountain springs, allowing them to come back to life, almost suddenly, in bubbling expressions of movement and sound. The tiny brooks searched for each other down the mountain, forming tiny pools and waterfalls, and when they could, they joined their forces in larger streams, with the playfulness of living things, and very young ones at that. From the window of her room, Aifa had a very good view of that side of the mountain, and the moment the water started shimmering between the distant peaks, she hurried down the stairs with great noise, to give the entire family the news that spring was near.

The Feast of the Blue Green Dragon was an entertaining, childlike experience. During that day every person in Cré, child or grown-up, young and old, agreed to suspend seriousness and reason and give in to the kaleidoscope of sounds, smells, sights and tastes that overwhelmed the senses. People worked for weeks to manufacture the gigantic paper dragon, whose length spanned the whole width of a block and whose sophisticated metallic contraption was an engineering masterpiece intended to made the fake creature's movement more fluid than water. The finished object was so heavy it required tens of people to carry it.

Old wives' tales had it that as soon as the real blue-green dragon, the one made of streams and waterfalls, came rushing down the mountain, one could count the days until the arrival of the Twins.

The blue green dragon was the spirit of the mountains, the guardian of the east, the keeper of the harvest, and it always brought with it the first rain of spring, although it wasn't usually rain, more like a watery slush that couldn't make up its mind whether to be water or ice.

Once freed from its wintry case of ice, the bubbling brook made its way down the mountain and settled into a stone aqueduct before it entered the city, usually around the feast of Agape. People went to great lengths to guess the exact day of the blue dragon's arrival, if for no other reason, because it was terrible luck for somebody to sweep and dust their house before it showed up, and after a long winter, everybody was kind of relieved to be able to get rid of the cobwebs and know that spring was now very close indeed.

The celebration of the Blue Dragon, which lasted the whole day, started at the Hearth, like every other important social gathering in Cré. Legend said that that's where the real blue dragon was first sighted, after it slunk into the city, to quench its thirst with a sip of water from the pond in the middle of the garden. That was, some people believed, what gave that pond the power to foreshadow the arrival of the Twins.

On that day, the children of the city, all seated on the floor of the Hearth in a circle, on top of the cushy, overstuffed pillows their doting mothers had brought to the event, in order to protect their little ones from the coldness of the stone, were regaled with the traditional story of the Blue Dragon Holiday, which went something like this.

At the beginning of time, after the earth was separated from the air and the water, the Spirit of Being decided to create four mythical creatures, four eternal keepers to guard the four cardinal points: a phoenix to inhabit the south tower, a turtle to keep watch over the entrance to the north, a white tiger to look out into the western sea and bring luck to the fishermen and a blue green dragon to come down the mountains from the east in spring, with rain and good harvest for the people of Cré. The children were always mesmerized by the intricate details the storytellers embroidered around these mythical creatures each year, stories that were to legends as sand mandalas are to paintings: they were made up on the spot, only for that event, and meant to be forgotten not even an hour later, in the excitement of roasted chestnuts, spun sugar treats, and following the paper dragon through the streets and alleys of Cré.

The tradition required that each young person, when he or she came of age, would have to contribute a story, and the story with the most elaborate details was rewarded with the honor of taking the first sip from the newly awakened spring. This honor had fallen by the wayside in the later years, since sipping from the murky stream, muddled as it was with all the debris it carried down from the mountains, ended up being more of a punishment than a reward, so the High Council decided to reach a compromise and have the fortunate youngster water a plant instead.

Aifa wouldn't dream of missing the festival, she was always right next to the action, trying to get as close to the paper dragon and the water as she could, and she never forgot to indulge the holiday superstition and dip a lock of hair into the stream for good luck.

As far as fairytale time went, she was long past the age where she would sit on the floor with the other children, and listen to the stories, but no old enough to contribute some of her own, but today she was kind of nostalgic about the simple joys of childhood, and crouched behind the last row of children, propping herself with one hand on the floor to keep her balance. The floor had indentations, which didn't feel random, but not very skillful either, more like something a young child would scribble, if he or she had the strength to chisel a symbol in stone. It was very crude, but it looked like a heart filled with waves, and she felt like she remembered it very well from her childhood, although she couldn't tell exactly when it was that she first noticed it.

"So much for the stone of the Hearth being sacred and untouchable. I wonder how many more of these I might find, if I really looked," Aifa thought.

The thought that the Twins' arrival was imminent had set the entire community on pins and needles, and between that, the endless food preparations, and the blue dragon festivities, nobody had time to keep an eye on the young girl, now old enough to be a Caretaker. She wandered about the large hall at her heart's content and found all sorts of markings on its floors and its walls, some of which she could recognize, and others that made no sense to her at all.

"Aifa!" she heard the voice of her grandmother, colored by a tinge of worry. "Thank goodness I found you, child, I've been looking all over for you! The paper dragon is about to arrive at the Hearth, you don't want to miss it, do you?"

"Doyenne," Aifa abandoned her little treasure hunt and turned to her grandmother, "why did the city pick the blue-green dragon and not one of the other three mythical creatures to be its mascot?"

"Because it is the water bearer, of course," her grandmother answered. "Water is very important to Cré. Tradition says the blue dragon used to be the Twins' favorite pet, but it grew too big, so they sent it into the mountains to guard the stream and bring it back to life when good weather returns. Supposedly, every spring the dragon remembers the Twins and comes down to find them, and, always disappointed because they are not here yet, it resumes its journey to the sea."

"Why is water so important?"Aifa asked, knowing that a long conversation was about to take place, one that would keep them occupied until they got to the parade's starting point. Water was deeply embedded in the life philosophy of Cré, and its significance to the inhabitants of the city often transcended the physical. As expected, her grandmother referred back to the classic teachings that Aifa herself had to pore over repeatedly in school.

"Because water sustains life, and also symbolizes the journey of our spirit upon the earth. You can hold it in the cup of your hands, and you can sprinkle it upon the earth, but there is no more powerful element in the universe, when its full strength is unleashed. And it always finds a way back to its source, through the rivers, and the clouds, and the earth, it always finds its way back to its source, the big ocean, its essence unchanged. So must we, through life's changes, be yielding but unchangeable, and like water carving deep canyons through the hardest rock, our actions must be effortless to be powerful, and respond to the unwritten laws of the spirit. There is no flaw in the nature of water, it is humble, simple and pure, so much so that it even cleans whatever else it comes in contact with. If only we could keep our souls in this condition too!"

Grandmother looked at Aifa, who seemed a little confused by the concepts, but most of all, couldn't figure out how the discussion had veered from the importance of water to the purity of the spirit.

"That little carving you found," grandmother pointed out. "The heart filled with waves."

"What do you think it means, doyenne?"

"See, that is exactly why it is hard to learn the way of the spirit. The second you think you had it all figured out, it eludes you. If you can describe it, it's not real. If you name it, it no longer is, but it never goes away, it is forever, everywhere and fills all things. That little carving you found, sometimes it is easier to feel the meaning of something than to think it. What is the first thing that came to you when you saw it?"

"I just had this strangest feeling that I've seen it before, known it for a long time, but could not remember where," Aifa said.

"And that's the nature of the spirit, little one," grandmother laughed. "Independent of our mighty rational thought. I will ruin the explanation just by trying to put it into words, but what that carving taught you is that, at a fundamental level, that heart and the waves it carries inside are one and the same. Now come, dear, I think your mother worries endlessly, not knowing where either of us are. Everybody has already gathered for the parade, you don't want to miss it."

"But doyenne, that celebration, the last thing that comes to mind when I see it is simplicity, humility and moderation. What of it?" Aifa asked.

"Well, sometimes things just are," grandmother said.

"Things are what, doyenne?"

"Something doesn't have to be something in order to be. Just being suffices," grandmother explained.

"What about people?" Aifa asked.

"Especially people. If you cannot simply be, then you cannot be anything."

As the conversation grew more and more esoteric, Aifa's confused thinking dug in its heels and slowed down to a full stop.

"Don't trouble your mind with these things, granddaughter. As I said, some things are meant to be felt, not thought, in order to be understood. I hope the sugar confections are not all gone, there is no reason not to savor little treats every now and then. Life is meant go give you joy."

The paper dragon advanced slowly through the crowd in front of them, and they could only see bits and pieces of it, and flashes of bright color, when the dancers lifted it up in the air and swayed it to make it look like it was moving on its own. It followed the path that was established for it, moving at the pace of a snail and stopping many times, so people could gather around it, joke and laugh, before it embarked again on its slow stroll through the city. As it approached the Hearth again, the blue-green dragon didn't want to fall short for the year, and rain started falling, slow, icy, February rain, jarringly unpleasant. The tiny ice crystals were pricking their cheeks and they were both grateful when they went inside the Hearth again, for the celebration of Agape.

Of course, once inside they found themselves in front of another host of refreshments of every variety, stacked in mounds on large trays.

"Why does everybody in this community always brings food to every event?" Aifa asked herself.

Spring

March

The Reading of Blessings

The Day of the Blessings usually started early in Aifa's household. Aifa and her siblings were already dressed up in their costumes by the time the sun was high up in the sky, and were crowding each other in the kitchen, where they were all gathered to stuff their goody baskets with filled pastries and other yummy treats.

They were lucky this year, the day was sunny and relatively warm for the beginning of March, it was really no fun having to wear a heavy coat over the costumes they had spent so much time and energy to create for themselves.

They all got out of the house at the same time and dispersed in every direction, cheerfully offering their sweet treats to passers by, in exchange for blessings. It was considered very lucky if they managed to give away all their baked goods before they reached the Hearth, and Aifa was way ahead of the game; by the time she reached the half point of her journey, her basket was already empty.

The aroma of fresh pastries accompanied her along the way, wafting from every house, every baker's basket and every bake shop around the square. The market was full of people, most of whom had come just to socialize and make great noise in order to chase away the shadows. The children couldn't believe their luck when their parents assured them that on this day being noisier than usual was not only not chastised, but welcome. They jumped at the opportunity with gusto and endless amounts of energy, pulling pranks on each other and poking fun at themselves.

"Grab a rattle and make some noise, granddaughter!" Aifa's grandmother welcomed her in the Grand Hall. She'd been there since morning, reading blessings to the visitors and offering pastries and fruit. "We don't want the winter to linger any longer. The Twins are soon to arrive, we need to welcome them with good weather and good cheer."

Every time the word 'winter' was mentioned, somebody immediately swirled their rattle, to drown it with noise and not allow it to be heard.

"Why can't we say winter, doyenne?" Aifa asked, and the word 'winter' was instantly drowned in deafening noise; she had asked her grandmother, even though she knew the answer full well, just to tease the latter, who happened to be in great spirits, and as such, was sure to give an entertaining answer. On this particular holiday, histrionics were appreciated as an art form, and people went out of their way to outperform their neighbors in joking and merrymaking. Her grandmother didn't disappoint.

"Don't you speak that evil word out loud, child! And in the middle of the Hearth, no less! What is this city coming to?! Have a pastry!" she said, shoving the pastry platter in her face, with no transition in attitude or tone of voice, which made the scene hilarious.

Another group of visitors had arrived, and she had to return to the reading of the blessings, part of which could not be heard, because the children, diligent in their assignment for the day, were saying the word 'winter' over and over, just for the opportunity to play with their rattles inside the Hearth, were their echoes reverberated for minutes, an unthinkable feat on any other day.

A group of people seemed to coalesce out of nothing and break into dance, to the glee of those around them, who gathered round to get a better view.

"Dance with us, granddaughter, and rejoice, don't be shy!" Aifa's grandmother reached for her hand to bring her into the dance. "You don't want the shadows of winter to loom over us for weeks to come!" Again, the word 'winter' was drowned in deafening noise, and Aifa got dragged, reluctantly, into a chain dance around the circular recess at the center of the Hearth. People had brought musical instruments for instances just like this, and joined in gladly to broaden the harmony.

Aifa was always shocked to watch her grandmother on the Day of the Blessings. The latter was usually rather reserved and dignified, not in any way prone to any extroverted behavior, but it was almost a statement of faith, on this particular day, to show the Divine Mercy all the joy, good cheer and gratitude one was capable of. Therefore she sang, and she danced, and she laughed, and she partook in the spirits, just as the day of the blessings demanded, and expected her granddaughter to do the same. Well, not the spirits part.

"Be grateful, child," she said. "We are healthy and thriving, our lives are never lacking for joy, and winter is soon to be over." The word 'winter' was again drowned in a terrible racket. "Sing and rejoice, and dance with us, so that our communal celebration can be heard far and wide!"

Aifa got pulled in the wake of her grandmother's glee. She just realized she too was in a good mood, so she asked the latter.

"What about me, doyenne? Don't you have any blessings for me?"

Grandmother stopped, surprised by the request.

"Of course I do, granddaughter." She took the girl's hands in hers, and said, suddenly very serious.

"May you be free, child."

"Free? But I am free, am I not?" Aifa asked, confused.

"Listen, don't talk! May you be free: may your purpose never be swayed by need or by fear, may all your wishes be freely granted, may your light always shine brightly to the world and may your voice be heard and respected by all. May you live a long life and may every day of it come to you with a blessing."

"And that would set me free?"

"Let me ask you something. What is the meaning of life?" grandmother asked.

"Doyenne, I thought I would be the one to ask you this question," Aifa replied.

"It was a rhetorical question, child. It's the Day of the Blessings, time for a little flamboyance. Nobody really knows, but we have a vague idea of what it is that darkens our lives, makes them less than we wish they were, do we not? They are easy to recognize, because you can almost feel their shadow fall over you and try to drag you away from the things that give you joy and make you look forward to the day. We have been blessed with the gift to be able to feel its presence, it is a lot harder for people who don't even realize it exists. In a way we all shade each other at times, we're all failing humans, but you have to remember one thing, granddaughter: whenever you are in the shadow, your soul is chained. You stop existing to your purpose until you go back into the light. Don't you live in the shadow even for a second, child! Keep your purpose unstrained by the winds of this world."

"But how do I do that, grandmother?"

"You don't have to do anything. You just have to know it."

"But what is this shadow that you talk about, doyenne?"

"It is human nature, granddaughter. We are constantly battling our demons, the undesirable outcomes of our own creation. Do you remember the candle story?"

Aifa did, but grandmother decided to tell it again, just to press the point.

"When you are in complete darkness, all you have to do is light a candle and its tiny, flickering light will be seen from far away. The candle doesn't chase away the shadows, the candle transforms them into light. If you are in the dark, be the candle in the dark. If you are in the light, be one with the light."

The celebration had started to wind down, giving way to the comforting light of the sunset.

"We were blessed with a beautiful day for the celebration, were we not?"

Aifa nodded, looking at the warm glow that had already started to melt the snow. One could almost feel spring approaching.

"You have to remember something, granddaughter. Throughout your life, there will be many times when the shadow will try to surround you, and it will try to make you feel the fears of the things you think you cannot do, and it will try to convince you to surrender everything that you are in exchange for its help. There is only one thing you have to remember: you will never need any force outside of yourself in order to live your life. All of those feelings that are trying to rob you of your essence, which blow back and forth like winds trapped in a cage, only have the power that you are willing to give them. Without your consent, they are nothing, and they go back to the place whence they came."

Grandmother looked around, to see if anything needed cleaning before they all started back home. Aifa's mother was still reading blessings, and in between them, she had her customary posture of relaxed stillness, almost like a marble statue. When she finished her blessing, she folded back the cloth, according to the ceremony, and placed it neatly on the table in front of her. Aifa wished she could achieve this level of peace, it seemed that nothing unsettled her mother from her own inner bliss.

The waves of the world returned to her shores, and she started to worry about the Twins' arrival, until she realized she was doing the exact opposite of what her grandmother had just said.

"I see the shadow is pushing already," grandmother smiled at Aifa's scrunched up forehead. "It follows the light like a hungry wolf, always trying to gnaw at its heels. Don't feed it, granddaughter."

On the way home, Aifa wondered what the Twins would be like, and pictured them surrounded by light, like she heard many people describe them, splendid in their divinity, above all human weakness, two young demigods enlightening the world with their surreal benevolence.

Grandmother started laughing so hard, she almost startled Aifa into dropping her little basket.

"Why are you laughing, doyenne?"

"Oh, dear!" Grandmother finally settled down, wiping her eyes. "If only our expectations of things ever had anything to do with the things themselves! Just wait and see, granddaughter, you'll soon understand why I'm laughing. They are not as unearthly as that, I'd have to say the exact opposite."

"How did you know..." Aifa asked, surprised.

"I am old, dear. When you get to this age, things tend to come to you. I just didn't want you to be disappointed, not all the countenances in which divinity reveals itself upon this earth look like they belong in the heavens, some come dressed in the tattered cloak of the mundane. On this day we are grateful for the hidden presence of the light among us, especially in our daily comings and goings, when we tend to forget all about it. Its soft radiance blesses our lives in ways we are often not aware of, keeps us from harm and lights our paths. Sometimes divinity speaks to us in all its power and glory, and then we are in awe. Its voice is like thunder, its countenance is like fire, and we humble ourselves before it. Most of the time, though, it's just there for us, plain as day, and we are so used to what we are seeing, we don't even realize we are staring straight at God, that we uphold the divine through the humdrum of our daily life. That, my dear child, is worth celebrating."

Aifa pondered on what her grandmother had said, a little worried now about what the Twins were going to be like, and then shook off her worry and thought that if they were truly divine, they couldn't be that bad, and then she abandoned any thought of the Twins and remembered the gift she had received from her grandmother that day.

She contemplated her blessing of freedom, wrapped it neatly in her thoughts, and placed it inside her soul, to guide her path from that day forward. It was a precious gift, an elder's blessing, and because it came from her grandmother, whom she loved dearly, it was all the more precious to Aifa.

"I forgot to mention one more thing, granddaughter," grandmother said simply, almost as an afterthought. They were almost home, making their way through the melted snow that had started turning back to slush in the chill of the evening. The combined effect of the dimming light, the cold and the slush at their feet didn't look particularly awe inspiring. Aifa shivered and walked around a puddle where the thinnest, almost imperceptible layer of ice was starting to form.

"What is that, doyenne?"

"When in presence of the divine, one must be still."

The Dawn of the Flowers and Seeds

The closer it got to the spring equinox, the more animated the Grand Hall of the Hearth became, engulfed in a flurry of activities related to sprucing up, clearing and decorating it for the arrival of the Twins. Every now and then one of the Caretakers went out into the yard, to check if the ice on the pond had thinned, or even melted, gazing intently at the space above it in the hope of seeing two snow flurries, the last of the last snow, fall into the water, the sign that marked the blessed event every year.

Every Caretaker hoped to be the lucky one who could announce that the Two had arrived, but it never worked that way; by the time they rushed to the Hall to tell the others the good news, the Twins were always somehow already there. This year was no different. Regardless of the time differential between the Twins' arrival and the belated announcement of said event, the thrill of being the one who saw the snowflakes fall into the pond still held its charm, and this year it was Aifa.

She saw those snowflakes, and she thought she must be mistaken, but before she even had time to make up her mind to go tell the others, she heard laughter and running in the Grand Hall, accompanied by excited gasps and sounds of celebration.

Aifa didn't even know how she got there, to experience the mystery that unfolded every year at the end of the last snow of spring: the Twins were there, Ama and Jal, the eternal children who the Caretakers had the great privilege to nurture.

They were so young, Ama and Jal, three years old, maybe, one couldn't tell. They looked so much alike, it was difficult to tell them apart, not to mention figure out which one of them was a girl, and which one a boy. They wore the same garments, some sort of flowing, knee length tunic gathered around their waist with a belt. Their hair was the color of chestnuts, so long that it trailed behind them, sweeping the stone floors of the Great Hall. Their beauty was almost surreal, their features were neither male, nor female, although they could have easily been either, and their pale eyes, watching the world with intense curiosity, without the slightest hint of guile, were the only characteristic that could help somebody tell them apart: Ama's eyes were green, like the ocean at sunset, and Jal's were blue, a very light blue, almost clear, one could say the color of spring water, if water had a color.

They didn't speak much, even though they seemed to know the language of Cré very well. Theirs was a simple vocabulary, and they spoke the way a very young child, no older than three or four, would, without any of the complex syntax structures an educated person would avail themselves of.

Since their arrival they hadn't stopped moving for even a minute, even though it was past midnight already, and Aifa started to get the idea that her grandmother was trying to convey to her, that the work of the Caretaker knew no rest.

Emotionally, they were the age of three, and they acted like it, including, but not restricted to, not wanting to go to sleep, come what may, and it was absolutely exhausting to try to distract and cajole two immortal toddlers to stop thrashing on the floor and go night-night.

The atmosphere was simply surreal, and Aifa looked out of the corner of her eye, to see if the other Caretakers found this scene weirder than weird, but they didn't seem to find anything out of the ordinary with the Twins, grace to the fact that they had gone through this yearly cycle several times, and this level of weird was exactly what they expected to see.

It was almost impossible to believe that by the end of fall, when the first true snowflakes of winter fell into the pond and it was time for them to go, the Twins would be highly enlightened avatars, whose teachings of wisdom added new tomes every year to the ever growing city library.

For now, however, they were the classic example of the tired toddlers who needed to spend their last drop of energy on a nightmarish tantrum, just so they could finally be exhausted enough to fall asleep.

Two hours later, and almost shaking with effort after having to chase them around the Hall and convince them not to step outside without shoes, Aifa dropped to the floor, dead tired, and thinking that this Caretaker business was not exactly what she dreamed it would be.

Things settled down in a week or two, after the Twins had time to adjust a bit to their new surroundings, and not a moment too soon, because the Dawn of the Flowers and Seeds was right around the corner. This celebration, which, simply put, was the spring equinox, was a source of great excitement for everybody, but especially the young members of society, who had been cooped up indoors all winter, and were chomping at the bit to go out into nature and smell the flowers.

Aifa had two tasks, potentially manageable individually, but impossible to perform at the same time: to take care of the Twins, which was a round the clock mission, and to find a beautiful clearing, filled with flowers, and large enough for the entire community to celebrate the return of spring. She took a trip outside the city gates, Twins in tow and hoping for the best, to find the perfect location for the event, and the two hours she had allocated for this task turned to four, and then six, and eight, because the Twins' attention kept being pulled in so many directions by spring flowers and tree blossoms, and clearings with soft grass, surrounded by shrubs whose swelling buds had burst open recently to reveal the beginnings of tiny, crude green foliage.

When she finally found it, she knew immediately it was the right place: a slightly sloping meadow, looking out to the sea, overtaken by clumps of yellow daffodils, so large and close together they looked almost like a carpet of flowers. The excitement of the discovery was overshadowed by the fact that the Twins liked it too, and for this reason didn't want to leave it, even after they gathered numerous bunches of daffodils and watched the moon rise high up in the sky. When they finally got back to the Hearth, the Twins were so tired they couldn't settle down, and by the time Aifa got to her own home, she was so exhausted she wanted to cry. She thought about complaining to her grandmother, but the latter had already noticed, without a single word.

"Why do you think we need new people every year? They can squeeze the last drop of soul energy out of you, especially early in the year. Get some rest and let somebody else take care of them for a while."

Aifa took her advice and put the time to good use to prepare for the Dawn of Flowers and Seeds. She prepared her pouch of seeds, to carry good luck for that year's harvest, and her bunch of spring flowers, to attract grace and beauty, and a basket of eggs, in every color of the rainbow, so that the animals would be healthy and multiply.

They had to leave before the sun was up, to arrive in the clearing at dawn, and when the sun rose over the horizon, everything turned rose and lavender, the daffodils, the grass, their flowery dresses, everything but the Twins' eye color, which gleamed even brighter, in the way the sea turns luminescent when the sun rays skim its surface at sunset.

During the blessing of the flowers and seeds the two had been surprisingly well behaved, if one didn't take into account their constant running around afterward, when they chased each other and ran over people's picnic blankets. Aifa got a sudden burst of gratitude, mixed with guilt, for her own mother, and thought that if she was even half the piece of work the Twins were during her early years, her mother definitely deserved to be nominated for sainthood.

"I've kept an eye on children at other times," she didn't even realize she said it out loud, "but I never remember it being even a fraction of the trials these two are putting me through."

"Of course, child. What did you expect? They are, for lack of a better term, godly creatures, who mature and reach enlightenment in nine months. This task requires a tremendous amount of energy, but you'll be able to carry more rational conversations with them in a short while. In the meantime, do you remember what I told you, about those years when they were harmed?"

"Natural disasters, floods, droughts?" Aifa recited.

"Exactly. It is not your task to educate them, they will take care of that themselves, for the most part, they are always self-taught. Your task is to keep them alive and in one piece. That's all you have to do. What a monumental task that is!" she contemplated the two while they ran as fast as they could towards the edge of a small, but still dangerous ravine, and stopped their game of chicken closer and closer to the edge. "Anyway, I'm sure divinity is involved in their care in a lot more active fashion than it would be for a normal person."

"How long have you been a Caretaker, doyenne?" Aifa asked.

"Since I was your age, dear. I've seen so many pairs of Twins," she waxed nostalgic. "No two are ever the same. Every year I expect a repeating pattern, something recognizable from one year to the next, but it never happens. Every spring they get born anew, with no recollection or built in knowledge from their past. I don't know why, but this always makes me sad."

"Why, doyenne?"

"Wouldn't it be horrible to live the same year, again and again, for millennia, and not even be able to remember it? Maybe it's a blessing they don't remember it, if they have to start with a clean slate every spring."

"Haven't they made any progress?" Aifa asked.

"Oh, a lot of progress indeed, they learn faster and faster, which gives them more time to think and create, but when all is said and done, it's still only nine months."

"They don't look unhappy," Aifa tried to cheer her up.

"Oh, of course not, dear. They are superior beings, sadness is a feeling only us humans experience. I don't think they can get happy either, they just are," grandmother commented. Aifa looked at the two frolic in the field of daffodils and thought they looked happy enough to her. She breathed a sigh of relief that the two kept each other company and she didn't have to jump to attention every time they found a new flower, or a bug, or a four leaf clover. Everything in nature looked miraculous to them, and they needed to share their wonder constantly, with inexhaustible stamina.

"But after all the fuss, would you just look at them?" she nudged Aifa to look at the way the sun was shining in Ama and Jal's hair. "Have you ever seen more beautiful beings?" Just as she gazed lovingly upon them, Ama tripped, fell and started screeching with sounds nobody believed could come out of a human mouth.

"Duty calls," Aifa got up, sighing, to tend to the girl, only to realize, when she gazed into her eyes, now full of tears, that she was in fact looking at Jal. She could never get used to the fact that she had to tap them on their shoulder and make them turn around, in order to be able to tell which one of them she was talking to.

"So, how do you feel about having children of your own one day?" grandmother teased her.

"I don't know what to say," Aifa replied thoughtfully. "After a few generations of these two, if I'm still breathing at the time, raising human children who actually start out small and grow up after a reasonable amount of time should be a piece of cake." She finished negotiating the peace between Ama and Jal, so that both of them would stop wailing, and returned to the picnic blanket, next to her grandmother, to finally take a bite out of her piece of fruit.

April

The Feast of Returning to Life

From the moment the Twins arrived, poor Aifa hadn't experienced a moment's rest. They were five year old now, constantly moving around and getting into everything, and last, but not least, they never stopped talking. They seemed to have reached that glorious age when everything aroused their curiosity and the Caretakers couldn't stay abreast their endless lists of whys.

One question they seemed to be obsessed with was that of mortality in general, and their own mortality in particular. They couldn't understand that they would show up again the next spring, no matter what, they were afraid of what might happen to them during the winter, and they kept pushing Aifa for answers. Aifa, who was a little more than a child herself, didn't know what to tell them.

It was the week before the feast of Returning to Life, a week usually marked by reflection and restraint, during which the people commemorated those rare occasions over the centuries when the Twins didn't make it through the entire year. The Twins' anxiety was heightened by the fact that all through the week, as if they weren't even there, the people of Cré reenacted the mourning of their past deaths.

Aifa was torn. It was one thing to understand the concept that the Twins were both mortal and divine at the same time, and the fact that regardless of what happened to them, they would always return the next spring, and it was a completely different thing to have to explain this concept to their living, breathing persons who were standing right next to her, worried sick about their own mortality. The massive responsibility of having to raise the children of the divine awed and overwhelmed her at the same time. She decided a moment like this called for wiser counsel, so she went to discuss the matter with her grandmother.

"They reached that age, huh?" grandmother replied, not at all surprised.

"Could you explain this to me again, doyenne? How do I reassure them that they will never die?" Aifa asked, a little anxious herself.

"You can't, my dear. Not at this age, anyway. If I were you I would reassure them that the Caretakers will always be there to keep them from harm. They don't need a philosophical construct of life and the divine at this age, they need loving parents. I don't think they even understand their own nature, it's too early still."

"Do you think they will?" Aifa asked, hopefully.

"Oh, I don't think, child. I know. They always do, it is their destiny," grandmother said. "What you need to do to comfort them is easy, what you need to do to understand the concept yourself, not so much. You think you know the story, but you don't understand its deeper meaning."

"Tell me, doyenne."

"The deeper meaning is that we are not simply remembering events from the Twins' long existence, we are reliving them, every year, as if they happened again."

"Why would we want to remember something so painful about them, especially while they are living among us in the best of health and spirits?"

"So we don't forget, I guess, how important it is to keep them from harm. It is, after all, our most important responsibility."

"So, this is more of a reminder for us than it is for them," Aifa said, doubtful.

"Yes and no. Do you remember the story?" Aifa thought she did, but her grandmother told it again, to bring the point across.

"It was very early in the morning, on the eave of the spring equinox, a few months after their disappearance. Everybody had thought they were immortal up to that point, and it didn't occur to them to keep the Twins from harm. The thought of their passing, up to that point, was inconceivable in principle, and people's very foundation of faith was shaken. Everything they had believed, everything they had experienced, the certainty they had built their life upon had gone with them. For a few very dark months, there was nothing: no faith in divinity, no reason for goodness, even light itself seemed to have dimmed. The people of Cré were left with nothing, their naked, shaken souls exposed to the unrelenting fury of the sky and the sea. The dirt yielded weeds, and it defied them, cracked and bare, even in the wake of the storms. The very few left believing were shamed and ridiculed, and had to hide their faces from the crowd. 'This was a sham, a ruse,' the people said, 'and all of us were taken for fools, believing a story good enough for young children and proclaiming it as truth.' You don't know what it's like, and I hope you never learn, to have everything that makes you who you are taken away from you, your most cherished beliefs, your very reason for being. Not many people had the strength to withstand the aftermath of such destruction inflicted upon their souls."

"What happened to them, doyenne?" Aifa asked, feeling the pain of her unnamed ancestors reach her through the centuries.

"They despaired, dear. The one thing that the Twins kept reminding them not to do. They despaired."

Aifa looked at her with large curious eyes, eagerly awaiting for the happy ending of this anguish inducing story.

"As I said, it was very early in the morning, a week or so after the spring equinox, the following year. The last best hope that the Twins would somehow reappear once spring rolled in was crushed to dust, and even the most ardent believers decided to abandon their unreasonable expectations and stop waiting for them ever to return. One of the Twins' best friends, who wasn't much older than you are now, couldn't sleep. She couldn't bring herself to believe that she was never going to see them again, and her soul was so filled with grief that she sneaked out of her home in the middle of the night, braving a terrible snow storm, the kind of which never happened since and will never happen again, if you take your responsibility seriously." Grandmother didn't want to waste a perfectly good opportunity to impress on Aifa how important it was to give her full attention to her duties. "She ran all the way to the Hearth, convinced that they were there. The Great Hall of the Hearth was dark and abandoned, the garden had been left fallow, the water in the pool was muddy and stale. The girl didn't want to believe that the feeling which nudged her out of her warm bed in the middle of the night wasn't real, so she started calling out their names, over and over, through the menacing snow storm, resolved to not leave that spot until they were returned to her."

Grandmother looked at Aifa to make sure the girl was still paying attention, and then continued.

"A miracle happened then. The snow lifted, and the flakes became fewer and fewer, until there were only two of them left, two snowflakes which fell very gently on the muddy, frozen pond, and their touch melted the ice in an instant and turned the water clear as glass."

"That's why we're waiting for the last two snowflakes in spring?"

"That's right. So, as soon as the snowflakes melted in the water of the pond, she heard giggles and running around in the Great Hall, and somebody must have lit up the candles, because the room was filled with light. They were right there, Ama and Jal, looking not too much different from the way she remembered them. She ran to them, so grateful for the miracle of their return, but they didn't recognize her. They couldn't remember anything at all, as if they'd been reborn in that very moment. The girl didn't care. She was so happy to see her friends, alive and well and full of vigor, that she decided she didn't want to spend any time away from them, and moved to the Great Hall, as to never miss another moment of their presence."

"She was the first Caretaker, wasn't she?"

"Yes, dear. That is right. The very beginning of our order."

"Did she stay there her whole life?"

"Well, yes and no. After a few years of watching them move in and out of her life every spring and fall she decided to have some life outside of the Hearth, so she married, and had children, but she never forsook the promise she made, to always be there and take care of the Twins. Her children inherited this duty, and their children too, when their time came."

"Did the disasters end?" Aifa remembered to ask, to get the complete story.

"They disappeared without a trace, the second the Twins returned, as if the world had been restored."

Aifa's stomach was already churning up in knots, not knowing whether she should agonize over the death of the immortal ones and the despair that ensued, or rejoice in their miraculous return from the dead, to be among the people of Cré until the end of time.

"Now, I told you this story, which you know so well, because you listen to the words, but you don't let their meaning sink into your soul, to that place where you can feel their joy and pain. When you hear it like this you are a living witness of those events through time. Are you following me?"

Aifa nodded, not too convinced, not knowing what to do with this story.

"So, you are saying that they showed up late that year?"

"I am saying they wouldn't have shown up at all if that girl's faith didn't bring them back. She was absolutely determined to keep calling them until they heard her and returned. It was by her faith that her wish was granted her." Grandmother glanced in Aifa's direction and noticed that the latter looked a little frazzled, so she decided to lighten up the atmosphere a little bit. "Come to think of it, she was almost as stubborn as you."

"What do you think I should tell the Twins, doyenne?" Aifa returned to reality from her historical trip, and to the task that required her immediate attention.

"Definitely not this story! They'll never sleep again, plagued by anguish and fear!"

"What then?"

"I don't know. Tell them they are not like us. Tell them that they will never die. Tell them to go to bed already! You're their mother, if only symbolically. Create some structure and some repetition in their lives, so they can feel safe."

"But they can die!" Aifa protested the contradiction.

"They can die, but they never will die," grandmother smiled.

"This doesn't make any sense!" Aifa protested.

"Welcome to the nature of revealed truth, child. Not everything in the spheres beyond our understanding makes logical sense. In fact, the most important concepts never do. We only get the story as a crutch for our limited understanding, but the story itself is not what the story is really about. We could fill the world several times over with the things we do not understand."

When Aifa returned to the Hearth, the Great Hall had already been darkened and stripped bare for the somber commemoration. The second their Caretaker showed up Ama and Jal showered her with questions and requests, and held on to the hem of her robe like she was their last hope for survival.

Aifa reassured them, chided them for staying up so late and then persuaded them to finish their dinner, which lay half eaten by the side of their beds, with the promise that when they were done, they would get some dessert. She left the best news for last, after she secured their promise that they will go to sleep, so they can be well rested: that night they were allowed to wake up at midnight and participate in the ceremony.

The Twins were so delighted that something special was going to happen they didn't question the fact they didn't really have much choice in the matter, since the Great Hall was going to be so brightly lit at that point that there was no way for them to get any shut eye anyway. They closed their eyes, pretending they were already asleep, and opened them slightly, every now and then, to see if Aifa was still there. She was. She had decided not to go home that night, but instead curl up by the side of their beds, so they wouldn't be alone if they happened to wake up in the dark.

The Return of the Thunderbirds

There had never been a more beautiful spring. The forests and the valleys were bursting with flowers, with all the enthusiasm of nature returning to life, as if nature itself was rejoicing at the sight of the Twins, and they returned its affection by not wanting to be away from its midst for even a second.

The Great Hall of the Hearth was abandoned for the time being, in order to explore the glory of nature's renewal, so unbelievably lavish and joyful. The Twins were learning quickly, curious about everything, and determined to leave their mark upon the world. The nature of the stone carvings in the Great Hall was thus revealed, a little less mysterious than Aifa first thought, of course. She was looking for cryptic meaning in what, it turned out, was the Twins' equivalent of drawing on the walls or scribbling on furniture. They were very enthusiastic about it, too, and the old stone building became much richer in enigmatic stone carvings in the process.

Anyway, that afternoon Aifa and the Twins were out on the daffodil meadow, which Ama and Jal seemed to be particularly fond of, when all of the sudden the sky grew dark and shook with rumblings. Any other children would have run for the hills, screaming their lungs out, but not the Twins, who looked mesmerized towards the horizon, as if they have been waiting for this particular event their entire existence. Covering the horizon, gigantic and proud, their wingspan the width of a mountain, their feathers and scales the color of fire, their mighty cries a deafening rumble, the thunderbirds had returned.

Their first rumble, like a slow rolling thunder, had brought everybody out of the city, running to welcome the return of the glorious birds, which flew, majestically, over the city, like they did every year, to cheers of joy and waves of ribbons in every color of the rainbow. The thunderbirds had returned!

According to the old legend, the mighty birds, whose powerful talons could easily carry a castle, arrived each spring to bring people the thunder, and the first true downpour of summer. When they flapped their wings, large sparks ignited the clouds, releasing their charge to the thirsty ground in thunderbolts as thick as ropes. Their arrival signaled to all the birds and animals that it was safe to return and populate the hills and valleys, and rebuild their burrows and nests in the forest.

They were powerful and dangerous, the Birds of Thunder, with the power to give life and the power to take it away, but fiercely protective of the city of Cré and its inhabitants; this doting had secured them a prominent place on the city's crest, and turned them into a symbol.

The Twins were beyond themselves with glee, running across the daffodil meadow, with their long hair flowing behind them and spreading out in the winds, and Aifa thought they looked like they were trying to take flight themselves and join the gigantic flock overhead, all fire and rumble, which spread out as far as the eyes could see.

Everybody knew that the thunderbirds brought with them a downpour, and didn't mind it in the least. In fact, it was considered very lucky to stand outside and be drenched by the first torrential rain of summer, a custom many of the young people, especially, liked to participate in. Water was the most incredible gift nature lavished upon the people of Cré, and they revered it in every form, whether it came from the sky, like it did right now, or bounced down from the mountains, snaking between boulders.

Many people considered the thunderbirds the spirits of their ancestors, who had come back to clean and renew the earth and the waters, and they welcomed them with sprinklings of seeds to attract good luck for the harvest.

The mighty downpour came and left as suddenly as it began. It traveled in the wake of the thunderbirds, whose enormous flock was now far away on the other horizon, over the sea. The rain trailed behind them like a veil, blurring them from sight. People could still distinguish their shapes through the thick cloud cover, if only as luminous contours when their fiery scales ignited the clouds, glowing diffusely farther and farther into the distance.

"Now, that was a sight to behold!" Aifa's grandmother whispered in her granddaughter's ear. The latter didn't know when her grandmother had joined the crowd, but by the look of her, it must have been after the deluge had ceased, since her clothes were perfectly dry.

"We need to get you out of those wet rags, granddaughter, before you catch a cold. Come, quickly, your ancestors would not be happy if you caught a cold on their special day."

"Why can we see them only one day a year, doyenne?"

"They are migratory birds, just passing through."

"They never seem to return in the fall," Aifa observed.

"They must have another route then. Have you ever seen a creature so majestic? Some people swear they saw them up close and they have fiery scales, like dragons. They say the thunderbirds can pick up a ship in their talons, and carry it all the way across the sea," grandmother said in a voice that sounded almost dreamy. "That's quite a lineage we've got to live up to."

"You don't really believe they are our ancestors, do you?" Aifa asked, doubtful.

"It is never wise to dismiss things just because they don't conform to what you think you know. There is so little we know about the nature of life, where it comes from, where it goes after our bodies die. Who is to say that they don't choose to inhabit these magnificent birds, if only for a while, if they can. Who is to say that the thunderbirds are not our superiors in every way? Just because we can't understand their language, that doesn't mean they don't speak to us. One has to be blessed with the gift in order to understand the messages of the spirits, very few of us are able to do that."

"Can you?" Aifa asked.

"Sadly, no, child," grandmother replied, her voice a little sad. "It doesn't run in my blood, the gift. When it does, the entirety of nature speaks to you, the birds, the plants, the animals, the earth, the water and the sky. They speak to you in the voice of the spirit, without words, just through a knowing deep inside your soul. People who were born with the gift can't really explain to the rest of us what it feels like, much like a seeing person would have trouble describing a beautiful painting to the blind."

"Would you have liked to?" Aifa asked, curious.

"Dearly! Think about it, if you could know what it felt like to be a bird, or a plant, wouldn't you want to?" grandmother replied eagerly. "Ama and Jal always have the gift, maybe you have better luck than I understanding them when they are trying to describe it."

"The Twins?" Aifa asked surprised.

"Certainly," grandmother confirmed. "They are, after all, personifications of nature. Wouldn't it be strange if they didn't speak its language?"

"Do you think the thunderbirds were speaking to Ama and Jal, announcing their arrival? I thought it was a little odd that the Twins didn't seem rattled by that terrible rumble. Children are often fearful of lightning and thunder, those two ran towards the thunderstorm like it was their mother."

"Maybe it is, who is to know?" grandmother said thoughtfully. "Come, granddaughter, you are shivering. Your mother will give me the third degree if you get the chills."

"But what about the Twins, doyenne?" Aifa asked, concerned. The two didn't show any sign that they were willing to return, and she knew it was going to be a monumental task to convince them to leave.

"I'm so pleased to see you are taking your symbolic maternal responsibilities so seriously. Your mother couldn't be prouder! All the Caretakers are here, one of them is bound to persuade the Twins to return to the Hearth. Stomp your feet and wrap my shawl around you, child, your lips are turning blue.

"Well," Aifa's mother said. "Now that the first lightning and thunder have visited us, we don't have to worry about the frosts anymore. People must be relieved."

Aifa's mother surprised her sometimes. She could be very practical in her daily life, in stark contrast with her contemplative nature.

"You can plant your seeds now, daughter. The weather will be kind to them."

"Yes, it will," Aifa answered. "Mother," she started.

"What is it, Aifa?"

"Did the Twins ever explained to you how they talk to the plants and the birds?"

"A few times," her mother smiled.

"And did you understand them?" Aifa asked, eyes shining with curiosity.

Her mother paused for a moment before answering. They were standing in the middle of the sun room, a place that, over the winter, served to house her mother's cold tender plants. The latter hadn't had a chance to move them outdoors yet, and the place looked like a little tropical forest. Her mother turned to one of the plants, to pick off a leaf that had started to yellow, and Aifa could swear that she saw the plant extend its leaves, as if it wanted to caress her caring fingers. She had never paid attention to her mother's love of plants before, it seemed to be nothing more than a hobby, and not a very interesting one at that. All around, on shelves, on the floor, hanging from the rafters, were countless containers of lush green plants. Her mother knew their names, their qualities, their stories, their medicinal properties, their quirks and their preferences. She could bring an almost dead plant back to life, and sometimes Aifa thought she could strengthen and restore them with just the touch of her fingers. When the weather was nice, her mother was always in the garden, lost in thought, in a world of her own, contemplating the beauty of nature. She was often so far away into this world of hers that Aifa had to shake her to get her attention.

"Are you feeling chilly, daughter? Let me make you a hot cup of tea," her mother started immediately, suddenly worried about the side effects of her child getting caught in the rain. She started the kettle and walked around the sun room, picking a leaf here, a stem there, until she gathered a tiny bundle, no bigger than the palm of her hand. No two cups of herbal tea her mother made were ever alike, she blended herbs according to what the situation dictated, a mix for relaxation, a mix to chase away a cold, a mix to lift the spirits. "Always use fresh herbs if you can, daughter. They are so much better than dried."

She steeped the little bundle in the boiling water and picked up a cup and saucer painted with poppies and periwinkle, Aifa's favorite, to pour the tea in. It tasted like lemon and pepper, with a hint of mint and incense, and it soothed Aifa into a somewhat drowsy state, pleasant and warm.

Before she fell asleep, the girl realized that her mother never answered her question, but she was curled up in bed under a soft blanket and she felt cozy and warm, and she fell asleep hoping to dream about the thunderbirds, vowing to remember the details of where they were going. Her mother noticed she had fallen asleep and brought one more blanket to cover her daughter, since the latter was still curled up in a little knot to keep herself warm; she then left the room, closing the door behind her, so that the noises of the house would not wake up her child before she'd gotten a chance to rest.

That night Aifa had a wonderful dream. She dreamed that she was flying, carried on the back of one of those magnificent birds, one that was so large that the girl could shield herself from the cold with one of their downy feathers like with a large blanket. She flew so high up in the blue sky, looking at the rain beneath, that she felt like a ray of sunshine herself, bouncing off the fiery feathers.

She dreamed that she was one of the thunderbirds as well, and that she knew where they were going, but she couldn't remember a thing upon waking up.

May

The Night of Power

"Aifa," grandmother whispered, although nobody in the house was sleeping. "Are you ready, granddaughter? It is time to go to the Hearth." Aifa wrapped her garment a little tighter around her waist and washed her face with the rose water her mother had made, put on her shoes and walked in silence behind her grandmother, stepping purposefully on the old stone paving, under the eerie brightness of the full moon.

There was no wind in the air, there were no clouds in the sky, and the perfume of the lilacs filled Aifa's lungs like the essence of an ancient mystery, as if its fragrant flowers wanted to partake in the holy time when the spirit itself came down from above.

"Every step, a blessing," Aifa thought. "Every step is blessed a thousand fold on a night so filled with power." She didn't know if it was to be that night, however, nobody did. Everyone was trying to guess, of course, by the brightness of the moon, by the fragrance in the air, by the peace in their hearts; nobody really knew when the spirit would come, but it always came, sometime around the end of the month, and brought with it heavenly peace until the break of dawn, peace, love and forgiveness beyond human understanding.

"Don't trouble your mind, granddaughter. It will come when it wills. You better occupy yourself with the contemplation of your own spirit. Have you made your plans for this year?" It was customary for the people of Cré to ponder over the life they had led during the course of the previous year, evaluate their deeds, both good and bad, and make plans for the one to come.

"When the spirit comes you need to be ready to present your list of wishes, and it's not a bad idea to start doing that early, before the invocation starts. You did make a list to bring with you, I assume?" she asked. Aifa nodded, so grandmother continued. "And, granddaughter, whatever you do, do not fall asleep. You don't want the spirit to come and find you asleep on the most powerful night of the year."

"What wishes can I make, doyenne?"

"That's between you and the divine, granddaughter. If your wishes are just, and pure, and lovely, why shouldn't they be granted you?"

"What about wishes for myself?" Aifa asked, just to make sure.

"Especially those. If the spirit doesn't help you accomplish your goals for your own life, then who will? There is no blame in wishing good things for yourself."

"What about forgiveness, grandmother?" Aifa continued her sequence of questions, despite the fact that both of them had been planning to spend their time walking to the Hearth in quiet meditation on the greatness of things on high.

"We could all use a lot more of that," grandmother frowned, and looked sternly at her granddaughter to make sure the latter wasn't making light of things. Aifa passed muster, so they returned to their quiet stroll under the stars. Aifa kept churning things in her mind, going over a million things she wished she could accomplish in the year to follow, and wondering if she could ask for a little help from the spirit, for when her Caretaker duties got a little out of hand. She didn't know what she was doing half the time, there was nothing predictable about the Twins, whose every move seemed to bring about a new surprise, and if there was a task for any human being where divine help would have been appreciated, this was definitely it. Her mind turned to an even more practical matter.

"What if it's not tonight, doyenne?" Aifa asked, looking at the sky and trying to guess one way or another. The night was so beautiful, so fragrant and so quiet, it seemed almost a pity for it not to be the one. There was nothing but harmony and peace all around them, no sound other than their soft footsteps on the old stones and the songs of the nightingales.

"If not tonight, then the night after tomorrow, and if not then, two nights after that. Just be patient, granddaughter. We don't know when the spirit comes, but we know it will come."

"But what if it doesn't grant my wishes, doyenne?" Aifa asked, hoping for her grandmother to contradict her, more than anything.

"This is not going to work, child," grandmother laughed at her granddaughter's attempt to get her wish fulfillment guaranteed by an elder, prior to the descent of the spirit. "Do you not know that doubting the spirit will grant your wish is a sure fire way to have it rejected? Whether it does or it doesn't is a question for the divine, not me. Trust that they will be granted, for if you don't have the trust, why make the wish at all? It is your task to make your wishes and present them. That is your job tonight, so apply yourself to that task and do it as best you can. You must always remember that you have to complete your tasks first, then ask the spirit for help."

"If only it were that easy," Aifa thought, but didn't say anything to her grandmother, for fear it would upset her. "How can one make any plans for one's life if one never knows what tomorrow will bring?" She thought she might put on her list of wishes to get a little insight into what life got in store for her, and wanted to ask her grandmother if that was an acceptable request, but then reconsidered. "If only I knew what mistakes to avoid, life would be so much easier!" she said out loud, without even realizing it.

"Life is not about avoiding mistakes, Aifa. We all make mistakes. Only the divine doesn't make mistakes. And the dead, I think, I'm not sure. As long as we are in this life we're only required to do the best we can and keep a pure heart. At this time of year all you have to do is ask the spirit to wipe away all your mistakes, and then you can start anew. Have you finished all of your readings?" she asked, without any transition.

"Yes, doyenne."

"Well, then we do have even more to celebrate."

They walked in silence a little longer. "Every step a blessing, every step a blessing," Aifa's thoughts kept the cadence of her feet, counting each step on the stairs that opened out into the Market Square. The bright moon bathed them in light now, and the air was so warm it felt like summer. The girl had grown quiet, and the multitude of her tasks burdened her heart and creased a frown between her eyebrows. Grandmother noticed.

"Don't let your heart be troubled, granddaughter. Not on this powerful night. Don't dwell on your cares and your worries, for these things will pass. Rest your soul on the compassion, love and mercy of the divine, and its spirit will grant you peace. Nothing can be accomplished without peace of the spirit. Maybe that would be a good thing to add to your wish list." Aifa was so deep in her own worries and thoughts she hardly heard her grandmother, but when the latter stopped talking, she took notice and nodded, to signal that she understood.

"Don't make your wishes with an inattentive heart, child. How is the spirit going to pay attention to them if you can't even pay attention to them yourself? Pay heed to the words you say, especially in invocation, it is your own passion and the openness of your heart that brings them to the attention of the divine. And don't be afraid to ask for anything. No wish is sinful or selfish, as long as it is for things that are good and pure. You just ask and be patient. If your wish be granted, it be granted, if not, it will not. Your part is to do the asking and then trust."

As if by miracle, Aifa's worries lightened, unburdening her spirit. All of the sudden the beauty of spring and the happiness she experienced just watching the Twins run through the valleys and wonder at everything overwhelmed her. There was nothing in creation that Ama and Jal didn't deem worthy of exaltation. Quite often, Aifa would notice them staring in awe at something, for minutes on end, and when curiosity got the better of her and she approached them, she saw that it was a single blade of grass, or an ant carrying its heavy load back to the anthill. "How far removed," Aifa thought, "are we from the very miracle of life, that the entirety of existence, whose complexity our mind isn't even able to encompass, passes us by unnoticed and gets drowned in our cares."

She didn't really know what to think about that, she felt a little embarrassed all of a sudden, by the fact that if the spirit could hear her thoughts, which the spirit was sure to do, it probably listened patiently for some response on her side, to confirm that she knew it was there and was aware that it waited for her. She panicked for a second, evaluating her whole unprocessed train of thought, an amorphous mix of worry and elation, physical discomfort, petty upsets and escapes to the future and the past. The mix felt more random than a bag of rocks: no two thoughts alike, none useful.

She decided to focus her attention on something worthwhile, like love or forgiveness, but every time she tried, the random pile of nonsense, so common to people's routine thinking that they don't even notice its burden, clouded her judgment. Then, a thought occurred to her: what if she asked the spirit to take this burden away from her, so she could have room for things that were worthy and beautiful, and so was the wish granted her, in an instant, with so little effort that the spirit's response jolted her and touched her heart.

She didn't know how to respond to this grace, she felt awkward and small, and didn't understand what she did to deserve it. The moon's rays touched her forehead, and her shoulders, and the palms of her hands, like a soft caress. Her daily life passed before her eyes and she remembered all of its joy, her grandmother's wisdom, the safety of her home, her mother's love, the Twins running through the daffodil meadow. Those images came to her mind as if somebody or something had placed them there, to guard against unpleasant thoughts and make her happy.

Aifa found plenty of room in this state of mind to plan what she wanted to learn over the following year, and to make a list of the questions she wanted to ask, and another one of personal requests. She remembered to add her family and the people of Cré to her list of supplications, to ask for their health and prosperity, and even remembered to add the Twins, who, in her opinion, probably didn't need anything, considering who they were.

When she finished the list her mind was sharp, and all of her tiredness seemed to have vanished. Right before she stepped through the doors of the Hearth, she tightened her garment around her waist again.

The young girl was still struggling with the thought that there was nothing she could give in exchange for this pouring of grace, nothing that would be good enough for the divine spirit. What could a human give that was enough? Immediately a thought popped into her head, sounding so much like a response that she had no doubt where it was coming from.

"Why don't you just say 'thank you'?"

She looked at her grandmother, to see if the latter was aware of what was happening to her, but her doyenne seemed to have immersed herself in her own inner landscape, to sort out her thoughts and her wishes for the night. She looked for the Twins, which were asleep, the only sleeping beings in the entire Grand Hall, probably on account of the fact that their very existence constituted enough of a blessing that they didn't need to ask for more, and their hearts were so pure that they never did anything that needed forgiving. Their pure simplicity and joy reassured Aifa that life was a lot less burdensome than she had made it to be, so she opened her palms to receive it, counted the many blessings she already had, and said 'thank you'.

The Day of Enlightenment

The Great Hall was filled with light and flowers, there were so many flowers, so many candles, the whole floor was covered in them. It felt strange for Aifa to watch the Twins, who were dressed up in their simple white garments and had flowers woven in their elaborately braided hair, sit donning unearthly smiles on top of a mound of flowers, like living statues.

"How come they are so well behaved, doyenne?" Aifa whispered, careful not to disturb the large group of people who had come to offer flowers and sit quietly on the floor next to the Twins and search for the peace of their souls. Outside the festivities were a lot livelier; the citizens of Cré launched colorful paper lanterns and guided their glowing lights with song and dance up into the night sky.

"The Twins have reached the age of wisdom," grandmother replied.

"But just yesterday..." Aifa mumbled, confused by the fact that those two who had ran her ragged with their irrational demands and endless whims only a month ago, were now presiding over the assembly, almost floating above the ground, their faces illumined by an inexplicable inner bliss.

"Their ways are not our ways, granddaughter. We live lives which span over so many decades; for them life is an endlessly repeating cycle, over the course of nine months every year. If they didn't get to wisdom early enough in the year, how would they teach it to us?" grandmother said.

"Why do they look so happy, doyenne? They look like they are not even there," Aifa noticed. All around the Twins people had placed trays of fruit, sweetened grain puddings, and elaborately decorated desserts, but the two didn't seem to even notice them, so far away up there, in their own world.

"They have moved beyond suffering," grandmother smiled. "Beyond the illusion of the real."

"What do you mean 'illusion', doyenne?" Aifa asked.

"You like being here today?" grandmother asked.

"Of course!" Aifa said eagerly. "It's one of the nicest festivals! I can't wait to release the doves and the butterflies! We get to set all creatures free!" The kindness of this humble symbolic gesture always warmed her heart, since she totally agreed that all living beings should be free.

"So, this night makes you happy," grandmother looked at Aifa, who nodded in agreement. "What would happen if all of a sudden I told you that you couldn't attend?"

"Why would you not allow me to attend, doyenne? I didn't do anything wrong!" Aifa protested.

"What if you simply couldn't. If you were, say, taken ill?"

"I would be upset if I couldn't attend, of course," Aifa agreed.

"So, the same event that made you happy would then make you sad," grandmother said. "That is the essence of a life of duality, the essence of suffering itself. When we become attached to the ways of this world we get trapped between happy and sad and repeat the cycle endlessly, to no avail."

"But what if I am never sad, doyenne? What if I could live a life were I only experience happiness?"

"Everyone gets sad at some point, child. Everyone."

"So, you are saying I should never be happy, so that I don't get sad either?" Aifa asked, almost on the verge of tears.

"Not at all, granddaughter," grandmother comforted her immediately. "By all means, let being here make you happy right now. What do you see, when you look around?"

"The Great Hall, beautifully decorated," Aifa started describing, "so many flowers, lights, so many people I know."

"Look closer, granddaughter. Look deeper, beyond the form you can see, into the essence of things, into the patterns of repeating things. This festivity happened last year, and the year before that, and the year before that, when the Twins were different, but the heart of the events was the same. Just like tides, life the ebbs and flows of living water, people are born and die, to repeat this celebration endlessly through time. What is all new for you now, a wondrous event, I have witnessed for sixty springs now. The actors are different, but the scene is the same, a recurrent dream in the sleep of the soul."

"But why shouldn't I enjoy it, doyenne? If it makes me happy, why shouldn't I enjoy it?" Aifa insisted, because the sounds, and the colors, and the whole spectacle of public joy looked so wholesome and completely devoid of guile it simply felt wrong to question it, instead of taking it to heart.

"You should enjoy it. And after you enjoyed it for many years, you should also see it repeating. You should realize that all its variations never stray from the theme, and no matter how many times you're going to experience it in the future, it will always be the same. If it makes you happy, you'll be less and less happy as time goes by, and when it can't make you happy anymore, you'll experience suffering. It's only a matter of time until you start asking yourself if this is all there is, or if there is anything beyond it. And then you find yourself picking at the edges of life, trying to see if you can peel them off, to find out what's underneath. When you manage to do that, the events will make you neither happy nor sad, because you realize they are like a painting, a varnish for the reality underneath."

"What kind of reality, doyenne?" Aifa asked.

"It is like love, or faith, it is impossible to explain, but you know when you experience it, you know it without a doubt, it instantly permeates every place, person and event, everything becomes suddenly clear and you wonder how you never realized it before." She looked at Aifa, who had a painfully worried expression on her face.

"Don't burden your mind with the worry of it, granddaughter. When reality reveals itself to you, its simple existence removes the motivation to feel pain, and if you are blessed when you are filled with its essence, you too, just like the Twins, will experience bliss."

"Why? I don't understand."

"Because all suffering is caused by the craving of things we don't have, but in reality, those things don't actually exist, at least not in the way you think they do, so why should you be saddened when they look like they are no longer there? Don't worry, granddaughter, very few people reach this point of total detachment, and those who do are never distraught by it, they experience unconditional bliss. For now you should strive to reduce this life's suffering, that in itself is a worthwhile goal. Keep your mind always attentive, attuned to the things around you. Everything in this life is an endless back and forth between cause and effect, a push demands a push back of equal force, so you must start small and build on your progress: let your actions be blameless and watch your words, your thoughts, and your focus, until there is nothing left there to distract you from the truth. Every step that you perfect in this progression allows your spirit to rise to higher ground, where it gets a broader view. It is in the seeing of things that the suffering gets dissolved."

Aifa looked in the Twins' direction, and noticed that the two had become very animated, telling people stories and engaging them in conversation, enjoying the sweet treats and laughing. She realized she'd been so absorbed in her conversation with her grandmother, she didn't even notice how much the scene had changed. There was a completely different group of people around them now, most of whom Aifa didn't recognize.

"The Twins look like they're enjoying every second of this festivity. They don't look like they are detached from outcomes at all!" Aifa protested.

"Being detached from an outcome doesn't mean you can't still enjoy it. You can still enjoy a beautiful flower even when you are aware that it will only last for a day."

"So, what exactly are we celebrating today, doyenne?"

"Every year on this day the Twins are awakened to their true reality. That is when their life as teachers begins. You have been their mother and their caretaker up to this point. Now you become their student."

The crowd kept moving steadily past Ama and Jal, happy to linger around them for a while, to listen to a story or be offered comfort, and after that they moved forward slowly, sprinkling the Twins with water from the large bowl that was placed between them, as a blessing. Aifa just wanted to say that the Twins' life seemed so unfair, having to repeat the same year again and again, without even being aware of it, for who knows how many centuries. How did any being manage to cope with an existence like that?

"What makes you think yours is any different?" grandmother commented, with a little laugh. "Just because you can't remember the never ending iterations of life, that doesn't mean they didn't happen."

"How many times, do you think?" Aifa frowned.

"Who knows?" grandmother replied. "That does put things in perspective a little bit, don't you think?"

"So, all of us, and the Twins, will come back again and again forever?"

"Every time the Twins return, they are just a little wiser than before. At some point they will just reach perfect wisdom, and after that year they will not need to start over. They will remain among us, existing in bliss and perfect peace, and they will never grow old or die. I guess that works the same for us too, but it will probably take us a lot longer."

The crowd had moved outside, to enjoy the sight of thousands of paper lanterns dotting the night sky in the presence of a giant moon, which looked almost too large to be real. People were throwing flower garlands at the Twins' feet, the candles had burned almost to the ground and the time was drawing near for Aifa and her family to go home.

"Doyenne," Aifa started tentatively, "I don't want to come back again and again just to suffer, that doesn't make any sense."

"Then do what is in your power to do to end the cycle," grandmother smiled. "All suffering starts in the mind, and that's where you have to eradicate it. Don't let evil thoughts be born and take root in your mind and replace the ones that are already there with good thoughts. Those good thoughts will become your foundation. They are like a little stepping stone on which you can get high enough to see. The more you can see, the less evil thoughts can keep their hold on you."

"What do you mean?" Aifa said.

"Do you remember when you were very young how terrified you where when people brought the dragon through the streets of Cré? For years I couldn't persuade you to get close enough to it to notice that it was made of paper and strings. All human suffering is a paper dragon, Aifa, we are just too afraid of it to get close enough to it to notice. Don't live your days in the shadow of a paper dragon, but even most importantly, don't cast the shadow of a paper dragon on others, that activity is always guaranteed to bring you suffering."

"So why do people do it, doyenne? Why would anybody do something for which a negative result is all but certain?" Aifa asked.

"Some do it because they don't know, others do it because they don't believe; most do it because the results haven't happened yet and they expect they never will. But the law doesn't care about your knowledge or belief, it is immutable, like the path of the sun across the sky: when the sun comes up, day follows; when the sun goes down, night follows. Without exception. Keep your mind in the light, granddaughter. It will not keep unpleasant events out of your life, but it will not allow them to make you suffer. There is a silver lining in unpleasantness. When we are happy, we don't want to let go of the fact that our happiness is not real, so we hold on to it for as long as we can and become attached. Nobody wants to be attached to suffering, so the mind is more willing to see it for what it is, an illusion. But in truth, both suffering and happiness are fleeting shadows, they just reside at opposite ends of the paper dragon. There is no true contentment other than the one born inside your soul."

"So, what should I do then?" Aifa asked, confused.

"What you always have: every morning, carry water from the well."

Summer

June

The Gifts of the Spirit

"Are you nervous, granddaughter?" grandmother asked. It was Aifa's first public speaking assignment, one for which she had prepared the entire week, and she was, of course, all nerves. "Don't fret over it, you will do just fine."

"What if I don't?" Aifa asked, wretched.

"Then you won't," grandmother joked. "I'm sure they'll let you live."

"Don't joke about it, doyenne!" Aifa chided.

"I wouldn't dream of it," grandmother said, trying very hard to be serious but unable to suppress a smile. She kept filling the picnic basket with wholesome foods for the potluck picnic. Nobody in the city missed this outing, which always happened at the beginning of June, the time when they celebrated the revelation of wisdom.

It was the day when the fire of wisdom had descended from the sky, oh, so long ago. Some people said it looked like lightning, others said it could not be anything of the sort, the comforting wisdom from above. The effect on those whom it had touched was professed to be nothing sort of miraculous: they received untold knowledge, the gift of understanding, the power to heal with a touch. The people of Cré called them the gifts of the spirit. Those blessed with the gifts had always shared them with the people, to expand their knowledge and understanding of things, both seen and unseen. They advanced the city's education, medicine and strict moral code. It was believed that the advanced medicine the city was known for far and wide had its humble beginnings in this very experience, and the community had never been the same since.

The gifts didn't die with the ones who received them. As they advanced in age and became the community elders, the first receivers of the gifts passed them on to the younger generation, by the simple touch of their hands, and the gifts were thus perpetuated and multiplied, up until now.

It wasn't clear at this time who were the bearers of the gifts; the passing on of wisdom was always done privately and quietly, in the spirit of cultivating them with humility. It was the gift, not its bearer, that was meant to shine its light unto the world, and the customs required that all prophecy, healing and conveying of knowledge be done anonymously if possible and be made available to everyone.

Over the centuries, their prophecies and body of wisdom built up to enormous archives, entire libraries whose custodians inherited the honor of maintaining, just like the duty of Caretaker was assigned to Aifa at birth. Every name of every person who ever lived in Cré was painstakingly noted in the books of family records, together with the details of their lives - their occupation, their passions, outstanding events of their lives, but most importantly, their family ties. Family was everything in Cré, because family was forever.

Since the gifts of the spirit where focused on the area of communication, all the art forms relating to writing and public speaking were held in high regard, and all people were expected to express themselves with poise and eloquence, even at a young age. And thus Aifa became the orator for this particular day, to her untold dread.

"What is your discourse about?" grandmother decided to help her out.

"The importance of properly nourishing one's body and the avoidance of unhealthy things," Aifa responded eagerly.

"That shouldn't be too hard," grandmother encouraged.

"It's not the content, it's the speaking it in public that is the problem," Aifa mumbled, awkward.

"It is like everything else, granddaughter. It takes practice."

Strangely enough, even though she had been born into a Caretaker family, Aifa's grandmother had received the gift of sight. She was touched by visions when she was very young, and, in accordance with tradition, she kept them between herself and the pages she brought to the hall of records and left on the table before anyone could see her.

"Don't think of yourself as gifted," wisdom decreed. "The gift was passed on to you by someone from the past and you will pass it on to someone in the future. You are not your gift. Your gift is eternal, you are just a vessel through which it flows into people's lives."

Aifa's grandmother took this wisdom to heart and acted according to it her whole life. That was not to say her gift hadn't served her well in her own life, and hadn't helped her guide her children, and now her grandchildren. Aifa had asked once whether the gifts made people special, better than others.

"No person is better than another person, child. In the eyes of the divine, we're all equal. The gifts just get us a little closer to understanding its glory, that's all. Some things are only meant to be seen with the spirit."

By the time they arrived to the picnic area the sun was at high noon and many of the people had already set up their blankets for the afternoon outdoors. Close to the middle of the clearing, a larger group was gathered around the Twins, to listen to wisdom, which the two imparted generously, and with an eloquence that made Aifa envious.

Ever since they had been awaken to wisdom, the Twins had become obsessed with writing down what they had learned or understood, and leaving messages for their future selves. This was a habit nobody but the Twins could understand, but the people accepted it, just like they took for granted many of their other unusual behaviors, such as waking up at dawn to sit on the wall and watch the sun rise over the ocean, every day and without a word. Their gaze betrayed their longing for the ocean, a place they were not allowed to go to, although none of the elders was able to explain why.

Sometimes they gave Aifa messages, with instructions to return them the following year on the same day. Aifa complied, dutifully, but couldn't help wonder whether there were messages they had left with other Caretakers in previous years. If there were, the Twins never remembered to ask about them, and nobody reminded them either. It felt so sad, this conspiracy of silence, and Aifa promised herself to deliver her messages on time.

"Maybe we all forget, just like they do," she thought of possible reasons. She asked her grandmother.

"That is not why, granddaughter. It's just that messages conveyed and understood in this life don't necessarily translate to the next. The Twins held me to the promise to deliver their messages from one year to the next, and I tried, I really did. They never remember their meaning and get really frustrated and sad, so, on balance, the messages do them more harm than good. Do you want to open the one they just gave you and read it?"

Aifa unfolded the paper and saw it contained nothing but a little scribble: a crescent moon, laying on its back.

"What do you think it means, grandmother?" Aifa asked, puzzled.

"My point exactly, child. I urge you to go ask them about it right now, you'll see that even seconds after they gave you the sign, they already can't decipher its meaning. It must be an unwritten law of the spirit, that symbols are only to be conveyed and understood in the instant."

"So, what should I do with this message, doyenne?" Aifa asked.

"Keep it, deliver it as asked. Keep your promise. You have to experience this for yourself, otherwise it will feel like a betrayal. It is hard for a Caretaker to go back on her word. I deliver all of the messages they left me, even now, although I know better. I keep thinking that somehow, someday they will understand them."

"Maybe they understand them in their hearts, even though their minds can't make heads or tails of their meaning."

"Maybe."

The Twins were giving a spellbinding lecture on the nature of the spirit, and it was almost impossible to reconcile the fact that the beings who were speaking so articulately in front of her eyes and those who had given and forgotten the meaning of the scribble she held in her hands were one and the same.

"Don't let your heart be troubled, granddaughter. Just concentrate on learning and enlightening your spirit. All things that need revealing will be revealed to you in their own time."

It has been Aifa's experience so far that such revealed truths always descended upon the spirit with crystalline clarity, and always in hindsight.

"There will be dancing and sports later on. Maybe it would be a good idea for you to participate, to show your practical understanding of all of those things you are going to talk about." Aifa groaned, because she had almost forgotten about the dreaded presentation.

"Why do I need to tell people about this, everybody knows it is important to keep their body healthy and strong," she attempted one last protest.

"It is not about the content itself, it is about your being at ease with public discourse. Later on you will want to touch upon subjects that you are passionate about, you don't want the discomfort of talking about your ideas to prevent them from coming to life," grandmother encouraged her.

The Twins had finished their presentation about the nature of the spirit and were engaged in a new one, on the subject of life's transformations throughout eternity.
"How do they do it?" Aifa asked herself. "How does it come so easy to them to talk about a subject for hours at a time? How do they even remember it all?"

"The gifts of the spirit come in different packages, granddaughter. Some can see, some can talk, some can move with grace. Things come and go in life, but you should always keep a watch on your own routine, to keep your behavior blameless, your body healthy and strong and your love for those around you untarnished. These are things well within your reach, and if you make these intentions a habit, they will bless and guide your life to a ripe old age. If the spirit grants you a gift, you have to honor it. There is no transgression sadder than intentionally withholding the light that was given you to shine into the world. Praise moderation in all things and be your body's keeper, not its slave."

"But, doyenne, you just went through my entire presentation," Aifa protested.

"I know. I just thought I'd go through the main points with you, to help you remember them. Sometimes in the middle of the presentation the ideas try to run away from you, it is always useful to keep them in focus by mentally attaching them to things you are sure not to forget."

"It is almost my turn," Aifa said. She was so nervous she could feel her jaw go numb. The Twins were still talking, they had switched from their latest subject to that of being a good and faithful steward of the body and life that were given you right here on earth.

"This is unbelievable," Aifa mumbled. "There is no amount of practice that would even bring me close to this level of comfort with public speaking. They look like they have been born specifically to do this!"

"Maybe they were," grandmother replied.

The dreaded moment finally came, as time rolled forward implacably, and Aifa got in front of the crowd to gave her first presentation. She was so tense about the many eyes staring right at her that she went through the entirety of it as if in a haze. When it was finished, she couldn't remember if she had gotten through all the points, if she had used the correct words, over which she had agonized for more than a week, or if anybody in the audience had asked her any questions. When she got away from the platform, she was so far removed from the activity she'd been intimately involved in for the last half hour, that she might as well have been locked up in a room, all by herself. She was eager to hear her grandmother's impressions.

"That was very good, granddaughter. Next time, try to engage a little bit more with the audience, it will help you feel when their attention is shifting and guide you to harmonize your chosen subject with it. It takes some time, but eventually it becomes so natural to you, this mix of opinions and ideas, that you'll wonder why you were ever nervous about immersing yourself in it. It doesn't matter if you are talking to one person or a thousand at a time, in the end it's still just a conversation."

Bonfire Day

For the second time that year, the community took their trip down the side of the mountain, down to the sea. It was the middle of June, and it seemed like the whole world was covered in flowers, especially the tall, bright yellow flowers of the meadow, which some still believed were faeries in disguise. There was talk that at night, on the eve of this feast, they could be seen dancing across the fields and meadows, as if stepping on air, ethereal like the breeze itself. When asked about it, people whispered about the terrible fate which befell those who dared spy upon the unearthly creatures during their private dance. For this celebration, however, they lent their flowers eagerly, to make crowns, garlands and wreaths.

"You look beautiful, granddaughter," grandmother admired Aifa, whose countenance matched that of the fairies themselves, as she descended the rocky path to the seashore in her simple white garment, her long unruly hair the color of fire sprinkled with yellow flowers. She had flowers in her hands, and garlands around her neck, and looked very much like a flower herself. Grandmother couldn't help a contented giggle.

The sun was approaching its zenith, glowing bright and lively over the already crowded beach, where people were getting ready for the traditional bonfire.

"Why do we light a bonfire for this feast, doyenne?" Aifa asked.

"Our people celebrate the symbolic nature of life, and its eternal cycles. On this, the longest day of the year, the sun rises to its glory. It rises to give us warmth and sustain life in all its forms, even the most humble. Its energy transforms and nourishes, but it can also be unyielding and unrelenting, like every force of nature. It is not good or bad, it just is. It is represented by the energy of fire, which is why we light up bonfires on this day. The unwise bask in the blessings of nature and decry its unraveling, but what we always need to do is find balance. There is nothing in this life that can't be used for both good, and evil, but when you seek harmony and equilibrium, otherwise antagonistic forces come to a head and cancel each other out. It is this balance that yields lasting peace. It is not our place to judge nature, which was before us and will be here long after we are gone. We are here to find our place inside of it, to understand that we are not removed from it, that our very essence is a part of nature too. We are here today to honor and celebrate the sacred realm that life creates between the earth and the heavens. We are in the world we create every day, the wholeness of being draws from our essence and reflects it, and we draw from its essence and reflect it too. There is no higher prize, no greater satisfaction for a life well lived than to look around yourself and see your world at peace. That is your equilibrium, your balance."

"But what if I can't, doyenne? What if I can't find enough peace in my heart for it to shine out into the world?" Aifa expressed her deepest fear. She had never liked fire, even since she was a little girl. It always seemed menacing and uncontrollable to her, an unruly energy better left alone.

"If you have to remember one thing from this day, remember this. Whatever you fear controls you. Don't fear fire. It is neither good, nor evil, it embodies the force of transformation. Do you remember what you told me about your love for water, that you feel the call of the sea into your blood?"

"You told me that, doyenne."

"No matter. Until you learn how to feel the essence of fire inside your heart, just like you can feel the call of the sea, you will be afraid of it and its secrets will elude you. Everything under the sun has a purpose for being, including fire, and including you and I. The wisdom is not to put ourselves above it. Today is the day when the sun stands still."

People were celebrating on the beach, and children splashed in the sea, close to the shore under their parents' watchful eyes, giggling and jumping, with flowers in their hair, feeling safe and comforted by this day of the year, when the world was awash in warmth and sunshine.

"We're entering the second half of the year," grandmother said thoughtfully, staring straight into the sun that had remained pinned onto the firmament, unwilling to move. "We are at a midpoint, again. For the Twins, this day represents their entering into adulthood. From now on they are here to teach and inspire us to understand the true nature of the divine."

Aifa looked at the two, who were sitting close to the waters; they gazed upon the sea with so much longing it made her heart ache. In the midst of the very animated scene, Ama and Jal stood still, like two breathing statues, just as immovable as the rocky cliffs, battered by waves. Some said the Twins had transcended nature a long time ago, they said the Twins could walk on water, they said the Twins could walk on air. They said the Twins could suddenly scatter into a million butterflies, or become the living essence of every flower on earth, and yet, there they were, not bothered by the ruckus around them, patiently bearing the children who braided flowers in their long hair.

"It seems like they have sea water running in their blood too," grandmother observed. "We are all called to different things upon this earth: some are called to change, some are called to nurture, some are called to steward and some are called to understand."

"What are you called to, doyenne?" Aifa asked, her eyes shining with curiosity.

Grandmother didn't answer, she just smiled.

The festivities were getting more and more animated, as a group of young people were lighting large wheels of straw and dried grasses on fire and rolled them down the beach, into the sea.

"I see you are still afraid," grandmother placed her hand over Aifa's, as if to steady her agitation. "Quiet your wavering, child. Moving from one thought to its opposite disquiets the mind and wastes your energy to no avail. You can't be purposeful and afraid at the same time. We strive so hard to live in the light that we refuse to acknowledge the truth in front of our very eyes: where there is light, there is shadow. Everything casts shadows on the earth. As soon as the sun comes out, so do our shadows. Pretending that they are not there is the endeavor of fools. There are those who say 'I will live in the light and I will banish the darkness', not realizing that it is not the light, and the darkness, it is their light, and their darkness, neither of which they can cling to or escape." She stopped, because Aifa looked sad.

"Don't be sad, granddaughter. Today is a day of gratitude. Look at the world around you, the abundance of the fruit of the earth, the warmth of the sun, the blessing of rain, the joy of the children. As we are at peace, so is the world at peace. We live in balance."

The children, famished after their endless frolic in the sea, descended upon the grilled meats and vegetables like a flock of seagulls on a beach after the tide. They were munching and chasing each other at the same time, to the outrage of their parents, whose voices rose above the crowd to make them stop. The warm sand and sea salt got everywhere: in their hair, in their noses, inside their clothing and their toes. Most of them had abandoned their sandals, to run on the beach barefoot, and their slices of grilled summer zucchini were crunchy with a fine dusting of sand.

"Settle down," the parents screamed, to no avail, while their tireless offspring scattered their energy in large bursts of noise and sand across the beach.

"Oh, there is no use," grandmother smiled and turned to Aifa. "I remember you at that age, you were untamable. We all have to live through the seasons of our lives, the wise understand that."

As the sun started moving again on its path towards the horizon, the endless amounts of energy the little ones doled out started to taper off a bit, and they gathered around in small groups to play games and make sand castles, to the relief of their parents, who were thankful that their little ones got some rest before the evening, since the ceremonies were supposed to last well into the night. After the sunset, the light of the bonfire took much greater prominence. Both young and old gathered around it, watching the flames dance in the darkness and reach up to the stars. Ever so often, somebody would start a song, and many joined in, merrily. The children, finally exhausted, nestled themselves in their parents' laps, trying very hard not to fall asleep.

There was this fairy tale Aifa, like all the children of Cré, knew from her childhood, about a magical orchard, whose fruit was made of precious metals and gems, only nobody ever got to see it, because, come midnight on this very holiday, the slumber of the soul came about, and while every one of the people fell into a deep sleep, the fruit invariably disappeared.

"Do you think they are going to tell the story of the golden fruit, doyenne?" Aifa asked.

"Of course. They always tell that story, it is tradition. What a wonderful meaning this story has, about the importance of not allowing our souls to slumber while the fruits of our spirit are whisked away. I'm not sure they'll be able to wake the children," she looked around and noticed the little ones looked absolutely bushed, "but at least the grown-ups are all awake. You're not going to fall asleep, are you?" she gave Aifa a sharp look and then relaxed when she noticed her granddaughter was sharp as a tack. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to plant you in the middle of a circle of spears, just to keep you from dozing off," she said, half joking.

Aifa shuddered with discomfort, while she remembered the details of the story. After he found himself unable to keep vigil for the first two nights, the hero decided to stand through the entire third night, and to this end he planted spears, pointing up, all around himself: one under his chin, to awake him if his head wobbled forward, one at the back of his head, if he happened to lean back, one next to the right shoulder and one next to the left, if he veered sideways. He had to spend the whole night getting poked by spears, but in the end, he didn't fall asleep.

"The fruits of the spirit must be guarded, granddaughter," grandmother nodded in agreement. "You don't trade your wisdom for a little shut-eye," she frowned, displeased.

Aifa looked into the flames, quietly, trying to imagine what that magical fruit must have looked like; she could almost see it in the darkness behind the dancing flames, hanging from the branches of the orchard trees, gleaming softly in the dim light of the moon and the stars.

"If only we could picture the beauty and richness of our wisdom, granddaughter. How much wealthier would we all feel!"  
Throughout the entire day the Twins hadn't uttered a single word. They were sitting in front of the fire now, still looking like living statues, with several sleeping children in their laps. They weren't happy, they weren't sad, and they weren't tired. They welcomed the time of harvest and maturity that had arrived, according to its season. At the strike of midnight, as the fire was dying, they got up and walked slowly across its still glowing embers towards the path that led back home, and everyone followed in their footsteps, carrying sleeping children on their backs on in their arms, to brave the long climb back to the city, under the light of the stars, accompanied only by the restless breath of the sea and the calls of nocturnal creatures. The sky seemed to glow softly into the distance, in an eerie dance of light, and, as tired as she was, Aifa remembered the flower faeries and averted her eyes. She didn't want to tempt luck and incur their wrath.

"Are we harboring fear again, granddaughter," grandmother stared at her, then shook her head with disappointment, and continued her climb through the night, eager to get back home.

July

The Festival of the Chariots

The middle of July brought with it an abundance of early harvest, but the Caretakers were so busy, they didn't even notice the buoyant unfolding of life around them. They spent day after day, gathered around the Twins, listening to the wisdom the two poured forth, wisdom whose source nobody really understood, and which, they believed, could only come from on high.

"What about you, doyenne?" Aifa asked. "Haven't you heard this before?"

"Oh, no, child. No two years' teachings are ever the same. What would be the point of divine guidance if you could sum it up in one year. The wisdom has no end."

As the summer festival approached, the little stack of messages the Twins left with Aifa to give their future selves grew into a sizable pile.

"What should I do with all of this?" Aifa looked to her grandmother for advice.

"Keep your promise to them, as did all the Caretakers, since they first arrived in Cré. Keep them in order and return them to the Twins next year, and don't forget you need to be mindful of the timing."

"Do you have any messages to give them this year?"

"That is between the Caretaker and the Twins, granddaughter. It is a question that is neither permitted, nor answered. You should read the messages you were given, as you organize them. Some of those are actually for you."

Aifa took some time, during the few quiet moments in the Hearth, to skim through the pile of messages, puzzled by some, amused by others, wondering if there was any point in delivering them at all, after all, in the year to come she might just as well approach complete strangers in the streets of Cré for what it was worth.

"The ways of the divine are not our ways," she remembered the wisdom of her grandmother. "Everything happens for a reason; sometimes you have to trust before you get a chance to understand."

It didn't take Aifa long to figure out the older messages from the new ones. As time unfolded, the missives developed from short, childish comments or expressions of affection to long and elaborate communications, which were timely and precise to a fault.

"How is anybody ever going to understand this?!" Aifa blurted, exasperated, after she finished reading the detailed instructions for the construction of what, she could only surmise, was a flying machine. "Why would anybody ever believe something like this, or even attempt it? If we were meant to fly, we would have been born with wings."

"Sometimes I wish you took my words, said in jest, a little less literally, granddaughter," her grandmother couldn't help but overhear.

Aifa pondered for a long time about what she was supposed to do with this mixture of wisdom and craziness, agonizing over the fact that it was, apparently, her responsibility to decide its fate. After she delivered the messages, they would most likely be lost, the Twins had no need for any possessions other than the shirts on their backs. If she didn't deliver them, and instead kept them safe in box at the library, they again would be lost, because that defied their very purpose for existing and stunted the Twins ability to communicate with their other selves through time. She decided on option number three. As soon as she received a message, she wrote it down in a compendium, complete with the time when it was to be delivered and the events that surrounded receiving it. It wasn't much, but it was the best she could think to do.

"Flying machine indeed! Sometimes I wonder who is crazier, them or me," she brooded over the latest message, then shook her head in disbelief, folded it and placed it in her pocket, to be processed later. She could hear the other Caretakers' heated discussion about decorating the chariots. It was almost time for the parade and there was still much work to do to get them ready, so she joined the others to help out.

The chariot wheels were quite large, to make it easier for people to pull them through the market square, so the Caretakers had to help the Twins climb into them. When Aifa held Ama's hand to help her up, the latter left another folded message in the palm of her hand.

The chariots advanced slowly through the crowds, in the middle of cheerful exaltation, and dancing for joy. The people of Cré loved to see the Twins paraded through town in their full regalia, as the living, breathing embodiments of the divine that they were.

The market square was so saturated by color and emotion there didn't seem to be any room for anything else, so much human emotion it overwhelmed the soul: joy, sadness, elation, longing, all melted into a thick, heavy blanket that weighed the Twins' spirit down like lead. The people of Cré didn't notice, each one of them focused on bringing their portion of this gigantic shared public emotion to the square, impervious to the others', in a communal outpouring of the soul.

The Twins' faces were impenetrable, like stone. One couldn't read any emotions on them, as it was fitting for living deities, they seemed so far removed from the daily concerns and tribulations of the people, but as the burden of emotion became heavier and heavier to bear, the smallest teardrop gathered in the corner of Jal's eye and made its way down his cheek, slowly losing its own substance in the process.

As if waiting for a sign, the clouds gathered over the horizon, so thick and waterlogged it felt like they were dragging on the ground. Jal looked at them, like he expected them to come, and his relief allowed a second tear to follow the first. Deafening thunder shook the heavens, echoing between the old stone walls before it retreated in a low rumble. Another tear flowed down Jal's cheek. That's when the rain started.

People cheered, elated, pulling the chariots around the square in the pouring rain, grateful for the blessing of the crops, grateful for the harvest, grateful for life itself. As Jal's tears flowed freely on his face, water rushed through the stone streets, down ancient steps and narrow alleys, washing them clean. It flowed through hidden aqueducts back into the fields, to water the crops, parched by the summer heat, and rushed in beautiful waterfalls down the cliffs, back to the sea.

Aifa had participated in this festival many times, but she had never been close enough to the Twins to see what was actually happening. She always took it for granted that the Twins' nature was in some unknown ways transcendent, but this was not a subject that occupied her mind. She had her education, and her family, and all of the activities and social events that marked the life of the city like an animated calendar, so metaphysical issues were never high on her agenda. These were things the elders pondered, mostly because they had fulfilled their social obligations and had nothing better to do with their time. But now, as she watched Jal cry rain from the sky, her heart skipped a beat and really started wondering what kind of beings the Twins were. They looked human in every respect, and in some ways they were very naive, childish even, and yet, Aifa could feel their presence touch her, even from a distance, in an undeniable way she had no way of describing.

"What are they, doyenne?" she asked her grandmother, when the shock of what she had experienced receded.

"That is the mystery," grandmother replied. "We have been the Caretakers of this mystery for many centuries, and still, nobody knows." She looked up at the sky, from where rain kept pouring thick and heavy. "We need to bring the Twins back to the Hearth, we don't want them to catch a cold."

Since the roof had its circular opening right above their sunken water beds, Aifa was worried that they will find the Twins' beds filled with water, only to discover, with bewilderment, that they were completely dry.

"How..." she started asking her grandmother, who stopped her question with a gesture of her hand.

"Don't ask questions you already know the answers to, granddaughter."

The Caretakers ran around the Twins like mother hens, bringing towels and dry garments, and starting a fire to keep them warm, even if it was the middle of July. Outside, the rain kept pouring down, its even patter interrupted by the rhythm of powerful lightning and thunder.

The Twins were tired, more so than Aifa had ever seen, and curled up in their sunken beds like cats, mysteriously shielded from the rain falling from above, and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

"It is the rain," grandmother said. "It soothes them. Maybe it reminds them of home, who knows?"

The Hearth turned very quiet, as not to disturb the Twins' slumber. The Caretakers moved around like ghosts, attending to their chores, the shuffle of their bare feet on the stone floor drowned by the powerful rapping of the rain.

Aifa finally found time to get out of the wet clothes herself, and as she changed, she remembered the little message Ama had given her before she got up in the chariot, and reached eagerly for it. It was so badly soaked she worried it was going to fall apart in her hands as she tried to open it, but it didn't.

The ink was bleeding onto the page, almost washed away in places, but the message was complete enough to read, so there was no doubt about what it said. Unlike the previous notes, it was very short, dated one year from now, and it only said 'we did remember'.

"What are you doing, granddaughter?" grandmother surprised her. "Change out of those wet clothes, you are shivering."

Aifa obeyed, with mechanical gestures, her mind fixed on something else. She wondered, since the Twins seemed to be tuned into their future selves, whether she could ask them questions about the following year, whether it was even allowed, and if it was, did she really want to know it? It was a great responsibility, learning about the future.

Her grandmother seemed to guess her inner struggle.

"I see that you found something else to place your fears on. Why don't you fear the past instead, I'm sure there must have been something unpleasant in it, and the past is just as much with us as the future. Stop waiting for the next breath, granddaughter. You should be living your life, not allowing your life to live you. Fulfill your purpose, the reason that brought you to this life, the rest is irrelevant."

"So, learning about the future is pointless?" Aifa asked.

"It all depends on whether what you learn helps you with your life's purpose. If the Twins found it in their hearts to allow you a glimpse into their future, they must have done it for a good reason."

It was still raining at night fall, and it was going to rain for days on end.

"Why don't we sleep here tonight? There is no point in braving the elements just to have some place to come from in the morning. Aifa looked around and noticed that many of the Caretakers had the same idea; they were lighting candles and laying pillows on the floor, and brought soft blankets closer to the fire, to warm them up.

The rain continued through the night. Whether it was the rain or the exhaustion of a very emotionally charged day, everybody fell into a deep sleep without dreams. Aifa didn't know what it was that awakened her in the wee hours of the morning, but when she opened her eyes, for just a fraction of a second, she could swear she saw a water surface gleam softly from the Twins' beds. The vision disappeared immediately, as her rational mind went back to processing the reality around her, and she saw them as she was supposed to see them, two siblings, looking so much alike it was hard to tell them apart, curled up like cats under their soft blankets. Aifa assumed she was still dreaming when she first lifted her head from the pillow, because she couldn't have seen what she saw. She glanced quickly at her grandmother, wondering if the latter had had the same experience, but her grandmother, like everybody else in the Great Hall, was fast asleep.

If there was one good thing about being thirteen, it was that one didn't take things too seriously. Maybe it had been a dream, maybe it was something she was supposed to see, and if she did, what of it? Nobody would believe her anyway. Aifa shrugged, turned her pillow over and went back to sleep.

The Day of Abundance

"Knead joyfully, granddaughter, you don't want that bread to be heavier than a rock," grandmother teased.

All the Caretakers were gathered at their house to bake together for the Day of Abundance. They had started early in the morning and the aroma of fresh bread, right out of the oven, filled the whole house. Under their diligent hands, the first grains of harvest yielded their goodness, transformed into an elastic and malleable dough that was lighter than air.

Masterful fingers kneaded and shaped it into a million different shapes, crescents, wreaths, boules, baguettes, rolls, and, to the absolute delight of the children, little bread critters. Growing up, Aifa had her fill of plump bread chickens and overstuffed bunny rabbits; this activity was the realm of the children, and the little ones engaged in it with glee at a separate table, scattering flour everywhere and expressing their creativity. Their productions, which varied from mostly symbolic and endearingly misshapen to very crafty, found their places on the baking sheet, where they were generously bathed in glaze, and after that went into the oven, in a process that almost looked like they were making pottery.

"Are you sad that you can't make dough chickens anymore?" granddaughter teased again, grabbing a handful of dough and offering it to Aifa. She was in great spirits, more than usual, the girl was surprised to notice; she smiled and shook her head.

"I am too old to play with dough, doyenne."

"Oh, you are never too old to play, dear! Do what gives you joy, that's what life is all about!" She looked around to assess the state of their activity. All around her, trays of fresh baked breads were waiting, ready to be placed in baskets for the communal activities. The bread varieties ran the gamut: from rye to spelt no grain was missing, as tradition required. All grains had to be baked into bread and then taken out into the fields, to bask once more in the warmth of the sun. When noonday passed, they were brought back to the Hearth, so that the people could share. Legend said that on this day, no matter how many people partook in the bread of the harvest, the baskets never ran empty.

As she shaped the last batch of dough into an elaborately braided circle and blended its ends in such a way that nobody could tell where the patch was, Aifa's grandmother uttered the traditional blessing out loud but softly, so that only the people closest to her could hear.

"As the earth blessed us with this abundant harvest, may the spirit bless the work of our hands. As this bread rises, so may everything that is good into our lives rise."

Aifa didn't know why, exactly, but these words her grandmother spoke softly every year always touched her heart in a way that brought tears to her eyes. Her voice was muffled by emotion when she responded.

"And may we find wisdom."

Grandmother finished her bread wreath, glazed it and sprinkled it with sesame and poppy seeds and placed it in the oven with measured, reverent movements.

"Do you think it's the Twins, doyenne?" Grandmother looked at Aifa, puzzled by the question. The latter clarified. "Who refill the baskets with bread. Do you think it's the Twins?"

Grandmother put the bread paddle down, thoughtfully, and paused to carefully craft her answer regarding her point of view.

"What do you think?" she turned to Aifa, looking intently into her granddaughter's eyes, as if she wanted to get her answer from them, and not her mouth. Aifa was going to mention that she saw the Twins turn into water, but it sounded so crazy that she reconsidered and shrugged her shoulders to express the fact that she didn't really know.

"I have been on this earth for more years that I care to count, and in all this time I learned two things: the first is that nothing is impossible, and the second is that you should never assume anything. Let me present to you the following scenario. Suppose that you have suddenly been brought into existence, from nowhere, and all you see around you is complete darkness; suppose that somebody told you that very soon a giant ball of fire will rise from underneath the earth and light up the sky. Remember, you don't know anything about existence at all. Can you describe to me your reactions?"

"Well, first I would be afraid that I was going to die," Aifa started. She loved these conversations with her grandmother. No two of them were ever alike, and they always revolved around topics that boggled the mind. That was done in order to bring some mindfulness and perspective into her life, she said.

"Very good," grandmother nodded. "What else?"

"Then I would look for a place to hide, to maybe not get killed by the ball of fire," Aifa continued her hypothetical end of times scenario.

"Somewhere under ground, or in a cave, maybe?" grandmother embroidered on the hypothetical.

"Yes."

"What next?"

"Well, I would sit in there and wonder why nothing is happening, and then I would think it was all a lie."

"Go on," grandmother smiled.

"And then, the fire ball would come out, and I could see some light coming from it, and I would try to crawl even deeper into the crevice, so that it doesn't touch me and burn me alive."

"Great! Now, how long would you stay there?" grandmother asked.

"Probably until the ball of fire disappeared."

"When you would do what?"

"Go out, see what, if anything, remained intact."

"And what would you learn?"

"Well, I couldn't see very well in the dark, so it would be really hard to tell, I wouldn't have any way of knowing what was there before, in order to compare it with what was left."

"This is getting better by the second," grandmother thought, hardly able to suppress her laughter. She kept a straight face while she encouraged Aifa to continue.

"Then, I wouldn't know that the fire ball would be coming back, because nobody told me, so it would surprise me the next morning."

"And what would you do next?"

"I would be terrified and run as fast as I could to reach shelter before the light turned me to ashes."

"So, you would spend the next day in your little hole in the ground."

"Yes," Aifa acknowledged.

"How many times, do you think, you would go through this process before you tried to learn more about the fire ball?"

"I don't know, I would be too busy trying to find ways to stay alive."

"Just give it a guess. A year? Ten years? The rest of your life?" grandmother pinned her with curious eyes.

"I honestly don't know," Aifa said.

"Just pick a number. Remember, this time period is measured in repetitions. Every time a repetition occurs, you see it leaves things exactly the same. You start noticing there is a pattern."

"I don't know," Aifa struggled. "Ten years?"

"Ten years!" grandmother gasped, shocked. "You would spend ten years in a hole in the ground, fearing the same thing over and over again!"

"As I said, I don't know," Aifa back paddled on her assessment.

"Never mind the time period," grandmother said, disappointed. "What would you do after that?"

"Aahm... I don't know. I would get bored, I guess. Of course, during all of those years I would live my life at night, find something there to do," Aifa continued.

"Interesting," grandmother thought, but she didn't interrupt the girl, because she wanted to hear more about it.

"I would learn everything there is to learn about the night. What creatures are out, how to see better in the dark, how to find food and shelter," the girl went on, describing her mental picture.

"Which you would enjoy in your burrow, no doubt," grandmother tried very hard not to crack a smile. "Any art forms?"

"It would probably have to be music," Aifa frowned. "It would be kind of hard to see a painting in the dark."

"I got the complete picture," grandmother interrupted. "An entire civilization adapted to live in the dark. Now suppose that that person who told you about the giant fire ball, told you that it would come up to warm and nurture the earth and all of its creatures, and in the light you could see the world around you, in bright colors you can't even imagine, and it was all wonderful, but only for as long as the sun was out. What would you do then?"

"I would spend all day in the sunshine," Aifa said.

"And when the sun went down?" grandmother smiled.

"I would be afraid that it won't come up again. I would be afraid of the creatures that crawl in the dark, that they would hurt me," Aifa said.

"Would it occur to you to stay up at night and go explore that crevice in the ground, that we discussed earlier, in complete darkness?"

"Why on earth would I want to do such a thing?" Aifa jumped involuntarily at the thought.

"How long would it take for you to be curious enough to learn something about it? Wait, don't tell me, ten years?" grandmother said.

"Maybe never," Aifa replied.

"That is even sadder than I thought," grandmother mumbled. "Now, go back to your previous scenario, and suppose that after ten years had passed, you had finally decided to come out into the light, and realized it won't hurt you. There are many people out there, who lived in the sunlight their whole lives, and sadly, you know close to nothing about it. What would you do?"

"Try to learn as fast as I can, to catch up with them," Aifa said.

"But you would be ten years behind everybody, it would take you a while to catch up," grandmother said.

"Yes, it would," Aifa replied.

"So, you would think that the ten years you spent in the dark were wasted, then?" grandmother inquired.

"At first, maybe," Aifa whispered, very softly because she didn't feel comfortable contradicting her grandmother.

"Do tell," the latter encouraged her.

"Well," Aifa started, "see, doyenne, remember how I said that if I were to live in the sunlight from the beginning, I would never explore that crevice? That's what all of the people I would find there would do too, it's human nature. They would have no desire to do something unpleasant and potentially perilous when they are easily provided with everything they need. I assume they would have laws against going there, too. I would probably be the only person who really knew the truth about it, who could see in the dark, and learned to appreciate the richness of life inside it. I would be the only person there who would not be afraid."

"And this, granddaughter, brings us full circle to the start of our conversation, and the reason I learned not to assume anything, and never stop learning. You asked me about the refilling of the bread baskets. What would bring you more comfort, knowing that somebody is always there to fill the baskets, so that they never run empty, or experiencing the mystery that the very essence of bread replenishes itself endlessly, because it is its nature?"

"But it is not about comfort, doyenne, it is about which explanation is true."

"Wouldn't it disappoint you, if it was not the one you think? Wouldn't you want to dismiss it as unacceptable or evil?"

"How can it be evil if it is the truth?" Aifa replied. "What do you believe?"

"The one and only answer I can give you right now is that I don't know. Besides, why do you assume that you have to choose one or the other? Maybe it's both, maybe it's sometimes one, sometimes the other, maybe it's neither."

"What, you mean like night and day at the same time?"

"Boggles the mind, doesn't it? You are not going to tell me that is not possible, just because you never experienced it, are you? The truth is that reason can only carry you as far as you can see. There is a difference between believing and knowing, granddaughter. The things you know, you never doubt again, but there is no end to the things you don't know, they spring from nothing, to bewilder you, just when you thought you had everything figured out, and that, I believe, is the very nature of the divine."

She jumped, alerted by the scent wafting from the oven, to take the braided wreath out, not a moment too soon.

She examined it, critically, and gave it a pass. The woven bread circle was perfect, and no matter how long one tried, one couldn't find a beginning or end.

August

Ancestors' Day

"Hurry up, granddaughter, we wouldn't want our guests to find us unprepared," Aifa's grandmother commented, more to assuage her own tension than anything else. Everything had been prepared, cleaned, shined to a blinding polish, planned to the last detail. "Today is a big day, you know, the time when the door between life and death is left ajar, so we can rejoice in our departed loved ones' presence once again.

"How would I know if they are here, doyenne?" Aifa asked, a little confused.

"Oh, you will know, child. When they arrive, without a doubt, you will know. Where are the sweets?" she asked, worried again, only to notice that the table had been properly set and everything was already on it.

Dining with the dead might have been considered unusual in any other city, but in Cré it was an honored traditions. Life and death mattered no more on this day, as families got reunited with their loved ones, known and unknown, from recent history all the way back in time to the very foundation of the city. The spirits of the dead presided, benevolently, over their beloved offspring, pleased to see them thrive, while the living, with reverence and gratitude for the great gift the latter had given them, by bringing them into being, spared no effort and no emotional display to express their joy. The whole city was filled with music, and dancing, and laughter, in this gigantic celebration which honored the return of the departed. In every hearth of every house, a little fire lit the way for the spirits to find their way home, if only for a while.

"Why can't they stay?" Aifa asked.

"What makes you think here is better? The things we don't know, granddaughter, about what lies beyond, make us cling to what we think we know, so that we are not afraid. While we are in this life, we abide by its rules. We don't know the rules of the life after death," she said, polishing the silverware for the third time in the last half hour, even though there wasn't even the memory of a spot left on it.

"I already polished it," Aifa pointed out, somewhat disconcerted by the fact that her grandmother didn't seem to trust her with this task, which had been in her care since she had entered her tweens.

"If you think my mother would stand for spots on silverware," grandmother mumbled under her breath, and then realized that the spoon was polished to a shine and put it down. When she lifted her eyes, she encountered Aifa's bewildered gaze and clarified. "What? I wasn't born old."

"Do you think of your mother often, doyenne?"

"I don't have to, child. I know her spirit is always close by, guiding me and watching over me, just like I will do for you, when my time comes to go to the other side."

Aifa looked out through the windows, which had been left wide open for the spirits to come in, and saw the lights marking their path, coming down from the mountain and going to the sea, glowing softly into the evening, while the celebrations went on. Thousands of people moved up and down the streets in a gentle, fluid dance, and their glossy garments reflected the lights of countless lanterns and tiny pit fires, making their collective motions look almost like rivers of candle lights flowing through the city. For a moment, Aifa stopped seeing anything other than this gentle glow, as if everybody had cast their earthly shell to show their naked spirit to the world. The movement of the spirit drew the breeze down from the mountains towards the sea, and the breeze brought with it exquisite fragrance and the moist scent of forest air, which settled in a placid mist and pooled in the valleys, swerving like a ghostly dragon around the fire lanterns that stood in its path.

The bones of the city, stripped bare of their daylight artifice, now came plainly into sight; every street, every stairway, every bridge, every alley, connected in a masterful array that left no place uncovered, exposing logical flows in ways Aifa had never noticed before.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" grandmother asked. "How beautiful things are, when you are ready to see them for the first time!"

A gentle breeze blew through the gauzy curtains, and Aifa could swear that the cold touch of the mist on her forehead felt almost like a kiss. Grandmother didn't say anything, she just smiled and offered her a sweet, then took one for herself and placed the plate back on the table, for the guests.

"So, what do you talk about with the dead?" the girl asked, munching on her treat, feeling a little unsettled in the presence of an entity she could not see.

"Well, if they were alive, what would you talk to them about?" grandmother said. "It makes no difference, living or dead, especially on this day; souls don't change just because they passed from this life. We are all immortal, granddaughter. Some of us have bodies, and some of us don't, that's all."

The sounds of the dancers moving through the streets drew closer, accompanied by drums, and cymbals, and cheers, and singing, urging everybody to get out of their houses and join the celebration in the streets. People were slowly walking the rocky pathway down to the sea, without stopping from their eerie dance of flickering lights, not even for a second. There wasn't a single person in Cré who didn't join in this dance, which was now city wide. Regardless of their age or ability, they danced, so that those who had been away from this world for a while would be touched by how much joy their return had brought to the living.

When they arrived to the beach, people floated their luminous lanterns on the sea, and the tides drew them farther and farther away into the open waters, until the entire liquid surface lit up, like all the light of the city had flown into the sea. There was nothing left to see in the growing darkness of the night but the motion of glowing lanterns under the stars, an entire assembly of ghostly lights moving around, seemingly on their own, their halos concealing the presence of their invisible hosts.

"Why are we casting lights upon the water, doyenne?" Aifa said, as she placed her glowing paper lantern on the water, and pushed it gently to push it away from the shore.

"To guide the spirits back to their realm," grandmother replied, watching the ever moving sea of lights melt into the horizon.

"But why here?"

"Water is the symbol of the spirit. It permeates and nourishes every living thing, and then transforms itself, yielding to the will of nature, always in motion but never consumed, recreating itself from its own essence and always rejoining the eternal sea. It then rises from it, as clouds, and comes back to us as rain; it yields to any shape, and yet, nothing can really contain it: it needs to flow, otherwise its essence is fowled. It is this very essence that flows through you, and through me, and through every bird and flower, and through all of those who have been before us, and all of those to come. It is timeless, ageless, all encompassing, and it is its nature to be free."

The glowing hosts of the dead pulled away slowly from the shore, as if they were sorry to go, and were trying to get one more glimpse, one more smile from their loved ones, to hold them over until the following year. Aifa didn't know why, but she was very sad all of a sudden, and she would have jumped into the water to reclaim her lanterns if her grandmother didn't stop her.

"Let them go, child. You'll see them again. Besides, your ancestors are always with you, they are a part of you. They brought you into being, you are carrying their essence for as long as you are walking this earth. If you want them to be happy, love your life, express your gifts, teach your children. There is no better way of honoring the gift of the life they gave you than by living it fully."

"What about the Twins, doyenne? Why can the Twins always come back, but not the other people?"

"I don't know. There are many things in life we don't understand."

The celebration continued in the streets, bearing testimony to the fact that Aifa was not the only one who had trouble letting go. And yet, there was no sadness in it, and no regret. Here and there groups had gathered on the beach, to see the spirits off and tell their stories. Events came back to life in those stories, and the people in them too, and if one really paid attention, one could almost see the beloved ghosts move about and nod their heads to agree or disagree with the depictions. In this emotional sea of souls, one was no longer sure which side of life one belonged to anymore, and this was just as well. In the end, what was the point of living if one was never allowed to return to the banks of the Silver River.

"What is your story, granddaughter?" grandmother asked. Aifa didn't have a story to tell. Her life revolved around the Twins, and her home, and whatever activity she happened to be involved in at the time certainly was not news for her grandmother. "Very well, then. Let me tell you one of mine. When I was your age (oh, don't look so shocked!), I had a dream. In it, I found myself on an island, where I realized that I wasn't alone. From all around, people approached, carrying torches and walking slowly towards me, stepping on giant river boulders, overgrown by soft grasses. I didn't know how, but I knew they were all dead, and yet, I wasn't afraid. They had so much love for me, I don't think I could ever feel so much love again in my life. I knew I was home, and safe, my soul at peace. You see, granddaughter, this door between the life and the afterlife, that opens once a year, usually only works one way. The spirits can come visit us, and they can go back, but we, in our heavy bodies, can't follow them there. But in that dream I had, I was granted passage to their world, and now I know there is no reason to be afraid of it."

"What happened after that, doyenne?" Aifa asked, her eyes as big as saucers.

"Nothing, dear. I woke up," grandmother laughed.

"Those people there, did you ever figure out who they were?"

"Not really, see? That is just the thing! A group of people I have never met in my entire life had so much love for me it was almost impossible to bear. It is one of those things we can't make any sense of in our waking life. I can only assume they must have been my ancestors, from long ago. That is what I've been trying to tell you. We make so much fuss over our chores, over being good enough, but for them, we don't need to conquer or achieve anything, just our being here fills them with inexpressible joy. You are loved so much, granddaughter, more than you will ever be able to comprehend."

"What were they doing there?" Aifa continued, now really curious and determined to get to the bottom of this subject.

"I really don't know. I don't know why they were carrying torches in the middle of the day either."

"Oh, was it the middle of the day?" Aifa clarified, since she'd been assuming, given the torch detail, that this story took place at night.

"Indeed. The most beautiful summer day with blue skies and warm sunshine," grandmother clarified.

"Did you see where they were coming from?" Aifa asked, even more curious.

"From the hill," grandmother answered, frowning imperceptibly.

"No," Aifa shook her head. "I know that they were coming down the hill, but where from?"

"You don't understand, granddaughter. They weren't coming down the hill, they were coming from the hill. Come to think of it, I should have been scared witless about that too. There really is nothing you can be afraid of in the afterlife, it seems."

"Why do you think you were given that dream, doyenne?" Aifa asked, hoping to hear some explanation filled with metaphysical meaning.

"Maybe I ate too many sweets before bed," grandmother drenched her enthusiasm for the worlds beyond. "That should be a lesson for you: never overindulge. Come, granddaughter, we need to go home."

Aifa was quiet all the way back, but secretly planned to grab a plate of sweets and finish it off before she went to sleep, to see if she could recreate the conditions of the experiment.

The Snake Ceremony

Aifa, her grandmother and the rest of the Caretakers had been working hard all morning, braiding bunches of colorful ribbons into rainbows. The entire Grand Hall of the Hearth was filled with ribbons, whose silky threads seemed to be animated by their own inner spirit and slithered into crevices and recesses, never to be found again.

In the middle of the room, the Twins were getting ready for the ceremony, learning how to properly carry their ceremonial staffs.

"Are those snakes?" Aifa whispered, daunted, as she looked at the elaborate decorations on the staffs, which seemed to depict two snakes swirling around each other, in opposite directions.

"Of course. You don't remember the story of this holiday?" grandmother asked, surprised.

"I don't think I ever knew it," Aifa admitted, somewhat embarrassed.

"Do you at least know what we are celebrating today?" grandmother asked.

"Yes, of course. The bonds of love and devotion between brothers and sisters," Aifa replied.

"It is a little more than that. We honor and celebrate the love that binds us to our siblings, and also to those we hold as dear as siblings in our hearts. It is a very old story about Ama and Jal, so old even the keepers of the archives can't remember the exact year when it happened."

"Does it explain the ribbons? I never understood the ribbons," Aifa blurted.

"Patience, granddaughter. I will clarify in a moment. It seems that that year, Ama became unwell. Nobody knew what was wrong with her, she had lost all her joy, she didn't even want to eat anymore. She started to diminish, and people could see her get frailer from one day to the next, and as she weakened the fruit of the fields had started growing meager as well. Jal could see his sister's sorrow and was greatly saddened by it too. Pretty soon the people of Cré realized that if nothing was done, Ama was going to diminish to nothing. Jal kept vigil, night after night, asking the divine to give him an answer, so that he could understand her affliction and learn how to fix it. One evening, as he was scanning the horizon for a sign, a large raven appeared and perched on his shoulder. The raven told him that Ama's soul had ran away in her sleep, and got lost into the worlds beyond the real. He told Jal that if he didn't go find it and guide it back home, it would not be able to do it on its own. Jal asked the raven where he should go, in search for Ama's wandering soul, and the raven answered: "Go ask the snake spirit. The snake is the wisest animal, if anybody knows, it will."

So Jal went out into the fields, and valleys, looking for the snake spirit, but there were so many snakes, he didn't know which one to ask. He grabbed as many as he could, in bunches, and they were all squirming, which made them quite difficult to carry, so he braided them, like we do with the ribbons, so that of all the snakes he found, he made only one."

"So that's why we're braiding the ribbons!" Aifa exclaimed.

"Yep. Anyway, Jal returned to the Hearth with the bundle of snakes, unraveled them and placed them in the sunken beds at the center of the hall, so they wouldn't run away, and then picked them up one by one, held them close and whispered the same question in their ear: where was Ama's soul?

Some of the snakes didn't know, some of them didn't care, but many wanted to help. They took Jal's message and scattered it into the four winds, to bring his quest as far and wide as they could reach.

A day or so after the last snake left, the people of Cré awoke to a great rumble: the snakes had found the pieces of Ama's soul and they were biding them to return, to bring back her joy of life and the abundance of the fields. The little pieces listened and came down from the sky in a million drops of rain, which gathered in the dried up beds of the rivers and came down from the mountain, restoring everything to life and abundance.

When Ama's soul was returned to her, she was beside herself with joy, and couldn't believe that her brother had gone to all that trouble to bring her spirit home. She wanted to give him a gift, but she didn't know what that would be. In their ascetic life, neither of them had any need for possessions.

All around her lay long strands of tree bark that had been carried inside the Hearth by the winds and the rain, so she took them and twisted them into twine, blessed them and filled them with all her love and gratitude, and all her wishes for his well-being, and tied them around his wrist, starting the ritual that today we call the bond of protection. This affirmation of the bond between sister and brother has been carried through the centuries, and we still celebrate it every year, in August, to honor our family ties."

"What about the snakes, doyenne? What happened to the snakes?" Aifa asked.

"In appreciation of their quest, which restored to Ama the wholeness of her soul, they became the symbols of all the things that make people well. Their images are always engraved on treatises of medicine, on chemists' formulas, but most of all, on the crests of those of us whose destiny is to become healers."

Aifa looked, out of the corner of her eye, and saw that Ama and Jal's sunken beds were filled with snakes. Some of them were poisonous, but this little detail didn't seem to bother the two, who were picking them up, whispering something to them, and then handed them over to the Caretakers, with instructions of where they were to be released.

"That one is a rattlesnake," Aifa pointed out to her grandmother, who didn't seem concerned.

"You are only afraid of them because you don't understand their language and they don't understand yours. For those who have awakened to wisdom, no creature is dangerous, and certainly none of them is evil. The snakes understand the Twins. All creatures understand the Twins."

"Do you know what they are saying to the snakes?" Aifa asked.

"Not exactly, but they are first thanking them for their kindness, and then asking them that when they go back into their world, where they are sure to meet the spirits of our ancestors, they should ask for plentiful rain. Listen!" grandmother said, very softly. "Can you hear the thunder tumbling down the mountain? It seems that most of the snakes have already delivered their message."

"So, did Jal ever figure out which one of the many serpents was the snake spirit?" Aifa wanted to know. She had a passion for detail and logical flow that both endeared her to and irritated her grandmother at times.

"Neither, dear. The snake spirit is not any one snake, just like female is not any one female, or fire is not any one fire. It is the symbol, the spiritual embodiment of the snake. In the spiritual realm, a symbol is all encompassing. The snake spirit lives within anything that represents its essence, from the living creature that just slithered past your feet to the most abstract representation of a snake; it even lives in the word 'snake' itself. As far as the spirit is concerned, all of the above are equal."

"How do you learn to speak with other creatures, doyenne?"

"I don't know that it is something you can learn. For people who are born with the gift, their heart tells them how to do it. The refinement of understanding takes long practice, and some aspects indeed benefit from the teachings of an experienced master, but no one can train a gift that isn't already there."

"Do you think I could have this gift?" Aifa's eyes gleamed with anticipation.

"I would be very surprised if you did. Very few people in this world are born to fulfill the destiny of a soul traveler; if yours was that destiny, you wouldn't need to ask me. You would know it already, just like you know you are alive."

All the snakes had been given their messages and sent on their way, in the slow beat of the drums, which seemed to soothe them. They slithered for a while, advancing with large undulating moves along the dirt path outside the city, and then sought refuge from the heat under the thick leaves of the native plants that grew wild in the fields, and disappeared from view, pleased to have finally regained their freedom.

Aifa watched them go, with a mixture of awe and apprehension, and in the end, when all of them had returned to wherever it was that they had been taken from, she had to admit that she felt relief.

"Still not warming up to all earth's creatures, granddaughter?" grandmother teased her, and she didn't know how to respond. "That's alright. It takes time to understand them. They are very useful creatures, you know? Every creature has its place in the world, otherwise it wouldn't be here. Have you ever considered that they might not find us particularly attractive either?"  
Aifa tried with all her might to see herself from the view point of a slithering reptile, but for the life of her, she wasn't able to. Grandmother couldn't stop laughing.

"Enough of this," she was finally able to say. "Let the snakes deliver their message and let us go back home and prepare for the rain."

"Do you think it's going to rain, doyenne?"

"It always rains on this day."

They arrived at home with little time to spare, and they were still closing shutters when the strong rain started falling on the roof with great noise.

"See?" grandmother pointed out. "I told you. The snakes always keep their promise."

Aifa lit a candle and sat by the window, to watch the rain. She got lost, after a while, in the world of symbols and concepts, in the realm of snake, and raven, and rain. The light outside dimmed, smothered by the thick cloud cover, even if it was the middle of the day. The air smelled of wet foliage and old stone, if one could conceive of such a thing, and its cool breeze made Aifa shiver. There was nothing else in the world right now, other than that which appealed to the senses, and it felt good to let her spirit rest for a while, in this place of sights and sounds and scents, with no thoughts trying to assert their urgency and no worries trying to steal her peace. The rain continued through the rest of the afternoon, lulling her to sleep, but she tried to avoid its grasp, not wanting to miss her strange experience. Sleep won in the end, and when Aifa's mother entered her room late in the afternoon, she found her daughter curled up in her seat by the window, unconsciously trying to keep warm by making herself as small and compact as possible. Aifa's mother didn't know whether to bring a warm blanket to cover her daughter, or wake her up, since it was time for dinner. The candle had burned out, and the room was starting to turn dark.

"Let her rest, daughter," Aifa's grandmother whispered. "It was a long day, she must be exhausted."

Mother caressed Aifa's forehead, then wrapped her warm shawl around her shoulders and left, unable to suppress a shiver. The ghosts of the rain were trying to find their way inside her spirit, poking at it with wet fingers. Only her plants were happy, as they always were when it rained. Even from the dry enclosure of the sun room, they could still sense the abundance of water outside, and their demeanor changed to welcome it.

"I'll put a kettle on, this rain is getting me straight through the bones," Aifa's grandmother mumbled, walking into the sun room, where the sound of the water pouring from the sky on top of the roof was even louder. "Great for the crops, though! And just at the right time, too. The fields were parched." She veered into a lot of detailed questions about that year's production of vegetables and grains, all issues that her plant loving daughter was delighted to discuss, and their conversation went on, more and more animated, until the last drop of herbal tea in the kettle was consumed.

Autumn

September

The Celebration of Harvest

There weren't many times when the Hearth was bare, but the Celebration of Harvest was one of them. People were scattered around the city, busy with the preparations, only returning to the Great Hall to bring things for the feast. The Twins, who had far outgrown the need to be watched like children, were often left alone at this time, with only one or two Caretakers to attend to their immediate needs.

It was for this reason that Aifa found herself alone with the Twins the evening before the feast, at the time when day and night again found themselves shifting balance. The air was still sultry, rich with the humidity and fragrances of summer, the harvest season lingered, bringing with it a bounty of grain, apples, squashes and grapes, but the light had already shifted to that hard to describe but immediately recognizable golden mellowness that accompanies the turning of the leaves.

Aifa busied herself with archiving a series of messages the Twins had passed on to her during the previous week, and she didn't hear when her name was called, in part because she was fully absorbed in her activity, and in part because she didn't expect it. The Twins never spoke, not to her, anyway, this was something that she had always taken for granted.

A gentle hand touched her shoulder and made her jump to her feet.

"I'm sorry, we didn't mean to startle you," an even gentler voice spoke, almost in a whisper. It was Ama. Jal was standing right behind her, smiling. Aifa didn't know what to do, how to react, it was not every day that living deities decided to talk to one, especially at such a young age. She was so unnerved by this surreal circumstance that her whole body started buzzing with a strange vibration, not entirely pleasant, which she assumed had something to do with being too close to the divine.

"You saw us, didn't you?" Jal asked, neither happy, nor upset. Aifa's first instinct was to hide, the second instinct was to tell them that she didn't know what they were talking about, but something very deep inside her heart told her they already knew her every thought and passion, both good and bad, and loved her anyway. She nodded her head in agreement.

"Did we make you afraid?" Ama asked, her voice smothered with pain at the mere thought of that. "We didn't mean to scare you, we didn't think anybody would be awake so late at night."

Aifa had a million questions to ask, but her upbringing had instilled in her too much reverence for the divine to make a two way conversation possible. One besought the spirit, one invoked the spirit, one didn't expect the spirit to talk back.

"Go ahead. Ask," Jal encouraged her.

"How?" was the only thing Aifa managed to ask, dry mouthed as she was with emotion.

"It's very simple. We are the spirit of things, we are that which permeates all things, which flows through all things. Water is the symbol of the spirit. We are the spirit." Ama and Jal giggled, talking together in a very weird polyphonic blend.

"Why don't you look like that all the time? Do people know about this?" Aifa lost track of formality for a moment.

"It would be kind of difficult for people to interact with a couple of rivers, don't you think? It's hard enough for you to speak to us now, and we are just like you," they replied in sync.

Aifa thought that no, they weren't like her at all. She had never awakened from her sleep to find herself liquid, pooling peacefully in her own bed, and nobody worshiped her as divine, especially when her chores weren't performed to the proper standards.

"We all come here to fulfill our purpose," they said, a little sad. "You will still be here in spring, when we return."

"But you won't be the same," Aifa burst in tears. She didn't know what it was, whether that call of the sea water in her blood was stronger than she thought, or the meaning of the Caretaker's life had suddenly dawned on her, but she had become so attached to the Twins that her whole being ached at the thought of being apart from them.

"To you it will look like we are not the same, but we always are. We can never be anything else than what we are, we are the essence of the spirit, expressed in all its different forms. Look beyond the form, Aifa, and you will see that we never change."

Aifa wondered why they had decided to approach her, and when she was all alone, no less. She wondered why nobody had prepared her for this, after all, it's not something a person is just thrown into, unaware. What if she said something wrong? What if they decided that all that she was was not enough? On the other hand, what was the point of spending all of one's time in the presence of the divine, if the divine never answered back. Sometimes Aifa thought the Twins' demeanor so iconic that the fact that they were made of flesh and blood had become completely irrelevant. They might as well have been statues, for all the difference that made. But now, here they were, flanking her, staring at her intently but with kindness, until every fiber of her being was made keenly aware of the overwhelming presence of their will.

"What do I do now?" Aifa asked herself in a panic, because it stood to reason that divine judgment comes at the end of one's life journey, not in the middle of it, and she couldn't figure out how she was going to live from that day forward, now that she had felt the stream of all that was and all that will ever be brush across her forehead. What was she going to tell her grandmother, or her mother, who would even believe her? "What do I do now?"

"Live," the Twins answered, in unison.

"But what should I do with my life?" Aifa managed to utter, almost against her will.

"Whatever makes you feel joy," they giggled.

"My chores don't make me feel joy," Aifa thought, irreverently. "If they had chores, the Twins wouldn't derive joy from them either. Where is the joy in scrubbing the floors?" she thought about the most recent activity she'd been engaged in, prior to this unexpected awakening of the spirit.

"You'll figure it out," they replied, pleased, half closing their eyes like cats when they are scratched under the chin. They kept looking at her and the pressure of their gaze became so intense it was impossible for any human to withstand. Aifa squirmed, instinctively looking for shelter.

"Why do they keep staring at me like that? Surely there can't be any corner of my being that hasn't been fully evaluated yet. What could they possibly be looking for?" And then, there it was: right there, in the ever growing tome in front of Aifa, the Twins finally found her love for them, scribed and folded with diligent fingers, so it wouldn't get lost. Satisfied, they got up, resting their hands on her shoulders, and all her worries and struggles were carried away by their touch.

"Don't forget us, Aifa," they asked her, before they went back to the center of the room to resume the pose of living statues.

"I didn't forget you," was the first thought that came to her mind, in the past tense, just like the Twins' message.

The day was winding down and the Caretakers started arriving from all corners of the city, and life resumed its mundane course, with familiar rhythms made even more jarring by their contrast with her strange spiritual experience. "What do I do now?" the question popped into her head again, as her grandmother approached. The latter had had a busy day and was not in the greatest of moods, so she kept to herself, like she usually did in these situations. Aifa was of course bursting with questions, but she felt it would be disrespectful to disturb her grandmother at the moment.

The latter continued working in silence. She thought Aifa had already left, because there were no sounds to betray her granddaughter's presence, and upon lifting her eyes from her tasks she was really surprised to see her there.

"I didn't realize you were still here. I'll tell you, putting all of the pieces together for the Harvest Ceremony is like pulling teeth, but no matter, all gets done with will and time. How was your day?" she looked straight at Aifa. The girl shuffled, uncomfortable, trying to find a way to ask her questions, which she assumed would be rather disturbing.

"What is it, child?" grandmother insisted.

"Doyenne, do the Twins ever talk? I don't mean like little children, I mean like, you know, themselves."

"As divine beings, you mean," grandmother stared at her sharply. "Seldom, but it has been known to happen. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Aifa pushed her nose back into the tome and spent the following moments copying one of the messages, with a penmanship and attention to detail for which she would have expected praise under different circumstances. She continued her questioning. "Does anybody know what they said?"

"You know, there is a whole shelf in the archives, relating to the Twins' prophecies, didn't you learn that in school? I thought it was mandatory reading," grandmother replied, still irked by her not so great day.

Aifa started to remember that class. It was very early in the morning, too, and the mumbling of the ancient words was so monotonous it took superhuman willpower not to fall asleep. Hard as she tried, she couldn't remember a single word of it, and she promised herself to go to the archives as soon as the Feast of the Harvest was over, and read what other people had heard.

"Well, bear with me," grandmother decided to indulge her anyway, "I don't remember my studies all that well, it's been a long time since I finished school, but I remember one of the prophecies said that the Twins had been birthed by the sea, and are inexorably drawn to it, they long for it their entire lives, but once they rejoin it, they can't leave, and in order to return to us they have to be reborn."

"That makes perfect sense," Aifa couldn't stifle a giggle. Grandmother gave her a stark, disapproving look.

"You know you have been given a great gift, right? Not to be taken lightly."

"Yes, doyenne."

"Being a Caretaker involves a lot more than attending to your chores. There is no end to the learning. Would you set that book aside for a second and help me go through tomorrow's activities? I have reorganized these tasks so many times they are starting to run away from me."

They spent the next half hour poring over the whos and whats and whens and wheres, until the spiky tasks laid down in proper order, tamed and well behaved.

"Why are we doing all of this, doyenne?" Aifa asked, still looking at the long list of chores on tomorrow's to do list.

"Don't underestimate the power of ritual, granddaughter. Everything you do every day changes the world in some small way. In ritual we honor our ability to shape life, by making our movements and words purposeful. The ritual is thus suffused by our will and carries it through to the divine in a respectful, loving manner. The difference between ritual and our daily activities is like the difference between music and noise. They both make sounds, but they are not equal in value. The most important part of our training as Caretakers is learning how to live gracefully."

Aifa remembered what the Twins had said about what to do with life, and decided to ask her grandmother about it.

"Doyenne, what gives you joy?"

Grandmother looked at her, surprised. Of all the days for her granddaughter to ask this question, the girl had to pick this one, when the aforementioned sentiment was in such short supply. Sometimes she felt like the spirit liked to give unannounced tests, to see if its people were still paying attention. She didn't want to leave the question unanswered, because not finding any reason for joy in one's life, regardless of the specifics of the moment, didn't seem like an acceptable thing to model to a child.

"I don't know. Love?"

"That's it? Just love?" Aifa smiled, curious.

"What else is there?" grandmother replied, absentminded, and went back to the list of activities for tomorrow.

The Feast of Trumpets

The sun set slowly in the sound of the trumpets, falling like a large orange ball into the sea. The trumpets kept calling as the light subsided, and the people looked out into the open waters from the elevated platform of the market square.

"Today we release our burdens. Cast all your regrets to the winds, don't let them follow you into the future." As she spoke, she took a handful of sand from her pocket and scattered it into the winds. Aifa followed her example, with almost mechanical gestures; she watched the grains of sand be carried by the breeze out to sea, and with them all the cares life had brought. Her heart felt lighter, but somewhat hollow too, and she expressed her misgivings to her grandmother.

"You are looking at things the wrong way, granddaughter, and burdening yourself with sadness in the process. It is easy to fall prey to the illusion that the years are falling off of you, like leaves off a tree, and when the last leaf has fallen, you are no more. We know that the tree will leaf out in the spring. It is not the time or the season that dictates what kind of leaves the tree will have then, but the very essence it holds inside. That is what persists through all the changes. Everything else is just dust in the wind." With this words she took another handful of sand and scattered it, while the trumpets continued their piercing song. "Don't attempt to keep the leaves on the branches through the wrong season, child. No sane tree would do that."

"It's easy to say that, doyenne, but I an not a tree."

"You are not mortal either, and yet you act as though," grandmother said, listening to the sound of the trumpets before the sun got completely swallowed by the sea. "Last call, if there are any worries and upsets that you would rather not carry for another year, cast them away now." Aifa obeyed, scattering the last of the sand in her pockets and turning them inside out. The wallowing sounds continued, insistent, like a baby's cry.

"Who are they calling to?" the girl whispered, suddenly realizing that the eerie sounds that accompanied the sunset were not meant for people, but for somebody or something out there in the open seas. There was no reason for her to believe this, but she knew it, without a doubt.

"Ah," grandmother smiled. "Now that is a mystery! Maybe they are calling for the Twins."

"But, doyenne, the Twins are still here."

"You say that because you are looking at the world through the lens of the things you already know. Who is to say that they can't be both here and there at the same time? Just because we can only see the footprints of reality, it doesn't mean reality is flat."

"You don't know that!" Aifa protested the physical impossibility which challenged her view of life as a placid and docile river, well set in its unchangeable course.

"You are so young, child, and yet, against your will even, you know I'm right," grandmother said softly.

The Twins were standing very close to them, gazing with longing at the horizon, searching for themselves out there on the open seas.

There had been a marked change in their behavior since summer solstice. They almost looked like they floated on top of life, undaunted by circumstances and events, like seasoned sailors maneuver a ship through varying seascapes, always focused on the journey, not the change in scenery.

Since their unexpected conversation, Aifa got into the habit of following the Twins around, despite the unspoken disapproval of several other Caretakers, who thought her familiarity with the divine was bordering on sacrilege. She watched their every move, fascinated by even the most mundane of their activities. She watched them eat, she watched them dress, she watched them busy themselves with various crafts, in an effort to discover in what way they had fashioned their very beings into an outlet for the divine. They looked so normal sometimes, in their day to day activities, that it seemed absurd to believe their form was a mirage, and every time she looked at them she saw their solid state where there was none. They made the semblance of their human bodies so unshakable, that the knowledge their true form was so far removed from it made Aifa question all the things around her, everything she'd ever taken for granted, almost to the point where she hesitated touching the floor with her feet every morning when she got out of bed, out of fear that its illusion of solidity would choose that particular moment to get dispelled, and she would find herself falling through it, all the way down to the center of the earth.

Grandmother couldn't stop being entertained by Aifa's new take on reality, but did her best to resettle her world squarely on its foundations, also immaterial.

"That's the trouble with over thinking things, granddaughter. Pretty soon you are going to question whether the sun will come up in the morning.

"I am questioning whether the sun will come up in the morning," Aifa thought, but said nothing.

"The training of a Caretaker teaches you the art of interpreting the things you see and living in your surroundings, in whatever form they happen to reveal themselves to you at the time. When I told you about the illusion of the real, you didn't believe it, because you couldn't see it. Now that you see it, you let it control your life to the point where your life loses consistency. Learn balance. You don't get to choose between these two extremes, you have to incorporate both of them into your understanding of being."

"So, I continue walking the streets of Cré in full knowledge of the fact that they aren't real?" Aifa asked, tormented.

"What is real? You thought you knew 'real' yesterday, and last month, and the year before. What are you going to think 'real' is tomorrow? I will tell you again, now that your perspective has broadened a bit: if you can't just be, you can't be anything."

"What does that even mean, doyenne?" Aifa blurted, so upset she didn't watch her tone. Grandmother frowned.

"Watch your manners, granddaughter. Among other things, what that means is that you don't let your behavior and our moral code be dictated by the current appearance of things, especially since you know better."

"I'm sorry," Aifa looked down embarrassed. No reason under heaven could justify her being disrespectful to her grandmother, not even the dissolution of reality itself.

"Don't give it another thought, child," grandmother soothed her worry. "Let me try to explain to you what that means. When you plant a seed in the ground, it's small and round and hard, but then it sprouts roots and a stem, and leaves, and it looks like a weed the first year, and then it grows taller. After ten years it is a small sapling, after a hundred years it is a majestic tree, dominating the landscape. After a thousand years it stands so tall, and unmovable against the winds, it seems its very trunk is made of stone. It takes ten people to embrace its circumference, and from the ground you can't see its canopy, hidden as it is beyond the clouds. And here is my question to you: which one of these images is the real tree?"

"All of them," Aifa replied.

"Not only that, but all the transitions from one state to the next, also. What we see as static pictures is in fact constantly in motion. The moment you try to get a firm grasp on the here and now it melts under your fingers, because there is no here and now, just motion and transformation. The same way the tree just is through all of its changes, so must you be through all of yours. By the way, we ran out of water. Could you bring some, please?"

Aifa looked at her grandmother puzzled, as if her request made no logical sense.

"Did I say something strange, granddaughter?" grandmother asked gently.

"No, no," Aifa shook her head, trying to put all the pieces of the conversation back together, to figure out where the dissonance was.

"This is the balance I'm talking about. If water is needed in this moment, that's what you do: you carry water."

Aifa went to the well in the garden and filled the water bucket, and while going through the familiar motions she couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that she was bringing to the world tiny pieces of the Twins to drink, mixed with only goodness knows what else.

"We're all in this together," grandmother laughed at her misgivings. "Now, back to the Twins. I said that they were both here and out into the ocean, but you found it preposterous because you can't see them in their form yet to come. For the divine however, there is no past and future, just the wholeness of being with all of its details, and it was to that aspect of the Twins, that is too all encompassing for us humans to understand, that the trumpets called out. Speaking of the current state of things, please stop gawking at the poor Twins, granddaughter. One day they are going to run away from here just to escape your pestering. Don't you have anything else to do?"

Aifa wanted to point out that looking after the Twins was in fact her primary duty, but she'd already gotten chided by her grandmother for being disrespectful that day, so she kept her opinion to herself.

"Believe me when I say, child, that if there is something that the Twins want you to know, they are going to show it to you, whether you lose sleep over it or not."

Aifa was quiet for a while, trying to take in all of reality, or absence thereof, and wrecking her mind trying to figure out how to fit together pieces that seemed to have nothing in common into a coherent and harmonious whole. In the end she couldn't help utter, almost in a gasp.

"I don't think I can do this, doyenne. It is too hard."

"Look at me, child. I have been around for more years than I care to count, and I have been where you are right now. For what it's worth, I am living proof that you are going to be just fine."

The strange light of the sunset followed them all the way back home, almost too intense, glowing orange and purple and casting long colorful shadows across the old stones of the buildings and streets of Cré. Aifa tried to picture a time when Cré was nothing but a wild cliff, hanging over the sea, and for a moment she saw it in her mind, the place's ghostly presence shadowing its current form. She looked into the future too, and saw the city there, completely transformed, so much so that her mind couldn't recognize it or make sense of it, its old bones barely visible under the new garments of the real. Its future appearance was so alien to her that she tried to hold on to the familiar landscape in front of her eyes, as if its imagery was going to dissolve at any moment.

"This is the reason why we don't get attached," grandmother commented. "Attachment brings sorrow when the things you love disappear and it brings fear when the things you don't like appear, but all things change eventually. And so will you, and so will I."

"What if I don't want things to change?" Aifa replied.

"Only yesterday you thought that the appearance of things in their solid form was an immutable law of nature, and you wouldn't think of questioning it, and yet, now that you are faced with the actual immutable law of nature, you can't accept it at face value. Our only certainty is that things will change, whether we want them to or not."

"What then is the point of doing anything at all?" Aifa asked.

"You can leave it up to nature to tend to your garden, and nature will do it. But if you want your garden to have your favorite flowers, you have to plant them and tend to them yourself. In both cases, the garden will change with the seasons and in both cases nature will take care of it, but in the first instance your landscape will look random, and in the second instance, it will reflect your intent. It is the gift of the spirit to be able to lend your will to things. You are like a potter, shaping clay into pieces of art."

October

The Blessing of Animals and Nature

Everybody loved the Blessing of Animals and Nature, especially the children, of course, who had waited all year to bring their pets to the Hearth so that the Twins could utter a benediction over them.

At the beginning of October, all families climbed the stairs up to the Market Square, bringing a basket, a birdcage or a fish bowl, happy to show off their beloved pets, which had been specially groomed for this particular occasion, even though they looked a little grumpy in their carriers, appalled by the indignity of being dragged around town.

At the top of the stairs that led to the Market Square, merchants were handing out ribbons of every color, for people who wanted to make a last minute decision to beautify their furry or feathery friends for the happy occasion.

Most of her friends had a dog or a kitty cat, Aifa had a singing crow. It had come in from the fields one morning, through her open window, and perched itself on the window sill, cawing delicately, as if not to scare her. It was large, almost the size of a hawk, and had lustrous black feathers, on which the morning sunshine cast green and blue highlights.

Aifa's family tried to convince her that the crow was a wild bird, which just happened to land upon her window sill at the moment when it needed to rest, but the bird returned the next morning, and the morning after that, and its singing became a feature in the neighborhood, so much so that when, for some reason, it didn't show up, people worried and asked Aifa what happened to it.

It occasionally made cawing sounds, but most of the time it sang, with the sweet warbles of a nightingale.

So now, every morning, regardless of the weather, Aifa opened the window, waiting for the crow to stop by and rest, and placed little treats on the sill, gifts of grain or fruit, which her visitor sampled on occasion, just to be polite.

Aifa was a little sad that she wouldn't be able to bring her feathered companion to the Hearth, since it was, after all, a creature of the wilderness, but to everyone's surprise, the bird showed up right on cue, minutes before the family was planning to walk to the Hearth, perched itself on Aifa's shoulder and refused to leave.

"I see your friend decided to show up," grandmother smiled mysteriously. "They are very smart birds, you know."

Aifa climbed the stairs to the Market Square, proudly, with the giant black bird on her shoulder, an image that nobody questioned in the large sea of pigeons, canaries and parakeets, all perched up on people's shoulders just the same, the only difference being that their legs were loosely tied to their owners' wrists so they wouldn't fly away.

When they reached the top of the stairs, the crow flew to one of the merchants' baskets and picked a ribbon for itself, and then flew over to the stone railing at the look out and waited patiently for Aifa to fashion it into a bow and tie it around one if its legs. It then resumed its place on Aifa's shoulder, as the latter approached the Hearth.

The Market Square was filled to the brim with people and their pets, who had come to receive the Twins' blessing, and also to witness the yearly miracle of the birds.

The Twins got out into the square, and looked up at the sun, and it shone brighter; they looked out at the sea and it gleamed, happy; they looked around at the animals, and they all made little sounds, according to their species; they looked at the people and the people were filled with joy.

All of the sudden, as if out of nowhere, all the birds of the land arrived, in large flocks, birds of the sea and birds of the fields alike, and their collective singing drowned every other sound in the square. They landed and made themselves comfortable everywhere they could find room. They had resigned themselves to share this space with people for the occasion, and covered the stone caps of the railing and the flagstones of the plaza, but most of all, people's heads and shoulders and the outstretched arms of the Twins.

The two just stood, smiling and covered in birds, and in the crude sunlight of the morning, they almost looked like they had wings themselves, as the feathery visitors flopped and fretted on their arms, trying to keep their balance while they packed tightly together.

The seagulls had arrived last, when there was no more room for them to land, so they all perched on top of the roofs all around the square, and especially on the roof of the Hearth, which had suddenly turned white and bluish gray for the occasion.

"Why are all the birds flocking here today, doyenne?" Aifa whispered to her grandmother, although she already knew the answer, only because she wanted to hear the story one more time.

"They come to talk to the Twins," grandmother obliged.

"The Twins can talk to the birds?" Aifa asked.

"The Twins can talk to all nature: to the birds, and to the animals, and to the sun, and the moon, and the rivers, and the wind," grandmother replied. "They are their protectors."

"Do you think my friend knows that?" Aifa turned her head to look at the crow, who rested on her shoulder in silence, mesmerized by the Twins' gaze.

"That is a mystery, granddaughter. One for the crow and for the Twins to shed light on, but I'm going to guess that neither of them are going to."

"What do you think the Twins are telling them?" Aifa burst with curiosity. What did one say to a bird to make it fly, enchanted, at one's feet?

"They are calling them sisters and brothers. Nature is powerful and kind, and filled with the love that binds us all. Maybe the birds can't understand the Twins' words, but they can feel their hearts, and that's why they come."

Aifa looked up at her crow, and the bird turned its head, as if to point out that it didn't want to be disturbed during the ceremony.

"Great!" Aifa thought. "I am being disciplined by a bird. If that's not humility, I don't know what is!"

"We put ourselves above all things," grandmother responded, as if she'd heard, "but we are only stewards of the world we live in. We are here for a while, just like our ancestors before us, and we need to leave the world thriving and pristine to our descendants. If you put yourself above a tiny bird, or an unassuming weed, you will never feel the love of the spirit, which fills all beings and keeps life in balance."

The Twins must have finished their silent conversation with the creatures of the sky, because the birds had started taking off, group by group, leaving room for the four legged pets to approach the Twins. The crow picked at the bow around its leg until it untied it, then dropped the ribbon on Aifa's shoulder and left.

"It must have other commitments," grandmother teased.

After the ceremony ended, it was customary for people to take a walk outside of town, so they could enjoy the beauty of the turning leaves one more time, before the weather became unpleasant. The Twins led the way, as they did when they were children, and just as excited by every sprout, insect or creature they encountered on their path.

"How are they never bored with all of this?" Aifa asked grandmother. "It's like they have seen a butterfly for the first time, every time."

"That is exactly how we all should approach life, with childlike wonder. We become accustomed to the miracle around us and we forget to appreciate it, but it is all a miracle, life is. When you start really looking at the world around you, you start to understand that everything springs forth effortlessly out of nothing, and realize how much of your energy, and the energy of everything around you, you pilfer by fighting life as if it were a battle. The essence of life doesn't fret, it is not brash or boastful, it doesn't envy, it doesn't hate. Life is very modest in its splendor, and its miracles happen in silence."

The sun came out of the clouds, and when it hit the orange, yellow and red foliage of the trees, it made the hills and valleys look like they were on fire. The sky was just as periwinkle blue as it had been in spring, as if nature didn't care whether it looked at an end or a beginning.

"That's because there is no such thing. Life is round, it doesn't have a beginning or an end, just discernible, repeatable patterns."

"Doesn't that make you sad, doyenne? That there is nothing new under the sun?" Aifa asked.

"Sometimes," grandmother admitted. "But if the universe itself runs in circles, who am I to want things to be otherwise? Don't worry, granddaughter! Just because the yearly cycle is so short that you can see its repetitions, that doesn't mean all of the cycles of existence are the same. Some span lifetimes, some span eons. You'll have plenty of experiences throughout your life to keep you always learning something new."

"Is that what life is about? Learning?"

"If I had an answer to that question, I would be the first human in existence to do so. Maybe we are all looking at answers in search of questions, and in our fervent desire to give life meaning we miss its meaning altogether. Nobody ever asked me what is the meaning of me loving you, and yet this love is more important to me than the tasks and functions I usually ascribe meaning to. Maybe only the lesser things send you, anxious and intense, in search of their meaning. The things of real value, you just know. We live our whole lives in repeating cycles, on purpose, so that we notice the repetitions, and in that, learn to look beyond them, beyond the surface of our daily existence, for life's more profound lessons."

"But then you can't enjoy things anymore! How can you enjoy things when you see them as unimportant?" Aifa protested, upset as if grandmother had ruined Bonfire Day for her.

"Everything has its time, Aifa. When you are a child, you enjoy childish things, but then you grow up, and you lay those things aside. You wouldn't want to perceive your entire life through the lens of your five year old self, would you?"

"But you just said that I should keep my childlike wonder," Aifa protested the logical contradiction.

"See, that is one of the aspects of mystery, it often seems to contradict itself within the boundaries of human logic, but its message is always consistent and self-reinforcing, even when looked at through opposing ends."

"If the logic of the divine and human logic have nothing in common, then what is the point of human logic at all?" Aifa mumbled, mostly to herself. "Might as well throw it to the wayside and live like the birds." She paused to realize that was exactly what the Twins did.

"Maybe your crow can offer an opinion on this tomorrow morning," grandmother said, half joking.

"If we can't figure this out, why do you think the crow would know?" Aifa replied.

"What makes you think we're smarter?" grandmother smiled at her, and then started to collect colorful leaves and stems to take home for decorating.

All that walking up and down the hills and valleys, combined with the discussions about the meaning of life, had given Aifa quite an appetite, and she was looking forward to a warm meal. She knew her mother had started making her favorite soup, rich and creamy and flavored by the fruits of the fall, and she figured the soup must be ready by now. She enjoyed its hearty flavor in advance, and planned to pair it with the fresh goat cheese she and her grandmother had purchased the day before. All of this planning lifted her spirits and she picked up the pace to get home faster. She remembered the shortcut she had discovered the previous week and was glad they could get home much sooner than usual and then it dawned on her that, even in the light of universal truths, and despite a meager understanding of the divine laws, maybe there still was some redeeming value in the workings of human logic after all.

The Celebration of the Victory of Good

Aifa looked out the window, a little worried about a couple of leaden clouds that had started gathering over the horizon. The feast of the Victory of Good over Evil was mostly celebrated outdoors, and she didn't want the rain to ruin her delicate silk garments or wash off the intricate body painting that several of her relatives had worked so hard to finish the day before.

The dances had already started in the streets, and people were slowly gathering in the Market Square, where preparations were being made to set evil on fire.

"Do you think we'll have good weather?" she asked her grandmother, frowning at the thought of her apple green moire scarf getting blemished by water stains.

"All weather is good weather," grandmother gave her the response she always had as far as the whims of nature were concerned.

It was the end of October, still very warm for the season, and the entire city had gone overexcited with the preparations for the feast. Aifa had put off several projects in order to start them during the days of the feast, for good fortune.

The front porches were covered in flowers and lanterns, and they made it look like the old stones of the city had started to bloom, an image made even more unusual by the unwinding of the growing season.

Grandmother looked at Aifa and almost didn't recognize her: the girl's hands, arms and feet were decorated in intricate floral designs, her shoulders were wrapped in green silk taffeta and her forehead was adorned with jewelry. Grandmother didn't know what to say, so she said the first thing that came to her mind.

"You've grown so much, granddaughter!"

Grandmother's and mother's hands and arms were covered in colorful flowery motifs too, because for this celebration of the divine feminine all the women wanted to look like flowers.

They arrived to the Hearth just in time to see the Twins, whose every inch of visible skin had been painted and bedazzled, seated in high chairs, just as intricately decorated as they were, and carried on people's shoulders towards the center of the square. The whole place was in motion, in the swirling of people coming and going, in a flash of colors and lights whose location was difficult to pinpoint due to the constant movement of the crowd.

"Why is there so much agitation, doyenne?" Aifa asked, concerned about her garment again. Since she had put it on, she didn't even want to sit down, so that she wouldn't stain or wrinkle it.

"It is the second part of the ceremony, the one which celebrates action," grandmother said. "Our lives need three building blocks to thrive, if either one is missing, we find it difficult to keep ourselves together: the matter, the action and the knowing. The matter is the building block of the solid, of that which is asleep. It reminds us all the time that our bodies came from the earth and they are going back to it, so we do not spend our energy on cultivating the temporary, but attend to the needs of the spirit. This part of the celebration is focused on the second building block, that of the energy that fires our lives and drives us to action. This energy always wants you to do something, and everything it touches, it amplifies."

"Is that good or bad?" Aifa.

"Like most of the things in creation, it is neither. If you apply your energy to good things, you will get good results. If you apply your energy to bad things, you will get bad results."

"So why not apply your energy only to good things?"

"That's where the third building block comes in. The energy and the matter have no knowing. They do what is in their nature: the matter's nature is to be inert and return to the earth from which it had sprung. The energy's nature is to push for constant action, without regard for the consequences. As far as the fire is concerned, it needs to burn, without discriminating. The knowing raises the two from instinct and irrepressible drive to the level of intent. Then you can be in control of your body and your soul, and both of them will thrive."

Aifa kept looking at the movement of the crowds; the people were now swirling around the burning effigy of evil, at a speed that almost made her dizzy.

All of the sudden, the spinning motion stopped. The Twins were getting closer to the fire and the people moved out of the way respectfully, to make room for them.

"The Twins have brought the spirit of knowing," grandmother explained.

"Which building block is the most important, doyenne?"

"Neither one is more important than the others. Take one away and the whole falls apart. You have to have reverence and gratitude for all the parts of your being, and not allow the proportion in which they impact your life to be thrown out of balance. Some invest in their body, and acquire power, some invest in their actions, and acquire power, and some invest in their enlightenment, and acquire power, but the goal is not to acquire power, the goal is to liberate your spirit from the entanglements of illusion. That is why you participate in to all the aspects of your life which make demands of you, you treat them with the respect they deserve, but you do not give in to any of them. When you have gained mastery of all three aspects of your being, that is your day of victory."

The effigy had burned down to the ground and the makeshift caravan started moving again, flowing through the streets and alleys of Cré, pooling here and there in the wide banks of the larger streets, where people were waiting to throw verdant branches at the feet of the Twins.

Aifa remembered their conversation and realized how wrong she had been about them. She had always felt sorry for the Twins, whose life seemed like a perpetual sacrifice to her. Even though they didn't seem to have any regrets, any desires, and nothing ever disturbed their perfect peace, this poise, akin to being a living statue, unsettled Aifa, who found it artificial, and had figured that the Twins' still veneer must hide a world of pain underneath it, the pain of the denied life whose mourning they weren't allowed to express. During their brief conversation, however, she had glanced inside their souls and found nothing of the sort, and she couldn't help but be a little jealous of that river of joy and peace that was their spirit, a river that was springing from nowhere and going nowhere, complete in and of itself. They seemed to be perfectly content with the way they were, and the way their life unfolded, and didn't yearn for anything that was not in it already.

As the caravan passed her family, Ama saw Aifa and winked at her, in the most ungodlike manner possible. She then resumed her statuary pose, which did not betray the fact that her garments and jewelry were incredibly heavy. The crowd moved slowly behind the Twins, past street performers and sweet smelling culinary delights, floating lanterns and flowers on top of a kaleidoscope of colors.

"How are they so happy, doyenne?" Aifa asked her grandmother. "What is there to be happy about, they have nothing to call their own?"

"But you already saw that isn't true," grandmother replied. "Happiness is not a result, happiness is a state of mind. The Twins live in that state of mind."

"What does that mean?" Aifa asked confused.

"The world of the spirit has places, just like the world of things. We feel good in some places and uncomfortable in others. Some places are cold, some are drafty, some are crowded, and when you are in them, they make you ill at ease. It is the same with the world of the spirit. Some places in the mind are sad, some are angry, some are petty and vengeful, and in some you can never find peace. It seems like the Twins have cleaned and beautified all the places in their minds, and they feel happy and content in all of them."

"Is this hard to do?" Aifa said.

"It is not easy. The spirit has a hard time letting go of old feelings, just like we can't part with objects that no longer serve us."

"She winked at me," Aifa pointed out.

"I noticed," grandmother nodded.

"How does she wink at people? She is of divine nature!"

"So, in your opinion, everything of divine nature has to necessarily be solemn," grandmother commented.

"Of course!" Aifa blurted. "Don't you? How is one expected to be pious towards a divinity that winks at her?"

"So, you disapprove of the divine for not meeting your standards for divine behavior," grandmother clarified.

"I can't have the same relationship with a living deity that I have with my friend across the street!" Aifa elaborated.

"Why not?" grandmother asked.

"For one, I don't bring offerings to my friend."

"Sure you do! You brought her cookies last week," grandmother joked.

"You know what I mean," Aifa insisted.

"I think I do. The Twins want to get closer to you, and you push them away because their divine nature makes you uncomfortable. I understand this very well. Being a Caretaker is an emotionally difficult task, you are the Twins' mother, pupil and servant at the same time. When I have difficulty wrapping my head around what my role should be in their life, I try to remember one thing. Love never steers you wrong."

"So, the next time she winks, what should I do?" Aifa asked.

"I believe that Ama was trying to elicit a smile. You are so tense, granddaughter. I think the Twins sensed that."

"But why? What difference does it make how I feel? I'm just one of their many Caretakers, why would they even notice me?"

"For the same reason your name was carved in the stone of the Hearth, from the moment you were born. Because they love you."

Aifa took a moment to ponder the implications of being the beloved of the divine, she pondered the pros and cons of the situation and arrived at exactly the same point of emotional impasse from which she'd started.

"People can't browbeat you into worshiping the divine with prostrations and self denial for millennia and then ask you to invite it over to your house for tea and giggles, it's just not right," Aifa concluded, unable to free herself from the sneer of logical dissonance. "What's next? We go play hide and seek? What if I say the wrong thing in jest and they decide to smite me?"

"It is very hard to love and fear something at the same time, granddaughter. You have to decide which one you prefer and stick with it. If I were you, I'd pick the love. Fear never gets you anywhere."

Aifa made a best effort to relax and just think of Ama and Jal as her friends, and tried to picture what activities they would like to get involved in, and then remembered that they turned into water when nobody was looking, and decided that this whole 'getting to know your living deity' was completely preposterous. Her name carved in stone or no, the fact remained that the Twins were immortal beings, whose essence she would never comprehend, and her current abilities qualified her as their scribe at best.

With a little over a month left of her apprenticeship year, Aifa finally started realizing the implications of her status. She had begun the year with confidence, after all she'd been studying the history of Cré and the divine nature of the Twins for many years before she had turned thirteen, and she was convinced that knowing the ceremonies as well as she did, and being so dedicated to the Hearth, it would be a piece of cake to go through her apprenticeship. All she had to do, she thought, was to get through all the feasts of one year without incident, something she'd done many times over, and that would prove to her grandmother that she was fit for her new role. She'd started the year sure of everything she knew, and she was approaching its end unsure of her very existence. If anybody had told her before the year started that the Twins would talk to her and reveal their true nature, she would have considered herself privileged, superior, above the rest. Nothing could be further from it now. She couldn't explain it rationally, but she felt culpable for her awareness, as if she'd violated a sacred boundary that humans are not allowed to cross.

November

All Souls' Day

"Are you coming, granddaughter?" grandmother asked, somewhat impatient. Aifa was still fiddling with her garment and time was growing short. "We have to go right now, otherwise we'll be late."

"Late for what, doyenne?" Aifa asked, heading towards the door.

"Our trip, dear. No, don't take that, we are not going to need it," she said, when Aifa tried to pick up a lamp for the return trip. Sunset was about an hour away, and the shadows of dusk had already started concealing the farther surroundings.

"But it's going to be completely dark when we return! There is going to be no moonlight either, with the new moon!" Aifa thought she misunderstood.

"Precisely," grandmother said, closing the door behind her and walking faster to catch up with her granddaughter. The latter had taken to heart the fact that they were late and was doing her best to shorten the trip. "Slow down," grandmother said. "We have time."

"Where are we going?" Aifa asked.

"We are going to the Great In-between," grandmother replied.

"I don't understand," Aifa whimpered, already apprehensive because the shadows were becoming thicker as the sun went down.

"This is a special night, the hinge between the light and dark sides of the year. It is a time when the veil between our world and the world of the spirit is growing thin, so that the two worlds can communicate with each other in the in-between."

"What is the in-between, doyenne?" the girl forgot her worries, because curiosity got the better of her.

"The in-betweens are natural transitions, places where the nature of things changes - the seashore, the riverbank, the change of season, the boundaries between night and day, the moment between life and death, they are all in-betweens. We are going to the in-between."

"Do we have to arrive there before sunset?" Aifa asked and grandmother nodded. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"The beach, of course," grandmother said.

"We are going to be there at night with no lantern? But it's pitch dark! We're not going to be able to see a thing!" Aifa protested.

"You have to learn to let go of your fears, granddaughter. The things you fear hold you back from everything that is good in this world. It is not the lamp that keeps you safe, but the faith in your heart and the certainty that both this world, and the world of the spirit, are wholesome and good, and conspire for your well-being. You have to learn to see with your heart. There is no danger in the night, you will be perfectly safe in the darkness of nature. It is the darkness of the soul that you must be wary of."

"What happens in the in-between, doyenne?" Aifa asked, being very careful not to slip on the gravel that covered the path.

"We learn to trust the knowledge that comes in silence. This is a time of transformation, during which we take a good look at our lives and refashion what no longer suits us. We appreciate the sensory aspects of nature, one more time, before it goes to sleep under the ground."

"But how can I appreciate nature, I can't see a thing!" Aifa protested.

"Shh! Listen!" grandmother urged. The sounds of the surroundings seemed to grow louder, now that Aifa was focusing on them: the gentle sounds of the waves on the shore, the shuffle of barren leaves in the wind, the many sounds of the night creatures, who were rushing to find shelter and finish gathering their provisions for the winter. "What do you hear?" she asked Aifa.

"Nature sounds," the latter replied.

"More specifically," grandmother insisted.

"Waves," Aifa started, and then picked up a strange sound, barely audible in the background. If she didn't know any better, she would say it was a flopping of wings. "What kind of birds fly over the beach at night?" she thought. "Must be owls."

"Not everything is what it seems to be," grandmother paused to breathe in the strong scent of apples and pomegranates that mingled with the salty sea air. Aifa couldn't remember her grandmother carrying anything from the city. "I see they brought gifts."

Aifa could almost feel her grandmother smile, so she gathered all her courage to ask.

"Who brought gifts, doyenne?"

"The visitors from the other world. Can't you hear them pick at the veil?"

"They are dead?" Aifa asked, terrified.

"Some. The dead are not the only inhabitants of the other world," grandmother replied.

"Why aren't you afraid," Aifa got up in a panic, ready to run all the way back to the city.

"Sit down, granddaughter! You are being disrespectful. Is this how you are going to treat me after I pass from this world?" she asked, sternly.

"But...You are you!" Aifa tried to justify her reaction to the presence of the unknown departed.

"So are they! They are somebody's grandmothers too. And sisters, and fathers, and children. What could they have possibly done to you, in their normal, innocent lives, so that now, in death, you fear them? They miss our love and kindness, especially those who have left this world alone and forgotten, and who have nobody to allay their worries and light their way home. Give them your kind thoughts, granddaughter, before you send them on their way."

Aifa sent kind thoughts to the forgotten, whom she could almost see in her mind's eye, and now that she could almost see them, she felt ashamed by her reaction. There were men, women and children, some so old time itself forgot their age, some barely out of swaddling clothes, and all of them seemed comforted to have been heard.

"Why did they die, doyenne?"

"Their time in this world ended, who is to know? Dying is the biggest in-between of all, a passageway between our two worlds."

"Just an in-between? Like this beach?"

"Like this beach," grandmother gently agreed.

"You said the dead were not the only inhabitants of the other world," Aifa asked thoughtfully, while the people in her mind started departing for their other worldly home, before the thickening of the unseen curtain between the worlds trapped them in the world of the living.

"There are so many stories and legends about this realm, about heroes, and sages, and even simple people who ventured into the other world," grandmother started her story.

"Did they come back?" Aifa asked.

"Yes."

"But..." Aifa commented. "Aren't you supposed to be dead to go over there?"

"Apparently not. Legend has it that there are passages, gateways between here and the great beyond, and if one knows where they are, and is there at just the right time, one can cross into the other world, unharmed."

"This right time, would it be something like now?" Aifa asked, all ears.

"Very likely," grandmother teased. "You wouldn't happen to know a gateway nearby?"

"Doyenne!" Aifa protested. "Why would they want to do that?"

"According to the legends, they always go there in search for something: a cure for a deadly disease, an item of protection, great treasure, a trapped soul. It is said that of all those who try, only those motivated by bravery and love are allowed to pass."

"What is it like?" Aifa asked.

"The other world? Beautiful, peaceful, an eternal summer garden. A place of joy and happiness, a world without end."

"Is that where we sent the forgotten?" Aifa asked, and despite all of her efforts, grandmother's eyes welled up with tears, but she answered.

"Yes, child. That's where we sent the forgotten."

"What else do you know about it?" Aifa asked.

"Well, it seems that all of those who pass through the veil forget where they came from, in an instant, unless they bring something with them to remind them why they are there and why they need to return. It is said that they can stay there for centuries, and not even realize it, because the passing of time leaves no traces in that world, and when they finally remember to return, the world they knew is long gone. Legend says that some people have crossed over there on purpose, without reminders, to enjoy eternal life."

"So, nobody gets old there?" Aifa asked, and if it wasn't pitch dark, grandmother could have seen her eyes widen with excitement.

"Nobody gets old, nobody gets sick, nobody can even be unhappy. Life there is perfect, without suffering."

"It almost seems like it's better to be there," Aifa whispered.

"If you don't mind the children of Cré being terrified of you for no reason whatsoever," grandmother chided. "Remember what I told you about balance, granddaughter. You always veer too far one way or another. Earlier you were terrified of the other world, now you can't wait to join it. Be here while you are here. That's the secret to a fulfilled life. And stop worrying that the other world might be better. We're all going there sooner or later, you'll have plenty of time to experience it then."

"Is there anything that was brought from the other world that was preserved?" Aifa asked.

"You mean like a physical object?" grandmother frowned. "You did hear that those were legends!" She became silent, deep in thought, trying to remember everything she knew about the myths of the other world. "There is one thing, an old wives' tale. Do you know the roses that surround the pond in the garden of the Hearth?"

"The ones that bloom in the middle of winter?"

"Yes. Some old stories say they were brought back from the great beyond."

An intense fragrance surrounded them, as if the whole beach had been instantly bathed in attar of roses. Neither one of them said anything.

"Do you think there is any truth to that?" Aifa asked casually, trying very hard to ignore the fragrance.

"I wouldn't know," grandmother replied.

"What else do you know about the other world?"

"It is populated by the fairies and filled with all sorts of creatures, creatures that you can't even imagine. It has towers of alabaster and rivers of fire, and orchards filled with golden apples. There are fierce dragons whose scales are made of silver and copper, and everything is animated by the divine spirit: trees and animals can talk, even the sun, and the earth, and the water. The spirit infuses everything with its intelligence."

"Where are those gateways, doyenne? Does anybody know?"

"You wouldn't consider..." grandmother preempted a request. "Nobody really knows, but if there are any passageways, they must, naturally, be in an in-between."

The thought finally dawned on Aifa.

"Doyenne, do you think that when the Twins disappear and reappear in our world they are moving in and out of the other world?"

"Maybe," grandmother agreed.

"But then, that means the pond at the center of the garden of the Hearth must be a gateway. They always appear and disappear there," Aifa insisted.

"Don't burden your spirit with things it can't fathom," grandmother stopped her musings. "Where the Twins are going, us humans can't follow. At least not today." The first rays of the sun had started peeking over the horizon, and the veil between worlds was now closed. "It seems it is time to go home. I don't know about you, but I'm famished. How about some nice pumpkin soup to chase away the chill?"

They made their way up the steep incline in the light of the sunrise, and while she was striving up the path Aifa's attention got drawn to a cluster of blueberries that were gracing the side of the road, not three feet away. She stretched her arm to pick them, but grandmother stopped her.

"No, granddaughter! After today the fruits of the earth don't belong to us anymore. We have gathered all that was ours to gather for the year. Now we have to wait for the next harvest."

Aifa was still sad at the thought of all of those who had gone from this world, some in their ripe old age, but some in the prime of their life, before they had the chance to experience what life had to offer, and she felt comforted by the fact that over there, in the other world, no happiness was ever denied them. Grandmother saw her sadness.

"Every year on this day we remember all of those who have passed from this world; we remember our loved ones, but most importantly, we rekindle the memory of those who would otherwise be forgotten. Remembrance is the greatest honor we can render to a person's spirit. What is remembered, lives."

The Manifestation of God

At the end of November, nature had finally settled into its cold season slumber. There was a chill in the air, a chill whose fingers got colder every morning, and which was embroidering lacy frost on the ground and on the windows, the icy breath of the earth made manifest.

The Twins seemed unsettled. Aifa could see them look out to the horizon, towards the sea, as if waiting for somebody, or seeing something that was revealed only to them in the frigid mist.

"What are they looking for, doyenne?" the girl whispered to her grandmother, careful not to disturb their thoughts.

"The next stage in their evolution, I think. Every year at this time the Twins reflect on the lessons they have to bring into the world the next time around," grandmother answered.

"But they never speak," Aifa replied, confused.

"You have put together a book just about as tall as you are with the messages they gave to you alone. Think about all the other Caretakers, and the rest of the people of Cré. There is not enough room in the library to accommodate all the things they had taught us over the years."

"Why can't they teach everything at once, wouldn't it be easier that way? And less confusing?"

"Think about it. When you started school, what would have been the benefit if being taught the things you learn now? They would overwhelm you, they would be impossible for you to understand, and you would be so discouraged that you would forgo learning altogether. The teachings of divinity are no different. They are not one block of stone, but a never ending series of layers, which build upon each other, until the end of time."

"So, when does this learning end, then?" Aifa asked.

"Never."

Aifa gulped hard, because the thought of school never ending was not one she enjoyed contemplating.

"Every time you achieve the required level of understanding, you are accepted to the next level, where you can learn more. Why are you upset? Would you be more comfortable thinking that the entire essence of divinity can be summed up in one teaching? Of course the revelation of the divine is endless. The divine itself is endless."

"So, then, what are the Twins?" Aifa asked.

"They are manifestations of the divine, brought forth from its spirit to teach the lessons appropriate to the times," grandmother explained.

"Don't they ever contradict themselves?"

"All the time, as you have already noticed on occasion. There are two types of divine teachings. One relates to the norms of society, the rules of comport, laws, mores, everything that pertains to our daily lives. Those change constantly, as society advances, fashioned by the tastes and trends of the time. The other refers to eternal truths, which run consistently through the teachings, and will never change," grandmother explained.

"Like what?"

"For instance, the eternal and uncreated nature of the divine," grandmother said.

Aifa pondered on the eternal truths for a second, and then shivered. They seemed so cold and heartless in the freezing light of the morning, not at all suitable for creatures made of flesh and blood. The still splendor of eternity turned her breath to ice.

"It's getting really cold, isn't it?" grandmother noticed. "Don't let your heart be troubled, and don't carry the burden of wisdom too abstruse for you to understand. You are only responsible to understand what you can understand right now. As I said, if the Twins want you to know something, you'll be sure to learn it."

She looked up at the somber sky, trying to discern the scent of snow in the air. A freezing gust of wind kissed the surface of the pond in the garden of the Hearth, and, in its passing, left a delicate tracery of ice crystals on its placid mirror.

"They are going to leave soon," grandmother whispered, and to Aifa's great surprise, the elder's voice was stifled by choking back tears. She looked at her granddaughter and felt the need to explain herself. "No matter how many times this happens, I will never get used to it. It's never easy parting with them. I still remember every pair of Twins, since the beginning of my Caretaking days, and I miss each one of them dearly. It is a cross we have to bear as Caretakers, one that comes with our calling and of which we are never relieved."

"When do you think they are going to leave, doyenne?" Aifa asked gently.

"I don't know, dear. If I had to guess, I would say probably tonight. The first snow is in the wind, I can feel it in my bones, it's hovering over the sea, just past the horizon."

"What are we going to do after they leave?" the girl was suddenly startled by the memory of the Hearth as it looked in winter - dark, gray and silent.

"Wait for them to return, of course," grandmother smiled, then changed the subject. "So, your apprenticeship year is almost over. What do you think about your calling so far?"

Aifa looked back at the events of the past year and quite frankly, didn't know what to make of them. She couldn't call her life better or worse than before, but it certainly felt bigger for the sum of all of those experiences. If somebody gave her the choice to return to the way she used to be and forget all about them, she would have felt robbed of something of great value.

"That would be 'better', granddaughter," grandmother laughed out loud. "It's hard to recognize 'better' when you've never seen it before."

The night was thickening, and heavy snow clouds obscured the stars. Most of the Caretakers had already left, so that they could get home without getting caught in a blizzard; there were only a couple of them left, folding garments and blankets and putting them away. Aifa and her grandmother were about to go back inside the Hearth, when the first snowflakes of the season fell into the almost frozen pond. When the snowflakes touched the water, the Twins dispersed into a million sparkly ice crystals, which fluttered together like a cloud of minuscule butterflies. They swirled around in the icy wind, hovering a second longer over their familiar surroundings, and then got carried out to sea and vanished from sight.

The Hearth turned dark and still, as the snow got thicker, buried under the heaviness of the cold winter night, whose silence was deafening. All the joy and happiness of the year that passed, which the boisterousness and the innocent mischievousness the Twins had brought to Cré had disappeared with them, leaving the old stone building of the Hearth, which had been the center of city life until then, somber and barren in the absence of their spirit, a soulless empty shell.

"I can't be here, grandmother," Aifa started crying. "I can't bear to see it like this."

"You can and you will! We are Caretakers, granddaughter. Every year this spear pierces our hearts. We are Caretakers, do you understand that?" grandmother said, torn between being upset at her granddaughter and trying to comfort her. "We take care of the Hearth and wait for the Twins to return. And when they leave, we do it again. This is who we are."

Aifa looked out into the heavy snow, knowing that her childhood had been driven out to sea also. She was feeling much older, all of a sudden, and when she accidentally caught a glimpse of herself in the water pitcher, she was shocked to see the gaze of an old woman look back at her from behind her own reflection.

"I guess we're going to have to spend the night here. It's not worth taking a trip at night in this weather, we have plenty of blankets here. Did I ever teach you how to start a fire?" grandmother said, then she took a couple of sticks from the hearth, and rubbed them together softly and they ignited, seemingly on their own.

"How did you..." Aifa asked, dumbfounded by the surprise.

"Ah, that is a lesson for next time. You didn't think you had learned all there is to learn, did you?" She handed Aifa a fistful of dried fruit to dine on. The light of the flickering fire cast giant shadows on the walls, a ghostly spectacle, especially when accompanied by the eerie howling of the wind. "There is a reason why you had to learn to confront your own darkness, granddaughter. So that you understand that those shadows on the walls are cast by you."

"What about the blizzard, doyenne. Surely I didn't bring the blizzard!" Aifa protested half-heartedly, munching on her dried fruit.

"No, of course not! Wisdom teaches us how to distinguish between the things we have power over and those we don't," grandmother smiled enigmatically. "At least for the moment."

Cozy under her blankets, in front of the fire, Aifa had the startling realization that she was just as comfortable with the darkness, with the tenebrous depths of the Hearth, over which the wind howled menacingly and where the shadows danced like ghosts on the walls, as she was with the brightness of sunshine in spring, during those happy times when she and the Twins were running through the daffodil meadows.

"That was this year's last lesson to you," grandmother commented. "You don't bend yourself around your circumstances. You lead your life, you don't follow it. Sleep tight, granddaughter. Tomorrow we have to go out into the forest and gather evergreens for the Night of the Mothers."

Aifa wanted to point out that it seemed a bit precarious to venture into the mountains during weather like this, but realized it would be a fool's errand to try and talk her grandmother out of something she'd already decided. Besides, they only had a few days for the preparations, and she had a feeling that there was a lot more to that trip out to the forest than her grandmother let out.

She was almost asleep, surrendering to the exhaustion of the day, when she had this very distinct certainty that the Twins were right there, next to her. Aifa looked at her grandmother, who didn't seem unsettled in the least.

"Doyenne," the girl whispered. "Do you, ahhm, think that they might still be around, somehow?"

"Why, of course," grandmother said, as if it were completely normal.

"But I thought... Don't they leave with the first snow?"

"Yes, they do."

"So, then, how can they be here?" Aifa got so confused by the logical contradiction that all her sleepiness dissipated.

"I told you already, we live in a world of duality, they don't. It is as easy for them to be here and not be here simultaneously as it is for us to ponder whether to have breakfast or not. Until we make up our mind about it, both situations are equally likely to happen. In one of their aspects the Twins never leave here."

Aifa figured she'd had all the learning she could take in one sitting about the divine nature of the Twins, and was very grateful that said divinity in its eternal wisdom had devised a system of layers for the holy revelation, so that she didn't have to finish it all that night. She called the particular layer in which she found herself now complete and didn't give it another thought. It was late, it was getting cold, the Twins were there anyway, or not, depending on one's metaphysical perspective, she was only thirteen and she had never liked winter to begin with. She wished there was some milk in the pantry, but apparently, since the Twins weren't there anymore, at least physically, the Caretakers' comfort didn't amount to a hill of beans, and therefore there wasn't any left.

She churned this disappointment in her mind, all the while wondering what her grandmother would say if she could hear her thoughts, and dozed off next to the fire, lulled by the howls of the wind.

And a Day

The Ceremony

The day after the Night of the Mothers, for the second time, grandmother asked Aifa.

"Did you enjoy the ceremony, granddaughter?"

And again, Aifa responded.

"It was beautiful, Doyenne, I just thought I'd feel different after that, is all."

"It is unlikely that you would, you are not significantly different from the way you were yesterday. Most of our growth happens slowly and quietly over time, that is why your apprenticeship had to last over a year. A year and a day. Long enough to notice the changes and short enough not to lose patience. The ceremony is just a marker, of course, a borne on your path, nothing more. We are human, we enjoy adorning our lives with moments of significance, so we can find them in our frame of reference later, point out to them and say "when I was here I did that," or "at that time I was this," but there is no single moment in life that spurred your growth. Your spirit, just like your body, is a constantly evolving system. Often the little things you observe in silence, the random words that stay with you, the emotions you can't describe, or justify, those are your most important teachers. I am here to guide you, and lend whatever wisdom I have acquired, but you can't teach another person how to see the world. We all do it in our own way, which is impossible to put into words. It is, however, our tradition, that after a year and a day of apprenticeship, a Caretaker's mind is considered free."

"What does that mean, doyenne?" Aifa frowned at the thought of not having been free before.

"That means that you have developed enough capacity to discern all the subtle ways in which life with all its illusions tries to steer you into its desired course of action and that you have acquired the confidence to choose for yourself whether you want to take that course of action or not. It means that you question the reasons why you do things and look at the long term consequences of your choices. It also means that you don't look to other people to choose right from wrong for you."

"But isn't this the prerogative of every human being?"

"You can't have a right without the capacity to exercise it. The free mind gives you that capacity."

"How so, doyenne?" Aifa asked for clarification.

"Well, suppose that you have access to an extraordinary library, where you can find information on any subject you desire, but you have never seen a book before, not to mention learned how to read. What value would you place on this great body of knowledge then?"

"But why can't one have the right to learn how to read?" Aifa continued her hypothetical argument.

"Oh, you'd have every right to learn, but who's going to teach you?" grandmother laughed.

Aifa's face sobered. All of a sudden, she felt very sad for all the poor souls who didn't know how to read, and for herself as well, for not having known either.

"It is the greatest tragedy of our existence that we can die of thirst while floating down the river."

Aifa thought about it for a moment, and then looked up to her grandmother.

"Doyenne?"

"Yes, Aifa."

"Thank you for your teachings."

"It was my greatest joy, granddaughter. Don't ever forget that I love you."

***

About the author

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www.francisrosenfeld.com

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Other books by Francis Rosenfeld

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### Terra Two

### Generations

### Letters to Lelia

### The Plant – A Steampunk Story

### Door Number Eight

### Fair

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