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 on 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.
