The pillars of creation

There was no pattern expressed through the act of the throw; it was the fall of the stones that was touched by powers he dared not consider, powers that spoke only to the sorceress through her gift. In that random motif of disorder, she could read the flow of powers through the world of life, and even, he feared, the world of the dead, although she never spoke of it. Despite how close they were in body and soul, this was one thing they could not share in their life together.

This time, as the stones rolled and wobbled across the board, one stopped in the exact center. Two stopped on opposite comers of the square where it touched the outer circle. Two ended up at opposite points where the square and the inner circle touched. The final two stones came to rest beyond the outer circle, which represented the underworld.

Lightning flashed, and seconds later thunder clapped.

Friedrich stared in disbelief. He wondered what the odds were of the stones coming to the end of their tumble at these specific points on the Grace. He had never before seen them end in any discernible pattern.

Althea, too, was staring at her board.

"Have you ever seen anything like that before?" he asked.

"I'm afraid so," she said under her breath as she raked the stones up with her graceful fingers.

"Really?" He was sure he would have recalled such an unlikely event, such a startling orderliness. "When was that?"

She rattled the stones in her loose fist. "The four previous throws. That casting made five, all the same, each individual stone coming to rest in the identical place it had before."

Again, she cast the stones at the board. At the same time, the sky seemed to open, letting rain roar down on the roof. The noise reverberated through the house. Involuntarily, he glanced toward the ceiling briefly before watching along with Althea as the stones rolled and bounced across the board.

The first stone rolled to a halt in the exact center of the Grace. Lightning flashed. The other stones, rolling in what looked to be a completely natural manner, came to rest in what appeared a perfectly normal way, except that they stopped in the exact same places they had before.

"Six," Althea said under her breath. Thunder boomed.

Friedrich didn't know if she was speaking to him, or to herself.

"But the first four throws were for that woman, Margery. You were casting them for her. This is for her telling."

Even to himself, it sounded more like a plea than reason.

"Margery came for a telling," Althea said. "That does not mean the stones chose to give her one. The stones have decided that this telling is for me."

"What does it mean, then?"

"Nothing," she said. "Not yet, anyway. At this point it is only potential-a thunderhead on the horizon. The stones may yet say this storrn is to pass us by."

Watching as she gathered up her stones, he was overcome with a sense of dread. "Enough of this-you need to rest. Why don't you let me help you up, now, Althea? I'll make you something to eat." He watched her pluck the last stone, the one in the center, off the board. "Leave your stones for now. I'll make you some nice hot tea."

He never before thought of the stones as anything sinister. Now he felt as if they were somehow inviting menace into their lives.

He didn't want her to cast the stones again.

He sank down beside her. "Althea-"

"Hush, Friedrich." She spoke the words in a flat tone, not in anger or reproach, but simple necessity. The rain drummed against the roof with rabid intensity. Water cascading off the eaves roared. Darkness out the windows faltered in fits of lightning.

He listened to the stones rattle, like the bones of the dead speaking to her. For the first time in their life together, he felt a kind of defensive hatred for the seven stones she held, as if they were some lover come to steal her away from him.

From her seat atop her gold and red pillow on the floor, Althea cast the stones down onto the Grace.

As they tumbled across the board, he watched with resignation as they came to rest, natural as could be, in the exact same places. He would have been surprised only if they had fallen differently.

"Seven," she whispered. "Seven times seven stones."

Thunder rumbled in a deep resonant tone, like the voice of discontent of spirits in the underworld.

Friedrich rested a hand on his wife's shoulder. A presence had come into their home-invaded their lives. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was there. He felt a great weariness, as if all his years had come at once to weigh him down, making him feel very old. He wondered if this was in some small way what she felt all the time when she became so weary from casting a telling. He shuddered to contemplate always swimming in such emotionally turbulent waters. His world, his work of gilding, seemed so simple, so blissful, in its ignorance of the swirl of tempestuous forces all around.

The worst of it, though, was that he could not protect her from this unseen threat. In this, he was helpless.

"Althea, what does it mean?"