"What is it you will be listening to, now, my little lad?" he
whispered, as he saw me lean, intent, to catch I know not what.
"Sure," I said, "I am not for knowing; but I thought I heard a music
away down there in the wood."
I heard it, for sure. It was a wondrous sweet air, as of one playing
the feadan in a dream. Callum Dall, the piper, could give no rarer
music than that was; and Callum was a seventh son, and was born in the
moonshine.
"Will you come with me this night of the nights, little Art?" the man
asked me, with his lips touching my brow and giving me rest.
"That I will indeed and indeed," I said. And then I fell asleep.
When I woke we were in the huntsman's booth that is at the far end of
the Shadowy Glen.
There was a long rough-hewn table in it, and I stared when I saw bowls
and a great jug of milk and a plate heaped with oatcakes, and beside
it a brown loaf of rye-bread.
"Little Art," said he who carried me, "are you for knowing now who I
am?"
"You are a prince, I'm thinking," was the shy word that came to my
mouth.
"Sure, lennav-aghray, that is so. It is called the Prince of Peace I
am."
"And who is to be eating all this?" I asked.
"This is the last supper," the prince said, so low that I could scarce
hear; and it seemed to me that he whispered, "for I die daily, and
ever ere I die the Twelve break bread with me."
It was then I saw that there were six bowls of porridge on the one
side and six on the other.
"What is your name, O Prince?"
"Iosa."
"And will you have no other name than that?"
"I am called Iosa mac Dhe."
"And is it living in this house you are?"
"Ay. But Art, my little lad, I will kiss your eyes, and you shall see
who sup with me."
And with that the prince that was called Iosa kissed me on the eyes,
and I saw.
"You will never be quite blind again," he whispered, and that is why
all the long years of my years I have been glad in my soul.
What I saw was a thing strange and wonderful. Twelve men sat at that
table, and all had eyes of love upon Iosa. But they were not like any
men I had ever seen. Tall and fair and terrible they were, like
morning in a desert place; all save one, who was dark, and had a
shadow upon him and in his wild eyes.
It seemed to me that each was clad in radiant mist. The eyes of them
were as stars through that mist.
And each, before he broke bread, or put spoon to the porridge that was
in the bowl before him, laid down upon the table three shuttles. Long
I looked upon that company, but Iosa held me in his arms, and I had no
fear.
"Who are these men?" he asked me.
"The Sons of God," I said; I not knowing what I said, for it was but a
child I was.
He smiled at that. "Behold," he spoke to the twelve men who sat at the
table, "behold the little one is wiser than the wisest of ye." At that
all smiled with the gladness and the joy, save one: him that was in
the shadow. He looked at me, and I remembered two black lonely tarns
upon the hillside, black with the terror because of the kelpie and the
drowner.
"Who are these men?" I whispered, with the tremor on me, that was
come of the awe I had.
"They are the Twelve Weavers, Art, my little child."
"And what is their weaving?"
"They weave for my Father, whose web I am."
At that I looked upon the prince, but I could see no web.
"Are you not Iosa the Prince?"
"I am the Web of Life, Art lennavan-mo."
"And what are the three shuttles that are beside each Weaver?"
I know now that when I turned my child's eyes upon these shuttles I
saw that they were alive and wonderful, and never the same to the
seeing.
"They are called _Beauty_ and _Wonder_ and _Mystery_."
And with that Iosa mac Dhe sat down and talked with the Twelve. All
were passing fair, save him who looked sidelong out of dark eyes. I
thought each, as I looked at him, more beautiful than any of his
fellows; but most I loved to look at the twain who sat on either side
of Iosa.
"He will be a Dreamer among men," said the prince; "so tell him who
ye are."
Then he who was on the right turned his eyes upon me. I leaned to him,
laughing low with the glad pleasure I had because of his eyes and
shining hair, and the flame as of the blue sky that was his robe.
"I am the Weaver of Joy," he said. And with that he took his three
shuttles that were called Beauty and Wonder and Mystery, and he wove
an immortal shape, and it went forth of the room and out into the
green world, singing a rapturous sweet song.
Then he that was upon the left of Iosa the Life, looked at me, and my
heart leaped. He, too, had shining hair, but I could not tell the
colour of his eyes for the glory that was in them. "I am the Weaver of
Love," he said; "and I sit next the heart of Iosa." And with that he
took his three shuttles that were called Beauty and Wonder and
Mystery, and he wove an immortal shape, and it went forth of the room
and out into the green world, singing a rapturous sweet song.
Even then, child as I was, I wished to look on no other. None could
be so passing fair, I thought, as the Weaver of Joy and the Weaver of
Love.
But a wondrous sweet voice sang in my ears, and a cool, soft hand laid
itself upon my head, and the beautiful lordly one who had spoken said,
"I am the Weaver of Death," and the lovely whispering one who had
lulled me with rest said, "I am the Weaver of Sleep." And each wove
with the shuttles of Beauty and Wonder and Mystery, and I knew not
which was the more fair, and Death seemed to me as Love, and in the
eyes of Dream I saw Joy.
My gaze was still upon the fair wonderful shapes that went forth from
these twain,--from the Weaver of Sleep, an immortal shape of star-eyed
Silence, and from the Weaver of Death a lovely Dusk with a heart of
hidden flame--when I heard the voice of two others of the Twelve. They
were like the laughter of the wind in the corn, and like the golden
fire upon that corn. And the one said, "I am the Weaver of Passion,"
and when he spoke I thought that he was both Love and Joy, and Death
and Life, and I put out my hands. "It is Strength I give," he said;
and he took and kissed me. Then, while Iosa took me again upon his
knee, I saw the Weaver of Passion turn to the white glory beside
him,--him that Iosa whispered to me was the secret of the world, and
that was called "The Weaver of Youth." I know not whence nor how it
came, but there was a singing of skyey birds when these twain took the
shuttles of Beauty and Wonder and Mystery and wove each an immortal
shape, and bade it go forth out of the room into the green world, to
sing there for ever and ever in the ears of man a rapturous sweet
song.
"O Iosa," I cried, "are these all thy brethren? for each is fair as
thee, and all have lit their eyes at the white fire I see now in thy
heart."
But, before he spake, the room was filled with music. I trembled with
the joy, and in my ears it has lingered ever, nor shall ever go. Then
I saw that it was the breathing of the seventh and eighth, of the
ninth and the tenth of those star-eyed ministers of Iosa whom he
called the Twelve: and the names of them were the Weaver of Laughter,
the Weaver of Tears, the Weaver of Prayer, and the Weaver of Peace.
Each rose and kissed me there. "We shall be with you to the end,
little Art," they said: and I took hold of the hand of one, and cried,
"O beautiful one, be likewise with the woman my mother," and there
came back to me the whisper of the Weaver of Tears: "I will, unto the
end."
Then, wonderingly, I watched him likewise take the shuttles that were
ever the same and yet never the same, and weave an immortal shape. And
when this soul of Tears went forth of the room, I thought it was my
mother's voice singing that rapturous sweet song, and I cried out to
it.
The fair immortal turned and waved to me. "I shall never be far from
thee, little Art," it sighed, like summer rain falling on leaves: "but
I go now to my home in the heart of women."
There were now but two out of the Twelve. Oh the gladness and the joy
when I looked at him who had his eyes fixed on the face of Iosa that
was the Life! He lifted the three shuttles of Beauty and Wonder and
Mystery, and he wove a Mist of Rainbows in that room; and in the
glory I saw that even the dark twelfth one lifted up his eyes and
smiled.
"O what will the name of you be!" I cried, straining my arms to the
beautiful lordly one. But he did not hear, for he wrought Rainbow
after Rainbow out of the mist of glory that he made, and sent each out
into the green world, to be for ever before the eyes of men.
"He is the Weaver of Hope," whispered Iosa mac Dhe, "and he is the
soul of each that is here."
Then I turned to the twelfth, and said, "Who art thou, O lordly one
with the shadow in the eyes?"
But he answered not, and there was silence in the room. And all there,
from the Weaver of Joy to the Weaver of Peace, looked down, and said
nought. Only the Weaver of Hope wrought a rainbow, and it drifted into
the heart of the lonely Weaver that was twelfth.
"And who will this man be, O Iosa mac Dhe?" I whispered.
"Answer the little child," said Iosa, and his voice was sad.
Then the Weaver answered.
"I am the Weaver of Glory"--he began, but Iosa looked at him, and he
said no more.
"Art, little lad," said the Prince of Peace, "he is the one who
betrayeth me for ever. He is Judas, the Weaver of Fear."
And at that the sorrowful shadow-eyed man that was the twelfth took up
the three shuttles that were before him.
"And what are these, O Judas?" I cried eagerly, for I saw that they
were black.
When he answered not one of the Twelve leaned forward and looked at
him. It was the Weaver of Death who did this thing.
"The three shuttles of Judas the Fear-Weaver, O little Art," said the
Weaver of Death, "are called Mystery, and Despair, and the Grave."
And with that Judas rose and left the room. But the shape that he had
woven went forth with him as his shadow: and each fared out into the
dim world, and the Shadow entered into the minds and into the hearts
of men, and betrayed Iosa that was the Prince of Peace.
Thereupon, Iosa rose, and took me by the hand and led me out of that
room. When, once, I looked back I saw none of the Twelve save only the
Weaver of Hope, and he sat singing a wild sweet song that he had
learned of the Weaver of Joy, sat singing amid a mist of rainbows and
weaving a radiant glory that was dazzling as the sun.
* * * * *
And at that I woke, and was against my mother's heart, and she with
the tears upon me, and her lips moving in a prayer.