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hrjThe Mystic Marriage is moving into the next stage of life: yesterday I received the first chunk of editorial comment and will be spending the weekend doing revisions. I've also had the first peek at cover concepts and have sent in my reactions and suggestions. And in our continuing series of chapter-by-chapter teasers, Antuniet and Jeanne are about to enter a new stage as well...
* * *
It had happened by impulse: the apprentice Anna had been sent home to tend to family needs and Jeanne had offered to stay and keep Antuniet company in her place, as she tended the furnace through the night. The alchemical process wrought its magical transmutation, and deep in Antuniet's heart a different magic was at work.
* * *
When the first streaks of dawn lit the edges of the closed window shutters, the heat from the furnace had finally become pleasant rather than oppressive. Antuniet poked in among the coals to spread them out and let the chamber begin cooling then looked over to where Jeanne slumped asleep over the worktable, just as Anna had been the afternoon before. A lock of raven hair had come loose to hang across her face and it stirred in time with her breathing. Antuniet fought the urge to go over and brush it aside, fearing to wake her. They had failed to take turns tending the process after all, spending the long hours sharing stories in the safe intimacy of the dark, lit only by the furnace glow and one small lamp, until she had turned back from one last shovel of coal to find that Jeanne had succumbed at last to the lateness of the hour. As the process moved into the final stages of the congelation Antuniet had remained standing, leaning against the bench, to fight off the same temptation to sleep. She watched silently over the mystical transformation of earthly matter to something finer and more elevated.
A growling in her stomach brought her mind back to those earthly matters. A faint clatter in the street outside told her that others were stirring as well. She gathered a few coins and slipped quietly out the front door and across the street to where a heady smell wafted out from the bakery.
“You’re up early,” the baker said as she counted the money out.
“Up late,” she answered briefly.
He set a loaf before her, radiating heat fresh from the oven in a pale echo of her working crucibles. “Man cannot live by bread alone,” he intoned, “but it's certain he can't live without it!”
She’d heard the witticism dozens of times before, on each occasion proclaimed as if he’d only just invented it. This time there was another voice laid underneath—a voice that came back to her from that dark night in May down at the bottom of the gardens. The warm sweet aroma filled her lungs and entered into deep empty places within her. It was as if the world had turned sideways and everything was strange and new. She hugged the loaf as she crossed back to slip quietly into the workroom. Scarcely knowing what she intended, she broke open the crust and held it close by Jeanne’s face until she stirred and woke, stretching and rubbing her eyes in confusion.
* * *
It had happened by impulse: the apprentice Anna had been sent home to tend to family needs and Jeanne had offered to stay and keep Antuniet company in her place, as she tended the furnace through the night. The alchemical process wrought its magical transmutation, and deep in Antuniet's heart a different magic was at work.
* * *
When the first streaks of dawn lit the edges of the closed window shutters, the heat from the furnace had finally become pleasant rather than oppressive. Antuniet poked in among the coals to spread them out and let the chamber begin cooling then looked over to where Jeanne slumped asleep over the worktable, just as Anna had been the afternoon before. A lock of raven hair had come loose to hang across her face and it stirred in time with her breathing. Antuniet fought the urge to go over and brush it aside, fearing to wake her. They had failed to take turns tending the process after all, spending the long hours sharing stories in the safe intimacy of the dark, lit only by the furnace glow and one small lamp, until she had turned back from one last shovel of coal to find that Jeanne had succumbed at last to the lateness of the hour. As the process moved into the final stages of the congelation Antuniet had remained standing, leaning against the bench, to fight off the same temptation to sleep. She watched silently over the mystical transformation of earthly matter to something finer and more elevated.
A growling in her stomach brought her mind back to those earthly matters. A faint clatter in the street outside told her that others were stirring as well. She gathered a few coins and slipped quietly out the front door and across the street to where a heady smell wafted out from the bakery.
“You’re up early,” the baker said as she counted the money out.
“Up late,” she answered briefly.
He set a loaf before her, radiating heat fresh from the oven in a pale echo of her working crucibles. “Man cannot live by bread alone,” he intoned, “but it's certain he can't live without it!”
She’d heard the witticism dozens of times before, on each occasion proclaimed as if he’d only just invented it. This time there was another voice laid underneath—a voice that came back to her from that dark night in May down at the bottom of the gardens. The warm sweet aroma filled her lungs and entered into deep empty places within her. It was as if the world had turned sideways and everything was strange and new. She hugged the loaf as she crossed back to slip quietly into the workroom. Scarcely knowing what she intended, she broke open the crust and held it close by Jeanne’s face until she stirred and woke, stretching and rubbing her eyes in confusion.
