They prepared the fire
in the centre. A ceramic dish of pure white, octagonal in shape, needing two
men to heft and carry, was carefully brought in. Rosewood was stacked in a
pyramid shape in the centre of the heavy dish, ready to be lit. Alongside, a simple
wooden bowl, two hands wide, its origin lost to antiquity, stood waiting, the
dark wood polished to a high sheen by time and use.
Rosewater dripped, drop
by slow drop, into the ancient bowl until it was finally filled. Vannis had
given this honour to Namud, and smiled when the young man realised what a
tiresome process it was. Generally, as in when scrying for a newborn’s name,
this slow process was unnecessary, but given the gravity of their situation,
Vannis had opted for the old, formal ceremony. The state of mind it engendered
would aid them well, making them more receptive to visions. Well, he needed to
be receptive; he would be gazing into the future.
Namud sat back at last,
and Vannis took his place before the two dishes. The remaining fifteen sat
cross-legged in a circle about him. When all was ready, Vannis nodded, and
together they declared: ‘Manik!’ The rosewood burst into fragrant flame to burn
with a steady blue light. ‘Saldan!’ and the pyramid collapsed into bright blue
embers in the shape of a flying blue dragon. The smell of roses perfumed the
air. Vannis nodded at Namud, who shuffled forward on his knees. He lifted the
wooden bowl, careful not to spill, and placed it gently on the hot dragon,
before briefly dipping his fingers in the warming rosewater and shuffling back
into the circle. Silent, the others came to do likewise, dipping fingers to
show homage to the future. Last was Vannis, who then remained with his face
bent over the steaming water.
He waited until he saw
the first bubble shoot to the surface, and then nodded. As one, they declared:
‘Manil!’ The steamy surface of the water instantly cleared and was mirror
smooth.
Vannis kept his
attention focused on the reflection in order not to miss a moment of the
visions that were coming, for future there would be, whether or not any of them
lived in it. He cleared his mind even further, while the Valleur collectively
held their breaths, afraid to make the slightest move. Never had a scrying been
so important.
Gathering of Rain
The picture doesn't quite do justice, I know (not pure, not octagonal) but I hope you garner at least the 'feel' of the times!
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