Acknowledgements:
A book, unfortunately deceased, which gave translations of Irish names. And Jo Hart, who started me thinking about what it is female Malakim of the Wind did in the 19th century, and also for correcting an error of mine.
Disclaimer:
The fact that one of the characters has said something does not prove that it's true, even if that character believes it. They may be incorrect both about facts and about interpretations.
OATHS.
Martin was already present in the room when I entered. He smiled up at me and asked how it went. I took out the new driving licence and showed it to him.
"I got the name Jennifer. Of all the names he could possibly have picked, he chose Jennifer. Can you believe that?"
"I'm sure he didn't mean any harm by it." I narrowed my eyes at him. I didn't need to use my resonance to catch the blatant insincerity in his tone, but I decided to ignore it. It was not worth pursuing.
"He _claims_ that there really was a person called Jennifer Lawless, who looked like me and was around the same age, and was from Missouri, who disappeared a few years ago. He didn't explain why any of this was good, of course. And as for someone from Missouri...I specifically told him not to pick Missouri, because I haven't been there since before I fledged. I never even heard of the town on that licence before, so what happens if someone asks me what it was like, living there? And what happens if I meet someone who knew this woman?"
"If you don't like the name Jennifer, you could always call yourself Sinead."
I focused my resonance on him at this point. What was coming would be bad enough with it, if past experience was any guide. Both him and Simon seemed to delight in tormenting me. The worst part of it was Simon saying in his most patronising voice that I needed to develop a "thicker skin" and that he was doing me a favour by teasing me. We worked well together and I did owe them for helping to rescue me, but they were extremely annoying. I restrained myself from asking a question, because I knew that would also only make it worse.
"Sinead."
"It's Irish. Equivalent to Jennifer."
"And what about Lawless?" I asked without thinking.
"It's a somewhat strange situation. One might think that names which are equivalent to each other either have the same meaning, or one is an alteration of the pronunciation of another. But often that's not the case. The name Domhnall, for instance, sounds quite like Daniel, and is used as an equivalent, but it is in fact of independent origin. It means "World Mighty" but because of an accident of pronunciation it's used as a translation of Daniel. And my own name, Jochebed, would probably be rendered Siobhan, though I sincerely doubt Siobhan means either glorious or honourable."
I felt very stupid at that point. Because he - no, she, used a male vessel, I had assumed that she was a male. It galled me to have to remind myself that I couldn't rely on assumptions.
"You seem to be quite familiar with the Irish language."
"I should be. I spent quite a while in Ireland, around the turn of the century."
"I wasn't aware of that."
"You never asked." She grinned infuriatingly at that remark. "They were interesting times. There was an attempt at a cultural revival, but it was more than just a reaction. It was a genuine attempt to make something new in an old language. I found the idea very attractive. Change doesn't always mean following the trends of history. Sometimes it means trying to alter those trends."
"That doesn't necessarily include reversing them."
She started preaching. I'd seen it once before, and it had been very impressive at the time. It was equally impressive now, and feeling the sincerity of her words made me want to believe it, though I knew it was only her opinion.
"There were attempts made to show that modern literature could be written in the Irish language, as indeed it could, and that the Irish language could adapt to new concepts, which it also could. Also, it was obvious that Ireland's political status was going to change in some manner. There was a resurgence in Republicanism in certain sectors of society, and ideas were reaching Ireland from abroad. I preached for the General Strike of 1913, and for the right of women to vote. I dreamed of an Ireland not merely free, but Gaelic, egalitarian and socialist as well." She stopped for a moment, and spread her arms, self-mockery plain in her face, before continuing.
"Of course, there were powerful forces opposed to such change, as there always are, but I didn't concern myself about that. They could be overcome somehow, and they only made the struggle more glorious. And after all, our Superior's Word is best served by change that is opposed, is it not? I hadn't reckoned on the extent to which those changes weren't supported by those I thought would support them. The republic would be attained and then all the promised change would flow forth. On Easter Monday of 1916, Irishwomen were called to defend the flag, but unless you were the daughter of a Sligo landlord, there was no prospect of doing so with gun in hand. I carried messages, of course, since I couldn't stay in one place, but had I done so, I would have been forced to nurse the wounded."
I tried to imagine Jochebed patiently nursing someone. It wasn't an image that sprung readily to mind. I then tried to imagine any of us doing so. It wasn't much easier.
"The end result was a great deal of bloodshed, though it could have been much worse. There was a new state, which was not quite a republic, and women had equal voting rights, and some trade union rights were recognised. But apart from that, the picture was uniformly grim. The Gaelic revival was destroyed by a heavy-handed approach which taught generations to hate the language. And the state fostered a stifling petty-mindedness and a narrow conservatism which I found too appalling to tolerate for very long. But I think the worst was the civil war. A great many people died in that war, a war over whether to sign a Treaty granting limited independence. And can you guess what single article of that Treaty caused most offence to the anti-Treaty side? An oath." She stopped then, projecting an outward calm which I knew to be a lie and which made me shiver.
"It was an oath of faithfulness, sworn to the King of Great Britain. As republicans, they could not in principle swear such an oath. And there was war between those who had fought on the same side, and just over a decade after that war ended, an Irish government removed the oath by an Act of the Free State Parliament. And do you know what difference that made, Mithredath? Would you like to hazard a guess?"
"No.", I replied to both questions.
"None. Absolutely none at all." She ceased declaiming, and sat down on the bed, looking (and my sense of the Symphony told me this was entirely unfeigned) very tired. "Change doesn't always bring change, Mitzi, and even when it does it isn't always for the better."
I felt helpless looking at her. I felt that any comfort that I offered would be false, and in any case, I found that I agreed with her conclusion. In fact, I realised that I had come to this conclusion a long time ago, but had never actually expressed it.
"As a Seraph, I should really know myself better than this."
She looked up at me. "Better than what?"
"What you said. I agree with it. You shouldn't put your Word above the greater good."
She smiled sadly. "I'm a Malakite. I don't have any choice about it any longer. I swore oaths, and now I must keep them."
I walked over to her and hugged her, trying to offer her at least that much comfort. But how much comfort could there be for someone who doubted her very nature? I was close to crying as I said "Remember to keep them. It won't serve the greater good for you to be Outcast." She nodded once, and held me more tightly, before letting go, almost pushing me away.
"Gash will get jealous if he sees us like this. Go talk to him. I'll be fine on my own." I knew that last statement for a lie, and winced, but I could see that she wanted to be on her own, even if she didn't think she'd be fine. So I went.
Kevin Walsh, Balseraph of Nitpicking, Demon of Off-Topic Trivia. -- "He was wont moreover to complain openly of the condition of the times wherein he lived, as not being renowned by any public calamities...And, at times, he wished for some terrible carnage of his armies, a famine, a pestilence, conflagrations, or an earthquake."
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