Disclaimer: I am but a humble bard and poet telling my story through stories of old. (In other words, I don't own it!)
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The room was filled with that old, antique aroma. The wood furniture was polished with age and use rather than lacquer or varnish. An old grandfather clock, standing like a tree—tall and strong, let out its deep, somber chime.
The desk was neat and orderly, just like the person sitting behind its thick oak panes. He was old—some would say ancient—but he bearded the years well, cloaking himself in them like a scholar's robes, for scholar he was.
He sat looking intently at the young woman before him, astonished at how she had grown. The young, wild girl he loved so dearly—though she never failed to annoy him—was now the very image of her beautiful and charming mother, yet her eyes shown and shoulders bore the same regal demeanor that he respected in her father. And behind it all, that young, wild, confused girl still lay in that marvelous body.
"Lyra," the old man sighed, "In a month's time you will graduate, and be out in the world. Despite the inheritance of title, land and honor from your father, you are in no position to simply lay about here in Oxford and do nothing. Don't you have any idea of what path you wish your life to take?"
Lyra gazed out the window, the setting sun haloing her hair. Softly she caressed the velvet cloth lying on her lap.
"You know what I want most dearly, Master," Lyra said, looking up. "I will stay here, and study the alethiometer 'till I can read it like before."
"But to what end, Lyra? You know more than anyone that it can not guide you to him."
Lyra looked away at that, but knew it was true. "Build the Republic of Heaven, I guess," the girl replied, stroking the luscious fir of the pine marten about her neck.
"But how?"
That question was something Lyra knew she could not answer. After several moments, the Master of Jordan College spoke up once more.
"Have you asked the alethiometer what is best?" he asked.
A small sigh escaped from Lyra's lips. "I tried," she said, "But you know how hard it is for me now. All I could get was 'Constancy,' 'Mystery,' then Hourglass several times, 'Remember,' 'Succor,' 'Not,' the Bird a bunch of times, then 'Motherhood.' And that was after asking it several times and looking in the books, but I still don't know what any of it means."
"Perhaps it is best if you did not know," the Master said gently, "It sounds to me like this is something you have to find out on your own, not ask the Compass."
"Maybe…" Lyra said without conviction, "Maybe."
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Lyra walked down the now dark streets of Oxford to the Garden. She always went to the Garden now, even when it wasn't Midsummer. It helped her concentrate, helped her think. She felt Pan's warm body rub against her cheek and raised her hand to stroke his fur.
"We'll know when we know," he whispered softly in her ear. "Don't worry."
"It's not that simple, Pan," she replied. "What do I do for a job? We have some money, but not enough. And what about the Republic? If the window is to stay open, we have to start making Dust really soon, or the angels might have to close it!"
"They won't do that," he said soothingly, "They'll give us time."
Any response Lyra would have said was cut short by the distant sound of jeering and yelling. Having grown up on the streets had she had heard many similar sounds, but this one was frighteningly familiar—it was the same sound the children of Cittigaze made as they tormented the cat by the tower.
Without even looking at each other, Lyra and Pan knew what to do. Lyra bolted down the street, following the sounds as they got louder and more terrible, with Pan wrapped around her neck, his ears up straight to hear.
Then she saw them. It was a crowd of children—most no older than 10—surrounding a little girl in rags, huddled against the Garden wall.
Lyra pulled up short, horrified that these children—who could have almost been the same ones she grew up with on the streets—would do this. Sticks, and even small stones littered the ground around the girl, and her bloodied and bruised skin did nothing to hide the torment she was facing.
Will's words came to her then, from the depths of those most treasured and painful memories: "They were tormenting her just like those kids at the tower with the cat… They thought she was mad and they wanted to hurt her, maybe kill her, I wouldn't be surprised. She was just different and they hated her."
And with that memory, something else of Will's came flooding back to her. Pan may no longer have been able to change, but Will and Kirjava had left enough of themselves in them that Lyra knew what to do.
Running up to them and, with surprising strength, she grabbed one of the children and pulled him back. Viciously, she tossed him aside and moved to protect the girl, throwing her arms out to her sides and standing in front of her.
"Why are you hurting her?" She shouted at them, her voice changing to be just as commanding as her Father's, but more importantly (and surprisingly), she could feel her body straighten, her eyes sharpen and her features harden just like Will's.
"Why?" she demanded again at the stunned children surrounding her. None spoke, all frozen in place by her sudden fiery appearance and righteous anger. Inwardly, Lyra smiled. She may not be able to face off Iorek, but these children would be shaking in their boots before she's done.
"She en't like us! She don't have a Momma or Poppa!" one young girl cried out angrily.
Lyra turned her gaze slowly to the offending girl. She heard Pan hiss sharply in her ear, "Wrong answer!" Lyra couldn't agree more.
"And so you beat her?" Lyra demanded harshly.
Looking at her apprentice scholar's robes, another boy shouted back, "You en't like us either! You don't know nothin'!"
Before anyone could react—including Lyra herself—the boy was flat on the ground, his jaw suddenly broken from Lyra's vengeful punch.
"You're wrong," she told him dangerously, her street accent coming back full force. "I grew up on these streets. I own them, and you'd best remember it!"
Turning to the others, she continued harshly, "Now go home to you're ma's and pa's and tell them what you were doing here! And if I hear of you doin' it again, I'll come after ya! And make no mistake, I won't jus' be punchin' you then!"
The children just stood there and stared at her, shocked by obviously very real threat. Then, as one, they turned tail and fled.
Sighing, Lyra turned to face the girl. She sat there, huddled on the ground, her raspy breath hitched with tears, her shoulders quaking with pain and fear.
Kneeling down, Lyra said, "Sshh… It will be alright."
The girls only response was to curl in deeper, her little feet trying to push her further way, against the garden wall.
"Don't worry, I won't hurt you," Lyra said softly, scooting closer as Pan flowed down her side.
The girl shook her head, still tucked tightly in her arms and legs.
"They won't hurt you again, I promise."
"Go away," the girl whispered, "Please."
In response, Lyra reached out and gently moved aside the locks of hair hiding the girl's little head.
"I didn't have a mother either," Lyra said, gently. "Or a father. And my Uncle was never around to be much of anything. All my life, it was just me and Roger, really. Oh, sure, the Master, scholars and servants took care of me, but in the end it was just me an' Roger. Then he died. I tried to save him, you know, but I only ended up killing him."
She didn't know why she was telling the girl this, but she felt compelled to, just as she had in the World of the Dead. She had to give this girl something, and it was all she could think of giving.
"I know what it's like to be alone. I've been alone so often, it's become familiar to me, like Pan here. First my parents, then Roger, even Pan." At this the girl slowly looked up, and Lyra felt a jolt in her heart like none she had ever felt—it was then that she remember that morning, so many years ago…
…In all the life she could remember, Lyra had never been read to in bed; no one had told her stories or sung nursery rhymes with her before kissing her and putting out the light. But she suddenly thought now that if ever there was a voice that would lap you in safety and warm you with love, it would be a voice like the Lady Salmakia's , and she felt a wish in her heart to have a child of her own, to lull and soothe and sing to, one day, in a voice like that…
And it was then that Lyra knew what she wanted, knew what the alethiometer meant.
"I don't want to be alone any more, do you?" Lyra asked the girl, her voice suddenly filled with the same inflections, the same warmth and laughter that was in the Lady Salmakia's.
And then the tears, which were so close to breaking in the girls eyes, finally came, and Lyra, without prompt or invite, gently wrapped her arms around the girl, whispering softly in her ear little nothings, soothing, caressing, loving.
And it was in that moment, holding tightly to the girl sobbing in her arms, that Lyra fully understood the alethiometer's words: This shall remain a mystery until you remember to love not only as a Lover, but as a Mother as well.
"I'll be a Mother," Lyra whispered in between hushes and whispers, "I'll be a Mother to them, Will. And I'll build the Republic, just as we promised!"
And though she knew he wasn't there, Lyra could feel his presence behind her, and a tight squeeze on her shoulder that she knew wasn't Pan.
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Well, if Will was to be a priest—passionate and strong in presence and leadership—I thought it only appropriate if Lyra were a priestess—loving and caring, filled with the strength of a mother.
Just in case you didn't know, that italicized section isn't mine, either. That is Pullman's, from The Amber Spyglass.
By the way, just watched an anime series called Elfin Lied. The main character was in a situation like Will's and Lyra's with the cat, except she couldn't stop it, and it was her only friend. That's when she goes berserk and kills everybody using something akin to telekinetics. Really bloody, really mature, disturbing in some places, but still very beautiful.
Anyway…
Please review!