Chapter 94 The Count Goes Both Ways

And the both-ways count reached the upper road and the lower road and the whole long route in the third year's turning, and the turning was the whole of the two worlds' shared year, and the shared year was the count, and the count was both ways, and the both ways were the keeping, forever. And the both-ways counting spread in the third year beyond the children to the adults, the lit world's ferrymen counting with the drowned country's ferrymen at the turning hour, and the adults, who had learned the count from the children the way adults always learn it, by watching the children do it and then doing it themselves out of a kind of shyness that slowly became habit, found that the two worlds' grown people counted together more easily than they had ever spoken together, because a count is a kind of speaking that needs no language, only a rhythm, and the rhythm was the whole of the two worlds' shared speech, and the shared speech was the count, and the count went both ways, and the both ways were one way, forever. And the Bothways, named by the children and celebrated at the turning hour at the seam, grew each year to include the whole long route, the whole two roads, the whole shared world, and the world was kept by the Bothways the way the count was kept by the children, by the simple habit of showing up, year after year, and the showing up was the whole of the festival, and the festival was the Bothways, and the Bothways was the keeping, and the keeping was the children, and the children were the keeping, forever. The second winter's festival of the joining, which the two worlds' children had begun without a name, acquired a name by the end of the season, the children naming it simply the Bothways, and the Bothways was celebrated at the turning hour at the seam with the two counts joined and the note carried both ways and the bread shared by both worlds' hands, and the Bothways, named by the children of the two worlds, was the whole of the two roads' second winter's gift, a festival with no god and no doctrine and no office, only the count joined and the note carried and the welcome kept going both ways, forever. The count going both ways meant that the seam, which had been the boundary between the two worlds for a hundred years, became the place where the two worlds' mornings began at the same hour, the lit world's children starting their count at the hour the sun touched the seam and the drowned country's children starting theirs at the hour the seam's own light reached them from below, and the two counts, brought together at the seam every morning, were a daily proof that the two worlds had been running on the same clock all along, keeping the same rhythm under two names, the way a song keeps the same rhythm under two sets of words, and the daily proof was the whole of the second winter's keeping, and the keeping was the proof, and the proof was the count. The children of the drowned country taught the lit world's children the drowned country's own way of counting the dark hours, which was not by the rising and setting of any sun but by the rising and setting of the drowned country's own internal lamps, and the lit world's children, learning the drowned country's way, found that the two ways of counting the dark were the same way, that the drowned country's lamps rose and set in the same rhythm as the lit world's sun, because both were keeping time to the same turning of the world, and the turning of the world was the whole of the two roads' shared clock, and the shared clock was the whole of the second winter's count, and the count went both ways, and the both ways were one way, and the one way was the turning, and the turning was the world, and the world was the two roads, and the two roads were one, and the one was the count, and the count was the welcome, and the welcome went both ways, forever. The deep-winter joining of the two counts became, by the end of the second winter, a festival, the two worlds' children meeting at the seam at the turning hour and counting into each other's hands the way the note had been counted into the coal, and the festival had no name, because a thing that is celebrated by a whole world does not need a name, only a time, and the time was the turning hour and the place was the seam and the joining was the count and the count was the welcome and the welcome was the whole of the second winter, and the second winter was the whole of the two roads' second year, and the second year was the whole of the assessment's answer kept going both ways, forever. The count went both ways through the second winter of the two roads, the lit world's children counting down from the surface and the drowned country's children counting up from below, and the two counts met at the seam at the same hour every morning and were found, every morning, to be the same count, four and a rest, four and a hold, the same rhythm with two directions, the way a tide goes in and out and is the same water going and coming, and the count, going both ways, was the whole of the two roads' shared heartbeat, and the shared heartbeat was the whole of the second winter's keeping, and the keeping was the count, and the count went both ways, and the both ways were one way, and the one way was the whole of the two roads, and the two roads were one, and the one was the count, and the count was the welcome, and the welcome went both ways, forever.