Chapter 3
They were in the grove. As he had the day before, Old Ogimos was giving the lesson. “Let us discuss the purpose of sacrifice, the meaning behind the ritual.” He glanced at Sirona and gave a faint nod. “Although death is nothing to fear, it’s not something that should be taken lightly either. For every death there must be a reason and proper attention given. When we butcher cattle, either for a feast or when the herd is culled in fall, we offer a part of the animal to Beli, god of the sun, to thank him for blessing us with the light and warmth that makes the grass grow to feed the cattle. When hunters kill the animals of the forest, they leave a portion of the kill to Cernunnos, thanking the god of animals for the meat. When we sacrifice a bullock at Imbolc or Beltaine, we are offering the gift of the animal’s life to the gods. As the bullock dies, its spirit floats free, and the balance between this realm and the Otherworld is maintained.
“Everything is about balance. All life flows in an endless circle, from this realm to the other realms and back again. If you seek out a quiet place and concentrate, you can begin to feel that ebb and flow of life, sense your part in it. Understand how everything is connected. Now I want all of you to close your eyes and feel the life force within you, the energy that animates your body. Feel your heart beating. The air flowing in and out of your breast...”
Ogimos continued to speak, but Sirona no longer heard his words. She was focused intently on doing as he said. She could feel the life force within her, how it was linked to everything else. She imagined herself as one of the stars in the heavens, twinkling brightly in the darkness.
A strange tingling began along her spine, and all at once she was looking down at the earth, observing a hillside by the sea. A circle of stones glinted silver and white in the moonlight. Some of the stones were nearly as tall as a man, others only knee high. As she watched, people appeared out of the shadows surrounding the stones. They were naked and had dark markings painted on their skin, swirling shapes, circles and spirals. The people started to dance, weaving back and forth around the edge of stones, but not entering the circle. Bonfires burned all around, turning the hillside into a whorl of shifting light and shadows. As the people danced, it seemed like they were a spindle drawing down the power of the moon and the stars, concentrating it. In the center of the circle, a light began to glow. It grew brighter and brighter. As bright as the sun—
“Visitors! The dun has visitors!”
The hillside vanished as Sirona opened her eyes. Young Avan stood on the pathway to the grove. His freckled face was flushed bright as a berry and he panted for breath.
“A whole group of Silures have arrived,” he gasped out.
Bryn was the first on his feet. “Do they look like fighting men? Are we at war?”
Avan shook his head. “This is a peaceful envoy. There are warriors among them, but also a Drui.”
Old Ogimos used his staff to lever himself up. “Lessons are finished for today. We should all go to the dun. There will be a feast honoring the visitors, so there will be much to do.” He began limping down the pathway, following after Bryn, who had dashed off even before Ogimos finished speaking.
Sirona stood up slowly. She felt dazed and weary, as if her spirit had left her body for a time and then returned. The images she’d seen haunted her. What did they mean? Who were the people on the hillside?
“What’s wrong with you, Sirona?” Cruthin asked. “Did you have another vision?”
“Vision?” Dichu’s voice was scornful.
“I was trying to do what our teacher bade us do,” Sirona answered. “To feel the life force within myself. To sense how everything is connected.”
Dichu glared at her and then left the grove.
“Tell me the truth,” said Cruthin. “Did you see something?”
“Of course not.” Sirona started walking toward the dun.
Cruthin fell in step beside her. “Have you come up with any ideas as to what my dream might mean? Or gained more understanding of your vision at the lake of the dead?”
“The night of the ceremony, I drank mead for the first time,” Sirona answered. “And then there was the bloodletting during the ceremony. Those things must have affected my thoughts and made me have an especially vivid and frightening dream.”
“I don’t believe it was a dream,” responded Cruthin. “And even if it was, it was surely sent by the gods.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Sirona hurried ahead of him. “I must go and see if my grandmother needs any help.”
When she reached the dun, she saw Tarbelinus and his warriors gathered near the gate with the visitors. The Silures were shorter and stockier than the Tarisllwyth, and had dark brown, black or deep red hair. Checked bracco covered their legs and they wore patterned cloaks woven in different colors than the garments of Tarisllwyth, with red and blue predominating. They also wore their hair in a different fashion, tied at the nape of the neck rather than plaited around their faces. One of the warriors had on a cloak banded in six colors, indicating he was of very high status, a chieftain’s son or brother. But there was no sign of the visiting Drui.
Sirona continued on to the hut, hoping to speak to Nesta, but her grandmother wasn’t there. She must be off helping the other women with the food.
Sirona sat down on her bedplace, closed her eyes and tried to calm her whirling thoughts. The vision of the people dancing on the hillside filled her mind. It seemed to represent some powerful, ancient magic. She was truly blessed to have been given such a vision. But what did it mean? And why had it come to her? Even more unsettling, how would she ever come to understand these things if she couldn’t speak of them with anyone?
She agonized for a long while, until she realized quite a bit of time had passed. If she were going get ready to greet visitors, she would have to hurry. She changed rapidly into her nicest gown, fashioned of bright saffron and blue plaid, and quickly combed her hair. Then she left the hut and hurried to the cistern to wash her face. There she encountered Bryn, who was also washing.
“Do you know why the visitors have come?” Bryn asked he dried his hands and face on his crys.
“Are they here to trade?” Sirona asked.
He shook his head. “They’ve come to ask Tarbelinus to send warriors to fight the Romans. The invaders are pushing west from their strongholds in the sunrise lands. The Silures insist we must join them in stopping the Romans.”
“Do you think your father will agree?”
Bryn gestured, his brown eyes flashing. “How can he not? The Romans’ greed knows no bounds. They’ll keep moving west until they reach us. Then they’ll seek to enslave us as they have the eastern Pretani tribes. We must join together with our neighbors to defeat them before it’s too late.”
“I haven’t heard of this Roman threat. Our teachers have said nothing about it.”
Bryn’s mouth twisted. “That’s because they’re Drui. They worry about the past rather than thinking about the future.”
“The past represents who we are, and defines our connection to the gods,” Sirona said. “It’s very important.”
Bryn scowled at her. Then almost immediately, his expression softened. “Of course you would think so. That’s your duty as a student of the grove. But a chieftain must think of the future, and boldly take on any challenges to his authority. He can’t hang back and see what happens, as Fiach suggests. He must act decisively.”
“Fiach’s advice seems prudent to me. War should be avoided if possible.” Then, realizing she was upsetting Bryn, she added, “So, tell me, where did you learn all this?”
“I listen in when my father meets with his council. After all, I must know about war and strategy if I’m to be chieftain someday.”
“How can you ever be chieftain? Your parents insist you train as Drui.”
“Old Ogimos told me that there are instances of a Learned One being chosen as chieftain.”
“How could that happen? A chieftain mus
t be able to lead warriors into battle. How could a Learned One do that?”
Bryn shot her a conspiratorial look. “He could do it if he were experienced in fighting and war as well in Drui learning.” He leaned near and spoke in a low voice. “I’ve been training nearly every day. I go into the forest early in the morning. I’ve hidden weapons and a shield there and I practice with them until it’s time to go to the grove.”
“Do your parents know about this?”
“Of course not.” He shrugged. “Usually they don’t even wake. The few times my mother has roused, I’ve told her I’m going to the sacred spring to make a sacrifice.”
“And she believes that?” Sirona asked dubiously.
“Why should she not? That’s what Drui do, isn’t it?”
Sirona shook her head. Poor Bryn. He was so determined to be a warrior. Yet all her instincts told her that no matter what he did, his parents would never relent.
“We should go to the feast hall,” she told Bryn.
He nodded, seemingly deep in thought.
As they entered the crowded feast hall, Sirona saw the flash of gold and bronze ornaments and the bright colors of checked and plaid wool clothing everywhere. In honor of the visitors, all the Tarisllwyth had dressed themselves in their finest attire. Sirona was very glad she’d changed her own garments.
She craned her head to see over the tall warriors, searching for the Learned Ones. She finally saw them, seated on skins and mats to one side of the hearth. In the cooking pit a haunch of beef sizzled and steamed, giving off a succulent aroma that mingled with the other delicious smells of freshly prepared food. At this time of year, Sirona guessed the meal would consist of fresh barley bannocks, creamy cheese flavored with garlic and leeks, and honey and nut cakes.
Sirona squeezed her way through the crowd. As she did so, she caught several of the visiting warriors staring at her, their blue eyes glittering from the mead being served in bronze drinking cups. She thought about what a relief it would be to finally reach full Drui status. Then she could wear the ceremonial garments of the grove, marking her as different from other women. She sat down next to Old Ogimos. On his other side was the Silure Drui, who was surprisingly young. He had dark red hair and piercing blue eyes.
Smiling at Sirona, he said, “I was just telling the others about the coming gathering on the sacred isle. It will be an opportunity to meet with fellow Drui from all over Albion, and even across the sea in the territory of the Belgae. We’ll share knowledge and honor the gods. We’ll discuss matters of interest to those of us who guide the spiritual futures of our tribes.”
“Forgive me, Kellach,” Fiach interjected. “But I’m well aware there’s another reason for this gathering. You can’t deny you hope to persuade all the Learned Ones to join together in condemning the Romans.”
Kellach spread his hands in a placating gesture. “The Romans are certainly among those matters that will be discussed, but it’s not the sole purpose for the meeting. There hasn’t been a true gathering of Learned Ones for many years. It’s time we join together and focus on the real meaning of being a Drui: our duty to preserve the knowledge of the past, to pass on the ancient legends and tales, to revere our ancestors and to convey the will of the gods to our people.” He paused and looked around. “Your tribe, in particular, has a great opportunity. The sacred isle lies on the other side of the mountains, only a few days travel away. You should be able to send all of your Learned Ones, as well as those in training.”
“You want us to take students to the gathering?” asked Fiach.
Kellach nodded. “At least those who’ve had a few years of learning. What better chance will they have to be exposed to the knowledge and mysteries of their elders?”
Sirona’s heart began to pound in excitement. If she could go to this gathering, she might be able to talk to other Learned Ones about her visions!
“You say the gathering is at the time of the Grain Moon?” Tadhg interjected. “That’s less than one cycle of the moon away.”
Kellach nodded. “I’ve already visited the tribes of the sunrise lands. I wanted to give them time to make the journey. In fact, some of those across the eastern sea may have already set out. I travel next to the tribes of the Decangi and then to the Segonti, since they live almost in view of the sacred isle.”
“I’m not certain it’s appropriate to take students,” said Fiach. Sirona tensed with disappointment. Please let us go, she thought desperately. Please.
“But it’s such a wonderful opportunity for them,” said Kellach. “This will be their chance to find their place among all the Learned Ones of our people. For a Learned One, being Drui is our first calling. Our primary duty is always to the secrets of the grove, even before the allegiance we owe to our chieftains.”
“I understand that,” said Fiach. “But I’m still not certain any of our students are ready for this next step.”
“Of course, we’re ready,” Dichu exclaimed. “Or, at least I am. I’ve nearly mastered the telling of nine-times-nine tales required to reach full Drui status. I can name all the constellations and foretell the movement of the moon and sun in the sky almost as well as Cuill. I’ve worked hard at my lessons. It would be a great injustice if I were left behind!”
“You see?” Kellach said in satisfaction. “This is a great opportunity for your students of the grove. I would advise you to take all of them.”
“Perhaps.” Fiach’s frown grew deeper, and his hazel eyes under the straight auburn brows were dark and ominous. “Although Math and Merin are clearly too young. And Sirona is also questionable.”
Sirona’s throat went dry. She longed to say something to convince Fiach she should go, but what? Her visions were the only thing that set her apart, yet she dare not speak of them.
“I’ve heard that many tribes don’t even allow women into the grove.” Cuill spoke for the first time. “Her presence there might be considered offensive.”
“That’s not true,” Kellach responded. “There are still a number of female Learned Ones among the Pretani. In fact, I have heard it suggested that females might be better suited for some Drui responsibilities than men are. Healing for example. Women seem to have an innate gift for taking care of the sick and wounded.” He smiled warmly at Sirona.
“Sirona’s no healer,” Dichu scoffed.
“They also make good diviners,” Kellach added. “Among some of the northern tribes, they have a tradition of soothsaying.”
“She’s certainly not a seer.” Dichu spoke up again, glaring at Sirona.
Sirona wanted to shout that aye, she was a seer! At the same time, she dreaded the thought that Fiach and the other Drui might be reminded of what her mother had done.
“Sirona has always been a very dutiful and hard-working student.” It was Old Ogimos who spoke this time, his deep voice ringing out with such resonance that several of the nearby warriors turned around. “I think she shows great promise, and the journey to the sacred isle would help her develop her abilities.”
“What abilities are those?” Dichu sneered. Math and Merin giggled.
Old Ogimos’s calm dignity never wavered. “Some individuals are born with a special connection to the spiritual realm. I think Sirona is one of those. Over time, she might learn to go into a trance and visit other realms and see glimpses of the future.”
Sirona held her breath. Old Ogimos was clearly trying to help her, but did he tread too close to the dangerous truth?
Fiach and Old Ogimos exchanged a look. Then the head Drui’s gaze swept over Sirona. His hazel eyes reminded her of a hawk’s, cunning, ruthless and observing far too much. He didn’t say anything to her, but turned to Kellach and announced, “It’s agreed. We’ll all go. Except Math and Merin, who are too young, and Ogimos, who feels unable to make the journey.”
Sirona let out her breath in relief. A moment later, her tension returned as Fiach spoke in warning tones. “But remember, on this journey I will have complete authority
over all of you. If you fail to show proper reverence and respect for the gods, or for Drui wisdom and authority, you will be punished, and punished most severely.” As he finished speaking, his eyes met Sirona’s. She froze, wondering if he was thinking of her mother.
Lady of the Moon Page 3
