Chapter 7
The forest thinned and finally ended. In the open area was a mound. Too round and perfect to be a hill, it rose up abruptly from the level terrain all around. There was a ditch around it and stones arranged in a ring at the base. As they drew near, Sirona saw an opening on the side of the mound. Breathless with excitement, she made her way through the ring of stones to the opening. Boulders blocked what appeared to be an entrance into the mound, with dressed stones marking the top and sides. The moon shone down, making the pale gray rocks glisten.
She examined the stones. On them were markings, spirals, dots and lines, weathered but still visible. Tingling with awe, she stroked her hand over the markings, wondering what they meant.
“What is it?” Cruthin called.
“There’s a grave here, an ancient one.” She returned to the ring of stones at the base of the mound. Laying her palm on the rough surface of one of the stones, she closed her eyes and concentrated. All at once, she was falling. She could see stars above her. Below was endless, empty space.
Astounded, she drew her hand away. Cruthin was standing nearby. “What do you think?” he asked. “Is there magic here?”
She nodded, then glanced around and tried to shake off the dizziness the brief vision had aroused.
“What’s wrong?”
“This isn’t what I expected. There’s power here. The stones hum with energy. But what it means...” She shook her head.
Cruthin approached her. “Come with me.”
She followed him to a grassy area a short distance away. He spread out his wolf pelt cloak—made from the animal he’d killed during his man-making trial a year before—then began to take things out of his pack. A waterskin. Leather bag. A small gold knife. The weapon looked like no weapon Sirona had ever seen before.
“Where did you get that?” she asked.
“Pellan. She said it was something passed down through her family. Her people believe gold has special powers. Don’t be afraid. It’s not a weapon, but a kind of amulet. Now, eat with me. Drink.”
“Pellan gave you all those things? Why?”
“She recognized I had a special connection to the gods. When she discovered I wanted to hold a ceremony honoring the Goddess, she agreed to help me.”
“That was very generous of her,” Sirona said skeptically.
“She said no man could ever get as close to the Goddess as a woman could. That’s why it’s important you are here.”
Was Cruthin merely using her? Yet, she wanted to be part of this. The idea of worshiping the Great Mother Goddess and feeling Her power enthralled her.
Cruthin held out the skin. Sirona accepted it and took a swallow. She’d expected mead, but this beverage didn’t taste sweet and fiery, but cool and dark, like the earth. It reminded her of the drink Lovarn had given her, although it was not quite the same. “What is it?” she asked.
“Magic,” Cruthin said. “It will give you enchanted dreams.”
Sirona drank a little more, then handed back the skin. Cruthin opened the leather pouch and took out a mealcake. “Take a bite,” he urged.
Sirona did so, then watched as he gulped down the rest of the contents of the skin and finished off the mealcake. “What’s next?” she asked.
Cruthin smiled lazily. “Next, I evoke the Goddess.”
He drew away from her, then lifted his arms to the heavens and began to sing:
“Arianhrod, Ceridwen, Rhiannon,
Blodeuwedd, Modran, Don,
Branwen, Cyhiraeth, Morrigan.
I invoke you—maiden, mother, crone
Lady of the moon,
Keeper of the cauldron,
Great queen,
Maiden of summer,
Lifegiver,
Grain goddess,
Lady of love and desire,
Keeper of pools and springs,
Raven of death.
Enfold me in your warm, soft flesh.
Fill me with your light.
Quench my thirst with your gleaming rivers and streams.
Feed me from your supple breasts.
Make me strong.
Make me powerful.
Make me invincible.”
Sirona had never heard Cruthin sing before. He had a bard’s voice, beguiling and honey sweet, yet edged with power. For the first time she saw him not as the fellow student she’d known nearly all her life, but as a Drui. Listening to him evoking the magic of the night sky sent a thrill down her body.
If he seemed changed, then she was as well. She felt keenly alive, her senses heightened. When Cruthin came to where she stood and said, “Take off your clothing,” she didn’t hesitate. She reached down, grasped the skirt of her gown and pulled it over her head.
Cruthin’s gaze moved over her. She could feel it lingering on her breasts, making her nipples tighten, then moving down to her groin. Never before had she felt so acutely aware of her own flesh. Of the softness and fragility of her skin. Of the heat of her blood flowing through her veins. The weight of her breasts, as if they pulled her toward the earth. Of the hidden opening between her thighs. Of her womb, small and empty inside her, and yet ready to grow and swell and burst with life. All that was needed was a man’s seed.
Cruthin drew near. He put his hands on her shoulders, then cupped her breasts. She gasped at the pressure of his callused palms against her nipples. He kissed her, then nuzzled aside her hair and nibbled on her neck. She sighed with pleasure. His soft breath tantalized her skin. His mouth enflamed her flesh. Swirling, dark energy.
Her limbs went limp, and she leaned against him, grabbing his shoulders to keep from falling. With a swift, easy movement he picked her up and carried her over to the mound. She heard his harsh breathing as he labored up the slope. At the very top, he lay her down upon the soft grass. “Wait here,” he said.
As if in a trance, she watched him climb down. The stars swirled overhead. The moon shone down upon her body. She was cold. She was on fire.
He returned in moments. Very carefully, very deliberately, he laid the small gold knife between her breasts, with the blade pointing downward. She wanted to ask what it meant, but she couldn’t speak. He stood over her and began to undress. She drank in the vision he made. The long, sinewy grace of his torso. His strong neck and proud features. The way his dark hair brushed his shoulders. His narrow hips and lean, tanned legs. And rising up between them, his phallus. Bold and alive, it thrust out like a weapon. She stared at it in amazement, wondering how it could possibly fit inside her. He saw the direction of her gaze and smiled. “I will please you.”
He came over to her and straddled her hips, looking down at her. “Take me, Sirona. Become the Goddess and mate with me.”
She was overwhelmed by desire. A hunger she had not fathomed. It welled up inside her, making her body ache with need. The need to be joined with this man, to feel their bodies fit together. Her flesh a sheath for his living, pulsing dagger.
“Aye,” she whispered. “Aye.”
He knelt between her thighs and used his hand to guide himself into her. There was pressure, then pain. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth against the searing, stretching sensation. As her flesh yielded, she gasped with relief and desire. Then she looked up at him.
It wasn’t Cruthin who leaned over her, but some creature with the torso of a man and the head of a stag. And it wasn’t a stag’s eyes that met hers, but the ferocious golden-eyed gaze of a predator. Sirona screamed and began to struggle. The beast held her down. She fought harder, flailing her arms, clawing and writhing with all her strength.
At last, somehow, she threw the creature off. She lay there panting, afraid to look. Afraid the beast meant attack her again. Dreading that she would once more have to gaze into those cold, yellow eyes. Finally, trembling, she dared to turn her head. Cruthin lay beside her, his face and torso livid with deep, bloody scratches. “Why did you do that?” he asked.
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nbsp; Sirona felt numb with shock. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It wasn’t you who I was fighting. It was... some creature. Part man. Part stag. Part... wolf, I think. I thought it was going to... devour me.” She shuddered.
Cruthin sat up. “Cernunnos,” he said. “You saw Cernunnos?” His voice was taut with excitement. “Of course. Arianrhod, the lady of the moon, the goddess of the silver wheel, she is the consort of the Horned One. I made you a goddess. And you, in turn, conjured a god. But why...” He looked at her quizzically. “Why did you fight Cernunnos? Why didn’t you accept him—accept me—into your body?”
“I couldn’t help it,” she said. “I was afraid. The creature I saw was monstrous.”
“A pity. If you weren’t such a coward, you could be my consort. Together we could make great magic.”
Cruthin stood and climbed down the mound. Sirona watched him in dismay and confusion, then began to dress. When she finished, she made her way down as well. Looking around for Cruthin, she saw him dancing in the open meadow nearby. His movements were wild and unrestrained. Flailing arms. Twirling body. Jumps and leaps. Pure, instinctive movements. As if he heard music. All at once, Sirona heard it, too. A wild, keening melody, sad and lovely.
She watched Cruthin, in awe of the beauty of his movements. He reminded her of an otter cavorting beside a stream. A salmon leaping the rapids. A deer bounding through the forest. Lithe and graceful. The moonlight flashed over his spinning body, black, then silver, then black again. Light and shadow. Life and death.
As he jumped and twirled in the tall grass among the bracken and heather, people came out of the shadows to join him. Slender and naked, they danced around him, moving in a slow, rhythmic pattern. They began to chant in a language Sirona had never heard before. And yet, it seemed familiar, as if the meaning of the words was buried in her mind somewhere.
When she returned her gaze to Cruthin, he had turned into Cernunnos again. On his head were the antlers of a stag, while his body remained that of a man. She couldn’t see his face. But she knew now that he was the god of the animals, of the hunt, of death. This time she was not afraid. She was watching from a distance, not feeling the hot breath of the beast looming over her. Faster and faster he whirled, until he was a blur. The moonlight shone down, turning him into a vivid, bright light. The light grew in intensity, blazing, brilliant, the brightest thing she had ever seen. Then it vanished.
She blinked in shock. No matter how she strained her eyes, she could see nothing in the place where Cruthin and the other dancers had been. “Cruthin,” she cried. “Cruthin, where are you?”
She moved forward, her gaze sweeping the area. A cloud had covered the moon, and everything was cloaked in darkness. Gradually, her eyes adjusted, and she caught sight of Cruthin lying nearby. She ran to him. He didn’t move when she touched his face, and she had the horrifying thought that he was dead. She put her hand to his throat and cried out in relief when she felt his pulse.
She rushed back to where they had left their supplies and grabbed up the wolfskin and their other clothing. Returning to where Cruthin lay, she balled up his bracco and put them under his head, then covered him with his crys. She put on her gown and stretched out next to him, then dragged the wolfskin over them both. Cruthin seemed to be in either a trance or deeply asleep. She was also exhausted. She couldn’t keep her eyes open...
* * *
When Sirona awoke, the sun was already up and shining hotly on her face. She sat up slowly, and memories of the night before filled her mind. She recalled the desire she’d felt. Then the terrifying sight of the monster looming over her. Yet, it hadn’t been a monster, but Cruthin. Cruthin had turned into Cernunnos. He’d called down the Goddess and She had transformed him. She had also brought the people who danced in the circle of light.
Sirona shook her head. It must have been a dream, or some sort of Seeing caused by the potent brew they’d drunk. A dream... and yet... here they were, far from the rest of the Learned Ones. All at once, panic engulfed her. They’d left a sacred ceremony. Now it was morning and too late to go back and pretend they’d been there all along!
She leaned over and grabbed Cruthin’s shoulder and shook him. “Wake up! It’s morning. We must go back.” She shook him again. When he didn’t respond, she jostled him more vigorously.
“Uhhh,” he moaned, rolling away from her.
“Come on, Cruthin. Get up.”
He mumbled something but didn’t rise.
“Please, Cruthin. Please.” She shook him again, roughly this time. After several attempts, she was able to rouse him. He was sleepy and disoriented, and she had to help him dress. Seeing the marks of dried blood on his chest and face made everything seem more real. She hadn’t dreamed it. Cruthin had turned into Cernunnos. It was incredible. Astounding. And yet, in the cold light of day, she wondered if even such an amazing experience could compensate for what they now faced. To leave an important sacrifice, a ceremony meant to honor the gods.... Her breath caught as she wondered what their punishment would be.
She finally got Cruthin walking, although he still acted as if he were half-asleep. As they made their way across the clearing toward the forest, she glanced back at the mound and remembered the small gold knife. She went back to look for it, climbing on top of the mound. By daylight, the sense of power had all but vanished. And so had the knife. She couldn’t find it anywhere.
She returned to where she’d left Cruthin. He’d lain down again and she had to rouse him. Eventually, she got him moving again. She decided they should go back to the gathering place, rather than returning to the lake of sacrifice. That way they could say they had returned there on their own after the ceremony.
She was able to find the pathway between the gathering place and the lake of sacrifice and they started walking. Cruthin didn’t speak. He still seemed to be in some sort of trance. She wondered what he remembered from the night before.
She recalled the people who had appeared and danced around Cruthin. Were they spirits, visitors from another time? Were they the Old Ones? She tried to remember what they had looked like. Dark-skinned, small-statured men and women, like the fisherfolk. Their naked bodies had been painted with strange symbols, some of which reminded her of the markings on the stones at the entrance to the mound. They reminded her of the people she’d seen in her first vision.
She wondered if the events of the night before were that Seeing come to life. But there were differences. Her vision had been of a hillside by the sea. There had been no mound there and the circle of stones was much larger. And something told her that the time of her vision was still in the future.
When they drew close to the gathering place, Sirona slowed her pace. If they didn’t rejoin the others, they would be left behind on the sacred isle. Would that be such an awful fate? But neither she nor Cruthin knew much about surviving on their own. To even attempt such a thing would be foolish. Then she heard voices, and the decision seemed to have been made for her. They walked into the clearing, which was full of Learned Ones.
Someone said, “There they are.” In moments, they were surrounded by Drui.
* * *
“These young people have failed in their duty and damaged our relationship to the gods. What does it matter how many bulls we sacrifice if some of our number have no regard for the sacred rituals?” Elidyr paused for breath, then continued, “I’m not certain what punishment is appropriate here. Nothing like this has ever happened at a gathering. For that matter, I know of no incidence of such disrespect among my own tribe, or any other. If these two were children and just learning their responsibilities as Learned Ones, it would be one thing. But they have been through their man-making and woman-making rituals. As adults, they must be held accountable.”
“I agree,” Fiach answered. “In fact, this is not the first time that Cruthin...” He pointed, “that this young man has shown disregard for our rules. I warned him that if he went off again on his own, I would see
him expelled from the grove.”
Sirona stood rigid. It was as bad as she had feared. They were in trouble, grave trouble.
“Of course, he must be expelled,” another man spoke. “But is that enough? He has trained for years to learn the mysteries, the secrets of the grove. Can we let him walk away with that kind of knowledge when he clearly has no respect for it? What will the gods think of us if we allow the sacred wisdom to be tainted and betrayed in such a manner?”
“What of the woman?” someone asked. “Is she to be held accountable the same as the man?”
“Her failing sheds doubt upon all female Learned Ones,” said another Learned One. Sirona recognized him as the young man who’d was talking about making human sacrifices to the gods. He was young, with black hair and strange pale eyes. “I say we should expel all females from the grove!”
“That’s nonsense.” It was a woman who spoke now. An ancient-looking crone Sirona had only seen only once or twice during the gathering. “If you reason thus, then men are not fit for the honor of the grove either, since one of your number has broken the sacred law as well.” The woman motioned to Sirona and Cruthin. “I, for one, would like to know why these two young people left the ceremony. Perhaps they had good reason for doing so.”
Should she speak? Sirona wondered. Should she tell them about the incredible things she’d seen at the mound?
She opened her mouth, but before she could utter a word, she heard Cruthin’s harsh whisper. “Tell them nothing. They’re too stupid to understand.”
Inclining her head to him, she whispered back, “What if they decide to kill us? Will you advise silence then?”
“They won’t,” he said. “The Great Mother Goddess won’t allow it.”
“If you would speak, then share your words with all of us!” Elidyr thundered. He took a step toward them, his face a rictus of harsh lines. “Tell us the reason for your blasphemy!”
Cruthin’s expression was calm, almost disdainful. “What happened to us last night is beyond your understanding.”
“Your defiance is matched only by your arrogance.” Elidyr turned away. “Such willful disobedience must be punished severely!”
“I will speak! I know why they left the ceremony.” Sirona saw Bryn making his way through the crowd. “They wished to go to a place of the Old Ones,” he said breathlessly.
Sirona stared at Bryn in astonishment. There was no way he could know such a thing, unless Dysri had told him.
“Come forward.” Elidyr urged Bryn nearer, and Bryn obeyed. He was taller than most of the Learned Ones, his bearing, proud and bold, like a warrior. Guilt squeezed Sirona. She had lied to Bryn more than once and not always treated him kindly. What if he was punished for defending her?
“Tell us why you believe they had some purpose other than making a mockery of the ceremony,” Elidyr said.
“I heard them talking about their plans to find a place of the Old Ones. That woman.” Bryn pointed to Dysri. “She will tell you it’s true.”
Dysri stepped forward, her voice calm and assured. “It is indeed true. The young woman came to me for advice, asking me to help her find a place sacred to the ancient race. She seemed very serious and respectful. I don’t think she meant to offend the gods by her actions.”
“It matters not why they left the ceremony, only that they did so.” The young man spoke again, his voice harsh and impatient. “The council of high Drui must decide on an appropriate punishment. I would argue for death myself. Send their spirits to the Otherworld, to apologize for what they’ve done.”
“You can’t do that!” Bryn cried. He moved closer to Sirona. “This woman is a seer. The gods speak to her. If you kill her, they will be angry. Are you willing to risk that?”
Everyone looked at Sirona. She wanted desperately to speak, to tell them what she’d experienced. But she felt Cruthin behind her, his eyes boring into her. Was he right? Would speaking about what had happened to them taint the sacred nature of what they’d experienced?
Elidyr turned to Fiach. “This woman is of your tribe. Do you have any reason to believe she’s a seer?”
Fiach stared at Sirona, eyes narrowed.
“Has she told you she has visions?” Elidyr asked.
“Nay,” Fiach answered.
“This is absurd,” interjected the young, dark-haired Drui. “If those of her own tribe don’t know of her visions, I don’t think—”
“It’s true!” Dysri moved to stand between Sirona and Elidyr and the other Drui. “Sirona has exceptional gifts. During the gathering, she came to my tribe’s camp to find me. I wasn’t there, so she spoke with a man who appeared to be guarding the camp. She conversed at length with this man, named Lovarn. When I came back to the camp, she told me of the incident, and I told her that the person she had spoken to had been dead for a dozen years.”
There was murmuring among the gathering. Then the young Drui said, “She might have made that up. She could have learned of this Lovarn from someone else and created this tale to make you think she talks to spirits.”
“Nay,” Dysri said. “No one else here knows about Lovarn. What she experienced was indeed a glimpse into the other realm. These things come to her unwilled. She doesn’t seek them out. Perhaps it’s true the gods wanted her to leave the ceremony. Perhaps they had some other purpose in mind for her last night.”
“And what of the man? Does he also see visions? Is he also ‘gifted’?” The young Drui’s lips curled in disgust.
“Aye.” Sirona stepped forward, unable to remain silent any longer. Her voice came out strong and bold. “Cruthin is more than gifted. He doesn’t merely see visions, he becomes one with the gods. Last night, I saw him turn into Cernunnos. I saw the antlers upon his head. His face became that of a beast... with yellow eyes and a cruel mouth. And there was more. I saw people dancing in a circle, drawing down the magic of the night sky. I—”
“Silence!” Elidyr cut her off. “You can make up whatever tales you wish, but it doesn’t change what you’ve done.” He made a slashing motion. “The council will discuss this matter in private and decide your fate. For now, you’ll both be confined to your tribe’s camp.” He nodded to Fiach. “They must be guarded at all times.”
“Of course,” Fiach answered.
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