Lady of the Moon

by Mary Gillgannon

A.D. 61

  The settlement was crowded with many wooden buildings, although they didn’t look like the round dwellings of a Pretani settlement. The air was full of the haze of smoke. Ahead of her, Sirona saw a woman with long, reddish gold braids. The woman moved cautiously, a bundle clutched her to her chest. Her eyes darted around, wide with fear and dread.

  The tall form of a man loomed out of the murk. He wore a long warrior’s mustache and carried a club and a round shield. With his club, he knocked the woman down. The woman struggled to rise, but her attacker swung the club once more, striking her on the side of the head. As the woman fell, the bundle she carried went flying. The babe inside the wrapping tumbled out and lay squalling on the ground.

  The warrior crouched over the woman, as if to make certain she was dead, then straightened. He started to move on, and then spied the baby lying there, screaming, tiny fists flailing. With a swift kick, he sent the infant sailing into the wall of a nearby building.

  Sirona awoke, pulse pounding, stomach churning. She sat up and took a deep breath as she sought to shake off the horror of the dream. Dysri, lying nearby in the leather-walled shelter, also roused. “Sirona, what is it?”

  “A Seeing, I think.” Sirona swallowed, struggling against a wave of nausea. “This one was awful.”

  “Do you want me to brew some mint and thyme to help calm you?”

  Sirona touched the blue-green stone hanging between her breasts, seeking comfort from the warmth of the object. “I’ll be all right. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  Dysri sat up on her bedplace. “You’ve had several troubling dreams lately. What do you think it means?”

  Sirona shook her head, unwilling to discuss the matter. “Go back to sleep, and I’ll try to do the same.”

  Long after Dysri’s breathing had grown deep and even, Sirona lay there, wide awake. She kept seeing the dream in her mind. Both the woman and the warrior had appeared to be Pretani. So, why had the man killed her? And why did these visions come to her now, when she had lived in the north for four untroubled years?

  Her sense of foreboding grew until it felt like a rock lodged in her belly. She could feel her destiny reaching out for her... a claw-like hand groping in the darkness. Shuddering, she once more shifted position on the bedplace.

  * * *

  “Sirona, wake up.” Dysri nudged her. “There’s a visitor in camp.”

  Sirona’s stomach still felt unsettled from the vision of the night before, and her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. But once awake, she hurried to dress and comb her hair. She felt certain this visitor and her visions were connected.

  Although he appeared fairly young, the man talking to Ruadan in the chieftain’s hall wore the garb of a Learned One. As soon as he saw her, the man’s blue eyes widened. Gradually, she recognized him. It was the young Drui who had come to Mordarach the spring before the gathering on the sacred isle.

  He smiled and beckoned her near. “It’s a pleasure to find another Learned One here in the north. I am Kellach of the Silure tribe.”

  Sirona cleared her throat and responded, “And I am—”

  “Sirona of the Tarisllwyth,” he finished for her. “I remember you from when I visited your home dun.”

  Sirona stared at him, not knowing what to say. Kellach’s blue eyes focused on her keenly. “I recently went back to Mordarach. When I asked about you, I was told you were dead. They said you went north to find your father’s tribe. When your escort didn’t return, they sent out a search party but found nothing. They thought all of you had been killed by Romans.”

  “I wasn’t there when the Romans attacked,” Sirona explained. “I had gone off to fetch some water. When I came back, my escort was dead. I attempted to bury the two men, then wandered on my own for days until I made my way here. Tell me, how did Tarbelinus’s search party know we were attacked by Romans?”

  “Of course it was Romans,” Kellach responded. He glanced at Ruadan. “Who else would have done such a thing?” He looked back at Sirona. “Apparently, you haven’t been in contact with Tarisllwyth these past years. It would seem I have much news to share with you.”

  Ruadan, a florid-faced, burly man who got his name from his bright red hair, gestured broadly. “Let us seat ourselves before the fire and you can share your tale with all of us.”

  Once settled on some furs with a cup of heather beer in his hand, Kellach began, “This is the story of Sirona’s home tribe. Three years ago, Romans came to their settlement. At first, they demanded tribute and their chieftain, Tarbelinus, gave it to them. But he eventually grew angered by the contempt they showed your people and plotted his revenge. This previous sunseason, when a Roman envoy came to collect the tribute, Tarbelinus had them killed. That brought the wrath of the Romans down upon them. A large force was sent to the settlement.” He shook his sadly. “They tried to fight, but they were easily defeated. There were simply too many of the enemy. The Romans took Tarbelinus away in chains. Later it was reported that he died on the journey across the sea.”

  Sirona felt sick to her stomach. Her mother had predicted this. Thank the gods Nesta had not been alive to see it happen.

  Then Sirona thought of Bryn. Her mother had also said he would die in the first battle he fought in. Had that prophecy also come true? The thought deepened her turmoil. Had she made a mistake when she encouraged him to go off and become a warrior? “What about Tarbelinus’s son?” she asked Kellach breathlessly. “Have you heard anything of him?”

  “As I understand it, he left the settlement many years ago, soon after you did. No one knows where he is.”

  Sirona’s mind raced. Bryn might still be alive... but his father was dead. She could scarce believe it. Tarbelinus had always seemed as strong and enduring as the timber walls of Mordarach itself. She raised her gaze to Kellach’s, dreading his response. “When the Romans attacked Mordarach and took Tarbelinus prisoner, what happened to the rest of the tribe?”

  “The Romans didn’t kill them, but made them a subject people. That way they can continue to produce wealth for the Romans to steal.”

  “What of the Tarisllwyth Learned Ones?” she asked.

  Kellach shrugged. “Fiach and the others were allowed to remain with the tribe. But it’s not the same. The tribe’s connection to the gods has clearly been disrupted.”

  Kellach turned to Ruadan and began to detail more of the abuses of the enemy. Gradually, through her own grief and shock, Sirona started to understand. This man had come here to convince the Cunogwerin chieftain to join in the fight against the Romans. He was using the tale of what had happened to her people as a warning of what might happen to the northern tribes if they didn’t take action.

  Sirona felt a touch on her hand and turned to look into Dysri’s sympathetic gaze. Sirona nodded, feeling very glum. When her mother predicted Tarbelinus’s fate, she’d said the Tarisllwyth would be destroyed. At least that part of the prophecy hadn’t come true... yet.

  She turned her attention back to what Kellach was saying.

  “I’m traveling the whole width and breadth of Albion, warning our people that the time to stop the Romans is now. If we all band together, we can defeat them and drive them out of our territories. An uprising is being planned by Boudica, queen of the Iceni. She intends to attack the Roman settlements in the eastern territories. She’s asking all the Pretani tribes to send warriors to aid her.” Kellach’s voice grew imploring. “What say you, Ruadan? Will you send men to fight the Romans? Will you consider joining this uprising?”

  “Life is difficult here in the north,” Ruadan said. “I can’t commit warriors to fighting an enemy we haven’t even seen.”

  “But you will see them, I vow it! The highland peoples thought the same as you, that there was safety in their isolation. But they were wrong, and now they are paying for their blindness.” Kellach shot a fierce glance at Sirona, as if asking her to confirm his words.

  After a moment, she nodded, and Kellach c
ontinued, his voice taut with conviction. “We must fight the Romans, all of us, everyone who bears a drop of Pretani blood. If we don’t, there will be no future for our people.”

  Ruadan still appeared dubious. “I can’t believe the Romans would ever come this far north. If they did, what would they steal from us? Our cattle? By the time they drove the animals into their territories, the beasts would be naught but skin and bones, worthless except for their hides.” He shook his head. “There’s nothing for the Romans here. They won’t trouble us.”

  Kellach made a sound of disgust. Then he seemed to realize such an attitude wouldn’t help sway Ruadan. He turned to Sirona. “What of you? Your home has been destroyed by the Romans. Your people killed or subjugated. Doesn’t that distress you? Have you no desire to seek vengeance against the enemy?”

  Sirona had to admit she hated the Romans. She would never forget what they had done to Einion and Culhwch. But what did Kellach expect her to do? She wasn’t a warrior. How could she fight the enemy?

  Kellach rose abruptly. “I hope you will think on these things, Ruadan. Perhaps talk to your warriors about what I’ve said.” He motioned to Sirona. “Come, Sirona, walk with me.”

  She got to her feet. As they left the chieftain’s hut and moved through the settlement, she felt as if she were in a daze, her mind struggling to take in all that Kellach had told her.

  “Ruadan’s stubborn.” Kellach’s voice was bitter. “Like so many chieftains. They won’t listen until it’s too late.” He turned to Sirona. “Will you help me? Will you try to convince him to send warriors to fight the Romans?”

  “I have no influence with Ruadan.”

  “But these people respect you. No one questioned that you should be included in the discussion.”

  “The Learned Ones here don’t perform the same functions as the Drui of the southern tribes. When there is a ceremony to mark one of the important events in the wheel of the seasons, it’s led by Ruadan, not Dysri or myself. Life for these people is harsh and demanding, and their religious rites have become simpler and more straight-forward. And yet, they are very devout,” she added, hoping she hadn’t given Kellach the wrong idea. “For every aspect of their lives, they give thanks to the gods, offering a sacrifice each time they slaughter one of the herd or kill a wild animal. They will not pass a spring or pool without whispering a blessing to the spirit that dwells there. In the ceremonies, they mostly honor Cernunnos, and Bran, a war god.”

  Kellach grunted. “If I were you, I would be angry not to be accorded more authority.”

  “I may not have much authority, but I’ve been treated very well. I’m not charged with the responsibilities most Brigante women have. I’m not required to spin or weave, to grind grain or work in the fields in the summer.”

  “And no man has asked to handfast with you, has he?” Kellach asked, his blue eyes shrewd.

  “Nay. But there’s no man here I desire.”

  They walked in silence for a time, then Kellach said, “Then there’s nothing keeping you here. No reason you couldn’t leave.” He stopped and turned to look at her. “Do you still have visions, Sirona?”

  She hesitated, uneasy. How did he know this? Had Fiach told him?

  His gaze continued to pierce her. “Aye, I’ve heard the tale of what you did on the sacred isle. It doesn’t trouble me, but makes me think that my first impression of you was right—you’re very gifted.” Kellach drew nearer, his eyes seeming to burn with blue light. “Tell me. What do you see for our people? Will we defeat the Romans?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Things come to me only in glimpses.”

  Kellach started walking again. Sirona followed. His questions haunted her, reminding her how little she knew about her abilities and what she was meant to do with them. They reached the edge of the Brigante camp. Ahead of them stretched hills covered with the reddish glow of blooming bell heather and edged with dark forests. “Come with me,” Kellach said.

  Sirona looked at him in surprise. “When you travel north?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve decided to turn back. There’s no point going deeper into the midnight lands. If I can’t convince Ruadan of the Roman threat, I’ll fare no better with the other Brigante chieftains. I’ll go west instead. The people of your homeland are not so stupid and stubborn. They will realize we must join together against this common threat.”

  “But why do you want me to go with you?” she asked. “If you think the Silure and Ordovice chieftains will heed you, why do you need me to come with you?”

  “Because you’re trained as a Learned One.”

  “But my training is incomplete,” she pointed out.

  “Yet it’s better than nothing.” Kellach gestured. “Why shouldn’t you leave here? This isn’t your tribe, your people. They accept you, but you’re not really one of them. You spoke of Bryn, Tarbelinus’s son. Perhaps if you came with me, you might find him. Or, the young man with whom you got into trouble on the sacred isle.”

  Kellach was clever. Astute enough to realize she might be convinced to go with him in order to search for the companions of her youth. Reluctantly, she thought of Cruthin and the magic they had shared at the mound on the sacred isle. Then she pushed the memory away. “Tell me about this Iceni queen,” she said.

  Kellach’s mouth quirked, as if he were amused she’d changed the subject. “Her name is Boudica. She and her family suffered terribly at the hands of the Romans, and she’s vowed revenge. She plans to lead a large army—as many men as I can bring to her cause—and attack the enemy’s eastern settlements.”

  Sirona thought of the red-haired, regal woman in one of her first visions. The look of cruel satisfaction on the woman’s face was burned into her mind. “Have you met this woman, Boudica? Can you describe her?”

  Kellach’s expression grew intent. “Why do you ask? Have you seen a vision involving her?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Tell me, in your vision, does it appear that Boudica and her forces are victorious?” Kellach’s voice was tense and breathless. His blue eyes bored into her as if he could will the Seeing from her mind to his own.

  “In my vision, I saw a tall, strong-looking red-haired woman. There was smoke and fire behind her, and I could hear the screams of the dying.”

  Kellach smiled. “So, it’s truly going to happen. This time we will prevail over the Romans.”

  Remembering her recent dream, Sirona wasn’t so certain. A destiny of death and destruction awaited someone, but she didn’t know if it was the Romans or the Pretani.

  Kellach seemed to sense her unease. “Consider this, Sirona. Even if the Tarisllwyth banished you, you still have a duty to your tribe. Now that Tarbelinus is dead, his son, Bryn, is needed at Mordarach. You also have responsibilities as a Learned One. The Romans are a threat to all we stand for. Surely you must see that now.”

  “I’m no longer a Learned One,” she repeated.

  “And yet, you continue to look at the world as a Learned One would. That’s something that’s sorely needed.”

  Kellach was giving her another chance. He knew what had happened on the sacred isle, yet didn’t reject her because of it. She thought about the sense of isolation and loneliness that had gnawed at her since coming north. At one time she’d believed this was where she would find the answers she sought, but it hadn’t happened.

  Kellach continued his coaxing. “You could be a great help to me, Sirona. The number of Learned Ones has dwindled greatly. Your knowledge and insight are desperately needed. And then there is the fact that you’re a seer. I believe you’ve been sent these visions because you’re meant to use them to alter the future. Our future. The destiny of our people.”

  Kellach’s words tantalized her. To imagine there was a purpose behind the awful images. To believe that she might use her Seeings to help those she cared about. And yet she remembered Itzurra saying that involvement in the realm of men was what had destroyed her mother. How could she pr
event the same thing from happening to her?

  “I’ll have to think on it,” she told Kellach. “When are you leaving?”

  “Tomorrow. Now that I know Ruadan won’t listen, I’m impatient to leave.”

  Five turns of the seasons she had dwelled in the north, and nothing much happened. Now, in the span of a day, everything in her life seemed to have changed.

  “We should return to the settlement,” she told Kellach. “Ruadan may not listen to your pleas to join in fighting the Romans, but he will still hold a feast in your honor. The traditions of hospitality are strong here.”

  Kellach smiled at her. “I must admit I grow weary of traveling food. That’s one of the difficulties of the life I’ve chosen. But there are many rewards. I’ve met many different people on my journeys, and learned a great deal, more than I would have if I had stayed in the grove. I sense you are also searching for knowledge, Sirona. Which is another reason you should come with me.”

  Sirona didn’t answer, but started walking back to the Brigante camp. Kellach’s arguments were compelling. There were times in the last few seasons she felt as if she were merely existing, like a tree that appears black and barren in the midst of winter. Now the sap again ran in her veins.

  * * * * * *

  Books by Mary Gillgannon

  Dragon of the Island

  Dragon’s Dream

  The Dragon Prince

  The Dragon Bard

  Beyond the Sea Mist

  Storm Maiden

  Devil’s Own Bargain

  Earl of Scandal

  The Silver Wheel Saga:

  Lady of the Moon

  The Raven of Death

  The Silver Wheel

  Mary Gillgannon

  Mary Gillgannon writes romance novels set in the dark ages, medieval and English Regency time periods and fantasy and historical novels with Celtic influences. Her print books have been published in Russia, China, the Netherlands and Germany. Raised in the Midwest, she now lives in Cheyenne, Wyoming where she works full-time at the Laramie County Library.

  She is married and has two grown children. When not working or writing she enjoys gardening, traveling and reading, of course!

  She always enjoys hearing from readers. You can write her at P.O. Box 2052, Cheyenne, WY 82003, or contact her through her website: https://marygillgannon.com.