by Beth Webb
Shouts and thudding hooves from behind ripped at Tegen’s concentration. She lurched sideways and almost fell. In one spongy bounce, the mare slowed. Tegen hauled herself back up and glanced over her shoulder.
Suetonius thundered in, his huge stallion wide-eyed and foaming with sweat. Steam snorted from red nostrils. Suetonius rose in his saddle and lashed at his horse, urging it closer.
More shouts came from below as five more horses leaped the stream and stormed along the path.
Epona swung abruptly aside, powering up a steep bank between the trees.
‘Where’re we going? This isn’t the way!’ Tegen shouted, flattening herself onto Epona’s back.
The mare’s whole body heaved and worked as she lumbered higher. More branches scratched and scraped along her back. Epona slowed, her sides heaving, legs shaking.
Incoherent yells and curses made Tegen take another look.
Suetonius had tried to follow her, but both he and his stallion were snagged in the embrace of a holly tree. The general was ignominiously caught by his cloak and breeches. Under him, his horse struggled to free its mane. Behind him his men were hacking at the prickly branches, but the more they cut, the closer the other trees seemed to be crowding, their bare branches reaching down like clawed fingers.
‘A blessing on these woods,’ Tegen laughed. She stroked Epona’s neck. ‘Well done. You are truly magical. Can we get to the caves ahead of them from here?’
Epona tossed her head and shook herself. Tegen slid from her back. ‘You’re right, it’s easier if we walk,’ she said. ‘You deserve a rest anyway.’ She tried to stand, but her back and legs had seized up and her knees gave way.
After a few moments’ rest against a tree, Tegen led Epona onwards. Walking eased her stiffness as they picked their way between boulders, brooks, tangled coppices and hanging ivy.
Epona chose a badger track that wound into a deep valley with ivy and fern-clad rocks towering on all sides. She trotted ahead, neck stretched out, ears flicking and hoof beats echoing. At last she slowed, and stood in a small patch of sunlight. There she stood quietly, enjoying the rest and warmth, swishing her tail.
White bathed in gold. The Goddess’s horse.
Using a fallen tree, Tegen climbed shakily onto Epona’s back once more. ‘One last ride my beauty. Take me to the other side, then you’ll be free.’
To their left was the dark, open mouth of the funeral caves, guarded by the writhing-branched yew tree. Ahead was the rushing stream that flowed from Tir na nÓg. To their right was the forest path.
From that direction came the muffled thunder of approaching hooves and shouting men.
Epona splashed through the stream and trotted towards the cave mouth. There, Tegen slipped to the ground for the last time. She rubbed and kissed her horse’s velvet nose. ‘I don’t know if I shall ever see you again, Epona. But thank you for everything. My blessings go with you. Good bye!’
Epona stamped and huffed warm hay-breath into Tegen’s face. With a snort and a twitch of her ears, she swung around and walked away between the trees.
Before Tegen could wipe her tears, Suetonius and his men galloped into the coombe and leaped the stream, hooves clattering noisily as the horses landed on the wet rocks.
Tegen stepped back as the tall, long-necked mounts closed in around her.
With a soft hush, the men drew their pugios. Sharp blades glinted in the shafts of late sunlight.
Tegen stroked Goban’s ring. The iron was cool. ‘All shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well,’ she whispered to herself.
‘Shut your spells up!’ Suetonius sneered as he dismounted.
‘No spells,’ Tegen replied calmly.
Suetonius touched his scar with his free hand, and with the other, he raised his blade to Tegen’s neck.
She did not flinch.
At a nod from their general, five soldiers dismounted and closed in around Tegen. Their eyes were bright and cruel. What could an unarmed girl do against them?
Jumping onto a rock, Tegen spread her hands. ‘Here I am. Come and get me.’
Torment
Suetonius stepped towards her, his white teeth bright. He bent his knees, moving stealthily, as if closing in on a wounded bear.
‘I’m unarmed. You’re not afraid are you?’ Tegen challenged.
Suetonius pursed his lips and took another step. That’s her, that’s her! the voice in his head persisted. Get her now!
Tegen jumped off the boulder and placed a hand on the bough of the great yew tree. ‘Lord Gwyn, let me in, give me safe passage I beg you,’ she prayed. ‘And take this demon back where it belongs. If we humans don’t have hope, you gods are nothing.’
The dark green silence of the tree welcomed her. Stooping, she picked up a dead branch and ran into the darkness.
The cave was damp and cool. Tegen’s feet slipped on the wet rocks underfoot. She closed her hand around Goban’s iron ring. It was getting hot. But she had nothing to fear; she knew the way into the caves and she had walked in Tir na nÓg before. She was a friend to the spirits of rock and water. They would protect her soul, whatever happened to her body.
This was the womb of rebirth.
She made her way further into the dark, her left hand tracing the well-worn pattern of rocks that guided mourners to the resting place of the dead.
Behind her, she heard Suetonius yelling at his men.
They haven’t got a torch or anything to make one with, she chuckled.
She willed fire to the end of her yew branch. Flames leaped.
Suetonius winced.
‘Scared?’ she taunted, ‘then follow my light.’
‘… light … light … light,’ her voice echoed back over the drip-drip of the wet cave walls.
‘Bitch-itch-itch!’ A man’s voice yelled behind her.
‘Scum-um-um!’
‘Slave-ave-ave!’
More and more voices echoed until it seemed as if a thousand men were behind her, but Tegen smiled. It was just voices, pretending to be bigger than they were.
Suetonius led his men, their hob-nailed boots striking the rock, with cold, precise rhythm that echoed and re-echoed into the clattering of a thousand boots. Sparks flew in the darkness. Slipping. Sliding. Swearing. The shouts became fearful.
Down over rocks and mud shoots Tegen led them, past stone waterfalls and pale bony fingers and giant’s tears.
Down into the ever-hungry gullet of Tir na nÓg.
Holding the torch high, Tegen splashed through shallow pools of ice-cold water. At last she came to a twisting stalagmite that grew like a massive stone tree, pale and gleaming into the darkness above. For a moment she paused. As the men clattered noisily behind her she called out, ‘Careful, it’s low here.’
‘Here-ere-ere,’ her voice continued on into the darkness.
She ducked under the sharp overhang and crawled along a narrow passageway, chuckling as helmets clanked and skulls cracked behind her.
At last she came to a wide space where the echo of her soft-soled boots whispered into the towering rock dome above. At her feet spread a black lake. Here old Gilda had been sent to her rest, as had Witton, and probably her mother too. Tegen held her torch high to see the low lintel of the next cave where the bodies were sent. ‘May you all be born again soon,’ she whispered.
Here too, her beloved Griff had died helping others. Here she had danced for the Lady to quell the floods and to send the demon back.
She heard the approaching footsteps and whispers – but did not run.
‘Got her!’ Rough hands grabbed at Tegen’s cloak.
She loosened the pin and blew out her torch.
‘What the-the-the?’ yelled Suetonius.
‘Got her-her-her!’ shouted a soldier.
‘That’s me-me-me, you moron!’
‘I’m here,’ Tegen replied softly, stepping away. She clicked her fingers and fire returned to the yew branch.
In the flickering light, six w
ide-eyed faces snarled at her.
Before they could take a step, Tegen held up her hand. ‘Stop!’ she commanded. ‘I know you understand British, so listen. I don’t need a light in these caves. I’ve come here since I was a child. There are many treacherous cracks and gullies. Without a light, you are all dead men.’
Suetonius and his officers looked at each other nervously.
‘I will give you this torch,’ she held it out.
Suetonius grabbed for it, but Tegen snatched it back.
‘This Land is sacred – the body of the Goddess. Her bones are all around you, her hair is our forests and her blood is our seas and streams.’
Soft footfalls echoed as two men sidled around Tegen, closing in on her.
Undaunted, Tegen rolled the tiny barleycorn between her fingers. ‘It is time for forgiveness and healing. If you swear to stop revenge attacks on my people and let us live in peace, the torch will lead you out safely. If you don’t agree, I will still give you the light … But the fire will go out. You and your men will grope your way back.’
Suetonius narrowed his eyes and snatched the burning stick. ‘I don’t make bargains with witch girls.’
A howling wind blasted from nowhere. The torch went out, leaving only sour smoke.
After a long, heart-thudding moment, Suetonius called into the darkness, ‘Slave, where are you? Here she is, come and get her. I’ve kept my part of the bargain, now you keep yours. Get me out of here, make me Emperor.’
With a thundering roar, the cavern shook. Violent lights swirled. Boulders tumbled.
Suetonius and his men cowered.
Fool, she’s stronger than before. You’ve done nothing! roared the demon in Suetonius’s head.
More stones clattered, echoing louder and louder.
‘Mithras, save us!’ the men begged, sinking to their knees.
Only Suetonius stood his ground. ‘Slave!’ he yelled at the mayhem, ‘You promised!’
No. You promised.
Suetonius strode to where he thought Tegen stood. Over the roaring chaos he bellowed, ‘When I get out, your whole village will die. In fact I will kill every damn Briton I ever meet.’
From somewhere behind him, Tegen laughed. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said, raising her arms.
The earthquake subsided.
With a whispered word, Tegen re-lit the yew branch in Suetonius’s hand. ‘I told you, the fire will only burn if you cease to bully and murder innocent people.
Growling, Suetonius held out the torch and swung around. ‘Where are you?’ he demanded.
From the dancing shadows, Tegen’s voice floated back. ‘I have made a spell to bring you and your men safely out of these caves. But without the protection of my fire, the demon will torment you all the way. I cannot promise what state you’ll be in at the end.’
Suetonius snarled, searching every dancing shadow for his quarry.
‘I’m here,’ she called out.
Lifting the flame high, he span on his heel.
Tegen was sitting calmly on a low mound in the middle of the cavern. ‘So – what is your answer?’ she asked softly. ‘Will you allow the Time of Spirit to heal our peoples?’
‘Never!’ Suetonius flung the brand to the ground. It sizzled and the cave felt darker than ever.
Once more the howling, creaking and cracking of rocks began.
‘I should hurry,’ Tegen called out calmly, as the demon’s tormenting, swirling lights began once more.
And six men fled screaming.
The last echoes of terrified men and their clattering boots faded, but Tegen was not alone.
You could have been magnificent with me, the demon’s voice whispered inside Tegen’s head.
‘Magnificent like Boudica?’ she replied.
More so!
So … like Suetonius?
With me as your guide, you could have ruled the world!
‘But I don’t want to rule the world,’ she said. ‘Go back to the depths of Tir na nÓg where you belong and leave me alone.’
Ha! Make me.
Tegen took a deep breath and said, ‘Demon, I reject you. The Time of Spirit is here.’
The cave filled with eerie lights that flashed and exploded with ear-splitting cracks. The rocks shook.
Tegen stumbled to the ground. Unafraid she got to her feet.
Cold winds howled, the river rose and splashed at Tegen’s knees. Faces of those she had loved and hated swirled around her, calling, begging, cajoling, threatening.
She dismissed them with a wave of her hand. ‘These are just nightmares. They are nothing.’
As the noise whimpered to nothingness, Tegen called out, ‘Now it’s my turn to do a spell.’ She dropped her barleycorn into the receding water. ‘Float downstream, take root where you’re needed.’
One seed? You’ll defy me with that? Sneered the demon.
‘It’s enough,’ Tegen replied. ‘However you curse our world in the years to come, there will always be hope and reconciliation. That is my magic. So will it be.’
You’ll soon come snivelling back to me begging for my power and glory.
‘No, I won’t. That was my final spell. My magic is finished. I am of no use to you.’ She brushed off her hands. ‘Look – my power has all gone.’
No! the demon gasped. No … no … no …
The cave flashed with white, searing light, then there was … nothing.
Tegen stood quite still in the absolute darkness, listening to the cool, drip-dripping silence.
Star Dance
Without bothering to make any sort of fire or light, Tegen stood on her toes and swung around, bowing in turn to each to the spirits of earth, air, fire and water. Lastly, she knelt to the spirit of goodness that was her guiding star, the only light she needed.
Somewhere, high above the hillside, stars twinkled. The Watching Woman’s constellation was shining for her, even in the depths of the earth.
With a shout of joy, Tegen sprang to her feet and danced.
The little drummer boy she had first heard as a child, stood close by her side once more. He was beating out a joyous heart-rhythm as he had that Beltane morning in the meadows. The sun shone and Griff laughed and clapped as he watched her dance.
Then Tonn was swinging her around in his arms. He was her Green Man as together they leaped their wedding fire.
In the snow, under the waves, on top of Cadair Idris – in the dark in Tonn’s loving embrace. All the steps and songs and music she had ever known came whirling together into one triumphant silver spiral that twisted up into the night sky.
After a few moments, Tegen heard the soft pat-pat of a second pair of feet, following her patterns and swaying in perfect time with her.
Arms encircled her. Arms she had not forgotten. Arms she loved.
Tegen leaned her face into Tonn’s chest and smelled his skin. Thyme and grass, wood smoke and wind.
‘You’re really here?’ she breathed.
He kissed her hair. ‘I am.’
Then another hand took hers. Sticky. Strong. Squeezing her fingers with love.
‘Griff?’ she gasped. His heavy boots thudded in steady time with hers.
The cavern had gone. She was dancing with the two men she loved most, on a hillside in open starlight.
The three of them circled around a rowan tree; its berries tiny sparks of merry flames.
Tegen stopped to catch her breath. She looked from Tonn to Griff.
‘Am I dead?’ she croaked huskily.
‘No,’ Tonn replied, gently kissing her lips. ‘Not yet.’
‘But you …?’
‘Goban says we gotta come,’ Griff replied. Then taking her hand, he led her away from the fire-tree towards a little boat, rocking on an obsidian lake. A small bundle of brightly berried rowan twigs was tied to the bow.
‘This is Brigid’s boat, isn’t it?’ Tegen asked, ‘I thought it was on its way to Ériu?
Tonn helped Tegen and Griff in. ‘She sent it
back for you,’ he replied. Then both men took paddles and with steady rhythmic splashes, they moved smoothly across the water, sending the reflected stars rippling away under the currach’s bows.
Tegen rubbed her eyes. ‘Are you – is this real?’
Griff nodded so hard he rocked the little boat. ‘Oh yes. Goban says Tegen need help-quickly.’ He grinned. ‘Luvs yer Tegen, alwus will. Gotta help Tegen.’ And he kissed her cheek.
She blew her nose on her sleeve and wiped her eyes.
The rowan twigs sparkled brightly, sending flickering golden light over Tonn’s eyes and beard. He laid his paddle aside and cradled Tegen’s face in his hands. ‘We’re taking you home, beloved.’
Tegen’s eyes widened. ‘Can I die if I want to, and be with you and Griff until we are reborn?’
Tonn nodded and pointed to the west. ‘If we go that way, we will all be together until the Lady calls us to go back and work for her again.’
Tegen bit her lip. ‘And … where else might I be allowed to go?’
The boat swept in a wide circle. Above, the stars span in a silver arc. ‘Anywhere you like,’ Tonn replied. ‘Bran promised you peace and a home. Your work is finished, it’s time to choose your reward.’
‘But what about Suetonius?’
‘He climbed out of the caves two days after you left. Quite mad. He and his cohort have been sent back to Rome. There’s a new governor of Britain now. I think things will change for the better. Your barleycorn has taken root. There will be healing, for a while.’
‘What do you mean, “two days after I left”?’ Tegen asked.
‘Time in Tir na nÓg is different,’ Tonn explained.
‘I understand … And our little Gilda? Where is she?’
‘Our beautiful daughter is safe in Tara with my mother, being cosseted and fed on honey cakes. She misses you.’ Tonn’s eyes clouded.
Tegen’s breath caught in her throat. ‘I want, I so want to be with you – and Griff for ever – I love you both so much, but I think …’
