‘What if he sees us?’ Freya asked.
‘Shh,’ Kaitlyn warned. ‘He's got ears like an owl.’
‘Are you sure he'll come?’ Skaaha whispered.
For answer Kaitlyn dropped on her belly behind a gorse bush. ‘Get down,’ she hissed. They collapsed beside her. Ruan was already on the beach, naked except for a knotted cord around his waist that carried a pouch of stones tied close to one thigh with his sling. The girls peered past the prickly gorse, through long blades of grass. The druid was more muscular than Skaaha expected, though she remembered how strong he'd been that day at the bog, lifting and carrying her as if she weighed less than a feather. Not the bulkiness of Ard's muscles but lithe, sinewy. His movements echoed like song and dance in her. She watched, awed, her own muscles tensing and relaxing to the familiar rhythms.
Beside her, Kaitlyn grunted softly and wriggled, rocking her hips against the rough ground. Engrossed, like Freya, in the man on the shore, Skaaha barely noticed. Ruan's tempo changed. He leapt and spun, turning in the air and landing to a series of handsprings from which he rose easily into an aerial spin, kicking out as he turned. His moves were far advanced on hers, graceful, light and sure. As the low sun lit golden ripples on the waves of the kyle, the priest completed the routine facing the sea, right fist raised high above his head.
‘Hyaaa-aaaaa!’
Freya's hand clamped over Skaaha's opening mouth. ‘No,’ she hissed, stopping the girl from uttering the same, familiar shriek. On the shore below, the druid raced into the water. ‘Wow,’ Freya whispered, ‘he is a god!’
‘Told you,’ Kaitlyn gasped, her body shuddering with pleasure.
That afternoon, in the forge, Ard laid down his tools early, took the sickle Skaaha worked on from her hands and plunged it in the bucket of sea water to cool it.
‘Come,’ he said. ‘We're wanted.’ He looked gaunt, still estranged from Erith, grieving alone, these few words as many as he'd spoken to Skaaha since the confinement. As they walked towards the roundhouse, she slid her hand into his. For whose comfort, she couldn't have said. His sorrow made her guilty. Immediately, his fingers tightened around hers, saying what speech did not. Whatever they were wanted for, she felt forgiven.
In the doorway, Ruan waited with Erith. The druid looked serious, the forge-keeper sombre. Fright caught in Skaaha's throat. Erith might formally divorce Ard. Or, worse, Ruan might have seen her at the beach. But they had concerns other than the preoccupations of pubescent girls. In her arms, Erith held the pot with the baby's ashes and the remains of its bones, now ground to powder by the druid. Ruan carried a spade and a birch sapling. Ard lifted a cauldron of water, and they walked to the edge of the settlement, stopping before the tree-line began. A spot fronting a small copse was already marked. It could be seen from both forge and roundhouse.
‘I will dig,’ Ard said, giving Skaaha the cauldron and taking the spade from the druid.
Skaaha stood beside Erith, watching her father put his foot against the step of the spade, his back into raising the earth. When the hole was deep and wide enough, he plunged the blade into the soil so the tool stood upright and held his hands out to his wife. Erith handed him the pot. Carefully, Ard shook the contents into the hole. He beckoned Skaaha to bring the water, and she tipped it into the pot to be swirled clean before being poured over the ashes. Ruan positioned the sapling for Erith to hold while Ard backfilled the hole with the excavated soil. When it was pressed down, the last of the water was poured around the trunk. It was a fine, straight tree. A fitting memorial with delicate, weeping branches that would yield many medicines as it grew.
Ruan raised his flute and began to play, not the song of celebration but one of sleep, a lullaby. For a moment, Skaaha thought Erith would cry again, or that she would, but the forge-keeper took hold of her husband's hand instead, and both of them began to sing, softly, unwavering. Skaaha could not. The lump in her throat would not allow a squeak to pass.
When the song ended, Ard and Erith didn't move, except the blacksmith put an arm round his wife's shoulder and she rested her head against his chest. Ruan took up the spade and gave Skaaha the empty cauldron. Leaving the couple by the tree, they walked towards home.
‘They'll be fine now,’ the druid said.
‘Erith didn't believe.’ It was out before she meant to speak it, but she could not forget the forge-keeper's wail of grief, the intensity of pain, or her own for a sister here then gone.
‘We don't own people, Skaaha. Erith's body cried out to nurse its baby at her breast. But the spirit of the child chose otherwise. Respect that, and there is nothing to grieve. Death demands we let go. That's what it teaches. Erith accepts that now.’
They walked on in silence. The truth in the priest's words chimed with Skaaha's sense of self. Her life had come through others but wasn't owed to them. It was hers alone. The baby, too, was only itself. Not hers, not Ard's, not Erith's. Sensing the care with which the priest had guided them, guilt grew about the morning's adventure with her friends. Miserable at the childishness of it, she stared down at the shards of grass underfoot as she walked, all too conscious of his longer strides beside her. They were almost back at the house before he spoke again.
‘You can join me if you wish.’
‘What?’ Panic tore through her.
‘At the beach. Skills shouldn't be lost for lack of practice.’
Embarrassed, she hung her head. ‘I can't do the things you can.’
‘Neither could I at your age. In fact, I doubt I could do as much. My foster-parents are warriors, in the north, but when I reached my ten suns, I left to be a priest. I've learned more since, from other warriors.’
‘But why, if you don't want to be one?’
He stopped walking, having reached the point where he'd turn to head for his hut. ‘The body has its own wisdom,’ he said, ‘and another way of remembering. Come in the mornings,’ he suggested. ‘My evenings are solitary, for meditation, and you have Imbolc to prepare for.’ He paused, leaning on the spade. ‘I don't suppose your friends want to learn?’
Skaaha flushed. ‘I don't know,’ she muttered. ‘I'll ask them.’
Low Sun arrived, the mid-winter feast, tormented by a hard frost.
‘This is crazy,’ Freya muttered, from the shelter of white-rimed bushes well beyond the light of the bonfire on Carlin's Loup, as she shifted in the chill.
‘You're so joyful,’ Kaitlyn chided. ‘Hush, I want to see.’
Skaaha yawned, tired from earlier rises to train with Ruan on the beach. It was even earlier now, well before sun-up. The men round the fire had drunk and danced all night to the throb of drums. Druids apart, women were excluded from the solstice wake, the only reason Kaitlyn wanted to be here, as near as they dared but well beyond any heat.
‘I'm bored to freezing,’ Freya muttered. The ceremony seemed to consist of young lads leaping the dwindling fire. Those who achieved it began learning with the druids how to come of age at mid-summer's High Sun. Only one youth easily cleared the flames. Freya perked up. ‘Oh, I like him,’ she whispered.
‘Not wasted time then,’ Kaitlyn muttered, vindicated. ‘She's alive, after all.’
‘I'm not,’ Skaaha hissed, chittering. Between them and the glowing embers, shadowy men cheered. One of them raised a holly wreath to crown the boy. It was Ruan. Skaaha ducked. ‘Come on, before we're caught.’
Keeping low, they scampered back towards the cavern, giggling once they were out of earshot, more excited by the thrill of clandestine danger than by what they'd seen. Back on Loup hill, as the men killed the fire and began to sing, the huddled knot of druids watched the girls go, running like shadows over frosted heath.
‘Lethra was right,’ Nechta said. ‘She's more at home now, and spirited.’
‘Kaitlyn's curiosity helped,’ Ruan added, ‘and things improve without Jiya.’ His face darkened. ‘Mara asked how Skaaha fared, and of her sister.’
‘You didn't say she was our Bride?’
‘No.’ Mara's interest was better not roused. ‘Her attention should be on security, with outsiders about. Stock is stolen under her nose.’ Across the sound, the coming dawn blued the sky. ‘And we have a long way to go yet.’
‘But Skaaha trains with you,’ Yona approved, ‘and you gain her trust. The first steps are taken. Suli will be pleased.’
‘Time will tell,’ Ruan cautioned. Time would tell. Down below, the headwomen woke and opened house doors to let in the first light.
At the cavern entrance, wrapped in blankets, Skaaha and her friends raised the screen to watch the renewed sun rise over Alba's hills.
‘They won't come here,’ Freya groaned, watching the men descend to the village carrying fresh peats, food and drink, and led by the holly-wreathed youth.
‘No first foot over the threshold,’ Skaaha objected. ‘Where's the luck in that?’
‘Hard luck,’ Kaitlyn said. ‘Men aren't allowed in here, remember?’
‘Then let's go home.’ Freya plunged down the path, slithering on icy patches. The other two followed. For twelve days, while everything in the larder that would keep no longer was consumed, there would be celebration and little work.
Skaaha fretted till it was over, her impatience mediated by joining Ruan at every dawn. Winter bit deep. Icicles hung from roundhouse thatch, waterfalls petrified, the burn froze. Preparations began for Imbolc, festival of birth and rebirth, which brought the end of winter, when the goddess returned as Bride, the creator. While Ard changed the broom screening the cavern entrance for pine, Erith added sprigs of holly heavy with blood-red berries.
‘I'll do that,’ Skaaha offered, shamed by the forge-keeper's willingness to work in the freezing cold.
‘We'll do it together,’ Erith said, showing her how. Fixing the twigs wasn't as easy as she made it look. ‘It's such a blessing, you being here.’
‘Me?’ Skaaha couldn't believe her ears, especially after the woman's loss.
‘No,’ Erith teased, ‘that girl behind you. Of course, you. Lethra says you're even smarter than your mother.’
Skaaha gawped, wordless, fumbling inexpertly with the greenery.
‘Mind your fingers,’ the forge-keeper warned. ‘It's jaggy.’
The Wolf moon waned. Around the hearth, the priests told stories of Bride who brought the sun, who forged the world from a ball of flame, and who inhabited the furnace in its centre. Every spring, long before the young sun had heat in it, she returned from underground, through the cavern, bringing warmth and growth back to the land. The Snow moon waxed. Soon it would be full. Skaaha was confined to the cave for all seven days and nights of its second quarter, waited on by her friends.
‘Don't you miss your priest?’ Kaitlyn warmed food in the cauldron over the fire, her mind preoccupied by her favourite subject. The others sprawled on the bed.
‘I miss the practice,’ Skaaha agreed. It was a poor truth. Ruan's undivided attention was rewarding. Unlike Jiya, he could teach her. Under his intense discipline, she worked hard to gain approval and learned fast. ‘Maybe I could sneak out. No one else is up that early.’
‘No, you can't,’ Freya corrected, shocked. ‘Nobody should see you.’
‘There speaks don't-rock-the-boat Freya,’ Kaitlyn teased. ‘You're such a druid. She has to sneak to the latrine anyway.’
‘Only because neither of us wants to carry smelly pots,’ Freya reminded her.
‘Because I wouldn't let you!’ Skaaha shrieked.
Kaitlyn served the food, a thick venison stew. ‘That proves it,’ she grinned. ‘Not everything is carved in stone. In here, Bride rules, and we’ – she planked the plates down in front of them – ‘are her trusted maidens. So eat up because, afterwards, we do her bidding.’
‘What bidding?’ Skaaha frowned.
‘What are you up to?’ Freya asked.
Kaitlyn would say no more. ‘Eat, and find out.’
Tender venison was never eaten so fast. The girls cleaned the gravy from their plates with hot bread, downed some ale and waited, expectantly. Then they waited some more.
‘What are we waiting for?’ Freya asked.
‘You eat too fast,’ Kaitlyn answered.
‘At this rate, I'll be eating again,’ Freya complained.
There was a cough from outside, beyond the screen. ‘Kaitlyn,’ a voice grunted, a male voice.
‘You didn't!’ Freya gasped.
‘You haven't asked Ruan up here!’ Skaaha squeaked, terrified the druid would confront them with disapproval, and even more terrified that he might respond to Kaitlyn's seductions.
‘Don't be silly,’ her friend said. ‘You have to start with one you can handle.’ She went to the entrance and pulled the string that swung the thick curtain of pine aside. ‘Don't stand out there like a torch in the moonlight,’ she said. ‘Come in.’ It was Hanick, the young fisherman who'd won the holly crown, who came in. Kaitlyn had chosen wisely. Freya had confessed her erotic fancies for the youth. Skaaha was not about to appear intimidated by him.
‘A boy?’ she said, in much the same way she might have said, ‘A fish?’
‘You said boys were all right,’ Kaitlyn reminded her, settling on to a cushion by the hearth.
‘If they brought something we wanted.’
‘I'm not a boy,’ Hanick boasted, though he still lacked the tattooed mark of maturity below his left ear. ‘I'm a man. Soon, anyway. The druids teach me how. And I brought beer,’ he added, holding up a jug. ‘Man’ was anticipation. Hanick was gangly and angular, a few suns short of twenty, with knuckles too big for his fingers and a large knot in his throat. But he was also fair, fresh-skinned and forbidden.
13
Freya took the beer, filled the horns, gave hers, nervously, to the youth, who had remained standing, and sat with Skaaha on the bed to share hers. The drink was taken in silence, with great concentration. The small sounds of the cave became a nightsong: the smoulder of peat, spitting lamps. An owl hooted outside.
‘All right,’ Kaitlyn said, grasping the initiative. ‘Show them.’
The boy put the horn in its stand and dropped the front flap of his leggings. His penis jutted out, semi-erect. The three girls stared, watched it deflate.
‘Is that it?’ Skaaha asked, unimpressed. ‘It's just the same as any boy's.’
‘Make it grow again,’ Freya demanded. ‘I want to know how you do that.’
Hanick concentrated. His organ twitched but remained dangling. ‘I can't while you're all staring,’ he said. ‘Do something else.’
‘Like what?’ Skaaha asked.
Kaitlyn sighed. ‘Like this?’ she said, and pulled the front of her dress open to reveal pert young breasts. She stroked one of them with her hand.
‘Yeh, that helps,’ the boy said. His penis jerked and began to rise.
Skaaha stared at Kaitlyn's bosom. Unlike Jiya's plump, heavy breasts, these were half-grown, youthful. ‘They're nice,’ she said. ‘I haven't got any yet.’
‘D'you want to feel?’ Kaitlyn offered, moving closer so her friend could reach. Skaaha cupped a hand over the warm mound. The flesh was smooth, silky, the dark nipple softer. In the cooler air, it tightened to a hard nub. Hanick groaned.
‘That's working!’ Freya yelled. She hadn't taken her eyes of the boy's organ, which was now fully erect and swaying slightly. ‘Can I touch it?’ she asked.
‘Course,’ he said, generously, ‘you all can.’
Tentatively, Freya put her fingertips against the shaft. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘it's hard inside.’ She closed her fist around it, squeezing. ‘Really hard.’
Skaaha lost all interest in Kaitlyn's breasts. The youth was trembling. ‘Let me feel,’ she said. Freya relinquished her grip and Skaaha took over. It felt like flexed muscle but not the same. The skin was loose. When she slid her hand down a little, it came too, revealing a swollen arrowhead of reddish, tender-looking flesh at the top. ‘Is it supposed to do that?’ she asked, worriedly.
‘Don't stop,’ Hani
ck urged, ‘pull harder,’ and put his hand on top of hers, moving it rapidly up and down.
Skaaha started to giggle. ‘Kaitlyn, you should do this,’ she spluttered. ‘You're used to pulling the cows' teats.’ The boy moaned, shuddering. Under her hand, Skaaha felt the hard flesh throb, swell and pulsate. ‘Oh no!’ she yelled, jerking her hand back. ‘It's burst! Look, it's bursting.’ The instruction to look was superfluous. Freya and Kaitlyn were mesmerized as semen spurted in front of them. Hanick was transported, eyes closed, groaning.
‘What's going on?’ Ard's voice cut through the moment of fascination like a hot knife through butter. All three girls jumped. They hadn't heard the pine screen rustle, or his footsteps. Hanick gasped, staring at the blacksmith as if one or other of them didn't occupy the real world. ‘Go practise elsewhere,’ Ard told him. ‘And don't come back here.’ As the youth stumbled out, the smith glanced at the cave occupants. His gaze settled on Kaitlyn, who'd drawn her dress guiltily back over her bare breasts when he entered. ‘Was this your idea?’
‘No,’ Skaaha said bravely, jumping to her feet. ‘It was mine. There were things I needed to know.’
‘Things that couldn't wait several suns?’ her father asked. ‘What were they?’
Skaaha didn't know. Her curiosity about the boy had been mild and of the moment, though the worrying behaviour of his penis left her with a question now. Kaitlyn got up and came to stand beside her.
‘It was my idea, Ard,’ she confessed. ‘Not Skaaha's.’
‘But we didn't say no,’ Freya added, getting up beside them.
The display of solidarity affected the man strangely. He seemed to struggle to get words out. Finally, he succeeded. ‘No more boys,’ he said. ‘And’ – to Kaitlyn – ‘if you can't wait till Beltane, choose a man, not a beginner.’ Then he turned to Skaaha. ‘I came to bring a gift for Bride,’ he said. ‘You might want to wear it for your day.’ He held out his hand. In the palm lay a silver brooch, intricately worked from the nuggets Thum had given her at Sowen. It was the full moon of Imbolc, engraved with its hare and delicately edged with bronze shading.
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