‘I thought you'd never come back,’ she cried.
‘All good things come round again,’ Jiya said, chuckling. ‘Sure as the sun.’
‘But it can't be you.’ Bewildered, Skaaha stroked the priest robes. ‘Not dressed like this.’
‘It's half of me,’ Jiya assured her. ‘The other half learns to be quiet.’
Ruan had sat silent, watching the reunion. Now he clicked the horse forward a few steps, level with them. ‘Suli thought you might like your aunt with you for Beltane. Seems she was right.’ Before Skaaha could respond, he slapped the reins, sending the horse forward, on into the village.
Disappointed that he revealed no obvious pleasure in seeing her again, Skaaha turned her attention back to her aunt. ‘No sword, no spear,’ she puzzled. ‘What have they done to you?’
‘Filled my head with light,’ Jiya said, bending down and parting her hair behind the crown to show Skaaha a circular scar. ‘Feel that.’
Skaaha did. The skin was softer inside the circle than the skull around it, a hole cut in the bone beneath. ‘What is it?’
‘Salvation,’ Jiya said, tossing her hair back. ‘And this hole’ – she clamped a hand on her stomach – ‘is hunger. Come, we will eat, drink.’
Skaaha explained that a feast awaited, and the reason for it.
‘Then fate had a hand in my coming,’ Jiya grinned. ‘We will eat, drink and we will talk about men.’
The clan chief, Lethra, and the women of her house, were first to arrive.
‘Though it's wasted time,’ she grumbled, directing Kaitlyn to sit the cauldron of special brew down on the hearth. ‘The problem with men is they start as boys.’
‘And stay boys,’ Erith added, ‘in spite of our best efforts.’ Ruan had spoken to her when he returned, so she expected Jiya when Skaaha rushed in, dragging her aunt by the hand. ‘Perfect timing,’ she said, smiling with a delight she didn't feel. Even though the ex-warrior would be accommodated in the vacant druid lodge, her unexpected re-appearance took the shine off proceedings, distancing the forge-keeper from Skaaha just when the girl's glory reflected on her too.
‘Ha!’ Jiya exclaimed. ‘You smile like the wolf when the sun should be in your heart.’ She spread out her hands. ‘I use these to do washing now.’
Erith's smile thinned. Lethra thrust a brimming cup towards Jiya.
‘But not tonight,’ the crone said. ‘Tonight we expect good stories of other uses for women's hands.’ Tittering broke out among the younger women.
The druid, Yona, witching needles set aside, brought one of her own brews. Guests trickled in from nearby farming communities. Everyone brought food, or drink, or both. Several brought stringed harps, and other instruments, to play. Unexpectedly, three armed novice warriors appeared, having crossed from Glenelg. The youngest of them wore a mane of braided blond hair.
‘Eefay!’ Skaaha shrieked. The last person she had expected was her sister. ‘You shouldn't be here, you're not of age.’ Everyone under-age had been shooed to other houses for the night.
‘Nor are you, yet,’ Eefay said. ‘Nor will I miss your celebrations.’ The passing suns had stretched her, adding muscle and arrogance to her determination. She glanced around, friendly enough but with a hard glint in her eye. ‘Who here is going to throw me out?’
‘No one,’ Erith intervened. Eefay's two companions wore the warrior mark of womanhood. The girl, almost as well developed as her older sister, might easily come of age next Beltane. ‘But, if you want to drink, leave your weapons at the door.’
The rule was standard. Acceding to it, Eefay took her rightful place, reclining casually beside Skaaha. Kenna's household came last, having stored tin and stacked charcoal first. Crowded with women, the roundhouse filled with raucous chatter.
Out in the forge, the din could be heard above the roaring furnace and constant hammering. Nodding in the direction of the racket, Gern clucked like a hen.
‘Pooook – pook-pook-pook.’
Ard grinned, briefly glancing up from the mould into which he carefully poured glowing liquid bronze. ‘Except it's us they're picking over.’
Walking back from the beach alone, Ruan heard music and voices over the rushing waves. A bawdy song was being sung. The waning gibbous moon cast a path of golden light on the water. Three quarters, and it would be almost full again. He hesitated at his hut, looking over at the noisy roundhouse. Before then, when it was moon-dark, Skaaha would choose a consort. A fortnight later, they would all be in Torrin, and she'd become a woman. The song ended. Gales of laughter split the night but no smile lit his face. He went into his lodge, and shut the door.
‘I had a husband once,’ Kenna protested, frowning. ‘Just can't remember where I left him.’ More howls of laughter erupted. Twisting the strands of gold and glass beads round her throat with heavily-ringed fingers, the noman shrugged. ‘Now, if I want a man, I go get a man.’
‘Or a woman,’ Kaitlyn called from the other side of the hearth.
‘Pleasure's where you find it.’ The furnace-keeper made great play of ogling Skaaha. ‘There are many ways to be a woman.’
‘Except it must be a man for Beltane,’ Skaaha demurred.
‘And you better learn how to put them in their place first,’ Lethra muttered.
‘Aye-yie-yaa!’ the women shrieked in agreement.
‘Show her,’ Erith suggested to the crone.
Lethra stood, yanked up her skirt to reveal her pubis, and dropped the hem again with a dismissive toss of her head. Applause exploded at her aplomb.
‘Now you try.’ Erith offered Skaaha the floor. More cheers arose.
‘Go, Skaaha.’ Jiya put a hand under her niece's backside, helping push her to her feet. ‘Show them how.’
Skaaha raised her skirts and dropped them, tossing her head as she did so.
‘No, no, no!’ Lethra barked. ‘Don't apologize, announce.’
‘You're not offering sex.’ Kenna grinned.
‘Or showing him a secret,’ Freya giggled, clutching her belly.
‘More like this,’ Erith said, rising to demonstrate the quick flash of lower abdomen, a dismissive look. ‘Imagine you're silencing his argument.’
‘Reminding him who's in charge,’ Jiya offered.
‘Showing where he came from,’ Kaitlyn added, ‘and where he wants to be.’
‘Saying you're the bringer of life,’ Yona pointed out.
‘Telling him he's a dick,’ Eefay chimed in, jumping up to drop her leggings and wiggle her rear, while everybody hooted and squealed.
Annoyed to be outdone by her sister, Skaaha tried again. It didn't quite come off. ‘Ach, maybe there needs to be a reason,’ she complained.
‘Or a man,’ one of the farmers suggested.
‘That would help,’ another agreed. ‘Somebody get one.’
‘They're all busy.’ Erith leapt in front of the doorway, barring the exit.
‘Ruan isn't.’ Yona stood. ‘I'll fetch him.’
‘No!’ Skaaha yelled.
The druid stopped dead. Erith looked shocked. There was silence, heads turned towards her, puzzled faces.
‘I couldn't,’ she explained, embarrassed. ‘Not with a priest.’
‘A man just the same,’ Yona said. The druid spoke quietly, a small furrow deepening between her brows as she gazed at Skaaha.
‘Hah,’ Jiya exclaimed. ‘This is the man you want!’
‘No,’ Skaaha protested. ‘He's not.’
‘But that would be perfect,’ Erith cried. ‘Why didn't we think of him? That's why I picked Tosk when it was my time. Who makes a better consort at Beltane than a priest, especially for the goddess?’
‘Especially this priest,’ Yona murmured, returning to her seat, her comment lost in the growing clamour. The circle of women all talked at once, praising Ruan's attributes: his temperament, self-control, physical form and his expected prowess. Druids were well versed in the art of love. It was the perfect solution.
‘So who has b
edded him?’ Jiya asked.
Silence fell, broken by some uncomfortable shuffling.
‘None of you?’ Eefay scoffed, amazed.
‘Send him to Glenelg,’ one of her fellow warriors proposed. ‘We'll soon find out how well he does.’
Kaitlyn shrugged. ‘He hasn't the interest.’
‘Or inclination,’ Kenna added. ‘Maybe he prefers men.’
Freya wrapped her arms tighter round her swollen belly. ‘No,’ she corrected, blushing. ‘He showed Hanick…’ She faltered. ‘He helped us.’
A torrent of questions assailed Freya from the excitable group.
‘Stop this!’ Yona insisted. Compliance was instant. Every voice stilled. The priest let a moment pass before she spoke again. ‘Ruan embraced celibacy to come here.’ Her hand rose, to quiet further interruption. ‘It was required till his charge comes of age.’ Her eyes met and held Skaaha's. ‘But if he's chosen, he will serve.’
Every face turned to Skaaha, hopeful, urging, expectant. Celibacy had only one purpose, to increase potency upon release – for the working of magic. For Bride to become Danu, her consort must be pure, but potent. To achieve both, he abstained from selection till the ceremony, denied all forms of sex bar the pleasure of his own hands. One who'd been abstinent for so long would bring powerful magic, if chosen.
Skaaha returned Yona's gaze, but her mind raced. If celibacy was required, then Suli had required it. The high priest made people do things. Pass the cup. She gave druids their posts. Ruan will go too. Jiya huddled, frightened at Lunasa. He can see into your head. Nechta, before she left. Will you come of age at Beltane? Her aunt terrified, punching her skull. He puts thoughts in mine. Desire first came to her on the beach. The druids wanted this. Suli intended it. Ruan prepared for it. Fear of having her feelings exposed turned to fury. She was Skaaha, not a tool to druid belief.
‘Will you choose him?’ Yona prompted.
‘No,’ she said coldly. No druid would exploit her. It was her life, her choice. She would make it. Not Ruan, and not Suli. ‘I don't want him.’ She sat down.
Disappointment murmured round the room. Jiya leaned into her, mouth close to her ear. ‘That lie will turn on you,’ she whispered.
‘Danger walks beside him,’ Skaaha hissed back. ‘You said so!’ Don't be fooled, her aunt had warned, long ago at Doon Beck.
‘Maybe you're the danger,’ Jiya hazarded. ‘It's you he walks with.’
Her aunt had changed. ‘Or maybe they took out what you saw and planted other seeds inside your head.’ She'd come to trust Ruan, to believe, and he was only using her. ‘There are other men, men who want me.’
‘Who cares what they want?’ Jiya rocked back. ‘Take what you want, or the day goes against you.’ She ladled a beverage into both their cups.
Erith clapped her hands. ‘Right,’ she said brightly. ‘Fill your cups and let's give Skaaha our advice. Champion one man each, one who isn't already rejected or of her blood. Lethra’ – she deferred to the wisdom and experience of age – ‘will you start?’
The crone balked. ‘You don't want my man,’ she grunted. ‘I have to show him where to put everything these days.’ Again, laughter exploded round the room.
17
In the darkness, glowing stones hissed as water poured over them. Ruan sat naked, cross-legged, bathed in rising steam. Drops condensed in his nostrils. Moist heat filled his lungs. Beads of sweat ran over his closed eyelids. Perspiration trickled down his back. The slow, steady thump of heartbeat pumped like a fist beating the rhythm of life against the inside wall of his chest. The sound of it beat louder in his ears. Do as you will, Suli had said, but do no harm. That is the law. Seduction was harm done. It breached trust, trespassed the will of the goddess, made the choice his. The power of Beltane was released through her. The up-fire surged through him. When it flared in Skaaha, he'd quelled his own – duty mastering desire, as it must. In the dark of the moon, she would choose, as she must. It would not be him. Through the fire and water of earth's womb, acceptance would be born of rejection's pain. Again, the priest fought the man, asserting steady breaths in the clammy heat. His pulse slowed. Sweat trickled down his chest.
‘Ruan, fetch another pallet. Quickly!’ Yona's tense face disappeared back behind the drapes.
He stopped tying a cloth cover on the pot of lotion, went to the nearest chamber, hauled the blankets off and half dragged, half carried the mattress back.
‘Can we get it under here?’ Yona said as he pushed the curtain aside. She indicated the foot of Freya's bed. The new mother lay, weak but euphoric, suckling her newborn baby girl at her breast.
‘What's wrong?’ she asked, looking up from stroking the child's damp head.
‘Nothing,’ Yona lied. ‘Bleeding,’ she mouthed to Ruan.
He raised the bottom of Freya's bed with the weight of her on it. Yona wrestled the pallet underneath, doubling over the end to raise it highest. Apart from wait, it was all they could do. The heat in the roundhouse was oppressive. Yona folded her needles away in their cloth. Ruan fetched ale, held Freya's head up to help her drink. Lethra handed in a fresh, pulped liver to be fed to her. Slowly, the bedclothes stained, sodden with blood. Yona took the baby, gave it out to Kenna, who paced around the hearth. When the girl began to shiver, Ruan ran back to the next chamber for more covers to keep her warm. Freya's teeth chattered.
‘Snow is falling in here,’ she said, trembling. ‘Where's Hanick?’
‘Outside.’ Ruan stretched on the floor to wrap his arms round her head and shoulders, holding her, trying to stop the tremors, to give her his body heat.
‘With Skaaha?’
‘I don't know.’
‘She wants him,’ she chittered, grasping the druid's tunic. ‘Tell her it's all right.’ Her eyes rolled.
‘Hold on to me, Freya.’ He shook her. ‘Don't sleep. It will be Beltane soon. Stay with us till then. Your baby needs you.’
The shuddering stopped. ‘That's better,’ she sighed.
He took the baby to Erith while the women cleaned the body.
‘Yona says if you put her to your breast the milk will come,’ he said, passing the infant, carefully, to the forge-keeper, ‘though it will take longer.’
Outside, women's voices sang, gathering in the furnace-keeper's house to celebrate the life gone to the otherworld.
He couldn't look at Skaaha, sitting by the hearth, head down. They'd spent no time together since his return. She hadn't joined him on the beach. Jiya took his place at Erith's mealtimes. As he walked to the door, Skaaha stood, stepping in front of him.
‘How could you let that happen?’ she accused. ‘How could you?’
‘Why do you fight me again, Skaaha? A life was exchanged for a life. Where is the sorrow in that?’ His voice was bleak, hollow in his own ears. ‘I have a message for you,’ he said. ‘Freya said to tell you it's all right.’
‘What, that you let her die?’
‘That you choose Hanick.’
Guilt wrote itself on her face. In it, Ruan saw the truth of Freya's words confirmed. He left then, going to join the men on the hill who'd begun to build the funeral pyre.
Skaaha sat alone on the rocks, watching waves crash into them. Strength wasn't inflexible but pliant, the ability to move. Just as fire consumed wood, the sea wore down stone. It was early. The crescent of old moon rose above glowering Alba hills. Already, dawn crept up towards it, to blot it out. The dark of the moon arrived, and still she didn't know who to choose. Erith had argued to go visiting. Several men from other villages had been championed. She refused, not wanting a stranger. Now it was too late.
The smallest sound, barely heard above the tide, made her look towards the druid huts. Ruan stood, paused in his doorway, looking at her. Her stomach contracted, as if he'd come to her, or she to him, but he didn't move. Her aunt's door opened, and she emerged, ungainly in her druid rags. Noticing Ruan, she glanced shoreward and saw Skaaha, but the man had already turned away, heading past the an
cestral burial mound. With an exuberant wave to her niece, Jiya followed.
Skaaha folded her arms across her knees, rested her head. She was replaced, that precious time gone. Knowing he groomed rather than cared for her only increased the loss. Freya's wake deepened it. Hanick – perhaps she should choose Hanick. Her spirit sank lower. Near the water, a rock pipit hopped about. Behind her, the village stirred awake. People stumbled out to latrines, breakfast preparations started. The sky grew brighter, a misty blue-grey. She heard distant singing, male voices.
Puzzled, she stood, scouring the water. Out in the waves, seals turned, dived, rose again. The voices, louder, came from seaward. A low boat hove into view, oars working in unison. It was the Ardvasar warriors, Vass at the helm. Despondency and dignity forgotten, Skaaha scrambled across the rocks to reach the low shore first.
‘Ho, Vass!’ She raised a fist, calling the greeting to her uncle. She would, of course, ignore Fion, if she could keep the smile off her face. They spotted her. The rowing song rose to full pitch in her honour as they shipped oars and let the craft glide in. Vass was first off the boat, splashing through the waves, making mock play of shielding his testicles before he reached and enveloped her in a bear hug.
‘A goddess calls us ashore,’ he said, ‘and we come to save her.’
‘From what?’ she giggled. ‘Myself?’
‘From grubby farm boys and charcoal burners,’ he winked, ‘and’ – he let her go, stepping back with a wave towards the other approaching warriors – ‘we bring a friend of yours.’
Automatically, her eye found Fion, standing four-square a few feet away. The plaited beard was gone, moustache trimmed. Grinning widely, he clamped an arm round the shoulder of a younger, slimmer man who stood beside him. Skaaha frowned. Then she saw who she looked at. Her face cleared.
‘Thum!’ Astonishment raised her voice. ‘What are you doing here?’
The young man blushed, like the boy he had been. ‘Vass apprenticed me when my training ended,’ he said, and his face lit up with a smile. ‘You've changed.’
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