by Rex Sumner
“What’s a Brionne?”
“In truth it means beloved, but he pretends it is his avatar in the human world. Really it’s just a good fighter who follows you. Crom claims he can add to his battle skills, but don’t you go believing the lout.”
Susan thought this an odd way to talk about one of the primary gods, the God of War, but held her tongue.
“Now, we must get you ready, for you haven’t overlooked before and you won’t often, in truth, because we Shelagh are the guardians of those who do. But you cannot learn these skills till you have experienced it yourself.”
She led Susan into a chamber and sat her down, giving her a wooden goblet of water.
“You will not eat again today, you need your body empty, and you can drink only water. Now, do you know how to meditate?”
Susan shook her head. She had an idea, but felt it best not to reveal too much. She suspected what Cara meant would prove to be very different from the Elven teachings.
*
Susan followed Cara up the path from the bathing rooms dressed in a white robe, naked underneath. It billowed as she walked, encouraging an upright, regal stride. She gasped as they rounded the corner and she saw the pyramid from outside for the first time, the top gleaming in the late afternoon sun.
“Is that, no, surely it cannot be...”
“Gold? Yes, a useful metal for controlling the ceremony. The secret of the pyramid, creating a torus of power and providing the energy for the God to work his magic. You probably cannot see the aether, but we can and you will learn.”
Several dozen people, Tuatha da Danaan, stood or sat in groups in front of the pyramid, talking, though most turned to follow Susan’s progress with interest. The doorway in the centre of the eastern side gaped and Susan smiled at the carved effigy of a Shelagh na Gig on the lintel. The corridor led to the centre of the pyramid, a huge open space lit by candles and torches around the outside and a small brazier standing on a stone table, an altar, in the very middle, directly under the apex. Three cushions spread out at the southern end of the altar and several Shelagh busied themselves in the room, laying out cushions and carpets in circles around the altar. Large bowls sat on the floor on the east-west axis on each crescent of carpets.
“The bowls contain the farseeing drug. I don’t know what it is, that is a secret for Crom and his acolytes. You will drink it tonight, but I and our sisters will not, for we are the guardians, Any work in the aether attracts the sprites and they don’t matter, but in their wake come more serious energies whom we must deflect. See, Oonagh is putting down those little offerings?”
Susan could see a Shelagh placing little woven leaf baskets around the perimeter, hurrying as she went and sprinkling water with a flower over each one as she murmured a prayer.
“The sprites welcome our acknowledgement, and as a result stay outside the perimeter. In truth they add no little power to whichever God is working his magic. If we did not appease them, they could be very irritating. They may be small but they are many.”
“What do they look like?” Susan couldn’t see anything.
“Whatever you want. They are not really there, but an energy from another plane of existence. Ah, here come the drummers. They won’t see either, they are here to help us.”
Four big men came in, each pair carrying a massive war-drum, which they set up together in the north-east.
A scuffle in the door and two men came in carrying a ram, who struggled. Cara frowned.
“Idiots. They’ve forgotten to drug him early. Serve them right when they get kicked.” She sniffed her disdain at the men, before jumping high as one of the drummers, approaching with silent, cat-like grace from behind, slapped her on the rear.
“Melwyn! Stop that, I’m busy.”
“Never too busy for me, darling.” He nuzzled her.
“Honestly, you are impossible.” Susan could see she enjoyed the attention. “Now get to your drums, Crom will be here in a minute, you know he likes to get here early.”
“Not before the people, though, Ah, but they’re coming. See you later, lovely.” He strolled back to his drum, a big grin on his face. Susan raised an eyebrow.
“Never you mind. Come on, let me get you settled on your cushion. Danu wants you on this one. Sit here, like I showed you, and meditate. I will personally put your protection in place, don’t worry.”
Susan did, sitting cross-legged and going into trance as the slow steady beat of the drums started and people began to file in, taking up places on the cushions according to some unknown roster with a bare whisper of sound. The ram knelt on the altar, quiet now, watching the people enter, chewing the cud.
The drums beat with a steady and hypnotic cadence, easing her soul back into the candle light. A presence warmed her, and she saw Diana smile at her from the left side cushion. Diane and Danu occupied the other two.
The drum roll sped up and rose to a crescendo, when the brazier on the altar flared a green light revealing a huge man, appeared from nowhere, standing with arms aloft just to the north of the altar. Crom, the War God.
Naked, bar gold armlets fashioned as serpents on his biceps, a mane of black hair shocking amongst the otherwise blonde or red Gods. Arcane symbols traced patterns on a mighty chest and on his broad cheekbones, while his right hand held a long knife, gleaming in the firelight.
The ram rose, his weak bleat loud in the sudden silence, and two more naked, black haired men appeared to restrain him. Crom took a step forward and with a quick slash opened the jugular for the blood to pour into a bowl held by a Shelagh. The ram kicked hard despite the drug, and Susan realised the legs were tied to restrict his death throes.
Danu rose from her southern cushion, also naked with the blue symbols on her breasts, creating great eyes. She dipped her hand in the grail and made a precise symbol in the middle of Crom’s forehead, before placing another just below his heart, the blood seeming to pulse in the firelight. She brushed her lips against his, murmuring something in his ear which made him scowl, before retiring to her cushion.
The Shelagh took the grail of blood, pouring it into smaller grails brought to her by other Shelagh. They proceeded to go around the people in the pyramid, placing the same symbols on each participant, starting with the Goddesses and themselves. Cara painted them on Susan, whispering as she did so.
“This is your protection, guarding your inner eye and your heart portal. Nothing can pass the blessed blood, take care not to wipe it.” She moved on, leaving Susan with the sticky feel of drying blood on her forehead and a sudden urge to pee, despite earlier emptying her bladder.
The drums started again, low and in the background. Cara appeared again, a different grail in her hands, one of the drug bowls. She helped Susan drink deep, checking the draught.
“It’s fine to lie down, helps,” she whispered before going on her rounds. Susan watched through half closed eyes, a smile playing on her lips as she savoured the earthy taste of mushroom, and she saw the Shelagh congregate in four points around the outside of the circles of participants, some facing out, some in.
The drum beat changed, becoming insistent, compelling. Now a small bell joined in, ringing in cadence with the drums. Susan sank back into her cushion, sliding down to lie on the carpet with her head on the pillow. Crom stood tall over the altar, raising his arms and started to sing, in a strange language that resonated in her brain. One by one his acolytes joined the refrain, each adding a different timbre.
Susan’s eyes rolled back in her head and her vision cracked, becoming green crystal glass riven with a thousand fissures, which moved and formed new patterns. She watched entranced, as the patterns shifted into whorls and spirals, changing colour through the spectrum.
Unseen by Susan, Danu rose from her place at the head of the altar and flowed to the north end, where she sat her naked body, just on the edge of the altar. The perfect height f
or Crom as he advanced, his song stilling while continued by the acolytes as he slid into her and locked his lips to hers. For a moment they matched their breaths, before Danu breathed deep into his lungs and sucked the breath back to begin the energy revolutions, spinning the power between their two bodies in the ancient ritual. Their bodies barely moved, just a small pulse of her hips each time she brought the energy back and into him, up his spine in the reverse cycle unique to her power.
The drum beat increased, the song picked up pace as she span the energies faster, till she reached a crescendo, opened her lower portals and flung her stored energy from the cyclotron, slamming into Crom, rushing up his spine and out of his mouth in a great shout of song.
The volume cracked the crystal beach in Susan’s mind, bursting through the shards in a rush of blue which soared through her vision, taking her in flight, feeling the other souls with her as they raced for the sky, Crom screaming his triumphal song from the fore. The sky formed, blue and clear, a few clouds floating by and the sun shining bright. It tilted, and she stood on a hill, overlooking a valley with a great, brooding, walled city to the north, the host of souls from the ceremony around her.
Arrayed in the fields below the city were two armies.
She recognised the Harrheinians from the battle standards, and her attention focused on the centre, finding her vision zoom down till she could clearly see King Richard smiling beside his giant guards, shouting insults at the opposing Spakka. Enthralled, she could even hear them, and blushed at the words being thrown back and forth. For a moment she was angry at Richard using such foul language, and she began to lose her temper with him. Diana’s energy soothed her and she felt a message in her head.
‘This has happened, sister, do not feel for the past.’
She relaxed, an observer as the ranks crashed together, wincing only a little at the sword stabbing into Richard’s foot.
The vision dipped and swooped as she felt herself being pulled back, at Crom’s massive, mental shout.
‘He comes! The Brionne is here!’
A small band of horses, no a line, coming at speed from the trees beneath her feet, the vision tunnelling down to the leader as he lanced a Spakka, hurtling on down.
Entranced, she followed the screaming rider, saw his unnoticed charge up the hill and the death of the Spakka king. She watched his race behind the line, realised the Harrhein were broken but now the Spakka as well and confusion and apprehension rose again, to be soothed away by Diana.
There was King Richard, knighting the Brionne and the pride and love of Crom filled the room, till the vision burst into stars and she slumped back on her cushion, a little smile on her face, contentment washing over her and feeling the love of Diana, Danu and Diane infuse her soul.
Welcome Home
The Hardenwall loomed on the horizon, beetling out of the cliff with great stone ramparts famed for repelling hordes of Uightlanders and Spakka invaders. From the north, the solid granite blocks formed an intimidating sight, arching over the dry moat imploring its fill of flaming oil. Old bones appeared from odd places, speaking of the local sport, and flocks of crows, hoodies and ravens appeared at the sight of the mounted troop.
Asmara twitched in her saddle, excited at the prospect of seeing her father and a hot bath. Her chatter moved from incessant tactical questions to gossiping about the local aristocracy. Jeremy woke from his slumber to join in, astute questions ascertaining the morals of each and every female in the castle. Lionel raised his eyes to the heavens as he noticed troopers bunched up behind, drinking in every word. Asmara revealed a broad depth of knowledge, confessing with a wink that she employed a full time spymaster in the castle with untold part-timers. Jeremy suggested they were putting them to good use for the first time, pointing out the differences learnt on this trip to the body of knowledge compiled up to then.
“Fire the bastard,” he grunted, wondering if he could get a better description of this young Duchess Lucinda who sounded worth cultivation. “Put in somebody with a brain. That Viscount Sutton sounds the business.”
“Jack? Really? Why?”
“He’s clever enough to avoid all your spies. You know nothing about him, and he’s the only one not shagging around. Probably prefers boys. And you don’t know. Means he’s clever.”
Asmara startled Jeremy by swinging a leg over the front of her horse, treading on his foot in the stirrup and reaching up to give him a hug and a kiss on the ear, before uncoiling and returning to her saddle while Jeremy scowled and wiped imaginary spit off his cheek.
“What the hell was that for?”
“You can be quite smart, sometimes, Jez. Maybe I will keep you around before having you impaled.”
“Smarten up, boys,” called Lionel as they came to the end of the sparse forest. “Column of fours, pennants up. Show ‘em your pride, we are the fearsome Lancers of Fearaigh.”
“The Royal Lancers,” cried Asmara joining in with enthusiasm and taking up point. Jeremy and Lionel falling in on either side of her. “Have you got my colours, Matt?”
“Sure have, Princess, they’re right behind you.”
“Call the time, Robbie,” said Lionel. “When they’re ready.”
Robbie shouted down the line at his subordinates who shepherded a few stragglers, before opening his lungs. “Walk-march, trot! Steady now, canter! Flag men, pennants up and ready as we come round the bend, ………..GLIDE!”
Asmara thrilled as her ride stilled, sitting tall in the saddle and unable to stop the wide grin spreading over her face, leading her Royal Lancers back to her northernmost fortress. Distant figures raced along the parapet, more coming by the moment. She hoped her father would be up there, beaming with pride at his little girl.
The Great North Road did not follow a straight path, but rather wound from side to side like a snake in the sand, a high slope between each curve dotted with parapets for defenders to throw missiles, with a two horse stable below each one for a hasty retreat. Today, none of the defences sported sentries and the column wound along before gliding up to the great gates, which yawned and creaked as they opened to receive them.
Two figures strode out to stand in the middle of the gates and Asmara quivered. She didn’t hear Jeremy, who frowned at the parapets.
“Something is wrong.”
Lionel studied the soldiers, all stiff and reserved, none smiling. He nodded. “Not much of a hero’s welcome.”
The child broke free in Asmara and she kicked her horse into full gallop, squealing “Uncle Bobby!” at the top of her lungs. She dragged the horse to air-pawing halt in front of Marshal Roberts and threw herself into his arms.
“Glad to see you safe, Princess,” said the marshal, a small smile twitching at his lips. “Corporal Russell is on the mend, he’ll be here in a moment, I’m sure. We’re stationed by the gates.” He turned his attention to Lionel and Jeremy, his eyes sharpening as he noticed the alert status of every soldier, the column prickling like a hedgehog. “Good job, Sir Lionel. Did you lose any men?”
“No, sir,” said Lionel, his eyes flicking once around the courtyard before centring on the general. “The Spakka was killed and the Uightlanders apprehended, but none of the other female captives wished to return. We left them and rode back by the main road, showing the Princess to the people in each town according to her wishes.”
“Did you now, that will have been interesting.”
“Yes, we stopped in every town along the way, and I spoke to the people in the markets, inviting them to the fair. Gordie says the Lairds won’t know what hit them. You should taste the sheep cheese I found in Stirling, so tasty and tart. I have some in my bag.” The princess started to rummage in her saddle bag, but the general stopped her.
“Time for that later, Princess. I have some bad news. Your father has taken a fever from his injury during the battle. He lies in bed, sore afflicted.”
; “Oh, no, poor daddy. I will go to him straight away. Is he in his usual rooms?” She jumped back on her horse as the general tried to restrain her.
“Yes he is, Asmara, but please wait, you will need an escort of Pathfinders…” The marshal’s words trailed off as the princess shot off at the gallop, scattering people from the main road. “Damn, Donnell, get a patrol after her. No, not you Lionel, you don’t know the situation. Rogers, show the Lancers to their lines. Sir Lionel come with me.”
He stomped off towards an inn, situated as close to the gates as possible to gain maximum revenue. Lionel trailed in his wake while Robbie took the Lancers after the equerry, Rogers. Unnoticed, Jeremy pulled from the column to talk to a well-dressed woman on horseback, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“You must be Duchess Lucinda. Word of your beauty has spread far and wide. I’ve long relished the chance to see you and perhaps talk awhile.”
*
Lionel inspected his chair with care after the marshal’s wobbled as he sat, before seating himself and nodding his thanks to the barmaid for the ale thrust into his hand. As the girl moved away, the general leaned forward, his eyes evaluating Lionel.
“Are you a churchgoer, boy?”
Lionel paused, taken aback. “Not many churches in Fearaigh, sir,” he said with diplomatic care.
“Loyal to the crown, are ye?”
“Of course, that’s why we came, sir.”
“Dammit to hell but I don’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth. You’re a rogue, boy, the whole damn lot of you. You came up here for a bit of fun and loot, I know it, and damn me if there shouldn’t have been more loot on those Spakka ships you caught.” He waved away Lionel’s denial.
“I don’t give a damn. You deserve it more than the paltry portion you would have received. Anyway, I reckon you prefer the Crown to the Church, am I right? Of course I am.” He thrummed his fingers on the table, while Lionel put an expectant expression on his face, disguising his racing thoughts.
