Kermode stepped inside. A young woman sat on a stool, leaning over a worktable. “Idellsa,” Osker cleared his throat. “I want you to meet someone.”
Idellsa looked up, throwing her shoulders back and rubbing her neck. A skylight in the ceiling illuminated three pieces of jewelry on the table.
Kermode stepped forward, extending his hand. “My name is Kermode, I am an apprentice to Brisius the Elder, Druid of the South.”
Idellsa smiled. Clutching Kermode’s hand, Idellsa said, “I am Idellsa, journey woman metal worker, daughter of Osker, Master metal worker of the village Durham.”
Is this woman making a fool of me? Kermode asked himself. Without thinking, he squeezed her hand harder.
Idellsa looked Kermode directly in the eye, smiling and matching his tightening grip. Kermode released and said, “I have an amulet I want built. I want it hung on a chain.”
At that moment Osker said, “I have other dealings to attend to. I’ll leave you two to hammer out the finer points.” He turned and left.
“When Osker told me his daughter would be working on the piece. I must admit …” Kermode paused, trailing off.
“You must admit you had doubts a woman could do the job?” Idellsa finished Kermode’s statement and turned it into a question. “If you’re wondering about my skills I have three finished pieces on the table before you.”
Kermode lifted one of the pieces: a shimmering gold necklace, adorned with hanging horns and intricate carvings of animals wrapping the neck clasps. “That is an unusual piece,” Idellsa said. “I spent long hours carving those facets.”
“It’s beautiful work,” Kermode said, holding the piece and eyeing the fine detail of the swirling animals. Wolves, snakes, and birds intertwined with one another. Sharp teeth swallowed tail feathers, curved beaks devoured coiling serpents.
“This is a simpler torc,” Idellsa took the piece from Kermode. She added, “If you had something less costly in mind.” She held up another of the tight-fitting necklaces—a continuous circular band of segmented bronze terminating on two square plugs.
Kermode set the piece down. “What I’m looking for is an amulet, carved in the shape of a dragon, hung on a chain.”
“That should be simple,” Idellsa nodded.
“There’s something else,” Kermode said.
“And that is?” Idellsa asked.
Kermode reached into the pouch. He set the stone on the table. “I want this stone mounted in the dragon’s mouth.”
Idellsa looked at the stone. “This can be done. I will have to form mounts on the dragon to accept the stone.”
“When can you start?” Kermode asked.
“I’ll see what materials will be needed and how long it will take to build the piece. Osker will decide the price.”
“Very well.” Kermode fell silent. The thought of paying for the chain put him at a loss for words.
“Osker demands a fee to start a piece and the full amount when the piece is finished,” Idellsa said.
“When will you know?”
“Stop back in two days,” Idellsa said. She paused then added, “Kermode.”
The sound of Idellsa’s voice saying his name sent chills down Kermode’s back. “May I have the stone,” he asked. He looked down at Idellsa’s clenched fist.
“Oh, yes.” It took Idellsa a few moments to realize she’d been gripping the stone so tightly.
Kermode reached out. Their eyes met as they passed the stone. Kermode raked his fingernails across her palm gently.
“I’ll be expecting you in two days,” Idellsa said as Kermode left the shop.
Outside, standing in the yard, Kermode felt a knot in his stomach. In his mind, he saw the mysterious white stone clutched in a metal dragon’s mouth. Kermode felt the weight of the chain around his neck. He saw all this, but, he didn’t see how he would be able to pay for the chain.
A stab of guilt washed over Kermode. As an apprentice white druid, his primary focus in life was helping the community, not personal gain or wealth. Doubt and guilt faded as Kermode reached into the pouch. One touch of the stone made him forget his oath to Brisius.
Kermode pictured Idellsa tapping a tiny chisel with a tubular mallet. Patterns formed as the tip of the chisel glided across the surface of the metal.
A bulge in Kermode’s crotch grew as he thought about Idellsa running her long delicate hands across his body.
Kermode returned to Idellsa’s shop two days later. She was waiting, a piece of dried birch bark rolled in one hand.
“This is the design I came up with,” she said as she unrolled the sheet.
Kermode looked at the drawing of the chain.
“I guessed you wanted the chain simple. It is linked as a dragon eating its own tail.” She pointed to the enlarged detail drawing of a single link. The clasp came together as a serpent’s head on one end swallowing its tail on the other end.
Idellsa pulled another birch sheet from behind the first one. A series of curved lines formed the body, led up to a pair of sharp-edged wings, then ended in an elongated head and mouth filled with curved teeth. This is the exact thing I wanted, Kermode thought. How could this woman know this?
“Well, what do you think, Kermode?” Idellsa asked. “Do you approve?”
“Yes,” Kermode nodded. “How much will this cost me?”
“You’ll have to speak with my father about payment.”
“’Do you think you could take a guess?” Kermode asked. “Based on the materials needed and work involved.”
“I could do that …” Idellsa trailed off. She hesitated then added, “You must remember that the price I give you may not be the amount Osker agrees upon.”
“I understand,” Kermode shrugged. “I need a rough idea of the cost.”
“I’ll say a piece of silver for the materials, one piece of silver for the design, and three pieces of silver for the work.”
Kermode counted in his head. Five pieces of silver all together. It could be more once Osker became involved.
Three
On the Summit
KERMODE RETURNED TO the roundhouse. Modac, one of the two apprentices Kermode shared the roundhouse with, was working in the vegetable garden. Inside, Minian, the other apprentice, hoisted the pot-bellied cooking stove onto the hearth.
“Gods to you, Kermode,” Minian said.
“Gods back.” Kermode returned the greeting. Kermode felt uneasy. He was sure Minian would be asking him how it went at the Bredon. Kermode bit the side of his mouth to remind himself to keep quiet about what happened at the fisherman’s roundhouse.
Kermode watched Minian arranging pieces of kindling. “Vegetable soup again,” Kermode muttered.
“We have no meat,” Minian shrugged.
Kermode looked at a longbow hanging on the wall. Kermode walked across the room. He said, “Minian, put the flat pan on the hearth,” as he pulled the bow off the set of deer antlers. “We eat meat tonight.”
With the white ash longbow slung over one shoulder and a leather quiver slung over another, Kermode walked out of the roundhouse.
Modac looked up when he heard Kermode’s feet on the walkway. “We’re are you going with that thing?” Modac asked.
“Hunting.” Kermode looked at the forest. In Durham, as in many villages across the countryside, it was customary for every dwelling to have a longbow hung on the wall. It was for good luck, it could feed your family, and it could be used to defend your home.
“Make sure you don’t kill yourself with that thing,” Modac laughed.
Kermode nodded. He looked down. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Kermode looked at the garden. Pieces of thick cord were tied to iron rods that had been set in the ground. The cord formed a grid on the ground. “May I get a piece of cord from you?” Kermode asked Modac.
“Yes.” Modac reached into a pouch. “Long or short?” he asked.
Kermode didn’t know the reason why, but, he answered, “Long.”
Modac sho
ok his head as Kermode walked down the hill.
Kermode removed an arrow from the quiver. He looked at the notched nock and the turkey feather fletchings.
Kermode stood by the edge of a stream. Water rushed around and over boulders poking above the surface. Crouching low, Kermode pulled the piece of cord from his pocket. He wrapped a loop around the shaft of the arrow, just above the nock. Holding the loop between two fingers, Kermode wrapped the free end around the loop six times then passed the back up through the loop and pulled it tight. He spit on it as it jammed up against the shaft.
The bow was in one hand. A nocked arrow in the other. Kermode squinted at the sun glaring off the surface of the rippling water. A reach into the pouch and a touch of the stone cleared his vision. The glare faded. Kermode could see sand being pushed across smooth stones on the bottom.
Soon, shapes and shadows appeared, hovering in holes or drifting behind boulders. When a small fish swam near, the shapes darted out of hiding. The small fish disappeared in a wiggling silvery flash.
Kermode waited. A school of small fish fluttered across the stream. Bigger fish hiding in the shadows moved out of ambush points.
Kermode drew the arrow back and sighted down the shaft. When the arrowhead landed dead center on a dark blur moving over the light stream bed, he released.
By the time the last loop played from between his thumb and forefinger, Kermode felt the arrow strike something solid. The line went taught and cut a fine wake across the surface as the fish fought against the weight of the arrow and the pressure of the line.
Vibration through the line from the thrashing fish died down until Kermode felt only a quivering weight. He pulled the line in. A fat brown trout lay on the edge of the stream. Kermode pulled the arrow through. The fish gave one final thrash as the arrow severed the spine. Kermode lifted the fish by the tail. It was as long as his arm and as big around at the belly as a log.
Kermode, Minian, and Modac ate fish and vegetable soup for supper.
When the table had been cleared and the dishes washed. Minian and Modac both donned their best robes and made for the door, “Where are you going?” Kermode asked.
“It is the last day of Beltane, the burning of the wicker man will be tonight,” Minian answered.
“Why don’t you bring your longbow,” Modac smiled.
“Perhaps I will,” Kermode answered, scratching his chin.
■ ■ ■ ■
Kermode looked up. The wicker man, a skeleton of logs and branches stuffed with straw, towered above him.
Women and children set piles of branches at the giant’s feet. Beer flowed from kegs placed on long tables. The smell of pigs slowly roasting filled the air. Men sang, deep voices booming songs of the ending of winter. Women danced, strings of bells wrapped around swaying hips tinkling in the hope of calling nature back to life.
Kermode made his way straight to the archery competition. It was late on the last day of the festival and only the best archers were left.
Eleven ornate axes with rings at the top, evenly spaced and planted with the ends in the ground, led to a circular bull’s eye covered in birch and painted in red.
The last contestant took aim and sighted down the rings. He released the arrow. The arrow struck the nearest ring and went wild.
“Any more comers?” the gamesman asked.
“I’ll do it.” Kermode stepped forward.
The gamesman sent his young helper to take down all but the closest axe to the bull’s eye.
“Wait,” Kermode said. The boy let go of the axe. “How much could I win if I shoot through twelve axe heads?”
“Three pieces of copper,” the gamesman nodded.
“And if I do it with my eyes closed?”
“For that …” the gamesman laughed, “… a piece of silver.”
Kermode reached into the pouch. The warmth of the stone greeted his fingers as he pressed in into his palm.
Word of the contestant claiming to shoot through twelve axe heads traveled fast. People crowded around, hoping to get in on the betting action.
Osker, always looking to gain some copper or silver coin said, “Idellsa, I’m gong to the archery stand to watch Kermode the Druid try the impossible. Stay with the table.”
“Are you going to wager?” Idellsa asked.
“There should be plenty of side-betting,” Osker nodded.
“Put a piece of copper on the druid for me.”
“Very well.” Osker scratched his head and walked away.
Kermode faced the target. The gamesman called for silence. The people milling about made their final wagers. Kermode closed his eyes. The flesh of his eyelids dissolved before him. He saw the green field, the twelve axes, and the target in his mind’s eye.
Squinting hard under his eyelids caused a line of red light to come out from between his eyes. Kermode adjusted the beam to pass through the iron axehead rings as it made its way to the target. The beam was locked in. Kermode released. The arrow flew as if time had slowed to a crawl. The shaft twisted through the first ring.
As Kermode opened his eyes the beam faded. The arrow disappeared into a blur then landed dead center on the bull’s eye.
While Kermode collected his piece of silver from the gamesman Osker said, “At least you’ve made one of us happy.”
Puzzled, Kermode asked, “What do you mean?”
“Idellsa gave me a piece of copper to bet on you. I got thirty to one odds on that bet.”
“Is she here now, Osker?”
“Yes, she’s at my table.”
“My father tells me you put the arrow through the gauntlet of axeheads with eyes closed,” Idellsa said.
Kermode cleared his throat and nodded. He didn’t know what to say if she asked him how he did it. “I have something for you,” he said. He took the silver out of his pocket and pressed it into her palm.
“What is this for?” Idellsa asked, looking at the shining coin in her hand.
“This is the first piece of silver to start the job,” Kermode answered.
“I’ll begin as soon as possible,” Idellsa smiled.
Osker walked up to the table. He looked over the pieces left on the cloth. In his mind he cyphered how many pieces he had at the start of the festival against what he had now.
“Are you going to stay to watch the burning of the wicker man, father?” Idellsa asked Osker.
“I’ll be back after I bring these goods back to the shop,” Osker answered. “Are you coming, Idellsa?” Osker had wrapped up the last piece.
“I’d like to stay and see some of the festival. I’ve been at this table the entire time,” Idellsa said.
“Alone?” Osker asked?
Idellsa shot a quick glance at Kermode, “Will you accompany me?”
“Ugh … yes,” Kermode managed to stammer out.
“Father, I have an escort.”
Osker eyed Kermode. He pressed his drooping mustache against his face. “I suppose the druid can walk with you,” he said. “Maybe he’ll bring you luck.”
Kermode and Idellsa, arm in arm, walked around the grounds of the festival three times. Kermode listened as Idellsa did all the talking.
Torches were being lit as the last bundle of kindling was placed at the feet of the wicker man. Brisius the Elder, clad in white robes so bright they seem to give off their own light, stepped forward. A trapdoor at the base of the wicker man was lifted. Baskets of food were hoisted on ropes to a compartment hollowed out of the wicker man’s stomach. A sheep followed, then a goat.
Once the animals were inside the stomach a man was led to the front. Brisius stepped forward and placed a crown fashioned from the antlers of calf deer on the man’s head. “We make these offerings to the plants that grow in the ground and the fish that swim in the water and the clouds that fly in the sky.”
The condemned man climbed into the stomach of the wicker man. The trapdoor came down.
Brisius stepped back far. When he reached the outer edge of a m
ound of kindling encircling the wicker man he took a torch from a holder.
Idellsa turned to Kermode. “Can you take me away from here. I can’t watch this. I know the man killed his wife—” Idellsa trailed off then added, “I just don’t have the stomach for this.”
The practice of sacrifices at the spring festival had changed over the years from killing young virgins, male and female, to infants suffering from birth defects to men and women who’d broken the laws of the tribe.
“Very well.” Kermode offered Idellsa his arm as they walked up the hill overlooking the festival grounds.
At the summit they turned and looked back. Flames roared around the base. Flickering light cast giant shadows and silhouetted the wicker man.
A big yellow moon rose in the sky. Idellsa looked away from the fire below.
Kermode reached out and touched her shoulder. He could feel her shaking under his hand. “I’m here for you,” he said. Kermode pulled Idellsa close and held her tight. She rested her head in his shoulders.
They kissed, softly at first then they pressed their lips hard. Tongues intertwined. Spit passed between them and dripped down their chins.
It was at this moment, when the bulge in his crotch was pressed against Idellsa’s belly, Kermode lifted off his robes and laid them on the grass. He removed Idellsa’s tunic. They stood naked before each other.
Kermode pushed Idellsa to the ground gently. He moved forward, placing his hands under her knees. She reached down and guided him in. Kermode felt a soft wall of flesh that gave way on his first thrust. Idellsa moaned and pushed her hips forward.
Kermode and Idellsa made love on the summit of the hill while the wicker man burned.
Four
The Big Net
KERMODE WOKE EARLY the next morning and jumped off the straw mat. He wondered about last night. Was it just Idellsa reaching out for some kind of comfort or was there something real between them? Kermode needed to know, but he felt awkward. He’d always found it difficult to talk to women. If he had more silver he would have a reason to speak with her.
Origin of Druid Page 2
