Geraint (Hengist-People of the Horse Book 5)

by Jacky Gray

  But she didn’t stop there, running straight in until the water reached her thighs, then throwing herself into the white cap of a wave as it crested. It fizzled out a few feet later, only to pick up again as it reached the shallows and foamed around Geraint’s ankles. It was replaced by another one, which she swam into, her head bobbing up and down.

  He stared transfixed. This was outside his experience of swimming, an activity restricted to rivers where the currents were mild and only flowed one way. They didn’t toss you around like a leaf in the wind, every other one threatening to drown you.

  Siany noticed he’d not joined her and swam back until she was forced to stand. Shaking herself like a dog, she splattered him with droplets of cold water which made him wince in shock.

  ‘Come on scaredy cat. Is it too cold for you? The best way is just to throw yourself in and get it done. It’s always warmer the next time you go back in.’

  When he didn’t react to her enthusiasm right away, she bent down and scooped at the water with the flat of her hand so he was sprayed with more icy droplets.

  ‘Stop it. That’s not funny.’

  ‘No, but your face is. Come on, stop being such a girl.’ In a move worthy of a Herfest challenge, she tackled his legs and pulled him over so he landed on his back in the water. Slapping her feet down in a ridiculous manner which splashed the water up, she soaked him thoroughly, then skipped off down the beach.

  It broke the spell which had him bound by something close to, but not actually, fear. It was all to do with the memories locked up inside his head, memories of his mother and Ciria, the beach and having fun. A part of him fretted he’d lose the memories if he unlocked and released them. Then he remembered Tamas’s words about his love being so strong he only had to close his eyes to see her face. Closing his eyes, he felt her arms round him as in the burial chamber, and her voice in his ear said, ‘Fear not, my son.’

  As though a great weight had been lifted, he tore up the beach after her, emitting loud war cries which spurred them on. When he finally caught her, he picked her up and carried her wriggling body out until the sea reached his waist.

  ‘Do you yield?’ He copied the line from the pirate book, and she responded from the same script.

  ‘Never. I’d rather die.’

  ‘Then you shall have your wish.’ But instead of tipping the hero off the plank, he tipped her into the sea and they swam and gambolled like water creatures. When they tired of it, they climbed rocks and examined the wildlife in the pools. They’d completely dried off in the warm breeze when Darryn called them back to the carriage.

  Oleta had organised the meal and even Rattrick helped, slicing bread and ham while the others unfolded the huge blanket. They weighted the edges with large stones and laid out the food in the centre, with a place for each person to sit. She sent them to wash their hands in a freshwater well a few paces down the beach, handing them a beaker of water when they settled in their places.

  Darryn led a short thanksgiving prayer and Geraint thought the simple food tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten, accompanied by the salty smell and the sound of waves crashing on the beach.

  Having worked out what she could take to the night’s celebration, Oleta asked them to find a few of the most interesting and unusual shells and pebbles. They spent most of the afternoon searching and collecting with Rattrick an enthusiastic helper. He borrowed one of the blankets and picked up the ones they’d rejected as being too ordinary.

  Siany’s mother was overwhelmed with the assortment, worrying about what to do with the ones she didn’t choose. Rattrick said he’d take any she didn’t want. When he explained their potential for creating beautiful jewellery and other items, she wanted to give him the most precious ones, but he insisted she take them for the altar.

  30 Honey Moon Esbat

  One of the main differences between the Sabbats and Esbats was the emphasis of male and female energy. The eight Sabbats followed the cycle of the sun, split into the four seasonal extremes and the fire festivals which were spaced midway between them. The thirteen Esbats followed the cycle of the moon, and each one had different characteristics and so was suitable for different spells.

  This led to a division in thinking – one of the principal factors in the Renegates breaking away many decades earlier. They resented the constraints of the religion and, as far as they were concerned, the male Sabbats were firmly tied into the sporting challenges. Over the years, they transformed into the current format where boys competed to show their proficiency in the various skills they would need to become fully functioning adult males. The full moon Esbats were completely ignored by the men, but many women celebrated them at the peak of the moon’s power, when she bathed the earth in female energy which made any spells cast more potent.

  Rattrick had never been to an Esbat and, although Geraint had watched one or two of them from a distant hiding place, he’d never been invited. Darryn had attended several but had never become involved, seeing the casting of spells as more of a female province. So all three were happy to let the females take the lead at the ceremony and simply watch and learn.

  The path to the stone was decorated with white and silver ribbons on which hung crescent moons, stars, crystals, small mirrors and shells. Garlands of hawthorn branches, their white flowers looking like five pointed stars, turned the clearing into a magical grotto. Wood rubbed with aromatic oils burnt in a small fire pit, tinting the air with a subtle perfume. The stone itself became the central altar, covered with a white cloth and decorated with flower garlands, candles and crystals. An area south of the stone hosted a collection of small bowls filled with water: some quite ornate, others simple earthenware.

  Several of the worshippers were dressed in white robes, but most of them were dressed normally with just one item of white, usually a tabard or jacket. Some wore a silver sash. Oleta and Siany approached the woman in charge, who welcomed them, exclaiming over their gifts. Placing the shells on the altar, she asked them to add the fruit they’d brought to one of the two long tables groaning under the weight food. She gave them slips of silver birch bark for them to write down something for the purging.

  A lookout blew a silver horn, and everyone gathered to watch the pearly pink orb creep shyly up from the North West horizon. A young woman began singing an ode to the moon in a pure clear voice, telling of her birth and youthful enthusiasm as she’s courted by the sun god. The song was obviously well known as most of the watchers joined in on the chorus praising the moon’s beauty and gentle power.

  At the end of the song, everyone applauded, and moved toward the altar so the ceremony could begin. While they gathered, the high priestess lit the altar candles, and three of her deputies lit candles in the lanterns hung around the trees. She greeted the moon with a deep curtsey, then picked up a smoking ball of incense. Walking round the outside of the people, she purified the area with the heady blend of lavender and rosemary as she created the circle with a rhyme.

  Standing by the altar, she invited the moon goddess to join in their celebration, and everyone raised their arms to welcome her. She led a quiet meditation, inviting people to purify their thoughts and focus on everything good in their lives, giving thanks for the many ways in which they were blessed. Several people beat out a slow heartbeat on drums, signifying the start of the energy raising. People clapped along and the pace increased, with some adding vocal sounds or stamping their feet as the whole clearing vibrated with energy. At a signal, the rhythm slowed to three simple beats, accompanied by the chant of “Honey moon, come back soon.”

  The high priestess raised her hands and, when she got silence, held up her slip of bark. ‘Nagging my husband when he snores. Be Gone. Eating too many cakes. Be Gone.’

  There were several laughs at the first intention and many sympathetic groans at the second as she tossed the scrap of bark into the fire, then turned and bowed to the moon. Each person who wanted to, followed suit. Some said the words out loud, others silentl
y to themselves, but all said the words, “Be Gone” with enough energy to force the negativity out of their minds and bodies.

  People listened to the special intentions of those who needed healing or energy for starting new families or business ventures. The cessation of movement caused the energy level to drop, so they drummed for a short while to re-raise it; then she led them all in a beautiful drawing down of the moon, finishing by charging the water in the bowls with the energy of the moon so it could be used for healing spells or growing plants.

  The next part was familiar as the cakes and ale were shared, the first portion going to the moon and the earth, then each person in turn, giving thanks. The high priestess then reversed the opening ceremony, thanking the moon for her presence, turning widdershins to close the circle. With so many people, it took a while for everyone to exchange hugs before the feasting started.

  As the only single man there, Rattrick found himself in great demand and enjoyed having women of all ages keen for his opinion on the various delicacies they’d brought. Two of them seemed to take a particular shine to him, vying with each other to keep his glass full of ale and a constant supply of tasty treats on his plate.

  Darryn also found himself the object of speculation, but he kept a firm attachment to Oleta’s side, introducing her as ‘Oleta, my wife,’ to anyone who came near.

  Geraint could have enjoyed the same attention as his father; there were several unattached girls giving him the glad eye, but one look at Siany’s face seemed to quell their enthusiasm. All apart from one, a redhead who seemed to have set her sights on him and was impervious to any dirty looks or subtle hints. Slightly older than them, she had the kind of beauty which meant she would be used to getting her own way, especially with males.

  ‘You must try a shortcake with your strawberries. My aunt Zelda made them, and her cooking is second to none.’

  ‘Your aunt Zelda.’ His expression matched his droll tone.

  ‘That’s her over there talking to your father. The pretty one in green, not the fat one.’

  ‘I don’t think she’s fat. A little plump, but that’s how he likes them.’

  The mild rebuke in his tone passed her by as she batted her eyelashes at him.

  ‘And how do you like your women, Geraint?’

  ‘I don’t.’ She frowned at his brief answer, then smiled as he explained, ‘Women are far too old for me.’

  ‘How do you like your girls, then?’ She leaned in close to whisper in his ear, ‘I think you have your father’s taste if she is your preference.’

  It took a while for him to work out she’d just called his best friend fat. The volume of her voice meant she wasn’t whispering at all, so Siany must have heard, and it didn’t take her anything like as long to work out the insult. So when he did not spring to her defence immediately, she gave a disgusted gasp, accompanied by a black look, then stomped off to find her parents.

  ‘Good. All that negative energy made my skin crawl. Is she your cousin or something?’

  ‘No actually, she’s my girlfriend and you’ve just been quite nasty. You should feel ashamed of yourself, making horrible comments about the way people look on the outside. It’s the way they look on the inside which matters, and Siany is ten times the beauty you could ever wish to be.’

  Leaving her open-mouthed, he followed Siany’s path, but was interrupted in his search by the high priestess asking him for some help in clearing away the altar.

  ‘I’m just not quite tall enough to reach the garlands on the tree above, but I didn’t want to break them because then we have to spend ages picking up all the blossoms.’

  ‘If you bend the branch down like this it makes it easier.’

  ‘Of course it does, but I don’t have your strength. When you’ve finished, could you help me fold the altar cloth, please?’

  Then there were one or two other little jobs for a willing pair of arms and a strong back, but he was happy to help; he would explain to Siany later on. Except the red-haired girl, Rowanne had not finished her torment. The high priestess disappeared with two sacks full of flower garlands, leaving him to reach up for the ribbon garlands. A few seconds later, Rowanne appeared, clasping round his waist from behind as he reached up.

  ‘Oh Geraint, I’m not really nasty like that, I was just jealous because you seem to like her so much. Please tell me I’m not ugly.’

  Flinching at her touch, he ignored her, determined to finish freeing a ribbon which had become snagged on a twig. ‘I never said you were ugly, Rowanne. You know as well as anyone you are beautiful…’

  ‘You really think I am beautiful, Geraint? Why thank you. I think you’re very handsome.’

  He was curious why she’d suddenly raised her voice; did she think him deaf? As the ribbon came free, he turned and she took advantage of the fact his hands were full to reach up on tiptoe and kiss his lips. He overbalanced, pushing her forward and his hand automatically went round her waist to stop her from falling.

  The reason for her raised voice became clear as he spotted Siany and her parents watching them open mouthed from the other side of the clearing.

  Rowanne’s ploy had achieved its objective if the expressions on their faces were anything to go by. Oleta’s was pure disappointment, Darryn’s nine parts embarrassment and one part sneaking admiration for the girl’s obvious beauty. But Siany’s face caused the most pain. Instead of the horror she showed earlier, it was completely blank. If she really was his girlfriend like she said, how could she be so unconcerned about finding him apparently kissing another girl?

  He watched helplessly as she looked through him and walked by as if nothing happened, despite Rowanne’s pretend gasp of concern and fake tone. ‘Oh dear. Sorry, Geraint. Have I got you into trouble with your girlfriend?’

  31 Precious Shells

  Geraint found the journey back to the inn extremely uncomfortable. His father had accompanied Darryn in the driver’s seat and Oleta closed her eyes, tired out from two long days in a row. Siany was the only one awake and she refused to even acknowledge his existence. A protective layer of ice surrounded her whole aura, stopping even the merest thought of an apology before it could form.

  Rattrick got them up early the next morning, none the worse for his consumption of rather a lot of ale. Apparently he’d got on so well with Siany’s parents, they persuaded him to spend the rest of the week there and accompany them on the journey back to Wessex. He’d done a deal with the inn’s owner to allow them to camp in the field next to the inn for a small consideration, so they had to go and pick their wagon up from where they’d left it two days earlier. The innkeeper scowled because they hadn’t returned for two days but was mollified when Rattrick gave him a full week’s rental.

  The delicious smells of lunch beckoned as they reached the inn, but still no sign of Darryn or Oleta. Siany sat in the garden in the back of the inn, curled up with a book in a small swinging chair which rocked back and forward gently

  Rattrick called over. ‘Where are your folks? At lunch already?’

  ‘Food is the last thing they want; they’ve both been struck down with a terrible malady and can’t leave their beds without being sick.’

  He tried to hide his smile, but not very hard and she saw it.

  ‘Why are you grinning? Do you find it funny they are sick?’ Her sharp retort was accompanied by a glare at Geraint who made a concerted effort not to share his father’s amusement.

  ‘Not at all, I just thought they were enjoying the fruit punch a little too much last night. They probably didn’t realise how strong it was because of the spices.’

  ‘You mean my parents are drunkards?’ She seemed horrified by the thought, and Rattrick quickly reassured her no one would think that way because they were innocents. Assuming a parental air, he invited her to share a table with them.

  Geraint didn’t react to her venomous glance and his father seemed not to notice, acting as if she’d already agreed, offering her his arm. Smiling at the cou
rtly manners, Geraint followed as his father escorted his ill-tempered girlfriend through to the cosy dining room. The innkeeper showed great concern about his “most esteemed guests,” recommending various elixirs and concoctions which might restore their good health.

  The man obviously worried their sickness might be a result of something prepared at his inn. Instead of putting the poor man out of his misery, Rattrick played along, feeding his growing guilt with plenty of sympathy. This resulted in their plates groaning under the weight of food and the jug of ale miraculously seemed to refill almost before it emptied, all for a very modest price.

  In his father’s presence, Siany forced herself to be civil to Geraint; however, she did little more than give brief answers to his questions. By contrast, she seemed to find a deep fascination in any topic Rattrick discussed, making flattering comments and asking questions designed to encourage him to continue talking at great length. Realising what she was doing, Geraint let her carry on, thinking she’d soon get bored with the same old tales he’d heard his father tell all his life. But somehow, with her interest, he became an accomplished storyteller, breathing new vitality into his youthful misdeeds and bringing to life the clumsy, uncertain boy he’d been.

  When every scrap of food had found a good home, Rattrick rubbed his swollen belly, saying he needed a “bit of a nap to digest this lot.” He promised to accompany them a couple of hours later to explore the town and see what it had to offer.

  One look at Siany’s face said the lunchtime truce was well and truly over. She disappeared as soon as Rattrick could no longer be seen, so Geraint wandered out into the garden and sat in the swing seat. Closing his eyes as the gentle motion lulled him into a soporific state, images of his father as a young boy tumbled round his mind. But instead of the warrior training he saw the last time, the vision showed the young Rattrick with a pretty blonde girl who was trying to persuade him to leap the Beltane bonfire with her. He explained it was not possible, but she insisted, pulling him closer. A dark-haired girl appeared and slapped his face. As she turned away with tears streaming down her face, he recognised his mother.