by P. C. Cast
“Better now?” Boudica asked, leaning toward her so that the two of them could speak intimately, while the men and women around them talked and threw curious glances their way.
“Yes, thank you,” Alex said.
Boudica glanced at the half-eaten food on the platter Alex had set aside. “So, you are not a spirit, for though they can take human form and appear corporeal, they can not take in nourishment from this world.”
“I promise you I’m not a spirit.”
“But you are magical, and you must be greatly beloved of Andraste. It was a most unusual and magical thing, that the goddess made you appear to me this night. I will dedicate to Andraste the first blood my sword drinks from the liver of my first kill in the battle to come.”
Not sure what to say, Alex nodded, hoping she looked pleased at the gruesome picture the queen painted.
“Word came to us that the Roman governor Suetonius slaughtered those of the sacred Isle of Mona.”
Alex tried to look as confident as possible as she said, “Suetonius did lead the killing on Mona. I was lucky that the goddess saved me.”
Boudica had been studying her carefully. Finally she said, “I knew the goddess would not allow this desecration to go unpunished. Andraste saving you and bringing you to me shows me I have been following the right path all along.”
As the queen spoke her gaze traveled beyond Alex to a place close to the fire where two young girls sat on thick pallets of furs. Both were beautiful, and Alex noticed one of them had hair the exact shade of Boudica’s. The youngest of the two was maybe eleven or twelve. She stared into the campfire, leaving food untouched on the platter in front of her. The older girl, as if sensing Boudica’s gaze, turned her head slowly and looked at the queen. Alex was struck by the dark circles under her eyes, and her haunted expression.
With a start of recognition, Alex realized these two girls must be the queen’s daughters. She remembered the story Carswell had told her about Boudica’s husband dying, and passing the torque of leadership on to his wife. The new queen of the Iceni had been reigning peacefully under a treaty with Rome signed by her husband when, without warning, the Roman tax collector, Catus Decius, attacked her—had her beaten in front of her people, and her young daughters publicly raped. Enraged, Boudica had rallied the Celts against Roman oppression.
Alex had thought the story a gruesome one when Carswell had told it to her, but coming face-to-face with the living people of legend was much different than history being retold in a laboratory. The girls were so young! And so obviously terribly damaged.
“I believe you’re doing the right thing,” Alex surprised herself by saying.
The queen’s smile was sad as she gazed at her daughters. “The goddess is with me and she will truly help us drive the vile Romans from our sacred land.”
Alex knew what would happen to this woman—that she would have victory over the Romans, but only a short-lived one. Her fate was to fall with her people, after which the Romans would subjugate the Celts for many years. But at that moment Alex felt herself caught up in Boudica’s passion, and she suddenly wished the queen could be victorious.
Boudica’s green eyes blazed and her face was framed by her brilliant red hair, which caught the glow of the campfire as if it, too, were made of flame. She looks like a goddess—like nothing in this world or any other could defeat her.
One of Boudica’s men spoke to her and the queen briefly turned her attention from her daughters. It was then Alex saw the firelight reflect on more than her glimmering hair. The golden torque at her neck flashed, pulling Alex’s gaze down—and she felt her eyes widened. There, in the half circle of braided gold that nestled against Boudica’s fair skin, wasn’t a large jewel, as she had at first thought. It was the medallion she had been sent to retrieve.
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Chapter 6
A lex was staring at her torque when Boudica turned back to her. Without speaking, the queen looked at her for a long moment, and then her hand went up to touch the neck piece of braided gold.
“Sometimes I still believe I feel the warmth of my husband’s skin through it,” she said softly. “I touch it and remember how like this torque he was—beautiful and strong.”
“What is that medallion in the end of it?” Alex blurted. Then she quickly shut her mouth, worried that she’d said something inappropriate, or worse, something she should have already known.
But Boudica appeared unfazed. Her fingers found the medallion, tracing over the raised pattern. “It is an ancient image of the stars. It was thought to be a powerful talisman in my family, and was passed from mother to daughter until it, and its mate, came to me. When I wed Prasutagus I had both pieces set in his torque as a wedding gift.” The queen paused, stroking the object as she stared into the fire.
Then Alex’s mind caught up with what Boudica had said, and her gaze snapped back to the torque. Her stomach tightened as she saw that, sure enough, the medallion was only half of what Carswell had shown her—as if the original had been broken in two. She looked at the other end of the torque and felt the breath rush out of her as she saw that something was missing.
“It’s gone!” Alex gasped.
“Aye, it is indeed, but I shall retrieve it if I have to cut it from that monster’s body.”
“A monster took it?” Alex was utterly confused.
“Aye, a monster in the form of a Roman tax collector.” Boudica’s blazing green eyes seemed to pierce Alex. “You know that I was beaten and my daughters raped.”
It wasn’t a question, but Alex nodded and said solemnly, “I do.”
“The monster who ordered it was Catus Decius, a Roman tax collector. When his soldiers were beating me, the medallion came loose. Catus took it, saying it was payment owed to Rome by the Queen of the Iceni. He said my daughters’ virginity was payment owed to Rome, too.” Boudica curled her lip in a vicious sneer. “I will find him in Londinium and take back my medallion, as well as the payment Rome owes me for defiling my children.” The queen put her hand on Alex’s shoulder, gripping tightly. “And now with a magically given priestess of Andraste by my side, I know I cannot fail to exact vengeance for the wrongs committed against me and my people. You will stay with me, will you not? You must march to Londinium with us.”
“I’m here to support you. I’ll come to Londinium,” she assured her quickly. “I want to be there when you get your medallion back.”
How different it was to see the living, breathing Boudica than it had been to be briefed about her, Alex thought. Until moments ago, this mission had been one that had been imposed upon her—one that, other than solving the mystery of the man with the swirling woad, she didn’t particularly care about. But meeting the queen and remaining unconnected to her was impossible, especially as Alex knew all too well the tragic end that awaited her.
“Ah, I am glad to hear it.” Boudica leaned a little closer and lowered her voice. “Welcome, Blonwen. The goddess must have known that, though I am surrounded by warriors, I have truly felt alone since Prasutagus’s death. It will be good to have a priestess as my confidente.”
Alex couldn’t speak. At that moment Boudica wasn’t an ancient queen, long dead and, except for readers of moldy history books, mostly forgotten. She was a woman, younger than Alex at this point in time, and one who needed a friend. As she tried to think of something priestesslike and wise to say, a flicker of movement beside Boudica caught her attention. A man suddenly appeared, not more than two feet away from the queen. He was dressed in a heavily embroidered tunic, and his hair was as brightly blond as Boudica’s was red. He was a giant of a man, with thick muscles and an expression so fierce and frightening that Alex automatically recoiled as he shouted at her, “You must help Boudica!”
“What is it, Blonwen? What troubles you? Is it an ill omen?” the queen said, turning to look around her at what might have drawn Alex’s attention.
The warriors nearby, standing just far enough away to allow
Boudica and the newly arrived priestess privacy to talk, were instantly alerted by their queen’s words.
Of course, Alex hadn’t needed to see Boudica’s nonreaction to the appearance of the man to know he was a ghost—she could tell from her first glimpse of his semitransparent body. Okay, Alex told herself sternly, I’m a priestess. It’s normal that I can talk to ghosts. She cleared her throat and said, “No, it’s not a bad omen. It’s just a spirit telling me to help you, which is actually a good omen because that is what I intend to do.”
There was a hush in the campsite as every eye turned to her.
“I know you are more than what you seem and that you come here for reasons other than to be the queen’s confidente, but you must help her,” the ghost exclaimed. Though he was speaking to Alex, his eyes never left Boudica.
The queen didn’t look nervous or scared, as modern people usually did when they found out Alex was seeing a ghost. Boudica looked calm and more than a little curious. “What else does the spirit say?” she asked.
“Tell her the boy who first kissed her under the hawthorn blossoms on Beltane Eve tells her to stay strong,” said the ghost.
Alex swallowed hard and turned to the queen. “He says that the boy who kissed you under the hawthorn blossoms on Beltane Eve wants you to stay strong.”
Boudica’s eyes widened as the people around her murmured under their breath. Alex thought she could hear the words Soul Speaker being whispered through the campsite.
“Where is he?” Boudica asked in a voice that sounded choked.
“There, right beside you.”
As the crowd around them watched, talking in hushed tones, their queen turned slowly to where Alex pointed, and said, “Forgive me, my love, for not keeping them safe.”
Alex’s gaze automatically found Boudica’s daughters, who were still sitting, silent and white faced, beside the fire.
“You are not to blame, and you will avenge them,” said the ghost.
“He doesn’t blame you,” Alex told Boudica, though she couldn’t make herself repeat his words of vengeance. She knew all too well that Boudica wouldn’t avenge her daughters’ rapes; rather, the war would end in her death and the subjugation of her people.
“It is with my daughters that you must help her, Soul Speaker,” said the apparition, as if he read her mind. “Farewell for now.” Before he disappeared completely, Boudica’s husband put out a transparent hand to touch her cheek, and then he vanished.
“He’s gone now,” Alex said to Boudica, who had her own hand pressed against the cheek her husband’s ghost had just caressed.
“So you are a Soul Speaker as well as a priestess of Andraste,” said the man Boudica had earlier called Aedan.
“Yes, I am,” she replied.
“My father died last winter. It was sudden. I did not—” The big Celt’s words broke off and he looked down at his hand, which was gripping the hilt of the short sword hanging from a scabbard at his waist. “I did not have time to bid him farewell. If—if you could call him here, to you, so that I might speak with him one last time, I would, indeed, be in your debt.”
Alex suppressed a sigh. “I can’t do that,” she said.
Aedan’s nervous look turned dark. “You refuse my request?”
“You don’t understand. I’m not refusing to help you, I just can’t. I don’t call spirits, they come to me.”
The warrior frowned. “What kind of Soul Speaker are you?”
Alex didn’t know what else to say but the truth. “I’m a very tired one.”
“Enough, Aedan! Have we been so tainted by the Romans that we forget the rules of hospitality?”
“No, my queen,” the man said, bowing his head. He sounded contrite, but Alex noticed he kept sending her chilly looks.
“The ways of Andraste are often mysterious—her path difficult and long. She has sent her priestess here to help direct our steps, and not to perform for us like a tamed dog.” As she spoke, Boudica’s eyes swept the crowd, coming to rest on her daughters. Her stern face softened. “Mirain and Una, show Blonwen to our tent. She is as weary as the two of you look.”
The girls got up obediently and walked over to their mother.
“Rest well tonight. The march tomorrow will be long and there will be time for you and me to talk then,” Boudica said to Alex.
Alex stood up and then, not sure of correct protocol, followed her instincts and bowed to the queen with what she hoped was at least a little grace. Boudica kissed her daughters, called for more mead, and was staring silently into the fire as Alex followed the girls into the night, which wasn’t as dark and impossible to navigate as she would have imagined, thanks to the many campfires dotting the area.
Tents were mostly hides and lines draped from the sides of carts and staked to the ground either with polls or wooden spikes. The camp seemed huge, and was bustling with activity. The sounds of women laughing and men talking carried on the night air with the fragrant scent of roasting meat. All in all it wasn’t as crude as Alex had expected. The people, for the most part, weren’t dirty barbarians. They were actually attractive and pretty healthy looking. There wasn’t opulence and riches scattered about, but everyone seemed well-fed, and the horses and other animals she caught glimpses of appeared fat and happy.
She was still gawking around when she realized the girls had stopped in front of a large tent. This one wasn’t draped off the side of a wagon. It was freestanding, with tall poles in the middle and at its five sides. An old woman was tending a cheery campfire burning close enough to the open entrance to cast light within, but not too close to fill the tent with smoke.
The younger of the two girls gestured for Alex to go inside, which she did gratefully. She didn’t think she’d ever been so exhausted in her life. That’s something I’m reporting on when I get back—this time travel thing is hard work. The next traveler should be told she’s going to be dead on her feet. Unless it’s just me…crap, it’s probably just me—
“Priestess, did you not hear me?”
Alex mentally shook herself and focused on the older of the two girls. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I thought. What did you say?”
“This is your pallet. If you need anything, Rosin, who keeps the fire, will aid you.”
“Thank you. I don’t need anything. Except which of you is Mirain and which is Una?”
“I am Mirain,” said the older girl. “My sister is Una.”
“Mirain and Una, it’s nice to meet you. Thank you for showing me here and being so nice to me.”
“Our mother believes in the old ways,” was all Mirain said. Una didn’t speak at all.
After a few awkward moments, Alex turned to her pallet, which was a lovely, thick pile of furs. She pulled off her cloak and tried not to gape at the beautifully embroidered tunic that was revealed under it. Wow! It just seemed so impossible that Carswell could make all of this happen with her mind! Alex curled up on the pallet, using her cloak as a blanket. Just before she closed her eyes, she called across the tent to where Mirain and Una had curled together like puppies. “Good night, girls.”
There was a pause and then Mirain said, “Good night, Priestess.”
“I don’t believe you are from the goddess,” said a small voice that Alex knew had to belong to Una.
The girl’s words made her stomach tighten, but her reply was purposefully calm. “You don’t? Why not?”
“Because I don’t believe there is a goddess.”
“Shh, Una. Mother wouldn’t like it if she heard you say that,” Mirain said quickly. “Sleep now. Mornings are always better than nights, remember?”
“I remember too much.” Una’s whisper carried to Alex.
Alex wanted to say something profound and priestesslike, but she wasn’t actually a priestess and she sure didn’t know how to talk to a damaged teenager. Hell, it didn’t seem that long ago that she’d been a damaged kid herself! Feeling overwhelmed and incompetent, she finally let exhaustion take over
, and she slept.
That night, Alex didn’t dream at all.
Chapter 7
I t made her feel foolish, but the first thought she had when she woke up was he didn’t come to me in my dreams. The second thought was where the hell am I? And then all of her mind woke up and Alex remembered—Briton—AD 60 Boudica’s camp.
“Wake up, sleepy bugaboo! Time’s awastin’ and the queen is callin’ for ye!”
Alex scrubbed her eyes with her fists and looked up into the face of a true crone. “Rosin?” she asked, remembering the name Mirain had given her before she’d slept.
“Aye! I be Rosin. Boudica wants ye. Ye’d best take this and get movin’.” The old woman handed her two slices of bread with a thick piece of fabulously greasy ham stuck between them, and a bronze cup of sweet, strong mead.
“Thank you,” Alex muttered. She scrambled to her feet, straightened her clothes, attempted to tame her hair and then hurried out of the tent, bread and meat in hand.
The camp reminded her of a beehive. There was activity everywhere, but the busyness around her wasn’t what caught her attention. What she noticed most was the air. Alex drew a deep breath. It was like sucking in the newness of life. Everything around her was green and growing and so free from smog and pollutants and plastic that the world seemed virginal.
“It smells so good!” she exclaimed.
Rosin gave her a sidelong look that said she thought the new priestess might be weak in her head. “Aye. It is the forest, Priestess.”
“Well, I like it.” She bit into her breakfast sandwich and her eyes almost rolled into the back of her head with pleasure. “Real fat! Real bread! Real meat! I could kiss the cook!” she moaned.
