Daughter of Albion

by Ilka Tampke

  Ignoring her, I turned and walked to the door. ‘Cah,’ I said, turning back. ‘Where is Neha?’

  ‘Heka took her. She preferred Heka to all others when you were gone.’

  I took a sharp breath then turned and left.

  I stood at the southern gate, looking over the fields of Summer in the afternoon light. Any one of the farmers could have been hiding Llwyd and would not have said so. But if my sense of him was true, he would be ritualling in response to this crime and there was a place I might find him.

  The shadows were long when I reached the Oldforest. If Llwyd had been challenged—if he could not ritual freely by the river—he would come here.

  I held to the river track, peering among the trees. At last I saw the shape of his pallid robes, stark against the dark trunks that ringed my journey pool. He had marked out a circle of branches close to the river and had placed within it small carvings and statues that honoured the deer. I stopped at the boundary, still wary to enter a journeyman’s circle without my skin. ‘Journeyman?’

  He startled at my voice. ‘Who is there?’ His vision had weakened.

  ‘It is Ailia. Returned.’

  ‘Ailia!’ His steps were laboured as he came forward to embrace me. Through his woollen cloak, I felt the bones surfaced by his fast. ‘Have you learned of Ruther?’ he asked.

  ‘Ay. But little else. I know nothing of the invasion—’

  ‘We are to fall, Ailia.’ His voice was empty. ‘The Romans have claimed Stour Valley, Brae Cad and Caer Hod. We are clear in their sights.’

  I stared at his face, ashen with hunger. ‘How does Ruther propose to meet this attack?’

  ‘With full submission. This is his purpose. We are to be slaves of Rome.’

  I shook my head. ‘He cannot be Tribeking without your sanction.’

  ‘He does not observe our laws now. And he has the support of the warriors who betrayed Fraid.’

  ‘But the township hungers against him.’

  ‘Yes. They still love Fraid. There is great division.’

  Evening had began to dim the forest. Llwyd motioned to a fallen log, covered with moss, and we sat. ‘We will go to him together,’ I said. ‘He is a tribesman of Durotriga. He must listen to his Journeyman Elder.’

  ‘He will not. He is of the Roman mind. He listens to his own counsel and that of other warriors.’

  Llwyd shivered in the cooling air and I moved closer to him, placing my hand at his back. ‘Stay steady, Journeyman,’ I whispered. ‘We will survive this.’

  He turned to me. ‘Will we? It is the journeymen and -women who are first slaughtered. Most violently. Most publicly. There is no better way to subdue a tribe than by destroying those who hold its knowledge. The Romans know this. Whole towns are made subject by the slaughter of wisepeople.’

  My heart quickened.

  ‘If we are killed,’ he continued, ‘who will ensure the laws of skin are not broken? Who will listen when the Mothers speak?’ His voice, so resonant at festival time, was hoarse and feeble. ‘I did not think this could happen, Ailia. I thought our knowledge was beyond destruction.’

  I looked to the coursing river, to the oaks rising like warriors around us. I remembered the Singing and it filled me with strength. ‘It is beyond destruction.’ My voice was steady. ‘This land is our knowledge. They are one and the same. Come.’ I reached for his hand, bidding him rise.

  Llwyd did not move. ‘It is too late. They are too strong.’

  ‘We will be the first to fight and win against them,’ I urged. ‘The first of Albion to keep the laws of our choosing. They will not have us. Others will see our triumph and be strengthened by it.’

  Llwyd stared at me. ‘How will we succeed where Albion’s greatest fighting tribes have failed?’

  ‘Because…’ My answer crumbled. Sulis’s doubt had seeped into my sureness. I could find no words to tell him. Yet I was the being he had yearned for, the soul that would protect the knowledge he loved.

  With shaking fingers, I unfastened the neck of my robe and pulled away the soaked wad of dressing. Then I took his hand and pressed it to my chest. ‘Because we will fight with the blessing of the Kendra.’

  I flinched in pain as his gnarled fingers traced over the raw crusts of my cut. A deep ache arose as he touched.

  Slowly his face lit as he read the round, spiralling shape of the mark. Then his breath caught. ‘There is song in the wound,’ he gasped. ‘You are made Kendra—?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘But what of your skin?’ he whispered, hope thinning his voice.

  I re-pinned my robe, terrified to answer. How would I hold the title if Llwyd would not acknowledge it? ‘The Mothers have marked me without skin.’

  His face blackened. ‘No,’ he muttered. ‘They have not. They cannot mark a Kendra without skin.’

  ‘But yet they have,’ I said, praying that he would hear me. ‘And there is sense to it…there is a reason—’

  ‘Stop!’ He rose to his feet. ‘There can be no reason. You are in grave breach of law with this. I can hear no more—’

  ‘Wait!’ I cried as he walked away. ‘I told them I was skinless! I asked them to return me, and yet…’ I paused.

  Llwyd stopped.

  I took a long breath. I could be shunned anew, or worse, for the words I was about to say. ‘The Mothers have no need of skin.’

  Slowly, he turned to face me. Never, even in the peaks of ritual, had I seen him so inflamed. He sank to the ground, where he knelt, calling on the Mothers, bidding me to silence my violation.

  I crouched before him, clutching his arms, which shook me away with unexpected force. ‘You speak against skin!’ he cried. ‘Against the very source of skin!’

  ‘I do not, Llwyd! Hear me!’ I pleaded. ‘It is ours! Our truth! It belongs to the hardworld. Skin is our understanding of what they create.’

  He stilled for an instant and looked at me.

  ‘Their creation is beautiful beyond measure,’ I said, ‘and skin is how we know it, and how we protect it, but they themselves do not need skin. We are bound by it. But the Mothers are not.’

  A deep confusion darkened his gaze.

  ‘For us, skin is life itself,’ I continued, ‘and by the Mothers, I would give my own eyes and tongue to have it. But I do not. And yet the Mothers want me as Kendra. And if you want my knowledge, Journeyman, you must accept me.’

  Llwyd’s stare was cold and bewildered. ‘I have loved you and protected you and trusted in your gift. But you are asking me to speak against the truth upon which my life is built…’

  My heart clenched. Could I ask this of him? I had no other choice. If he did not hear me, there would be no Kendra, no future. ‘It is a greater truth that I bring,’ I said. ‘A new understanding of the Mothers’ greatness. How powerful are they who are more powerful than skin?’

  I watched his face closely as this new truth—that our spirit beings, our Mothers, did not need skin—moved through him, shifting, turning, then embedding.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I continued, ‘the Mothers have chosen me precisely because I am unskinned, because they want us to know that skin is not theirs. It is ours.’

  He sat motionless.

  We both turned at the rustle of an animal close behind us. A honey-coloured doe lifted her head from the forest floor, tasting our scent on the breeze. It took two delicate steps toward us, then paused before taking flight into the evening. ‘My totem appears…’ murmured Llwyd, staring after it.

  He turned to me then dipped his head to kiss my fingers. ‘Kendra,’ he whispered, his breath warm against my knuckles.

  Llwyd knew where Fraid was hidden. As he led me north through the laneways in the last drifts of dusk, we shaped a strategy.

  ‘I will speak with Ruther,’ I said. ‘There is still a chance I can turn his view and gather the allegiance of his fighting men.’

  ‘Speak with him,’ agreed Llwyd. ‘You alone could sway him. But do not speak in anger. He will alw
ays match it. Use the power you hold over him—it will be even greater now. Use his love for you.’

  ‘It should be the Mothers he loves,’ I said.

  ‘He loves them no longer, but he loves them in you. Let him see them that way.’

  I glanced at him. ‘You are the cleverest of us all.’

  ‘Remember, he does not look well upon me now,’ he said, waving away my praise. ‘Do not tell him that you have met with me.’

  We arrived at a farmhouse, nestled among apple trees on the banks of the Nain in outer Cad. It was well kept and not long built, one of many belonging to Fibor, and leased to farmers for a share of the grain. Here, at least, antlers hung from the lintel and pots of burdock smoked in the shrine. We bowed before them and sounded the bell.

  A gap appeared in the doorskins and Manacca, now as tall as my shoulder, peered out. She threw her arms around my neck when she saw me. Behind her was the housewoman, whom I had aided several times in birth and sickness. She beckoned us through, her two young sons at her skirts, clamouring to see the visitors. ‘Greetings, Ailia,’ she said. ‘You have beaten the Romans by only days.’

  The southern wall of the room was thick with Fraid’s shields and weapons. Fibor, Etaina and Fraid were at the fire. Between them, in the strong place, sitting so still that at first I did not see her, was Sulis, her face pale.

  Fraid rose to greet us. She was unmetalled, plainly robed and her hair fell unbraided over her shoulders, but her presence filled the room. ‘How do you fare, Ailia?’ She embraced me firmly. ‘Will you offer your guidance now?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, taking a place at the fire.

  Llwyd sat at my right, closer to Sulis, who had not yet looked at me.

  ‘Mead!’ exclaimed the housewoman, striding to the hearth. She ladled steaming cups of honey beer from the firepot and passed them to each of us.

  Manacca clucked at a woodfowl chick that roamed on the floor and Fraid hushed her. The room fell quiet, choked with questions, awaiting my word. Had Sulis told them yet of my marks?

  ‘How far away are the legions?’ I asked, stalling the news of my ascent. ‘How long do we have?’

  ‘They are camped at Hod Hill, throwing up new defences,’ said Fraid. ‘We do not know how long they will remain there or where they will next strike.’ Her cheeks hollowed as she sipped her ale.

  ‘But Hod is a foot journey of two days at most—’ I said.

  ‘Ay, they are close,’ said Fibor. ‘But some think they have Mai Cad in their sights before us. The riders bring different messages…’

  ‘Have you spoken with Cun?’ I asked.

  ‘Ruther controls all contact,’ said Fraid. ‘The petty tribes are ignorant of one another and Ruther would keep it so. It is too late to join together now.’

  My anger flared. Who was Ruther to keep his people in such darkness? ‘Tribequeen, do you still hold the faith of the warriors?’

  ‘I believe so,’ said Fraid. ‘There are only five, maybe six, who side with Ruther. At least ten are still aligned to me but quieted by fear.’

  ‘And if I could convince Ruther to fight with us,’ I continued, ‘would your men join him?’

  Fraid nodded. ‘The tribe would follow a leader into war. But above all else—’ her brown eyes glittered in the firelight as she lifted them toward me, ‘—they would fight for the Kendra if she commanded it.’

  Now it had been spoken.

  In the sudden silence, Sulis’s breath was a faint hiss. The housewoman pretended to busy herself at her spindle.

  ‘I…have sung with the Mothers,’ I faltered. ‘I return as Kendra.’

  Fraid gasped. ‘This is welcome news indeed,’ she said. ‘But how have you come to skin?’

  Fibor and Etaina turned to me, their faces bright with hope.

  My cheeks burned hot. ‘I remain unskinned.’

  Fraid’s smile dropped away. ‘Then how do you name yourself Kendra?’

  I turned to Llwyd. We both knew it must come from him. ‘The Mothers name her,’ he said, unflinching. ‘They have marked her with the scar.’

  He nodded to me. With a galloping heart, I unpinned my tunic and pulled it part open to expose the cuts.

  Etaina snorted in disbelief. ‘Llwyd, this is madness! She makes these cuts by her own hand.’

  ‘She does not.’ Sulis spoke for the first time, her gaze locked to the flames. ‘I witnessed her as she hardened from journey. The cuts were fresh. They were Mother-made—’ she paused, ‘—they carry song.’

  ‘Impossible.’ Etaina shook her head.

  ‘I have heard it by my own touch,’ said Llwyd.

  ‘And I,’ said Sulis, her voice tight. ‘I heard it, yet I did not hear the skin in it. Her mark is true. But it is falsely got. She is no Kendra.’

  My heart plunged. ‘Please, Sulis.’ I could not let her rob me of this. ‘When I tell you of my learning—’

  ‘I acknowledge your learning, Ailia,’ Sulis said. ‘I am humble before it. But the skin totem is the truest shaping of us. The tribes will not follow a woman whose soul is still without form.’

  I closed my eyes against the truth of it.

  ‘It is so,’ agreed Etaina. ‘The tribe accepted Ailia as journeywoman initiate. But how can she wear the Kendra’s robe without skin? Surely the Mothers would forbid it.’

  I turned to Llwyd. Would they heed their highest Journeyman? His eyes were lowered. Did he begin to doubt? He looked at them. ‘We can receive this Kendra,’ he said. ‘It does not breach the Mothers’ law.’

  ‘But skin is the Mothers’ law.’ Sulis’s voice trembled.

  ‘No,’ Llwyd replied. ‘Skin is our law. The Mothers are greater than skin.’

  ‘Llwyd?’ questioned Fraid, her face fraught with confusion. ‘Do you speak against skin?’

  ‘I love skin more deeply than ever,’ he answered. ‘But I have seen a shift in its meaning. We need skin, but the Mothers do not. And Ailia does not.’

  I could not stifle my gasp. He had spoken too brazenly.

  Sulis rose and walked from the fire, murmuring a low chant.

  ‘This is greater than me,’ said Fibor, also rising. ‘I am a man of sword law. I will wait outside until it is decided.’

  ‘Stay,’ commanded Fraid. ‘I want your ear on this.’

  Llwyd took up his staff and looked to his tribespeople, his voice barely a whisper. ‘I am also deeply confused,’ he began. ‘But this woman—this woman without skin—has felt the Mothers’ knife at her chest. She has felt their song in her breath.’ He glanced at me, his staff trembling. ‘She told the Mothers of her lack of skin, but they did not protest it.’ He paused again. ‘They saw no lack.’

  ‘We will be punished for this,’ murmured Sulis from the darkness of the room’s periphery.

  Fraid leaned forward, searching Llwyd’s face intently. I knew she had the fire of mind to hold this truth, but only if she was convinced. ‘Are you saying,’ she began, ‘that of all the generations of our journeywomen who have walked with the Mothers, none has ever discovered that the Mothers do not acknowledge skin?’

  ‘I have wondered of this,’ I interrupted. ‘I have no answer. Perhaps I was the first to test it, for I was the first to journey without skin.’

  ‘No,’ said Llwyd. ‘It is not this. Skin is a powerful light for the journeypeople. Perhaps those who are led by it have never been able to see beyond it. Perhaps it has taken one without skin to see the Mothers’ freedom from it.’ He looked directly at Fraid. ‘The Mothers have chosen this time to reveal their truth, and have sent Ailia as its messenger.’

  Fraid looked shocked as she grappled with these words from her most trusted advisor. ‘So…do you suggest that we are to discard our belief in skin at will, then?’ she stammered. ‘Do we send any fringe-child to the Mothers now?’

  ‘Of course not!’ said Llwyd. ‘Skin is the thread that leads us back to the Mothers. It will always be this. But Ailia holds a knowledge I have not seen before. A knowledge so strong that
it carried her to the Mothers when skin would not.’ He laughed in amazement. ‘Ailia alone has transcended skin.’

  ‘Mothers spare you, Llwyd,’ muttered Sulis, stepping back into the fireglow. ‘Even if she is truly chosen, she cannot transcend skin here, where the world is hard, where skin lives. It will tear our world open.’

  ‘But it will not,’ I said. Llwyd’s defence had strengthened me. I had to make them see. ‘We have never known an invasion like that which stands now at our doorstep. I bring a new knowledge from the Mothers, so that you may receive the Kendra they have chosen. It is I who will protect you, if you will let me. It is I who will teach you.’

  ‘What do you teach?’ Sulis scowled. ‘That skin is nothing? That it is weak?’

  ‘That it is beautiful!’ I cried, gripping the edge of the bench. ‘That it pours from the belly of the Mothers in infinite rivers to us, who name it and sing it back. That it is not rigid. It can bend and move. It can be cut and healed. It can hold more than we ever knew. Because it can hold unknowing.’ I paused. Every eye was upon me. ‘Llwyd spoke once that laws are true only when they are honoured in freedom. How can we truly honour skin if we are not also free of it? The Romans come. They will rob us of our skin and we must choose to fight for it. Only then is it true. This is what I teach of skin.’

  Llwyd stared at me in wonder. ‘You are the flaw in skin that proves its strength.’

  The only sound was the fire’s soft crackle and the clack of the spindle as the housewoman turned it nervously. I looked around at their troubled faces, wrestling with my words. I had given them almost enough. Almost, but not quite. There was one more truth to be shared and if this did not convince them, then I had nothing that would.

  I rose to my feet and wrenched open my tunic, fully baring my marks. ‘Touch!’ I commanded. ‘Then you will know if I am your Kendra.’

  ‘You will grow too weak,’ Llwyd protested.

  ‘But they must hear,’ I answered. ‘They must hear what is within me.’ With the force of my words the wounds had split and were beginning to run.