Daughter of Albion

by Ilka Tampke

  Manacca whimpered at the sight of the blood.

  ‘Touch me, Fraid,’ I urged. ‘Tell me what you hear.’

  Fraid stood hesitantly and walked to me, then laid her palm on my chest. I winced at the pressure. Again, there was a stirring, an ache, in the wound. The fire had burned down and the air was suddenly cold, but the housewoman did not tend it. All eyes were on Fraid.

  Slowly her face broke into a smile. ‘It is creation,’ she whispered. ‘It is beautiful.’ She closed her eyes, pressing more firmly against my flesh. I fought a wave of dizziness as she drank of the sound that poured from my wound. ‘I cannot deny it,’ she said, withdrawing her hand, ‘you are right, Llwyd.’ She met my eye. ‘Kendra,’ she said and lowered her head.

  Sulis moaned and sank to her seat.

  The housewoman comforted Manacca.

  One by one I commanded them all to touch.

  Once Etaina had pulled her hand away, wet with blood, eyes shining with wonder, I slumped to the bench, gulping a long draught of mead. When I looked up, all heads but Sulis’s were lowered around me. Her blank stare held an unnamable dread.

  Many moments passed in silence.

  ‘We will name you in the water tonight,’ said Llwyd.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked. River initiation had not been spoken of.

  ‘The Mothers have scarred you, but you must also be initiated in the hardworld as Kendra,’ said Llwyd.

  Fraid drained her cup, enlivened by the hope that was gathering around this plan. ‘She will be recognised above even yourself as a knowledge-keeper, Journeyman. The warriors will find great strength in it.’

  ‘It will mark the end,’ said Sulis to herself.

  Llwyd turned to me. ‘Will you permit me to initiate you, Ailia?’

  My fingers tightened around my cup as I battled a surge of doubt. With his initiation I would be wholly born to the hardworld. But without the skin to know my place in it. I thought of the Mothers. This was their will. But would it tear yet greater holes in what they had created?

  ‘Ailia?’ Llwyd urged.

  I carried the song. There was something sacred within me. Something powerful. My Tribequeen and her councillors could not deny it now, nor could I. There was no other way that my knowledge would be seen. ‘Of course,’ I whispered.

  The night was cold and the moon well hidden.

  It should have been done at the Cam, near Cad Hill, but it would have been too great a risk for us to go so close to the township. Instead Fibor, Etaina and I marked out a hasty circle in branches next to the Nain behind the farmhouse, while Fraid held a torch close by. Working quickly by its weak light, we buried meat and bread at the easternmost point of the circle and threw the last of Fraid’s gold finger-rings into the river.

  Sulis stood at a distance, watching.

  Llwyd began the chant. He took a long time to walk the many circles moonwise that would bind our ritual to the rhythm of the sky. But at last it was done and there, within that small, cramped circle of ground, he sang me the poems that revealed what he knew of the Mothers. Sloughed of any encasement in skin, the stories were still as beautiful and transforming as dawn.

  They stripped my clothing and laid me on the ground where Llwyd cast handfuls of cold dirt over my skin. ‘This is the body of the Mothers, which is now your body,’ he said as I shivered. He handed me a horn of ale, gritty with antler scraped from the shrine.

  As I leaned up to drink, the bitter liquid spilled from my mouth.

  ‘This is the spirit of the Mothers, which is now your spirit.’

  Thick deer and cattle pelts were laid over me. I could not breathe beneath their smoky weight.

  Llwyd’s voice trembled as he peeled them back. ‘From this moment you are born to the world and all knowledge is entrusted to you.’

  I lay naked on the ground between them, the force of their gaze like a flame to my skin.

  Llwyd led me to the river’s edge and bade me enter the shallow water. Sharp stones pierced my back as I was pushed down, my face held to one side so I was fully submerged in the icy flow. His voice was distorted through the water and I could scarcely hear the last of his calls, but when I climbed back onto the bank, shaking with cold, it was done. I was sister of the Mothers. Daughter of the Mothers. Kendra of Albion.

  Llwyd stood beside me, weeping openly.

  Fibor cheered and Fraid stepped forward, arms outstretched.

  Fighting my own tears, I returned her embrace. Immediately I could feel a new edge, a new surface. But beneath it, something was not right. Something remained unaltered.

  Over Fraid’s shoulder, I saw that Sulis had drawn closer.

  As I had no skin talismans, Llwyd loosened the deerhide pouch at his belt and pulled out an amulet of adderstone. He kissed my forehead with cold lips as he handed it to me. ‘Daughter,’ he whispered. ‘You are born.’

  Aided by Etaina, I dressed quickly, strapping my sword and the amulet to my belt. Was I born? Llwyd had called it so and it would be true for my people. But wisdom should know itself and I did not feel this knowing.

  Sulis stepped forward to offer her grim acknowledgement of the rite. The moon broke from behind the cloud, lighting her face, and I could see in her stare that she saw: she saw my doubt.

  We walked back to the farmhouse in silence. With each step my hesitation grew. I knew I was chosen; I knew I had sung. So why did I now feel the Kendra’s soul ebbing away?

  Yet even as I wondered, I knew. The Mothers’ place was free of skin, but here in the hardworld I was bound by its laws. This birth was a layer, a cloak that would be seen by the tribespeople. It gave shape to my surface, but not to my bones. It was not true.

  It was not skin.

  We pushed through the doorskins and I gathered my cloak in readiness to leave. It was too late now. I had to ignore my doubts. I had to be strong. I had to be the Kendra.

  30

  Poems

  We recognise a speaker of truth

  by the words that flow from her lips.

  Words are the power that brings all into unity.

  ALONE, I WALKED the laneways to Cad Hill.

  Only Heka could give me what Llwyd could not. Heka, who was lost to the light. Who had vowed to give me nothing. I forced thoughts of her aside as I strode up the ramparts and through the entranceway. However it had come, this new birth had strengthened me. I hoped that I had enough to protect the township, enough to cut free my love.

  As I turned into the Tribequeen’s compound, music and laughter spilled from the Great House. Ruther was at feast, the townspeople hungering at his threshold in even greater numbers.

  I darted behind the kitchen, stealing toward the sleephouse, unseen. It was not yet late. I had time to hide myself before he returned. Waiting silently for Cah to pass with a platter of cakes, I crept to the doorway and slipped inside. Praise the Mothers, no one was there.

  I looked around the room in which I had attended Fraid for all my grown summers. It was different now. Weapons were stacked along the western side—the resting place—and the bed had been moved to the east, the place of light. Lavish new pelts and weavings lined the walls, and cups and jugs of Roman design filled the shelves. It was no longer a tribequeen’s house. It was full of the sharp smells of a man.

  I hid myself behind the falls of cloth that lined the walls in the darkest part of the room and soon I heard Ruther’s ale-soaked voice approaching the door. As he entered, I heard a woman’s laughter. He was not alone. Had I to wait out his coupling?

  ‘The hungerers are stubborn, I’ll give them that,’ said Ruther to his companion.

  ‘Then disrobe!’ The woman laughed. ‘And let me feast if they will not.’

  I startled, peering out from the cloth’s edge to confirm what my ears could not believe. The voice was Heka’s.

  They were untying their belts and pulling off garments amid drunken shrieks.

  With a pounding heart, I flattened against the wall, trying to close my ears to th
e rut and grunt that followed. Mercifully, it did not take too long until I heard the familiar pant and rising moan that told me Ruther was close to the end. But the name he cried, when his pleasure reached its peak, was not Heka’s but mine.

  ‘What said you?’ Heka’s voice was sharp with fury.

  ‘I said nothing,’ Ruther muttered into his bedskins.

  ‘I heard you call Ailia,’ she spat. ‘Does that serpent poison all? Crawling even between me and the man I am fucking?’

  ‘Leave then,’ he commanded wearily. ‘You are not even a drop to her river.’

  Despite her venom against me, I was angered by his dishonour of her.

  When she had left, taking her hateful murmurs into the night, Ruther walked to the night pot. As he steadily filled it, I stepped out of my cover. ‘Donkey,’ I said softly when he had finished.

  ‘Ailia!’ he gasped, turning. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Waiting for you.’

  He came to me, taking my face in his hands. Even in the dim firelight, the blue of his eyes was startling. ‘You are strengthened,’ he said, seeing the change in me.

  ‘And you also have risen since I have been gone—Tribeking.’ I pulled free of his hold.

  He gathered his trousers from the floor and tugged them on. His chest and arms had thickened, hardened. His warrior stature stole my breath. He was worthy of a king’s title. But not this way.

  With a loud sigh he sat down on the bed. ‘I have simply done what needed to be done. We are fools if we fight them and Fraid could not see it.’

  ‘Am I then to be counted in your band of fools?’

  ‘If you cling to a chariot that is speeding toward a cliff edge, then yes—you are a fool.’

  ‘Foolish is one who insults the Kendra of Albion.’

  He looked up in surprise. ‘Is that who I see before me?’

  For a moment I wondered if, here with him, I could hold myself to the title. His respect meant more than I had realised. I drew up, feeling my skin prickle with light.

  ‘Do not try and summon your glamour against me,’ he warned. ‘I will not be swayed by spirit-craft. But talk to me and I will hear you.’

  I sat beside him on the bed. It was still warm and smelled faintly of his spill. ‘Why do you force your tribespeople to surrender to the invasion?’ I asked calmly.

  ‘You would sooner they were forced by blade?’

  ‘Then at least they die in the light.’

  ‘But what are they dying for? Why do you not listen to one who has seen? I have left the shores of Albion. I have seen beyond. If we fight, we are fighting to remain in the darkness. If light is your love, Ailia, you will find it in Rome. There, you may live like a god.’

  I watched how his beliefs enlivened him. They were truly held, if poorly formed. ‘There is something I love more than light,’ I said.

  ‘Is it me?’

  I had to laugh. ‘No, you fool, it is freedom. Their god’s life is bought by our freedom if we allow it. It is not for any man or woman to live as a god.’

  ‘But there is a new freedom in what Rome wil bring,’ he insisted. ‘In the cities, I see the vision of men set free—’

  ‘And what of the Mothers?’ I filled with anger. ‘Where are they to exist in these cities of men? Do you put your own creation above that of the Mothers?’

  He turned to me, grimacing in his conviction. ‘Our creation honours the gods. Our greatness is theirs. If you could only see—’

  ‘Let me tell you what I have seen, Ruther. I have seen the Mothers at work. I have heard the songs that are the making of the very air we breathe and the ground we tread. If these songs are not honoured, there will be no cities. There will be no ground. There will be darkness. It may be falsely lit by men. But in time that will fail. Only the Mothers’ light will endure.’

  He snorted. ‘The knowledge of the new world is no false light, Ailia. It is reshaping our world. Even the paths of rivers can be redrawn by this knowledge. The leaders of Rome are craftsmen, Ailia, and the world itself is their clay. Are you so wedded to our simple ways?’

  I stared at him. He was as assured as the sun, ignoring all shadows. His certainty cast its own light and for a moment it blinded me. He was untouched by doubt, unwounded. I thought of Taliesin and the bruises that coloured him, his knowledge wrought by his wounds. I felt a rush of yearning.

  ‘Nothing is more sacred than the waters,’ I said steadily. ‘A fool’s risk is taken in reshaping them.’

  He recoiled from my insult.

  ‘You call the ways of Albion simple,’ I continued, ‘but, forgive me, Ruther, it is your own wilful ignorance that sees it so. You know there is wisdom embedded in every stone and river. It is intricate beyond measure, beyond comprehension.’

  He looked away. In the flickering light I saw traces of the boy he once was. ‘Why have you betrayed the old ways?’ I asked gently.

  ‘Because they do not serve me.’ He avoided my gaze. ‘Plautius has promised me leadership of Summer, Hod and even Ham Hill. All of central Durotriga, with his soldiers at my flank, if I stand beside him.’

  I stared at him in disbelief. ‘You hunger for power, yet there is already power in you, equal or greater than any man.’

  He whipped to face me, ignited by my praise. Our eyes locked and then, before I could halt it, we were embracing, drawn by an animal bond I could not sever.

  ‘You weaken me, Ailia,’ he said, pulling away. ‘Listen—’ he gripped my arms, ‘—the legion will be here in two, perhaps three days. They will arrive peacefully. I will ensure it. But even so, they will seek you out. They do not trust the journeypeople. You and Llwyd will be killed.’

  I stiffened. ‘I am not afraid.’

  ‘You should be.’ He swung to the floor before me. ‘I asked you once and you refused me but there is still a chance for us. The townspeople will follow you. Will you join with me to rule these tribelands under the law that will be strongest?’

  The fire made a soft silhouette around his head.

  ‘You are the bravest fighter of Summer,’ I said. ‘The Mothers have gifted you courage and skill but you will not repay them for it. I will join with you, Ruther, but only for one purpose. I ask you now for the last time: will you stand strong with me against the Romans?’

  ‘As husband?’ His voice was unwavering. ‘Do you offer yourself to me as wife if I turn on Rome as you request?’

  My thoughts swam. Was this what I must do? Marry him to turn his mind? The sacrifice was too great. ‘I cannot,’ I said. ‘I cannot offer myself as wife.’

  ‘Then damn you, Ailia,’ he said in a low whisper. ‘You will die when they come and I will not seek to stop it.’

  I stared, stunned, then rose to my feet and walked to the doorway.

  ‘Wait,’ he cried, following me and grabbing my wrist. ‘I did not mean it. I am sorry.’

  ‘Do you want a wife who lives against the very core of her conscience?’ I spluttered. ‘Is that what you seek in a woman?’

  He shook his head, his expression anguished. ‘I want you.’

  We fell against each other, exhausted.

  ‘Stay,’ he murmured into my neck.

  ‘You have just been spent, and with Heka of all people,’ I said, pulling away.

  ‘I took her because she is sharp-witted like you, and well practised in the coupling arts,’ he said, holding me firm. ‘But she is not even your shadow.’ He kissed my throat.

  Despite the heat that flared in my centre, I pushed him away. ‘I cannot lie with you.’

  ‘Am I not good enough for a journeywoman now?’ he jeered. ‘In Rome a man may take his woman as he wishes without penalty.’ He reached for me again but I strode to the door.

  ‘I spit on your Roman ways.’

  I walked back through the silent township and mourned for the waste of him.

  ‘How did you fare, Journeywoman?’ Fraid greeted me at the farmhouse door.

  ‘He is resolved,’ I said. ‘He will not figh
t the legion. He has already met with envoys to plan his succession.’

  When I walked inside there were twelve or fourteen tribespeople gathered around the fire with Fibor, Etaina and Llwyd. They were councillors and warriors of Cad, weak from Troscad, but now hungrily eating bowls of a rich-smelling stew. Among them was Orgilos, Ruther’s father. They dipped their heads as I stood before them. ‘Why do you eat?’ I asked in astonishment. ‘Have you broken Troscad?’

  ‘We no longer oppose the decision of our leader,’ said Orgilos, gnawing a knuckle of bone.

  ‘But Ruther’s position is not changed,’ I said.

  ‘We are loyal to another now.’ Orgilos’s eyes met mine. ‘If the Kendra will bless the battle, then we will fight.’

  ‘I have sent word to many townspeople, many warriors,’ said Fraid, making room for me on the log at the strong place. ‘Although they will not admit it to Ruther, I still have their loyalty. When I told them of your initiation, they pledged to support you. See here—’ She lifted a basket filled with tokens: arrowheads, spearheads, knives. ‘They are ready to fight for Summer. They need only the Kendra’s word on the battle outcome.’

  My chest burst with pride at their courage. ‘Ruther said the legions are two or three days from approach.’

  ‘Or closer,’ said Fibor. ‘Some scouts report they have already left Hod Hill.’

  ‘They could take one of two paths,’ said Fraid. ‘I suspect that they will move on Mai Cad first. They will know it is a threat.’

  ‘Our only choice now is to move the farmers into the hillfort and defend the ramparts,’ said Fibor.

  ‘Ruther must not learn of it,’ I murmured.

  ‘How are our weapons stores?’ asked Fraid of the warriors.

  ‘I have spoken to the makers,’ said Orgilos. ‘They are ready to work hidden by night to ready us for battle.’

  ‘We will need to position our weapons and stock the ballista,’ said Fibor. ‘This, too, must be done at night. By the time the Romans are upon us, Ruther will have no chance to intervene. There will be war and he will have to fight, either with us or against us.’