by Jules Watson
Once, she could feel the Goddess like a light spilling into her from above. Once, she could hear Her like a real voice in her mind. Once she was sent visions of what was, and would be – the brightest, the best among the Sisters. But no more. The thread of light that joined her to earth and heavens was severed, and had not been mended at all. How could she have thought any different?
‘It’s not over,’ Rhiann found herself murmuring brokenly. ‘Because of what I did. It has not been repaid.’
‘Did, daughter?’ Linnet was breathing in her ear. ‘Of what do you speak?’
Rhiann’s whole body was trembling, her teeth chattering in shock as she bowed her head. ‘I … I was so proud of my gifts, my powers … and … I should have seen the raiders coming, and found a way to stop it happening.’ Her words were a whisper on the night air. ‘But I did not … and they … they died … and because I failed them the Goddess turned Her face from me.’
Rhiann’s words were swallowed by the silence that fell, yet she would not look up, for her breast burned with shame. Shame for how she had failed her foster-family; shame that she had never yet shared … least of all with Linnet, who thought her so bright, so strong.
But then Linnet’s hands were cradling Rhiann’s bent head, stroking her hair, her shoulders, firm and gentle at the same time. ‘Child of my heart, their deaths could never be laid at your door; you never failed anyone.’
At those words, Rhiann gave a shudder in Linnet’s arms. ‘Then why am I exiled from Her grace? I am punished!’
‘No.’ Linnet struggled to raise Rhiann’s face, to reach through her pain, brushing her cold tears away. ‘It is the grief of the raid that blocks you, child, the pain of what those animals did. You will heal and regain what you have lost.’
Slowly, Rhiann shook her head, staring out at the dark, rustling trees over Linnet’s shoulder. ‘I must find Her again, and prove myself worthy. I thought … I thought surrendering to Eremon’s love was the key, but it is not … my love is not enough.’ Rhiann’s mouth spasmed with despair, and Linnet pressed desperate lips to her forehead.
‘The Goddess is love, not judgement,’ Linnet whispered. It is pain that shrouds you, that is all.’
‘That is not all, it cannot be all.’ With aching muscles, Rhiann drew herself to her feet, swaying a little, wiping her wet cheeks with harsh fingers. ‘There is more I must do. To atone.’
Linnet slowly rose. The chill of the night air was now creeping beneath the folds of Rhiann’s wool dress, and the pool was wreathed in mist. She sensed Linnet’s distress reaching out to her across the clearing, yet her aunt made no move forward.
After a long moment of silence Linnet’s shoulders slumped, her head bowing, and the energy cradling Rhiann suddenly seemed to dim. In the cold space it left she shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. Her heart was cloven, and desperately she realized she must force the edges back together now. For if they spilled open, all the pain of all the years would bleed out, and there would be nothing left. She must gain control …
Her breath rattling in her chest, Rhiann turned and looked out at the dark woods, seeking to contain the despair, the disappointment, the abandonment in a shell of numbness. That had worked before, and enabled her to keep going. She had to cling to her mind, to protect her heart.
Abruptly, she was arrested by a thought from the deep recesses of her mind. I must find a way to earn Her favour … but I have not gone far enough … loving Eremon was not enough …
In desperation Rhiann grasped at the thought, and hung on. As the failure was great, so the task she had to fulfil must be greater still. And it had been given to her long ago; she’d known all along how important it was. She did not realize she had spoken aloud until Linnet took a step closer. ‘A task, child? What task?’
Rhiann spun to face her, strength flowing back into her limbs. ‘My vision, aunt, my dream! Over the years it has changed, but it has been there since I was a child, calling me.’
‘You never told me of a dream.’ Linnet’s face was in shadow, the moonlight a sheen on her hair.
‘I thought you would think me proud – that, or mad!’ Rhiann’s hand floated towards Linnet, then clenched by her side, the words rushing out like an undammed stream. ‘I will tell you. I am in a valley of light, and all the people of Alba are around me. Eagles cry from the mountains above, bringing danger – they are the Romans, you see. Yet I stand in the valley, cupping the cauldron of the goddess Ceridwen, gathering the Source so that it will drive back the eagles, the shadows, protecting my land and people.’
Rhiann paused for a moment, savouring the feeling of the Source that resounded through her dream, the light that ran through all things and connected all worlds. In life she had to struggle to feel it, but in that dream it poured from her hands. ‘By my side a man stands with a great sword; the protector to vanquish the eagles – I have seen his face now and know he is Eremon. And we have been charged by Her to bring the Source into balance and guard it for all the people – by ridding Alba of the Romans.’
Linnet stepped closer, taking hold of Rhiann’s arms above the elbow. ‘You should have told me.’
Rhiann swallowed. ‘I would not allow myself to believe it for so long, but then Declan was sent a vision about Eremon, and it was the same, and that is why I gave Eremon my support for the alliance. Before … before I gave him my heart.’
Linnet’s sigh clouded the chill air, and Rhiann clutched at her hand. ‘This is what is drawing me, aunt, don’t you see? This is the message: I must fulfil that task first, out of love and duty for the people and my land. And once I have proven myself worthy, then I know I will also find my true self once more. I know it is the path back to Her.’
The words swelled with a desperate longing. Disentangling her grip, Linnet gently stroked the side of Rhiann’s face with her hand. The night wind soughed through the trees, blowing shadows across her features, making them unreadable. ‘Much of your path is dark before me, as it has always been, yet this dream does hold some sense of truth.’
Rhiann breathed a harsh sigh of relief. ‘You see?’ She wiped her eyes and cheeks with both palms, raking back the hair that had blown free from its braids. ‘It is the answer, aunt, it is what I must do. The pain came to remind me, to make my path even clearer … that’s what it was.’
Now Linnet cupped both of Rhiann’s cheeks, staring down at her, unmoving. Since the day Rhiann told Linnet the truth of the raid, they had often read each other’s thoughts. Yet now it was as if Linnet’s mind was shuttered. There was only the warmth of her hands, a steady glow on Rhiann’s skin.
‘Come.’ Linnet’s voice was tinged with a strange distance. ‘The night grows late and chill, and you need your strength. Let me brew you a gentle sleeping draught, to keep your dark memories at bay.’
Long after moonset, Linnet remained awake, watching Rhiann in her bed by the faint glow of the coals.
Nothing moved in that darkened room but the shadows and her hand, softly stroking Rhiann’s forehead to soothe her down into sleep. In the firelight, Rhiann’s pale skin gleamed, her hair a dark spill over the linen pillow. Her eyes were closed, and one hand was tucked up under her chin, in the same way she had slept as a baby.
Dercca’s snores floated from behind the other wicker screen, but Linnet ignored them and listened closer to Rhiann’s breathing. She would keep vigil for her daughter until Rhiann was truly asleep.
Outside, the wind had risen, scraping the branches of the young oak tree in the yard against the mud walls. But inside all was still and warm, and at last Rhiann’s breathing changed, sliding into the slower cadence of deep, healing sleep. As it did, Linnet’s hand stilled.
After a moment she rose, stirring up the coals to flame before sinking onto her hearth-bench. And only there, alone, did she allow her shoulders at last to bow, as she buried her face in her hands. A sob choked her throat, but she would not give in to it. For that was the crown of her burden. Rhiann could not know that Linne
t carried it, or how heavy it had grown. So heavy, so painful that she felt it might tear her heart apart.
Linnet clutched at the moonstone pendant around her neck, fingering the smooth stone as she repeated the brutal words that after all these years her heart must accept: I cannot give her the understanding; she must find it herself. The path must be walked alone or the knowledge has no value.
So many times she had clung to these words, given to her by the Goddess on the day of Rhiann’s birth, when Linnet glimpsed in vision the great deeds – and griefs – of Rhiann’s life. She had understood then that her role was to prepare Rhiann and train her; to nurture her into a strong, accomplished woman who could face everything to come.
Yet the crushing part was that Linnet could not intervene in any significant way, because Rhiann would only then learn about Linnet’s path and Linnet’s choices, not her own, nor would she develop any strength of will. And so, although it had tried her hard, Linnet had for years bitten her tongue and held her counsel.
At first it had been simple. It was easy to let a three-year-old thrust her hand into a patch of nettles because she must feel how they stung, and respect them in future. It was not easy to behold a woman so despairing that she would cut herself off from her own heart, and say she must find her own way.
Linnet had felt the crushing loss of Caitlin, her own child, the guilt of that, and the grief of losing a sister. And when she saw Rhiann struggling with such pain, she burned with the need to soothe it all away. Yet Linnet had seen more than pain at Rhiann’s birth; she had caught a glimpse, a bare glimpse, of Rhiann’s fate.
A fate to change the destiny of a whole land.
And what did such a fate ask of someone? How could anyone counsel such a soul? What Linnet thought of as right in one moment may not be right in the greater pattern of Rhiann’s life, which only the Mother could see.
A single tear squeezed out from one tightly closed eye, and Linnet let herself feel its long, slow slide down her cheek. Then she glanced over at the bed; at Rhiann’s outflung hand, a pale flower against the dark fur cover. All I can do is love her, she thought, getting up, stiff-kneed. If I tell her the Mother loves her, and that is all that matters, then that is all I must give, too.
People had many illusions about priestesses, that embodying the Goddess must be simple and beautiful. And it was, sometimes. But not always. Linnet lived on this mountain, distant from the cares of the tribe, and made offerings at the gateway and kept the Source in balance as best she could. And sometimes it was lonely, and often difficult, for all the things she must see but not speak. Rhiann lived among the people, tending their daily hurts and giving her body as the Mother’s vessel. Yet who could say which was easier?
Wiping her eyes, Linnet gently tucked Rhiann’s errant hand beneath the cover, smoothing the fur up to her chin. For this brief time, at least, she wore only the face of the Mother, warding the hours of darkness for her child.
CHAPTER 5
Braced on the walkway atop Dunadd’s upper palisade, Eremon waited only long enough to see Rhiann safely away to Linnet’s before tackling his next challenge – the chief druid.
When Liath’s coat was no more than a pale glimmer against the green hills, Eremon finally let his eyes drop. Below him, the bustling village sprawled around the crag’s feet in the afternoon sunshine, cloaked in the thick haze of cookfires that curled lazily above the thatch roofs.
Sounds floated up in a murmuring cloud: children’s cries and playful screams; the clink of smiths’ hammers; and the thunk of axes on wood. Eremon even fancied he could sense relief in the air, floating with the homely smells of smoke, animal dung and baking bread. The mourning feast would go ahead as a celebration when Rhiann returned tomorrow night.
Peering into the long afternoon shadows, he studied each layer of Dunadd’s defences in turn. First, the main timber palisade encircling the village, guarded by the great gatetower. Then, the palisade on which he stood, on a natural rock tier of the crag.
The village gate was manned by a brace of warriors, the sun gleaming on their bristling spear-tips. Others strode the length of the palisades, their bright-painted shields hung for decoration on the pointed stakes. Eremon turned his face to the north. More spears glittered in a rain of iron above the river meadow, for already Finan had resumed the training of the warband. In the dusky light some warriors were wheeling on horseback, or practised with sword, while others hefted spear or bow for target practice.
A heavy thudding interrupted Eremon’s thoughts, as Conaire’s fair head appeared at the bottom of the palisade stairs. Taking them three at a time, Eremon’s foster-brother sprang to his full height on the top planks. ‘Caitlin is abed and feeling well again,’ he announced, then stopped as his gaze took in Eremon’s stance. ‘You sport a face like thunder, brother. Is there a problem with the men? Have they grown soft while we were away?’
‘Nothing a few days of our drilling won’t fix.’ Eremon gripped the edge of the palisade with white knuckles. ‘It’s not that. My guts are gnawing on something else, very unpleasant, and I’m just getting ready to fix the pain.’
At Conaire’s raised eyebrow, Eremon flung out his hand angrily. ‘Look! So many men, so many guards, so many gates. And it is us, from Erin, who have given the Epidii such strength; strength for more than a petty cattle raid, strength to resist the Romans! Gathering and training such a large warband was our idea. The tactics are our idea. The guards and the signal beacons – our idea.’
‘Your idea,’ Conaire interrupted quietly, folding his arms.
‘My idea, then,’ Eremon growled. ‘And the border patrols, and the scout network – and after all we’ve done, the attempt on our lives came not just from Maelchon, but from the Epidii!’
Conaire’s brows rose higher. ‘This you did not tell me.’ Then the confusion on his face cleared into realization. ‘You mean the druid.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Eremon answered bitterly, and both their heads turned in the direction of the druid shrine on the crag’s crest. A wreath of smoke rose above it, merging with the high, white clouds drifting in from the sea. ‘He watched us leave Calgacus’s dun, he announced our deaths – he had a hand in it, I would swear it on my father’s honour.’
At that, Conaire’s mild, boyish features hardened, the scar at the edge of one eye flushing purple with blood. Caitlin and his unborn child had been on the boat that sank, after all. He flexed his broad shoulders, one hand coming to rest unconsciously on the sword at his waist. ‘I will come with you.’
For a moment Eremon glanced back at his brother. In the low sun, the hair on Conaire’s neck and arms was bristling with hostility, like a boar’s crest. But this was something begun with the druid long ago, and it was Eremon’s fight to pursue.
‘No.’ Eremon gripped Conaire’s forearm to soften the word. ‘Alone, he offered me this place in the tribe. And alone I will confront him.’
He didn’t say that he wanted Gelert’s wrath to fall on him alone. Better that he keep his men out of this. If there was one thing he had learned in Alba, it was to be wary of druids and their devious ways.
Eremon did not need to search for Gelert, for the old man was in the shrine conducting a sacrifice. Waiting for the attending druids to leave, Eremon edged around the outside of the pillars to where the shrine fell away directly from the western cliff to the plain below. Beyond the marsh and shining thread of river, the sea gleamed its last for the day.
When Eremon heard the murmur of voices and footfalls, he quickly ducked around to the side and entered between the pillars. Gelert was still standing before the bloody altar stone, the offering smoke curling to the sky.
The setting sun filtered through the wings of Gelert’s unbleached robe, and ignited the expanse of marsh beyond to a glowing crimson. This spectacle, and the dark blood on the stone altar, the tainted smoke, and leering ring of oaken gods at the base of each pillar would have awed and intimidated anyone else. But Eremon was too angry to be awed, and he kn
ew that of any druid he had met, Gelert was driven more by the lust for earthly power than doing the will of the gods.
‘This was an offering of gratitude for our safe return, I presume?’
At the sound of Eremon’s voice, Gelert swung around, his arms dropping to his sides. His face was in shadow behind a ragged curtain of pale hair, but his odd, golden eyes were unblinking and cold. ‘Your manners leave something to be desired as usual, prince,’ the druid replied, and with a flick of his fingers dismissed the last two novices. The white-clad youths dragged the calf ’s body to one side, took the sacred knife from Gelert for purification, then melted away.
Eremon and Gelert waited in silence as the boys’ footsteps faded, facing each other across the roofless centre of the shrine. The sun gleamed on the torc set around each idol’s neck, below oaken faces smeared with ochre and blood.
As soon as the novices were gone, Eremon’s simmering anger could no longer be contained, and he strode forward. ‘I know you planned our deaths.’
At Eremon’s approach Gelert glided around the other side of the altar, folding his hands in his sleeves. The fading tattoos across his cheeks were drawn into grotesque lines by the deepening seams of age, and his lids drooped over those yellow and black pits of eyes. ‘You rave, prince.’ Gelert’s white brows arched high with apparent surprise. ‘I know nothing of what you speak.’
Breathing deeply, Eremon fingered the jewels on his sword hilt. ‘Do not play innocent with me, druid. You had a hand in that shipwreck.’ His voice was not steady, for he was finding it harder to keep his emotions in check than he’d expected. For the first time in weeks, snatches of memory kept darting through his mind: the fear in Rhiann’s face when they knew the boat would sink, the moment that froze his blood more than the icy water – when he flailed in the pounding surf, and Rhiann’s hand slipped from his grip.
