Lady of the Moon

by Mary Gillgannon

  Chapter 6

  “Sirona, get up. It’s nearly time to leave.” Bryn poked his head in the entrance of Sirona’s tent.

  “Leave? Where are we going?” she asked sleepily.

  “To a place called the lake of sacrifice for a special ceremony. Fiach told us about it last night, although I guess you weren’t around.”

  “How far away is this lake?”

  “Quite a long walk. Nearly on the other side of the island.”

  Which meant they would be traveling away from the sacred place of the Old Ones. “Do we all have to go?” she asked.

  “Aye. Fiach will insist.”

  Sirona got up and began to search her pack for a change of clothing. Bryn was right. There was no way she could refuse to make the journey.

  She dressed and plaited her hair, splashed her face with water, then joined Bryn and the other Tarisllwyth. Dichu was going on and on about how exciting it was to be around Learned Ones who possessed so much knowledge. He had spent the night with a group of Drui whose main responsibility was to keep track of the laws and traditions of their tribes, and he was obviously enthralled by the idea of having such influence. “These men, called brehons, make certain the laws apply equally to both kings and to cattle herders,” he asserted. “When it comes to the settlement of disputes and making certain the proper punishment is meted out to wrongdoers, they have more power than even the chieftain or the head Drui. Our tribe has never had a brehon. Perhaps it is time we do,” he added with a small smile.

  “Oh, I’m certain you would like that,” Bryn answered. “As long as you’re the one chosen.”

  Dichu’s expression grew serious once more. “Obviously, I’m not ready for such responsibility. I have much to learn when it comes to these matters. In fact, I’m going to ask Fiach if instead of returning to Mordarach, I can live with a tribe called the Trinovantes for a time, so I could train with their brehon. I think I could do more good for my people by pursuing such a path, rather than staying at Mordarach and continuing my studies there. I don’t feel I can learn much more from Ogimos and Fiach. And Cuill’s and Tadhg’s knowledge lies in other areas.” He nodded to the two younger Drui, clearly hoping to gain support from them for his plan.

  Bryn gave a contemptuous snort. “Good luck persuading Fiach. If you do succeed at going off on your own, I can’t say we’ll miss you much.” He shot a look at Sirona, as if seeking her agreement. The thought came to her that it probably didn’t matter what Dichu did with his life. If her vision were true, he didn’t have many years left.

  The memory of her vision of Dichu reminded her of her conversation with Lovarn and her plan to tell Cruthin about it. As she was looking around for Cruthin, Fiach returned. “It’s time to leave,” he said. “Cuill and Tadhg will carry our offering. As for the rest of you,” he glared at the students, “Remember, this is an important rite. I expect you to behave with dignity and restraint. As we walk, you should keep your thoughts on the gods and the sacred ritual we are about to perform. No talking, except in quiet, respectful tones.”

  The Tarisllwyth took a place near the middle of the procession of Learned Ones. Many of the other tribes carried bundles wrapped in red cloths. Others transported their offerings in carts pulled by slaves or oxen. One tribe had brought a two-wheeled vehicle pulled by two sleek tawny-brown horses. Sirona had only seen horses a few times before, when traders came to Mordarach. “The chariot belongs to a tribe called the Iceni,” Fiach told them. “They intend to offer the vehicle as their gift to the gods.”

  Sirona couldn’t help staring at the chariot, which was driven by a stocky, fair-haired man. Something about the vehicle and the horses seemed familiar, although she couldn’t imagine what it was.

  Bryn also appeared intrigued by the vehicle... but aggravated as well. “What a waste,” he told Sirona. “They would be much better off using the chariot in battle to defeat the Romans.”

  Fiach must have heard him, for the head Drui’s expression grew tight with irritation. “Without the gods’ favor, we are nothing,” he admonished Bryn. “Remember that, and remember your place as a student, as I have told you before.”

  Bryn’s face flushed as bright as a cranesbill blossom, but he said nothing further. Only later, when Fiach had moved off to speak with someone from the Decangi tribe, did Bryn mutter, “Fiach’s a fool. They all are. The gods won’t save us. We must use our weapons for fighting, not squander them as offerings.”

  Sirona was surprised at the tension between Bryn and Fiach, but didn’t give it much thought. What she really wanted was for Cruthin to show up so she could talk to him about the man-spirit called Lovarn.

  The procession started off, following a pathway that looked as though it hadn’t been used for some years. They made their way slowly through the oak and elm forest, their progress limited by the number of people in the procession and the feebleness of the older Drui. Sirona was glad for the sluggishness with which they progressed. Cruthin would have plenty of opportunity to catch up.

  After a while, they reached an open area of cultivated fields. The grain had already been harvested, leaving behind golden stubble where crows and chaff finches searched for fallen grain. Sirona was impressed with the size of the fields and the obvious richness of the land. No wonder the Segonti were such a prosperous and powerful tribe.

  They walked along the edge of the grainfields, then once more entered thick forest. Sirona realized she could smell the sea. The coast must be nearby.

  The procession continued on, winding through woodlands that showed hints of summer’s passing. The blackberries and elderberries were almost ripe and there was a slight tinge of brown to the fern and bracken along the pathway.

  Well past midday they reached their destination. The lake of sacrifice was a large, open stretch of water surrounded by willow, sedge and flowering rushes. A pair of swans floated on the calm surface of the lake. Overhead, an osprey searched for prey. Everyone gathered in an open area near the lake, grouping together by tribe. Sirona, Bryn and the other Tarisllwyth ate mealcakes and dried meat from their packs and passed around a waterskin while Fiach conferred with the other head Drui.

  When Fiach returned, they joined the rest of Learned Ones at the edge of the lake. A man named Elidyr—who had seemingly been appointed the leader of all the Drui—stood on the shore and began to speak in his ringing voice. He called down the gods, evoking them in triads so their power would balance each other: Beli, Llew and Gwyn Ap Nuad; Bran, Gwyddion and Govannon; Cernunnos, Arawn, and Manawyddan; Ceridwen, Rhiannon and Arianrhod.

  As he spoke, the pair of swans took flight and an ominous sense came over Sirona. As a tingling began along her spine, she tensed. Her last few visions had been so distressing; she wasn’t certain she wanted to experience another one. In an effort to halt the vision, she sought to focus on the details of the ceremony before her: the sound of Elidyr’s voice as he evoked the gods, the expressions on the faces of the members of each tribe as they solemnly presented their gifts. The beauty of the objects offered: the curving lines and elegant shape of a ceremonial bronze shield. The sleek, bold form of a sword as it was flung into the air and tumbled end over end until landing in the water. The glitter of jewels on a dagger hilt. The sheen of polished metal and bright colors.

  She thought about the days of craftsmanship that had gone into fashioning these weapons. As each item splashed into the water, she imagined the offerings drifting to the bottom of the lake, past fish and reeds and seaweed. Down to the place where the spirits dwelled, where the forces of life and death lurked. Down into the realm of Ceridwen, the dark mother of pools and lakes. With each tribe’s offering, her sense of foreboding increased.

  The chariot was brought forward. The fair-haired man no longer drove it but led the team of horses, guiding them by the harness. As the vehicle neared the edge of the lake, Sirona saw the image of a man lashed to the inside of the chariot. His head lolled around and his body jerked as the vehicl
e moved over the uneven ground. When she blinked, the image of the man vanished. She dug her nails into her palms, her body rigid.

  The chariot halted at the water and two Drui came forward. They spoke the name of their tribe, the Iceni, and the name of their clan’s special deity, Epona. The tingling along Sirona’s spine started again and before her eyes, the one chariot became many. They were arrayed in a long line. Warriors stood on the platforms of the vehicles, their long hair and mustaches riffling in the soft breeze. Their bare torsos flashed with bright gold and bronze neck and armpieces. Their checkered war cloaks—thrown back over their shoulders—bore the colors of a dozen tribes. Woad blue and saffron yellow plaid, crimson and deep green check, purple madder, yellow and rust brown, sloe black, scarlet and bleached white. A multitude of hues against the green landscape.

  Behind the chariots stretched an army. Pretani men with swords, staves, axes and daggers raised for battle. The fire of determination glowed in the warriors’ eyes. Gazing upon their ferocity, their exultant battle lust, Sirona was filled with a terrible dread. They’re going to die. All of them are going to die. She closed her eyes, trying to banish the vision and fight off the sense of horror. It’s not real, she told herself. It’s not real.

  She opened her eyes when she heard someone cry out. It was Bryn. His face was a mask of fury and Fiach had a fierce grip on his arm, restraining him. Sirona looked to where Bryn’s attention was focused. The chariot and horses were in the water. The horses were trying to swim, but the chariot had been weighted and the vehicle was dragging the horses down. They whinnied and struggled, their eyes wild. All around, the Drui watched, their faces impassive.

  Sirona felt sick. No wonder Bryn had cried out in protest. She’d assumed they would unharness the horses before they pushed the chariot into the water, rather than drowning the poor beasts. A shiver of revulsion traveled through her. Between her Seeing and watching the doomed horses, she felt overwhelmed with death and despair.

  “Turn me loose!” Bryn spoke in a low, dangerous voice as he tried to jerk from Fiach’s grasp.

  “You will not shame us,” Fiach warned in a whisper. “If you do, I’ll—”

  “Nay, I’ll not shame you,” Bryn answered harshly, “But turn me loose this moment!”

  Fiach did so, and Sirona experienced a sense of relief. But it didn’t last long. One of the horses whinnied frantically, and her stomach twisted with distress. Her anguish wasn’t merely over the animals. The lingering dread her vision had aroused wouldn’t leave her. Why had she seen the chariots and warriors? And why did she feel certain that everyone in her vision was going to die?

  She gazed steadily at the alder and willow bushes on the other side of the lake, trying to dispel the terrible feeling of loss. When she finally dared look out at the water, the surface of the lake was patterned with a skein of shimmering ripples, but there was no sign of the horses. They had sunk into the dark depths. She shuddered violently at the thought.

  “Sirona?” Bryn spoke beside her. “Are you all right?”

  She turned to him, but the man standing next to her was not the Bryn she knew. This was a warrior. He had a worn war cloak flung back over his shoulders and a metal and leather garment covered his chest. Muscles bulged in his ruddy, weathered arms as he held a round wooden shield in one hand and a huge sword in the other. His face seemed harsh and manly. A bristly auburn mustache hid his mouth, and his brown eyes were so fierce and bright, it took her breath away. She swallowed hard, willing the image away.

  “Sirona.” He gave her a little shake. Two heartbeats passed and Bryn was himself again. Sirona forced herself to appear calm, but she still felt sick.

  Now that the ceremony was over, people began to congregate in small groups. There would be a period of relaxation and rest before the final rite of the gathering, which was the traditional sacrifice of Llewnasa, the seasonal rite giving thanks for the harvest. It seemed early for such a ceremony, but Fiach had mentioned that many of the Learned Ones were anxious to return to their tribes before the autumn rains began. Some of them had to travel a very long distance, clear across Albion, and in some cases, across the sunrise sea as well.

  Sirona followed the other members of her tribe to a sheltered area under the trees. Her thoughts on her visions, she took little note when Fiach shouted, “Where have you been? How dare you neglect to take part in the sacred rites?”

  “I didn’t miss the ceremony,” a familiar voice answered. “I watched from the forest. I can tell you every object that was sacrificed.”

  Sirona’s head snapped up at the sound of Cruthin’s voice. He looked very pleased with himself, which made Sirona wonder if he’d discovered one of the sacred places. She hurried toward him, eager to find out what he’d learned.

  Fiach continued to berate Cruthin. “It was most irresponsible of you to wander off. All the Learned Ones and students are needed at every ritual. The more of us there are, the more influence we have with the gods. Tonight, I expect to you to be part of the sacred circle.” The head Drui fixed Cruthin with a severe look, then walked off.

  “Where were you?” Sirona asked Cruthin.

  Cruthin smiled. “I was with the Great Mother Goddess.”

  Bryn, who had also joined them, snorted. “Rather than a goddess, I think it more likely you went back to the mainland and spent the night with your friend Pellan.”

  Sirona was startled. “Is that what you did?”

  “Of course not. I told you, I went into the forest to prepare for tonight.” He stared at her, his expression dark and mysterious.

  Bryn looked from one of them to the other. “What are you planning?”

  “Nothing,” said Cruthin. He glanced at Bryn. “Aren’t there some people here discussing the war with the Romans? Don’t you want to go talk to them?”

  “Nay,” Bryn answered. “I’m staying here with the two of you.” He gestured to Sirona. “Sirona looked unwell during the ceremony. I want to make certain she’s all right.”

  “It was nothing,” she responded. “I haven’t eaten much the last few days. Then, when I saw the horses drowning, I started to feel sick.”

  “Horses?” Cruthin asked.

  “Aye.” Bryn’s voice was scathing. “The stupid fools sent a whole chariot and team to the bottom of the lake. A hideous waste, and cruel besides. Those poor beasts were terrified.” He turned to Sirona. “It was very upsetting, I agree. But it still doesn’t explain the way you looked a few moments ago. You were as white as bleached wool.”

  Sirona made her voice coaxing. “Would it be possible for you to get me something to eat? I think that would help. Not traveling food, but something like what you brought back to camp last night?”

  Bryn frowned. “If I fetch you some fresh food, will you promise to stay here?”

  Sirona nodded. “I promise.”

  Bryn shot Cruthin a narrow-eyed glance, then turned back to her. “I’ll find you something.”

  As he walked off with long, rapid strides, Sirona breathed a sigh of relief, although it was mingled with guilt. “Bless Bryn for his soft heart.” She turned to Cruthin. “So, what happened? Did you find one of the sacred places?”

  “Not yet, but I will.” He smiled at her. “Tonight I’ll show you all the secrets.”

  “Tonight? You mean, after the ceremony?”

  Cruthin shook his head. “If we wait until the sacrifice is finished, it’ll be too late. We must leave before it’s over. We still have to find one of the sacred places. That might take awhile.”

  “You heard what Fiach said. He expects us to attend the ceremony.”

  “As long as we’re part of the circle at the beginning of the ceremony, that’s all that matters. There will be so many people there—how can Fiach keep track of us? We’ll stay on the outer edge of the gathering, then slip away when no one is watching. The Great Mother Goddess will aid us. We’re meant to do this, I know it. Come with me now,” he urged
. “We’ll hide in the woods until the rite is about to begin, then find a place where it will be easy to slip away.”

  “I promised Bryn I would remain here.”

  Cruthin shrugged. “Do what you will.” He turned and started to walk off.

  “Wait!” She ran to catch up with him. “Aren’t you going to tell me what happened? You say you were with the Goddess—what does that mean?”

  “I can’t explain it,” he said. “You’ll have to experience it for yourself.” He turned once more to leave her.

  “Wait,” she cried again. “Don’t you want to hear what happened to me last night?”

  He shrugged.

  Rapidly, she explained about going back to look for Dysri, about meeting Lovarn and their conversation, then coming back later and finding out that Lovarn was a spirit. “Isn’t it amazing?” she asked. “What do you think it means? I felt like Lovarn was warning me about something, but I don’t know exactly what it was.”

  Cruthin cocked his head and gazed at her intently. “Are you still going to deny that you have visions?”

  Sirona stiffened as she realized she was doing exactly what her grandmother had warned her not to do. But pretending she didn’t have visions had begun to feel futile, at least with Cruthin. She would have to trust him to keep quiet. “Aye, I do have visions,” she answered. “But please don’t tell Fiach, or any of the other Learned Ones.”

  Cruthin nodded. “They wouldn’t be pleased that one of their students had such power, especially a female.”

  “And there’s something else,” Sirona said. “Another reason no one from our tribe must know about my visions. My mother made a terrible prediction about the future when I was a baby. It was so awful that Tarbelinus sent her away. If any of the tribe who were adults back then learn I have Seeings, they might think I’m going to do something like my mother did.”

  “What did your mother predict?” asked Cruthin.

  Sirona hesitated, loathe to repeat the awful prophecy. Finally, she said, “My mother predicted the Tarisllwyth would be destroyed. That we would disappear from the earth.”

  Remembering all the things Bryn had told her about the Romans, Sirona experienced a sudden chill. What if her mother’s Seeing was a true one... and the Romans were the reason for her tribe’s downfall? She recalled her vision during the sacrifice: The vast number of warriors lined up for a battle. Her terrible sense that they were all going to die.

  She met Cruthin’s gaze. “What do you think? Do you believe what my mother predicted might actually come to pass?”

  “How should I know?” Cruthin responded. “Anyway, it isn’t important. I don’t really care what happens to the Tarisllwyth. I’m concerned with the mysteries and our connection to the gods and the Otherworld.”

  Cruthin’s attitude shocked Sirona. But she probably could have guessed he would react that way. He always seemed to have utter contempt for anything he wasn’t interested in. His cold attitude disturbed her, and make her worry she’d made a mistake in confiding in him. “You won’t tell anyone about my Seeings, will you?” she asked anxiously.

  “Of course not,” he answered. “Fiach’s a fool. He knows nothing about the things that truly matter.” He made a sound of disgust. “All those years of training in the grove, and no one even mentioned the Great Mother Goddess. She’s the one we must honor, the one we must worship.” His gaze met Sirona’s. “That’s what you and I will do this night.”

  Although a part of her agreed with him, she still had doubts. “I don’t see why we can’t wait until after the ceremony to search for one of the sacred places. It’s going to be very awkward to leave in the middle of the rites.”

  “Nay, it won’t. Everyone will be focused on the ceremony. They won’t pay any attention to us.”

  “But shouldn’t we be focused on the ceremony as well? Won’t the gods be angry with us for leaving in the middle of it?”

  Cruthin shook his head. “I told you, the other gods are nothing compared to the Goddess. She is the one we must honor.”

  Cruthin walked off. Sirona watched him go, feeling torn. A part of her believed she was meant to go to this sacred place. That there she would find answers to the questions troubling her. But another part of her was afraid. When she’d first beheld the sacred isle, she’d experienced an overpowering sense of dread. Did she dare ignore that warning?

  * * *

  The sky was dark, the Grain Moon beginning to rise. Its pale golden shape was barely visible through the trees surrounding the clearing where the Learned One gathered, some carrying torches. The participants began to form a circle, surrounding the large altar stone set in the center of the clearing. Sirona watched from behind a massive oak, waiting for the rest of the Drui to find their places. She’d managed to get away from Bryn by giving him the excuse of needing to go into the woods to relieve herself. Bryn obviously suspected she and Cruthin were planning something.

  Bryn was probably right to worry. If she and Cruthin were caught slipping away, Fiach would certainly punish them. Sirona suppressed a shudder and tried to decide what to do.

  She’d thought several times of seeking out Dysri and asking her about Cruthin’s plan, but the few times she caught sight of the Brigante woman, she was always surrounded by other people. Sirona would have to wait until tonight and look for some sign from the gods—or the Goddess—advising her what to do.

  Of course, maybe Cruthin wouldn’t come, and she wouldn’t have to decide. The circle was almost complete, and he still hadn’t appeared. The thought that he might have gone without her filled her with frustration.

  Elidyr and two other high Drui entered the clearing carrying torches. Behind them, led by slaves, were two white bullocks. As people stepped back to allow the Drui and sacrificial animals to enter the center of the circle, Sirona hurried to find a place among the ring of participants.

  The bullocks were led to the altar and the head Drui of all the tribes positioned themselves around them. Elidyr gestured for silence. At the same time, Sirona felt someone touch her arm. She turned and saw Cruthin standing behind her. Exhaling in mingled relief and aggravation, she focused her attention on the center of the circle.

  Elidyr evoked the gods, and all the Learned Ones began to chant, a low, ringing sound that echoed off the huge ancient oaks surrounding them. As a soft wind blew through the clearing, the hair on the back of Sirona’s neck stood up. It was as if the gods had come, and she could feel them moving around her. A huge owl flew across the clearing, directly over the two bullocks in the center of the circle. In the moonlight, the bird’s feathers flashed white, then it was gone. A murmur of wonder went through the crowd.

  Sirona’s body tightened with expectation. The owl’s appearance seemed to be a message from the Goddess. Was this a sign she should follow the bird?

  The Learned Ones began to chant more fervently. Elidyr spoke again, extolling the gift they were about to offer, not one but two sacred bulls, proof that they were a dutiful and reverent people who honored the gods with the best they had.

  Sirona observed the bullocks in the center of the clearing. Most sacrificial animals had a white patch on their hide, marking them as sacred, but these beasts were almost completely white. They were also mature, well-muscled animals, not the young beasts that usually fell before the knife. Some tribe had carefully raised these animals, preparing them for years for this special sacrifice.

  As the two other Drui came forward with the red leather bag carrying the special knife used to cut the animals’ throats, Sirona felt a gentle touch on her hand. She turned to see Cruthin motioning with his head, indicating they should leave. She was torn. This was no ordinary sacrifice, but a powerful ritual such as had not been held for many years. All the Learned Ones gathered here believed the shedding the blood of these two special animals represented an act of devotion so profound that the gods could not help but listen to their pleas.

  She closed her e
yes, searching for some sign indicating what she should do. Abruptly, she remembered her vision of the circle of stones on the cliff above the sea and the people dancing around them. The smell of the ocean. Throbbing, surging music, guiding the dancers as they looped and swirled. The moon, high in the sky above the stone circle and the people. The stars whirling in the heavens above the dancers, gathering light, drawing it down to the people, filling the air around them. She could feel the light, like a caress against her skin. A whisper of breath passed over her.

  When Cruthin touched her hand again, Sirona jerked back to awareness and opened her eyes. All at once, she knew she had to go with him. Arianrhod, lady of the silver wheel, goddess of time and destiny, was calling to her.

  Cruthin moved off into the shadows. Sirona waited a few heartbeats, then followed.

  * * *

  They walked a long while in the pitch dark woods. The moon had gone under a cloud, but Cruthin insisted they keep moving. At last he stopped, and she pulled up beside him. “Do you know where we’re going?”

  “Of course.”

  Sirona suspected he was lying, that he had no idea which direction to go. “We can’t keep on like this, wandering around blindly. We’ll get lost and never find the sacred place.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Perhaps if we tried asking the Great Mother to show us the way, She would answer.”

  “You mean, if you tried... if you had some sort of vision.” There was an edge of derision to his voice.

  “Not a vision, exactly,” Sirona said. “But if we opened our minds, the Goddess might communicate with us. That’s what happened at the ceremony. I wouldn’t have left with you if I didn’t have a clear sense that the Goddess wanted me to go.”

  Cruthin shrugged. “Do what you will. Otherwise, we’re stuck here, waiting for the moon to reappear.”

  Sirona took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She tried to think of the Mother Goddess. Instead, the image of Lovarn filled her mind. He gazed at her intently, and all at once, she knew exactly which direction the sacred mound lay. She could see it in her mind. She opened her eyes and pointed. “This way.”

  “Perhaps the Goddess speaks to you because you’re a woman,” Cruthin said irritably. “Perhaps she favors you because of that.”

  She turned to start walking, but Cruthin grasped her arm. He pulled her around so they faced each other. “This night, you will become the Goddess.” Abruptly, he leaned over and kissed her.

  As his mouth met hers, Sirona was startled, but her surprise soon turned to pleasure. She savored the feeling of Cruthin’s body against hers, hard and male. His mouth on hers, subtle, caressing. His smell, like an animal’s, wild, dark and musky. He deepened the kiss, urging her mouth open. She tasted him and the world whirled around her. The blood rushed through her body, making her breasts and groin throb.

  As abruptly as he’d grabbed her, Cruthin released her and stepped back. “Mmmm,” he muttered. “Sex magic with you will be most potent. But first, we must find the Goddess’s place. Show me which way we should go.”

  Stunned, Sirona didn’t move for a time. Then she started walking, focusing on the inner sense guiding her.

  As they walked, the clouds shifted and a shaft of moonlight flickered down through the trees, illuminating their way. But Sirona didn’t need the moon to show the path. She walked on steadily and confidently, sensing the pull of the sacred place. As Cruthin followed after her, she recalled the kiss. It had felt wonderful... and somehow right. As if they were meant to be together.

  She realized she’d always been attracted to Cruthin, to his dazzling dark looks and lithe body. At this moment she ached to have Cruthin hold her in his arms, to press her beneath his body, to feel his bare skin next to hers. The very thought of it made her shiver with expectation.