by Jules Watson
At this, the people went wild. This was the excitement they longed for after the dreary season of endless dark. Their brooding king had been transformed into a figure of legend, and he had a maiden by his side, not the hated Carvetii princess.
Minna smiled even as her eyes stung, her mouth curving against Cahir’s in a secret joy they shared alone. The musicians could no longer be contained, and the pipes had immediately broken into song, backed by urgent drumming.
‘Lord.’ It was Darach. Behind him, dancers had joined the music, for there seemed nothing more to be said, and much to celebrate. ‘We will bless the cattle now, driving them between the fires, but the betrothed couples await you to be wed.’ He hesitated, glancing at Minna, then merely nodding gracefully. ‘My lady.’
Cahir looked down at her, his excitement flowing free. His people had acclaimed him this night as if this was his true crowning, banishing all pain. ‘It is really your blessing they await, a stór, not mine.’
‘Mine?’
‘You are the queen of the may this night, and they have not had the royal blessing of love for many years, or felt the earth quicken as it should. But it is quickening now.’
Yes, Minna cried, as she was taken to the bonfires and showered with more hawthorn blossom. Cahir blessed the betrothed youths with the flat of his sword, and as the druids gave Minna a bowl of rowan ash, milk and honey, the first of the girls was bending her head before her. It was Keeva … Keeva and Lonán, of course. This blessing would seal their marriage, and those of all the others waiting in line.
Her world stood still. She must summon the Source and call it home, as Darine said the Sisters once did. Closing her eyes, Minna blocked out the shrieks of merriment and bawling of the cattle, surrendering all thought, all feeling to become the vessel. I am yours, my Goddess, in service to your people. Give now of your Source, to make the land, your flesh, fruitful, so that your people may prosper.
The ancient vow was released from her heart, transforming the world around her. Suddenly, she could feel the Source pooling under her feet as a vibrating warmth. In her spirit-eye it became streams of light running together into one river that flowed up her body. She swelled with it, expanded, her skin glowing, and in that heat, that light, that surrender, another presence came and filled her body.
The Goddess. The energy of Mother. The single essence of all goddesses as one, worshipped by different names but the same – an immense love, compassion and grace that overflowed from Minna in tears, for she could not contain it all.
The light was a flooding wave, pushing her far out across the world, and swirling within its currents was all knowledge, all the answers to every question. Minna’s own soul, a bobbing flame, was carried along in the tide. She was so close to it all … so close to knowing everything … she could put out her hand and capture it, know it … why she was here … what she was … who spoke to her in dreams … who loved her …
She heard a gasp. Her eyes flew open and she was back, looking directly into Keeva’s upturned face.
The maid’s clever smile was gone, transfigured with awe. Overcome, she clasped her hands together, bowing her head. ‘Lady,’ she breathed, and this time Minna knew it was not given as a formal address to the king’s lennan, but to the Other who walked in her body.
As her own spirit stood aside, awed, Minna saw her finger dip into the ash paste without volition and draw a spiral on Keeva’s forehead. ‘Be strong and open in heart,’ her voice flowed, wise and deep as oceans. ‘Be fruitful in body and compassionate in soul. The Lady’s blessings on your union.’
When Keeva got to her feet, for the first time Minna saw tears in her black eyes as she reached for Lonán’s hand. Then, one by one, the maidens came before Minna, and their men before Cahir, as a reverent hush descended on the hill. The silence spread to the dancers, who began to slow, and the musicians and those drinking at the ale kegs, who fell into whispers.
By the time she marked the last girl, the pool of the Source in Minna’s belly had moved lower, pulsating. As the land was burgeoning, flooding with sap and new life, so it was coursing through her body. And when Cahir dropped his sword and turned to her, she looked into the face of the God, his eyes alight with stars.
‘Take me to the ancestor valley,’ she whispered, both of them moving blindly towards each other. ‘It must be there.’
He led her to the horse and lifted her up, and all the while the awed silence spread around them. The sea of people parted once more, their faces shining, as Cahir rode back across the river meadow. Hands reached out to touch Minna’s dress and catch the flowers that fell from her crown. Eyes glowed in the light of the bonfires.
Cahir rode past Dunadd to the north, the Source thundering in their blood. Clinging to his waist, Minna melted into his warm body as if they were already one. The moon was just high enough to light the path, drawing them on.
He left the horse by a circle of buried stones and, taking her in his arms, plunged into the dark woods. Where he walked, the forest came alive: she could see the Source spreading in his footsteps, gilding the branches and leaves, their edges coated with dew.
At last the moon pooled in a hollow of grass guarded by birches. As he rested her down on his cloak, she could smell the primroses and hyacinths. He had brought her to a bower that was a sea of blooms. The Maiden of Flowers.
Silently, Cahir set aside her crown, drew her robes over her head and slid her shift from her shoulder, pausing to lay a reverent kiss on her skin. The may-blossoms fell about them like snow, crushed in the folds of their clothes.
Though the heat of passion was in them both, Minna knew how sacred this loving was. Their bodies would transmute the Source so it showered the earth with new life, and as she blessed the betrothed couples, now it was her task to bless the Sacred King. She must become the channel for the Source to enshrine him.
So as he bore her to the ground, she twisted out from under him, bidding him lie instead as she rose to her feet. There she paused and gazed down, summoning instinctively all those women she had been in before-lives, letting them fill her until desire soaked her flesh. For as she had been Rhiann’s child so she had been other women, who loved in other places, and that was why she wasn’t afraid: their passions were clamouring for release.
Cahir gazed back, moonlight shining in his eyes, opening all of himself to her. He looked no less a man for showing his vulnerability, a fear that even now, at this moment, she might see into him and find him wanting.
She sank to her knees beside his scarred body, stroking his powerful limbs as the ancient words came to her tongue to anoint him. ‘Be crowned, oh king, by the light of the land, the love of the land, the will of the land.’
The scents of the oils wafted about her, and there was a loosening between her thighs, warm and wet, as she touched Cahir in every place she had been oiled. Gasping, he moved under her and stroked the glow back into her own skin, polishing it, kissing her limbs one by one as if they were each a sacred offering.
When at last he entered her and filled her, she knew it was the union of all things, for all the men he had been, and all the women of her soul.
But though the joining was bigger than them both, when Minna was astride him, wrapped around him, it was Cahir’s hands that came to rest on the small of her back, and fitted there perfectly.
Chapter 43
It was a breath before dawn, as night fled through a veil of glimmering mist. A timeless moment of dreamy touches and delirious joining, another melding of bodies that had continued through the night as if they could not bear to be parted. The divine nectar of taste and scent and warm skin, before the sun rose and they had to be human again.
As the mist turned gold, Minna nestled against Cahir’s naked back in their nest of cloaks, his hair wet with dew like a god of the woods.
And she stared up at the trees, sore and replete, and she knew. She had walked as a goddess, she had so very nearly touched the knowing, but been drawn back for others befo
re she could truly see her own truth. So it was clear now she must journey further herself, with her own will. Further and deeper.
And for that she needed the saor of which Darine had spoken. She needed Brónach.
That day Cahir expelled all traders from the port with the tale there was an outbreak of a plague in Dunadd. Messengers were secretly dispatched north, east and south bearing armbands cast into boar’s heads as a sign to muster Dalriadan warriors to the king’s standard. It was soon time for Cahir to sail for Erin, to convince his brother king Fergus to join the rebellion.
Minna stood with him on the cold beach beside a long, oared boat wallowing in the shallows. As the men shouted to each other, tossing in barrels of food and bundles of weapons, Cahir wrapped his cloak about Minna and drew her into the curve of his body. ‘You will be safe here while I am gone, a stór,’ he murmured, his eyes shadowed. ‘But will you be content? Or am I leaving you to the vixens? I don’t know how women reckon these things.’
She forced a smile, bracing her shoulders. The women still looked askance at her, but that did not matter when she ached for him like this, in her marrow. ‘Content is a fine sentiment, but really …’ She glanced over his shoulder to a stern-faced Ruarc directing Mellan and Ardal to store their swords and shields.
Cahir smiled, tired but completely sure of himself. ‘I suppose it isn’t a time to feel happy.’ He kissed her ear, murmuring, ‘But if I could take you to my bed for a moon, that might do it.’
When she looked up his eyes were burning, intense beneath his black brows, and she knew her own matched them. They had been consumed in the forest, but the miracle was there was no end to that fire; it came alive again each day, and each night when they exhausted themselves among the bed-furs. She could not stop the heat in her face, and he laughed. ‘My little wildcat,’ he whispered, his full mouth brimming with a tangible excitement.
‘I couldn’t keep you there for a moon,’ she said hoarsely, stepping back. ‘There’s nothing you want more than to ride to battle; I can see it in your face.’
He merely grinned, and she was almost suffocated by a rush of desire, for with love came the panicked urge to keep him close. She opened her mouth to tell him about her own task, and then changed her mind when she remembered Darine’s whisper in the salty darkness of her hut. Saor is very dangerous. That was not what he needed to hear.
She closed her eyes, tasted his mouth one last time and pushed him away with a light, playful hand. ‘Go now, so you can come back to me sooner.’
With a new determination, Minna headed straight for Brónach’s house. The old healer was avoiding her so assiduously she made no appearance for Beltaine, but the time for that had ended.
When there was no answer to her soft query, she lifted the hide and stepped inside. Brónach was there, rigidly staring into the coals of the fire, a blanket around her shoulders. ‘This is my house,’ she said clearly, without turning her grey head. ‘It is still my domain.’
Now she saw her properly, Minna was appalled. In the nearly two moons they had been travelling, Brónach had become bowed and bony, her flesh almost eaten away, desiccated. Her hands on the chair arms were like claws, stained green, brown and purple in the creases of her wrists and fingers and around her long nails.
‘Lady Brónach.’ She had to clear her throat. ‘I regret to intrude, but I must speak with you.’
‘Speak with me?’ Brónach’s voice was toneless, her eyes on the fire. ‘Since when did you wish to speak with me?’
Minna sat on the hearth-bench, for once picking her words carefully. ‘I can understand if you are disconcerted by all the change that has occurred.’ That received a bitter snort. ‘However, I value your insights, and hope I can learn from you.’
Brónach winced as she rested her head on the chair, gazing up at the roof. Her eyes were feverish, the whites red-veined. ‘You think yourself so wise, girl – as all the young do. Yet you still don’t know what you have done.’
‘I never sought to disrespect you.’
An explosion of mirth led to a fit of coughing. The cough was loose and full of phlegm, and, with a swift glance, Minna saw how the old woman’s hands shook. ‘I am not here to supplant you,’ she said, praying for patience. ‘You have the age and wisdom I do not – you are a princess of Dalriada.’ She knew better than to reveal what she had discovered of her own ancestry on the mountain. ‘Our skills combined make us better able to serve these people. Surely you must see that.’
The opening wavered there, a chance for surrender and grace. Brónach’s lip merely curled. ‘These are pretty words that mean little. As little as my years of pain and effort mean to the gods!’
‘You are a good healer,’ Minna persisted.
‘Am I?’ Brónach raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘When I cannot even look children in the eye, while you call forth their adoration?’
Minna sighed inside and rested her chin on her hands. ‘Lady Brónach, in the north a wise-woman told me of a preparation called saor.’
Something flickered over the old woman’s face and was gone.
‘It is an old concoction of six herbs. The woman said the saor loosens the bindings of the body to enable a spirit to travel into the Otherworld.’ Brónach had gone still, her eyes masked. ‘I know most of the ingredients, but not all.’
‘You seem to glean what you need from the very air.’
‘Sometimes,’ Minna agreed carefully. ‘But I think … when I want something for myself it is harder.’ She sat straight, forcing strength into her voice. ‘If you help me, perhaps we can find it again.’
The old woman looked up to the sprigs of herbs on her rafters. ‘Saor,’ she repeated, and her voice wavered. ‘I could never find it. There are too many plants …’
Minna did not betray surprise. ‘It might be that one herb-woman cannot discover its secrets alone, that for some reason we must work together.’
Brónach smoothed her sparse brows with her fingers, thinking. ‘You dangle this … saor … to placate me.’
‘No.’ Minna held her eyes. ‘I don’t. Work with me, and see how it can be.’
‘And if I say no? What if I set myself against you?’
Brónach was testing her, but she had been tested by many these past months. She stood as proudly as she could manage, making the old woman look up. ‘Lady, I am sure you’ve heard I am the king’s lennan now. I share his heart, his bed and his confidence. He will pursue this course against the Romans, and he has his warriors’ backing. It might not be wise to set yourself against us.’ She couldn’t believe how calmly she spoke, but she felt strong here in this place of healing, and suddenly she knew. Rhiann once lived here, on this very spot. She sensed it in the vibration of the air, like a low heartbeat, coming up through the earth.
Their eyes locked, and it was not Minna’s that at last fell. ‘You leave me little choice, Roman girl. But at any rate I am intrigued by this saor.’
You want it, Minna thought fiercely. You could never walk away without knowing what it is.
‘Why do you do this?’ Brónach suddenly cocked her head. ‘I took you from your sickbed and forced you to look into the pool. Why don’t you hate me for it?’
Minna considered that. ‘I understand you were not in your right mind. And I saw in that pool what I desperately needed to see. That vision brought me to love, and gave Cahir the alliance with the Picts.’ She smiled calmly. ‘Perhaps I should be thanking you.’
Brónach said nothing for a moment, then snorted, her mouth a grim curve. ‘You have learned more of king-craft than I thought. And because of that, I will help you. Too much sunny temper would only irritate me – if you’ve gained some bite we might get along.’
Minna smiled to herself, opening a pouch at her waist and unrolling the withered leaves she had taken from Darine.
Brónach only had one of Darine’s three plants in her stores, for they were badly depleted after the long dark. From speaking to the grandmothers crouched by their fires –
those few crones in the dun much older than Brónach – they found a possible fourth, once used for toothaches and flavouring old meat. When Minna crushed the leaves and smelled them something chimed in her, and her eyes met Brónach’s over the hearth-fire. The old healer nodded and folded the plant into her pouch.
For the remaining plants, they had to roam outside the dun to the sheltered slopes and hidden glens where the rarer herbs were sprouting undisturbed from the cold earth. The people left them alone. Being seen in serious conversation with the king’s aunt only enriched Minna’s sudden elevation, and the awe and discomfort in people’s eyes was now turning to respect.
Brónach’s manner to Minna remained brisk – but in relation to the task itself she revealed a brutal hunger. She pushed her wasted legs up hills and deep into the woods, and hunched over the drying and grinding late in the night.
Once they had narrowed their choice to eight possible plants, they began brewing decoctions of seeds, roots and leaves in differing combinations, while Minna made notes of their trials in Latin.
They tried drying, fermenting, boiling swiftly, steeping slowly, and different parts of the plants mixed with sap, vinegar, wine or honey to release their pungency. Sometimes, sitting quietly in the steam, Minna felt a strong instinct that something was right, and sometimes she did not.
‘We’ll have to test this,’ she said one day, of a dubious-looking brown liquid. ‘It should be me – I am the youngest and have the stronger body.’
‘It should be me,’ Brónach snapped. She was exhausted and drawn, grey-faced. ‘I am old, and will die soon anyway.’
‘You have been dosing yourself for years with different things,’ Minna protested. ‘They will have less effect on you.’ In the end they were too tired to argue, so both tried it.
The testing consisted of small amounts of each herb before bed. Minna thought that if she received a vivid dream of any kind, then the herb was doing something to the bond between her spirit and body. Brónach, who despite Minna’s protests hardly slept, insisted they both try it during the day. ‘It should make you feel as if the world has shifted: a little sleepy, slow and light-headed, as though the outline of your body is blurred.’