‘Are they here yet?’ she kept asking. ‘Are they here?’ But it was always the strains of music and cheers to greet the other girls who would come of age, and their men. The young women were housed in a low tented dwelling on the left behind the fire theatre, men on the right. Finally, when she'd almost given up hope, she heard the great twin drums begin to beat out the arrival she'd been waiting for.
Kaitlyn and Jiya went above to watch, and were subjected to lengthy interrogations by Skaaha calling up the steps. Ruan wore the consort's fire colours – a red cloak over brown leggings and yellow tunic, with bronze and gold torc round his throat. The Ardvasar warriors, led again by Vass, who'd ridden his group out to meet them, flew red flags from their spears. Their helmets, swords and shields glistened in the afternoon sun. Drums thundered. The crowds roared. Other warrior chapters joined the procession. The druids of Bride marched in front, playing their pipes and hand drums. Cells from other charges brought up the rear. It was, indeed, a fine sight. Skaaha begged the details repeated over and over.
By nightfall, Jiya had disappeared. Kaitlyn fell asleep, her descriptive powers exhausted. Come morning, preparations for the ceremony would begin. When Skaaha finally slept, her dreams filled with colour, fire and fearsome creatures.
The sound that woke her might have been a rat scuttling. Half-asleep in the gloom, she sensed the otherworld loom. A shuffle that could be the silent Shee coming for her raised hairs on the back of her neck. Something cold touched her throat. Lamplight flickered. Shadows rose and fell like moving figures. The walls were melting stone. A long black line reached out to her bed from a sinister shape crouched not two strides distant. The squat was familiar, that dark line the shaft of a spear.
‘Jiya,’ she gasped, relieved.
‘Guess again,’ the figure hissed.
‘What are you?’ Fear tightened Skaaha's throat. The point of the spear pressed into it.
‘Shhh,’ the crouched figure warned. ‘If you shout, or your friend wakes, I might jump. This’ – the spearhead moved under Skaaha's chin – ‘could slip.’
The voice echoed from past memories. As Skaaha became accustomed to the gloom, the shape assumed familiar lines, more chilling than any monster's.
‘Mara,’ she whispered.
‘So you do remember old friends,’ the warrior queen said, standing to look down on her. A scar scored the spiral on her cheek, but nothing else had changed. The spear remained at Skaaha's throat. From her bed, round the corner, Kaitlyn snored.
‘If you harm me, you'll be caught,’ Skaaha warned.
‘Harm you? Tell me why I would do that.’
A metallic swish sounded from behind her, and Jiya stepped in from the passageway, sword drawn. ‘We'll never know,’ she said, beaming, ‘because you're leaving.’
Mara's hand shook. The spear pricked Skaaha's throat, and steadied. ‘Your aunt was never good at tactics,’ she continued, ignoring the warrior. ‘One thrust, you're dead, and she's mine. Tell her to sheathe the sword, or I'll take the challenge.’
‘Touch Bride,’ Jiya said, ‘and the bog takes you.’
‘A crazy warrior attacks while I pay my respects.’ Mara played the spear tip under the curve of Skaaha's jaw. ‘I kill her, and find our young goddess sustained…’
‘Sheathe it, Jiya,’ Skaaha begged. ‘Please.’
Reluctantly, Jiya did, but stayed poised to draw again if there was need.
‘Better,’ Mara said. The spear rose. ‘I came for a closer look. People say Danu returns.’ She snorted. ‘You've grown. Strong’ she nodded, glancing at Skaaha's arms – ‘but no warrior. I saw your fear. Tomorrow changes nothing. Remember that, and this night.’ She turned, stalked past Jiya and was gone, the clink of weapons fading round the passage, up the stairs, the door clattering shut.
A sob of relief shook Skaaha. ‘Why did she do that?’ she asked.
‘Jealousy,’ Jiya said. ‘It's good I came. You should never be alone with her.’
‘She fears you,’ Skaaha said, rubbing her neck where the point had jabbed.
‘So she should,’ Jiya boasted, checking Skaaha's throat. ‘There is no blood. I'll get the druids. They'll banish her from Beltane.’
‘Then she'll think I'm afraid.’
‘Her right to be here's forfeit.’ Jiya turned to go. ‘They'll send her home.’
‘No!’ Skaaha leapt from the bed to grab hold of her aunt's arm. ‘I won't hide like a coward behind priests! Is that what Danu is? Is that what I become tomorrow?’
‘No,’ Jiya said slowly. ‘That would not be good.’ She stared at Skaaha's hand on her arm, the grip biting into flesh.
Skaaha let go. ‘Look, Mara's like the bear: not wise to face her up, but wiser not to run away.’
Jiya rubbed her forearm. ‘If you ever arm wrestle either, my bet's on you.’
Skaaha giggled. Spurred by the exhilaration of survival, laughter overtook them both. In the bed behind the bulge in the cavern wall, Kaitlyn woke. ‘Whatever you're doing,’ she grumbled, ‘stop it and get to sleep.’
*
The smell of freshly cooked loch fish woke Skaaha. She shook Kaitlyn and Jiya awake. The warrior, still clothed and armed, had fallen asleep in the doorway, refusing to stand down in case they were visited again. Stripped and aching, she headed for the pool. Nechta brought breakfast, and a visitor. Erith had come with gifts. She laid the small bundle on Skaaha's lap. From inside, metal clinked on metal.
‘Ard would have brought them, but men are not allowed,’ she said.
‘Open it, open it,’ Kaitlyn urged as Skaaha's fingers tugged at the drawstring. The cloth fell aside to reveal bronze and gold jewellery. Even in dull lamplight, the pieces glowed like fire, shone like sun.
‘Ard made all of this for me?’ Skaaha gazed up at Erith in astonishment.
‘Let's have a proper look then,’ Kaitlyn urged again.
The largest piece was a flat torc like a crescent moon, the wide front becoming narrow as it curved to the back. Gold rope edged the bottom curve, the top row of filigree knot-work. Between them, at the front, was set a dark-red ruby and, from it, in each direction, flew a row of bronze eagles, each with a small red eye, diminishing in size to the end stops at the back. It was the finest work Ard had ever done, delicate and light but solid, so it sat perfectly round Skaaha's throat, resting on the clavicle bone, without shifting.
‘Danu rubies come from the mountains in the north,’ Nechta whispered. ‘But I've never seen any set so fine.’
There were earrings with dangling gold feathers that encased a ruby stone; a wheel brooch with feathered arrow pin to hold her cloak, the quarters and cross-quarters marked with inlaid stones; three broad gold and bronze bracelets for ankle, wrist and upper arm; two rings for her fingers, one for her toes. And, finally, a bronze comb topped with a single red-eyed eagle, wings outstretched. From its talons hung fine rope chains, alternately gold and bronze, that would braid into her hair.
Ard had thought very carefully about dressing the goddess. Nothing would cut, dig in, obscure or impede the ceremony. Yet no matter how she moved, every limb would catch and reflect light.
‘He said to tell you,’ Erith began, swallowing to steady her voice, ‘you're still the most beautiful thing he made.’ With hugs and blessings, she left them to eat.
Jiya returned from bathing, scrubbing her hair dry, to find the others speechless, surrounded by treasure, and breakfast growing cold.
20
After the meal, Kaitlyn and Jiya were sent away to join the Kylerheans. Three women from Bride's cell arrived to help Nechta, full of chatter. Skaaha was stripped and rubbed with sheep fat mixed with wood ash before being sluiced off in the pool. Her nails were clipped, her hair washed under a water spout then rinsed with herbs. As the druids worked, they talked. It was an education. Older women taught young men the pleasures of the flesh. Two of the group had instructed Ruan.
‘A duck to water,’ one said. ‘He learned fast’ – grinning, – ‘pr
actised slow.’
‘And repeatedly,’ the other tutted. ‘It took many moons before I could pass him on to other things.’ Hearty chuckles echoed round the cavern.
Again, Skaaha's skin was scrubbed, with perfumed salts, and doused to remove them. Her ears were pierced, a quick, though painful, process. The third cleansing was with oils, rubbed off with rags. The druids' hands were thorough. Throughout it all, they gave a running commentary on the charms of her body, every curve and hollow praised. Ruan's tremendous luck was agreed, with conviction and more bawdy humour. By the time they were done, the shadow of Mara's nocturnal visit was erased.
Dishes of shellfish and roasted hazelnuts were brought for her to nibble on.
‘Best you eat now,’ Nechta advised. ‘There will be no hunger later.’
‘You haven't told me what I need to do.’
‘We'll guide you,’ Nechta said. ‘All you have to do is walk to the foot of the altar stone. Ruan is being prepared in the sweat lodge. He'll do the rest.’
A ripple of nervous excitement ran through Skaaha. ‘What if I run away?’
Nechta smiled. ‘Hasn't happened yet,’ she said. ‘But we have much to do before you might get the chance.’
The braiding of her hair took longest. The eagle comb sat like a coronet, its fine chains worked into braids piled high, being wound around her head before they were pulled through to hang down behind into the nape of her neck. The bracelets were positioned, left wrist, right arm and ankle, the toe ring on her left foot. The rings and earrings were added, then the torc. The druids stood back to admire.
‘Wonderful,’ Nechta breathed. ‘Perfectly wonderful.’
The others agreed: never had there been such a Bride. The two-fold cloak was placed round Skaaha's shoulders – red inside, white out. Threads of gold trimmed the white side, copper threads decorated the red. Nechta pushed the brooch's arrow pin through the fine wool to secure it.
Now that she was ready, Skaaha grew tense. Unanswered questions crowded, questions she might have asked Suli, but the old woman had not returned since that first night. Every moment took her closer to the ring of fire, and Ruan. Kylerhea was where she'd rather be, in the forge, beating iron. On the playing field, tumbling and leaping through the air at sunrise. Running, running to the sea.
‘You're pacing, child,’ Nechta said, pouring liquid into a cup. ‘Here, drink this.’ Beltane mead was brewed with honey and the bristly, tongued, bulbous female flowers of native hemp. ‘It will calm you.’ The druids were about to leave. They'd be back, in ceremonial robes, when the drums began. The entrance would be left open, so she could hear. ‘Enjoy the solitude,’ Nechta said, as she left. ‘Your maid of honour will arrive soon.’
That meant it was almost dark. Skaaha sat on her bed, sipped the mead, and tried to feel moved by the birth of a bountiful earth from a sustaining sun, the guiding light of the moon. But the madness that had brought her here won. Let nothing else persuade you, least of all some lovesick fool. She'd misunderstood Nechta's warning. Her stomach churned. The lovesick fool was herself.
Faintly, from above, came the clear notes of pipes, backed by a marching beat on small drums. Distant cheers sounded. A pebble rattled down the steps, feet descended. Skaaha stood. Weapons clinked along the passageway. Fear shook her. Surely they had not sent Mara. The warrior who approached turned in the archway of the chamber, and paused. Fully armed, spear planted at her side, her whitened hair jutted in thick spikes from below a shining helmet that hooded her eyes. She raised her free hand to lift it off her head.
‘Ho,’ she whispered, staring at Skaaha, awestruck, ‘you even look like a goddess.’
‘Eefay!’
‘Who else did you expect?’ her sister asked. ‘And don't say, “You're too young.” The druids asked me.’ She grinned. ‘I hardly had to shout and scream at all.’
Skaaha was too pleased to see her to care. They hugged and admired each other. Skaaha checked the edge on Eefay's weapons, the shine on her shield and helmet. Eefay studied the torc and jewellery, the brooch in the waiting cloak.
‘You really do get every honour handed to you,’ she said. ‘And this Ruan, is he something else I should envy you?’
Booom… the great twin drums interrupted from above.
Skaaha drew a deep breath. ‘We'll both find that out soon,’ she said. Breathe, she told herself. Breathe the way you've been taught.
Booboom… Outside, behind the cavern entrance, the twin drums spoke again. Islanders crowded the slopes, cheering as the massive orb of full moon rose over the horizon. Below them, beside Bride's well, the senior druid raised his arms to greet it. Booboom… The old priest added fuel to the ever-burning fire. Flames leapt. The crowd yelled applause. Booboom… Chanting, Bride's six women druids, in white robes, began the parade up from the standing stones at the hill foot. They walked in pairs, swinging perfumed lamps. Between them, they carried a folded white cloth with which to drape the altar stone.
When that was done they turned towards the cavern entrance. Forming a single line as they walked, one by one, they vanished underground. Booboom… Picking up the chant, the cell's male druids, wearing Danu red, arrived in three pairs. Each one carried an unlit torch. Booboom… One by one, they lit their torches from the ever-burning flame, crossing to light twelve small fire stacks that edged the grassy circle. Booboom… A ring of thirteen fires blazed. Hundreds of excited islanders roared.
In the cavern, the procession of Bride assembled. Two of her priestess druids fetched six young women down the passageway, brought through another entrance that opened from their tented hut. The novices all wore fiery, beaded necklaces. Short cloths tied around their hips matched the creamy white, un-dyed woollen cloak worn by the goddess. Whispering excitedly, they lined up at the foot of the steps.
Shining from a darker sky, the moon's light waxed benignly. On the surrounding slopes, a hush swept through the watching islanders. The twin drums picked up to the pace of a heartbeat. Boom… boom… boom… Six men, strings of flame-coloured beads around their necks, short yellow loin cloths tied around their waists, marched into the ring of fire. The dance of ecstatic death began.
Below, the waiting girls giggled, nervous now their chosen men danced above. The leading druids murmured calming words, swung their perfumed lamps. Further back the line, Eefay coughed and glanced at Skaaha.
‘You look terrified,’ she observed. ‘Did you remember to pee?’
Skaaha nodded. One day she'd pay her sister back. Right now, terror was precisely what she felt. ‘How long does this go on,’ she complained.
In front of her, a druid turned to answer. ‘Till the fires are lit.’
Booboom… The dance ceased. Cheers burst from the crowded slopes. The senior druid raised two unlit torches to the moon for homage then turned to plunge both together into Bride's well of flame. Boom… boom… The drums picked up a slower beat. Two priests ran with the flaming torches to the twin fire stacks that stood north of the sacred circle. Boom… boom… the great Beltane fires were lit.
Waiting in the flickering shadows, the scent of oil mingling with the earthy smell of the cave, Skaaha turned to the priests behind her. ‘Shouldn't we go now?’
‘Listen to the drums,’ Nechta said. ‘Ruan's not there yet.’
‘What if he doesn't come?’ Her mouth spoke the thoughts without intention. ‘Maybe he won't, maybe he'll change his mind.’
Nechta drew a small pot from her robes. ‘Open your cloak,’ she said, dipping her fingers in the pot. Skaaha held the fine wool aside. Nechta's hand parted her thighs. ‘Hundreds of men out there would gladly take his place,’ she murmured, gently massaging oily cream into the vulva of their goddess, ‘but Ruan isn't one who'd run away from this. I promise you that.’
Boom… the drums ceased. Silence settled. Just as it hit the ground, a roll thundered from smaller drums.
Above, in the great theatre, Ruan strode out into the ring of fire. The great drums boomed again, another increa
sed beat. Boom… boom… boom… boom… The dancers stamped and turned around the edges of the ring. Bride's consort walked to stand before the sacred flame, his red cloak flaring. His fair hair, part-tied in a pony's tail at the crown, hung to his jaw-line. Firelight gleamed on the torc at his throat. His bare chest and naked limbs gleamed with oils.
The drums thundered out a second roll. Ruan raised his arms to the Beltane fires, now blazing on the slope behind the well. Turning slowly to pay homage to the moon, he completed a full circle so that everyone on the surrounding pastures could see. A bronze armlet glowed on his right bicep. Low on his hips, a belt was slung. It carried a sparkling scabbard strapped to his thigh. In it, a bronze-handled knife glinted. He wore nothing else. The crowd went wild.
A hush descended. The ground-light of the moon crept towards the edge of the cavern. The drum beat slowed. Pipes and harps from the assembled druid cells began to play the haunting song of Bride. The master priest raised a goblet, passed it through the ever-burning flame, and gave it to Ruan. Turning towards the shadowed entrance of the cave, Ruan stepped forward to the altar. Moonlight illuminated the white cloth. The men who danced the ring of fire turned with him to face the cavern. Drums and pipes dropped to a whisper. The moon's light-shadow lit the steps. From underground, a chant began.
Boom… a women priest in long white robes rose up from the ground, followed by another. Both swung smoky lamps. Boom… each drumbeat sounded a stroke of Bride's hammer as she forged the world. Chanting the between-strokes as they came, the druids walked to the altar, to stand at either side. Boom… one by one, a line of young women appeared behind them. Cheered on by name from those who knew them, they peeled off to each side in turn, to stand before each man. Boom… seated outside the ring, at each alternate fire, the male druids in their red robes joined in the chant. The song of Bride swelled from pipes and harps once more.
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