by J. M. Hofer
Aveta sighed. “But nothing could be done about it – he simply could not be left unguided with such powers, and not even my mother could help him. It was decided that he would stay with Talhaiarn for five years, and that Talhaiarn would take Morvran on as an apprentice after that time. I knew my sister would be furious. I dreaded the day I would see her again. I promised Gwion I would stay close, but had to leave him with Talhaiarn until his studies were complete. You know the rest of the story.”
Lucia looked around but Gwion had not returned with them. She had an overwhelming desire to hold him close, and wished he were there. They worked in silence for awhile, Lucia thinking of everything that Aveta had told her. Her thoughts wandered to Bran and his sister, and the trouble they were in. “What does it mean now that Bran is Chieftain of the South?”
Aveta spoke without taking her fingers from her work. “It means he’s pledged his life to protect the Priestess, his sister, the people of his clan, and the relic of the South - the sword Dyrnwyn.”
“What will his life be like?”
“Well, for now, it means that until Cerridwen and Morvran are stopped, he and his people will be in constant danger, that’s certain. If Cerridwen indeed wants the sword he carries, she’ll likely stop at nothing to get it. I know my sister. She’s relentless.”
“Can he take a wife?”
Aveta looked up at her, eyes compassionate. “He could, but it’s doubtful he will as long as his sister remains the priestess. Were he to marry, his duties to his wife would interfere with his duties as her protector. This is why, traditionally, a clan priestess chooses her lover to be her protector.”
Lucia realized in that moment how much she truly wanted Bran for herself. The hope of having him by her side someday had been feeding her courage. With that hope taken from her, the world began to look darker. “Why do you think his sister made such a choice? Doesn’t she have a man she loves?”
“I don’t know, Lucia. It’s possible that she’s chosen to devote herself to study or worship. However, I know of very few women from the Southern clan like that. They’re a passionate people. The last time I saw Lady Seren she was but fifteen. Even at that age, she was stunningly beautiful. She possessed many charms that did not go unnoticed by men. I’m sure she’s still beautiful and could have her pick of many lovers.
“Then why would she choose her brother as her protector?”
Aveta made two arrows before she answered. “I believe I know why Lady Seren chose him. Would you like me to share my thoughts?”
“Yes, of course. Please.”
“In dark times such as these, I believe that Lady Seren has set aside what she wants as a woman, and rather chose what her clan needs. By doing so, she’s proven she was wisely appointed as priestess of her clan. She had a very important choice to make, and not much time to make it in. She needed to choose a man she could trust—the man in her clan best suited to defend her and protect the relic with his life. She must have felt that Bran, although her brother, was that man, and chose him over a lover.”
Lucia felt small and selfish. She sat in silence for a few moments. “I’m ashamed. I’m thinking only of myself.”
Aveta looked up at her. “I understand. I saw your eyes light up as they haven’t for two years when Lord Bran was with us. Perhaps for longer than that, for I don’t think you ever looked at Camulos that way.” She smiled and reached across the table. “I long to see you happy again. You deserve a good husband by your side. Please know I don’t fault you for your disappointment.”
Lucia finished winding the thin strip of leather around the arrowhead in her hands and tossed it into the basket. She nodded and left it at that.
The night wore on, everyone working until every quiver and basket sat full, and then they retired for a few hours rest.
Lucia lay down on the furs that served as her bed, grateful she had slept earlier that evening. She knew those few hours would be all the rest she would get.
CHAPTER NINE
Firebrand
Aelhaearn stormed through the trees, passionately searching for something to torch to death. He left the path and surged through the forest, scanning everything around him with the skill of a hawk. Flames, barely contained within his hands and fingers, were ready to leap and consume whatever pathetic creature dared to cross his path.
The forest grew denser, branches reaching out and snagging at his clothes. They scratched his skin and jabbed him in the thighs and ribs, but he welcomed the pain.
He ran quite some time, until, finally, he burst out of the trees into a glade with a deep pool he had never seen before.
He looked for any sign of the enemy, but nothing except falling snow came toward him. It winked around the placid silver face of the moon, covering the autumn leaves.
He went to the edge of the pool and unleashed the full fury of his fire into the water. Soon it was steaming in front of him, and he collapsed to his knees from exhaustion. The surface of the water had turned smooth and glassy, steam rising toward the stars above. He found it peaceful to watch, and allowed himself to be soothed by it.
Something began rising out of the water. He arched his hands to burn it until he realized it was a woman’s head. She emerged slowly into the moonlight, water flowing from her silky dark hair down over her breasts and shoulders, and steam rising off her skin into the cold air around them. She stared at him. He dared not move nor speak for fear he would wake from his dream, and she would disappear.
She looked up into the sky, letting the snowflakes fall and melt on her face, and then met his eyes. “Thank you for warming the water. It feels like Summer making love to the Winter.” After staring at him for some time, she asked, “Are you a king?”
Spellbound, he could not answer.
“Why will you not speak to me? Are you mute?”
“No.”
“Ah, good—you are not mute.”
“No, I’m not a king.” He watched the moonlight dance on the water around her.
“Not a king? A priest, then?”
He did not answer.
“Not a king, nor a priest? Well, what are you, then? The Guardians do not bestow the Firebrand on ordinary men.”
She bathed languidly, never taking her eyes off him, her breasts or knees occasionally rising to the surface of the water like lilies.
He didn’t answer her, because he was ashamed of the truth. I’m a man of no rank whatsoever, with few possessions, no wife, no children, and a simple trade. He had been waiting for a future that had suddenly been snatched away from him that night.
“I’m a seeker,” he finally answered.
“A seeker? Then what is it that you seek, Firebrand?”
He felt himself growing angry again. “Justice.”
“Is that all?” She swam closer. Though her dark beauty beckoned to him, he was wary. He thought back to the childhood stories of men being lured into the water by the mischievous faerie, and then pulled to the bottom and drowned.
“Who are you?” Aelhaearn inched a bit closer.
She ignored his question a second time. “Come now, Firebrand. Surely you want more than that. What of power? Fortune? Glory? These are the things a great man seeks and longs for…Imagine! Having your name sung around the campfires of future generations, echoing through the ages. What of these things? Do they not call to you?”
They do. They had for as long as he could remember. Until Bran returned, he had been sure they would all be his. The clan trusted him, they respected him, and Seren loved him. This is not how it was supposed to be—I was to be Chieftain, and protector of the woman I love.
“Ahhhhh. They do call to you, don’t they?” She interrupted his thoughts and swam closer. “You say you seek justice. Justice for what?”
Her beauty tempted him to reach in and pull her warm body out of the water, but he resisted, staying where he was. “I have long served my people, but they’ve betrayed me tonight. Our chieftain passed not long ago, a great man who I kno
w favored me to follow in his place, but our priestess has convinced the clan to choose another.”
“I see.” She cocked her head. “Why do you suffer this man to come and take what is yours? Learn from your brother, the stag—when another challenges him, he does not slink like a coward into the forest. He fights until he is either defeated or victorious. Great men seize what they desire.”
Her words stung.
“What if I told you I could help you?” she ventured.
“What do you mean?” He grew irritated.
“I can help you, Firebrand. I can see you are meant for great things. I can help you become Chieftain, if that is what you desire.”
“I don’t need your help,” he snapped angrily. He had suffered enough assaults on his pride for one night.
“As you wish.” A smirk crossed her face. “Farewell, Firebrand.”
With that, she dove down beneath the steaming water and disappeared.
***
Aelhaearn sat by the pool for some time after his mysterious visit. She had been right, whoever—or whatever—she was.
He could not run away and give up everything he had worked for, yet he could not go back as she suggested and slay Bran to take it, either. I am no murderer.
There was only one way. I must make the clan see that I’m the better choice. On Nos Galan Gaeaf, I’ll challenge Bran for the title.
He got up off the ground and began walking back to the village. He cast a small ball of fire out in front of him to illuminate his way. It was not long before he heard dogs barking and Einon’s voice calling to him from a distance.
“Einon!” he yelled back, angry that the old man was out in the forest alone. Old fool! He would never forgive himself if something happened to him. He ran in the direction of Einon’s voice, knowing that any enemy who might be hiding in the forest could surely hear him as well. He found him with Gareth by his side, spears at the ready.
“Thank the gods you haven’t left us.” Einon let out a sigh.
The relief he saw in the old man’s eyes melted the last of his anger. “No, I haven’t left.” He clapped him on the shoulder, feeling guilty that he had most definitely considered it an hour earlier. “I needed to think.”
“Then think when the sun rises! We need you, Aelhaearn,“ Einon chided. “More than ever. We have no idea what type of enemy we’re up against, so what gifts the gods have given you, please don’t take them from your people now. ”
“Indeed,” Gareth agreed. “The men are asking for you. Things are graver than we thought. The Northmen arrive in two days, and we mean to hunt this enemy out. We need you.”
“Let’s get back, then.” Aelhaearn felt encouraged.
The men are asking for you. The words gave him hope. In time, they would see.
They’ll see, and I’ll have my opportunity.
CHAPTER TEN
What Lurks
The Sisters made their way south on foot in small groups. They traveled as inconspicuously as possible, wearing hooded cloaks the color of brush. They chose paths along rivers or lakes whenever they could, for a mist would willingly roll off the surface of the water to conceal them.
Lucia’s company consisted of six women, including herself – Lady Elayn, one of the higher initiates, Llygoden, so called because of her small size and quickness, the twins, Ina and Ivy, and the beautiful Creirwy. She and Creirwy were a pair, as were Lady Elayn and Llygoden, and the twins, obviously. They never left each other’s side anyway.
They trudged along in silence, their soft boots crushing the long rushes beneath their steps. Lucia focused on Lady Elayn’s dark braid as it swung back and forth down her back, its pendular dance and the steady rhythm of the march lulling her into a quiet state of reflection.
Her mind wandered to many places, the happiest being the time she had recently spent with Bran. At times, she thought of seeing him again and her stomach leapt, but those little sparks of joy were quickly snuffed out by her ever-growing worries. What if we never make it to his village? What if his village has already been attacked? Gods—what if he’s dead?
They moved quietly, yet quickly, rarely stopping to rest. She was glad of her morning runs to the lake. She was sure she would not have been able to keep up otherwise. Occasionally, Elayn stopped and motioned to the rest of them in sign language which Lucia did not understand. She just did whatever Creirwy did, and that seemed to work. They virtually disappeared into the landscape, crouching down in the long grass, until Elayn gave the signal indicating whatever possible danger she had perceived was no longer there.
“Tell me about your mother,” she asked Creirwy later that afternoon. “About Cerridwen, I mean,” she corrected herself, feeling clumsy. “Forgive me.”
Creirwy was silent so long that Lucia regretted asking, but at last she answered. “I haven’t seen her in years, but I remember her being stubborn. I was always careful not to make her angry. Sometimes I’d feel relieved that she didn’t pay much attention to me—that way, if I forgot something or did it wrong, she wouldn’t notice. I don’t remember being held by her. She was always with my brother. My fondest memories are of Gwion and Aveta—to me, they are my true mother and brother. I was devastated when they left. I wanted so badly to go with them, but I’d just reached the age of initiation, and Aveta pleaded with me to stay with my grandmother and begin my training. I did as she asked. I missed them so much—so much that I grew to hate my mother, for I knew it was because of her that they had to leave. I thought I’d overcome my anger towards her, but hearing of what she’s done now, I realize I have overcome nothing. My anger still burns whenever I think of it. Right in here—“ She put her hand over her chest. “Again, she seeks to destroy everything I love and respect. I hate that I despise the woman I should hold most dear in life. I often pray to the Great Mother, asking why this is so, and why I was not truly born to Aveta instead.”
“Does she answer?”
“Yes. She tells me to be patient. That one day I will know why.”
“That’s not much of an answer, is it?”
Creirwy smiled. “No, I suppose not, but I have at least learned that the Great Mother reveals things in her own time, and it’s foolish to expect her to reveal them in yours.”
Lucia suddenly felt like the more childish of the two of them, though Creirwy was younger than she was. I miss my mother. How wonderful would it be to return to the Isle with her, after all this fearful trouble is over? I wonder if I could convince her to come… “Creirwy, did you know my mother left the Isle to marry my father?”
“Yes. I’ve heard her story. My grandmother doesn’t like to speak of it. She becomes very upset.”
“I’ve been told,” Lucia nodded. “Do you think, when my father passes away, that my mother would be allowed to return to the Isle?”
Creirwy wrinkled her brow. “I don’t know—you should ask Lady Elayn, or Aveta. They’re wiser about such things.”
The thought of her father’s death, though dark, started Lucia thinking. She felt certain her mother would outlive her father. Then, all of them could be together again. Surely, something could be done.
The other women kept mostly silent that day. The twins followed behind them. They were thin and blonde, with very pale skin. Like two stars. Lucia smiled.
Soon it was dusk. After some searching, Elayn beckoned to them the base of a large oak. “We will sleep here tonight,” she announced. “Sisters, help me cast a circle.”
The women pulled handfuls of salt from pouches on their belts. Moving clockwise, they cast a wide circle of protection around the tree.
Elayn turned to Lucia. “Watch and learn. We are asking the Spirit of the Oak, the Great Mother and the Guardians to watch over us tonight. The salt we are casting marks the edges of a sacred space for us to sleep within. Do not step outside the circle until the sun rises tomorrow, and even then, not without Creirwy by your side.”
Lucia nodded, fear rising again in her breast. Oh, get ahold of yourself!
She had grown sick of fear. She watched as Creirwy and Llygoden sprinkled salt, chanting as they circled the tree. Lady Elayn prayed to the oak directly, asking for protection for each of them by name.
Though their ways were strange to her, Lucia felt safe with those women. Lady Elayn, especially—she reminded her so much of Aveta. She stood very close to her, listening to her supplications, then to her singing. She dared not speak nor move for fear of disturbing her.
After some time, the circle was cast and the women gathered at the base of the tree.
“She will cast snow tonight, which is a blessing, but we cannot build a fire. It will call too much attention,” Elayn advised. “We will have to sleep close together and share all the blankets and cloaks we have for warmth.”
Lucia was confused. “Why would snow be a blessing? We’ll freeze tonight.”
Elayn smiled. “What is snow, but frozen water? The Mother is sending us the best protection she can.”
The roots at the base of the tree provided a nice natural crescent for them all to lean into. Each woman pulled a blanket from her pack. Some they laid upon the ground. With the others, they covered themselves, overlapping each other as much as possible. They also had their cloaks—they were made of good, thick wool, and were lined with fur. Even without a fire, they would be warm.
After settling in, Lucia began to worry. What am I doing here? She looked over at Elayn.
“What is it?”
“I fear I shouldn’t have come,” Lucia eyed the dark forest. “I’ve hunted, but I’ve never been attacked by a man or an animal—I’m afraid when the time comes, I’ll be too frightened to act.” There. I’ve said it.
A small warm hand patted her thigh in reassurance. It was Llygoden. “I’m scared too. I’ve never been off the Isle before. I was to go to Beltane for the first time this year.”
“And you still shall,” Creirwy interjected, trying to lighten the mood.