Ceallach nodded in agreement. “He is cunning and if we do not prepare, he could easily slip enemies into the village right under our nose and watch us fall with a smile across his lips,” he continued. “We will need to take every precaution to protect Tara.”
Rubbing his forehead, Ainmire leaned forward and leaned against the table. “It would be helpful if we had a priestess…” he murmured in thought. “Had Méav not turned her back on this village, had she not tempted Ailill with power and then betrayed him, we would not be in this situation. Tara would be safe…”
“Tara will not be without a priestess for long,” stated Ceallach.
Ainmire raised a brow in question.
“Réalta may have brought you a wife, but she will not be leaving alone,” the Fomorii man continued. “Shiovra, daughter of Tríonna, shows great promise. It Réalta’s intentions to return to Rúnda with the girl and train her as a High Priestess.”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Shiovra sat once more at the loom. The sun had set and the girl continued to mull over what the correct choice would be. Her mother had confronted her earlier, dejectedly telling her that her aunt was to leave at dawn and she was to choose to either go with her and train or remain at Tara. Mahon had appeared depressed the rest of the day after learning that there was a chance she may leave and angered at his mother for telling him that he had no say in the matter.
Tara had fallen quiet as the sun set and the darkness of night crept across the land, marking the end of the Beltaine festivities. Their small cottage was utterly silent, save for the soft clacking coming from the loom as Shiovra wove the beautiful cloth. She did not pause in her movements as she looked around at the faces of her kin.
Her mother sat at the table near the hearth, sipping a hot cup of honey mead. Mahon leaned against a cottage support post, mindlessly running a piece of oiled cloth along the blade of a sword he had recently forged. Daire sat across from the fire, chipping away at a long stick with a dagger. And though she could not see Réalta, who sat in the shadows, Shiovra could feel her eyes watching her like a hawk. Ceallach’s presence was lacking as he had gone to stand guard outside the main cottage where Ainmire and his bride had retired for the night.
Suddenly, a chilling feeling raced through Shiovra’s body, making the girl shiver. The clacking stopped and the shuttle fell from her fingers to the floor. She could feel all eyes turn to her, but she no longer saw their faces. The cold feeling of hate and rage consumed her, gripping her in terror.
Shiovra found herself frozen as she turned a pale face to her mother. “They come…” she breathed, fear weighing heavily in her voice. “They come!”
Tríonna blinked, confused. “Who comes?”
She brought a shaking hand up to point towards the door. “Angry kin of Ith…”
Tríonna frowned, then realization set in and she blanched. Glancing hastily at Réalta, she gathered her skirts and quickly made her way to the door. As she threw it open, a piercing scream ripped through the air. Down the hill and all around, fires could be seen dotting the dark village.
Réalta came to stand behind Tríonna, her own face ashen. “What is this…?” she murmured. “Has the battle come to us so soon?”
Tríonna spun from the door and took the Mahon’s sword from his hands. Turning to her elder sister, her face pleading, she said, “Get them away from here. Take them by way of earth, make sure they are safe. Please, sister, it is all that I ask.”
Réalta nodded, her face firm. “Aye,” she replied. “That I shall do.” Taking hold of Shiovra’s hand, she beckoned Mahon and Daire to follow her. “Come, now, come quickly.”
As she was being led away from her mother, Shiovra looked back, a terrible feeling filling her. “Mother!” she cried out.
Tríonna smiled reassuringly. “Go with her, Shiovra. Everything will be all right,” she told her daughter, voice warm and comforting.
Yet, something told the girl not to believe the words spoken to her. Stumbling as she was tugged along, Shiovra bit back tears as Réalta led them from their tiny cottage and towards the chieftain’s.
The night air was cold and the fires a frightening sight. Screams and shouts filled the air, seemingly surrounding them. Warriors rushed to meet with the enemy, paying little heed to Réalta and the children as they hastened their way up the path.
Réalta ushered the children urgently into the main cottage. She ran to a large woven rug sitting along the back wall of the cottage, casting it aside to reveal a wickerwork door set into the earthen floor. Pulling the door open, she urged the children down the ladder and into the souterrain, a small dirt room dug beneath the cottage and primarily used for food storage. After they were safely in the earthen chamber, she made her way down, pulling the wooden door shut behind her.
Light flared in the small chamber as Réalta called flames to life on a torch, handing it to Mahon.
“Hold this a moment, and keep your voices down,” she ordered quietly. Moving to the far side of the chamber, she placed her hands on the large stone serving as a wall. Closing her eyes, Réalta began to murmur in a hushed voice. “Great Mother Dana, please grant us passage so that I may led these children to safety.”
At first, silence greeted them, but Shiovra could feel it, a change to the air, and a shift in power.
Then, slowly, the stone shifted, moving aside to reveal a long, dark passageway through the earth itself. Ushering the children into the narrow passage, Réalta took the torch from Mahon. Silently, she beckoned them to follow her down the dark, packed earth tunnel.
The heavy grating sound of the stone sliding back into place behind them filled the air.
Shiovra ran her fingers along the cool, damp earth. She could still feel the lingering shift in power as it pulsed through her veins, a wild and dancing energy.
Mahon trudged behind her, his face foreboding. Daire followed his mother and glanced back at Shiovra periodically, worry evident on his face. After a third glance, he reached back and took hold of her hand, lacing her fingers with his own.
Off in the darkness behind them, muffled shouts could be heard. Shiovra froze as fear rushed through her and Mahon glanced anxiously at his aunt.
Réalta paused briefly and considered her sister’s two children as well as her own son. “Shhh…” she whispered softly. “They cannot find us here, for they cannot find what has never been. Come now, we have a long way yet to go.” Turning, she continued down the tunnel.
The children followed her without a word, not even questioning once about the tunnel or how she called it forth. Time seemed endless in the tunnel. The smoke from the torch was becoming unbearable. The children knew not how long they walked or where they would end up once they emerged, or if they would even find the end.
Shiovra began to grow weary of walking. Her feet ached and protested with every step she took. A rock would occasionally dig into a tender part of her foot and she would bite her tongue, as not to cry out in pain. After a while, Mahon came to an abrupt halt and ducked down so that Shiovra could climb onto his back.
They continued until a breeze began to whisper through the passage and the flames of the torch danced wildly in response. A dim light came from where the passage turned ahead of them.
Extinguishing the flames, Réalta told the children to take each other’s hands and follow her. She led them through the dimly lit passageway and, as they made their way towards the turn, it became easier to see in the tunnel. Finally, an opening came into view.
A cool, damp breeze swirled around them as they stepped out into the first graying of dawn. The ground shook gently as the tunnel fell in on itself, once more becoming part of the land. Turning, they found Tara behind them, just off in the distance. The fires no longer burned and smoke drifted from the charred remains of cottages. The attackers had left and Tara remained standing, for the most part.
A man on horseback made his way towards them, another steed following.
Shiovra, fearing him the enem
y, held onto Mahon tighter. As he neared, however, she recognized his as Daire’s father, Ceallach Neáll. His clothes were torn and dirty, splattered lightly with blood. There was more blood on his face, but none of it appeared to be his own.
He came to a stop as he neared them, his face ever the unreadable mask.
“What tidings, Ceallach?” queried Réalta anxiously.
“The attackers have gone. They were an unusual lot, with hair that had been washed in lime,” he replied, dismounting. “I do not believe the attack is connected to Ailill…” He paused a moment, his eyes drifting back to the village. “There were but a few deaths, mostly injuries. Ainmire lives, as does Deirdre. I could see no obvious purpose behind the attack, other than it was meant to be a warning. For now, we must focus on tending to those who were wounded.”
“And…” Réalta continued, hesitation in her voice. “What of my sister?”
Ceallach met the woman’s gaze. “She…has fallen,” he said heavily. “Tríonna received a grievous wound while protecting some of the village women. We could not stop the bleeding and…her life was lost.”
Shiovra fell to her knees, letting her tears fall freely as she grieved the loss of her mother.
Réalta bowed her head. “May Dana’s light be with her through the darkness and may she only know tranquility,” she murmured softly. “See to it that my sister is given the honor due to a priestess of the Túath. May her pyre burn brightly.”
Ceallach nodded. With a set face, he turned to Mahon. “Come, young Mahon,” he said quietly. “You as well, Daire. We will need every hand possible.”
The boys nodded mutely.
Réalta turned to Shiovra, touching her lightly on the shoulder. “What of you, Shiovra? Do you wish to remain here and aid in their recovery, or come with me and train so that you may be able to protect these people?”
Mahon started. “No!” he protested, rushing to Shiovra’s side and throwing his arms around her tightly. “Don’t take her from me! We just lost mother, and we’ve already lost father. I will not lose her as well!” Anger and pain hung heavily in his voice. “Shiovra…please don’t leave…”
Shiovra remained numb, unable to bring herself to move.
The heavy sound of hooves pounding against the earth reached them, followed by a shout, “Lord Ceallach!”
The Fomorii man turned as a man approached quickly on horseback. “Earnán?” he asked.
The man pulled his steed to a halt. “Lord Ceallach,” he said breathlessly. “One of the attackers returned…saying he was sent as a messenger…”
“And what tidings did he bring?” Réalta demanded harshly.
“The messenger said that their leader is a man called Míl,” explained Earnán, “who claims to be a kinsman of Ith. Míl has declared his intentions to extract revenge for Ith’s death. He comes with not only warriors, but families. He not only seeks war, but to lay claim to all of Éire.”
“My assumptions were correct,” muttered Ceallach. “This attack was a warning. A display of what they are capable of. We are lucky they did not lay claim to Tara this night.” He exhaled heavily. “We can only hope the High Chieftains, Mac Cuill, Mac Cecht, and Mac Gréine, are able to forge a peace treaty.”
“They call themselves the Milidh,” Earnán added.
Shiovra looked up at the men. “They are a clan filled of war and vengeance,” she told them in a small voice. “I could feel it. The energies in the air were laden with their want of bloodshed.” She shivered unconsciously.
Ceallach regarded the girl quietly for a moment, his face showing a rare glimpse of softness, before he turned back to the other man. “Earnán, round up every able man. We need to bind wounds and strengthen our defenses. Though this was a warning, we cannot allow our guard to slip.”
“Aye!” Earnán replied, nodding. He turned his steed sharply and gave it a sharp kick, riding back towards the broken village.
Réalta crouched down beside Shiovra, touching her shoulder once more, only to have Mahon hold onto the girl more possessively. “Have you decided?” she asked, paying little mind to her nephew’s actions.
“Shiovra?” Mahon begged softly, peering down at his sister’s face.
Shiovra took a deep breath and pushed her brother away. “I must, Mahon,” she said softly, a great seriousness to her words for a child of eight. “This is something I must do. I want to protect this village and by continuing my training is the only way I can.”
Mahon’s face fell and he looked away from his sister in defeat.
Daire stepped up to Shiovra as she rose to her feet. “Don’t worry about us,” he told her with a warm smile. “You’ll be back home before you know it.”
Holding her calm, Shiovra nodded.
“We need to leave,” Réalta said. She glanced at Ceallach, who nodded, then mounted the steed.
Shiovra allowed Ceallach to lift her onto the horse, then looked at her brother, tears running down her cheeks. “We will see each other again,” she said, a smile touching her lips. “I promise you that, brother. I will come home and I will be stronger.”
Mahon numbly nodded.
With a swift kick, Réalta urged the horse into a steady canter, heading towards the east. Shiovra glanced back only once, looking at Daire and her brother. She would not worry, she would not cry and she would return to Tara as a priestess who could defend her people. Biting her bottom lips she turned her face to the east where her destiny lay.
1. VISIONS
A full moon hung brightly against the star speckled deep sapphire folds of the night sky. The wind was calm and cool, whispering lightly as it stirred the slender blades of grass. Silvery moonlight shone down into a lush clearing surrounded by apple trees. The tall grass was dotted with vivid flowers and vines climbed nearby over a crumbling stone wall. The clearing was filled with a wild, marvelous splendor.
The steady beat of a drum drifted across the tranquil air. Under the moonlight women stood in a circle, their braided hair adorned with flowers. They chanted in a singsong manner. An older woman with glistening silver hair wearing deep purple sat upon a slab of rock, putting forth the rhythmic beat, while the circle of women would occasionally clap their hands together. She played the bodhrán with deft movement as she beat the double-headed tipper against the goat skin that had been stretched across the wooden drum frame.
Standing at the edge of the woods, shrouded in the shadows of a deep green cloak, was a young woman looking into the clearing. She let the steady rhythmic beat fill her body, luring her away from the world surrounding her.
Taking a deep breath, she began to walk towards the circle, her pace matching the steady beat. The circle parted and she stepped to the center. Pushing down the hood, she let the cloak fall to her feet. Her long, red-gold hair tumbled unbound in gentle waves to her waist. She stood with her eyes closed, her fair skin pale in comparison to her dark, sleeveless shift. A blue spiraling design curled by her right eye, marked on her skin with paste from the woad plant. Directly beneath the left side of the young woman’s collarbone were three interlocking arcs intertwined with a circle; a triquerta, the mark representing the threefold law.
A woman stepped up and, with gentle and deft fingers, began to weave small white flowers into the younger woman’s long hair. Two other women took on the task of wafting the woman with smoking bunches of chamomile and meadowsweet.
A thick, milky fog began to roll into the clearing, slowly creeping its way towards the circle of women. It swirled and glistened in the moonlight. Reaching up, the fog licked at the skin of the young woman, cold and tingling. She could feel power surrounding her as she stood still, eyes closed. Her face remained calm, the feel of power like a gentle wind, caressing her cheeks and hair.
“This day has been long awaited.” Another woman took a step forward, the moonlight making her mahogany hair glisten. A smile crossed her lips as she looked the younger woman over. “You have done well,” she said. “You have trained hard with the utmost de
dication and determination. You have prevailed over every trial set before you.” She gestured to an old woman grinding a paste in an earthen bowl. “Come with open arms and be given the honor of a High Priestess.”
The elderly woman stepped forward and began to trace designs with the paste on the skin of the young woman’s left arm, painting her.
“As ye harm none, do as thou will,” the woman said, reciting a well-practiced rede. “Do nothing that would harm another, nor thyself, lest it come back to you threefold or cost you your own life. Do nothing to try and altar one’s own free will.”
The young woman gave a slight nod, careful not to move too much while her arm was being painted. “Aye,” she replied.
“No matter what, you shall be forever known for who you are.” The older woman smiled. She stepped up to the young woman and, taking her hands within her own, pulled her attention. “Do you vow to obey Dana, our great mother? To uphold the threefold law and honor the rede?”
The young woman with the red-gold hair opened pale, silver-blue eyes to look at the woman. A gentle smile touched her delicate lips. “Aye,” she replied. “With open arms and open heart.”
The woman gave a small nod. “Then we welcome you into the service of the Great Mother, High Priestess to Tara, Shiovra daughter of Tríonna of the Túath.” She stepped back and rejoined the circle.
Shiovra stood alone as the women tightened their circle and began to dance around her to the rapid beat of the bodhrán. She listened to their singsong chanting and the soft sound of their feet upon the ground. Looking up at the moon, Shiovra threw her hands into the air as the women gave one loud, resounding clap of their hands.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
The sky became black with heavy clouds. The tranquil night fled swiftly, only to be replaced by a strong, moaning wind. Lightning flashed, clawing against the sky. The wickerwork door of a small cottage rattled noisily under the force of the wind as it gained strength, becoming harsher and louder. The ground trembled as thunder clapped. Lightning filtered through the cracks in the wickerwork door before it flew open, unable to hold against the strength of the wind any longer, sending a strong gust to tear through the cottage, swirling around a young woman sleeping.
Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) Page 2