Aridmis’ quick curiosity, however, was not yet sated. She looked at me. “And what did you see?” she asked eagerly.
I smiled. What could I say? I could scarcely believe what I had seen. Had the Goddess herself really spoken to me? Told me I was…a goddess reborn? Me? But I had felt the power of the raven inside me. I had flown on its black wings and tasted its power. Just thinking of it made my heart race. Maybe I should feel sorry, shocked, or remorse for what I had done, but I didn’t. Madelaine was finally safe. But would these women understand if I told them? Maybe Sid would, but she was not there. She’d gone again to the barrows. And certainly, Druanne would never understand. “The sow…the star flower…and it seemed as though I traveled on raven’s wings across the night’s sky, under the eye of the moon. But most importantly, I learned my dog’s name is Thora.”
Everyone laughed.
“Clearly, she is Cerridwen, a lady of the cauldron. Knowledge and spells will be her work,” Druanne said.
Bride patted my hand. “Another sister of the Great Mother’s dark face. That is well.”
Epona drained her cup and sat looking at the leaves therein.
“No more smithy for her,” Uald said with a grin.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Epona said absently as she studied the leaves, but she did not elaborate.
Soon after, it was time to for our morning rites. It was Beltane, a high holy day for the order of the nine. We ate quickly and went outside.
Epona gathered us in a circle around the fire ring. Without Sid and the wandering Tully, we were only seven, but I could still feel magic resonating. We held hands as Epona called out.
“Mother, we stand here before you as seven of nine daughters. We are your children and your sisters. We worship you and call you into our midst.”
All our attention then turned on the spirit of the Goddess, and it seemed to me that she was present with her earthy, wet magic. I could hear the sound of the birds. I could feel the morning dew, the damp resin of life, on my skin. The rising sun felt warm and soothing on my black hair. A soft breeze full of the fresh, green scents of spring swirled around us. It set my dress, a light blue gown with flower embroidery, aflutter.
“Mother,” Epona called, “on this festival of fertility, we ask you to bless the crops. Let the spring sowing lead to a bountiful harvest. We ask for your loving help, for you to bless the wombs of maidens. May wise souls be born into this earthly plane. We ask you for peace in our land. In return, we give ourselves, your daughters, whole and complete. We dedicate our spirits to your purpose, and we dedicate our wills to heal the land.”
Epona became silent, letting her words trail off into the ether. After several moments, she turned her attention to us. “What say you, sisters? For what do you ask, and what will you give in return?”
Druanne’s voice sounded. “Mother, I ask you to let the land be fruitful with healing herbs so I may better serve your people. In return, I offer my services as cultivator and healer.” Druanne stepped forward and threw a bundle of white sage into the flames. The smoke from the smudge filled the space. We all breathed deeply, letting the herb clear our minds.
Uald’s voice rose next. “Mother, I ask for successful hunts but pray that the wildlife be repopulated. I honor the sanctity of the herds. In return, I offer the length of my hair.”
Uald drew a dagger from her belt. She then cut off her long brown braid and threw it into the fire. The fire crackled. A whirlwind of ash rose upward followed by the smell of burning hair. It was a heavy sacrifice. I studied Uald’s face. Her brow was furrowed. I wondered what secret wish she might have asked for.
“Mother, I come to you as the Crone,” called Bride’s voice. I turned to look at her. “I ask that you use me in these last few years. Make me your instrument. Don’t let me sit as an old woman beside the fire. I ask for purpose. I offer you this gift, a prayer cloth embroidered by my own hands.”
Bride lifted the prayer cloth so we could all see it. It was a fine thing, a long stretch of linen sewn with birds, leaves, acorns, and swirling symbols like those I had seen carved into the standing stones that dotted the lands. She had sewn words in Ogham, names of the Goddess, and blessings. Such prayer cloths were used during childbirth and at sickbeds to protect the vulnerable. It was heavy hearth magic. Bride handed the cloth to Epona who took it gently, kissing Bride on both cheeks.
Everyone turned to Gwendelofar, who stood beside me. “Mother, I ask you guides me on my new path, and teaches me where I should go. Give me your wisdom, and, in return, I give you morning prayers.”
It was a simple enough offering. Now it was my turn. My mind still reeling from my midnight ride, I took a deep breathe. “Mother, I ask that you take pity on yourself. Weep for the land. Weep for the people who have forgotten you. When your weeping is done, I ask you to take up your sword and banish the White Christ from this land. In return, I give my blood.” I pulled a small dagger from my belt then sliced open the palm of my hand. I let my blood flow into the fire. It sizzled when it hit the hot coals. The smell of the burning liquid joined the smell of the sage and Uald’s burnt hair. The heady scent of death and sacrifice filled the air.
The circle had stiffened and, perhaps, had taken in a breath at my call, but it was mine to make. The aching throb in my hand felt powerful. The dark spirit inside me had not left, and it smiled with satisfaction.
Aridmis broke the tension, her voice ringing like a silver bell, cutting the strange silence my vow had made. “Mother, I ask for clarity of vision so that the images before my eyes may be understood. In return, I spin the silver wheel to the future and offer this knowing: this coven will survive for six hundred more years, and when it is finally disbanded, your daughters will not be lost to you. They will carry on in new ways. You will not be forgotten.” Her words settled the air my vow had stirred.
“Mother, for myself I ask that you watch over our sisters, Sid and Tully,” Epona called. “Their travels take them far and to dangerous places. Protect them. In return, I offer my skills as teacher. I shall keep your coven full and fill your daughters’ minds. May our words ride on the wind. May our wishes become substance. May our hearts be full. We give thanks. So mote it be.”
“So mote it be,” we called in reply.
Everyone smiled and began to disband. Blood dripped from my hand to the ground. Druanne came to me, pulling a piece of clean cloth from her healer’s satchel. She pressed it into my hand. “Come, let’s bandage this lest infection set in.”
She led me to the house she shared with Aridmis. The seer had large pieces of parchment spread all over the walls, mapping what I supposed were the stars. Druanne’s side of the room was filled with jars and drying herbs.
“You are very different from the other women here,” Druanne said as she sat me down on her bed. She frowned as she looked over her jars. Her mouth was pulled into two tight lines as she emptied a pinch of root and leaves into a mortar. I smelled a sharp scent that reminded me of anise. She ground the herbs to a find powder and mixed them with a salve.
I chose not to respond. I didn’t want to go to war with her.
Druanne washed my hand and began rubbing the salve on the wound. “Druidic law teaches us to harm none, but it seems you feel that law does not apply to you.”
I smiled and thought on Scotia’s words, remembering the Goddess and what she had said to me. I would harm, but only those who deserved to be harmed. I would protect the innocent, and I would punish those who brought ill will, cruelty for meaningless gains and destruction. It was beyond what Druanne could conceive and so I was sad for her in that she was so wrong.
Druanne looked sharply at me. “I am not wrong,” she told me, pulling the bandage too tight.
I inhaled deeply. “Can you hear my thoughts?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“Scant pictures,” she answered. “Words as if spoken on the wind. But I heard you now, and I am not wrong. What has the Goddess said to you?”
“Why wo
uld I tell you? And what else have you stolen from my mind?”
“Just pictures. I needed to know what kind of girl you are…you are dangerous.”
“What pictures? Name them,” I said, not asking, but commanding.
“A man with black hair and blue eyes. You think of him often,” she said as she tugged on the bandage again.
“Yes, I do,” I replied. Many times my mind wandered, and I dreamed of the man the Wyrd Sisters had called my King. I puzzled it over more than I cared to admit.
“And the Wyrd Sisters. You think of them more.”
I said nothing.
“They are an old and dangerous magic. Their art is not part of our world; it comes from a land now lost. They are something other, and they cannot be trusted. Their ways are not our ways. You are not one of us.”
“The mind, Margaret,” I said, suddenly knowing Druanne’s given name, ”is a trunk full of wisdoms, secrets, desires, and shames. Don’t you dare judge me by what secrets you’ve pulled from me without my permission. I am a young woman and have not yet lived. Think of how you might hate me when you come to know my future. Harm none may belong in your trunk, but protect belongs in mine. Don’t slip your fingers too deeply in or the lid may fall and break them off,” I threatened.
“Or would you rather I look into your trunk?” I continued. “I see you riding away from a hovel where two children and a man slept softly, unknowingly, inside while you abandoned them. Your own children, your family, left behind…what kind of woman are you?” I said, my voice full of venom. I pulled my hand from her grasp.
Druanne paled.
“How does it feel to have someone draw from the well of your mind? Perhaps, all these years, when you have stolen from other people without them inviting, you have been trespassing on a sacred ground. See how it feels, Margaret? Is it kindness? Is it right? No. It is harm. Despite all your pompous piousness, you are no better than the priests of the White Christ.”
Druanne slid to the floor.
It was Scotia who had given me the images, given me Druanne’s secrets.
“How do you know those things?” she whispered.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said and rose. “You are my sister. Treat me with the same respect that you ask for yourself, and we shall get along just fine,” I said. Extending my good hand, I helped the tall woman to her feet.
Druanne looked shaken. “I apologize,” she said, her voice quivering.
I squeezed her hand tightly, a bit too tightly. “Never again.”
She shook her head. “No, never again.”
I let her go. “Thank you for the mend,” I said, looking at my bandaged hand.
“No, thank you,” she replied absently as I turned and left her house.
I stepped outside then leaned against Druanne’s door. I closed my eyes. My head thundered with the sound of raven’s wings, and rage made my hands shake. My anger came too quick, too ready. I took a deep breath and quieted the raven inside me.
Chapter 11
A party of five men rode into the coven. Their rough and brawny appearance made it seem as though we were being invaded by Vikings. But they were the bards of the north, handsome men more built for warfare than music. Each man carried an instrument strapped to his back; some carried a battle axe or a sword as well.
Epona rushed to greet them while Uald helped with their horses.
“Cerridwen?” Epona called.
I crossed the yard to join her.
“This is Bergen,” Epona said, introducing me to a fair-haired giant with a harp strapped across his back, “He is the chief bard amongst this group.” Bergen’s long locks were braided at the temples. He also wore braids in his beard. He had swirling tattoos around his forehead and down his arms.
“My Lord,” I said with a curtsey.
“My my, a Lady amongst your flock, Epona?” he said with a smile.
She smiled in reply but said nothing.
Gwendelofar joined us. “He-hello,” she stammered meekly.
Bergen smiled at her. “Good morrow to you, Mistress. Men, where are your manners? Come meet Epona’s new sisters,” he called to the others, introducing us to Brant, Ivar, Frey, and Sigurd in turn.
The bards bowed to us.
“Ladies, we shall have music tonight!” Brant, a dark-haired bard with a beard that stretched to his belly said as he strummed his lute. “Praise be to the gods!”
The bard introduced as Sigurd, a tall man with fiery red hair and deep blue eyes, laughed. “If you’re not passed out by nightfall!” He then smiled toward Uald and leaned in toward Gwendelofar and me, “I’d recite you fine ladies a romantic ballad, but Uald finds them dull,” he said teasingly.
“Love poetry is dull,” Uald replied, just barely hiding her smile, then headed off to the barn with the horses. “Sing about battle,” she called with a laugh.
“Are you sure she isn’t a raven goddess?” Frey, who had a drum strapped on his back, asked Epona.
It was my turn to laugh.
“Perhaps these ladies are more romantically-minded?” Ivar, a slim man whose bald head was covered in tattoos, said to Gwendelofar and me.
Gwendelofar smiled kindly at Ivar then turned to Sigurd. “I would like to hear,”’ she said but blushed and looked down, her long lashes resting on her cheeks. Beltane was truly the holiday for maidens. Gwendelofar looked lovelier than ever; her skin was pale but her cheeks were as rosy as apples.
“You see, there is always one romantic in the crowd,” Sigurd yelled to Uald who waved dismissively, shaking her head. “Of course, My Lady, as you wish” he told Gwendelofar.
I grinned at them.
“Come,” Epona called. She led everyone to the benches around the fire and soon Brant and Bergen were playing a tune. Aridmis and Druanne, who wouldn’t meet my eye, joined us. Aridmis began pouring ale and honey mead for our guest. The sounds of the lute and harp chimed through the forest in harmony.
I headed to the stables to help Uald.
“Lend you a hand?” I called.
“Well, that sliced one will be no good to me for a day or so, but I’ll take the other,” she replied with a laugh. “I’ve just filled the water trough. Mind leading them over?”
Taking the reins of the bards’ horses, I led the motley crew to the water. They drank quickly while they whinnied back and forth with the mares in the pen. Kelpie was not pleased about the competition. He neighed loudly and kicked at the fence in outrage. After all, he’d just become king of his little herd.
Uald laughed. “Bunch of horny lads, just like those men over there. They are good men, Corb—Cerridwen, but they are men all the same,” she said as she came to stand beside me, watching the horses drink. Uald leaned against the barn wall, gazed at the bards, then leaned in close to me. “Epona won’t say a word, but Elaine would probably curse me if I didn’t remind you that your maidenhead comes with a price…set by the King. Here we are free, but I know it’s not the same for you as it wasn’t with Elaine. But your life is your own. Choose your own path.”
I nodded. I knew her words were true. I had to enter whatever bridal contract was drawn up for me as a maiden. When the Great Mother had ruled the land, women had ruled their wombs, but today this was not so. I felt indignant. If I chanced upon a man I wanted, I would let no such rules stop me.
“You know, I saw you once when you were just a little girl,” Uald continued. “Elaine met me at the brook to show you to me. What a darling thing you were, pretty raven-headed child. She loved you so much. You were wicked though. You damned near drowned just trying to splash her. Boite’s daughter. A wild little pixie.” She paused and looked at me. “Ah, what the hell, come on, let’s go get drunk,” she said with a laugh. Taking me by the arm, Uald led me across the yard and filled us tankards of ale. We sat down by the fire and drank.
Soon Aridmis joined the men in song. They began to recite the tale of Emer and Cú Chulainn. I cast a glance around the circle. Emer. It had been my mother’s name.
How odd she would find me there.
I knew the story well. In my mind, it had become one with the tale of my own father and mother:
In the land of Ulster across the sea
The Lady Emer possessed great beauty
Adored by the hero Cú Chulainn
Emer would wife this man of legend
Forgall sent brave Cú Chulainn to Alba
To Skye and the lady of Shadows
Mighty Cú Chulainn would prove his prowess
If he would win the fair Emer
Sword, shield, and axe did the Lady teach
But still Forgall denied Cú Chulainn’s reach
So brave Cú Chulainn wrung Emer from her father’s side
To wed her and bed her and make her a bride
Fair Emer, whose love never faltered
And Cú Chulainn whose love never died
Forever they live in the land of the young
In bliss
Aridmis’ voice was sweet and rung like a bell. Her words echoed across the hills. The legend of Emer soaked into the land, and I wondered, not for the first time, about my family across the sea. To my Irish family, I was nothing more than a bastard. But whose bastard was I? On what throne on the Isle of the Mighty did my maternal grandfather sit? Whose Irish blood ran in my veins? All my life I was told, and I knew from my father, that I was the kin of Kenneth MacAlpin, the great hero of Alba, the man who had quelled the Picts, united the clans, a High King of Scotland. I was a MacAlpin. But to what other family did I belong? Why did no one ever speak of it? Maybe, my mother and father both gone, no one knew anymore. The thought saddened me.
Between playing songs, the men talked of their travels and gave us news of the outside world. Through them I learned that King Malcolm was busy fighting King Magnus of Norway from his shores and was at odds with Lord Thorfinn over the ownership of the northern-most provinces of Scotland. To the south, English King Cnut was fighting amongst his own people and lesser lords who had risen against him. Unsurprisingly, the affairs of men were the same as always.
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