by P. C. Cast
“A simple thank ye will serve very well,” said Rosin. “Follow the path that way. Ye will find the heart of the camp and Queen Boudica.”
“Thanks!” Alex grinned and, feeling better than she had in days, started down the path. She hadn’t taken half a dozen steps when the air to the right side of the path shimmered and an old man materialized. His body was semitransparent, but his frank gaze made it impossible for Alex to ignore him. “What?” she snapped.
We are glad you are here to aid the queen….
Alex paused, looked around her and, not seeing anyone near them, said, “Fine. Okay. Good. But if you want me to help your queen, you’re going to have to leave me alone so that I can do my job.” She paused when he lifted his brows, and added, “You know what I mean by my job, right? The whole priestess thing.”
We know more than you think we do, the spirit said, meeting her gaze squarely before he disappeared.
Great. Just what I need—ghosts that are nosy and cryptic.
She followed the path, and though she kept seeing the flickery, semitransparent bodies of dead people in her peripheral vision, they didn’t approach her. It seemed they were content to simply hover around, which was totally fine with Alex. Left to herself, she enjoyed eating her sandwich and watching the controlled mayhem around her.
The Celts were definitely breaking camp, but this wasn’t an army camp like any she’d imagined. There were women and children everywhere. Carswell had told her that the family unit was of the utmost importance to the ancient Celts, and that they even marched to war accompanied by their families: husband, sons, wives and daughters. But seeing it up close and personal was amazing. No, Alex decided. It wasn’t amazing. It was intriguing. They were all working together, shouting and laughing and breaking camp. Alex was a product of the twenty-first century. She’d been raised in an antiseptic home where the upper-middle-class mother and father had had one child—her—and provided all the right things—good schools, nice clothes, the house in the suburbs. Yet home had never been warm and comfortable and, well, family. The Celts’ obvious sense of boisterous togetherness was as alien to Alex as was their ancient world. It was also as compelling.
They survive by depending on one another.
As used to ghosts appearing as Alex was, she was still startled, and then frowned at the see-through woman who had materialized by her side.
“I can figure this out for myself,” Alex said under her breath. Several of the people she was passing stopped loading carts and horses to bow respectfully to her and call out “Good day, Priestess!” Alex smiled at them and waved back, hoping this newest spirit would disappear like the old man had.
She didn’t.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Alex said quietly. “But I’d really appreciate it if you and all your kind would leave me alone for a while.”
“I am not here for you, child. I’m here because he will need me.”
“He?” Alex didn’t have a clue what this woman was talking about.
“Yes, he. You will see.”
Alex sighed and kept walking. She glanced at the spirit, who was keeping pace with her. The woman was older and maternal looking. She had a kind, round face with large brown eyes and strong high cheekbones, and when she lifted her right hand to brush back her long silver hair, Alex noticed that tattooed on her palm was a spiraling circle. There was something about it that pricked Alex’s interest. The ghost was also wearing an interesting outfit. Even though it was transparent, Alex could see that it had once been beautiful—robin’s egg blue with elaborately embroidered roses all over it. For an instant she wanted to ask the ghost about her clothes. Had she decorated them herself? Did the roses mean anything?
Don’t seem interested, Alex reminded herself sternly. Ghosts are worse than stray cats. They stay around forever if you give them attention. So even though she was curious about the woman, Alex ignored her and kept heading for the middle of camp, trailed by the momlike ghost and too many questions.
“Blonwen! There you are!”
Boudica’s voice carried over the noise of the breaking camp. Alex saw the queen waving to her from her place beside a campfire that looked like the same one as the night before. Had the queen even gone to bed? Alex didn’t recall anyone joining her and the girls in the tent.
“Good morning, my queen.” Alex bowed grandly. She was already starting to like Boudica, and it was easy to catch the spirit of excitement that permeated her camp.
“I’m so pleased to see you. Come close beside me. There is someone I know you will be eager to greet.” Boudica’s smile was filled with genuine warmth.
Alex’s gut immediately began to tighten. Someone she’d be eager to greet? That was impossible. She didn’t know anyone in this world!
“Look who has just joined our camp! Another survivor of the desecration of Mona. Our goddess is certainly merciful. She has brought him safely here to us, so now I have a priestess and a druid in my camp. Caradoc, my kinsman, this is Blonwen, the priestess I was telling you about. It is she who Andraste brought to me last night, and she who released the sacred white hare that raced toward Londinium. You said her name was unfamiliar, but you must know her now that you see her.”
A tall man stepped out from the group of warriors who stood at Boudica’s back, and Alex felt dizzy with shock. It was him! The left side of the man’s face was tattooed with sapphire woad in the swirling S of her dreams. She could see that the design went down his neck, spread over his broad shoulder and disappeared under his tunic. She looked from that distinctive pattern into eyes that were an unusual amber color. First she saw shock pass over his face, and then he seemed to draw himself up as he silently studied her with a calculating coldness that chilled her blood.
Before he speaks, tell him you have a message for him from me, and describe what I am wearing. Be certain to mention the spiral circle on my palm. The ghost of the middle-aged woman spoke from her place beside Alex. Quickly! she snapped when Alex only stared at her. Do as I say before he exposes you!
“I have a message for you from a spirit with a spiral circle on her palm. She is wearing a blue tunic embroidered with roses,” Alex said hastily, looking from the ghost to the man Boudica had called Caradoc.
She saw his eyes widen, and he said, “What is the message?”
Alex forced herself not to gasp at the sound of his voice. She’d heard it before! This was the man from her dreams. He had been the one who’d begged her to return to him.
Tell my strong, brave son, these exact words—that his mother would ask him to, once more, wait—think—and consider, or he may once more find himself naked and shoeless and dodging from briar patch to briar patch all the way home.
Alex stared at the woman.
Tell him! she commanded.
Alex turned to Caradoc, who was standing beside Boudica. The queen was watching her with an expression of open curiosity.
“Well…” Alex spoke slowly, making sure she got all the words right. “Your mother asks me to tell you to, once more, wait—think—consider, or you may once more find yourself naked and shoeless and dodging from briar patch to briar path all the way home.”
Beside him, Boudica threw back her head and laughed. “I had forgotten all about that! How old were you then, Caradoc? Eleven or twelve?”
He frowned and told his queen, who was still chuckling, “I was twelve.” Alex saw his jaw clench and then unclench as he continued to stare at her. Still, he did not speak to her, but said to Boudica, “You did not say she was a Soul Speaker.”
Eyes sparkling with amusement, Boudica raised her brows. “Why would I have to tell you that? Her name should have been enough for you to recognize her. Have your wounds affected your mind, Caradoc?”
Alex had been so shocked to see this man whose tattoos and voice were from her dreams that it wasn’t until Boudica mentioned it that she noticed Caradoc was injured. There was a gash at his hairline and he had a linen bandage wrapped around his right arm.
“My inj
uries have done nothing to my memory. The name Blonwen is utterly unfamiliar to me,” Caradoc said.
Alex braced herself for him to decry her, and as she did she felt an unexpected wave of disappointment at the thought that she was probably going to have to press the ESC and return to her own time. And that disappointment wasn’t just because she hadn’t completed her mission. While she waited for Caradoc to expose her as a fraud and call down Boudica’s retribution on her for deceiving a queen, she realized that she wasn’t ready to return to her old life, and that had nothing to do with Project Anasazi.
“My queen, I do not know her as Blonwen,” Caradoc said as his gaze met and locked with Alex’s. “I only recognize her as a Soul Speaker.”
He wasn’t going to expose her? Hesitantly, Alex let out a long, slow breath of relief.
“Ah, well, Soul Speaker, Priestess, Blonwen. Is it not all one in the same? I am simply pleased you both escaped Mona.” The queen smiled warmly at her kinsman and Alex, then all traces of amusement faded from her and she continued in a much more sober voice. “Tell me, Caradoc and Blonwen, is the isle utterly destroyed?” Boudica said.
Caradoc gave Alex a long, considering look and then said, “I will defer to the Soul Speaker to answer our queen.”
Do not lie! the ghost of Caradoc’s mother said quickly. Negative energy is released with untruths.
A shiver passed through Alex’s body at the spirit’s words. She was right; deep in her gut Alex knew that words and oaths, lies and truths, had a different power here than they did in the modern world.
“I can’t…” She hesitated, choosing the truth carefully. “I’m sorry, Boudica, but I have to ask you not force me to talk about Mona.”
The queen’s green eyes were filled with compassion. “Aye, I understand how difficult it is to speak of great loss to someone who wasn’t there and didn’t experience it with you. It is too much like reliving the tragedy. Later, perhaps, when the memory isn’t so fresh, we will talk.” She looked from Alex to Caradoc. “I would imagine the two of you have many things to say to one another. Blonwen, I give you leave to ride beside Caradoc as we march to Londinium. I would ask, though, that before we begin our trek today you offer Andraste libations and evoke her blessing under the rowan.” Boudica inclined her head in the direction of a craggy tree that stood apart from the others. It looked unbelievably old. Its bark was gnarled and its many limbs twisted, but it was peppered with delicate white flowers that gave it the appearance of an old woman sprinkled with a jeweled dusting of magic.
Alex had been staring at the tree and smiling at the image of it as an old woman, when she realized what Boudica had just asked of her.
She was supposed to perform some kind of blessing—there, in front of everyone.
“Blonwen, is anything amiss?” Boudica asked her.
Alex felt everyone’s eyes drawn to her yet again. She swallowed hard and lifted her chin. She was supposed to be a priestess! There was no way she could balk at asking for her goddess’s blessing—that was part of the priestess job description.
“No, nothing’s wrong,” she stated. “Well, except I don’t have any libations.” Libations…libations…what the hell are libations?
“Oh, of course. Bring the honey and wine,” Boudica commanded.
In what seemed like less than a couple frantic beats of her heart, a woman appeared with two jugs and handed them, with a shy smile and curtsy, to Alex.
“We will follow you, Priestess,” Boudica said, nodding for Alex to precede her to the old tree.
Numbly, Alex walked toward it. Of all the curious gazes that rested on her, she swore she could feel Caradoc’s eyes boring into her back as he waited for her to mess up.
And of course she’d mess up! She didn’t have any idea how to give libations to a tree and evoke the blessing of a goddess! She was going to make an utter fool of herself and, worse, expose herself as a fraud. Alex was considering whether she could faint with any believability when the ghost’s voice broke through her panicked thoughts.
You can do this. Still your mind and follow your heart.
The ghost of Caradoc’s mother was leaning comfortably against the thick bark of the old tree. She smiled at Alex.
Still your mind, she repeated. Trust yourself, child.
Having very little choice, Alex listened to the ghost. She walked up to the tree and set the two jugs at her feet. Then she closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, letting it go slowly while she concentrated on relaxing the babble in her mind and the hammering of her heart.
She opened her eyes and stared at the tree. Rowan—a tree sacred to the ancient Celts. Known for protection. To give libations—sprinkling honey and wine or sometimes milk on the ground in sacred places as offerings to the gods. The thoughts seemed to pop into her mind. Seeing the tree with new eyes, Alex gazed up at the thick branches and the canopy of lush leaves decorated with brilliant white flowers. The morning light caught the blossoms and, for just an instant, Alex was sure they glistened.
On impulse, she reached out and rested her palms against the tree’s bark, gasping as something passed between herself and the rowan. It was as if she could feel the tree breathing, and through the tree she was connected to the world around her. Alex could sense life shifting and growing, and she knew beyond any doubt that there was an energy in this time—in this earth—that she was somehow meant to be a part of.
For the first time in her life, Alex felt completely at home. With a sense of unbelievable joy, she picked up the jugs of honey and of wine, and as she moved in a slow circle around the ancient tree, poured both liquids onto the rowan’s roots.
The words of the blessing whispered through her mind like the echo of a pleasant dream. Without any hesitation Alex recited, “We arise today, through the strength of Andraste and her earth—light of sun, radiance of moon, splendor of fire, speed of lightning, swiftness of wind, depth of sea, firmness of rock. As priestess of the goddess I ask blessing and protection for our queen and for her people. Let the justness of Boudica’s cause shine pure and visible to all, like the blossoms of this sacred rowan.”
Alex poured the last of the libations out as she finished the prayer. Then she bowed to the tree, breathed a deep sigh of contentment and turned to face Boudica.
The queen’s smile was as bright as the morning. “With Andraste’s blessing, we march on to Londinium!” she cried, and the people surrounding them took up her call, cheering their queen.
Alex sneaked a glance at Caradoc and wasn’t too surprised that she caught him staring at her—though she was taken off guard when he slowly, subtly, bowed his head.
Chapter 8
A lex was profoundly glad she already knew how to handle a horse. Sometimes horseback was the only efficient way to get to many remote places on the tallgrass prairie. Plus, she’d always preferred the silent ease of riding a horse to the obnoxious motor and jarring shocks of an ATV. Of course, riding a couple hours or so once or twice a week wasn’t exactly the same thing as riding with Boudica’s army all day long, through what looked like the forest primeval. The one thing Alex didn’t have to worry about was that she didn’t know how to make a horse start, stop and turn.
The “everything else” she did have to worry about was mainly Caradoc. The druid warrior was sticking to her as if someone had joined them at the hip. Under normal circumstances, Alex might not have minded a gorgeous man hanging out with her, but joining Boudica’s army and masquerading as a priestess of the queen’s goddess definitely did not qualify as normal circumstances.
Caradoc made her nervous. Very nervous.
It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t just the two of them. The ridiculous part was that it should have been impossible for them to find any privacy in the middle of a marching army, but apparently Boudica had put out the word that the druid and the priestess needed time to speak, time to grieve. Time, Alex decided, for me to start working on one hell of an ulcer.
So they rode together near the front of
the army, within sight of Boudica and her inner circle, but in a little pocket of privacy.
“You did not come from Mona.” That was how Caradoc began the conversation once it was obvious they were going to be left alone and uninterrupted.
“No. I didn’t,” Alex said. His mother’s prompting wasn’t all that had made her decide to avoid lies. Telling the truth felt right, deep in her gut, and if Alex was sure of nothing else, she was sure that she was going to follow her gut.
Caradoc gave her an incredulous look. “You do not even attempt to deny it?”
“Well, that wouldn’t make any sense, would it?”
He stared at her silently.
“I mean, seriously, how long had you lived on Mona before the Roman attack?”
“More than half of my twenty-five years I have lived on the sacred isle of Mona.”
Alex was temporarily speechless. The place he’d called home for most of his life had been destroyed. And he’s twenty-five! Ten years younger than me! Alex shook herself mentally and said, “See, it wouldn’t make any sense for me to pretend to you I’d come from your home when you know very well that you’ve never seen me before.”
“I have seen you before,” Caradoc said.
“What? How?”
Instead of meeting her curious gaze, the druid warrior stared straight ahead. “In my dreams. The past many nights. I have seen your face and heard your voice.”
Shock kept Alex from editing what burst out of her mouth. “You’ve been in my dreams, too. Only I couldn’t see your face. I just heard your voice and I got an image of your woad.” She paused, wishing he would look at her so she could read his expression more easily. “But you actually saw me in your dreams?”
Caradoc nodded. “Yes. You were dressed oddly.”
Alex glanced down at the druid’s linen tunic and leather pants, both of which were embroidered with the same swirling S design of his tattoos. Had she actually seen him in her dreams she would have thought he was dressed strangely, too. So it was easy to imagine that her typical outfit of jeans and a T-shirt would have seemed utterly bizarre to this ancient Celt.