Iaun left, and the two women guided her through the wood to a willow bower they had already prepared. They sang softly to her while they bathed her with a fragrant mistletoe wash as she stood before them.
“How long have you been in training?” Lys asked.
One woman, not much more than a girl, Lys thought, shook her hair forward as she spoke. “We have just been adopted.”
“It is an honor for our family,” the other one said.
“Have you no holy men here?” Lys continued as they dressed her in a long tunic of white linen.
They smiled at each other before answering. “No. Not here.”
Before she entered her bower, another woman approached her. The portions of gray in hair that hung in a thick cloud around her face, and ended in a long braid down her back, were in stark contrast to the dark hair of the other women.
“I am Uxía.” She took Lys by the upper arms and then tilted her chin up, staring deeply into her eyes. “You have the eyes of a seer.”
Lys started. “How can you know that?”
Uxía nodded. “Experience. I have enough of the Gift to recognize it in others.”
Lys resisted the urge to look away and fought to keep her breathing normal. “I don’t have any scrying talents.”
“Seeing is not only scrying,” she said. “Maybe I should have said that you have the Sight.”
Lys looked away to hide her dismay. Only the most addled of old women in her tribe were attributed with the second Sight. “Those women are shunned among my people.”
Uxía laughed at her reaction. “Do not fear. The Veneti revere their women, holy or not.” She let go of Lys’ arms and stood before her. “Do others of your tribe have eyes such a deep blue that the sea would grow jealous?”
Lys relaxed somewhat at Uxía’s compliment. “No. My father has blue eyes, but of a normal shade. That is the reason why my people chose me to be the gift of our people. Blue is a color of good fortune.”
“Your father is one of your tribe’s holy ones?”
“No, but he is one of the village elders, one of the most respected among them.”
Uxía nodded her approval. “In that case, the goddess will be pleased as well. She may visit you tonight. If she does, it is a sign of great favor.”
The women had prepared a warm drink for her. It had a bitter, unpleasant taste, and she drank it all as they watched. It made her feel relaxed but oddly alert. She suspected they had laced it with the fly mushrooms her tribe’s holy men used to prepare men for battle. Lys sat alert within her nest of soft grasses, her only company small snuffling creatures in the woods around her. She had not slept alone or outside since she was a young girl. Even the days of celebrating Bel saw her safely in her family’s hut after dark. Her father had not wanted to risk the chance of her deflowering from one of the youths in her village. She was too great a prize to be lost.
A bright cusp of light appeared and danced in front of the bower. It settled in front of her, just above her forehead, and she looked into it for a time before she felt herself falling, being pulled into the light.
After a time that could have been five minutes or a year, the sky brightened. Only it was not the sky, but a small area around where she sat. She was naked and her long hair fell loose about her, providing her a scant but welcome covering. She felt neither cold nor heat. She could not see any trees through the light, only a dense white fog that pulsed forward and backward. It made her dizzy to watch it, so she looked instead at the ground.
“You are not known to us.”
Lys raised her head at the sound of the voice. She gasped at the creature in front of her. It seemed to shift in and out of dense pockets of shadow that had formed within the fog. First one face appeared and merged before changing into another. One minute a proud young girl with a warrior’s grimace and fierce eyes watched her, the next a motherly face stared out at her, less fierce but no less proud. Finally, a dark-haired woman with black brows and full lips looked her over.
“Tell us your name,” she said.
“Lys ab Gysell.”
Was this the goddess the women had spoken of? Curiosity warred with a feathery feeling in her stomach. Was she a tree spirit? Or a guardian of the sea? Lys had yet to meet such a being in human form. “May I know your name?”
A hand reached out to lift Lys’ chin, much as Uxía had done, and the woman barked out a short laugh. “Well met, Lys ab Gysell. What would you call me?”
Lys tried to think. Her people paid homage to many deities who transcended tribal borders. “Are you one of the Valkyrie that the northern folk speak of?”
She frowned. “Some have called me that, but without good reason. The women here call me Cathubodua. But it does not matter. I have many names, and not all of them are favorable to me.” The face changed to an ancient crone with watery eyes who appeared to wash clothes in an invisible stream. She seemed to watch Lys, although her eyes were unseeing. Lys shivered under the gaze. The crone was frightening in ways that the warrior woman was not. Lys felt as if she looked into the face of Death.
“You look young and strong. You will bear many healthy children,” she said in a wheezy voice. “What say you, maiden?” Her cross expression puzzled Lys.
“Are you angry with me, respected mother?”
“Impatient for answers. Time moves too slowly. You move too slowly.”
Lys did not want to vex her and hurried to give answer. “Our family has strong women. We do not shrink from hard work or the pain of giving birth.”
The warrior woman returned, laughing. “That is good. What goes in must come out. Iaun’s seed is as strong as his thirst.”
“What do you ask of me, then? How may I serve you?” Lys bowed her head to wait for the goddess’ commands.
“Ach, Lys ab Gysell.” She spat to the side as if to frighten an enemy. “I would have you ask me for a boon. It is your wedding and your right.”
Shadows danced around her. First one face then another flew in and out of focus. Finally, a motherly countenance appeared. Lys saw the moon reflected in her eyes. She turned her head, but could not find the light’s source. She exhaled in a burst, unaware that she had held her breath.
“I can think of nothing other than long life for my husband and me and peace for our people,” she said.
The woman smiled then. “I can offer you something else, a valuable gift for your folk and those of your husband.”
Lys grew suspicious. She knew from the tales of the holy men that gifts from the gods were something to be wary of. “What sort of gift?”
“The ability to walk in Ande-dubnos. You may also pass it on to your children.” Her beatific face radiated joy; it was meant to be a face to trust.
Lys knew better. “Do you mean the power to cross into the Anderwelt?”
She nodded. “Yes, child. A better boon you could not ask for. With this gift you may form the dreams of your people to guide them. You can rule them as you see fit.”
“That does sound like a queenly gift. What do you ask from me in return?”
“Only this,” the goddess beckoned her forward. Lys approached and knelt, feeling that it was expected of her. Hands touched her shoulders, a light touch. She felt long fingernails scrape over her skin. The feeling was not unpleasant.
“To Lys ab Gysell, should she choose to walk with me, I hereby grant the power over Ande-dubnos, to fashion the portion of the shadow realm it encompasses to her desires.”
The hands clasping her shoulder tightened and Lys felt a reply was required of her. “I hear your words, my lady.”
“This power has its responsibilities.” She paused and eased her grip on Lys’ shoulders. “The dreams of men need to be cultivated and nurtured against the threat of chaos. This requires a journey into Ande-dubnos each year to perform such tasks as are necessary.”
Hands lowered to grasp her upper arms and urge her upwards. As Lys rose, she gazed into the unsmiling eyes of the warrior.
�
�I will do my best.”
The goddess considered her carefully. “In addition to your gaining entrance into the Anderwelt, as you call it, the reward for this duty is twofold. I bestow on you good fortune and a fair countenance for you and your descendants from this day forward, as far as it is in my power to fulfill.”
“That is kind of you, my lady.”
“Kindness has nothing to do with it. I grant this not without purpose.” The goddess smiled on her without mirth, but her expression, at least, was not unkind. “Prosperity and the beauty of the fée have their price, but that is something that is paid on demand and not beforehand.”
Lys studied the face before her. Strong. Fierce. And merciless.
“Your fate and those of your children are from here on intimately bound, Lys ab Gysell, with the fate of Iaun Reith and his tribe, be it ever so small.”
“We are to be formally joined. I see no problem with that.”
“But your children might. Therefore, you must bind them to me now as well.”
“I am willing to do this thing, but I would ask why.”
“Because the descendants of the Veneti and the Condrusi will someday be all that remains of our way.”
Lys considered the gravity of what she said and felt afraid. She knew the Condrusi did not have the might to overcome the powerful Roman warlord they called Caesar or the tribes to the north and east. Her folk had formerly accepted patronage and protection from the Treveri. The two tribes shared kinship bonds and many customs, but the Treveri had begun to suckle from Rome’s teat, setting her people adrift.
Lys thought about the children she hoped to bear. Her children’s word was hers to give as long as they were not yet out of her womb, and her pulse quickened at the thought of the great fortune she was receiving. “It is done,” she said and lowered her head.
****
Lys bore twin sons to Iaun within a year of their binding. The women marveled at the ease of the birth in one as young as Lys and at the health of her babies. The Veneti rejoiced at the new arrivals and slaughtered lambs for the feast to celebrate Bel’s return.
They renewed the handfasting a year and a day after the initial ceremony to much fanfare, another cause for the Veneti to celebrate. Uxía tied the double knot over their crossed hands, signifying the permanence of their union. Iaun’s vigorous appetite for her sparked such a deep satisfaction in Lys that she vowed to return the favor by being a good wife and leader for Iaun’s people. A few days after the solstice, Lys realized she was again pregnant. The fortune that the goddess had promised her seemed already to have come to pass.
****
“Why do you have to go just now?” Lys spoke to her husband as she finished suckling her third son, born just a fortnight before.
Iaun watched her with an admiring gaze as he stood in front of his weapons chest. “You heard the messenger your father sent. They need our help. The men have grown bored over the winter, and it will give them a chance to win some trophies. I would also learn the extent of the threat from the Roman wolf pack.”
Her twins pulled themselves up on Nolwenn’s legs. Lys had accepted the Veneti tradition that decreed the exchange of sons among noble families and entrusted Nolwenn, the wife of Iaun’s brother Gwened, to care for her children. After Iaun looked at Nolwenn pointedly, she took the baby from Lys and left, herding the twins in the direction of her own hut.
“And why can’t I go with you?”
He closed the chest and motioned for her to join him on their fur-lined pallet.
“I need you here in my absence, Lys. The people need you. Gwened will help you to oversee things while I’m gone. Trust him as I do.”
****
Lys’ third pregnancy quickly followed Iaun’s triumphant return. Eager to capitalize on his tribe’s support and the recent influx of artisans, he began to oversee the construction of his own small fleet of ships. They were to be low but fast wooden tubs with sails made of leather skins, capable of seaworthiness in both the shallow and deep waters that would be needed for a planned trading expedition to the West.
She looked up from instructing one of the craftswomen in the joining of hides for the leather sails as she caught a glimpse of the twins chasing each other through the shipyards. Lys’ leatherworking skills had been learned at her father’s knees, and she was glad she could put them to good use now. Gwened smiled approvingly at her work.
“The building is going well. Especially with their help,” Gwened said. They both watched the twins as they handed fresh moss to the men who used it to seal the planking.
“I’m hoping it will take a while. I’m not looking forward to Iaun leaving again so soon.”
“I’m thinking of taking the boys with me on a short hunt,” he said, after Lys rose to stand next to him.
She laid a hand on his arm. “If you think so, Gwened.”
Because of his fair coloring and steely gray-blue eyes, it was rumored that his mother had lain with one of the Northern slaves, although no one spoke about it in his presence. She valued his companionship and had learned to trust his judgment during Iaun’s absence. His wife, Nolwenn, barren herself, had gladly taken Lys’ third son into her care, leaving her free to handle tribal affairs.
****
The time of celebrating Imbolc was well past and Lys felt unwell as her term approached. She sought out the holy women for assistance to ease the birth. Uxía brought her into one of their huts, structures of woven reed walls and steep thatched roofs. She laid Lys on a bed of heather rushes softened by a covering of winter hay and gave her tisanes of willow bark. Uxía confirmed that the delivery was drawing near.
Her pain eased, Lys felt herself slipping in and out of dreams. During one of them, Cathubodua appeared to her. She came in her warrior aspect, accompanied by a black cloud of ravens winging about her head and shoulders.
“Three healthy, beautiful sons you have borne,” she said. “I demand payment for continued good fortune.” Based on her appearance alone, Lys would have guessed that the fierce maiden was younger than her by several years, but the eyes that bore into her contradicted the impression of youth.
Lys nodded for her to continue.
“I would have these first daughters, both of them. They will be mine.”
Lys shrank back and held her hands over her belly. She felt the first contractions that signaled the impending birth. “You wish them to enter into the care and training of the holy women?’
“No. Mine. Given. You will sacrifice them to me the year they come into their maidenhood.”
Lys’ breath came rapidly as her chest tightened with dread, and she felt her knees weaken with fright. “Why?”
“It is my way. Difficult times require strong magic.”
Lys prayed quietly to other gods. It seemed to take an eternity before she found her courage. “Can you not take those from another of the tribe?”
“The sacrifice of a king’s blood is the price I require,” she said.
Lys had not thought about her promise these past few years. She had carried out her duties and strove to be a good wife to Iaun.
“I have made the pilgrimages into Ande-dubnos each year as you required of me, and have bathed in the sea of dreams.”
“You swore it,” the maiden said, her hand on the sword at her belt. “And know this. The dreams of your people grow weak. You must continue your duties.” She waited for Lys’ response.
“What will you do if I refuse?”
“I will cut them from you now,” Cathubodua said, her hand tightening on her sword’s pommel.
“I will keep my oath.” Lys sobbed, the words tasting like ash.
****
The days shortened toward summer’s end, the sixth since her daughters had arrived. Since Iaun had returned from his trip into the West, his ships laden with goods, a change had come over him. Although solicitous, he behaved with a reticence towards her that made Lys uneasy.
“I don’t understand what is wrong with Iaun. Ha
s he said anything to you?” Lys stood next to Gwened as they received reports of grain and wood harvests from some of the folk. Iaun had left to oversee plans for the reception of emissaries from a tribe he had visited.
Gwened clenched his jaw and turned away from her.
She put a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me, Gwened.”
“Iaun is planning to send me and some of the men back to your people, Lys. He wants you to go with me this time,” he answered.
“More raiders?” she asked, feeling frightened for her people.
“There is a rumor that the Romans are on the march. The men are eager to engage them. They also need to be kept busy or they start fighting amongst themselves.”
“Can we take the children?”
“We can take the boys, Lys. The girls should stay here with Nolwenn,” was all he would say. She had a suspicious feeling that he was not telling her everything.
The morning of their departure, Gwened took Lys’ sons down to the bay to make an offering to the ar-men-hir before their journey, giving her just enough time to lay with her husband before she left. Little did she know it would be the last time she saw Iaun Reith.
****
Near the end of the long march through the forests of the Belgen, the news that Gwened had kept from her but that had circulated freely through the campfires finally reached her ears. Iaun Reith had taken a new wife, accepting an offer of alliance from one of the western tribes. The clients Iaun’s new bride represented had brought much wealth to the Veneti. Lys’ heart filled with dread as she struggled to accept the idea of sharing her husband with another woman.
The Phantom Queen Awakes Page 7