I knelt in front of him and felt small stones dig into my knees. The sharp points of pain reminded me that this was not a dream. His eyes glinted with moonlight as he looked deep into mine. I took his sharp dirk in hand and shaved him as I had done many times before. This was the last time I would hold his face. Twice, I had to pull my hand away from his cheeks, trembling, trying not to cry. I did not want to cut him, to cause him pain on our last morning together.
The many times I helped ease the path of those dying and counseled their life mates, I had never felt the intense pain they were going through. I recalled the grief of losing Beathan and my mother, but that was like a bee sting to this anguish. I foolishly told the others to be strong. “You will see them in the Otherworld,” I had naively said. Well meaning, but so unknowing. Now I understood. How does a person losing the mate of their life on earth stop the torturous pain of a dying heart? It was impossible. I knew I was ill and would not live long beyond his death. I would see him again, but those thoughts were hollow. They lived in the future. My life was now. My heart and stomach wrung itself into a ball and took up my whole chest. Oh Goddess, help me. How can I not wail and tear out my hair?
I prayed to believe that our bloodline would continue. A remembrance of Aine flooded my mind and heart. Was this the proof I so desperately sought? I forced myself to believe that she was of our blood – that she was our future. To reinforce my belief, I added a line to my prayer.
The gods give us the sun that sets, but rises for a new day. We die, but will meet again in the home of the gods. And through our children and their children we will live throughout all time.
Firtha and Rhona came to us. They bade us to follow them to a large bronze cauldron that contained smoldering, fragrant grasses. The smoke rose slowly in the heavy, cold air. The heat from the cauldron warmed us as we held hands. Rhona came to me, touched my shoulder, and gently tugged at me to tell me it was time to stand aside. I grasped Lovern’s hand with both mine, and he turned to face me. His arms wrapped around me, as if to protect me from the upcoming event. How can it be time already? We have not had long enough together. I needed to talk to him.
“Do you remember the day we met ten years ago? I thought I hated you,” I whispered. “I thought you had destroyed my life. You told Beathan I was not supposed to marry Harailt, and I did not think I would ever be able to live within the clan again.” He nodded, his bronze hair free around his face, looking through to my soul with his dark eyes.
“Yes,” he said, “the goddess had plans for us. It took time to find out what those plans were. Now we are here. We now know what is required of us, and I pray our efforts are rewarded.”
“Yes.” I shook my head in agreement. As I put my hand on his face, I remembered the feel of his red beard, rough on my fingertips. I remembered him inside of me. I remembered his tears at Crisi’s birth. He leaned his now smooth face into my hand and my fingers traced his high cheekbones.
The gods give us the sun that sets, but rises for a new day. We die, but will meet again in the home of the gods. And through our children and their children we will live throughout all time.
His thin, sinewy body bent over me, and I looked deep into his calm, black-blue eyes. I wanted to live forever in those eyes. His eyes could find me anywhere and tell me he loved me without words. I loved his eyes.
The clan members smothered their peat fires. They would gather purifying flames to relight theirs from the Beltane fire. The heavy, acrid smoke still reached us and my eyes began to water. I bit my lip until I tasted my own blood. I could stand it no longer; I had to know his reason.
“Why? Why all the pain and dying?” I asked. “Your dying will not stop the war. We will still fight. Why not give in to the coming conquerors? Why do you have to die? Why do our clansmen have to die?”
“Oh, Jahna, my love. Your question has been asked by so many in the past. Is there an easy answer? I think not. Today we are able to hunt where we wish. We trade with those we call family or friends and kill those we call enemies. We ask for no permission except that of our own chieftains. They are our lords and rule-makers. We do not live at anyone else’s call. We sleep and make love with those whom we alone choose. I have seen the Roman slaves. You were taken by one. They drove him mad. He never would have done that on his own. He was a guard for the queen! I have seen children with no names. Crisi cannot live like that, I would rather she die. In her place, I die.
“For freedom, Jahna. It is a fight for life and for freedom. We must win, for all the coming clans and children. We fight for our daughters and sons to have the right to live free - run free. I die for my Queen, Bouddicea. I die for my mother and sisters. I die so we may win against our foe, now and forever. I give my life to our gods in trade for our freedom. I would do it again and again and again. For you. I do it for you.”
The druids stepped closer and began to chant. Rosston, Nathraicean, all of them, even Rhona, had learned the song of the sacrifice.
“Lovern, I am trying to understand. I believe and trust in the gods and their demands. It is so hard because it is you I want now, not the gods’ approval. But I will struggle to understand.
“I must tell you, I have spoken these words before in many ways: I would not know my life’s path if you had not come to our clan. I would be a farmer’s wife. In you, I found my teacher. You are my soul’s mate. You are my only love. I love you here and I will love you in the Otherworld. I will cut your hair and shave your beard every day. I will weave gold cloth for us to wear. We will hunt the white stag when I come, and make love in our cave again. We will watch over Crisi and keep her safe. We will keep her free.” My will was returning. I had to be strong for him.
“You are my heart,” he said. “My strength comes from you. Alone, this would not be possible for me. The gods threw us together and we did our best. Now they demand this of us. Together, we will prevail in death as we did in life.”
He gathered me into his strong arms and ran his soft hands through my loose hair. I crushed myself as close as I could up against his chest, curled into the circle he made around me. I felt the tickle of the fox fur band he wore on his arm against my face. He did not want to fail at this task, his last duty as our druid priest. I could not betray him.
“You know I love you. I have loved you since you first touched my mind. That is why I journeyed here so long ago. I had to find you,” he murmured into my hair. Then, pulling back, he said, “It is time. We must go. The gods and the people await.”
He lowered his mouth to mine, and we kissed, the last kiss of a husband and wife, of a master and mistress, of lovers.
Rhona drew me away and the druids stepped in. Rosston took off Lovern’s cloak. He was naked except for his fox fur armband when Firtha called for the three pots of color. He stood tall and erect. My body reacted and readied itself for his entry. It was not to be in this life, ever again.
Firtha dipped her hand into a pot of alder red dye and rubbed her hands over his face and chest. His arms and back became weld yellow, and woad blue was used on his groin and legs. The colors melted into one another. As I watched him be painted, I remembered the bull he sacrificed at our first Samhain. The viper in my gut turned to stone. It pushed, heavy against my heart. It was impossible to breathe. Firtha finished. She nodded, holding her arms up to the gods. Her hands dripped the colors now streaked on the body of my husband. “He is done,” she said. We are both done, I thought.
Yesterday, the druids prepared a sacred last meal for Lovern of unleavened barley bread, cooked on a stone until blackened and sprinkled with ground mistletoe berries. They sang a chant over it that I had not heard before. They named gods. Esus, Taranis, the thunder god, Teutates, the god of the clans. Firtha called these gods in their triumvirate. They are the gods we called for war.
Sing loud, druids, tell them my husband is coming to discuss war. Tell them to open their ears and take him to Lug and Bel and Morrigna and Scotia. Tell them he is leaving me and coming to them! Tell
them he is coming. Tell them I love him.
Rhona brought the blackened bread to Lovern. He took a bite and his mouth twisted with its bitterness. A mug of mead was handed to her and she retrieved her tiny green jar of oil from her belt. She slightly tipped it to pour a small amount into the mead. She offered it to Lovern. He took a sip and then leaned forward to whisper into her ear. She turned and gave the rest of the drink to me. I was grateful to have it. Together, with the help of Rhona’s elixir, we would gather the strength to walk to the fires and beyond. I tasted the honey of his lips as I drank, looking into his eyes while I swallowed.
Too soon, Finlay and Kenric appeared. “The fires are lit,” said Kenric. “It is time to go.”
“Where is Crisi?” I asked Finlay.
“She is with Eiric and the other children. She will be at the fires and the sacrifice, but at a distance so as not to see the whole event.”
“Good. That is good,” said Lovern. “She will be stronger for this.” He sounded as if he were trying to talk himself into this thought. I knew she must be there and knew I would not be with her to talk her through what she would see.
“Eiric will need a soft hand for her today,” I said. “Please tell Crisi we love her.”
“She is well watched and is loved,” he said.
The band of druids opened enough for Kenric to step in. “I wish there were another way to do this,” he said. “I will miss you as a friend and healer. I know you will do your best for us, and if we have any chance with the gods, you will find it. It is time to go.” We started to walk to the meadow of the giving fires.
A sudden thought scurried through my mind. He will be cold. He needs my cloak. I stumbled on a root, slippery from the frost, as I hurriedly shook off my cloak and held it up for him. He stopped walking and gazed toward the moon that hung still over the three hills. The fires were starting to blaze in the distance. I looked in the other direction, to the lake that reflected the late moon and beginning pink of a sunrise. The gray sky was clear of clouds. The memory of our first Samhain together, our first giving fires and its sacrifice, haunted me.
“Hear me now and believe!” He turned, and his eyes burned into mine. “With you near, I do not feel the cold. I do not feel anything.” He reached out and grasped my shoulders with his strong hands. “When it is time, I will be with you, Crisi, and the gods. No pain can cross that barrier.”
A moan leaked from my heart and escaped my mouth. I nodded and pulling my cloak back on, fell into step behind him. I will not cry. I tried to make my mind blank, but memories of the last ten years rolled through it. I was not sure I would be able carry out my task. How could I continue after today? I will not cry.
The gods give us the sun that sets but rises for a new day. We die, but will meet again in the home of the gods. And through our children and their children we will live throughout all time.
The stacked oak logs of the Beltane fires blazed and crackled with intense heat. We stood to the side, waiting for Firtha to speak.
“We are going back to our old ways,” she told the crowd. As she started, their milling and talking subsided. I saw that the entire clan, and some from outside clans as well, were present, the children at the back. Sileas and Harailt were near them, and I knew they would also watch over Crisi.
“Today,” she continued, “Beltane, is the day of sacrifice. The Romans are coming and we must stop them. The gods, through the king, ordered this sacrifice for the clans. We call on Bel and the Morrigna to hear us today. Lovern is here to give his life for you. He gives his life to the gods to bring victory to our cause. He will sit at the table of the gods and share a cup of mead. He will hunt with them and argue for our freedom. He does this of his own free will. I order songs to be sung about him for all time to come. He sacrifices his life so our blood will be free.” At this, the crowd roared its approval. I swallowed several times to keep from retching.
“Follow us. Walk through the purifying fires. Go to the sacred waters of the lake. Follow us, be purified, and witness our gift to the gods.” The crowd broke into yells of thankfulness. They also started calling Lovern’s name. He was a god among us now.
Firtha led us between the towers of flames, and heat seared our faces. It was if the sun had come down to bear witness to this death. After we got through the path of flames, the night closed in around us again. Then we turned and headed toward the lake. To the point that Lovern and I had walked around so many seasons ago.
The druids walked before us on the narrow, worn path. I could see the small rise that was our destination. Then those who ran ahead to see the ceremony hid it. No matter. I would never forget what it looked like. The grass that grew on the rise always seemed greener than that beside it. Was it fed by the blood that had been spilled there so long ago?
Waves ate under the shoreline and caused an undercut of the land just at the edge of the lake, the frigid water that held our past human sacrifices and many bronze blades thrown to the gods. Even when the sky was clear of clouds and the sun blazed it seemed dark to me, at that spot on the lake. I hated it. I would never be able to look upon it again. Lovern’s blood would now feed the grass.
The druids walked on. Fifteen white robes, fifteen druids to perform this deed. All were ready but me. I repeated my prayer over and over. I had to believe it or I would not live through this.
The gods give us the sun that sets but rises for a new day. We die, but will meet again in the home of the gods. And through our children and their children we will live throughout all time.
The crowd parted to allow us through. Behind them, the smooth black lake reflected the receding moon. My head pounded to the rhythm of the ceremonial drums. The druids’ chant grew louder, drowning out my heartbeat, and then stopped as Firtha halted. She placed her hands on Lovern’s shoulders and pulled him into place. Into the place of his death.
Lovern turned to face the three hills as the moon dipped behind them, his face devoid of expression. I fought with myself to hold back the flood of tears. Suddenly, the king’s fox ran across the field next to us and a muffled sound of amazement went up from the crowd. I turned to Lovern, knowing this omen gave him power. I knew nothing would stop him from carrying through with his sacrifice.
Rhona, her white hair indistinguishable from her robe, carried an oak ember to the small stack of oak and rowan logs near us. She tossed in two sprigs of mistletoe. The fire burned bright and fast, and Lovern’s face reflected its colors. No warmth emanated from it for me.
“I do this today to stop our valley from being overrun by the warriors who call themselves Romans.” Lovern’s clear, determined voice brought the crowd’s eyes back to him. “They took the mines from my people and killed my mother, sisters and queen. I do not want them to come to this valley, to your clan, to my family. I do this so the gods will be here for you after today.”
He paused and looked over their heads. I saw hope, his inner strength, in his eyes. “Look.” He turned to a small nearby hill. On it grew one of our sacred oak trees. He smiled and seemed to become even taller in the light of the fire. Under the tree was the fox that had followed us from the king’s fort, and the tree was filled with my ravens. They were back together again. A small bud of hope appeared in my heart.
I turned back, and he faced me. “Jahna, come tie back my hair.”
I shuffled forward and pulled a piece of yarn from the fringe of my cloak. He leaned in so I could reach his head. My hands were numb as I combed his hair back with my fingers. I could barely tie the knot around its fullness. Every breath I was able to take leaked a silent “I will not cry.” Finlay stepped forward and drew his bronze dirk. He reached over to Lovern’s radiant, red hair, cut a lock, and handed it to me. I grasped it in my hand and then stumbled back to my place, his hair clasped in my tight fist, next to my heart.
Nathraichean and another white robed druid as tall as he stood on either side of Lovern. Each had a bronze axe gripped in one hand behind Lovern, their free hands grasping o
ne of his arms. Firtha stepped up to Lovern and placed a braided fox-gut garrote attached to an alder branch around his neck, lifting his hair out of the way. Another in a white robe took hold of the stick, ready to turn it at Firtha’s command. Firtha reached inside her cloak, withdrew a bronze dirk from her belt, and held it in her left hand. She stepped forward and placed her right hand over the center of Lovern’s chest, over his heart.
Numb, I repeated again to myself, the gods give us the sun that sets but rises for a new day. We die, but will meet again in the home of the gods. And through our children and their children we will live throughout all time.
“I call on Lug and Scotia to listen to this man’s words!” Firtha shouted to the sky. Then, looking back at Lovern’s face, she continued. “Lovern, the gods require that you freely give your life to them. Tell them now if that is so.”
His eyes stared into hers. “I give my life on earth freely in exchange for a life with the gods and freedom for my people.”
Firtha glanced at Nathraichean and nodded.
Oh, gods be merciful to him and me. Let this death be not in vain. I will see him again. I will see him again. I will….
At the same time, both axes were raised over Lovern’s head. Then the strong arms holding them arced down. I heard his skull break. His eyes closed and he sagged forward, held up by the strength of Nathraichean and the second druid. A third druid raised an axe I had not seen, and hit him again at the back of his head. His blood sprayed over my face. I tasted metal. His body was completely limp, head lolling, when the garrote tightened quickly and deeply around his neck. Firtha stepped closer and Nathraichean, his fingers entwined in Lovern’s bloody hair, pulled his head back to expose his throat for her dirk. Lovern’s blood seeped from the slice in his neck to join the dark, shimmering pool on the ground beneath him. Firtha’s once white robe was now gory, covered with Lovern’s life-blood.
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