Skin

by Ilka Tampke

  Fire surged upward into the indigo sky. I watched, motionless, staring at the flames, my cheeks smarting with heat. I had been separated from Bebin and forced back to the edge of the gathering. But as I looked out over the grainfields, pastures and forests that stretched beneath the hill and the magnificent rise of Cad beside it, my heart brimmed again with the gladness I felt in the dance. All my people were here around me, rejoicing in the land that held us. All we could ever want was given to us. For this moment, the ache for skin was gone, healed in the love and warmth of the fire.

  There were shouts and we scrabbled to make way as two white bulls were driven toward the flames. They stalled at the mouth of the firepath, bellowing in fear, eyes rolling and muscles twitching.

  Llwyd called their blessing, and they were forced, galloping, through, burning sticks at their rumps. The crowd roared.

  Now the farmers were herding all of Cad’s cattle up the hillside. The air was filled with their screams and the smell of their terror as they, too, were run through the flames and onto the safety of their summer pastures.

  When the animals had been purified, Fraid called forth the First Maiden. I pushed my way forward to see her. A deerskin cloaked her naked, painted body, and beneath her antler crown, the mask of the doe covered her face. None could see who had been chosen. She was the earth now, a Mother.

  The drums began again and the young men of Summer formed a line before her as she walked the length of them. They stood tall and bare-chested, baring their teeth and making animal cries to attract her attention.

  We all swayed and stamped as we waited for the Mother to make her match. From the corner of my eye I noticed Ruther, standing well back from the line, and I wondered why he, of all the young men, would not contest this honour. Finally the Maiden held her hand out to Juc, the newest of the warrior initiates. He dropped to his knees to accept her and then together they ran through the fires to the crowd’s screams of excitement.

  Now all were free to run the fires. The threshold maidens were brought forward first and Llwyd called blessings on their wombs as they entered the flames. Young men raced to the other side to meet them when they emerged.

  Tribespeople were dancing furiously, drunk on the fireheat. Maiden and knave were writhing in pairs, then racing down the hillside or coupling right there by the fire.

  I hovered at the edges and saw Bebin bounding away with Uaine. Ianna and Cah were nowhere to be seen. I turned back to the fires. They were why I had come.

  When all the tribespeople had run and only those without skin remained, it was my turn. I walked to the threshold. Once I had run through this passage of fire, I would be something other. Something new.

  The heat was searing. It pushed me back, yet I forced myself forward.

  ‘Run! Run!’ chanted the few who awaited their turn.

  I ran. Embers blistered my feet and stung my eyes, but I pushed on blindly. The passage went on and on. The heat was too great. I stopped, panicked. Were the fires collapsing? There was no way forward. I cried out, my voice drowned in the roar of the flames. How had others endured this torment? Every part of me commanded me to turn back, but I kept going. There was a final, unbearable surge of heat. My bones softened like iron in a forge, then I burst out the other side into the cool night. I had done it. I was through.

  I beat out the sparks smouldering on my dress and looked around, unable to wipe the smile from my face.

  ‘Found you!’ Ruther was at my side.

  I threw my arms around him, unexpectedly happy to see him, then screamed with laughter as he scooped me up and began to run. With my height, I was no easy load, and he staggered as we careered down the hill. I could not stop laughing with his every clumsy step.

  Where the hill met the flatland he set me down and we fell to the grass, panting as our laughter faded. Out of the fire-warmth, it was dark and cold. I could not make out his features as he took my face in his hands.

  ‘Do you accept me?’ His voice was hoarse from chanting.

  ‘Ruther, I am unskinned.’

  ‘I follow the laws of my own judgment, Doorstep. Do you?

  ‘Don’t call me so!’

  He pulled me closer. ‘Will you take me?’

  His hips were hard against mine. My singed skin howled for his touch. ‘I will.’

  His mouth descended and I startled at its strange, serpent softness and its taste of ale.

  We stood and walked a short way to the shelter of a fennel bank. Then, with the crackle of fire masking my sharp cries of pain and pleasure, and the cool grass beneath my back, the doings of a man and a woman were made known to me.

  We slept entwined, part-hidden under the fennel. I awakened with the starlings’ cry. In the rosy light I watched Ruther’s face: his smooth, broad cheeks and lips half smiling, even in sleep. The thick muscles of his chest and shoulders were slack. There was so much force in him, yet last night he had been gentle.

  His eyes flickered open and he seemed to take a moment to remember where he was. ‘Tidings,’ he croaked.

  ‘And to you.’

  ‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘You will not be called Doorstep and I do not remember your true name.’

  I could not help but laugh. ‘What if I were a nobleman’s daughter?’

  ‘But you are not.’ He stared at me through bleary eyes. ‘You’re of the groves, aren’t you?’

  ‘No,’ I said, frowning at his forgetfulness. ‘I am of the Tribequeen’s kitchen.’

  ‘A kitchen girl! I have chosen highly.’

  I lowered my eyes and rubbed off the ash smeared on my legs.

  He sat up and pulled the leather tie from his hair, scratching it loose. ‘I’d have picked you for an initiate, though. There’s a presence about you—’ He reached for me, snuffling my neck like a boar. ‘You are beguiling.’

  I smiled. ‘The fires beguiled you.’

  ‘No,’ he said, pulling me close, ‘it’s you.’ His kiss tasted bitter and stale, but he was so assured in his want of me, and so splendid behind the creases of sleep, that I had to return it.

  ‘What have you done?’ He held my face between his warm hands. ‘You’re fine-faced—true—but so are many women…’ He frowned and drew back his head. ‘Have you charmed me this night?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Why would I have wish or knowledge to charm you?’

  He stared hard at me. ‘Then, by the Mothers, I am caught,’ he declared. ‘By a kitchen girl. And without skin!’ He laughed in disbelief.

  ‘You’re not caught,’ I said, annoyed. ‘We are fire lovers, nothing more. Have no fear.’

  He offered me his water pouch before taking a long draft himself. Around us people were rising and wandering back to the township. Ruther stood and took a long piss against a tree.

  ‘Mule!’ I laughed.

  When he sat back down he stared at me again. Neither smoke nor little sleep had dimmed the blue of his eyes. ‘Woman, I speak in truth.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I know not what magic was worked last night, but there is a force in you that has disarmed me entirely. I am here for only one more day before I ride the trade
routes again. Will you join me at the feast today?’

  ‘I will be serving—’

  ‘Then tonight?’ he pressed.

  There was something of the child in his demand and it did not kindle my affection. ‘If I am free.’

  He reached for a last embrace and laid his head upon my chest. My thoughts spun as I looked out over the fields of Cad, Ruther cradled like a babe in my arms. He lifted his head. ‘Would you remind me of your cursed name?’

  I laughed. ‘Seek it for yourself, if you are so persuaded!’ I stood up, brushing the twigs from my skirts, and bade him farewell.

  Cah spoke of feeling weakened by the doings of a man. But I felt strengthened as I walked back to Cad, as if I had a new part to myself.

  ‘At last,’ said Cookmother as I walked through the door. She handed me a cup of warm goat’s milk. Bebin and Ianna had also returned. We awaited only Cah before we would go to the river to scrub the ash from our faces and smoke from our hair.

  Over porridge and milk we shared our night’s stories. Ianna squealed when I told them of Ruther, but Bebin and Cookmother were silent.

  ‘Cah had Fec,’ said Bebin.

  ‘Fec?’ said Ianna. ‘But she said—’

  ‘Hush,’ chided Bebin, as the doorskins were pushed open.

  Cah walked in without greeting, dark shadows ringing her eyes.

  ‘Come, Cah.’ Ianna leaped to her feet. ‘We’ve been waiting. We have to bathe before—’

  ‘Stop clucking,’ groaned Cah, but she gathered her soaps and brushes without further complaint.

  ‘Ailia,’ Cookmother called as we were walking out the door.

  I turned around, though I knew what she would say.

  ‘Be careful, Lamb. Not too far in.’

  All along its length, tribespeople were ducking and splashing in the River Cam, taking their year’s first bath in its sacred water. Our springs and rivers were the openings to the Mothers’ realm. Water was their gift.

  We walked upstream where the waters broadened to a deep bathing pool, at least fifteen paces wide and well hidden by trees. Cah disrobed first. I admired the compact strength of her. Her long hair was black as charcoal, but her skin was pale and her eyes were blue. She was handsome when she did not scowl. Ianna was not blessed with beauty. Her hair was the colour of carrots and her face often matched it. Her fleshy belly and thick legs laid bare her weakness for Cookmother’s milk pudding and any other sweets besides, but she was as smile-ready as she was slow-witted. Bebin was the queen of us. I could only shake my head at the creation of her.

  I pulled off my sandals, dress and under-robe, then sat down on the bank, letting my feet trail in the shallows. The cool morning pimpled my skin. As I looked at my thin legs, dotted with bruises, slightly bowed, and my narrow feet with their widespread toes, I wondered what meetings and marriages had crafted this body? What story flowed in its blood? Were these my mother’s legs? My father’s feet? Was there a sister somewhere with toes like mine?

  Ianna shrieked at the water’s edge and clutched her arms around her. ‘Ooh, the wind is cold enough. How will we manage the water?’

  ‘Just start with your toe,’ said Cah. ‘Stand on the large rock there and tell us how cool it is—sometimes the brook is warmer than the air.’

  ‘It will freeze our blood, I tell you.’ She leaned over the jutting edge of a large river stone. As sure as I knew she would do it, Cah was behind her and, with a solid shove, Ianna was toppled, arms flailing, into the water.

  ‘You’re a wretch!’ she cried when she surfaced. ‘Mothers! I’m chilled to the innards.’

  Cah was rolling with laughter and I could not help smiling at the sight of it, but I did not like her way of humour.

  I stood up and walked to the rock. ‘Don’t try it with me, Cah,’ I said as I leaned over to help Ianna.

  She was still chuckling, but she left me alone.

  The river ran with snowmelt and we could not stay long submerged. We sat on the bank, scrubbing each other’s backs with handfuls of salt and tallow soap, then plunged back in to rinse the lather, laughing at the spidery whiteness of each other’s limbs in the dark of the water. We stayed talking, daring each other to hop back in, over and over. The girls skimmed across the width of the river while I remained only where I could stand. Swimming was taught to all children of the river tribes, and was yet another skill I was unworthy to learn.

  ‘It must be time to go.’ Bebin heaved herself onto the bank and the other two scrambled after her.

  Although I was the weakest swimmer, I was always the last to leave the water. I was waist-deep in the soft current when something flickered across my thigh. ‘A fish!’ I called in delight. It glided back past my belly, as long as a hare and bright as the moon. Rarely had I seen salmon in this part of the river. ‘Sisters, see this fish!’

  They peered over the edge, but the salmon dived into the darkness. As soon as they turned away it appeared again, breaking the surface an arm’s length from me, its skin glinting in the sun.

  ‘Look!’ I cried.

  But again it plunged from view when the girls craned to see it, and they returned to their drying and dressing.

  I stared into the muddied water and shivered as a ripple touched my back. Then the fish was in front of me, nibbling fragments of reed caught on my thigh. I wanted to laugh with the tickle of it, but I stayed silent so it would not be frightened away.

  Ianna and Cah began to walk back.

  ‘Bebin,’ I said softly as she squeezed water from her hair. ‘Look at this pretty creature.’

  She peered down. ‘I see nothing at all.’

  ‘Don’t you see it eating, right here beneath the surface?’

  ‘You’re still fire-maddened from the rites,’ she said, smiling. She wriggled her robe over her arms and picked up her basket. ‘Hurry and catch me up, or Cookmother will be in a temper.’

  I stared at the fish and reached to touch it. It darted away, but not before I felt the quiver of its muscle, the slick of its skin. ‘You are real,’ I whispered.

  Bebin was right. It was time to return. But I could not tear myself away from this intriguing animal. I plunged under the water to clear my senses. When I broke the surface, the fish was gone.

  We are born neither good nor evil.

  It is our choice that determines which of these we become.

  To make this choice we need absolute freedom.

  How else may we be judged unless we are free?

  I CARRIED THE last platter of loaves into the Great House, weaving between guests to join Cookmother at the hearth. Rich smells of long-cooked meat mingled with those of herbsmoke, blossom and crowded bodies. The fire roared at the room’s centre, a whole sow blistering above it. The roasted doe had been broken onto steaming platters by the hearth.

  At least a hundred tribespeople were seated on benches in three rings around the fire. Nearest to the fire, on the most finely carved bench, and facing the eastern doorway, sat Fraid. She wore woven wool in the deepest hue of red and her arms were weighted with bracelets of silver and gold that she would hand to the poets as they pleased her. Fibor
sat on her left, then Etaina and Manacca, Fraid’s daughter.

  Before them stood a visiting poet, robed in woad-blue, plucking a harp. The instrument was of an ancient style, strung with human hair and with as many strings as were ribs in a human body.

  To Fraid’s right sat Llwyd and, beside him, two lesser journeymen of Cad. The other high warriors and their families completed this circle. Among them, facing the Tribequeen, was Ruther. I was suddenly shy as I stood beside Cookmother, and did not return his gaze.

  In the second ring were the craftsmen and low warriors, and behind them, the land-owning farmers of Summer.

  When all were settled, Llwyd stood and dedicated the meat. As first warrior, Fibor took an iron knife from his belt and speared a thick chunk of doe’s shoulder, which he passed to Fraid with a bow. The feast had begun.

  Cookmother toiled at the fire, ladling stew into bowls. My task was to fill the tribesmen’s outstretched beer horns and I could hardly keep pace with their shouts for more.

  When I reached Ruther, he grabbed my free hand and pulled me into his lap. ‘Greetings, Ailia.’

  ‘I am needed for serving,’ I protested, laughing.

  ‘There are others to serve.’ He leaned forward to slice a morsel of pork and fed it straight from his knife tip into my mouth.

  Juice trickled down my chin as I chewed, and he licked it away.

  The room roared with voices. Feasts were the tribe’s time to firm friendships, soothe old arguments, bring gifts to Fraid, and, of course, hear news.

  ‘All quiet!’ commanded Fraid, raising her arm. ‘You will know by now that Belinus, High King of the Catuvellauni has passed to Caer Sidi, the home of the dead. Let us hear from the visiting songman. He came only this day from our neighbour to the east. Tell us, poet, how it stands in the eastern tribes since the death. Are they resolved to settle under Caradog?’