Chapter Three
I was happy at the Motherhouse. There was always food—although no meat. I quickly learned that priestesses did not eat flesh. There was always water—the cleanest I had ever tasted. There was always someone to talk to—whether another initiate or a teacher.
I went long stretches forgetting I’d even had a father and mother or lived anywhere but the Motherhouse.
I had lessons in everything from writing to taking care of animals, storytelling to spellcraft, spinning to controlling the Sight. I delighted in these things and worked diligently to learn all I could. It was as if I were a baby learning to talk and walk.
I knew nothing before!
And I now understood how I could hear others’ thoughts sometimes; that it was my nature. I was born to be who I am, and hear what I do, and feel what I know to be true. I am a völva, one of the Goddess’s chosen women.
But I was also taught how not to hear those inner voices. “Understand that it is rude to listen in to another’s thoughts unless invited,” my teacher Talisha explained. “With power comes responsibility. You have a duty to serve our people, not dominate or control them. You will be told this often. See that you keep it upper-most in your mind!”
I especially enjoyed learning about herblore and the healing arts. Much of it was non-magical, but a matter of observing the sick person and knowing what plants to use when and how.
Would that I had such knowledge when I lived in my old village. I might have saved my family!
I had an excellent teacher in Jasoslava, the völva who brought me hence. I quickly overcame my fear of the old woman, as she showed me the ways of healing. She must know all there is of this Art! I was allowed to tend Jasoslava’s garden and distill the plants. Blindness did not stop the elder healer from smelling, hearing, tasting, and touching. It was rare when I fetched the wrong jar and was not corrected.
The healer’s hut had an entrance to the outside world, for the völva were commanded by our order to heal the people of the land, as well. This was where I gained knowledge of healing wounds great and small. Invariably, it was men who came with the cuts and gashes—from farmers who caught themselves with a scythe to soldiers who were injured battling brigands and highwaymen.
One day, Jasoslava said to me after I treated a particularly gruesome cut: “Girl, you will be the best healer of your generation, but it was not that which caused me to come for you.”
“What do you mean, Jasoslava?”
“The Goddess has plans for you. The Lady knows this, as well. Of all the initiates, you are the most watched. We do not know what you will do, but we know it is important.”
No one taught me how to open to the Goddess. I learned it myself within a few moons of living there. When I was with the Goddess, I could feel Her wishes (if She wanted to share something) and feel Her beside me on the path of life.
Divna, a girl who had been here four winters, and I were walking beside the pond one day. She said, “I wonder if the Goddess knows that we even exist?”
“To be sure!” I replied.
“How are you so certain?” Divna asked.
“I hear her in my mind.” Puzzled, I asked, “Do you not hear her also?”
“Well, I …” she hedged.
“It is easy. Here, I will help you.” I placed my hand upon Divna’s brow. Gently, I pushed open the doorway in her mind.
Divna gasped and fell to the grass, eyes staring at the blue sky. “It is Her! I feel the Goddess!”
I helped Divna back to her feet. “Yes. It is pleasant, is it not?”
But Divna gave me a frightened look and ran away.
Some hours later, Ingvilder, one the Lady’s attendants, came to me as I fed the geese. “The Lady requires you to come to her immediately.” From her tone, it was clear the summons was not a pleasant one.
I dropped the container of feed, and the geese crowded around me, greedily nibbling up the grain. “What have I done wrong?”
“You must go. Immediately,” Ingvilder said, then walked away.
I could not imagine what I had done to offend. My knees shook, as I made my way to the Lady’s cottage.
When I entered, the Lady was writing on a scroll of parchment. I knelt before her and waited, trying not to let the fear in my heart overwhelm me.
By and by, the Lady finished her work. She laid aside her quill and sat regarding me for a long moment before finally saying, “What is this you have done, Anya?”
Tears spilled down my cheeks. “I do not know! I am sorry for it, though. Please do not send me away!”
“Quiet yourself. You know what to do,” the Lady commanded.
Swallowing hard, I tried to obey her, slowing my heart and quelling my rushing thoughts. After a time, I regained my calm.
“Very good, Anya. You honor your teachers,” the Lady said. “I have called you here because Divna told her teacher you opened her to the Goddess. Is this true?”
“Yes. I was surprised she did not know how to do it. Is this not something everyone here can do?”
The Lady looked troubled but said nothing for a long while. I knew by then that the Lady’s silences were as often bad as good. She said, “Anya, this is a deep mystery we only teach to those who have completed their training. Many initiates do not achieve openness to the Goddess and so, cannot become a priestess.”
“But it is so easy,” I exclaimed. “The doorway is here.” I pointed to the left front of my forehead. “It needs such a little push to open.” The Lady’s expression clouded. “Please do not be angry, Lady. I did not know it was wrong!”
The Lady held out her hand to me and bade me sit next to her. “Open to the Goddess now, Anya.”
I did and immediately felt the Goddess’s presence. I was not overawed by it but was aware I was but a little thing in the Goddess’s wide world. I did not ask Her for anything, nor did the Goddess acknowledge me. But it was wonderful to be in Her presence, to know She was there. I did not need more.
I had almost forgotten where I was and what was happening when the Lady said, “That is enough for now, Anya.”
I closed the door in my mind.
“Listen carefully.” The Lady paused to collect herself. “This gift is given to few at so young an age. I know you were trying to be helpful, but I want you to keep it to yourself unless I ask you, specifically, to use it.”
“As you command, Lady,” I said, glad I was not going to get into trouble.
“We will begin special lessons each day. Come to me after midday meal.”
After that, I spent more time with the Lady than any other of the novices. She taught me the beginnings of greater magic: why, when, and how it must—and must not—be used. I observed her whenever I could, to see how the Lady used her power. I learned that magick must be used sparingly and never in anger, if it may be helped. I came to realize that the Lady’s long pauses were how she kept herself from relying on her great power or her authority exclusively. She sought to resolve issues with her intellect.
But the great ceremonies overwhelmed me with awe. When the Lady would stand in the Sacred Grove, inside the whirlpool of standing water, and was carried into the air … it was astonishing! I knew the Lady was beloved of the Goddess.
I was sure it was not possible to admire anyone as much as I did the Lady.
Chapter Four
My sixteenth winter, things came apart.
Just as the sickness came out of the long, cold dark and took my mother and sister, so it came to the Motherhouse. At first, it was just a few of the youngest and one very old priestess. But then, it seemed as if everyone was sick at once. Jasoslava and I did not sleep for days, going from bed to bed with the nettle tea that helped calm the worst of the symptoms. But we had nothing to stop the invisible killer.
Then the Lady got sick. I opened myself and pleaded with Her to stop the sickness.
But there was only silence.
And then, the Lady died.
And most of my teachers di
ed.
And so many of the others.
When the sun finally stood up again in the sky, the Motherhouse had only thirty of eighty-two völva left. There were only two full priestesses remaining: Jasoslava and Katia, an elder who rarely left the shrine. Among the initiates, I was the only one who knew most of the rituals, could open herself to the Goddess, and had the benefit of the Lady’s teachings.
Jasoslava sat me down on the little stool in her shack. “Child, this should not have come to you in this time and so young. You have need of much teaching, but I do not have it for you. The deepest knowledge was held close by our late Lady. Yet we must have a leader. Katia and I have consulted the omens. You must be our new Lady.”
“No!” I stood up, terrified. “No! I know nothing! I cannot do it!”
Jasoslava reached for me, and I went into her embrace. She said, “You are right to say you are not ready. You are not. But you are all we have in our time of need. No one is as strong with the Goddess as you. No one understands deep magick as you do.”
“You and Katia do!” I said.
“But we are crones, old and barren,” Jasoslava reminded me. “The Lady must be the All Mother, the symbol of the fertile Goddess on Earth. She it is who holds the Beltane and midsummer rituals. You know this.”
“Do not ask this of me,” I whispered into Jasoslava’s shoulder.
“I wish I did not have to. We cannot give you the proper rites, but we need you now. We will have to wait until midsummer to finish your initiation. Between now and then, Katia and I have much to teach you. Meanwhile, you must take control of the Motherhouse. We need a leader before girls start to walk away. Our land cannot exist without a Lady at the Motherhouse!”
And I became the Lady after only eight years of study. I received the Great Tree of the Goddess tattoo above my womb—the symbol of the Most High. It was a painful and reminded me of how fraught a path I had been chosen to walk.
I pondered during the long nights what was happening. Was this the Goddess’s doing? It must have been, for what small creature does She not know? But I felt abandoned. When I opened myself, the Goddess seemed distant to me. I would beg Her to show me, the new high priestess, how to be a good Lady.
The Goddess did not choose to show me anything.
As frightening as it was, I grew to enjoy being the Lady of the Motherhouse. Who could not? All the best dishes were cooked for me. My word was law—no one ever argued with me. Once I said a thing, I was obeyed.
But lest all that power go to my head, Jasoslava made sure to keep me in lessons daily—mostly of the humbling kind.
“We both know you are not strong enough to be the Lady,” Jasoslava said to me. “But you must act the part. That which you do not know, we can teach. But, be sure to remember you are the Lady in name, not reality. Do not get ideas in your head that you are above my teachings, girl.”
I tried hard to behave as she instructed.
One of the hardest tasks I faced was dealing with the Lord of Viborg, Khoryn—the very man who had inspected me on my arrival. The Lady of the Motherhouse was expected to attend a meeting of the Elders in Viborg each moon.
My first meal with Lord Khoryn went poorly. It was a rainy afternoon when my procession arrived. The boys who carried me were covered with mud. The two young attendants I brought with me were miserably wet, although they did not dare complain. When we got to Khoryn’s lodge, he stood before our procession with a group of men.
“Behold the new Lady of the Motherhouse,” he said as we walked up, “or, as we call her here, the Queen of Mud.”
I wasn’t surprised at his words. Jasoslava warned me Khoryn had a mean streak and would try to assert his dominance over me right away.
Khoryn’s words stung me, but I tried not to let it show. Climbing out of the basket, I arranged my damp robes with the help of my attendants. “Lord Khoryn,” I said, trying to hold my head high and my eyes and voice steady, “I bid thee good day. If it pleases you, my ladies and I should like to remove the mud you are so respectful of so that we may present a more pleasing appearance for our meal.”
Lord Khoryn narrowed his black eyes at me and stroked his sharp black and white beard. The men around him shifted about, whispering. I observed that they were obviously frightened of my power, but also had contempt for women—and such a young one, at that. The master of Viborg was more cautious. He jerked his head at one of the men, and they led me and my attendants off to the lodge.
That night, I entered the hall for the meal. It was filled with smoke and men—and even a live pig. There was a firepit in the center, and Khoryn sat beside it. He motioned for me to take my place beside him. He told the bard to begin a song, but everyone was talking so loudly, no one heard him. After the meal, the men got down to discussing crops and livestock, goods and trade with other towns. There was a long debate on how to handle a merchant in a nearby town who refused to sell sulfur to anyone in Viborg.
During a lull in conversation, I said, “Why do not you just ask him nicely?”
There was a long, tense pause. Lord Khoryn glared at me, then said in his gravelly voice, “Don’t think just because you have status to be here you should speak, you ignorant little fool!”
I was pained by his words, of course. But I also realized that I failed to grasp half of the problem, and so I hadn’t used wisdom to speak. From then on, I did not offer my thoughts at the councils. I merely listened and used the time to learn about the issues and the men who debated them.
Jasoslava later told me the previous Lady had difficulty getting Lord Khoryn to hear her words at these times, so she only spoke when she could offer a clear solution. As in all things, I strove to be like her. But for the most part, my ignorance was too great to offer anything to the talk.
No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, ever did that haughty lord seek to belittle and demean me in front of his men. A part of me thought this right. After all, I had been raised to believe that a girl has no power. Only the men. But I was the high priestess, equal in rank to Khoryn … supposedly. It was clear he did not take my office seriously.
Beltane arrived—the spring fertility rite celebrated by high and low, priest and pauper. It was the Lady’s responsibility to be the goddess to the god of the fields. Despite the heavy doses of “Goddess wine” to put in me in the proper rutting mood and ease my virgin’s anxiety, through the haze, I saw with near despair who it was that took me that night: Lord Khoryn. He used me with a disdain that was anything but holy.
Chapter Five
Two moons later, not long after my formal investiture as the high priestess, I felt something coming toward the Motherhouse. I left my hut and walked toward the gates. Just then, there was a knock upon them. “Girls! Attend!” I called out. I caused the doors to open. What was left of my girls gathered on the green.
With a deep creaking noise, the gates slowly opened wide, revealing a tall woman with white-gold hair accompanied by twenty girls.
I could not say I was surprised to see her, as this woman had been in my dreams for the last few nights. But it was one thing to know that someone comes who may or may not bring good tidings. It was another thing entirely to see them on one’s doorstep. I did what I had to do.
“Sister!” I called out, for I perceived this was another völva. “We are so glad you are here!”
“Lady!” she said in a voice both warm and remote. “It has been a long trek, but we are together at last!”
They came into the grounds, and the Viborg women helped retrieve their possessions from their oxen.
“You have been long on the road,” I said. “Please, allow my attendants to take you to huts and where you can rest. We will feast tonight, and then you may tell us about yourselves.”
Jasoslava met with me before evening meal. “I like her not. I know not why, but there is this feeling I have in my heart. Go carefully with this one.”
At the meal, even with the newcomers, the Motherhouse was still only half
of its full complement before the sickness. The empty places at the table made me sad, but I pretended everything was as it should be.
“Sister, we are all waiting to hear your tale,” I said to the blond woman.
She bowed her head for a minute, and I wondered at the way she looked at me from the corner of her eye. “I am Lybid, lately the Lady of Arus Motherhouse. Our sisterhood suffered a terrible illness this winter, and we lost so many of our girls! We have struggled to get by, but it was too much for so few. When the crops flooded this spring, we had very little to eat.
“Then one night, the Goddess sent me a vision. She showed me Viborg and said, ‘Go now, and join with the Motherhouse there, for they also have lost many and need your girls.’ And so, here we are!”
“We are grateful to have you, Lybid-Sister,” I said. “The Goddess’s vision is correct. We lost almost fifty of our number this winter. While we have had a good crop, it will be difficult to do all the tasks to sustain ourselves and serve as we are called to do. We welcome you!”
I raised my cup, as did all the women of the Viborg Motherhouse. The Arus Motherhouse women returned the salute.
“Here is to a long and happy time together,” Lybid said.
That night, I was awakened by a novice. “Lady! Come quick! Katia lies on the floor of the shrine and does not move!”
I ran to the sacred hut, but it was as I feared. Poor ancient Katia had finally gone to be with the Goddess in the Summerlands. It looked as if Katia had been consulting the omens, but her materials were scattered all over. I wondered if she had the palsy before she collapsed.
The next day, the combined sisterhood buried Katia beside the Sacred Grove. She had served so long and so well. It was hard to imagine anyone else doing her work.
“Lady,” Lybid said, as she and I walked away from the grove together, “I hope you will not think it rude of me, but Bergthora kept the shrine for my order. She is not of such a great age as Katia, but she is learned in the omens.”
The Priestess of Camelot Page 2