The White Mare: The Dalraida Trilogy, Book One

by Jules Watson

  ‘You are distressed,’ he said. ‘It is because we must return to the island that was your home, isn’t it? Where the raiders came.’

  ‘I cannot go back. I cannot!’

  ‘Rhiann, I know the memories run deep, but it seems we must go.’ He drew her closer. ‘I will keep you safe there, when the dreams come.’

  Though the wind was not bitter, another shudder wracked her. ‘You don’t understand! I said to Eldest Sister, Nerida, that I would never go back, that I could never look on those faces again! And if I go, I cannot hide … from them.’ She bowed her head. ‘You do not understand.’

  One knotted braid fell across her face, and he tucked it behind her ear. ‘What do you want to do then? We can walk south, though it will be hard. But I will do this – my men will do this – if you wish it.’

  She sighed and raised her face. ‘No, you cannot do that, Eremon. Calgacus has charged us with his trust, and in one visit you may be able to win thousands of men to your side. It would be great folly not to go … yet I will stay with the boats, and hide my face away.’

  They slept that night in an alcove of Nectan’s house, on a bed of moss and dried bracken covered by seal-skins.

  Deep in dreams of a lonely coastline, Eremon heard a plaintive cry, a gull wheeling in the air above him. But the cry tailed off to a whimper, and the dream-Eremon realized that something was wrong; a gull did not cry like that.

  Suddenly he was awake, and when he heard the whimper again he realized it was Rhiann, curled up with her face turned to the wall. He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘Rhiann?’ She gave a great, shuddering sigh, and then he felt her body tense as she woke fully. ‘Hush,’ he said in her ear, ‘Hush, it is me. Is it the dream?’

  She nodded, struggling for breath, and he drew her rigid body into the curve of his own. ‘That was long ago, Rhiann. You are safe now.’

  As if the soft words released something in her, her body was rocked by spasms, and she burrowed her face into her arms. And all the while Eremon held her, murmuring nonsense words, words to calm and gentle her.

  Yet beneath his pain at her distress, he could not repress a guilty stab of elation. She has never let me hold her like this!

  Rhiann was too exhausted to hold the tears back. The shipwreck … being so close to the Sacred Isle … suddenly finding she would stand on that familiar soil again … all had torn a breach in her heart, through which pain could pour.

  And with the clarity of utter despair, she knew now that the sundering from the Sisters was the most acute of all those griefs in her life. She had hidden it well, but now they called her. They called her home.

  The anguish rose, twisting her mouth as she tried to swallow it, wracking her body from feet to head. Dimly, she was aware of Eremon’s soft voice, and though she did not know what he said, somehow the meaning of safety, and loving, and belonging came to her. And the pain was realizing that this was what she had missed these last years.

  At last, when the tears were no more than salt tracks on her cheeks, Eremon spoke. ‘How long were you on the Sacred Isle, Rhiann?’

  ‘Thirteen years,’ she whispered.

  ‘Tell me about those years, then. Surely there were happy times, too?’

  She sighed. Mother, I made my peace with You. Why have You brought me back? Have I not suffered enough?

  ‘The pain of my mother’s death was strong,’ Eremon murmured now, his breath on her ear. ‘But I remember her eyes … and her smell … like honey and milk. The way her hand felt when she stroked my head. I think boys are meant to forget these things. But she was the only softness in my life. I have never forgotten.’

  Surprised, Rhiann thought of Drust, and how she had loved his tales, his refinement. How she had always hated the warriors, the rough men with swords.

  ‘You are safe,’ Eremon whispered again. ‘Tell me what you remember.’

  And with those words she was winging over the choppy seas under moonlight, to a low island of rock and turf, once so dear to her heart. The wind-lashed coast, the scattered lochs, the rocks, wet with rain, all passed through her mind.

  It was she who needed to remember, not Eremon who needed to hear. It was like the sea rushing up the sands, sweeping her relentlessly to a place that held precious things: a memory of belonging, a memory of the Goddess-light, the Sisters.

  She longed to surrender to this, just for one night. It would be like returning to a time before pain.

  ‘I will tell you something, then,’ she said at last, her eyes open in the darkness. ‘I will tell you of the day I became a woman.’

  Chapter 71

  Eremon was to remember that telling his whole life, for he entered into it with her, saw and felt everything as she laid it out before him. Another Rhiann walked through that tale, a Rhiann he once thought he would never reach; a soft Rhiann that laughed and cried and loved.

  It was a gift he never forgot, a memory that ever after took him back to that night, when he did not know if they would be alive in a year.

  Alive, or free.

  He closed his eyes, breathed the sea scent of her hair, and listened, as he had listened to the tale-tellers during long nights on Erin …

  ‘A girl’s first moon bleeding is a powerful time,’ Rhiann said, ‘for she can now give life, the most sacred gift. She becomes ruled by the Mother’s tides: it is her deep connection to the Goddess in Her earthly form.

  ‘I was twelve when my time came. In the maidens’ hut, the Sisters doused coals with water and wild thyme, and as the sweat dripped from my skin, so my child-life washed away with it. Then in a rowan cup they gave me the dreaming herbs, the saor, that would let me feel one with the Mother, that would awaken the deep memories of my birth in Her womb.

  ‘At full dark, two of my Sisters came to lead me into the woods, but I could not see their faces. In a daze I walked, and they led me to a glade that I did not know, and turned to me. Then I saw them.

  ‘Inside their hoods were two wooden masks, painted white. One had the full moon on the brow, wound about the edges with barley-heads. She was the Mother. The other had a waning moon, and on her mask were bare winter twigs, with scarlet hawthorn berries. The Crone. So I was the Maiden, and my other two aspects, that I would wear one day in turn, had led me forward.

  ‘“Daughter,” the Crone said. “You must stay here until dawn. Let the Mother bathe you in Her light, and hold you to Her breast. Let your blood run freely into the earth.”

  ‘They bade me remove my shift, and laid me down in the middle of the glade, on a patch of soft leaves. Then they left me, the scent of wood-flowers all around. I stared up at the sky, and the stars began to spin as the herbs took hold, until at last I heard a heartbeat.

  ‘The heartbeat swelled until I was somehow inside it, and it thrummed on my skin in waves and hollows. I lay like this for a long time, for hours, as my blood drained from between my legs into the soil, binding us, marking Her with my journey.

  ‘After an age, it seemed, I opened my eyes again. It was then that I saw the Stag.

  ‘His crown of antlers brushed against the branches above him, as he came, picking his way among last-year’s leaves. The velvet was hanging in strips from the antler tines, and they brushed my face as he leaned down and breathed on me, a sweet smell of berries.

  ‘Then he looked into my face, and I saw eyes that had something of the forest, the stag, and something of the man in them. He looked at me with desire, though I did not really understand yet what that was.

  ‘I closed my eyes as he breathed on me again, and when I opened them I held in my arms a man, but above my head I could see the spread of antlers outlined against the moon. I remember a rush of great joy, and then there was nothing …

  ‘Another age later, perhaps, I began to feel different … as if my whole body was swelling and pulsing in time with the heartbeat, growing round and full like the waxing moon. It seemed that I grew bigger, until I could see out over the tops of the trees, and then swelled even m
ore, until I could see over many lands, and across the seas between them. Finally, only the arch of the starlit heavens stretched over me, and when I looked down at my belly, huge with child, I saw I was clothed with forests and seas.

  ‘From between my legs the blood still flowed, but it was blood no longer. Now it was all the waters of the earth, tumbling out from me to form rivers and springs, and deep lakes. And after the waters subsided, so the pains came, wrenching me from within, making me bear down, though I was not feared, and the pain was not more than I could bear.

  ‘And so from inside me came pouring a torrent of animals; birds flying, fish leaping, and the other creatures of the land, wriggling, and hopping, crawling and slithering, running and lumbering and jumping. I saw people, too, and they were running with the fleet creatures of the forest, but were soon lost in the outpouring of life from within me.

  ‘The outpouring was ecstasy; it was joy and fulfillment as one, for I was the Mother, and had birthed Love.

  ‘When I was at last spent, I lay down again, shrinking until I was once more just Rhiann in the forest glade. I fell asleep, knowing I was safe, for she was Mother of All. And I was Her.

  ‘When I next awoke – and I have never before or since woken so fresh – sunlight was pouring through leaves, bathing me as I lay curled like a baby in the womb. I did not move for a long while, wondering if the night had been real, or if I had dreamed it all. And then I opened my hand.

  ‘Clasped within it was a piece of velvet from the tines of the Stag.’

  Eremon started, not knowing how much time had passed since Rhiann stopped speaking. Her voice put him in a trance, and he had been floating between the worlds, as she floated between them that magical night.

  He shifted, and she sighed. She was not asleep, then.

  He lay silent, knowing that what she told him was a great mystery, and that the telling showed immense trust in him. He was afraid, at first, to break the spell.

  ‘Who was the stag, Rhiann?’ he whispered at last. ‘Was he real?’

  Her voice was dreamy. ‘He was the God, the Great God, the first god; in his true role as consort to the Goddess. His seed makes Her the Mother. His strength holds Her so She can let the life flow.’ She paused, twisting her head. ‘You understand? For that one moment out of time, I became the Goddess. He came as the God, to join with me.’

  ‘But was he truly there?’

  ‘What is “truly”? You will see something like it at Beltaine. A priestess will act as the Goddess. A man will be the Stag, the God. Her consort.’

  ‘We do not have such a rite at Beltaine.’

  ‘The Britons to the south do not have it either, nor the Gauls over the sea. It is the mark of the Old Ones, the time when there was only one god and goddess, when deer were life, before we knew how to grow grain.’

  Eremon felt sleep starting to claim him now, and he yawned. ‘Did it help?’ He drew her closer, into his warmth. ‘Did it help you to tell me?’

  Rhiann was silent for a moment. ‘The pain is still there, Eremon. But some of the darkness has fallen away. I … I thank you.’

  ‘Then every time the dark returns, tell me something else. Tell me of every happy time you had. I will listen, always.’

  In answer she clasped his fingers on her waist, and with that he slipped away to sleep.

  Soon he was dreaming of running through the forest, and antlers brushed the leaves above his head.

  Chapter 72

  During the long day it took to cross to the Sacred Isle, Rhiann noted that Eremon wasted no time, engaging Nectan in deep conversation in the bow of the headman’s curragh.

  There was more than enough room for them all in the small boat, for after recovering their strength, the men from Calgacus’s dun had set off overland to return home, and only the Erin men and Caitlin now accompanied them.

  When Rhiann approached the bow with cups of water, Eremon appeared well pleased. ‘It seems I have gained Nectan’s understanding. He knows of Calgacus, and he pledges that he and his men will fight! Their skills with the bow will be much valued, and I can see already what fine trackers and scouts they will make, for they have a knack of moving without being seen – as we know to our own initial regret!’

  ‘May the other chieftains see as clearly as he.’

  They made landfall near dusk on a sloping beach, by a village huddled at the mouth of a shallow stream. Turf slopes rose up all around, hiding the rocky bones of the island that outcropped to the west. The sands were littered with hundreds of curraghs, and wood-built traders were tied to the pier.

  ‘Nectan says he has close kin here in the village,’ Rhiann said, as Eremon helped her out of the boat, holding up her cloak. ‘We will all bed here tonight, and tomorrow he will take you to the other side of the island, where the broch of the chief lies. And the Stones.’ She darted a nervous glance at the headland that reared from the end of the beach.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Eremon shaded his eyes from the last sun spilling through a cleft in the hills. ‘I hate the thought of you being alone.’

  ‘I will stay with you, Rhiann!’ Caitlin piped up, splashing free of the shallows, her boots in one hand.

  Rhiann forced a smile. ‘No, cousin. I would not stop you from seeing the Stones, or the Beltaine rite. You will never see such a gathering anywhere else.’

  But Conaire, standing nearby, was not happy with any of it. ‘Is it a good idea to place ourselves so whole-heartedly in their hands, here or at the broch? We don’t know these people.’ He eyed a bundle being carried up the beach; Nectan’s spears, the sharp tips wrapped in cloth.

  ‘We use no weapons here,’ Nectan said, appearing suddenly behind them. ‘It is the Sacred Isle, the Mother’s Isle. The spears are for hunting only. No one will harm you: I give you my word.’

  Conaire’s suspicions were plain on his face, but later, in the house of Nectan’s cousin, a platter of fresh fish and plentiful ale helped to allay his fears.

  Rhiann’s presence caused great excitement, but as soon as she had eaten she excused herself and retired to the guest bedplace, a platform behind a deer-hide hanging. She did not want to take part in the drinking and tales around the fire. She wanted only to be far away from here.

  But sleep eluded her. Somewhere, only a few leagues away, there were houses filled with the clean scent of herbs, and the soft music of women’s voices. There, in the Stones, the Source was drawn so close to the earth that the very soil vibrated with it.

  But she had renounced it all with a few words of pain and rage. Why could I not save them? Why could you not?

  Did they think of her? Did they miss her, as she missed them? She had heard no word from them these last years, so perhaps they had truly forgotten her. There was no going back from the words she had spoken.

  Surely no going back.

  Rhiann was lying on her pallet in a doze, the banter and laughter of those around the fire a bright thread weaving through her dreams. And then, suddenly, she woke, sensing a rapping on the brushwood door. She sat up, her heart already pounding.

  A rush of wind swirled in as the door opened and closed, and the voices around the fire faded away. Rhiann struggled out of the furs to her knees, peering through a gap in the hide cover.

  In the doorway, outlined by falling moonlight, was a woman. Nothing could be seen of her save a glimmer of pale face, for she was swathed in a dark blue cloak, its hood drawn up over her hair.

  The wife of Nectan’s cousin rose to her feet. ‘Welcome to our house, Lady Sister,’ she said. ‘Come and join us, if you wish.’

  The priestess shook her head, but took a step fully into the room.

  ‘I have not come for your food or ale,’ she said in a melodic voice, ‘though blessings be upon them. Where is my Sister? For she knows why I have come.’

  As the people glanced at each other, not knowing what to say, Rhiann stepped out from the bed-place, her own cloak thrown over her shift, her eyes on the figure at the door. As she stared at t
he priestess, she sensed a strong tug of familiarity, although all she could see was the gleam of dark eyes. ‘Fola?’ Her voice sounded wavering to her ears, with none of the power that she was trained to project.

  In answer, the priestess put back her hood, uncovering dark, curled braids crowning a solid face, broad and smooth and mild as milk. Yet the sloe-black eyes twinkled with suppressed excitement, as if the composure required in the presence of people tried her hard. It was indeed Fola; Rhiann’s closest friend during her priestess training on the island.

  ‘I am here to call you home, Sister,’ she said aloud, as another sense flowed into Rhiann’s mind. Did you really think that we would let you go, now that you have come back?

  Rhiann’s mouth went dry. Of course they would know she was here! How foolish to even think that she could hide! ‘If you wish to speak to me … Sister … we will go outside.’

  Fola bowed her head and turned through the doorway again. Rhiann caught a glimpse of Eremon’s frown as she crossed the room, and then she was out in the night, and the moonlight flickered and leaped from between high, racing clouds.

  ‘These last years have treated you well, Rhiann,’ Fola said, her smile now let out into the night air. ‘You are a regal woman; a queen.’

  Rhiann shook her head, not knowing what to say, as the wind blew hair across her face. Fola had always known exactly what she was thinking, and they had spoken mind to mind from childhood, not with words, but with feelings and pictures. Yet no one had crossed that threshold since she left.

  ‘I asked to come,’ Fola added. ‘I wanted to be the first to see you.’

  Betraying tears pricked at Rhiann’s eyes, and she held her hair and turned away, knuckles tight against her neck. ‘I was forced to sail here. I will stay in the village, until we can leave.’

  Fola moved to stand in front of her. ‘That won’t do, Rhiann. Come with me. Come home with me.’

  ‘But I turned my back and left you!’ Rhiann cried. ‘How can you act as if nothing has happened! My life, such as it was, ended here three years ago. I am different now. They do not want to see this Rhiann. I am not fit to walk among the Stones again.’