by H. Barnard
Owain whispered to Cináed and passed something small. Elfinn glanced at his father before he also pressed something into Cináed’s hand.
Gartnait was deep in conversation with Aífe and Gruffydd and seemed not to notice until his nephews started the arm wrestle.
“Come on, Taran!” Owain and Elfinn yelled, and Aífe ran over to watch.
Gartnait spun around as Taran slammed Naoise’s arm into the table. “Boys! You are not betting in my hall, are you?”
“No, Father. We’d never.” Elfinn stepped forwards and smiled at the king, while holding his hand out behind his back and accepting something from Cináed.
Brei rolled his eyes and turned back to the entrance to look for Ceridwen. Hooded in black cloaks, Serenn and her apprentices stood in the moonlight. Sorsha knelt next to Beli and patted his ears as she spoke to Dylan and Ceridwen. As if sensing his eyes, Sorsha glanced at Brei and rose. Her eyes flicked past his head and penetrated the room. Brei glanced behind him and saw Taran staring at her. When Brei turned back, the black cloaks of the Bandruwydds shimmered under the moonlight as they walked towards the ramparts and descended into the Sacred Forest.
Anwen stood up and called Ceridwen to her. Clutching Nia and Ceridwen’s hands, she led them from the hall and up the staircase. Brei sighed and wondered if he should finish his goblet before joining her.
As he made up his mind to follow Anwen, he glanced again at Taran. He was staring at the table and seemed not to notice Naoise elbowing him for attention as he arm-wrestled Cináed. Brei slid along the bench until he was opposite Taran. “Everything okay?”
Taran opened his mouth, but Naoise bumped him and grunted, heaving against Cináed.
Brei slid further along the table, and Taran followed.
“She wants to leave,” Taran murmured.
“Sorsha?”
Taran nodded. “I’ve spoken to the merchants anchored in Caerdwabonna, and there’s a boat that will take us to Caeredyn.”
Brei raised his eyebrows. “Caeredyn?”
“Yes, but I’ll take her overland through Gwoddodin to her village. She says it’s near the Great Wall.”
Brei leaned forwards. “Gwoddodin are close allies with the Romans.”
“If you’re going to suggest she’s a spy, I’ll–”
“No, of course not.” Brei frowned. “Just be careful. Are you taking her back for good?”
Taran did not raise his head. “Maybe. Yes.”
“She doesn’t belong here, Taran.”
Taran jerked his head up. “Serenn wants Sorsha returned to Caledon.”
“Why?”
“You only care because Anwen is still cut up about her.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry that she is, Brei. Honestly, I am. What the Romans did to her… But it has nothing to do with Sorsha, and you know it. And the thing is, I want Sorsha to stay here too.”
Brei frowned. “I didn’t realise you liked her. I thought you were going to find a princess somewhere, to father future kings with?”
“I don’t. And I am. I just…” He drummed his knuckles on the table. “Serenn wants her here, so I want that too.” Taran stood and walked from the hall.
Twenty-One
Winter, 367 C.E., Caledon
Sorsha tiptoed, hunched over, through a narrow stone passageway. At the end of the passage, she reached a chamber, and on each of its three walls were cavities with cleaned, exposed bones and skulls laid out on stone basins. There was no sound but that of a wooden torch lying on the ground. With her finger, she traced one of the circular carvings on the wall. A cold drought blew down the passageway, and the torch popped and extinguished, plunging the chamber into darkness. Footsteps echoed along the passage and then entered the chamber and stopped.
“Do you know what happens to kings who fail their people?” a woman’s voice asked from the shadows.
Sorsha’s skin prickled as more frigid air circulated through the chamber. “They are killed three times,” she heard herself answer, but her voice sounded muffled, as though she were watching a memory.
“And then what happens?” the voice whispered in a shrill pitch.
“They are preserved in a bog, unable to pass into Tirscath. They are shamed for all eternity.”
As Sorsha spoke, the footsteps scraped in the dirt towards her.
“And what will happen if you fail?”
The voice was in front of her, and stale breath wafted against her face. Sorsha tried to move her legs, but they were numb. Icy fingers closed around her neck, and thumbs pushed into her throat. Sorsha tried to scream, but against the force of the thumbs, she only coughed. There was a loud crack, and the torch reignited, lighting up the face of her assailant. Jet black hair framed a pale face, and large eyes the colour of emeralds glared at her. Sorsha opened her eyes into the darkness and screamed, and this time it echoed around her.
“Sorsha?”
Hands groped at her, catching her wrists, and she screamed once more. Am I destined to join the pile of bones in the chamber?
“Sorsha, it’s me, Taran. Stop screaming or you’ll wake the entire floor.” He pulled her into his chest, crumpling her arms against herself.
“Taran?” She trembled, unable to stop herself from shaking. Tears clung to her cheeks.
Taran pushed her upright and studied her. “What happened?” Long blond hair cascaded over his muscled arms, and at his chin his hair kinked as though it had been tied back for too long.
“She was killing me.” Sorsha rasped in between shallow breaths.
“Who?”
“The woman. She had black hair and eyes like my mother’s.”
He wiped her cheeks with his thumb and smoothed the hair back from her sweaty face.
“It felt so real,” she continued, as the assassin’s face lingered in her mind.
Taran remained silent and motioned for her to lie on the pillow.
“I didn’t want to die,” she said as she lay back and turned her face towards the fire. “But I was being punished for failing to do something… I’m not sure what.” She turned to look up at him. “I know it doesn’t make any sense, but…it means something, and I wish I could ask my mother.”
“Not Serenn?”
“Maybe,” she said, gazing into the flames again.
Sleep had almost reclaimed her when Taran cleared his throat. “I meant to tell you, a trading ship landed in Caerdwabonna a few days ago. When I am on patrol I will ask when they intend to depart and whether they can carry us to Gwoddodin.”
Her throat contracted as though the hands still clasped around it, and she coughed.
“Are you cold?” He pulled a fur from her bedding over her legs and feet.
She shook her head. “What time is it?”
“Early. You should sleep some more.”
“Is it Imbolc tonight?”
“Yes.”
Sorsha pushed herself up. “Then I should get up. Serenn mentioned she needed me for something. Will you be patrolling the borders tonight?”
“No, I did last night. Tonight I get to enjoy the festival.” He smiled, his white teeth flashing in the fire’s glow.
She rolled her eyes. “Fun.”
“It is fun. Will you come?”
“Like I said, Serenn needs me.”
“Right… I’ll leave you to it then.”
As he closed the door to her room, she yawned and stared at the roof. A lone moth fluttered its wings and flew across the room before it circled back to its spot on the warm stone above the fire. There was a pull that kept her in the north. Whenever she saw a limping villager or a child with a scrape on its knee, she ached with a desire to ease their distress. But she knew that was something she could not help but feel. The Gift forced her to care and bolted her to Caledon like a torch against the wall, destined to flicker against its will until it withered, spent of body, its spirit fading to smoke.
The moth was joined by another, and Sorsha watched as they clung togeth
er above the flames. She had been single-minded in her ambition to leave Caledon, to be rid of the barbarians living between cold, damp walls and yet, as her plan crystallised before her, she thought of Arian. Arian is not a barbarian. Sorsha glanced at the foot of her bed, where moments ago Taran had sat. And neither is he.
Sorsha pressed her feet into the rough grain of the wooden floor, deciding that she would ask Serenn about her nightmare. She crept up the gloomy staircase and into the narrow, airy space of Serenn’s floor.
The only light came from the fire under the shadows of the cauldron. Serenn sat on the chair by the fire and Eluned stood stirring the cauldron. Rows of dried herbs, dead animals, and a bright green ball with white flowers hung from the rafters of the roof. Mistletoe. Arian worked at a grey wooden bench, chopping dried leaves and sprinkling them into a stone bowl.
Serenn motioned to the empty chair by the hearth. The fire danced across her face, illuminating it and then throwing it into shadows. In the moments when her face was engulfed in shadow, only the whites of her eyes shone out from within the thick veil of black charcoal that covered Serenn’s eyelids.
“You’re up early. Do you want to know what I have planned for you for Imbolc?” Serenn asked, her voice croaking, and Sorsha wondered how long she had been sitting in the smokey room.
“No.”
Serenn frowned.
“I mean, yes.” Sorsha yawned. “But I also wanted to ask you about a dream I had.”
“A dream?” Serenn leaned back and crossed her hands over her well-fed belly.
Sorsha relayed the nightmare. “It felt so real. As if her fingers really were against my throat.”
“The woman said you had failed, did she say at what?”
“No.”
“And the woman, do you think you know who she is?”
“No. But her eyes were like my mother’s.”
Serenn tilted her head to one side. “What colour eyes do you have?”
“Me? Ah, grey. Blue-grey, I think. I have not seen my reflection since I…”
Serenn nodded towards Arian. Her delicate hand hovered over wooden bowls of varying size, a grinding stone, and metal objects that Sorsha could not quite make out, until she grasped the stem of a metal paddle. Limping across to the hearth, she handed it to Serenn. The side facing Sorsha was adorned with a swirling circular pattern.
Serenn leant forwards and passed the paddle to Sorsha. “Try not to be…alarmed.”
Sorsha grasped the metal handle and turned the decorative side over. The green-eyed woman from her dream stared back from the polished silver. Sorsha sucked the air in through her teeth with a hiss and looked away. Arian removed the mirror from Sorsha’s hand.
The whites of Serenn’s eyes were startling against the black of her lids. “Did you see?”
“I saw.”
Serenn leant back into her chair. “I can’t help you with this, but there are others who can.”
Stone crushed against stone, and Sorsha turned to see Arian back behind the wooden bench, grinding with a mortar and pestle. She poured water from a silver jug and mixed it with her fingers.
Sorsha turned back to Serenn. “Do you mean my mother? Taran said he will take me to her.”
“Perhaps. But there are others. Other Healers that have been sent to the Ancient People of the north. But we can discuss this another time. Today we give thanks to Brig.”
Eluned ladled the liquid she had been stirring in the cauldron into four goblets. She handed one first to Serenn, then two others to Sorsha and Arian. As Sorsha sipped the concoction of wine and herbs, Arian came to her with the bowl. Taking Sorsha’s arm she painted it dark blue with her soft fingers.
When both arms were painted, Serenn rose from her chair. “Take your dress off.” A sleepy cloud rolled across Sorsha’s mind, and she obliged.
Arian continued painting until her entire body, except for a band on her right arm, was smeared in dark blue. Sorsha sipped the scalding wine as Eluned un-braided her hair and brushed it out. Serenn then stood in front of Sorsha and, chanting praise to the Goddess Brig, painted long swirling strokes on Sorsha’s forehead, down her nose and right cheek. She moved to Arian, on whose face she drew lines that ran from her forehead, down her eyes, and onto her cheeks, and Eluned soon received the same pattern.
By the time Sorsha had drained her cup, her fingers tingled, and she swayed as she bent to place the goblet on the ground. Eluned caught Sorsha’s arm and raised her, taking the goblet from her and refilling it.
Serenn smiled. “Good. Now sit.”
Sorsha lowered herself back into the chair by the hearth. Her breathing was so slow she wondered if time was still working.
“I will introduce the Druwydds to you tonight.” Serenn’s voice rasped.
Sorsha nodded and wondered if she could crawl down the stairs back to her room to sleep.
“Drink.”
Sorsha’s eyes refocused at the sound of Serenn’s command, and she sipped the fragrant, boiling liquid. It scorched her throat, but her tongue was already numb.
“But I don’t want there to be any question as to where she belongs,” Serenn was saying to Eluned. “Vortriu already have two, they do not need another!” Her charcoaled eyes rolled towards Sorsha. “Finish your drink.”
Sorsha gulped.
Arian took the goblet from Sorsha and held onto her hand. Sorsha tried to smile, but her muscles felt numb and Arian’s ethereal face moved in and out of focus. Through the haze, she had a vague awareness of Eluned hovering by her right arm, and that Serenn was whispering to her. Something scratched Sorsha’s arm, all the way around her bicep. It tickled. She closed her eyes and her mind wandered happily through the vineyards and golden fields of barley on her parents’ estate.
Arian shook Sorsha with gentle hands and poured water down her throat. Her tongue and mouth tasted peculiar, as though she had been eating sand from the river. The side of her face that had been closest to the fire was hot, and her head ached. She placed her hand against her temple until her eyes refocused, and she noticed an itchy pain in her right arm. She lifted her bicep. There was a thick band of black ink etched into her skin, and inside the band were two ovals on either side of a curved square. On the ovals were the flames of Belenus, the God of Light, and through the square that connected them was a bent arrow.
Sorsha’s cheeks flushed. “What the fuck, Serenn?”
Serenn lowered her goblet to rest it on the arm of her chair. “Don’t heal it. I needed you to be branded, and it was less stressful for all of us this way.”
Sorsha scowled. “Less stressful for you.”
“It’s done now.” Serenn shrugged.
Sorsha studied the tattoo. “So it is true, what the Romans say. This is why they call you the Picti.”
Serenn frowned. “Picti?”
“It means ‘Painted People’ in their tongue, and it refers to all the people above the Ruined Wall.”
“But there are many kingdoms above the Ruined Wall!” Eluned said. “And we are all very different. I’d hate to be confused with the Attacot or the Damnnones. They are not like us at all.”
Sorsha shrugged. “They know you have differences, but to them you are all equally barbarians. So, what do you want me to do tonight?”
“A minor role, for the Druwydds.”
“You want me to heal someone?”
“I want you to heal the innocent man.”
“The innocent man? Will I know who that is?”
“No, but the Gods will.”
“Fine.” Sorsha yawned.
“Excellent. Now to finish dressing you.” Serenn clapped her hands. “Stand up.”
Sorsha rolled her eyes and stood. Adorning Arian and Eluned’s usual black robes were large gold belts and a skirt of beads of jet and gold, and around their necks, a golden Torc was wrapped. Arian dressed Sorsha in matching robes and a similar skirt of gold and jet beads. Her robes were sleeveless and ended at her shoulders, ensuring her new tattoo was v
isible. Eluned hovered behind her and fitted a golden Torc around her neck. The metal was cold against her flushed skin.
Serenn stood in front of her and straightened the Torc so it rested against her clavicles. “I had Prince Taran bring this for you from Rīgonīn.”
Eluned pushed a Torc bracelet onto Sorsha’s arm. It wrapped around her left bicep and shimmered in the firelight. Serenn draped a circle chain of silver around her hair and hung from it the large pearl they had caught in the river so that it sat in the centre of her forehead.
On top of Serenn’s head, Arian secured a leather cap, on which Eluned and Arian lowered a deer skull with massive antlers. They tied it under her chin, and Arian fanned out Serenn’s dark blue braids to hide the rope that secured the headdress.
“Will you have more to drink?” Serenn nodded to Arian to pour her another cup of the intoxicating liquid.
Sorsha hesitated, but she accepted the goblet with a sigh. She sat by the fire with Arian and Eluned, and they drank in silence. By the time they had finished their second goblet, the sound of drumming soared into the chamber from the centre circle. As the drumming quickened to a violent pace, a melancholy horn blew, filling Sorsha with dread. But Serenn did not make any effort to move. For a long time, they waited, drinking four cups before Serenn roused them.
Sorsha followed the Bandruwydds from their chamber to descend into the spiralling gloom of the staircase. The sound of drums and cheers roared in her ears. Carvings of salmon, wolves, and bulls leapt out at Sorsha from the walls. As they passed the landing on each floor, shadows from Serenn’s headress took on a life of their own, mutating and pulsing in opposite directions to their owner’s movements.
When they emerged from the tower, night had fallen, and the stars shone around the shimmering full moon. A path had been lit through the Sacred Forest by warriors holding torches. Most of them were unfamiliar to Sorsha, and blue swirls covered their faces and golden Torcs adorned their necks. The king and Elfinn waited for Serenn to join them before they made their way to the festivities. The men wore only pants, even the king, and their chests were tattooed with a crescent atop a broken arrow. Encircling their biceps was the tattooed Snake of Caledon, and sitting below were massive bronze armbands. Other men dressed in long, flowing, white robes also waited for them. Druwydds.