Avelynn (24 page)

I had taken to visiting Muirgen often, as she was teaching me how to develop my gift of prophecy, but I had not been able to see—in the bones, or the water, or the fire, or the Ogham—what had become of them.

With the fae night of Samhain approaching, Muirgen summoned me. It was a powerful time of year for divination, and perhaps I would finally get some answers. Chasing the setting sun north and then westward, I arrived at her cottage late in the evening to find it in complete disarray.

“What are you doing?”

She shuffled about, dragging and setting aside numerous crates and boxes, sorting through their contents.

At last she stood and held up a red gown.

It was a beautifully woven garment with gold and silver thread twining along the hems and up the sleeves, which fluted slightly.

“Should fit nicely.” She circled me, studying, her eye critical. I felt like a prized sow at market. “Try it on.”

“Was it yours?” I removed my kirtle and slipped the dress over my head. The neckline scooped low and the waist hugged tight to my body. I brushed down the fabric with reverence, smoothing the skirt as it settled lightly around my thighs.

“This was made for your great-great-grandmother. Each woman of our family has worn this dress during her initiation as high priestess.”

I ceased admiring the dress and stared at Muirgen.

She nodded. “It is time.”

“But I'm not ready!”

“You are eighteen, Avelynn. This can wait no longer.”

“But I have so much left to learn.”

“You know what is necessary. The rest will come. In time.”

“That's not good enough. You said you would take over my learning, guide me.”

“And I have.”

“Give me until the spring. I'll work harder, visit more often.”

“No. It must be tonight.”

“Why?”

She sighed and motioned to the table. “Sit.”

I relented and she pulled up a stool opposite me. “What does it mean to be a high priestess?” she asked.

“It is the greatest honor in our faith, bestowing upon the anointed the ability to commune and intercede with the Goddess Herself.”

“But you can divine the future, see visions, and you are but a lowly priestess.”

“Yes.” I wasn't sure what she was asking.

“The Goddess already speaks to you, reveals to you the future. Where then is the difference?”

“I don't know.”

“The difference is responsibility. In times of old, people came to seek the counsel of the high priestess. She would oversee all ceremonies and rituals, she would initiate young women into the faith, and she would use her gifts in the service of others. Never causing harm, she was a guardian of the earth, protector of her people. Her visions were respected and sought by kings. And while times have changed, our numbers diminished, there will always be those who seek the truth. As high priestess it is essential, now more than ever, to keep our faith alive—to find believers, to teach and inspire by example. Your faith is strong, Avelynn, your heart true, your gifts divinely given. If you are ready to accept the responsibility, then you are ready to assume the role you were born for. I will not force you. But after tonight, the opportunity will not present itself again.”

An ominous warning. Like frost, frigid and swift, it spread under my skin.

“You must choose.”

I wanted to sound strong and assured, but my pitch wavered, the volume barely above a whisper. “I accept.”

“Good.” She rose. “From this point onward, you may not speak until I call upon you at the sacred well.”

I nodded.

She loosened my braid and grabbed a fine bone comb. Brushing out the soft curls, her fingers were soothing, her touch gentle. An aching familiarity clamped around my heart, the scene reminding me of my mother. She should have been here. A tear slid down my cheek.

“Shush now. Your mother is with us.”

I searched the room, desperate to see her face, to look into her eyes once more. Why couldn't I see anything? If she was truly here, wouldn't I at least be able to feel her presence? I slumped on the stool.

Muirgen laid a hand on my shoulder. “One day, your gifts will surpass even mine. Give it time.”

She had taught me that gifts like divination and the ability to commune with the dead were akin to an artist surrendering to the muse in order to create epic poetry or sculpt wondrous pieces of art from simple metal or clay. Each of us is born with the innate knowledge to learn these skills, yet some possess a higher degree of aptitude and hone and practice their craft until they become masters. Effort and persistence would pay off, she'd assured me. I need only be patient.

Starting near my temples, she braided two sections of hair, the strands circling my head like a garland. The ends she tied with ribbon, and then she placed several dried rose blossoms in the wreath of hair, weaving another red ribbon throughout. After poking and primping, she must have been satisfied with the results, for she left off fussing and retrieved a bone cup, its murky liquid sloshing within.

“Drink.”

I inspected the contents carefully, wrinkling my nose at the strong alcoholic smell.

“To prepare you for the ritual.”

I eyed her dubiously.

She smiled. It was such a rare occurrence that my stomach clenched. This couldn't be good.

With an impatient lift of her eyebrow, I swallowed my reservations and downed the measure, the substance burning a trail to my stomach, where it sat hot and heavy. I breathed deeply, my eyes watering.

She removed the cup and placed in my shaking hands the stone Goddess figurine that always sat squat in the middle of her table. Without another word she left, shutting the cottage door behind her. Several candles on the table flickered as the air stirred, and the hearth fire, burning warm and steady, filled the room with a soft glow.

I turned the figurine over in my hands. A great weight settled on my shoulders. I always knew this moment would come. I was raised to become a high priestess, but now that the time was upon me—I was at once terrified and exhilarated.

I glanced along the shelves and caught the spine of Muirgen's book. Bound and glued with thick sheets of parchment, it was the illuminated equivalent of a pagan bible. It was filled with detailed accounts of rituals and chants, and I had spent the past several months poring through its pages, yet the more I learned, the more questions unspooled. An intricately detailed cipher, it had taken me several visits to grasp the meaning behind the gibberish, let alone conceptualize and memorize the array of knowledge the tome contained.

I set the figurine down and slid the book free, opening it carefully. One of the larger sections was dedicated to the rituals and festivals revolving around the sun and moon. I leafed through, stopping at the entry for Samhain. The ceremony called for a great fire and a blood sacrifice. Cattle were the offering of choice, a gift to Danu. Samhain heralded the coming winter, resting halfway between the autumnal equinox and the winter solstice, and marked the transition to longer nights. Badb was especially revered on this hallowed eve when the dead could walk freely amongst the living and the fae slipped through the worlds eager to trick humans, ferrying them away to be lost in the mists forever. I shivered. It was not a night to be traipsing around in the dark. I closed the book, placing it back upon the shelf, and walked to the door, suddenly anxious for Muirgen to return. Before I could reach the handle, the room tilted away from me. I stumbled, gripping the frame for support.

What was in that drink? I blinked hard, trying to focus my vision. I opened the door a crack and peered out.

A disembodied light floated toward the cottage, flickering in and out as it weaved through the leafless trees. I held my breath. My heart galloped, my palm sweaty as it gripped the iron latch. The radiant orb stopped as if suddenly anchored to the earth yet hovering above it. An ethereal figure dressed in white robes moved in the blackness, its gauzy silhouette undulating in the otherworldly light. Surely it must be Muirgen. Leaning against the wall, I shuffled back a step in case it wasn't. Muirgen had been wearing her green kirtle and a dark cloak when she left. I wanted to admonish myself for my foolishness, but couldn't quite manage it. Instead I closed the door quickly and practically crawled back to the stool.

Reconsidering my options, I snatched my sword from my belt and laid it beside me. I wasn't sure it would be much use against spirits of the dead, but if there really were faeries or mystical creatures wandering about, I would be ready. The latch turned, and I gripped the hilt a little too tightly. Would the dead not just float through the door? What need did they have for locks and handles? I swallowed, willing my imagination to settle, shaking my head, desperate to clear it. The door opened and a swish of white robes billowed into the room as the wind gusted. I may have stood, possibly even taken a step backward. The robes vanished, the doorway empty. I craned my neck to look around the frame in time to catch the outstretched hand of an old woman beckoning. I didn't dare move.

She stepped fully into the room, a wraith of a thing, the white robes flowing around her thin body, her face pale and wan in the faint candlelight. A cloak of white ermine draped from her bony shoulders. She wore her silver hair garlanded like mine, the roses bloodred in contrast.

Her voice startled me. “It is time. Come, child.”

Did the dead talk? Was she one of the fae sent to lead me to my death?

“Do not be afraid.” The apparition wavered, and a small child stood before me, her smile welcoming. I took her outstretched hand.

I followed the girl as she weaved through the trees, her footfalls silent as mine crunched over fallen leaves. She stopped just within the torch's light, the warm glow highlighting the soft cheekbones and gentle eyes of a woman, her beauty luminous, as pure and fresh as the morning dew. She pointed. Beyond the first torch lay another, and another, illuminating a narrow path.

“Where does it—” I turned but she was gone. A violent shiver passed through my body as if I had been hit by a cold gust, yet the trees did not move. I spun on my heels, trying to determine the way back to the cottage, but the whole world flexed and coalesced, light and dark playing and turning in my mind. Panic seized me.

“What's wrong?” Muirgen's eyes looked deep into mine. “Come, we're almost there.”

Had she been there all along? Had I just imagined the apparition? I didn't trust myself to speak and followed blindly, clinging to her hand.

Shadows danced, the mist ebbed and flowed, breathing, opening onto eternity, swirling around my feet, grounding me, lifting me. Time stopped and Muirgen followed, her movement halting. Torches encircled a pool of water. A rushing brook cascading over rocks burbled downhill just beyond the wreath of stones protecting the pool's shelter. I stepped closer, drawn by the shimmering surface, the moon's silvery light shivering as if from a lover's touch. I reached out, trying to catch it, but came up empty, droplets sluicing through my fingers.

Muirgen helped me forward, and I stood in the center of the pool, water lapping around my thighs, my dress billowing bloodred in the inky blackness. In the cradle of my arms she placed a large tray, burgeoning with acorns, seeds, apples, jars of milk, and honey on a bed of dried greenery and flower petals.

She raised her hands heavenward and walked the circle of stones, stepping from one smooth surface to the next. “In the name of the one true Goddess, I cast this circle.

“Aine, Goddess of Winter, Graceful Swan, Innocent Maiden, I welcome you. Winds of the North, Darkness of Days, Ice and Snow, embrace Avelynn. Guide her on her journey so that she might honor you as high priestess in all her words, thoughts, and deeds.

“Macha, Goddess of Spring, Noble Horse, Sovereign Queen, I welcome you. Fire of the East, Promise of Plenty, Seeds and Furrows, embrace Avelynn. Guide her on her journey so that she might honor you as high priestess in all her words, thoughts, and deeds.”

I tried to impart every word, but no sooner had she spoken them than they drifted like smoke from a candle, light and tenuous until they dissipated into air. I should have been cold standing in the water, the wind gusting through the skeletal trees, but I felt cocooned, bathed in a warm light.

“Danu, Goddess of Summer, Abundant Calf, Plentiful Sow, Regal Mother, I welcome you. Rock of the South, Deliverer of Abundance, Earth and Womb, embrace Avelynn. Guide her on her journey so that she might honor you as high priestess in all her words, thoughts, and deeds.”

I fell to my knees, the tray slipping from my hands. I stared at my reflection in the tranquil water. My face shimmered in the moon's glow. An acorn bobbed out of sight.

“Badb, Goddess of Autumn, Wise Raven, Loyal Wolf, Noble Crone, I welcome you. Spirit of the West, Battle's Messenger, Decay and Restoration, embrace Avelynn. Guide her on her journey so that she might honor you as high priestess in all her words, thoughts, and deeds.”

She began to sing, a soulful keening that stirred my heart as it raised the hairs on my arms. I tried to push myself out of the water but failed, my limbs grown heavy, my head fogged.

An insistent voice called to me, summoning me, pulling me away from my silent contemplation as I studied the distorted image of my fingers rippling under the smooth surface of the pool. “Avelynn.”

I looked up, unable to focus on Muirgen's face, which seemed to blend and blur, becoming all at once young and old.

“Do you accept the title of high priestess?”

I managed to press out the words “I do,” though they sounded distant and strange to my ears.

“Do you promise to keep your faith, honoring the Goddess above all others?”

“I do.” I braced my hands against one of the stones.

“Then so shall it be.”

I heard a calf bleating, and then all was silent. There was blood. Everywhere blood. I was anointed. I bathed in it. I swam in the bloodred water, my dress mixing and merging with the elixir of life. I beseeched. I cried. Chanting. A great fire blazed. Howling. The moon descending. Flames rippling, distorted underwater. My breath taken. Air. Water. Blood. Fire. Earth.