Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) (4 page)

“
Shiovra
?” Mahon begged softly
, peering down at his sister’s face
.

Shiovra
took a deep breath
and pushed her brother away
. “I must, Mahon,” she said softly
, a great seriousness to her words for a child of eight
. “This is something I must d
o. I want to protect this village
and
by
continuing my training is the only way I
can
.”

Mahon’s face f
ell and h
e looked away from his sister in defeat.

Daire
stepped
up to
Shiovra
as she rose to her feet
. “Don’t worry about us,
”
he told her with a warm
smile. “
You’ll be back home before you know it.”

Holding her calm,
Shiovra
nodded
.

“We need to leave,” Réalta
said
. She glanced at Ceallach, who nodded, then
mounted the
steed
.

Shiovra
allowed Ceallach to lift her onto the horse, then
looked at her brother, tears running down her cheeks. “We will see each other again,”
she said, a smile touching her lips
. “I promise you that, brother. I
will
come home and I will be stronger.”

Mahon numbly nodded.

With a swift kick, Réalta urged the horse into a steady canter, headin
g towards the east
.
Shiovra
glanced back
only once, looking at
Daire
and her brother. She would not worry, she would not cry and she would return to Tara as a priestess who could defend her people. Biting her bottom lips she turned
her face to the east where her destiny lay.

1.
      
VISIONS

A
full moon hung
brightly against the star speckled
deep sapphire folds
of the night sky
. The
wind was calm and cool, whispering lightly as
it stirred
the slender blades of grass. Silvery moonlight s
hone down into a lush clearing surrounded by apple trees
. The tall
grass was dotted with vivid flower
s and vines climbed nearby over a crumbling stone wall
. The clearing was filled with a wild,
marvelous splendor.

The steady beat of a drum drifted across the tr
anquil air. Under the moonlight
women st
ood in a circle, their braided hair adorned with flowers
. They
chanted in a sing
song manner
. An older woman with glisten
ing silver hair
wearing deep purple sat upon a slab of rock, putting forth the rhythmic beat, while the circle of women would occasionally clap their hands together. She played the bodhrán with deft movement as she beat the double-headed tipper against the goat skin
that had been
stretched across the
wooden drum frame
.

Standing at the edge of the woods, shrouded in the shadows of a deep green cloak, was
a young woman looking into the clearing
. She let the steady rhythmic beat fill her body, luring her away from the world surrounding her.

Taking a deep breath, she began to walk towards the circle, her pace matching the steady beat. The circle parted and she stepped to the center. Pushing down the hood, she let the cloak fall to her feet. Her long, red-gold hair tumb
led unbound in gentle waves
to her waist. She stood
with her eyes closed, her fair skin
pale in comparison to her dark, sleeveless shift. A
blue
spiraling design curled by
her right eye, marked on her skin with paste from the
woad
plant
. Directly beneath the left side of the young woman’s collarbone were three interlocking arcs intertwined with a circle; a triquerta, the mark representing the threef
old law
.

A woman
stepped up and
,
with gentle and deft fingers, began to weave small white flowers into the younger woman’s long hair. Two othe
r women
took on the task of wafting the woman with smoking bunches of chamomile and meadowsweet.

A thick, milky fog began to roll into the clearing
, slowly creeping its way towards the circle of women. It swirled and glistened in the moonlight. Reaching up, the fog licked at the skin of the young woman, cold and tingling.
She could feel power surrounding
he
r as she stood still
, eyes c
losed. Her face remained calm, the feel of power
like a gentle wind, caressing her cheeks and hair.

“This day has been long awaited.” A
nother
woman took a step forward,
the moonlight making her mahogany hair glisten. A
smile cros
sed her lips as she looked the younger woman over.
“You have done well,” she said. “You have trained hard with the utmost dedication and determination. You have prevailed over every trial set before you.” She gestured to a
n old
woman grinding a paste in an earthen bowl. “Come with open arms and be given the honor of a High Priestess.”

The
elderly
woman stepped forward and began to trace designs with the paste on the
skin of the young woman’s left arm
, painting her.

“As ye harm none, do as thou will,” the woman said, reciting a well-practiced rede. “Do nothing that would harm another, nor thyself, lest it come back to you threefold or cost you your own life. Do nothing to try and altar one’s own free will.”

The young woman gave a slight nod, careful not
to move too much while her arm
was being painted. “Aye,” she replied.

“No matter what, you shall be forever known for who you are.” The older woman smiled. She stepped up to the young woman and, taking her hands within her own, pulled her attention. “
D
o you vow to obey Dana, our great mother? To uphold the threefold law and honor the rede?”

The young woman with the red-gold hair opened pale, silver-blue eyes to look at the woman. A gentle smile touched her delicate lips. “Aye,” she replied. “With open arms and open heart.”

The woman gave a small nod. “Then we welcome you into the service of the Great Mother, High Priestess to Tara,
Shiovra
daughter of Tríonna of the Túath.” She stepped back and rejoined the circle.

Shiovra
stood alone as the women tightened
their circle and began to dance around her to the rapid beat of the bodhrán. She listened to their singsong chanting and the soft sound of their feet upon the ground. Looking up at the moon,
Shiovra
threw her hands into the air as the women gave one loud, resounding clap of their hands.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The sky became
black with heavy clouds. The tranquil night fled swiftly, only to be replaced by a strong, moaning wind. Lightning flashed, clawing against the sky. The wickerwork door of a small cottage rattled noisily under
the force of the wind as it
gained strength, becoming harsher and louder. The ground trembled as thunder clapped. Lightning filtered through the cracks
in the wickerwork door before it
flew open, unable to hold against the stren
gth of the wind any longer, sending a
strong gust
to tear through
the cottage, swirling around a young woman sleeping.

Shiovra
, daughter of Tríonna and Coughlin, opened her eyes and turned her head, looking wearily at the doorway. She blinked slowly, the flashes of lightning illuminating her face.
Sitting up, she
swung her feet to the ground.
Shiovra
could feel a strong power in the air, one that laced through her body.
Glancing down, she traced the dark blue honor marks curling around her left wrist.
Her eyes flickered back to the storm as
she rose to her feet. Heedless of the malicious storm that raged, she made her
way to the doorway, watching as
lightning
clawed the sky and rain poured down
. The wind stirred her
unbound hair while her eyes watched with curiosity
.

Shiovra
stood at the doorway silently. The storm
called out to her, dre
w her to it.
She began to hum softly, matching her tune to the wild rhythms brought forth by the storm. Her song shifted swiftly with every movement that the storm set out. The melody was as haunting as it was beautiful, a mysterious and entrancing song that poured from somewhere deep within her, call
ing, summoning. The energies in the air increased, filling circling her, filling her.

Shiovra
ended her enchanting song abruptly as a sharp gust of wind blew cold rain onto her, making the slender young woman shiver beneath
her thin, soft green shift.
She abruptly turned away from the door with a soft curse, closing it behind herself.

Sighing, she tied her hair loosely back with a stri
p of leather, threw a russet colored cloak
about her shoulders, and turned to leave the small cottage.

The wickerwor
k door clattered open once more, sending
rain
to pour
into the cottage.

Shiovra
paused at the doorway. Something was calling to her
, something very strong and
sad
. There was a flash within her mind and she saw a village engulfed in flames. She could feel the searing heat of the flames and hear the painful cries of the villagers. In her mind
’
s eye, she saw a woman lose her child and receive a mortal wound to her side with the sharp, gleaming blade of a sword. As quickly as it had come upon her, the vision was gone. Yet,
Shiovra
could still feel the heat of the flames on her skin and still smell the smoke.

Sh
e
crumpled to her knees, her breath coming hard
and painful.
Shiovra
’s body trembled
uncontrollably with fear. Her heart ached within her chest, pierced by the pain she had felt within the vision. Never before had she seen such pain, such grief. It pulled at her, consuming her mind. Even
when she was
a child of eight, she
had never seen what the attack upon Tara when
her mother
was
killed.

Shiovra
chocked
back sobs
, each one tearing through her chest
. After several minutes, she rose weakly to her feet and hastened from the cottage, heart pounding loudly.

She wove her way through the dark cottages scattered about
. Sliding through muddy pud
dles, she nearly fell rounding one
cottage, but was caught by her aunt,
Réalta Dubh,
as she was quickly making her way
towards the main gates of the ring
-
fort.

“Réalta…”
Shiovra
breathed, leaning against a cottage wall.

Réalta nodded. “I
can feel it as well
,” replied the older woman hurriedly, pushing her wet hair from her face. She stopped abruptly and her face became grave, losing its usual emotionless state. It was then that
Shiovra
noticed the worry in the woman’s unusual eyes.

Shiovra
followed Réalta’s gaze and froze.

The main gates
stood wide open and a broken,
disheveled woman staggered through. Lightning flashed behind her, silhouetting her entire body. Her wet hair was tangled with twigs and leaves. Her scorched yellow shift was torn and dirty, completely soaked through. She clutched her side with a bloodstained hand.

Th
e woman collapsed to her knees in
utter and complete ex
haustion. She breathed hard and
fought back
barking
coughs, pain obviously racking through her entire body. “Réalta Dubh…” she breathed through staggering breaths.

Réalta hastened to the woman’s side, skirts swirlin
g. “Deirdre…” she whispered then
glanced over her shoulder at
Shiovra
, who stood completely still in the pouring rain, frozen. “Quickly,
Shiovra
! Fetch Dubheasa to bring me my herbs…”

“Nay,” interrupted Deirdre. “
It is too late
for
me…” she breathed weakly. Deirdre grimaced and doubled over; shaking violently as she clutched her wounded side. Sweat and rain streaked her deathly pale face.

Réalta frowned, rising to her feet. “Do not be foolish, Deirdre,” she retorted. “
You made it this far with those wounds, you can live a little longer. Rest and we shall have your wounds tended to
.
” Turning, she hastened from the gates and into the mess of cottages.

Shiovra
couldn’t pu
ll herself away from the cottage, her heart pounding
as she looked down at the br
oken woman before her, the same one she had seen in her vision. She ha
d felt the woman’s pain; it still lingered within her
mind.
Shiovra
could tell that Deirdre fought strongly
through the pain
, even now when her life hung before
her ever so delicately. She
knew deep in her heart that there was nothing that could be done to save the woman who ha
d been Ainmire’s wife for ten
years.

“Why does she bother? It be…already too late…for me,” she murmured, her pain-ridden voice bringing
Shiovra
back to herself. Deirdre paused, laying herself down u
pon the ground
. “I may not…have the sight…but I can see…w
hat fate lies before me. My son
…was taken…from me. My life shall be next.” She glanced up at
Shiovra
, eyes wavering with
pain. “Come here
.”

Shiovra
stepped forward, her heart heavy with the knowledge that there was nothing she could do to
ease the woman’s pain. Trying to gather her calm, she knelt down beside Deirdre
.