The Fox (10 page)

That was how he met our chieftain, my uncle Beathan. I visualized this encounter. What a difference in this story of the two men meeting for the first time.

“The warrior’s stern voice, as well as his weapons, caused me to listen carefully. ‘Where are you from?’

“I told him I was a druid healer. I came from the south, escaping invaders.

“He told me that the gods looked with favor upon him that day. He introduced himself as Beathan, chieftain of his – your clan. He pulled back the spear that had raised blood on my chest, sheathed his bronze-hilted sword, and called his dogs from the copse. Two of them came, each almost as big as his pony.

“He told me to give him my dirk until we reached his lodge. I would ride behind him, weaponless. With the threat of his spear and the dogs at his side, I obeyed. Beathan then told me, ‘Our druid is dead. Our gods directed me to you. You will perform the Samhainn ceremony on the morrow.'”

When Lovern mentioned the Samhainn ceremony, Sileas’s face and the promise I made to her came to mind. I needed to remember to tell Lovern about Cerdic’s illness.

“Beathan reached under my arms and lifted me off my feet,” Lovern continued. “I was deposited on the pony as if I were weightless. The sun was in the sky at mid-afternoon, glistening off the damp autumn leaves. We rode for an hour with no conversation between us. I observed as we rode. It was
foghara,
the harvests were in, and the fields were empty. We passed farms with generous stacks of hay and cornstalks that shared the stables with the ponies and sheep. The harvest was good; the goddess was happy. I heard pigs screech and smelled the blood of butchering float on the air. It was time to prepare and salt meat for the cold days. As I bounced on the pony’s back, I filled myself with thoughts of the ceremony. Samhainn, the time that lies between summer and winter, light and darkness, the new beginning to the year. I silently prayed to the gods and goddesses, asking them to honor and protect the people of this clan. In exchange, I would light the giving fires and perform sacrifices. I also prayed that this would end my journey. I hoped I could stay with this clan, and again be a healer.”

Pausing, Lovern reached above his head, pushed against the roof of the cave and stretched. My legs were beginning to cramp so I stretched them also. The incessant pounding of the rain had lessened.

“We came to the fort and the pony carried us up the hill to the enclosure’s open gates. I remember how loud his voice was when Beathan called others to come to his lodge as we entered the hill fort.

“All the lodges we saw, the farms and the homes on the hill, could have been from my own village. The ride took us past the corn-drying kiln and your well. Dogs ran through the center courtyard and Beathan’s dogs took off yelping in chase. The odors of peat smoke and cooking meat made my mouth water. I heard women calling their husbands and children to dinner along with a clamor of goats, ponies, chickens, dogs, and pigs, living together in the fort.

“Men came to him, all wearing capes of the same plaid as their chieftain. They yelled greetings and raised their empty mugs in a salute.

“His pony stopped in front of his lodge. Beathan lifted his leg over the pony’s withers and slid off. He turned and encouraged me to do the same. I slid off and fell to the ground, weak with hunger and lack of sleep. Beathan laughed like a coughing bear in the spring.”

“He snores like a bear in winter, too!” I said.

“I know, I sleep in his home now. Sometimes I cannot sleep through all the noise.” Lovern shook his head and smiled.

“Beathan carried me inside his warm home that smelled of smoke, and cooked meats-life. You served me and I ate, my strength returning. Then I watched you dance and heard your voice. I grew weak again.

“When you walked me to the stables and told me your name, I had to grit my teeth and use all my strength to stay standing. How could it be, in the entire world, that I would finally meet you? You were as real to me as my mother, yet I knew you only through two day-dreams. Strange incidents that seemed real yet unreal. I had felt safe and secure during the events, never in danger or helpless. I was connected to you, in my heart. I was named Fox because I know to follow my instincts, and when my life was threatened, I traveled for months, never doubting my journey or the path it took. Now I know it was to find you. I am home.”

Here, he paused, twisted towards me, and cradled my face in his gentle hands. “I do not know why you dreamed of me, but I do know that we are fated to be together. The gods, and my heart led me here, and now it is up to us to find out what we are destined for,” Lovern concluded.

“But what is our future?” I asked. “Why did it take the loss of your family to bring us together? It saddens me to think that they are gone in such a horrific way.”

“I have learned that the gods reveal their plans at their will. We do best if we do not question them. We must go, it is late and your uncle will send men after us if we are too long.”

The rain slowed to a drizzle and we left the cave. Droplets gathered on my eyelashes, fell to my face and I blinked in the muted light. We reached the tethered ponies. He came up behind me and turned me to see his tender eyes. The warm fingertips of one hand lifted my chin and the others traced my cold face, from one cheek to the chin and back. His damp body still smelled of bees-wax and acorns. His hands had touched my face and heart.

I fell in love with him at that instant. His breath was sweet when his lips touched mine. A contract was sealed. I felt a shift in my life and future with that kiss. The old druid Ogilhinn’s vision for me had come true.

My path was now clear. No longer would I weave wool.

I would weave love and, unknowingly, acceptance of death.

C
HAPTER
5

AINE

April, 2005

Jahna first came to me when I was ten. I don’t mean she knocked on my door and asked me to come out and play; I mean she slipped into my mind. My first waking dream. I was awake but it almost seemed dreamlike.

I’d heard adults use the term “invisible friend” and chuckle when talking about their children. My own Mom and Dad used it when I tried to ask them about what had happened to me. She’d come to me when I was studying in my room. At first, I was a bit disoriented, maybe dizzy. Then it was as if I had an echo in my head. I didn’t know how else to explain it.

I looked through my eyes at the normal mess in my room and it was familiar, yet unfamiliar. I was off-balance. It was like I had never seen the room before but I knew it was mine. That was until I looked at the hand-mirror my aunt had given me the Christmas before. It had been framed by wood that’d been painted copper and made to look very old. I – she seemed to recognize it.

Just before she left, I heard her whisper a word in my ear: “Jahna.” I thought it was her name; at least, that was what I called her. As I remembered it, I wondered why I wasn’t afraid. I would be today, if it happened to me for the first time. I’d be sure I had a brain tumor or was going crazy. But back then, I felt calm, and at peace, when she left.

I was okay with it until I started asking around to find out if anyone else had ever felt this way. Mom put her hand on my head to feel for a fever and Dad and Donny laughed. I asked my best friend at school, but never mentioned it again when she made up a hurtful rhyme and teased me in front of the boys.

Jahna came about once a year after that. She never spoke to me except to whisper her name. A few pictures came through but usually it was just feelings. I was wary of the visits at first and then came to look forward to them. She stayed for just a few breaths and then left me with a longing to know her. She seemed to glean thoughts from me and even prompted questions. I think she helped find my career.

I’d developed my hunger for history early. My aunt was the keeper of the family papers and she’d shown me a letter that she said was hundreds of years old. After reading it, I decided to trace my family line. I also knew I wanted to hold ancient things in my hands, and study archaeology.

The second time she stayed for more than a second was the first day in my class on Ancient Celts in Great Britain. It was my favorite class at university. Marc was there, sitting next to me, and I’d felt an excitement on that day that I hadn’t felt about any other period of history. The moment Jahna was inside me, the era seemed as if I had lived through it. The pictures in my text were familiar. I knew I would specialize in that period.

From the beginning, she seemed to be about the same age as me, a child at first, but now I saw her as an adult. It was as if I were reading a novel, putting faces on the characters. I’d done that for Jahna. In my mind, she looked like me. I could almost see her face as I searched for her in my mind. Were our faces similar? Did we share my straight-as-a-stick coal-black hair, my hazel-green eyes that I always wished were blue, my round face and big mouth? Was she tall, or short like me? I had never seen her, only sensed her, but she was a part of me.

When I married Brad, she stopped coming. Jahna was one of the many things I thought I’d lost through my marriage. Then she came back last year while I was working with Marc on the chieftain’s tomb. A weight had lifted from my heart.

Now, Marc and I were back in Scotland. He’d gathered a crew of students and had come to help me get my site started. We were settled into a country inn, not far from the farm where the hill was and were ready to start work tomorrow.

I thought all was fine until Marc had come into my room five minutes ago. He walked straight to my only chair and sat down. I moved some clothes on my bed so I could sit. He began complaining about the lack of funding for our project. I knew I was walking a fine line with my relationship with him. I desperately wanted to be friends, but he seemed to be pulling away. We both tried very hard to be civil to one another, but I realized now how tired I was of defending my desire to dig on the hilltop. It was a hard decision to make, I understood that; however, he had promised to give it a try.

Suddenly, tonight, with Marc in my room, Jahna’s smoky, peat scent was in my nose. Very faint this time but there. My eyes closed involuntarily. I hunched my shoulders and shivered, and the skin on my neck tingled. Shaking, I covered my face with my hands as I whispered, “Not now, Jahna, I want to be alone when you come.”

“What’s the matter?” Marc asked. “Headache?”

“Yes.” I almost added “you.” Taking my hands from my face, I reached behind me to arrange the very hard, small pillows on my bed into something comfortable to lean against. I didn’t quite accomplish the cushioning I wanted for my back. This wasn’t going to be a comfortable night.

A shrill ring made my heart stop and I leapt up, almost falling off the bed as I grabbed the phone. Startled, I answered. “Aine MacRae. Yes, he’s here, just a second.” I sighed as I stood and carried the phone to Marc, trying not to trip over the cord. The burning peat scent was gone. Jahna delayed her visit.

“Marc Hunt. No, my mobile doesn’t work here. Scotland, the bloody Highlands. What do you need? Really?” He looked at me with a big smile on his face. I became alert.

“We could be there in two days! Let me talk to Aine. I’ll call you later, bye.” He handed the phone to me, and I set it back on the water-stained and scratched nightstand.

“That was Doug. He had some incredible news,” Marc said. “I need to have something more concrete to keep me here, now. He said we could be in Wales working on the Roman digs. They need all the help they can get. Once I tell the team we have the job, they’ll want to leave, too. It’s only April, we could have a long summer digging and then the winter to do the cataloging.”

I didn’t want to have this conversation again. I turned my head to avoid his eyes. It took me five months to put this project together. Two months went into begging the farmer to agree to let us on his land, and then three more months to acquire a little funding, the license and to get Marc to agree. All this was about to be compromised.

I said, “I can’t leave now!”

“I would rather be in the field than in the classroom. You know that. I’ve precious little time digging and I have to go back soon.” He had been on sabbatical for almost a year; this fall he would return to university.

His face began to brighten as he explained, “The extra money I make in Wales will help me retire early. I might even get a post on the project and be able to leave university altogether.” His dream was to do research. With this offer, he could see that in his immediate future.

“So you’re asking me to stop this project?”

“Yes,” Marc said. “It’s just a hill, nothing else. When we finished the tomb last summer, we decided not to come back to the Highlands. Remember?” He was starting to sound desperate. “All you have to support your argument is the single bronze blade the farmer found, years ago. You know that anyone walking through here at any time might’ve dropped it. We don’t have any other artifacts, this site isn’t on a GIS map, and the money isn’t enough to let us stay more than two weeks. We can barely set up a good camp in two weeks! Drop this and come with me to Wales. We can still work together there.”