The Fox (44 page)

Yesterday, the druids prepared a sacred last meal for Lovern of unleavened barley bread, cooked on a stone until blackened and sprinkled with ground mistletoe berries. They sang a chant over it that I had not heard before. They named gods. Esus, Taranis, the thunder god, Teutates, the god of the clans. Firtha called these gods in their triumvirate. They are the gods we called for war.

Sing loud, druids, tell them my husband is coming to discuss war. Tell them to open their ears and take him to Lug and Bel and Morrigna and Scotia. Tell them he is leaving me and coming to them! Tell them he is coming. Tell them I love him.

Rhona brought the blackened bread to Lovern. He took a bite and his mouth twisted with its bitterness. A mug of mead was handed to her and she retrieved her tiny green jar of oil from her belt. She slightly tipped it to pour a small amount into the mead. She offered it to Lovern. He took a sip and then leaned forward to whisper into her ear. She turned and gave the rest of the drink to me. I was grateful to have it. Together, with the help of Rhona’s elixir, we would gather the strength to walk to the fires and beyond. I tasted the honey of his lips as I drank, looking into his eyes while I swallowed.

Too soon, Finlay and Kenric appeared. “The fires are lit,” said Kenric. “It is time to go.”

“Where is Crisi?” I asked Finlay.

“She is with Eiric and the other children. She will be at the fires and the sacrifice, but at a distance so as not to see the whole event.”

“Good. That is good,” said Lovern. “She will be stronger for this.” He sounded as if he were trying to talk himself into this thought. I knew she must be there and knew I would not be with her to talk her through what she would see.

“Eiric will need a soft hand for her today,” I said. “Please tell Crisi we love her.”

“She is well watched and is loved,” he said.

The band of druids opened enough for Kenric to step in. “I wish there were another way to do this,” he said. “I will miss you as a friend and healer. I know you will do your best for us, and if we have any chance with the gods, you will find it. It is time to go.” We started to walk to the meadow of the giving fires.

A sudden thought scurried through my mind.
He will be cold. He needs my cloak.
I stumbled on a root, slippery from the frost, as I hurriedly shook off my cloak and held it up for him. He stopped walking and gazed toward the moon that hung still over the three hills. The fires were starting to blaze in the distance. I looked in the other direction, to the lake that reflected the late moon and beginning pink of a sunrise. The gray sky was clear of clouds. The memory of our first Samhain together, our first giving fires and its sacrifice, haunted me.

“Hear me now and believe!” He turned, and his eyes burned into mine. “With you near, I do not feel the cold. I do not feel anything.” He reached out and grasped my shoulders with his strong hands. “When it is time, I will be with you, Crisi, and the gods. No pain can cross that barrier.”

A moan leaked from my heart and escaped my mouth. I nodded and pulling my cloak back on, fell into step behind him.
I will not cry.
I tried to make my mind blank, but memories of the last ten years rolled through it. I was not sure I would be able carry out my task. How could I continue after today?
I will not cry.

The gods give us the sun that sets but rises for a new day. We die, but will meet again in the home of the gods. And through our children and their children we will live throughout all time.

The stacked oak logs of the Beltane fires blazed and crackled with intense heat. We stood to the side, waiting for Firtha to speak.

“We are going back to our old ways,” she told the crowd. As she started, their milling and talking subsided. I saw that the entire clan, and some from outside clans as well, were present, the children at the back. Sileas and Harailt were near them, and I knew they would also watch over Crisi.

“Today,” she continued, “Beltane, is the day of sacrifice. The Romans are coming and we must stop them. The gods, through the king, ordered this sacrifice for the clans. We call on Bel and the Morrigna to hear us today. Lovern is here to give his life for you. He gives his life to the gods to bring victory to our cause. He will sit at the table of the gods and share a cup of mead. He will hunt with them and argue for our freedom. He does this of his own free will. I order songs to be sung about him for all time to come. He sacrifices his life so our blood will be free.” At this, the crowd roared its approval. I swallowed several times to keep from retching.

“Follow us. Walk through the purifying fires. Go to the sacred waters of the lake. Follow us, be purified, and witness our gift to the gods.” The crowd broke into yells of thankfulness. They also started calling Lovern’s name. He was a god among us now.

Firtha led us between the towers of flames, and heat seared our faces. It was if the sun had come down to bear witness to this death. After we got through the path of flames, the night closed in around us again. Then we turned and headed toward the lake. To the point that Lovern and I had walked around so many seasons ago.

The druids walked before us on the narrow, worn path. I could see the small rise that was our destination. Then those who ran ahead to see the ceremony hid it. No matter. I would never forget what it looked like. The grass that grew on the rise always seemed greener than that beside it. Was it fed by the blood that had been spilled there so long ago?

Waves ate under the shoreline and caused an undercut of the land just at the edge of the lake, the frigid water that held our past human sacrifices and many bronze blades thrown to the gods. Even when the sky was clear of clouds and the sun blazed it seemed dark to me, at that spot on the lake. I hated it. I would never be able to look upon it again. Lovern’s blood would now feed the grass.

The druids walked on. Fifteen white robes, fifteen druids to perform this deed. All were ready but me. I repeated my prayer over and over. I had to believe it or I would not live through this.

The gods give us the sun that sets but rises for a new day. We die, but will meet again in the home of the gods. And through our children and their children we will live throughout all time.

The crowd parted to allow us through. Behind them, the smooth black lake reflected the receding moon. My head pounded to the rhythm of the ceremonial drums. The druids’ chant grew louder, drowning out my heartbeat, and then stopped as Firtha halted. She placed her hands on Lovern’s shoulders and pulled him into place. Into the place of his death.

Lovern turned to face the three hills as the moon dipped behind them, his face devoid of expression. I fought with myself to hold back the flood of tears. Suddenly, the king’s fox ran across the field next to us and a muffled sound of amazement went up from the crowd. I turned to Lovern, knowing this omen gave him power. I knew nothing would stop him from carrying through with his sacrifice.

Rhona, her white hair indistinguishable from her robe, carried an oak ember to the small stack of oak and rowan logs near us. She tossed in two sprigs of mistletoe. The fire burned bright and fast, and Lovern’s face reflected its colors. No warmth emanated from it for me.

“I do this today to stop our valley from being overrun by the warriors who call themselves Romans.” Lovern’s clear, determined voice brought the crowd’s eyes back to him. “They took the mines from my people and killed my mother, sisters and queen. I do not want them to come to this valley, to your clan, to my family. I do this so the gods will be here for you after today.”

He paused and looked over their heads. I saw hope, his inner strength, in his eyes. “Look.” He turned to a small nearby hill. On it grew one of our sacred oak trees. He smiled and seemed to become even taller in the light of the fire. Under the tree was the fox that had followed us from the king’s fort, and the tree was filled with my ravens. They were back together again. A small bud of hope appeared in my heart.

I turned back, and he faced me. “Jahna, come tie back my hair.”

I shuffled forward and pulled a piece of yarn from the fringe of my cloak. He leaned in so I could reach his head. My hands were numb as I combed his hair back with my fingers. I could barely tie the knot around its fullness. Every breath I was able to take leaked a silent “I will not cry.” Finlay stepped forward and drew his bronze dirk. He reached over to Lovern’s radiant, red hair, cut a lock, and handed it to me. I grasped it in my hand and then stumbled back to my place, his hair clasped in my tight fist, next to my heart.

Nathraichean and another white robed druid as tall as he stood on either side of Lovern. Each had a bronze axe gripped in one hand behind Lovern, their free hands grasping one of his arms. Firtha stepped up to Lovern and placed a braided fox-gut garrote attached to an alder branch around his neck, lifting his hair out of the way. Another in a white robe took hold of the stick, ready to turn it at Firtha’s command. Firtha reached inside her cloak, withdrew a bronze dirk from her belt, and held it in her left hand. She stepped forward and placed her right hand over the center of Lovern’s chest, over his heart.

Numb, I repeated again to myself,
the gods give us the sun that sets but rises for a new day. We die, but will meet again in the home of the gods. And through our children and their children we will live throughout all time.

“I call on Lug and Scotia to listen to this man’s words!” Firtha shouted to the sky. Then, looking back at Lovern’s face, she continued. “Lovern, the gods require that you freely give your life to them. Tell them now if that is so.”

His eyes stared into hers. “I give my life on earth freely in exchange for a life with the gods and freedom for my people.”

Firtha glanced at Nathraichean and nodded.

Oh, gods be merciful to him and me. Let this death be not in vain. I will see him again. I will see him again. I will….

At the same time, both axes were raised over Lovern’s head. Then the strong arms holding them arced down. I heard his skull break. His eyes closed and he sagged forward, held up by the strength of Nathraichean and the second druid. A third druid raised an axe I had not seen, and hit him again at the back of his head. His blood sprayed over my face. I tasted metal. His body was completely limp, head lolling, when the garrote tightened quickly and deeply around his neck. Firtha stepped closer and Nathraichean, his fingers entwined in Lovern’s bloody hair, pulled his head back to expose his throat for her dirk. Lovern’s blood seeped from the slice in his neck to join the dark, shimmering pool on the ground beneath him. Firtha’s once white robe was now gory, covered with Lovern’s life-blood.

The air around me wavered and Beathan appeared between Lovern and me, as tall and strong as he had been while alive. He reached his hands to Lovern and commanded him to come. My heart leapt in my chest. Beathan had come to receive Lovern! It was so. It was true. My prayer was answered.

The gods give us the sun that sets but rises for a new day. We die, but will meet again in the home of the gods. And through our children and their children we will live throughout all time. Oh, gods, thank you!

It must be so. I had to believe it so. For Lovern was dead on this earth.

Beathan turned and smiled. “We will come for you soon, my little mouse.”

The roar of the river to the Otherworld filled my head and the vibrating air around me grew still and black. Acrid peat smoke still hung in the air. I closed my eyes and then opened them to see the druids loading Lovern’s plaid cloak-wrapped body onto a small boat to carry him out to the deeper water. To lay him with the bronze blades.

I felt myself travel. My mind touched Aine’s for an instant and I filled her with my anguish and the picture of Lovern’s death.

C
HAPTER
25

Steve McDonald

JAHNA

82 AD A
PRIL

The air slipped by like a meandering stream. Trees below were dressed in their summer greens, and white sheep grazed on the grassy hilltops. Golden warmth wrapped itself around me, made me lazy, and tasted like mead on a hot day. All my responsibilities and problems were magically gone. I laid suspended in purposeless floating. Why move? Why go back? Forever was too short a stay here. A deep breath brought no pain. A memory, no tears.

“Jahna,” a voice from the sun whispered. “Jahna, dear. You must take the tea. If you do not, your pain will return.”

Liquid entered my mouth without my knowing and made its way into my mind. It sheltered me in its woolen comfort. The taste of freedom was bitter. Time disappeared.