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Authors: Morgan Llywelyn

BOOK: The Horse Goddess (Celtic World of Morgan Llywelyn)
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“I thought I heard something, but I was wrong,” he told
Kazhak. “Follow me; the place we seek is not far away now.”
They were moving along the edge of a cliff where part of the mountain had been torn away by heavy snow, forming a treacherous rock slide. The two men were forced to walk single file, their weapons in their hands. Above the narrow trail the slope was steep and heavily forested; below yawned the devastated ruin left by the avalanche.
Kazhak was following Okelos closely. Suddenly he drew a sharp intake of breath and whispered, “Deer!”
Okelos peered ahead but saw nothing. He looked up the slope into the dark trees but there was no flash of a red hide.
“Where?” he asked the Scythian.
“There, there!” Kazhak pointed straight ahead. “Big stag. Biggest stag Kazhak ever see.”
Okelos looked along the trail in bafflement. Shortly ahead of them it lifted and rounded a curve, disappearing from their vision as it climbed upward to a hidden strip of meadow. As far as Okelos could see, there was no deer.
By now Kazhak was burning with the lust of the hunter. Deftly fitting an arrow to his bow, he shouldered Okelos aside and hurried up the path, oblivious to everything but the giant stag. No mountain man would have been so careless of his footing; but Kazhak was not a mountain man.
Then Okelos saw it, just where the trail turned from sight: a brown shadow and a magnificent rack of antlers, proudly lifted. With a thrill of horror he realized it was no normal deer that waited there, on the very edge of the precipice, luring Kazhak on.
Kazhak saw a stag. A huge stag. A stag to boast of for the rest of one’s life. He grinned in total joy and released his first arrow, only to see the animal flicker from sight and vanish around the bend. How could he have missed at such a distance? Grabbing the next arrow from his case he ran forward, exulting in the moment, obsessed with the kill. On the narrow trail the animal could not possibly escape him.
There it was again, just ahead. Not running away but standing squarely, challengingly, the equal of any hunter, a creature
of pride and passion like himself. The thought came to him that he and the stag had each been shaped for this one glorious confrontation, the ultimate expression of their malehood.
The stag lowered its head and brandished its many-branched antlers to threaten him, and with a laugh Kazhak sprang toward it, forgetting his bow, forgetting the mountain, seized with the idea of meeting the creature in hand-to-hand combat—this splendid beast who would not run, but stood to fight. He would grab it by its antlers and wrestle it to the earth with his bare hands; he would cut its throat and spill its blood onto the mountain soil.
That would be a tale to tell!
Okelos started to yell a warning but his words dried in his throat and he watched in silence, unable to change what was about to happen, while Kazhak hurled himself at the thing he thought was a deer.
The stag’s eyes, huge and liquid and brown, were fixed on the Scythian, and then they changed and Kazhak realized they were not the eyes of a deer. In the final moment left him, after he had already committed himself to the forward momentum of a powerful leap, the eyes became yellow and piercing and … human.
Kazhak struggled desperately to check himself and regain his balance, but he had been lured too far. His feet hit the crumbling shale at the edge of the slide and the earth dropped away beneath him. Okelos, close on his heels, had to spring backward to avoid being trapped by its sudden collapse as the shale tumbled downward.
Kazhak waved his arms wildly, overbalanced for an eternal moment, then cartwheeled out into space.
Down, down, a sickening drop through stinging stones and choking dirt, the cruel fingers of exposed roots gouging him as he clawed for handholds he could not catch. The side of the mountain seemed to lean toward him and then pull away. He slid into and through a gully running vertically down the face of the slope; he had the impression of being caught between two cliffs, like the molars of a giant carnivore, chewing,
closing on him, and then opening just before he would have been crushed.
His body hit a stony outcropping with an impact that knocked all the air from his lungs in an agonized whoosh and slowed his downward plunge but did not stop it. He tumbled on again, picking up speed, the scree falling away from him. He endured a forever of falling.
Then his head struck something solid and his skull filled with exploding stars.
O
kelos got to Kazhak as quickly as he could, sliding down the mountain himself, cursing and badly frightened. He had almost fallen to his death with the Scythian, and the footing was still treacherous. But honor demanded he recover his guest’s body, even at the risk of his own life.
Okelos now regretted having come on the hunt. Some honors were better declined, and this was one of them. Tardily he realized he might have been intended to go over the precipice too; had Taranis and Kernunnos arranged it between them, to end any challenge Okelos might someday make for the chief’s staff?
Yes,
said the spirit within.
At last, breathless and bruised, he reached the Scythian’s crumpled body. It was badly abraded on face and hands, and a thin stream of blood was running from one nostril, but to Okelos’ astonishment, the dark eyes opened as he bent over the supposedly dead man and Kazhak muttered something.
Okelos squatted beside him. “What did you say?”
The Scythian stifled a groan and made himself grin instead.
“No … stag. Fool Kazhak. Big … joke on Kazhak, is it so?” His eyes closed and he lay still.
He was breathing steadily, however, and gave every indication that he intended to go on breathing. He would have to be taken to the village immediately; by the time Okelos could bring help back some wild animal might find him and accomplish what the shapechanger had failed to do.
Okelos was strongly moved at this moment to thwart the shapechanger.
He struggled with the unconscious body, trying to find the best way to carry it, and at last got it hoisted across his back and shoulders and began picking his way diagonally down the slope, trying to find safe footing so that both men would reach the village alive.
The children were the first to notice his arrival. Approaching from the pasture trail he was not seen by a sentry, and had almost reached the center of the village, with a pack of youngsters crowding at his heels asking questions, before any of the adults was aware of Okelos and his burden and ran to help him.
The village was thrown into uproar. Kazhak’s men were soon roaring like bulls, demanding explanations. The
gutuiters
were trying to get to the injured man to tend his wounds; the embarrassed lord of the tribe, horrified—or appearing to be—at the accident that had befallen his guest, was getting in everyone’s way.
The commotion attracted even Epona’s attention. The crowd was moving toward the guest lodge, where the
gutuiters
meant to care for Kazhak, and Epona’s feet carried her with the crowd as her ears caught snatches of conversation. Some people who knew nothing were trying to explain everything to others who knew less.
“It was a hunting accident.”
“Was he mauled by a bear?”
“Fell down the mountain.”
“How. could he fall down the mountain? Wasn’t there a guide with him?”
“No, he wandered off by himself.”
“Yes, Okelos, son of Rigantona, was with him and let him fall.”
“That explains it. Okelos has always been careless, just like that wife of his. But how is this going to look to the Scythians? Will they want revenge?”
“Is the trading arrangement jeopardized?” This from someone older, wiser; a contemporary of Toutorix.
Epona was not surprised to hear the accident blamed on her brother. He would not have made a good lord of the tribe. Once more, the wisdom of the council of elders was proven. How fortunate the Kelti were to have so many old heads!
But an old head could not help her now; if she went to one of the elders for advice in her own dilemma, they would only side with Rigantona. The promise had been given, after all. She had been exchanged, like something you can count and carry.
The only advice she had been given that might be any good to her was Mahka’s:
You should run away, Epona. You have to fight for yourself in thislife.
She was standing to one side, watching the people crowd around the guest lodge, glancing from time to time at the angry faces of Kazhak’s three men as they stood nearest the door, and it was then the idea came to her. A wild idea, a reckless idea, exactly the sort of thing that always occurred to Epona; an idea that could not be credited to the spirit within.
Nematona emerged from the lodge and Epona hurried to intercept her. “Will the Scythian be all right?” she wanted to know.
Nematona smiled. “I doubt if he could be killed with an axe. They breed strong men on that Sea of Grass he talks about. He is cut and bruised and some of his ribs may be injured, but he never winced when I bound them and now he says he is ready to ride. We were able to convince him to take one night’s rest—he is somewhat weakened—but I suspect he and his men will leave at dawn nextday. They are all extremely anxious to go.”
Anxious to go
, thought Epona.
So am I; anxious to go
.
“Have you seen Kernunnos?” she asked Nematona.
“He was away for a while, but now I believe he is in the chief’s lodge. Do you want to see him?”
“No,” said Epona firmly. “I never, ever, want to see Kernunnos.”
Nematona patted her shoulder. “The shapechanger upsets you, doesn’t he? He is difficult to like, I realize, but you will find he is very wise and a skillful teacher. When he finishes his share of your instruction in the arts of the priesthood you will know as much as anyone can while living in thisworld. I almost envy you, Epona, having so many secrets opened to you for the first time.”
You could not argue with one of the
druii.
They were so snugly interwoven with the physical aspects of the earth and the unseen powers of the otherworlds that they could no longer understand the reluctance of someone like Epona, who found the thought of giving her entire life to the priesthood unbearable. The
druii
were convinced theirs was the ideal existence; the kind of freedom Epona required was no more necessary for them than rain was necessary for rocks.
Freedom,
Epona thought, hungrily. Passionately.
Freedom such as the horsemen must know, sitting on those beautiful animals as they run across the … what was it called? The Sea of Grass?
Imagine a sea of grass. Not sailing ships but galloping horses, and a horizon unlimited by mountain peaks.
The Scythians will return to their sea of grass and I am supposed to go to the magic house.
“Nematona, are you certain the Scythians will leave nextday?”
Nematona’s lips twitched. “I can give you my word on it. I think Kernunnos would carry them all out of the village in his arms if necessary, to get rid of them. Right now he is not too happy with your brother, either, Epona. You would be wise to suggest to Okelos that he stay out of the shapechanger’s way for a while.”
Nematona headed for the lodge the
gutuiters
shared; a tall, stately woman in a rough brown robe like the bark of a tree.
Epona knew if she narrowed her eyes Nematona would melt away into the forest surrounding the village, her graceful figure one with the pines and the ferns, moving in eternal softness among the green and living things, part of them forever.
Daughter of the Trees.
I am just Epona,
the girl told herself, standing with her head held high.
And I will remain Epona.
She sat down in a comfortable spot where she could keep an eye on the guest lodge.
Kernunnos had returned to the village to find that nothing had gone as he expected. The Scythian had somehow survived his dreadful fall and was not even crippled. The Kelti were more impressed than ever with his hardiness; they chattered among themselves about the strength and endurance these horsemen must possess.
Some of the men were saying to others, “Perhaps the secret is in the heads of their enemies; there may be something to that. Suppose we were to nail heads to our lodges? Suppose we have our women make us some of those trousers—that looks like an excellent garment, warm and practical for mining, as well as for riding. We could learn a lot from these Scythians.”
Kernunnos was furious. He blew into the chief’s lodge like a cold north wind. “We have underestimated these horse people,” he told Taranis.
“We? It was your idea to send him on the hunt. Can it be that he is stronger than you, Kernunnos?”
The shapechanger’s lips writhed back from his teeth. “Impossible. He should never have survived that fall. A mistake must have been made …”
“
I
have made no mistakes,” Taranis said pointedly. “I gave the Scythians hospitality, I exchanged gifts, I even arranged a very satisfactory trade. Whatever trouble there has been you have caused, Kernunnos. Kazhak has told his men we injured him with some sort of trick, and they are understandably
very angry. They may well leave without bothering to conclude the trade at all.”
“This is not just a trading matter! I tell you, the whole future of the people is involved; I have seen it. If we do not destroy the influence these strangers have, in another generation you might not even recognize the Kelti.”
He spoke with the voice of prophecy. The eyes of the chief priest were clouded, and hooded by their long lids, but for once Taranis was too upset to be intimidated by the powers of the
drui.
The villagers had seen the Scythian gold; if it was taken away again, they would blame him, and their allimportant loyalty to him might be weakened. A brash young man like Okelos, who promised them more …
“I am going to do my best to see that the trade is completed before the Scythians leave, Kernunnos,” he said. “Then they will go and be forgotten, you will see.”
“They will not be forgotten! And they may well come back, with more of their kind!”
“If they do, we will enlarge our trading arrangements with them to everyone’s advantage,” Taranis told him, “and in the future I will ask you to let me handle dealings with outsiders, for that is the function of the lord of the tribe. I see now that this is no business of the
druii
. And if by some chance they return with warriors, meaning us harm, we will defeat them with our own warriors and Goibban’s iron. No one can successfully attack us here; that has been proved many times.”
Kernunnos felt his guts twisting. How arrogant Taranis was! Like all the Kelti, he put too much faith in his courage and his physical strength, and there would come a time when those allies would be insufficient.
The continuation of the tribe as a strong, spiritually intact unit was the responsibility of the chief priest, and Kernunnos was not going to be allowed to fulfill that responsibility. Since the coming of the Scythians his position had already been eroded.
Nursing his resentment, he left the chief’s lodge and headed for the magic house to consult the spirits. He caught
sight of Rigantona’s daughter outside the guest lodge, sitting on the earth close to the hobbled horses of the Scythians, and stopped abruptly.
It was a sign, a good omen at last. When he most needed help, there would be another
drui
to add strength to the magic that held the pattern intact and the people of the Kelti safe.
He approached her on cat’s feet “Epona,” he said, his voice caressing. “Epona.”
She whirled around to meet his eyes. She would no longer give him the satisfaction of seeing her pull away. “It is not yet the night of the full moon,” she told him.
“I was hoping you could be persuaded to join us early,” the priest said. “You are needed now.”
“The promise was for the night of the full moon,” she reminded him, standing her ground.
“There is a threat to the tribe and I must call on the combined strength of the
druii
to counter it,” Kernunnos said. “Your help will be invaluable.” His voice repelled Epona. It reminded her of globules of grease floating on the surface of the water in the
hydria.
“I am not trained,” she said.
“Not yet, but you have a force in you, Epona; a greater force than you realize. I know how to harness that force. There is nothing to fear, it does not hurt.”
She was haughty. “You know I’m not afraid of pain.”
“Then come with me now and help me, daughter of Rigantona. Working together, you and I will do such magic as the first
druii
did many generations ago. We can make the pattern stronger than ever. We can keep the Kelti here, in the Blue Mountains, safe and prosperous, able to resist whatever forces of change might try to destroy their unity. There are other people of strength rising even now, Epona, I can feel it, and they will threaten us in future generations. But we can make the Kelti more cohesive, put new weapons in their minds rather than in their hands. Hai! When you give your life to the tribe …”
“I don’t want to give my life to the tribe. I want to live it for myself.” Why would no one listen?
“Would you forget your obligation to your tribe?”
She could sense the desperation in him and it surprised her. “I will never forget I am Kelti,” she said. “But I will not come to you before nextnight.” She was not lying when she said it, merely walking around the truth.

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