Avelynn: The Edge of Faith (11 page)

A beam of sunlight struck the lintel above the entranceway. The source was a hole bored high into the opposite wall. The ceiling, which lifted several feet overhead, looked natural. The walls, however, had been manipulated from the stone. I bent and retrieved the torch. The chamber resembled a honeycomb, with deep spherical alcoves pitting the smooth surface. I reached my light into one of the rounded recesses and gasped, scrambling backward.

A human skull sat upon a nest of scattered bones. I spun around. There must have been a hundred depressions. Gil had called the cave a cromlech—a burial place for the dead. I’d expected to see some signs of its entombed inhabitants, but so many? Were they all sacrifices? Were they willing volunteers or had they been forced? This barrow had to have been in use for hundreds of years.

I stared at the stone in the center of the space. Long and squat, with a broad, flat surface, it would easily accommodate my body should I choose to lie on it. “An altar stone.” My voice hitched a whisper. The significance of such a sacred space filled me with awe and profound respect. These people had played an imperative role in keeping their communities thriving and safe. It involved an outdated and barbarious practice, but I understood the beliefs that precipitated such actions. Christians prayed for deliverance from their earthly woes. They prayed and did penance, fasted and self-mutilated in an attempt to appease their God. Christ’s own blood washed away their sins. He gave the ultimate sacrifice for his believers. These people were no less selfless. I sent a prayer to the Goddess to watch over their souls.

I searched the walls for an exit—a crevice or crack that might lead farther down to the beach—but there was nothing. I gazed at the light seeping in from the hole in the roof. I would have to hold the ceremony here.

Staying the night inside the catacombs with the dead was not my first choice, but it was at least hidden from the outside world. I could practice my faith unmolested and undetected.

I made my way back out, without further incident, and retraced my steps into the light of early evening. When I finally reached the top of the cliff, Gil and Alrik had set up camp.

“Did it lead to the water?” Gil asked.

“No, it stopped well short.” I gazed over the horizon. The sun was setting. “It’s a barrow. There are a considerable number of human remains in there.”

Gil crossed himself. “The priests were right, then.”

“There are no demons or monsters, but at one time it was a temple of great significance.”

I pulled Alrik aside and showed him the ring. “I found this on the steps. The cave represents the Womb of the Mother.”

He held the object up to the waning sunlight.

“There’s an altar stone. It was well used,” I said.

“In Gotland, there are three major festivals honoring the gods.” He handed me back the ring. “Each one involves sacrifices, many of them human.”

I reconciled the fact that at one time, the Goddess required a human sacrifice as well, but unlike in Alrik’s faith, that practice had been buried with the bones in the cave, hundreds of years ago.

Alrik scanned the coast. “Are you sure you wish to hold your ceremony here?”

I nodded.

“Then you will need to hurry.”

Loaded like a pack mule, I balanced bundles of wood and climbed back down the cliff. It took several trips up and down the steep steps before I had amassed a respectable pile of billets at the mouth of the cave. Alrik lowered the caged hare by rope, and I tucked the beast inside the cavern, safe from eager birds of prey. Only a thread of sun hovered above the sea as I made my way back into the heart of the cave.

The next part of the process took longer since I had to juggle my torch with the stockpile of lumber. Once inside the chamber, I wedged both pine lights into natural crevices in the wall. This afforded me two free hands and cast plenty of light by which to see. I piled enough wood to make a respectable fire under the hole in the ceiling. I hoped the majority of the smoke would leave via that escape route. Much would cling to the higher recesses in the cave, but it wouldn’t be much different from the confines of a small cottage. I thought about the couple Bertram and I had stayed with before burying Muirgen. They’d burned peat, which was blessedly warm but filled the small croft with a thick haze of choking smoke. The memory stabbed as I thought of my grandmother.

I placed my satchel on the altar stone and opened it, revealing the stoppered urn of wine. I set it aside and drew out my divining bones.

A reverent hush infused the chamber as I set about my tasks, yet the thoughts rattling in my head disturbed the silence. I didn’t know what would happen once I drank Muirgen’s potion, and I wanted to get it over with quickly. I hoped to sleep off the drug’s effects before the dawn ceremony—a ceremony that was just as elusive as the events of this coming eve.

The cramped chamber left little room to dance. The altar stone stood in the center, and the fire would take up most of the space on one side. That left only a few clear feet of unobstructed floor until the walls closed in on me again. I had rolled out my bedroll in that open space. I supposed I could sit on the furs and entreat the Goddess that way. But how was I to mark out the ritual space? The cave itself was a circle. Was I still supposed to draw a chalk outline, marking the ceremonial boundary? Or could I just stop at each of the four directions within the chamber? In frustration, I kicked a small rock, sending it careening into the wall. The ping echoed deep inside my skull.

I thought of the hare I’d brought for the ceremony. At least that part was routine. The Mother would still get her sacrifice.

I breathed deeply, letting the silence cocoon me. The weight of the cave and all the things it had witnessed filled the void.

The last time I’d stood within the sacred circle at Ostara, I had prayed to the Goddess to stave off the struggle and pain portended in my future. Those pleas had fallen on deaf ears. My father and grandmother were murdered. My brother had been stolen from me. My home, my freedom, taken. Now I hid in a strange land, preparing for a battle that wasn’t mine to fight, a traitor running for my life. What hope could I possibly hold for my future? I looked to the east, past the entrance of the cave, across forests and ocean to Wedmore. The people, my people, would be readying the fields for the spring planting. Even if Bertram’s words rang true and they blamed me for their plight, I would not desert them. Tomorrow, at the ceremony of the rising dawn, I would entreat the Goddess to provide them with a good harvest, to fatten their livestock, and fill their larders. Tonight, however, I needed to determine my own fate.

I lifted the silk pouch from the altar stone and shook the divining bones within. They tinkled and clinked, their weight ominous and heavy.

“Goddess, reveal to me my future.”

I closed my eyes, swallowed my fear, and cast them onto the dirt floor beside me. I held my breath, pausing a moment longer, and then peeked.

Ioho
, Yew, taunted me with its promise of death and destruction.
Duir
, Oak, was also prominent—I would need a great deal of strength and endurance in the times ahead.
Ur
, Heather, spoke of love, yet there was a warning there with
Nuin
, Ash, lying over top.
Nuin
brought change and imbalance. It also implied shape-shifting—people changing perhaps or loyalties shifting. I frowned.
Nuin
dissected
Ur
into two halves. A sinking feeling gnawed at my gut.

More death, destruction, strength, and endurance. Given my situation and the current battle ahead, I hadn’t expected anything different, but the Ogham speaking to love were unnerving. I collected the small white bones and placed them back in the silk pouch. I grabbed Muirgen’s wine but hesitated. I should eat something first. Alrik and Gil had absconded some food from Hyffaid’s ample kitchens, and I needed something in my stomach to offset the potency of the tonic.

Anxiety and uncertainty churned, choking any semblance of appetite, but I managed to consume half the bread and some of the venison before giving up. I extinguished one of the pine torches and found a crevice higher up in which to place the other one. Hopefully, I wouldn’t bang or bump it.

Every muscle in my body tensed. It wanted nothing to do with this plan. I ignored my better judgement and unstopped the urn. I held the cool terracotta to my lips, took a deep breath, and then tilted the vessel. My mouth filled with the foul, bitter potion. I swallowed hard. Thick liquid slid down my throat, burning its way to my stomach. I coughed and cleared my throat with effort. My eyes watered. It was worse than I had remembered.

I looked about the chamber. The space was clear of obstacles save the arranged firewood and the altar stone. The last time I’d had Muirgen’s potion, I’d been able to walk and was aware of my surroundings, though everything had been distorted. How long had it taken at Samhain to feel the effects of the wine? Perhaps it was best to lie down.

I stared at the shadows flickering off the cave’s ceiling. They waved and shifted. Perception altered with each minuscule movement of the flame.

I didn’t know how long I lay there, but I soon became engrossed in those oscillating patterns. I watched them grow and encompass the entire room. The cave undulated as if underwater. If I stood, I would sway. Shadows pulsed. Light receded. My mind stilled. Time ebbed until it stopped. The whole world held its breath, and I lay at the center of it, timeless, weightless.

When next I became aware of my surroundings, I was no longer in the cave. My feet were bare. A cotton underdress hugged my body, and my hair flowed down my back. White sand stretched for miles in either direction, the landscape unmarred by stones or wood. My toes wriggled down until soft granules buried them.

I stood at the edge of a large body of water. It seemed as wide and endless as an ocean, but the surface remained still as ice, heedless of the gentle wind toying with my hair and caressing my face. The temperate breeze blew, its sweet scent redolent of apple blossoms. Despite the absence of a sun shining overhead, light permeated the world around me and heat warmed my upturned face, as if it had been kissed by the sun’s rays. This place soothed me. I felt calm and peaceful.

Behind me, a verdant forest reached as far as the eye could see. A path lined with smooth flat stones cut through the landscape. The canopy folded overhead as if trellised and arched.

I followed the stones. Lush woodland enveloped me. The air grew thick and heavy with languid humidity. A chorus of birds sang a greeting. Their music rose light and lively as they darted through the branches overhead. No insects sought to bite or pester. No beast large or small crossed my path.

Vibrant reds burst from the thick undergrowth. The deep scarlet of roses and poppies intermingled with the juicy crimsons of bryony and honeysuckle berries. Cool rock greeted the soles of my feet. I blinked, and the fiery reds changed to the vivid oranges of pimpernel, dock, and buckthorn berries. After a time, the oranges faded and the hues flowed into the brilliant yellows of gorse, cowslip, and primrose.

I strolled at a leisurely pace, rapt as the blossoms disappeared. The backdrop shifted and shimmered with a hundred shades of green. The foliage ranged from hoary and prickly to smooth and glossy. I marveled at the depth and variety of shades and textures.

It seemed as if I’d been wandering for hours, yet the light never wavered or dimmed. I grew neither tired nor hungry. The dazzling colors returned. Stunning against an emerald and jade green backdrop, purple blooms of saffron, thistles, lilies, and butterwort gave way to the soft indigos of bluebells, chicory, cornflowers, and milkwort.

Faerie folk hid amongst the ancient trees and peered out at me from behind quivering dew drops. I wanted to veer off the path and delve into the mysteries of the forest, yet I felt compelled to continue my journey. There was someplace I needed to be. I needed to reach the end of this path, so I plodded on.

When the rainbow ebbed, I strode into a clearing. A small creek burbled underneath a tidy wooden bridge. On the opposite bank sat a long, squat log, perfect for sitting and reflecting. A raven swooped down from the pale, sunless sky and perched on the rock. Its shrewd eyes regarded me.

I made my way across the bridge and sat beside the raven. It croaked. I must wait. I laid my hands upon my lap and watched the stillness, absorbing the silence. I may have fallen asleep, or perhaps time stopped and started again, for no sooner had the raven disappeared than Muirgen sat beside me. She wore a kirtle of dark green, the same one I’d seen her wear so many times before. A silver-white braid lay over one shoulder. The end of the plait reached just beneath her breast. I wondered if it had grown since she’d died.

“Is that the first question you can think of?” Muirgen narrowed her eyes at me.

I shrugged. “Do I have a limit?”

She laughed, a shrill, high sound that pierced the quiet, vibrating through the windless space. “No, but our time is short.”

I nodded. There was so much I wanted to say, so much I wished I’d had the time to learn. Anger coiled slow and steady; she needn’t have died. “Why did you come to the Witan? Why didn’t you stay with me instead of returning home alone?”

“Right to the heart of the matter, hmm.” She looked at the bridge. “What do you see past the creek?”

I followed her gaze. “The forest. Why?”

Her eyebrows pinched together. “I see only a gauzy light.”

It was my turn to narrow my eyes at her.

“Divining has its limits. I can see certain things, like the leather shoes on my feet, and the log we sit upon. I can see as far as the bridge, but beyond that, nothing is clear.”

“You knew you were going to die. You gave Bertram your book. You had him place those things in my locked chest. That seems pretty clear to me.”

She shook her head. “What did you see in the bones this night?”

I swallowed. “More death, pain, and struggle.”

“Yes, but do you know specifics? Do you know where the death comes from? Do you know who it touches?”