Magdalen Rising (31 page)

My first thought when I woke at dawn the next day was that I'd missed the second night of Esus's ordeal. Missed it entirely. I hadn't even dreamed of him. The second day of confinement under the Crows' wings was far worse than the first. I had recovered my strength, and I knew I was running out of time. Although we were now allowed out of the hut, the beady eye of a Crow was on us at all times. Then, unexpectedly, my chance came.

It was the night of the full moon, the last night of the festivities. At Llanddywn Bay, there was to be an enormous women's rite attended by a full complement of Crows along with all the queens and female tribal leaders, of whom there were a great many. Viviane was feeling well enough to be quite put out when the Crows informed us that we were to stay behind. I protested along with her, so that no one would suspect how relieved I was not to be taking a seven mile hike in the opposite direction of Bryn Celli Ddu.

I tried as subtly as possible, which was not very, to find out from Nissyen what the men would be up to while the women met alone.

“What do you think? They'll be drinking and fighting each other over the hero's cut of meat. When they're too drunk to stand, the bards will sing to them while they snore. Then, when everyone's bored with that, whoever is still on his feet will go spy on the women. What else?”

“What about the secret rite at Bryn Celli Ddu?”

“And who told you anything about that?” he asked sharply.

“Why, you mentioned it only yesterday, Nissyen.”

“Did I? Well, don't fret yourself about the Stranger, if that's what you're doing. It will all be over tomorrow morning at dawn. He'll rise with the sun.”

And I'll be there to greet him, I didn't say, though I still didn't know how I'd manage it. I was sure the Crows would not leave Viviane and me unguarded. Nor did they.

We were left in the keeping of a Crow of great antiquity, one of the ones who had come from Holy Island for the festival. She was no happier than we were about being stuck at Caer Leb. In fact, she was in a decidedly foul temper.

“Might as well watch the bloody moonrise,” she muttered. “Come along, you two.”

We all went to sit on the earth wall surrounding the caer. When you look towards the Menai Straits to the Snowdonia range, you face southeast. You can watch the moon rise and roll across the sky over the mountains. The light plays with the range, a ridge turns silver; a ravine is cast into shadow. When the light hits a rocky peak just right, it shines.

“Not a bad view,” the Crow conceded grudgingly. “Though certainly not as fine as ours on Holy Head. From
there,
you can see the whole world.”

She spoke with great authority, then took another swig from a flask of wine she did not seem inclined to share. I studied her profile. Her black hood kept her face in shadow, except for a distinctly beak-like nose that gleamed in the moonlight. She could not have looked more like a crow and still remained human.

On the other side of the Crow sat Viviane. She was not looking at the view at all but resting her face on her updrawn knees. All I could see was a solid wall of moon-struck orange hair. It occurred to me that there must have been a full moon when she and Ciaran made that life that was already over. I thought she must be remembering. I felt an unaccustomed urge to comfort her, but the Crow sat between us blocking any direct communication.

“If only they'd listened to me, none of this ever would have happened,” the old Crow muttered. “Sex education. They don't even know what it means. What good is tell without show? If they'd let me,
I
could have shown them. But does anyone listen to me? No, they think I'm a crackpot. Now they're sorry. Now everyone's sorry. Worra, worra. You'd think I'd get more respect. Respect for elders. All talk, no action. No one listens to old Murna anymore. But believe you me, when it comes to friendship of the thighs, I could teach the druids a thing or three. All that schooling and most of 'em still have their heads up their ass. But do they come to me? No. They think I'm a shriveled old crone. Them and their damn votive wells they keep cramming with all kinds of junk. They don't know what a sacred spring really is, let alone where to find one. But then, they don't know much. I swear they wouldn't know Anu if she sat on their face.”

There didn't seem to be any call for response or any pause in the flow of her speech. In fact, old Murna was so absorbed in her grievance that I began to hope that she might not notice if I got up and slipped away.

“And do they listen now? Now that I've been proved right? No. They leave me guarding the girl. What good is that, now the damage is done? Said they wanted to spare my legs the walk to the straits. Spare my legs! Haven't I just walked here from Holy Head? Well, maybe I didn't walk all the way, but there's no law against that. Spare my legs! They're all too young. They don't remember. These thighs have held kings and warriors in their grip. The marrow of my bones is made of pure moonlight. When the moon is full, my bones remember the feeling of a fine stallion between my legs. Up then. There's no need for me here.
I know my way to where the sea rushes in and licks the shore. It's not far as the crow flies.”

Using our shoulders to hoist herself to her feet, the Crow began to walk down the embankment. The full moon can play tricks on your eyes, it's true, but I swear before she'd gone more than a few steps, the flapping of her black robe became the flapping of wings, and she flew off over the hedgerows towards the straits, her shadow gliding over the silver grass. Viviane and I stared after her. Then, turning our heads at the same moment, we stared at each other.

“Do you think we ought to go after her?” Viviane asked.

“No,” I said, barely able to contain myself. “She was supposed to watch us. Not the other way around. Viviane—” I hesitated. Could I tell her? Could I trust her? No, I decided. She might try to stop me. And if she knew what I intended and didn't stop me, she could end up in more trouble on my account.

“What?”

“Nothing. I'm just tired, that's all.” I forced a yawn. “Maybe we should go to sleep now.” I couldn't think of any other way to rid myself of her as a witness.

Viviane looked at me, as if I were nuts. If she wasn't so absorbed in her own brooding, she might have been suspicious. As it was, she quickly lost interest in me.

“I couldn't possibly sleep anymore,” she said. “But don't let me keep you up. No offense, Maeve, but I could use some time alone.”

“All right then.”

As I got to my feet, I touched her lightly on the shoulder, a small gesture of comfort I had wanted to give. She looked up at me, surprised.

“Goodnight, Maeve,” she said. Then she turned her face to the moon's.

Yes, she was lovely, I admitted to myself, perhaps out of gratitude that she was making my last-minute escape so effortless. Hurrying to the Crow's hut, I bunched up some blankets to make my pallet look occupied at a glance. I was already well fed and cloaked.

At last! I exulted, as I scrambled down the other side of the Caer Leb's embankment towards Afon Braint. At last, there was nothing and no one between Esus and me.

A
MOON-FLOODED FIELD IS ALL very fine. Moonlit water is lovely. In the open, moonlight looks like what it is. Moonlight filtered through thick leaves is another matter altogether. You lose all perception of mass and depth, all sense of direction. A patch of moonlight becomes a solid, glowing entity; the huge oak beside it, a mass of emptiness.

I knew, of course, when I crossed the invisible boundary into the precinct of the forbidden. Not only did I feel a tremor, like a not-so-mild electric shock, but the air around me became still and watchful. Even the Afon Braint seemed to flow more quietly, almost furtively. I had crossed the stream earlier, not wanting to risk splashing or slipping once I was in the Dark Grove. Now I walked along its left bank, peering through the trees, trusting that I would see or sense when to turn from the stream towards the mound. So disorienting was the moonlight that if it hadn't been for the water on my right I might have wandered aimlessly in circles.

I was beginning to wonder if I had walked too far and somehow missed the mound, when an owl cried so loudly and so close to me that the bones in my head vibrated. I couldn't tell at first from which side the cry had come. Then, winging so low I could feel the air fanned by its wings, the owl flew over my head. From right to left. A bad omen, very bad. But I forgot about the owl in the next moment, as, following the direction of its flight, I saw the mound through the trees.

The mound looked even more like a fallen moon by moonlight. It awed me to think that somewhere beneath that bright surface, Esus waited in the darkness. Hardly daring to let my feet touch the ground for fear I would make too much noise, I walked through the grove towards the mound. When I reached the outer earth bank surrounding the mound, I crawled on my hands and knees, then lay on my belly looking over. On its other side, the bank fell sharply to a ditch. Beyond the ditch stood a circle of stones—not very large stones, but each one had a distinct shape. Because of the way they leaned, some stones seemed intent on the mound, others watchful of any, like me, who might approach.
I stayed still for a time, alert and listening for any sign of more animate guards. The night remained unbroken by any human sound.

The moon was behind me now, shining directly on the huge roundness, the lengthening shadows of the stones stretched towards it, making thick bars of darkness on the silvery grass. Clearly there was no entrance on this side. I slipped into the ditch, climbed up between the stones and approached the mound. I had a strong urge to stroke its smoothness with my hands, to caress the great moon-belly that sheltered Esus. Standing with my feet at the base of it, I reached out my left hand and began trailing my fingers along its side as I walked around. When I found the entrance, I would go back among the trees and look for a hiding place that would also give me a good vantage point.

As I moved slowly towards the shadow side, I hummed to myself, to the mound, to Esus inside it. A happy little hum, and I decided that once I chose my watch, I would spend the rest of the night making a song to sing at Esus' rising. A sun song. Touching the mound, thinking about the morning to come, I was content. I knew that at last I was where I was meant to be. I was doing what I was meant to do.

Then, a harsh jangle of bells came out of nowhere, and I saw a flash of white feathers.

The owl, I think, the owl is swooping down on me. There it is: huge, as big as a man, standing before me, blocking my way. Its gold beak flashes. I shut my eyes tight. Then something seizes my ribs, and an overpowering scent envelops me. I know this smell, but I can't remember what it is. It stirs strange feelings in me. Terrified as I am, I lean into the scent. Sweat. A man's sweat. A man. I open my eyes. Inside the feathered mask, I see human eyes. The man's throat is naked; I can see his pulse pounding. Then a terrible sound tears from out of that throat and turns into words, crazy words.

“They ruined me. They ruined me. Do you hear me? Do you? Do you? Their magic, their lust destroyed me. But that wasn't enough for them. Nothing's ever enough. Is it? Is it? Is it!”

The hands grip my ribs so hard, surely my bones will shatter.

“I warned you!” he screams at me. “I warned you! But you're always taunting me, haunting me. Everywhere I go. Everywhere I look, you're there flaunting yourself at me, mocking me, making me remember. Why do you do it? Why? I warned you! I warned you!”

Then he rips off the mask. I see the face, the face I fear most in all the three worlds. My own face twisted, hideous, hating.

“See! See what they've done to me. See what you've done! Speak! Speak, you bitch. Bitch! Speak!”

I open my mouth. I can feel air straining to become sound, but no sound comes out. That is the last thing I remember clearly.

How can I tell you what happened? The images refuse to cohere. I am inside and outside of myself at the same time. Where do you want to be? Do you want to watch? Do you want to look away? Do you wish I wouldn't tell you any more? Listen. I have been too long without words. Listen.

I am being lifted through the air as if I weigh nothing, there is such strength in his fury. But when he hurls me to the ground all my weight comes back as the earth slams into me, knocking the wind out of me. He is still jabbering, but his frenzied speech is not as terrifying as his eyes. Suddenly, they roll up inside his head.

I can't see this anymore. Behind my lids the world is bright and pulsing. A spiral tunnel made of fire. Then I am not in my body anymore. There's a girl lying on the ground. A huge man heaves himself onto her, into her. Now. You. Look at the sky. See a long, jagged gash in the stars. See the full moon weeping like a great sow's tit. The spiral pulses and burns. Then I am back inside my body again. The ground is hard and cold. Something warm gushes on my thighs. I'm wetting myself, I think. I am so ashamed.

I must have passed out then. The next thing I knew, someone was shaking me. I opened my eyes and saw Foxface kneeling over me, his face grey and drawn, framed by a feather head dress. I didn't remember anything then. But I remember thinking how dingy the feathers looked in that light. The sky was dull and lifeless, too. The endless grey between night and day. The air was stale and cold. I could hear drums in the distance, keeping a steady, monotonous beat.

“Get up,” Foxface was urging. “Get up. You've got to get out of here if you value your life.”

Did I? I wasn't sure. Besides I had come here for a reason, hadn't I? What was it?

“E-sus.” My body remembered. The word rose from some deep place and formed on my lips. “Esus.”

“He is none of your business,” said Foxface sharply. “You should not be here. I warned you before. Get up now.”

He shoved my ribs. Pain shot through me, and my head cleared a little. I managed to sit. I was here to see Esus. Wasn't I?

“Get up!” Foxface stood, then took hold of my arms and pulled me the rest of the way to my feet. “You have no business here. The Stranger is nothing to you. You are nothing to him. You are nothing to anyone. Do you understand? Nothing.”

Nothing. I thought. Nothing. I stared at my feet. They were dirty and smeared with blood.

“Go,” he commanded. “And never speak of this night. Never. The penalty for what you have done is death. If you speak of this night to anyone, I will see to it that the sentence is carried out. Don't deceive yourself that death would be easier than your miserable life. Not the death you would die. Pounded alive into a pit of earth. The death of slaves. The death of dishonor you deserve for desecrating this sacred place. The death of shame. Go!” He turned me from him and pushed me away. “And from now on stay out of my way. Or I might have to remember.”

I walked past the mound without looking at it. It had nothing to do with me. Nothing. Somehow I found the strength to climb out of the ditch and over the embankment into the darkness of the trees. My feet took me the rest of the way. Just before the sun rose, I crept unseen into the hut and under my plaid.

I returned to unconsciousness like a baby to a mother's breast.