The White Mare: The Dalraida Trilogy, Book One (72 page)

‘Then he looked into my face, and I saw eyes that had something of the forest, the stag, and something of the man in them. He looked at me with desire, though I did not really understand yet what that was.

‘I closed my eyes as he breathed on me again, and when I opened them I held in my arms a man, but above my head I could see the spread of antlers outlined against the moon. I remember a rush of great joy, and then there was nothing …

‘Another age later, perhaps, I began to feel different … as if my whole body was swelling and pulsing in time with the heartbeat, growing round and full like the waxing moon. It seemed that I grew bigger, until I could see out over the tops of the trees, and then swelled even more, until I could see over many lands, and across the seas between them. Finally, only the arch of the starlit heavens stretched over me, and when I looked down at my belly, huge with child, I saw I was clothed with forests and seas.

‘From between my legs the blood still flowed, but it was blood no longer. Now it was all the waters of the earth, tumbling out from me to form rivers and springs, and deep lakes. And after the waters subsided, so the pains came, wrenching me from within, making me bear down, though I was not feared, and the pain was not more than I could bear.

‘And so from inside me came pouring a torrent of animals; birds flying, fish leaping, and the other creatures of the land, wriggling, and hopping, crawling and slithering, running and lumbering and jumping. I saw people, too, and they were running with the fleet creatures of the forest, but were soon lost in the outpouring of life from within me.

‘The outpouring was ecstasy; it was joy and fulfillment as one, for I
was
the Mother, and had birthed Love.

‘When I was at last spent, I lay down again, shrinking until I was once more just Rhiann in the forest glade. I fell asleep, knowing I was safe, for she was Mother of All. And I was Her.

‘When I next awoke – and I have never before or since woken so fresh – sunlight was pouring through leaves, bathing me as I lay curled like a baby in the womb. I did not move for a long while, wondering if the night had been real, or if I had dreamed it all. And then I opened my hand.

‘Clasped within it was a piece of velvet from the tines of the Stag.’

Eremon started, not knowing how much time had passed since Rhiann stopped speaking. Her voice put him in a trance, and he had been floating between the worlds, as she floated between them that magical night.

He shifted, and she sighed. She was not asleep, then.

He lay silent, knowing that what she told him was a great mystery, and that the telling showed immense trust in him. He was afraid, at first, to break the spell.

‘Who was the stag, Rhiann?’ he whispered at last. ‘Was he real?’

Her voice was dreamy. ‘He was the God, the Great God, the first god; in his true role as consort to the Goddess. His seed makes Her the Mother. His strength holds Her so She can let the life flow.’ She paused, twisting her head. ‘You understand? For that one moment out of time, I
became
the Goddess. He came as the God, to join with me.’

‘But was he truly there?’

‘What is “truly”? You will see something like it at Beltaine. A priestess will act as the Goddess. A man will be the Stag, the God. Her consort.’

‘We do not have such a rite at Beltaine.’

‘The Britons to the south do not have it either, nor the Gauls over the sea. It is the mark of the Old Ones, the time when there was only one god and goddess, when deer were life, before we knew how to grow grain.’

Eremon felt sleep starting to claim him now, and he yawned. ‘Did it help?’ He drew her closer, into his warmth. ‘Did it help you to tell me?’

Rhiann was silent for a moment. ‘The pain is still there, Eremon. But some of the darkness has fallen away. I … I thank you.’

‘Then every time the dark returns, tell me something else. Tell me of every happy time you had. I will listen, always.’

In answer she clasped his fingers on her waist, and with that he slipped away to sleep.

Soon he was dreaming of running through the forest, and antlers brushed the leaves above his head.

Chapter 72

D
uring the long day it took to cross to the Sacred Isle, Rhiann noted that Eremon wasted no time, engaging Nectan in deep conversation in the bow of the headman’s
curragh
.

There was more than enough room for them all in the small boat, for after recovering their strength, the men from Calgacus’s dun had set off overland to return home, and only the Erin men and Caitlin now accompanied them.

When Rhiann approached the bow with cups of water, Eremon appeared well pleased. ‘It seems I have gained Nectan’s understanding. He knows of Calgacus, and he pledges that he and his men will fight! Their skills with the bow will be much valued, and I can see already what fine trackers and scouts they will make, for they have a knack of moving without being seen – as we know to our own initial regret!’

‘May the other chieftains see as clearly as he.’

They made landfall near dusk on a sloping beach, by a village huddled at the mouth of a shallow stream. Turf slopes rose up all around, hiding the rocky bones of the island that outcropped to the west. The sands were littered with hundreds of
curraghs
, and wood-built traders were tied to the pier.

‘Nectan says he has close kin here in the village,’ Rhiann said, as Eremon helped her out of the boat, holding up her cloak. ‘We will all bed here tonight, and tomorrow he will take you to the other side of the island, where the broch of the chief lies. And the Stones.’ She darted a nervous glance at the headland that reared from the end of the beach.

‘Are you sure?’ Eremon shaded his eyes from the last sun spilling through a cleft in the hills. ‘I hate the thought of you being alone.’

‘I will stay with you, Rhiann!’ Caitlin piped up, splashing free of the shallows, her boots in one hand.

Rhiann forced a smile. ‘No, cousin. I would not stop you from seeing
the Stones, or the Beltaine rite. You will never see such a gathering anywhere else.’

But Conaire, standing nearby, was not happy with any of it. ‘Is it a good idea to place ourselves so whole-heartedly in their hands, here or at the broch? We don’t know these people.’ He eyed a bundle being carried up the beach; Nectan’s spears, the sharp tips wrapped in cloth.

‘We use no weapons here,’ Nectan said, appearing suddenly behind them. ‘It is the Sacred Isle, the Mother’s Isle. The spears are for hunting only. No one will harm you: I give you my word.’

Conaire’s suspicions were plain on his face, but later, in the house of Nectan’s cousin, a platter of fresh fish and plentiful ale helped to allay his fears.

Rhiann’s presence caused great excitement, but as soon as she had eaten she excused herself and retired to the guest bedplace, a platform behind a deer-hide hanging. She did not want to take part in the drinking and tales around the fire. She wanted only to be far away from here.

But sleep eluded her. Somewhere, only a few leagues away, there were houses filled with the clean scent of herbs, and the soft music of women’s voices. There, in the Stones, the Source was drawn so close to the earth that the very soil vibrated with it.

But she had renounced it all with a few words of pain and rage.
Why could I not save them? Why could you not
?

Did they think of her? Did they miss her, as she missed them? She had heard no word from them these last years, so perhaps they had truly forgotten her. There was no going back from the words she had spoken.

Surely no going back.

Rhiann was lying on her pallet in a doze, the banter and laughter of those around the fire a bright thread weaving through her dreams. And then, suddenly, she woke, sensing a rapping on the brushwood door. She sat up, her heart already pounding.

A rush of wind swirled in as the door opened and closed, and the voices around the fire faded away. Rhiann struggled out of the furs to her knees, peering through a gap in the hide cover.

In the doorway, outlined by falling moonlight, was a woman. Nothing could be seen of her save a glimmer of pale face, for she was swathed in a dark blue cloak, its hood drawn up over her hair.

The wife of Nectan’s cousin rose to her feet. ‘Welcome to our house, Lady Sister,’ she said. ‘Come and join us, if you wish.’

The priestess shook her head, but took a step fully into the room.

‘I have not come for your food or ale,’ she said in a melodic voice, ‘though blessings be upon them. Where is my Sister? For she knows why I have come.’

As the people glanced at each other, not knowing what to say, Rhiann stepped out from the bed-place, her own cloak thrown over her shift, her eyes on the figure at the door. As she stared at the priestess, she sensed a strong tug of familiarity, although all she could see was the gleam of dark eyes. ‘Fola?’ Her voice sounded wavering to her ears, with none of the power that she was trained to project.

In answer, the priestess put back her hood, uncovering dark, curled braids crowning a solid face, broad and smooth and mild as milk. Yet the sloe-black eyes twinkled with suppressed excitement, as if the composure required in the presence of people tried her hard. It was indeed Fola; Rhiann’s closest friend during her priestess training on the island.

‘I am here to call you home, Sister,’ she said aloud, as another sense flowed into Rhiann’s mind.
Did you really think that we would let you go, now that you have come back
?

Rhiann’s mouth went dry. Of course they would know she was here! How foolish to even think that she could hide! ‘If you wish to speak to me … Sister … we will go outside.’

Fola bowed her head and turned through the doorway again. Rhiann caught a glimpse of Eremon’s frown as she crossed the room, and then she was out in the night, and the moonlight flickered and leaped from between high, racing clouds.

‘These last years have treated you well, Rhiann,’ Fola said, her smile now let out into the night air. ‘You are a regal woman; a queen.’

Rhiann shook her head, not knowing what to say, as the wind blew hair across her face. Fola had always known exactly what she was thinking, and they had spoken mind to mind from childhood, not with words, but with feelings and pictures. Yet no one had crossed that threshold since she left.

‘I asked to come,’ Fola added. ‘I wanted to be the first to see you.’

Betraying tears pricked at Rhiann’s eyes, and she held her hair and turned away, knuckles tight against her neck. ‘I was forced to sail here. I will stay in the village, until we can leave.’

Fola moved to stand in front of her. ‘That won’t do, Rhiann. Come with me. Come home with me.’

‘But I turned my back and left you!’ Rhiann cried. ‘How can you act as if nothing has happened! My life, such as it was, ended here three years ago. I am different now. They do not want to see this Rhiann. I am not fit to walk among the Stones again.’

Pity shone now in Fola’s eyes. ‘There you are wrong. You are our Sister. You must know that nothing can change that.
You
cannot change that – however hard you try.’

Rhiann could not answer.

‘The Mother brought you here,’ Fola said. ‘Why did She do this? To cause you pain? To hurt you?’

‘She hurts if She chooses. She brings pain and death. You, of all people, know why I left.’

Fola shook her head. ‘And if you had stayed, you would have learned more than this.’ Her soft voice bared a hint of impatience. ‘She brought you because it is time to come home. You know this.’

Rhiann drew a deep breath. ‘It seems that everyone is sure of this except me. Do I not have a choice?’

‘Of course! If you ask me to, I will walk away and leave you here tonight. But before I do, I have a message from Nerida. Will you hear it?’

At the sound of that name, Rhiann was flooded with shame … and yearning.

‘She said this: tell our Sister that I know her heart is sore, that she feels she failed us, that we failed her. This may be true, but there are other, truer things; deeper than betrayal, deeper than shame. Love, forgiveness, faith. Ask her to heed the call, if only for one last time.’

Stricken, Rhiann stared over Fola’s shoulder, at the shattered moonlight on the wind-blown waves, the dark shadows of boats on the sand, their masts creaking.

‘That is the message,’ said Fola. ‘Though I have one of my own.’

Rhiann brought her gaze back to Fola’s face, and saw the entreaty there.

‘Please come with me, Rhiann. We have missed you so. Just come for one night, that is all. If you wish to leave then, no one will stop you.’

‘But there is too much pain there for me,’ Rhiann whispered.

‘Then how will it be healed? You know the lore. Running away does not heal such pain; facing it does. With those you love. And who love you.’

Rhiann felt herself wavering. So many nights she had dreamed of singing in the Stones, and sharing barley cakes around a dawn fire. Each time she had woken with tears on her face.

Little seal
, came Fola in her mind.
Exile yourself no more. We want you back. You want to come. Who is punishing whom
?