Chapter 4
Sirona paused on the mountain trackway and gazed around in awe. On either side of her the rocky peaks rose to daunting heights, with the greatest of them all, Yr Wyddfa, filling the horizon to her left. She thought how different a world this was from the one she had grown up in. Instead of rounded hills covered in grass and forest, these hills were bare and rugged, huge slabs of stone thrusting up from the earth.
The mountains reminded her of the massive bodies of sleeping giants, their bulky stomachs and enormous faces forming the peaks, their outstretched legs and arms outlining the slopes of the smaller ridges. This place made her feel small and insignificant, and keenly aware of the power of the earth. She could feel the great heart of Rhiannon, the earth goddess, throbbing in the ground beneath her feet. The gods of the sky were also near: Beli, the sun god, and Arianrhod, lady of the moon. Their magic seemed to fill the air around her, making it glow with a sharp, pure light.
As Bryn paused beside her, she breathed, “It’s magnificent, isn’t it?”
“Aye. I suppose so,” Bryn responded, his voice devoid of enthusiasm.
Sirona turned to look at him. “You didn’t want to come?”
He shook his head. “I’m only here because my father insisted. For me, this whole journey is a waste of time. Although I suppose I should take comfort in the fact that I’m seeing new places and will have an opportunity to meet people from other tribes. Still, they’ll all be Drui, so I don’t know if I’ll learn anything useful.”
“But surely it’s better than staying home at Mordarach with Math and Merin.”
“Maybe. Especially since I’m so angry with my father for refusing to help the Silures that I can barely stand to be around him.”
“I thought Tarbelinus said he was going to give the matter more thought before he made his decision.”
“That’s the same as his saying no. By the time he does decide it will probably be too late.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because by then the Romans will already have taken over. That’s what’s happened in the sunrise lands. It’s only been a generation since the Romans first invaded Albion. Now those lands are completely controlled by the Romans.”
Sirona felt a sudden unease. What if Bryn were right? What if the invaders meant to conquer all of Albion? She would have to pay attention and listen to what was said at the gathering.
At that moment, Dichu came dragging up the slope, panting heavily. He paused as he reached them. “I don’t see why we have to go so fast.” He shot a hostile glance at Sirona. “And I don’t see why Fiach allowed her to come. Everyone knows females don’t belong among the Learned Ones.”
“That’s stupid,” retorted Bryn. “At least half of the gods we worship are female, so there’s no reason a woman shouldn’t train in the grove. Besides, Sirona’s doing much better than you at keeping up, even on the steepest slopes. And she doesn’t whine and complain like you do.”
Dichu glared at Bryn and then gave Sirona a look of pure hatred. She started to turn away but was stopped by a sudden tingling along her spine. She glanced back at Dichu, and as she looked at him, he abruptly changed. He appeared older, his body taller and much bulkier. No longer was he gazing at her, but staring up at the heavens, his arms outstretched. All at once, his body jerked as if he had been struck. He fell to his knees, although his supplicating posture didn’t alter. Another invisible blow hit him and several lines of blood trickled down his forehead. He staggered, then felt backwards and lay still. His blue eyes continued to stare up at the sky, although now they were empty of life.
Sirona closed her eyes and exhaled sharply. When she dared to open her eyes again, Dichu was standing in front of her, appearing completely normal, right down to the disgusted expression on his thin face. “Why are you staring me at like that?” he snapped.
Sirona shook her head, trying to clear it. “It was nothing.” Moving past Dichu, she started down the slope. Her heart was pounding and she felt nauseated. This vision had been so real... and terrifying. Although she didn’t like Dichu, she didn’t want to see him die. She reassured herself with the thought that this Seeing, like the one she’d had in the grove, was clearly of something in the future. The Dichu she’d seen killed was a grown man.
In an effort to escape her distress, Sirona quickened her pace. In a short while, she’d caught up with Cruthin, who was far ahead of the rest of the Learned Ones and students.
When she reached him, he was standing at the top of another ridge. He gestured. “There it is: Yys Mon. The sacred isle.”
Sirona looked to where he pointed. The mountains rolled down to a landscape of deep green hills, tan-colored coastal lands and finally, a strip of gray sea. Where sea and sky met, she could barely make out a land mass, a misty apparition floating on the horizon, seemingly at the edge of the world. Sirona felt a prickling sensation along her spine. Although no vision followed, a clear sense of apprehension filled her. “Something’s going to happen there,” she murmured. “Something... bad.”
Cruthin turned to look at her, frowning. “What are you talking about? I thought you wanted to go there.”
She struggled to shake off the mood. “Of course I do. It’s just...” She took a deep breath. The urge to tell Cruthin about her vision of Dichu was very strong. But she dare not do so.
“I can hardly wait to get to the sacred isle,” said Cruthin. “I can feel myself being drawn there like a lodestone to iron.” He stretched his arms out expansively. “I know I will find magic there... and knowledge... and power.” He started walking again. “The fact is, I’ve gone as far as I can among the Tarisllwyth. Our Learned Ones have taught me all they’re able, which isn’t much.”
“How can you say that?” Sirona asked, aghast.
“Oh, they’ve given me a great number of things to memorize,” said Cruthin. “Endless genealogies and sagas, laws and ritual handed down for generations. But when it comes to true understanding of the spiritual realm, our teachers are pathetic. Of them all, only Ogimos really has any glimmering of the vast, rich, fantastic world that waits on the Other Side.”
“That seems like a very foolish and conceited thing to say. While some of our lessons are tedious, I know I’ve learned a great deal in the grove.”
“Even Ogimos admits his knowledge is limited,” Cruthin went on. “He’s always saying there are some things that are meant to be mysteries. But I don’t believe that. I won’t stop searching until I find the answers I seek.”
Sirona didn’t respond. Cruthin’s words only increased her turmoil. She couldn’t help feeling his quest for knowledge was going to lead him into danger.
* * *
It took another day to reach the coast. Once there, they all gathered on a cliff overlooking the beach. A large dun was situated on a strip of land almost directly across from the sacred isle. “An impressive fortress,” said Tadhg.
Fiach nodded. “The Segonti are a wealthy tribe. The sea is generous, and they’re able to grow a great deal of grain on the island. They also have access to a source of copper ore in a place south of here, and between the ore and the grain, they’re able to trade for almost any luxury item they desire. I recall Tarbelinus coming here in years past to trade hides and wool for grain during years when our crops didn’t prosper.”
“I remember that as well.” Bryn spoke up. “I begged my father to let me come along, but he refused. I was very young then. I’m not sure I’d even been initiated yet.”
“We’ve been favored with good crops for many years now,” said Fiach. “That’s because we’re so vigilant in honoring the gods.”
“I see they have two sets of ramparts.” Bryn motioned to the high earthen walls surrounding the settlement. “I wonder what enemy they fear that makes them build such formidable defenses.”
“Attack from the sea is their main concern,” Fiach responded. “The Scoti, the people who live across the sunset sea, are skilled boatmen. During the s
unseason, they come here and ravage undefended Pretani settlements, stealing wealth and metalwork, as well as women and children, who they take back to their own land to enslave.”
“What about the people who live there?” Sirona pointed to a small cluster of stone huts set back on the beach, away from the dun. “When the enemy comes, how do they keep from being captured?”
“The fisherfolk have their own ways of surviving. They were here long before our people came. Some say they are related to the Scoti and that’s why the sea raiders don’t bother them.”
Sirona gazed out at the sea, thinking about the Scoti. She could almost see the raiders climbing out of their boats and surging onto the land, brandishing weapons, their expressions fierce and exultant.
Uneasy, she turned away from the coast and looked back the way they’d come. Yr Wyddfa and the other great mountains loomed like dark shadows over the land. Already she missed the highlands, with their complex pattern of ridge and valley, forest and meadow, mist and sky, all woven together like some rich, vibrant fabric. The beach below seemed very flat and barren, and she wondered at the people who lived in a place so exposed.
“So, what’s next?” Bryn asked. “Do we go to the dun and ask the Segonti for their help in getting across to the island?”
“If we were going to take the oxen with us, we’d have to ask the Segonti to transport us. Since we’re not, it’s the fisherfolk in the village who will take us across.”
“Why aren’t we taking the oxen?” Bryn asked. “What about the cart? Won’t we need it on the sacred isle?”
“We can carry our supplies ourselves. There’s no need to pay the Segonti to transport the cart and oxen.” Fiach gestured to the group of stone huts below. “Although the fisherfolk are a backwards people, they’re very skilled when it comes to the sea. They know the tides and the weather even better than the Segonti. We’ll be perfectly safe.” He turned back to face the group of Learned Ones and students. “Cuill will come with me to try to arrange a crossing before nightfall. We’ll meet the rest of you on the beach.”
Fiach and Cuill started down the hillside. Everyone else followed more slowly. The wheels of the supply cart kept getting stuck in the soft, sandy soil and they had to push it out. By the time they reached the beach, Fiach and Cuill had already come back from the village. Fiach shook his head as he strode up. “They refuse to take us across today. We’ll have to camp here for the night.”
“How can they refuse us?” Dichu asked angrily. “Don’t they realize as Learned Ones we’re favored by the gods?”
“They worship different gods than us,” Fiach said. “They follow the faith of the Old Ones.”
His reference to the Old Ones immediately caught Sirona’s attention. “Are the fisherfolk of the same race as the Old Ones?” she asked.
“How should I know?” Fiach said irritably. “I have little interest in these people. They’re crude and primitive and live the same way they have for generations, since even before our people came to these lands. It’s said their ancestors built the great cairns and standing stones that dot the coasts and the sacred isle, but I don’t believe it. They appear far too ignorant and uneducated for such endeavors.”
“If they think they can refuse our request for passage to the island, then they are dense-witted indeed,” said Dichu.
“If they’re the ones who are skilled in making the journey across the straits, then I’m willing to defer to their decision as to when to cross,” commented Tadhg. “I think we’re much safer staying here for the night and setting out tomorrow.”
Gazing out at the sea, Sirona had to agree with Tadhg. She could sense the great power there, the vast, churning energy of the foaming blue-gray waves. It was terrifying and yet exhilarating.
“There’s another group of Drui who are also stuck on this side of the straits.” Cuill motioned. “Let’s go and greet them.”
They went to where the other Learned Ones were camped and discovered they were a branch of the Decangi. While Fiach, Cuill and Tadhg conversed with their head Drui, the Tarisllwyth students set up camp, putting up the leather tents, collecting driftwood for the fire, and helping Ioworth, the youth who had come along to care for the oxen.
They finally finished their duties and gathered around the fire to eat a meal of oat bannocks, dried meat, and berries. The Decangi Learned Ones passed around skins containing a beverage called curmi, which they said was made from fermented barley and herbs. The drink made Sirona sleepy. To shake off the mood, she stood up and walked a short distance from the camp. Although it was almost sunset, she could still make out the settlement of the fisherfolk down the beach. She longed to go there and ask them about the Old Ones. She decided to see if Cruthin would come with her, but when she went looking for him, she couldn’t find him. She approached Bryn, who was still eating, and asked, “Have you seen Cruthin?”
He shook his head and continued to gobble down what she guessed was his third or fourth meal cake. After a moment, he shoved the rest of the food into his mouth and stood. “Do you want to go looking for him?”
Sirona suspected Cruthin had already gone to the fishing village on his own. If she wanted to find him, she’d either have to go there by herself or accept Bryn’s offer. Given that it would be dark soon, it seemed best to have Bryn accompany her. She nodded.
Bryn got a piece of firewood and daubed it with pitch from the supply wagon to make a torch while Sirona fetched her cloak from her pack.
“Perhaps Cruthin went down by the water,” Bryn said when he joined her.
Although she doubted Cruthin had gone this way, Sirona willingly followed Bryn to the shore. The ocean fascinated her, with its sharp, wild scent and mesmerizing rhythm. They moved slowly along the beach, the torch flickering in the breeze. Sirona glanced out at the vast body of water, where the waves stretched out endlessly into the twilight. This was the realm of Manawyddan, the god of the sea. A part of her longed to walk into the water and feel its power. She imagined striding into the waves, then sinking down into the sea’s embrace. All at once, she shivered. The sense of foreboding she’d felt earlier had returned. “Let’s walk back the other way,” she told Bryn.
“Perhaps Cruthin went to the Segonti settlement,” he suggested.
“I doubt it.”
“I suppose not.” Bryn sighed. “Although that’s where I wish I could go. I’d love to see the Segonti defenses up close and talk to their warriors. But of course, I can’t. They wouldn’t speak of such things with a lowly student of the grove.” His voice rang with bitterness.
Sirona experienced the familiar pity. It must be difficult for Bryn to have his yearnings thwarted at every turn. “I think Cruthin may have gone to the village of the fisherfolk.”
“Why would he do that?”
Should she tell Bryn about the Old Ones? It would only make him ask questions, questions she couldn’t answer. “It’s merely a thought. A place we could look for him.”
“All right. Let’s go there.”
As they started walking, she could sense Bryn watching her. After a time, he said, “I’m very pleased you came on this journey. While I have little interest in Drui matters, I truly admire you, Sirona. Of all the Learned Ones, you’re the only one who seems to me to possess any special ability.”
She walked a little faster, feeling embarrassed. “That’s ridiculous,” she told him. “I’m not even full Drui yet. I have years of learning ahead of me.”
“But I was speaking of natural ability,” he persisted. “Even Ogimos sees it. You seem to understand people and situations better than anyone I know. You always look beneath the surface of things.”
“Cruthin does that also.”
“Aye, but he is too conceited to make use of his awareness. While you...” He hesitated, then continued, “Sometimes I feel like you see things that aren’t there, that you have visions. Is that true?”
She could hardly tell Bryn about her visions; he was Tarbelinus’s s
on. It had been a mistake to go off alone with him. Several times this past spring she’d caught him watching her when they were at lessons in the grove. His interest in her made her uncomfortable.
“Come on,” she said, “we’re almost there.”
Sirona hurried toward the village, which was made up of small round stone huts. They reached the dwellings, but they saw no sign of any people. Then, all at once, two forms loomed out of the darkness. Sirona hurried forward calling, “Stop, please, I would speak with you.”
Abruptly, Sirona realized one of the people was Cruthin. He was accompanied by a small, dark-haired woman who wore a plain, roughly woven cloak and a short leather crys, baring her slender legs. “This is Pellan,” Cruthin announced. To the young woman he said, “These are my friends, Sirona and Bryn.”
“Are you coming back to camp?” Sirona asked.
“Not yet. Pellan and I haven’t finished talking.”
“You could bring her with you,” Bryn suggested. “There’s plenty of food.”
Cruthin looked at Pellan and smiled. “I don’t think Pellan’s hungry.” He put his hand on her arm in a possessive gesture.
Sirona felt a stab of irritation mingled with disgust. Cruthin wasn’t trying to learn about the fisherfolk. He had other things on his mind. “Are there any other villagers around?” she asked. “Perhaps some the elders?”
“They’ve all gone to bed,” said Cruthin.
“Come on.” said Bryn. “We should head back.”
Sirona nodded reluctantly. If everyone had retired for the night, there was nothing she could do. Perhaps she would get a chance to speak with them in the morning.
She and Bryn started off. Halfway to the Tarisllwyth camp, Bryn said, “How typical of Cruthin, going off on his own with no consideration for anyone else. Of course, it makes no difference to me what he does, but I’m sorry he’s upset you.”
“I’m not upset.”
“You must understand,” Bryn continued. “That’s how men like Cruthin are. They get their pleasure where they will. Women mean little to them. But not all men are like that, Sirona. Some do not share their bodies freely, but wait for a woman they care about.”
Hearing the hunger in his voice, Sirona realized she must get away. “Thank you for going with me,” she told him. “I’ll talk to you in the morning.” She took off running, hoping he wouldn’t follow.
She ran all the way back to camp, unable to banish the image of Cruthin with Pellan from her mind. Seeing them together had awakened something inside her, something she hadn’t known was there. She couldn’t help imagining the two of them going off behind a sand dune and snuggling close... kissing... Cruthin’s hand sliding beneath the short, leather crys and touching Pellan’s breasts. Although it wasn’t a vision, the images came to her clearly and made her feel a strange longing.
As the tents and supply wagon came into view, she sought to push such thoughts from her mind. She didn’t have time for such things. As a seer and a soon-to-be Learned One, she had too many responsibilities to be distracted by the yearnings of her body.
* * *
In the morning, the Tarisllwyth placed their heavier supplies on cowhides and dragged them down to where the boats would put out to sea. “I haven’t seen Cruthin this morning,” Cuill said when they reached the beachhead. “Does anyone know where he went?”
Sirona saw Bryn looking at her. Gazing at him calmly, she said, “I’m sure he’ll be here. He was very eager to go to the sacred isle.”
Fiach pointed down the beach. “The fisherfolk are coming.”
“Shouldn’t the Decangi cross before us?” Tadhg asked. “They arrived before we did.”
“They’re waiting for another group,” Fiach said. “They’ve agreed we should be first.”
As the fisherfolk approached, Sirona realized Cruthin was with them. She felt a renewal of her frustration. She wished she could have been the one to meet with the fisherfolk and ask them questions about the Old Ones.
“These men will take us across the straits,” Cruthin announced as he strode up. As he smiled, his teeth very white against his tanned skin, Sirona was startled to realize how much he resembled the fisherfolk. He had the same lean, wiry build and dark coloring, although he was taller. If, as her grandmother said, Cruthin carried the blood of the Old Ones, then it seemed likely the fisherfolk were related to them as well.
Fiach gave Cruthin a sharp look, appearing displeased. Then he motioned to one of the fisherfolk. “Show us what boats we’ll be taking so we can begin loading. And tell us how many people can be in each boat.”
“Four in a boat and one bundle of supplies,” their leader answered. His speech had an unfamiliar cadence. It took Sirona a moment to understand his words.
“Cuill and Tadhg, you will come with me in the first boat,” Fiach said. “Dichu, Sirona and Bryn in the second.” He looked at Cruthin. “You can bring the rest of the supplies with you.”
They dragged the hides over to the boats and began loading their supplies. Sirona moved close to Cruthin. “I would like to cross with you. I want to talk to you about the Old Ones.”
“Why not?” Cruthin said. “Three in the boat would be better anyway. I’ll tell Caw. He’s their leader.”
Cruthin went to speak to the fisherman. Sirona glanced at Fiach. If the head Drui saw what was happening, he might be angry that she and Cruthin had contradicted his orders. But Fiach appeared too preoccupied to notice. He was directing Cuill and Tadhg as they loaded the first boat.
Bryn noticed, though. Sirona could feel his gaze burning into her. He thought she wanted to be with Cruthin because she desired him. She couldn’t tell him the real reason she was seeking out Cruthin was because she wanted to find out if he’d learned anything about the Old Ones.
* * *
“It was wonderful. Pellan told me all about their beliefs,” Cruthin said as he and Sirona sat next to each other in the oval, hide-covered boat. She was aware how bright his dark eyes were, how animated he looked. She couldn’t help wondering what excited him the most—learning about the Old Ones or being with Pellan. “Their main deity is the Great Mother Goddess,” Cruthin continued. “They worship her in all her incarnations. The earth is her body, the sea, her watery womb. In the sky, she shows her face as the moon, exerting her power over the earth and sea. We and all the animals are her children. In some ways it’s not much different than what we believe about some of the goddesses. But there’s more. These people have learned how to capture the Great Mother’s magic.”
When Sirona gave him a skeptical look, he nodded. “It’s true. The ancestors of these people built the standing stones and the great stone graves. Some of their elders even remember the purpose of those sacred places. Pellan says only a few people are ever initiated into the mysteries. But those individuals are able to do miraculous things. To change their form into that of an animal. To become one with the Great Mother and visit the Otherworld. Even to travel to the stars.” He took a deep breath, obviously entranced.
Sirona was also intrigued. Despite her resentment of how he’d learned these things, Cruthin’s words echoed something she’d always felt, that the real power of the gods was in the earth, in the trees and the rocks and water all around them. She’d often experienced a sense of awe when she was walking in the forest, or watching the sunlight reflect on the waterfall at the other end of the valley. It was at those moments she felt closest to the gods, rather than during ceremonies.
“What else did Pellan tell you?” Sirona asked.
“That was mainly what we spoke of, but she showed me other things.” He smiled a smug, satisfied smile.
Sirona rolled her eyes and turned away. As she gazed across the water at the heavily-forested shores of the sacred isle, the strange sense of foreboding she’d felt in the mountains returned, as strong as ever.