Daughter of Albion (22 page)

Sometimes the call was so strong that even without the medicine, without the chants, I began to slip into trance, plunging toward the Mothers in a wash of elation.

Sulis stayed near me always, watching for the loll of my head, the whimper of my breath, so that she could rouse me and bring me shuddering back to the wet ground of the temple garden.

I was marked to be the Kendra, yet forbidden the journey that would birth me.

On nights when the moon phase bestowed sufficient protection, Sulis kept me in the temple house after all others had retired to sleep, to teach me what she could of Kendra law. Enough to protect me, but not enough to endow me: it was not permitted for any to touch the Kendra's head; only the Kendra could ascend to the summit of the Tor; her purpose was to bring the Mothers close to the tribes and to nourish the hardworld with their song.

Sulis spoke with expressionless eyes and a voice as cool as night. My questions bubbled over, yet few were answered. Still I did not have her trust.

‘How is she made Kendra?' I asked. Winter was approaching and we sat under heavy blankets beside the fire.

‘She must endure a long night more terrifying than those of all other journeywomen.' Sulis paused. ‘For her long night is in the Mothers' realm.'

‘My pulse hastened. ‘And if she survives it,' I asked, ‘what marks her transition?'

‘The Singing,' said Sulis. ‘She is Kendra when she has sung.' She laid down her blanket and rose to stand. ‘That is enough. Let us return to the sleephouses—'

‘But might not any of the initiates say they have sung in their journey?' I asked. ‘And claim the Kendra's title?'

She stared at me. ‘None would be so devious.'

‘Yet if they were?' I persisted.

Sulis hesitated, displeased at the question. She breathed heavily and sat back down. ‘I had not intended to speak of it, but I will tell you only this: she who has sung is given a scar. The Mothers cut her.'

My gasp was audible in the quiet night. ‘What if the scar is falsely made?'

She laughed. ‘Have no doubt, girl. It cannot be falsely made. Now ask nothing more. For until your skin is claimed by a totem, the Mothers will never scar it.'

We returned to our beds with no further word. Sulis could tell me of the Kendra's duties and her taboos. But the rest of it, the thrumming heart of it, I had to learn with the Mothers. As I drifted to sleep, I consoled myself that I would learn of my skin.

That I would journey again.

That Taliesin would wait.

She who understands has wings.

I
HAD BEEN
four full moons at the Isle. It was a wane day, a day of rest. They were granted to us once in each moonturn.

I was scouring the Isle's forest for late peppermint, vervain and pansy leaf for Sulis's lessons. None of the girls had wanted to walk in the rain, preferring to sit by the temple fire, telling stories from their villages and sewing charms for the young smiths or warriors who waited for them there.

The rain padded down on my back as I stooped to tug out plant stems. Black soil clumped at the roots, oily between my fingers, like bloodcake. With my eyes locked to the ground, I did not expect it when I found myself at the other edge of the forest. We had been told it was a full day's walk, at least. This was the western side of the Isle, the burial place. Sulis had said that herbs grew well here, but that I must not come here to harvest. Those of later lustres may come here for trancework, she had said, but never initiates.

I peered out from between the trees. Despite Sulis's warning, the country looked inviting. The hills were lushly grassed, thin streams of mist settling in their shallow gullies. I saw no burial mounds or marking stones. A heavy bank of vervain, with lingering purple blossom, lay just beyond the forest's edge. I darted out to pluck one quick stem. The vervain was beautiful, mature and strong—perfect for a tincture for Sulis's lesson. I walked a little further to gather more.

A movement in the distance caught my eye. Squinting against the drizzling rain, I saw a figure with dark hair and a fineness of stature that I could mistake for no other. ‘Taliesin!' I shouted, running toward him, without a thought for Sulis's warning.

He was too far away and could not hear me.

‘Taliesin!' I shouted again and this time he looked toward the call. I was directly in his sight but he continued walking.

‘Wait!' I screamed with all my breath.

He glanced back once more but did not stop.

Why did he not see me? I paused, panting. To follow him I would have to run deep into these lands of the dead. But I could not let this chance pass. I let go my basket as I launched down the slope. A gully of mist lay between us and I prayed, as my feet pounded toward it, that he would not be gone before I could reach him.

As I headed into the first drifts of mist in the crevice of the hills, there was an odd thickening of the air that slowed my pace. I pushed on but it grew yet more dense, repelling me, until finally I could press no further into the whiteness without it holding firm, like flesh, against my weight. Was this some contrivance of wind and water that I had not yet known? Why could I not pass?

Every moment took Taliesin further away.

With all my strength I pushed against this vaporous skin. It was impenetrable. With a wail of despair, I wrenched my sword from my belt and stabbed furiously at the barrier before me. Through my wild strikes, I saw the mist shiver and bend with the force of my sword, and a small fissure break open around its tip.

I worked my arm through the tear and felt the cold, strange air on the other side. Again I slashed into the veil and a strong, living smell, like blood or milk, rose to meet me as I cut. Soon I could wriggle my body right into the hole. With tendrils of torn membrane brushing my face and arms, I stepped through.

The valley seemed darker, disturbed. Had I angered the Mothers with these steps? I could not think of it. I started to run.

Taliesin was no longer at the rise of the hill where I had seen him. I screamed his name and ran westward, as he had headed. As I rounded the hillside, I stopped in surprise, gasping with joy and relief. A hutgroup stood before me. I had found him.

The houses were like none I had seen before: small stone domes wedged deep into the slope, their roofs covered in grass, hidden in the hillside. Smoke snaked from the roof peaks. I hesitated as I approached. We had not been told of any settlements on the Isle, other than the temple hutgroup. Perhaps it was a lesser village of the temple or a place for retreat. But why was Taliesin here?

I saw the signs of a ritual slaughter. Hoofs, ribs and knuckles of spine, stripped clean by birds, lay scattered along the path. ‘Taliesin?' My voice snagged in the silence. Doorways were closed and no one answered my calls. Beyond the last house was a stream that ran from the hilltop, and beside it on a fallen branch sat a small, trance-stilled woman with moon-blonde hair. Her skin was translucent, the flutter of blood visible in her upturned wrists. With the crunch of my footsteps, her eyes flickered open.

I startled at their lightness. A blue so pale it was almost white. ‘Tidings,' I ventured, stepping toward her. ‘Forgive my disturbance but I can find no other. There is a man I seek—his name is Taliesin. Is he here?'

She frowned and her eyes drifted shut.

Had I roused her from a spirit journey? ‘Please,' I urged. ‘Have you seen the knave? Are you a sister of the temple?'

Her eyes sprang open. ‘I am not,' she said in a high, clipped voice. ‘I am sister of no temple.'

My belly stirred with a rising unease. ‘Then who are you?'

‘Do you not know to whom you have come, Ailia?'

At the sound of my name I sickened. Had it happened again, as it had when I fell through the waters? Had I slipped, once again, to the place of the Mothers?

My thoughts were churning. I could not stay. I had to leave straightaway and tell Sulis the entire truth. Of Taliesin. Of Heka. ‘Lady?' I said, unsure how to address her. ‘There has been some mishap in this. I have not been sent here under the blessing of my teachers. I have stumbled through in pursuit of my own desire and now I must be restored to the proper place.'

‘Do not worry,' she said. ‘This is the proper place.' She had the voice of a child but the command of a tribequeen.

‘Please, I am a temple initiate of less than one lustre. Tell me how I can get back to the temple.'

‘You cannot leave until it is done.'

My innards clenched. ‘Until what is done?'

‘Until you secure our wisdom. This is why you have been called.'

‘But I beg that you hear me—I received no call!'

‘Something led you here. Otherwise you would not have come.'

Now I was certain that I had transgressed the sacred boundary and entered the Mothers' realm. Already I felt the numbing wash of stasis, of acceptance, begin to descend and disperse my doubts, just as it did when I walked with the Mothers of fire. I had to convince this woman, while my mind was still hard. ‘Steise,' I said, for already I knew her name, ‘
I do not have skin
.'

She stared at me. ‘Skin is not needed here.'

I frowned. Did she mistake my words? I mean that I have no totem kin…' I stammered. ‘I am half-born…I cannot be in this place.'

Steise looked at me as if I spoke in a foreign tongue. ‘You are here because we wish it,' she said. ‘It is not your totem
,
that determines it.'

My blood halted in my veins. There was no sense in this. She did not observe the demands of skin. Yet the Mothers were the very origins of skin. Was this a demeanour of the Mothers I had not yet learned of?

I floated, dazed, toward the stream and sank to a flat stone at its bank. I sought learning so desperately, yet I became more and more trapped in my own ignorance. Sulis had been right to doubt me. I should not have come to the Isle without skin. I was too unformed. I looked out over the darkening valley to the forest. Might I not simply walk back the way I had come? But I knew already that the Mothers would hold the mist firm.

The grey sky began to spit. I looked back at the hutgroup, unearthly in its stillness. There was still one hope. It was Taliesin who had led me and I was certain he was here.

I cupped my palms in the rushing stream and quenched my sudden thirst before walking back to Steise. ‘What am I to learn?' I asked. ‘What is the knowledge that you keep?'

She nodded at the question. ‘We keep the wisdom of change. And of death.'

‘Whose?' I gasped. ‘Taliesin's? My own?'

‘Neither of these,' she said. ‘But you will touch death here, Ailia.' She looked to me. ‘And it will alter your form.'

My thoughts raced. I had heard of such learning. Forbidden in the hardworld to those without skin. ‘And the knave?' I asked. ‘Is he here?'

‘Yes.'

I could not stifle a joyous laugh that became a sob.

The sky deepened. The day was waning. I tightened my cloak around my shoulders. Death was present here. I felt it in the cold ground, I saw it in the dark stones that studded the hillside, and in the clutch of bare yew trees that circled the hutgroup. But I did not fear it. I was calm. Like the Mothers of fire, this woman, this place, was unbound by skin. I could make no sense of it. And yet if the Mothers themselves did not demand my skin, then who was I to question it?

‘As you wish,' I said. ‘I am ready to proceed.'

When I had been bathed and tended by Steise's own hand, she led me to the Great Hut, where the Mothers were gathered to mark my arrival. Noisy chatter and aromas of meat seeped from the doorway as we approached.

The room within was warm and crowded. The women were captivating to look upon: each small in stature, like Steise, yet each possessing, in varying hue, the most disarming gaze.

As I searched for a place, my breath stilled. Pressed close between two of the Mothers, and laughing as he sipped his ale, was Taliesin. I startled afresh at his beauty, the blade of his jaw, the song of his eyes.

Steise gripped my arm as I surged forward. ‘No,' she hissed. ‘You will sit here.' She motioned to the furthermost place from where Taliesin sat. ‘When you have learned, you will speak with him.'

I silenced my cry of disbelief. There was only one path with the Mothers and that was by their ways, their wishes.

Taliesin's gaze flickered toward me. A twitching smile betrayed his joy. But he had clearly been given the same instruction, for he did not approach.

Steise went to the strong place, spoke my welcome, and dedicated the meal. Although I was hungry, I could not eat. Taliesin was too vivid before me. I spoke to no one, nervous of these strange and powerful women with eyes like spears. My bowl untouched in my lap, I leaned against the wall and watched. I was a stranger here but Taliesin was not. This was his place. Never before had I witnessed him in the presence of others.

He sat sprawled on the bench, devouring his stew, his face animated in the firelight. The women grouped around him, smiling, attentive to his every word.

For the first time, I saw that his magic did not exist for me alone. He drew all who met him. Who was I to deserve such a prize? I shrank further against the wall.

Then he looked up, our eyes met, and there was nobody else. I swore to myself that I would learn hard and swiftly. I would learn the lesson of change from this group of Mothers. I would cross this last barrier between us.

Finally I ate and the women around me began to speak, asking me of my township, my learning, my strengths and skills. But never of my skin. It was sweet relief to be free of the question, but I was disturbed by its absence. I had learned too well that skin should be asked of.

I grew tired and asked Steise's permission to sleep. She took me back to her hut and stoked the low fire. I undressed and lay down, my thoughts still drumming as I listened to the muffled sounds of the feast and Taliesin's laughter.

The next morning my work began.

What I learned that day and for the months that followed was everything that Sulis had denied me at temple. The trancework of breath and voice cycles that plummeted me deep into the journey-state; the changework that allowed me to glimpse outside the circles of place and time; the learning that was so dangerous without skin. I was taught to seek and cook the plants that would tear open the layers of sight. I was taught to bend my senses to see the shapes that lay beneath the first form. I was taught the long, knotted poems that mapped the journey paths and ensured I would find my way back.

On the first morning of winter, I was taught to vision in the seeing hut, in a basin of water drawn from the spring. The earthen bowl was painted with dogs and birds—the seeing animals—and I had drunk distillations of watercress and thyme to sharpen my eye.

Steise sat beside me, leading the chant. For half the day we sat and nothing appeared. ‘Take a little more,' she urged, passing the vial of juice.

I drank. I breathed. And then it came. Hard as a blow to my back. The water was full of sight and I lurched above it, nauseous with the strain of making it clear. I saw Heka, yet stronger, and Fraid, looking drawn. In the days that followed I saw tribes of an earlier time, walking among stones, then other tribespeople in Roman dress.

Each time I visioned I was exhausted beyond speech and had to sleep for several hours. Each time, when I had finished, I suffered a deep sense of loss, of grief. Is this the death, I wondered, of which Steise spoke?