Daughter of Albion (25 page)

I nodded and we walked on in silence.

‘But come for food at least,' she said, taking hold of my arm.

It was still early evening when I returned to the kitchen from Bebin's fire, having eaten little. Ianna was visiting her family and had taken Cah. Heka was nowhere to be seen. Bebin had told me she was often out, back with those of the fringe fires, making kin of drink. I sat down at the fire. Its light on the walls made the red spirals dance. They at least still spoke of Cookmother. For the thousandth time, I pored over the shape of her illness. How could I lament her death when I chose, by absence, not to prevent it?

A dark weight descended as I sat slumped at the table. It seemed that I was knowledge-gifted without sense or instinct to use it well. The purpose of journeying was the pursuit of light. Yet by my journeys, light was lost. It was all for the lack of skin that I failed. Skin would have held things firm. If Heka would not grant it to me before I left Cad, then I would be destined for this darkness.

I stood up and walked to Cookmother's bed. The bedding was worn and old, still soaked with the smell of her nightsweats. I lay down and rolled myself in its familiar comfort. Here, at last, I let myself cry. I cried from my bones, for the mother she was and the mother I missed, for Taliesin, who would never see her, and for the flaw in me that kept us apart.

Through my sobs I heard a shuffling in the dark. ‘Who is there?' I called, sitting up.

Heka walked, bleary-eyed, into the firelight. ‘I was asleep,' she said, ‘until your noise woke me.'

‘I did not see you.' I straightened my dress and wiped my face. ‘Why do you sleep so early? Why did you not announce yourself?'

‘Announce that I am sleeping?' She walked to the breadpot, pulled out a loaf and sat by the fire.

So quiet was the kitchen that I was almost glad to see her.

She tore the loaf and passed me half as I joined her. The oat bread was fresh and I realised how hungry I was. We sat, chewing in silence.

‘Your loss is deep and I am sorry for it,' she said.

I looked at her in surprise.

She wore a winter shawl dyed a deep blue. She was fattened by her time in the kitchen, her body strengthened by the work. There was something close to beauty in her face in the firelight.

‘Thank you,' I said, ‘for what part you played in her care.'

‘She called for you,' Heka said, staring into the flames. ‘Ianna will not confess it. But I thought you would like to know. Especially on her last day.'

My stomach constricted. ‘I could not hear her.'

‘She was in much pain.' Heka looked up from the fire, her beauty gone. ‘She asked many times why you did not come. I tried to reassure her. But she died with your name at her lips.'

I stared back at her. I saw her savagery, how she stabbed at my softest parts. I was suddenly desperate to be gone from her. But this pitiless woman held the secret of my skin and if I was to learn it, I had to stay. I was coming to know now that Heka could not be matched by force. Only by cleverness would I gain what I sought.

I drew my shawl around my shoulders. ‘You have done well here in my absence,' I said. ‘I will speak to the Tribequeen about keeping your place in the kitchen.'

‘Ay, I was going to ask you to ensure it.'

‘And I will.' I placed two large logs into the fire and we watched the flames rise. ‘Are you content here, Heka?'

‘Ay.' She looked at me warily.

‘It has been fortunate for you that our paths crossed.'

Her chin lifted. ‘My contentment is deserved.'

‘I have given you all you have asked of me. Do I not deserve some repayment?'

She smiled, as though expecting the question. ‘Not yet.'

‘Why not?' My battle plan fell away. ‘I have helped you. I help you still!'

‘And yet look.' She stretched out her arms, each weighted with metal armrings of Fraid's favour. ‘You are losing your power to help me now.'

She was right. Ianna had told me that she had worked hard in the kitchen and Fraid was pleased with her. My ability to shape her life was weakening.

Yet Taliesin's future hung on my skin. Albion's Kendra hung on my skin. I drew the one tool I had not yet used: the truth. I told Heka what I had told no other. ‘There is a knave—a man—I have met in my learning time. His name is Taliesin. He is of the hardworld, but he is trapped, by birth mischief, with the Mothers.'

Heka watched me with a faint scowl.

‘He is skin to the salmon and by salmon flesh he travels here for just a day's journey or less. With knowledge of my skin I could aid his return—' I paused, ‘—through marriage.'

Heka's eyes widened and I saw she was caught in the tale. ‘You love this man.'

‘With all my being.'

She nodded, slowly. ‘A pretty problem.'

‘Will you help me?' I whispered. ‘Will you give me my skin?'

Her face twitched. ‘No. I shall not. You have been truthful with me and I will return it.' She wiped her nose with her hand, her manners still of the fringes. ‘Your skinlessness has bought my comfort. And your skinlessness preserves it. While I have your skin, I have your protection. I am not stupid. If I gave it to you, you would cast me away.'

‘I will protect you!' I cried. ‘You are safe, I can promise you this.'

‘Your promise is strong but my knowledge is stronger.'

My balled fist slammed down on the bench beside me. ‘I will speak to Fraid. I will tell her to exile you from Cad. She will heed my command. I am the Kendra in training.'

‘Do so if you will,' she said, unflinching. ‘But you know, as I do, that if I am cast from Caer Cad you will never have the knowledge you seek.'

My shoulders fell. ‘When will you tell me?'

‘Perhaps I will never tell you,' she sneered. ‘That is the chance you take.'

A vast depth opened beneath me. I had not imagined that Heka might never tell me.

The doorbell clattered.

‘Who comes?' Heka and I both called at the same time.

‘It is Llwyd's manservant.'

I straightened.

‘The Tribequeen and Llwyd require Ailia in the Great House as soon as she is ready.'

We are each responsible for our own enlightenment.
Praise and honour go to those who possess sovereignty of self.

D
ESPITE A WELL-BUILT
fire, the cold seeped into the cavernous room. Fraid and Llwyd huddled under heavy blankets and I drew a deerskin over my legs. They told me how Roman rule was now well established in the eastern tribelands and how the campaigns to the west and north had moved forward. I was tired to the marrow with no hunger for talk of Rome.

‘Strong tribes have submitted,' said Fraid. ‘Even Cartimandua has made a treaty.'

My eyes widened. I knew Fraid looked to this powerful tribequeen of the north in matters of queenship. ‘And what of Caradog?' I asked. ‘Does he submit?'

‘Not him,' said Llwyd. ‘He runs free and attacks the Roman camps by stealth.' He gave a small chuckle. ‘The Romans hunt him like a pack of wolves. Plautius has set thousands of men to the task. But none can draw him from the forests.'

‘He gathers his own army,' said Fraid. ‘He incites breakaway forces among those tribes whose leaders favour Rome.' She worked a gold-knotted ring over her middle knuckle. ‘This war is turning tribesman against tribesman.'

‘He must be well spined,' I mused, ‘and steadfast in his bonds to Albion.' I warmed to the image.

Llwyd nodded. ‘He is a true leader.'

‘Or a leader of trouble,' said Fraid. ‘He is not far from Cad, at this moment.'

‘Will he come here?' I asked, curious to meet such a man.

‘No. He heads west for the mountain tribes, who offer him their fighters,' said Fraid. ‘He has asked if the warriors of Summer will join him.'

‘And what have you answered?' I said.

‘I will supply him with weapons if he needs them,' said Fraid. ‘But I cannot grant him our fighting men. I will give Rome no good reason to enter our tribelands.'

‘But is it not certain that they will enter?' I asked. ‘Ruther has said that they seek Durotriga.'

‘My hope is that they will desist,' said Fraid. ‘The Empire now has full control of the eastern tribelands, the gateway for all the wealth of Albion. We do not threaten their position. We are peaceful. There has been little fighting in the past few months…'

Her frantic tone made me fearful. Fraid had always been clear-eyed about danger. It had been one of her greatest strengths. Her denial now made me realise how afraid she was.

‘We have both heard the messages, Tribequeen,' said Llwyd gently. ‘Vespasian's Second Legion camps at the southeast border, building supplies—'

‘Perhaps if I offer more generous terms for our tin—' Fraid rubbed her eyes.

‘They do not want better terms,' I said, turning to her. ‘They want the country.'

‘But already they take our metals—' said Fraid.

‘Not our metals…' As I spoke, an understanding was finding shape in my thoughts, faint, yet alive as an image in the visioning pool. I closed my eyes, willing it to come clear. ‘They want our waters.'

‘Speak, Ailia,' said Llwyd, seeing my knowledge form.

‘We are the most richly veined country in Albion,' I said. ‘Rivers run from the south to the north of us. With control of our waterways, they would not have to sail the cliffs of Dumnonia to supply their armies in the north and west, would they?' I asked. ‘And are those tides not the death of ships?'

‘You are right,' said Fraid. ‘They need our rivers to take the furthermost parts of Albion.'

‘But the waters are sacred,' said Llwyd. ‘They cannot fall to such a purpose. If you are right, Ailia, then we must protect them.'

I nodded. ‘When is it thought that the legion mounts the next drive, Tribequeen?'

‘Preparations are slow because their supplies come south by the Avon—'

‘And the current works against them,' I finished.

‘Yes,' said Fraid, her brows raised at my statecraft. ‘Cun believes Vespasian will make his attack this spring.' She met my eye. ‘We still have the choice to resist or submit.'

‘This is no question,' said Llwyd calmly. ‘We do not submit our knowledge. We do not betray our Mothers.'

‘An heroic stance,' cried Fraid, ‘but look at the two paths before us!' She steadied herself with a breath. ‘This is an invasion like none we have ever seen. Their numbers, their battle plan, their weaponry—' She grimaced. ‘We are told of attacks where arrows rain down from over one thousand paces.'

‘No man can strike an arrow that far,' I said.

‘It is not the work of their bowmen,' she said. ‘It is machines that do their bidding.'

‘Machines?' I asked, disbelieving.

‘And the arrows carry flame.' Fraid looked to Llwyd. ‘How can we defeat such an attack on Caer Cad? Would you have me lead our tribespeople to their death?'

‘Would they not be glad to die for their freedom?' Llwyd's voice was calm but the hand that clasped his staff was shaking. ‘These are the Mothers' tribelands. They will not fall to Rome under the Mothers' protection.'

‘Why did they not protect the eastern tribes?' cried Fraid.

‘Where they are not honoured, they cannot be strong.' His fingers whitened on his staff. ‘We are among the strongest tribes in Albion. The Mothers will protect us if we give them the chance. Why do you doubt them?'

Fraid lowered her head. She deferred to Llwyd but I felt the doubt in her silence. This faultline between them was not good.

Llwyd rested his staff against the bench and leaned forward. ‘The Romans are skilled soldiers, it is true,' he said, ‘but their sharpest weapon is not their blade. It is their scorn of our knowledge. Warriors of Albion have always lived and died by the truth of their tribelands. Now the Roman leaders tell them a different truth.' He looked to Fraid, to me. His faded eyes blazed. ‘This is a greater death than any death by arrow. It is the death of our Mothers, our skin.'

‘You are right,' whispered Fraid, her shoulders slumping.

I watched her thin wrists below her heavy cloak. She looked like an old woman now and I had never thought her so. ‘You are frightened,' I said. I meant no insult to her Tribequeen's courage; it was our kinship to these ancient tribelands that suddenly seemed as fragile as a first green shoot.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘I am frightened.' She glanced at Llwyd. ‘About the problem, we are both in agreement. It is the solution that divides us.'

Llwyd sat unspeaking for some time, then turned and looked to me. ‘It is the Kendra's knowledge that must decide whether we fight or submit.'

‘Yes,' said Fraid. ‘You are right.'

It took a moment for me to understand what they were asking. ‘But I am not the Kendra…' I faltered.

‘But you are chosen by the Mothers,' he answered. ‘If you did not possess knowledge, you would not have been chosen.'

‘It is true I have learned with them…' I grew more panicked. ‘But I have not asked them such questions.'

He met my gaze. ‘It does not need to be asked. It is within you because you have walked with them. You must claim this knowledge, Ailia, and tell us your counsel.'

My thoughts began to fragment. The clarity, the knowledge, I held only moments before was entirely lost. I thought of the Mothers who had taught me. Of Tara. Of Steise. What would they tell me now? Nothing came. ‘What said Ruther?' I spluttered. ‘Does he still advise we form bondage with Rome?'

Llwyd sighed and looked away.

‘Ask not of Ruther,' said Fraid. ‘He has not been often among us and when he is, he speaks highly of the Roman commanders. I meet with him because he holds knowledge of the invasion but—' her eyes darted from Llwyd to me, ‘—do not trust him, Ailia. He has great allure but he is not clear in his alliances.'

I braced my palms on the boarskin beneath me, my fingers finding the hard, wrinkled tip of the snout. My heart started to race.

‘Ailia?' said Llwyd, imploring. ‘Do not give us another's answer. It must be
your
knowledge. The Roman forces prepare to attack and we must decide which is worth more: our freedom or our lives. What does the Kendra's knowledge say?'

I looked to his face and then the Tribequeen's and I was sickened to realise that this was no longer a test, but a true question. That Fraid looked to me, that Llwyd himself required my guidance, set me reeling. I was not ready. It was beyond my learning. My need for Taliesin was blinding now. ‘I…I do not know.'

I pushed myself to standing on unsteady legs, gasping for air. ‘I must be gone,' I stammered. ‘This is a mistake. I am without skin. I cannot yet give what you seek. Perhaps I cannot ever give it.'

‘No, Ailia—' Llwyd stood. ‘Wait!'

But I stumbled backward, bowing quickly before I rushed out of the room into the dim winter moonlight.

The icy air rushed into my lungs as I ran through the township. Soon my chest ached but I pushed myself faster down the hill and into the fields. I wanted my heart to feel nothing else. This was my truth: moving in secret, untethered, unknowing. I should not have sought to know my skin. I was born not to know it. The unknowing shaped me. Knowing now would have broken me apart.

I ran the river path toward Taliesin. If I could not bring him here then I would go to his place. If I could not help him then I would be lost with him. What Llwyd was asking I could not give.

A heavy snow began to fall, iceflakes prickling my face as I ran. Ahead was the Oldforest, black under the swirling sky.

‘Ailia!' A figure loomed before me, tall and strong-shouldered, his face shadowed in the grey light. I gasped. It was Llwyd. He was young and beautiful, his long hair dark. He could not have pursued me here by flesh. He had travelled by spirit drawn from the time of his young man's strength.

I stood in the tumbling snow, awed in the face of the skill he had used to shape this change. But I would not be swayed. ‘I am going to the Mothers!'

‘You cannot,' he commanded, his voice resonant. ‘You are still without skin.'

How could I tell him that the Mothers cared nothing for skin? For it would desecrate his knowledge, and he would never believe me. ‘You ask too much of me!' I cried. ‘I am mourning my milkmother. I have lost all that binds me to Cad. Now you ask me to give wisdom that determines the life or death of the tribe. Wisdom that I do not have. Do not keep me here.' I went to push past him, but he blocked my way.

‘Then think of others,' he said. ‘Think of the tribespeople. If you force through now, you will tear open the skin that holds us all.'

I stopped, wondering fleetingly if he spoke the truth. But then my thoughts filled with Taliesin. It was he alone who drew me on, nothing else. What harm could arise from our union? ‘Do not burden me with what I cannot carry, Llwyd. I do not have the power you think I have.'

He stood firm in my path, snow mounding on his cloak. ‘Do you not think that I, too, have felt unworthy of knowledge?' he said. ‘There is no one born who does not doubt themselves before it. I, too, struggled to hold what was handed to me…' He paused.

I stared at him as glinting iceflakes caught in his beard. For Llwyd not to have learned would have been a terrible loss. But I was not like him. The knowledge had been poorly matched to me. ‘I will never be Kendra!' I shouted. ‘I will never have skin.'

‘You
will
be Kendra,' he said. ‘You will hear the Singing and you will return to us with its truth.'

‘No!' Tears fell from my cheeks.

Gradually his glamour was subsiding and he contracted to his old man's shape. ‘You must—' His voice was aged and rasping again. ‘Or else we are all lost in a world that only you have the power to understand.'

I could not hear any more. He was wrong. I pushed past him.

‘Ailia!'

I did not look back. I had my own knowledge of the Mothers. I had walked with them and knew they did not ask of my skin. And had I not cut through the realms once before with my sword? I was outside the laws of skin. I would set my own path.

Llwyd's shouts grew fainter behind me.

I ran straight through the Oldforest until I reached the hazel pool. Its black water churned. ‘Taliesin!' I screamed. ‘Taliesin, come!'

My words condensed in the cold air.

There was a strangeness to the water when I crouched to quench my thirst. It was as thick as syrup in my cupped palms and no sooner had I sipped it than I spat it back. It was foul with the taste of rot. Was this the Mothers repelling me? But I thought only of Taliesin and how it would feel when he held me. I cared not for the warning of the river, nor for the doings of the Romans, nor for the harm of which Llwyd spoke. I did not want to be Kendra. I wanted only to join with Taliesin and stay with him in his place. I was fit for no other.

I tore off my cloak, dress and sandals, shrinking against the furious cold, and refastened my sword belt over my under-robe. At the river's edge, with the shallows shooting ice currents up my legs, I was caught by a moment of fear. I had journeyed through this pool only once before and that was by the guidance and seduction of my fish. Alone, I had no recollection of how far or how deep I needed to swim. I could only jump and trust that Taliesin would take me through.

I braced to jump, my feet numb in the water. I would not survive long submerged in this coldness. This passage would be death or a return to Taliesin and I would take either.

I closed my eyes and launched into the deep centre of the pool, then turned and swam down, face-first into the drop.

Soon the breath drained from my chest and I was dizzied with cold and pain. Pressure squeezed my ribs as I kicked downward, my lungs screaming for air. Finally, I opened my mouth and sucked in a mouthful of cold, silty water. It filled my chest to breaking then, somehow, I found the air in it. The pressure lessened and the pain subsided. The water flowed in and out of my lungs. I was breathing it.