Priestess of the Fire Temple (12 page)

17

Y
ears later, I learned what had happened when Father Justan left me alone in his roundhouse.

He had walked to the nemed of Dálach-gaes and Niamh with a sense of trepidation. These were good people, loving and kind to everyone, but they were still Pagani, worshippers of strange gods, who believed in practices and rituals that were forbidden to the Cristaidi.

An old prayer from Inissi Leuca came to mind as he paused before crossing the threshold of the enclosure:

O my Lord and Master

I am your servant

You who made the moon and stars

I bow to wash your feet

Protect me.

Then he made the sign of the cross across his chest out of habit, thinking that it added an extra measure of protection.

He found Dálach-gaes in the ritual space, oiling the wood of the bíle with goose grease and bee's wax to protect its intricate carvings from the weather. There was a moment of awkward silence as the two clergymen looked each other over until Dálach-gaes broke the spell.

“Well met, Father Justan. To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Dálach-gaes was surprised to encounter the priest within the confines of the Druid ritual enclosure because he could not recall a single visit from a Cristaide clergyman in all the years that he and Niamh had lived there. As far as he knew, the Cristaidi regarded the Druid ritual space and school as a suspicious or even evil place.

He wiped his hands on his apron and motioned the priest towards a small semicircle of wooden benches arranged under an old apple tree. The students had sat there the day before, sharing and memorizing sacred stories.

Father Justan spoke. “I have a certain visitor at my house—someone you know well. I need some counsel on what to do about it.”

“I can hardly believe that you are asking advice from a Drui.” Dálach-gaes sounded perplexed.

“Normally I would not resort to this, but I am at a complete loss,” Father Justan said.

Dálach-gaes understood his reticence but was intrigued. He knew that if the other Cristaidi learned of Father Justan's visit, they would give him a hard time; whatever had brought him to the nemed of the Druid must be something truly urgent. “If it is as serious as you say, then perhaps I should bring Niamh into the conversation. Sit here a while and enjoy the warm sun while I go inside to fetch her. I will have the students prepare us some refreshments.”

Father Justan was glad of the chance to sit in the liquid sunlight of the afternoon. He kicked off his sandals and dug his feet into the mossy ground.

Dálach-gaes reappeared soon after with Niamh at his side. Moments later, a male student emerged from the largest roundhouse bearing a tray of cold elderberry and rosehip brew, bannocks, butter, and cheese. The student was quickly dismissed and the conversation resumed.

“Who is the distinguished visitor that you are keeping?” Niamh asked, fascinated. She thought it might be a foreign dignitary involved in some delicate political machination, or perhaps a high-ranking
Cristaide
with whom Father Justan was quarreling. She had heard rumors over the years of Cristaidi who would come to pester the priest and try to bend him to their ways.

“My guest is a woman with whom you are both well acquainted.”

“A woman?” Niamh exclaimed. This was not at all what she had expected.

“I am afraid that Princess Aislinn has appeared at my door—” Before he could finish the thought, Dálach-gaes and Niamh were both standing in shock.

“Where is her retinue?” Dálach-gaes asked.

“Has she been announced at court?” Niamh interjected impatiently, thinking they had been slighted. If Aislinn had arrived with northern warriors, they should have heard by now.

“It's a long story, one that will take a while to tell. The short version is that she and Deaglán were not suited to each other, and he now has a concubine who is with child. Also, the peace has been broken, and raiding is going on across the borders once again. The lady Aislinn could think of no reason to stay in the northern kingdom, and so she has returned here to us,” Father Justan explained.

“But who is with her?” Dálach-gaes asked again.

“No one; she is quite alone.” Father Justan's shoulders slumped a little; it was a sad set of circumstances, shameful even.

Dálach-gaes and Niamh both sat down hard on the little benches, hardly daring to believe what they had heard. Niamh finally found her voice. “Is it possible that Aislinn traveled all that way by herself? That girl was always headstrong, but to treat her own life so lightly is past believing. And after all the years of learning that we stuffed into her head, she should know better than to put herself in such danger!”

Father Justan assured them that this was the truth. He told them how she had arrived underweight, filthy, and famished at his door. He told them about a mysterious man that she had met and lost, and how perhaps this terrible grief had caused her to take an enormous risk, unheeding.

“Does the king know about this?” Dálach-gaes asked.

“No. No one knows about it except you and me,” Father Justan said.

“He will have to be told,” Niamh said flatly. She was thinking of Tuilelaith and of her likely disapproval of the girl. It would not be easy to break this to the parents.

“Well, what's to be done with her now?” Father Justan asked, raising his hands in desperation and with a hint of despair in his voice. His usually smiling features were contorted into a grey mask of concern.

After a moment's reflection Niamh spoke, picking her words with care because she did not want to cause offense to the priest's calling.

“On a weighty matter such as this, it is our custom to consult the gods. We have a number of methods for doing so—ways to access their will in the past, the present, and the future. In some cases we consult our visions and our dreams, or we listen to the swaying of the trees, the rustling of leaves, or the calling of birds. We might also cast Ogum sticks to divine the gods' purpose.

“But in this case, I think something weightier is called for. After all, she is a princess of the royal house, and she is also half trained to be a Fili. In short, she is a very valuable person in so many ways.”

“Do you mean…?” Dálach-gaes asked, looking into Niamh's eyes in the way that long-married people often will, sharing an unspoken thought.

Father Justan was perplexed. Some silent plan was being hatched right before his eyes. He had no idea what it might be, but Dálach-gaes and Niamh already seemed to have an understanding. Why were these Druid always so mysterious?

“If this were a case of divination that involved the entire kingdom, we would sacrifice a white bull on the day of the full moon,” Dálach-gaes began for the priest's benefit. “A Drui would fast for three days, then partake of the bull's meat and some of the broth, and then he or she would sleep wrapped in the bull's hide. Other Druid would sing the Incantation of Truth over the seer as they slept, and by morning the seer would have a vision, such as the name of the most worthy candidate for the kingship.”

“But since this is a private matter that involves just one person and her personal fate, something less elaborate can be undertaken,” Niamh continued, picking up where Dálach-gaes had left off. “On the day of the full moon, one of us can wrap ourselves in the hide of a newly sacrificed sheep. We can fast and then eat some of its flesh. The very best place to do this rite is at the source of a river, because such a place is pure in spirit. The gods, the spirits of the place, or an ancestor will bring a vision to whomever lies sleeping there.”

“The full moon is in three days. I say we walk together to the river's source and bring a sheep with us,” Dálach-gaes concluded.

Father Justan wondered how he had become so quickly ensnared in the mysterious rites of the Pagani Druid, but they seemed like good and sincere people, despite everything he had heard. And as he was at a loss how to proceed with Aislinn, he somewhat reluctantly agreed to their plan.

It will be an education for me to see what these Pagani
actually do in their rituals
, he reasoned to himself as a way of overcoming his fears.

Niamh, Dálach-gaes, and the priest took off alone the next morning after commandeering a huge ram, two oiled leather tarps, hatchets, buckets, fire tongs, and other supplies from the storehouses of the dun. Care was taken to be as inconspicuous as possible so as not to arouse suspicion. The Druid were still respected and feared by the majority of the dun's inhabitants, so their actions and requests were accepted without comment, and folk were happy to give Father Justan the few things he asked for because he was the one who blessed them with his words in the chapel.

“I haven't been there since we did the divinations for Barra Mac Mel's campaign to be king,” Dálach-gaes remarked as they took to the road at first light. He had been a youngster in training at the time.

“I think that Niamh should do the honors, since she and Aislinn are both women,” he added.

It seemed to make sense. Dálach-gaes and Father Justan would take turns tending the fire, sleeping under the tarp, and guarding the space to keep away any curious animal or human intruders.

After a full day's march they reached the intended spot. Their first task was to sling one of the oiled tarps over a rope strung between two trees and to weight down the edges with stones. Then they placed the second tarp on the ground beneath it, to keep away the damp.

The ram was tethered to a standing stone in the middle of a grassy field, where he contentedly ate his fill as Niamh worked nearby, cutting fresh green blades with her sickle. Dálach-gaes and Father Justan busied themselves with cleaning out the fire pit and the cooking pit, gathering rocks, and cutting up deadfall from the forest for firewood. A strong fire soon blazed in the twilight.

At dawn, as the sun was rising, they led the ram to a shelf of flat rock that sloped gradually towards the ground. There was an almost imperceptible notch carved into one side of the shelf of stone.

“This place has been used for sacrifice for thousands of sun-
turnings,” Niamh commented.

It's an almost biblical scene
, Father Justan thought.

Niamh lovingly tied soft skin around the ram's feet to bind them, and Dálach-gaes and Father Justan slung the beast up onto the rock escarpment. Dálach-gaes murmured a prayer of thanksgiving and stroked the beast to gentle it, then cleanly slit its throat. Soon a bright rivulet of blood flowed down the stone, cascading softly onto the soil below—a blood offering for the spirits of the land.

As the carcass cooled and drained, Dálach-gaes cut off the head and placed it high in the fork of a tree to gaze out towards the sacred river as a mark of respect. The entrails were pulled out, and Father Justan was given the task of carrying them deep into the surrounding forest in a willow basket as an offering for the forest spirits.
It's odd to be doing this
, he thought as he poured the offal onto a stone hidden in a holly thicket,
but I can find no evil in it
.

Dálach-gaes removed the hide and used a hatchet to cut the carcass into manageable pieces. A large haunch was to be roasted over the fire for their dinner, while the other pieces were rubbed with salt and wild garlic and then wrapped tightly in the fresh grasses that Niamh had gathered. One choice piece of flesh was set aside, dedicated to the gods. As Niamh placed it directly into the flames, she and Dálach-gaes gazed upwards, their eyes following the smoke as it made its way to the sky world.

“May they be pleased with our offering today,” Dálach-gaes said.

Stones had been layered amongst the logs in the fire pit to heat, and water was carried from the river in leather buckets to fill the cooking pit. Once the grass-wrapped meat was laid into the water-filled pit, red-hot rocks were gradually added in until the bubbling began. When it cooled, the cooked meat would be wrapped in fresh leaves and grasses and packed into leather bags for carrying. Then it would be distributed in the nearest village they encountered—the final phase of the ritual of sacrifice.

On the night of the full moon, Niamh chewed a bit of the roasted meat—the first food she had eaten in three days—and then bathed at the river's source. Father Justan excused himself, too squeamish to witness this part of the rite.

Emerging from the water, Niamh carefully patted herself dry. Then she gathered branch tips from the riverbank, which she wove into a wreath and placed upon her head. Now she was naked except for the crown of green herbs and the spirals and whorls she had painted on her face, breasts, and belly using the ram's blood.

Dálach-gaes approached her with the skin of the freshly slaughtered animal and Niamh rolled herself gingerly into it. Dálach-gaes sprinkled water from the river's source over her as a final blessing as she settled into a soft hollow of grass near the waterfall that fed the pool of the river's beginning. Dálach-gaes left her there and returned to the comforts of the fire.

The waterfall provided a curtain of sound that soon brought Niamh into trance.

When he got back to the tarps, Dálach-gaes saw that Father Justan was deep in prayer. Dálach-gaes took the first watch, and then they took turns sleeping and tending the fire throughout the night. A tribe of owls kept up a constant chorus of sound, conversing loudly across the woodlands along the riverbank.

“The owls know that something is happening, and they are talking about it—a good omen,” Dálach-gaes commented.

In the morning Dálach-gaes walked to the river's edge with a woolen towel, some lavender-scented siabainn, and clean clothes for Niamh. He also carried a small silver ritual cup, a bowl of cracked hazelnuts, and a sliced apple.

His first action was to dip the cup into the water at the very source of the river and carry it to Niamh. She sat up as he presented it to her.