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Authors: Morgan Llywelyn

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BOOK: The Horse Goddess (Celtic World of Morgan Llywelyn)
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“You are little more than a child, you don’t know what’s best for you. How can you have plans already?”
She lifted her chin. “I know exactly what’s best for me. I want to stay right here in the Blue Mountains all my life.”
“You see! As a
drui
you can do that; you will not be sent off as a wife, you will be too precious to the tribe.
“Gutuiters
don’t marry at all, so there will be no infants in their wombs to distract them from the voices of the spirits. You will stay right here, and help us, and …”
She glared at him. “I’m sorry I ever told you anything. You don’t understand. I have no intention of giving up marriage to stay in a lodge with other women. I have plans I can’t talk about with you, and I beg you not to tell anyone else about the otherworlds. Forget I ever said it. It was a mistake, a dream, nothing more.”
Okelos narrowed his eyes. “Ah, no, sister. You gave your word.”
Okelos went on to the salt mine, but he returned early. He watched for an opportunity to speak to Rigantona when the lodge was temporarily empty of any who might overhear. Then he went to her with a present.
“This is fine enough only for Rigantona,” he said, holding it out for her to admire.
The woman’s face lit with pleasure. She seized the object and turned it over and over in her hands. It was a perfect
model, in miniature, of the chieftain’s cart in which she had first seen Toutorix, tall and proud in all his finery. Even the wheels turned, and little leather traces waited for impossibly small ponies.
“Who made this beautiful thing?”
“Goibban.”
“This is no child’s toy; it is a jewel made of bronze.”
“And silver, see the designs on the sides? And the axles and wheels are iron.”
“Magnificent,” she breathed. “But … why are you giving this to me? You must have paid the smith a high price for it. What do you want in return?”
“What makes you think I want something in return?”
Rigantona was sitting at her loom, a plaid of coppery red and bright green wool before her. Now she set the bronze cart down on her lap—carefully—and leaned back, bracing her arms on her bedshelf. She surveyed Okelos with amusement. “I carried you in my body,” she reminded him. “My blood knows your blood. You would never make such a sacrifice unless you expected to gain a great advantage.”
Okelos was not embarrassed; he was flattered his mother recognized what he thought of as shrewdness. He would be a splendid trade-arranger, better even than Toutorix.
“There is a trade involved,” he admitted. “Something for everyone. I give you this, and you influence Kernunnos to support me as lord of the tribe when the time comes.”
“I said I would not go to the shapechanger, even for you.”
“You don’t have to. You will send Epona.”
Rigantona stared at him. “Epona?”
Okelos nodded. “She is
drui
. She is still unmarried; you can give her to the priesthood.”
“She’s not
drui
, she’s just an ordinary girl. The priest would have no use for her; he must confine his lifemaking to married women of the tribe.”
Okelos’ voice was urgent. “I tell you, she is
drui.
She can travel into the otherworlds; she did it after Brydda’s sacrifice. She told me about it and gave me her word it was true.”
Rigantona was dazzled. Her own daughter. Could it be possible …? She quickly recognized the possibilities, the prestige and benefits that would accrue to her as the mother of a
drui
.
Watching her eyes, Okelos smiled. “If you offer Epona to Kernunnos, he will have to give you a gift in kind. You can then ask him to support me as new lord of the tribe. Toutorix grows old; surely you see that.”
Rigantona was running her fingers over the little bronze cart again. “The priest would give anything I asked in return for a new
drui,
” she said, bemused. “They are found so rarely. Anything I ask …”
“Yes!” urged Okelos.
Meanwhile, Epona was wandering through her day distracted. She regretted having mentioned the otherworlds to Okelos, but it was too late now. And nothing could be changed. She performed her chores without really being aware of them. The swirling mists of the otherworld she had seen were always in her mind, part of its landscape now, drawing and seducing her, frightening her with glimpses of things she was not prepared to encounter. It was too much; she was overcome by the experience and desperate to shake off its effects.
Never again,
she promised herself.
Never again!
She had spent most of the day with Sirona and some of the younger women, caring for the livestock in the animal pens. Four young bull calves had been castrated to supply new oxen for Kwelon’s wagons, and Nematona was on hand to spread their wounds with a healing paste and attend to the details of the sacrifice of the amputated testicles.
The women, sweating and straining, had caught and thrown the little bulls and held them down for the operation, cheering one another on with bawdy comparisons between the size of the severed testicles and the equipment of their own men.
Epona’s injured arm kept her from the more physical efforts, and she had to be content with sitting beside each animal
in turn, stroking it and keeping it calm while Nematona’s skillful hands repaired the insulted flesh.
Rigantona found her there and beckoned to her. Sirona noticed her marriage-sister and could not resist a jibe: “Come and help us, Rigantona who was once so strong. Let’s see if you can hold this squirming beast—or has the snow in your hair quenched the fire in your bosom?”
Rigantona scowled at her rival. Sirona was younger, more agile, and from the shape of her body she was quickening with new life. Taranis was virile; Sirona went to no other men. She had already bragged openly to other women that Taranis would someday be lord of the tribe.
Without deigning to reply to Sirona, Rigantona led her daughter away from the animal pens. She looked closely at the girl’s arm. It seemed to her to be taking a long time to heal; she had every reason to believe it would be crooked, ugly. Such things happened. Then what man would offer gifts for Epona? The girl might remain on their hands always, unmarried, unwanted, eating good food, allotted a share of everything the family earned …
“I have been thinking about your future,” Rigantona began. “And just this day I was told by your brother that you have the
drui
gift. I think that is a wonderful solution for our problem. I will offer you to the chief priest to be initiated; what do you think of that?”
Epona stared unbelievingly at her mother. “But I don’t want to!”
“Of course you do, what a foolish thing to say. It’s a very great honor, Epona; surely you realize that?”
“I don’t want that kind of honor. I want the respect a married woman is entitled to receive from the tribe; I want the honor of bearing children, of creating a house for another spirit.”
“You’re too young to make such choices for yourself. Not long ago you were rebelling against the pattern, which proves you are still too new to thislife to make your own decisions. Someday you will thank me for sending you to the magic house.”
The magic house. Condemned to a life of swirling mists and chanting. Instead of Goibban’s manly grace to companion all the days of thislife, there would be only Kernunnos … The image of the wolf’s face flashed before her eyes again, recalling the intense dislike she had felt for the shapechanger as far back as she could remember.
“Don’t do that to me. I would hate it!”
Rigantona’s face was set and unyielding. “You are being very foolish; you are lucky we still have authority over you in this matter. To be
drui
is to be granted access to the secrets of the earth, Epona; it is more power than you would ever have otherwise. I would have given up a husband and children myself, gladly, for such an opportunity.”
“But I want a husband more than anything else in thisworld.”
“I assure you, you will be happier without one. The
gutuiters
are spared all that, spared the discomfort and inconvenience of childbearing and raising so they may give their full attention to the spirits, and I think they are better for it. Look at Tena, or Uiska. Their breasts are still high, they look seasons younger than they are. I’ve always secretly suspected they use their magic to keep themselves strong and beautiful past a woman’s usual time; wouldn’t you like that?”
“No! I just want the life I’ve always expected to have.”
“No one gets the life they expect,” Rigantona told her with a trace of bitterness in her voice. “That is why we barter with the spirits to try to get the best deal we can.” She looked pointedly at the girl’s bandaged arm. “What man will want you now? The people do not take disfigured wives.”
“I won’t be disfigured.”
“How can you tell?”
“I just … know.”
“Hai,” said Rigantona. “Is that another gift you have, the gift of healing? Can you heal yourself?”
“No. I don’t have any gifts, I tell you. I don’t have them and I don’t want them.” Epona backed away from her mother.
“You don’t seem to realize I’m doing this for your own
good, Epona,” Rigantona insisted, following her. “You have no say in this; it’s not like accepting or rejecting a particular man as husband. Quit sulking and try to appreciate your good fortune. We will have such a ceremony, such games and feasting …”
As Epona was listening horrified to her mother’s glowing plans, Toutorix was receiving his own bad news. For the first time, his position as lord of the tribe was being seriously questioned by the tribal council. Even his younger brother Taranis, who had always been his strongest supporter and warrior-of-the-shoulder, came forward to testify he felt the reign of the Invincible Boar was nearing its end.
In his abnormally deep voice, Taranis said to his brother, “Lately you have been giving away our wealth to the traders in return for shoddy merchandise and inequitable terms.” The members of the council nodded agreement. “This season you have not demanded the highest price as you did in the past. You have let their oiled tongues beguile you into accepting their sixth or seventh offer instead of really bargaining. Your skills are failing you, Toutorix.”
The chieftain turned on his brother in white-lipped anger. “How can you say these things to me? Since I became lord of the tribe, have I not expanded our trade until we now live here as luxuriously as the princes live in Etruria? Who else could have done that?”
“You speak the truth. You have been sunshine driving out cold shadows, Toutorix, but your light is dimming now. Your evening has come. If there were a battle to be fought, I do not think you would be able to manage your sword and shield.”
Okelos was standing just outside the council ring, his eyes shining hotly. Toutorix, glancing up, saw the expression on his face and was reminded of young wolves, waiting to bring down an old stag. Life passes on to life; so says the spirit within.
Toutorix got to his feet, forcing himself to rise as if there were still some spring in his legs, but the effort cost him. He had aged mightily this sunseason and he knew it; he had spent
more of himself than he could spare. “There may be some wisdom in what you say,” he acknowledged, “but I will have to think on it. Perhaps in the snowseason, when there is time for long conversation and deliberation, we will consider choosing a new chief. But in the meantime I am still strong enough to care for my people!” He slammed his staff against the earth for emphasis and strode away from the circle.
Once out of their sight, however, his shoulders slumped with fatigue. He realized there was little time left. The tusks of the Invincible Boar were drawn. With or without his acquiescence a new chief must be chosen all too soon, and his spirit would have nothing left to do in thisworld.
He made his way back toward his lodge, feeling neither the wind at his back nor the earth mother beneath his feet. He did not even see Epona until she flung herself on him, throwing her arms around him and shouting, “Stop her, stop her! Don’t let my mother ruin my life!”
He staggered under the weight of her assault. “Do what? What are you yelling about?”
“Rigantona means to give me to the
druii
to be trained as a
gutuiter
, even though I don’t want to do it. I would much rather burn in a cage and escape thisworld,” Epona cried, her words tumbling over one another in their eagerness to escape her mouth. She flung her arms wide, then clutched Toutorix again; she expressed all her youthful horror and indignation almost incoherently, but gradually Toutorix understood. Rigantona had found a way to be sure of getting something for the girl now, instead of waiting and gambling on her desirability as a wife.
He gently disentangled himself from Epona, surprised that her embrace had caused such numbness in his arms. “Rigantona can be greedy,” he said, “but you need not worry. I am still lord of the tribe—for a little while—and I can command. I will tell your mother that you are not to be forced into the priesthood. You wait here; it will be all right.” He patted her hand.
BOOK: The Horse Goddess (Celtic World of Morgan Llywelyn)
13.36Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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