Emily's House (The Akasha Chronicles) (4 page)

Around the bottom of the great hill, common folk from all around gathered, ready to join in the revelry of the sacred union. As the Druid Priest spoke the ritual words, Saorla’s attention wandered as she smelled the smoke from the large wood bonfires lit below and the scent of roasting meat. Saorla wondered if all weddings seemed to last so long for a bride!

At last the Druid Priest announced the union was complete, and the High King, on behalf of all his people, was married to the Goddess and thus the land. The regional kings, noblemen and their ladies cheered loudly. Their cheers were heard by the people gather below and led to a loud roar of cheers and hoots as all celebrated the union.

The last part of the ritual required the High King and the ‘Goddess’ to consummate their marriage in a wedding bed. Ruaidrí and Saorla, still wearing the mask of the Goddess, were taken to what looked like a stone alter bed, draped for the ceremony with linens for privacy. The crowd sent up a riotous cheer as first Saorla then Ruaidrí entered through the drapes to their wedding bed.

Once inside, the High King took Saorla’s hand and kissed it gently. “It is my highest honor to meet you at last, High Priestess,” he said. Saorla was frightened of what would come next as she had never been with a man before. Ruaidrí was kindly enough but an old warrior, gruff and hardened by years of battle and war.

Ruaidrí must have sensed her fear. “You needn’t worry, my Priestess. I have no desire to offend the Christian gods by taking the sacred virginity of the Goddess’s High Priestess of her most Sacred Grove. I would then offend all the gods while I’m trying to appease them!”

Saorla was much relieved by Ruaidrí’s statement. She bowed to the king in thanks. “I thank you, your Highness, for honoring my sacred vows. I am sure the Goddess is pleased with your offering to her, and your diplomacy has saved you from offense to the one God of the Christians as well.

“But what should we do now, my king? The people expect the High King and Goddess to participate in the old rites and consecrate their marriage.”

“We wait an appropriate amount of time. I will emerge from this bedchamber and look the part of the boastful stag. All will think that we have consummated our ‘vows,’” he replied. “You may remove your mask with me, High Priestess, if you’d like.”

“No, my King, I must stay hidden, even with you.”

“You are right, of course, of course. These are dangerous times, aren’t they?”

“Yes, your Highness. Cathaír told you of my visions, yes?”

“Cathaír told me. Please forgive me, your Highness, but I cannot believe what you have seen. Your vision must surely be clouded or perhaps it was merely a warning from the Goddess. My men are the most loyal this fair land has ever seen. The people are more united now than in many harvests. I am not concerned of a plot against me, gentle woman.”

“This makes me even more concerned my King. I know that your men are loyal and our land united, for now. But this invasion that is coming to Tara is different from those that came before. The leader of this army – he is dark, my King. His quest is power and he will say anything – do anything – to achieve his ends. He is. . . without conscience my King. That makes him most dangerous.”

“I am grateful for your fealty, High Priestess. And I will take your words to consideration. But this night, let us enjoy the feast and the fires of Samhein. Tonight let us enjoy the beauty of our fair land and her people. I take my leave of you, your Highness. May the Goddess shine her light on you all of your days,” he said as he bowed low and backed out of the drapes and into the night.

Saorla, finally alone, removed her mask. The mask had made her hot and rivulets of sweat dripped from her temples. She knew that she should stay there, hidden from all, her identity secret, playing the part of Goddess. But the music was so enticing, the odor of roasted meat and smoke from the fires so delicious. She was practically salivating, her stomach growling with hunger. The low, thundering drums awakened in her desires that were animal – primeval. The night felt momentous and full of magical power. It was a Samhein with a full moon, surely an omen of good fortune. The Goddess couldn’t intend for her to sit alone and masked in a shrouded room rather than rejoicing the life force of the Goddess herself with the others.

She tore off the white cloak and white tunic. Underneath she had on a natural linen tunic like the peasants wore. The long sleeves covered the torc. No one knew what she looked like. She could pass for a peasant.

She would! She would go out and join the party and dance and feast and drink mead with the rest of them.

Saorla snuck out the back way and into the dark. There was no one around to see her. Everyone else had ventured down the hill to join the feasts and merriment in the valley below. Besides, most of the revelers had a few mugs of mead in their bellies and were no longer paying attention to the ‘wedding bed’.

Saorla stepped gingerly down the steep hill. It was difficult walking as she had only the light of the full moon to light the way. Saorla blended into the crowd easily, and as soon as she could, she grabbed a mug of mead and a leg of rabbit. She ate the meat quickly and savored its musky flavor. Saorla then drank down the mug of mead in one long draught. She had never had mead and was surprised by the slight tingling sensation it left in her lips. Her head began to feel swoony. Saorla decided that it was not an altogether unpleasant feeling.

She wandered away from the feasting tables toward the sound of the drums. She watched the dancers for a few songs then felt confident that she knew the steps of the dance and joined in. Between the mead, the power of the drums and the spinning and twirling of the dance, she felt positively intoxicated.

After she had danced a few songs, Saorla looked up to see that her dance partner was Cathaír. He swung her around and danced with her for the rest of the song. They both laughed, and Saorla felt light and free as they danced together. After several more dances, Saorla looked as if she would fall over from exhaustion. Cathaír steered her by her elbow away from the crowd.

“What do you think you're doing, your Highness?” he whispered playfully into her ear.

Saorla hiccupped and said, “Enjoying my wedding night, good sir.”

Cathaír couldn’t help but smile. He felt a warmth toward Saorla he had never felt before. Here, in the glow of feast fires and away from the serious business of the Sacred Grove, he noticed for the first time how truly beautiful Saorla was. Her green eyes were two brilliant emeralds. Her lips were rosy pink and full. Her cheeks were flushed from the dance and the ale. Her hair, usually tightly plaited, was loose and flowing, full cascades of soft red flowing over her milky white shoulders.

“Are you going to stand here and continue to scold me, or are you going to dance with me, Cathaír?” Saorla asked.

He thought he should pick her up, carry her to her horse and escort her right back to the Sacred Grove. As her sworn protector and one of the holders of the secret of the Fires of Brighid, that is what he should do.

But he was a man too, and would be a fool not to enjoy a night of dancing and laughter with Saorla. So he put out his arm for her and said, “May I have this dance?”

She smiled mischievously and took his arm as they joined the others in a raucous dance. After a few more hours, Saorla said that her feet, not used to all the dancing, were tired.

Cathaír had an idea. They hiked the steep climb to the top of the sacred hill again, this time alone and unseen by the now drunken crowd below. Saorla and Cathaír tucked back into the shrouded ‘wedding bed’.

Inside Saorla threw herself down on the large flat stone bed to rest. She was exhilarated and tired all at the same time. Cathaír stood nearby awkwardly, not knowing what to do next.

“Come rest with me, Cathaír,” Saorla said as she motioned for him to lie next to her.

Cathaír hesitated. He knew it was most improper for him to lie on a bed with Saorla. But he was tired, and as there was no place to sit, he did as she suggested. As Cathaír lay next to Saorla, their hands gently touched.

Although Saorla was tired, the mead had worn off, and her mind was clear, not foggy. She focused herself and knew in an instant that Cathaír was thinking of how much he loved Saorla. And how much he wanted to kiss her. Saorla’s cheeks flushed scarlet.

Instead of speaking, she rolled over to look at Cathaír. Before he knew what was happening, Saorla gently kissed his lips. Cathaír’s brain told him that he should push her away, but the love pouring from her was too powerful a magnet. He kissed her back and gently wrapped his arms around her. Her body softened in his arms. She felt as if she would melt from the inside out. Her insides had turned to jelly.

As their lips parted, Cathaír looked deeply into Saorla’s eyes. “I love you, Saorla,” he said.

“I love you too, Cathaír,” she said as they kissed again, more deeply this time. Their passion was ignited, and neither of them could stop this long embrace even if they wanted to. Cathaír and Saorla stayed together, wound tightly in each other’s arms until just before dawn.

When they awoke, Saorla once again dressed as the Goddess, complete with mask. Cathaír slipped out without being seen but brought her horse around for her and escorted her back to the Sacred Grove.

“You mean that they stayed the whole night together?” broke in Fanny.

“Yes,” replied Hindergog.

“Wait. If you know this, then you were spying on them,” I said.

“Yeah, that’s gross man. You were spying on them while they were making out,” added Jake.

“I cannot expect you human children to understand, but Saorla knew that I saw all of her life. There was nothing she hid from me. She wanted me to see her fall in love.”

“So she and Cathaír were in love?” I asked.

“Yes, very much in love,” replied Hindergog.

“Hindergog, that night, did they. . . you know. . . make love that night,” asked Fanny?

“Yes, they did,” answered Hindergog.

“Holy crap!” said Jake. “That was totally against the rules, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, young sir, it was. But for my mistress, for my fair Saorla, it was the loveliest night she knew in the whole of her life.”

“You never told anyone, did you Hindergog?” I asked.

“No, no I did not,” replied Hindergog. “My dear mistress deserved to have that one secret. And I have never told anyone until now.”

“But why tell us? I mean, it’s a beautiful story and all, but what does it have to do with danger to their world or, with me?” I asked.

“That is a fair question child so listen well as I continue and you will see why I chose to reveal this to you now,” Hindergog answered.

5. Cathaír’s Bad News

A full twelve moons after the ban-feis, Cathaír rode hard and fast to the Sacred Grove to meet with my mistress. In those months, Saorla’s vision had proven true. Invaders entered upon the land of Tara. The army was large, their fighting tactics fierce. The King’s own armies and even Tara’s fearsome rogue bands of mercenaries had been unable to protect Tara’s borders. Soon an army had surrounded the High King himself.

Cathaír rode through the night from the Hill of Tara to the Sacred Grove and brought with him unwelcome news. As was custom, Saorla met with Cathaír in the Great Hall.

“Saorla, it is with a heavy heart that I bring you news of a march coming toward your Sacred Grove right now. Their numbers are many, Saorla.”

“I know, Cathaír, I know.”

“You have seen the army coming?” asked Cathaír.

“Yes, dear friend, remember I foresaw this over twelve moons ago.”

“That’s right.”

“The visions are strong and keep me awake at night.”

“Your priestesses are well trained and well armed. You have Madame Wong, an army in her own right. And of course there are the Fair Sídhe and Lianhan Sídhe to assist you. Your women warriors are fierce, Saorla, but I fear that even the famed women warriors of the Order of Brighid will not be able to fend off so many a number.”

Saorla said nothing to this. Instead, she poured herself more tea. She so loved hot tea. She would miss tea and the company of her close friends.

“Saorla, you suddenly look so sad.”

“A moment of weakness.”

“It isn’t weakness to feel – to be human. You know what is coming. Much blood will be shed. Many will lose their lives.”

“Yes, Cathaír, and that is why I have no time for the human frailty of my emotions. My Order must be able to rely on my steady leadership.”

“You are a strong leader, Saorla.”

Saorla poured Cathaír a cup of tea as well.

“There is more news too. This you may not know. There has been a great betrayal.”

“A betrayal? Of whom?” asked Saorla.

“Of High King Ruaidrí,” replied Cathaír.

“Ah yes, the plot against him that I saw so many moons ago. But I have not seen a vision of this happening recently. How have I not seen this?” wondered Saorla aloud.

“I suspect that magic is involved. It is Cormac, son of King Brion.”

“Cormac. Yes, he has an axe to grind. He has always blamed Ruaidrí for his father’s death. So he is after revenge, is he?”

“There is more. As you told me many months ago, the leader of this invasion, he is different from the ones before. He calls himself Dughall, and he is after more than just the typical spoils of war.”

Saorla suddenly felt as though she would vomit. All at once a terrible vision came into her sight – a vision of a dark haired man with blazing brown eyes riding hard and fast right to the Sacred Grove. She had dreamed this, but did not know what her dream meant.

“He is on his way,” was all that she could whisper.

“Then we don’t have much time,” replied Cathaír.

“But how does he know? How did he learn of our order and of the portal?”

“That’s what I was telling you. Cormac has betrayed King Ruaidrí and the Order. He saw his opportunity and sold us out to Dughall.”

It was just as Cathaír said. Cormac’s father had lost the crown to Ruaidrí in a fierce battle. To assuage Cormac and his district, Ruaidrí had given Cormac a post as his second in command. Being so high placed within the kingdom, Cormac knew much – or had the opportunity to spy on much – of what happened in the King’s court, both public and private.