Magdalen Rising (30 page)

I opened my eyes and found myself looking into a face as old and unyielding as a rock, a face made mostly of shadows but with a flicker of flame in the eyes. It was a Crow. I looked around in confusion, taking
in the low roof and the close walls, the scent of smoking herbs. Then I saw Viviane lying not far from me, still asleep.

“We moved you and Viviane to our hut to keep you under observation. You'll both need some time to recover. You have done well, Maeve Rhuad,” she added. “Better than you know.”

“I have to go now.” I struggled to get to my feet, but I was still very weak. The Crow easily restrained me.

“Drink.”

She brought a cup of something hot and bitter to my lips and forced it between them. I swallowed and felt heat and calm seep through my body.

“You will sleep now,” she commanded. “No more dreams tonight.”

I had no choice but to obey.

I
WOKE TO DAYLIGHT SPILLING through the open door. For a moment I remembered nothing of the night before, but when I looked at Viviane, still asleep beside me, everything came back. It was hard to believe that only hours ago, I had been drenched in her blood, held her womb in my hands. Now, except for the bluish tinge in the hollow of her eyes, she looked almost her usual self—which included looking elegant and composed even when she was sound asleep.

I was pleased to note that there were no Crows with us in the hut. I hoped they were busy doing whatever it was Crows did in the morning. It was not a time when we usually saw them. Certainly, no one would consider it strange for me to go to the trenches. After that, I could have a wash in the Afon Braint. Then I'd be on course again, moving slowly, casually upstream to the Dark Grove. Once I cleared Caer Leb, I could pick up my pace. It had been a long detour, but Esus remained my destination.

At the thought of him, I began to remember fragments of my dream—if it was a dream. I could not make sense of all the images, but one thing was clear: I would be waiting when he emerged from the mound. Whether or not I made a sound, I would be the one to call him back to life.

Taking care not to wake Viviane, I got up and wrapped myself in a Crow cloak, which would come in handy for warmth and concealment. As for food, blackberries grew in abundance along banks of the Afon Braint. They would suffice if I could not scrounge some leftover oatcakes at the cookfire. I cast one glance at the still slumbering Viviane; then I slipped out of the hut, excited and well pleased with my plan. It would be easier to find the Mound by daylight and, with the
Lughnasad
events still in progress, the Dark Grove was likely to be deserted in the morning. Caer Leb also appeared to be empty, but I had not gone ten paces before a Crow appeared at my side.

“You must take it slowly at first,” she cautioned, grasping my elbow with a talon. “You're not as strong as you think.”

“Excuse me,” I said as politely as I could. “I think you must be mistaking me for Viviane. It's true we both have red hair. But she's the one who nearly died. Not me. I'm fine.”

Yet even as I spoke, I found that my knees felt a little wobbly, no doubt because the ground beneath my feet refused to lie still but instead seemed inclined to spin. The Crow put her arm around me and began to walk me slowly towards the trenches.

“Just because you can't tell us apart, Maeve Rhuad, don't assume that we share in your confusion—or indifference. In any case, your outward appearance is of minor significance. We see and know a great deal more than that”

Considering how much I had to hide, I did not find her words at all reassuring. There is nothing more annoying to a young woman than a mind-reading, female authority figure—though to couple mind-reading and female is to risk redundancy. The druids might have to cast entrails on the ground in order to read them. All the priestesses had to do was take one, sharp glance at your midriff.

“We know, for example, what it costs a person to open herself to the fire of the stars as utterly as you did last night. You need rest as much as Viviane does, perhaps more. And we're going to see to it that you get it.”

When we reached the trenches, the Crow made it her business to steady me as I squatted. In general, I don't mind pissing in company, but it is annoying to know that your stream is being inspected and sniffed—a basic diagnostic technique. I was glad I didn't have to shit.

“I have one question,” I said, hoping to break her concentration. “If you know so damn much, why didn't you do something about Viviane before?”

“Ah,” said the Crow, handing me a mullein leaf. At least I was allowed to wipe myself without assistance. “Well you may ask, Maeve Rhuad. Well you may ask.”

Sure, I thought as I stood up, I could ask. Answers? That was something else again.

So Viviane and I were forced to rest in the hut. (If you dampen the wattle and daub, a hut can be cool and comfortable even on a hot day.) The door was left open to let in the breeze, but we were not allowed out. One Crow was stationed just outside, weaving on a standing loom like
a great, black spider. I grew more frantic by the hour, but as any fly will tell you, it does no good to kick when you're caught in a sticky web.

Viviane slept more than I did, and we didn't talk much when she was awake. We didn't know how. We had seldom been on speaking terms, so we had no history of friendly chatter. Our extreme intimacy of the night before did not offer much opening for casual conversation. To my discomfort, I found that I was a little in awe of Viviane, the awe the novice feels for the initiate, however terrible the initiation was. I was uncharacteristically subdued in my attitude towards her.

“I owe you my life, Maeve,” she spoke once out of the silence.

“You don't owe me,” I said. “I was just there. Life used me to come back to you.”

“All the same, it couldn't have if you didn't let it,” she said. “When the time comes, I will remember my debt.”

Later in the day, people began stopping by to ask after us, but the Crows wouldn't let most people in. Ciaran of the blue-black hair was one of them. I recognized his voice, and, of course, Viviane did. For a moment her face was a battlefield, full of chaos and pain. Then whatever was hardest and most unyielding in her won, and all feeling was routed. When she caught me watching her, she frowned and turned her face to the wall.

Not long after that, the Crows admitted Branwen, who came with her arms overflowing with gifts from her father, bracelets and combs and some fine Gallic wine that the Crows allowed us to sip. With Branwen there, and the wine flowing merrily in our bloodstream, Viviane and I both relaxed and listened to Branwen's account of the day's games and festivities while she combed and dressed each of our hair in turn. (I couldn't help noticing how much more easily managed Viviane's hair was than my wild tangles.) I also noticed that Branwen avoided any mention of the ongoing claims. Nor did she give us any report of how our other classmates had fared in their recitals. Viviane's and my status at college was, at the moment, painfully uncertain.

In the early evening, Nissyen's long, skinny shadow preceded him into the hut. He brought us a large bowl of stirabout, sweetened with honey as a special treat, and he stayed to make sure we ate it. I believe he was somewhat disappointed that he did not need to spoon-feed us, so tender was his concern.

“And how are my two favorite redheads?” he inquired when he judged we'd taken enough nourishment to be allowed to speak.

Two favorite redheads? Ordinarily I would have bridled at his lack of discrimination. But at the moment I had more pressing concerns.

“I'm feeling fine,” I stated emphatically. “As a matter of fact, I'd like to come back to our hut tonight.”

“That's up to the Crow ladies, Maeve.”

“Fat chance, then,” sighed Viviane.

We exchanged a glance of sisterly solidarity and sympathy.

“Keeping you under close scrutiny, are they?”

“To put it mildly,” I said. “They won't even let us pee by ourselves. At least I can go to the trenches. Viviane has to piss in a pot.”

“Maeve!”

Viviane glared at me. I think we were both pleased to find that our mutual antipathy had survived.

“How much longer do you think they'll keep us here?”

I tried to sound off-hand, but I was becoming desperate. Tonight was the second night of Esus's ordeal. Tomorrow night would be the last.

Nissyen shrugged. “I'll tell you the only thing I know for certain: the pair of you need to be as meek and docile as little lambs.”

“Sheep are notoriously stupid,” I couldn't help remarking.

“And you're what's known as too clever by half, Maeve Rhuad. Use your brain to keep you out of trouble for once.”

“Nissyen.” Viviane's voice was low and strained. “Does everyone know what happened? I mean, do the druids know or only the Crows know....”

“That you were pregnant, dear?” Nissyen's voice was so gentle. “It's no shame. Don't take it as shame on yourself. Why, you were so closemouthed and proud it almost killed you. I blame myself. I am the one who should be ashamed.”

“How can you be to blame for what I chose to do freely?”

Yes, Viviane was proud. I had to admire her for that.

“Sure, you've all been sneaking out to your trysts all summer long. It was my duty to stop you or anyway warn you, and I did nothing.”

He sounded so miserable, I wished I could think of some way to comfort him.

“But to answer your question, Viviane,” Nissyen recovered himself, “I don't know what the Cranes know or how the Crows have presented the matter. I can tell you that there have already been meetings between the two bodies, meetings at which I have not been present. I believe my
conduct is under discussion, and rightly so. Among other things, they are deciding how to hear my case.”

“Oh, Nissyen!” Viviane and I spoke at once.

“Now, now. Don't distress yourself on my account. They won't do anything more to me, given my astonishing age—I'm long-lived even for a druid—than relieve me of my present duties. If that buys the two of you a second chance, then I'll be more than glad.”

“But we won't!” I declared. “We love you, Nissyen. We don't want any other druid or Crow in our hut!”

“What did you mean by the two of us?” Viviane was puzzled. “Maeve's done nothing wrong. She saved my life.”

I have to admit, I was extremely touched by her defense.

“Indeed,” said Nissyen. “And I hope that will weigh in her favor. I can tell you one thing for certain, Maeve, you're on academic probation at the very least.”

I could feel Viviane's raised eyebrows.

“I blew my recital,” I admitted to Viviane.

“Now that is not entirely true,” said Nissyen. “You gave a rousing performance, but your deviation from the prescribed story-line was extreme. Between us, my guess is that you, Maeve Rhuad, are in much bigger trouble than Viviane is. Everyone understands that young people can get carried away by their desires. I've always said that training in sex magic ought to begin in the first year instead of the seventh. Viviane and Ciaran are guilty of nothing more than being overeager and inept.”

I was amazed that after losing so much blood, Viviane could blush so furiously.

“Whereas you, Maeve, appear to be guilty of not taking seriously the primary reason you are here: to learn the stories of the
Combrogos.”

That was not
my
primary reason, I thought to myself.

“So, my silly little sheep, if you love old Nissyen as much as you say you do, then keep out of trouble.”

I did not think I could promise that, even for Nissyen, so I said nothing.

“You know what I mean, don't you?”

I had a fair idea, but I couldn't risk opening my mouth for fear I'd spill my sheep-brained scheme. Although it wasn't really sheep-brained. It was more the sort of thing a goat would think of, goats being notoriously willful.

“The Stranger—” Nissyen called him that, too. “—he is not a safe person to know. He has seen things no one wants to see. He has said things no one wants to hear. From what I understand, he is a more dedicated student than some I could mention, yet it seems unlikely, stranger that he is with his even stranger notions about the one true god, that he will ever serve the
Combrogos
as a druid. Yet even as we speak he is being initiated into the secrets. For what purpose? I am not privy to the reasoning of the V.I.D.s, but I can tell you, he is a dangerous person with whom to link fortunes.”

“I have tried to tell Maeve just that many times before,” said Viviane with enough self-righteousness to make me want to smack her.

It was becoming clearer and clearer to me that saving someone's life didn't make you like the person. You had to do it purely on principle.

“What if I have no choice?”

I spoke quietly, but not so quietly that they couldn't hear me. Neither of them chose to answer.

“Now that you've had your supper,” said Nissyen, “how about I tell you a story?”

“Tell us a voyage story, Nissyen,” said Viviane, lying on her side with her head cradled on her hands. She looked and sounded so young that I forgot for a moment how much she got on my nerves.

Nissyen began to half-speak, half-sing the tale of a king who sails to the West. On this voyage the king meets my father, Manannan mac Lir, riding in his two-wheeled chariot over the sea. My father describes Magh Mell, the Plain of Delight, lying just beneath the prow of the king's skiff, beneath the curl of the wave. On Magh Mell of the many flowers, speckled salmon frisk like lambs, and trees laden with beautiful fruit crown the ridges. The longer Nissyen sings, the deeper I sink. Soon I am drifting through my father's land on a slow current of dream. High above me, golden sheep graze on broad, green swells.