Priestess of the Fire Temple (17 page)

I blushed at her words.

Then we stood up, startling the swans, who took off with a sound of whistling through their wings. The baskets had grown quite heavy, and I wondered how many more medicinals we were expected to collect.

We walked down to the lapping wavelets of the shore, hiked up our tunics by hitching the hems into our belts, and waded into the icy cold water to collect the roots of the white pond lily, so beneficial for diarrhea and to poultice cuts and bruises. And when we had collected bunches of yellow flag roots, the Bríg Brigu finally declared that we were done for the day.

We climbed out of the little valley and retraced our steps to the Fire Temple. When we reached the base of the holy hill, we stopped yet one more time to gather the roots of dew cup from the medicinal herb garden, to be used to stop internal bleeding.

“I think we have found everything we need for the winter. The others are collecting elder and rowan berries, rose hips, pine and yew tips, and alder and oak bark,” the Bríg Brigu said as we retraced our steps up the hill.

There were chickens already roasting on the fire and fresh bannocks warming on the cooking stones of the hearth when we entered the welcoming warmth of the Fire Temple. The Bríg Brigu ordered hot baths for herself and for me as the attendants took away our full baskets and muddy shoes.

I had a fleeting recollection of my dream of the white bird leading me on to some unknown place. It seemed to me now that the white swans had called me to the Fire Temple.

How I would have loved to live here with Artrach
, I thought, imagining myself walking hand in hand with him, collecting fresh herbs on the reedy shoreline under the gaze of the wild swans.

I felt another pang of longing as I imagined my birth mother walking along the same shoreline, collecting flag roots and cresses. Everyone said we looked exactly alike, our two heads wreathed in wild red tresses. If only I could have joined her, felt her love, and given it in return.
What would it have been like to have a mother who was really my mother? One who was my own flesh and blood? One who cared for me as her own precious child?
I was feeling two impossible longings for two departed loved ones. A deep sigh escaped my lips unbidden, and I looked up, embarrassed.

It was then that I noticed the gatekeeper, the man called Crithid, staring at me across the flames of the hearth, his eyes filled with smoky desire.

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24

S
leet, freezing rain, and snow rattled against the flagstones outside of the temple doors as fierce winds penetrated the bunched willow branches of the roof. Occasional bursts of cold air swirled about the inner walls, lifting the colorful hangings and guttering the candles. Sometimes the candles went out completely, leaving only the glow of the hearth by which to see. We took advantage of the foul weather to stay indoors and study the Law of Bees.
6

The Bríg Ambue, Cell Daro's current teacher of Brehon Law, was a dour-looking figure with a deeply lined face, a knot of braided grey hair, and a golden torque about her neck. She was always dressed in a dark blue robe with an enormous cowl; impatient with most mortals, she preferred to walk about with her hood raised to forestall silly questions.

She was highly respected by all the tribal chiefs, who would call on her to settle disputes within the clans because she had memorized so many different categories of law. She had decided that this day was a good one to illustrate the finer aspects of “bee trespass” for our benefit, but only two of the Druid were hanging on to her words, striving to memorize the legal niceties of the bee laws. These were the same ones who usually accompanied the Bríg Ambue to tribal councils and clan meetings and who hoped to follow in her footsteps one day.

“The person who finds a stray swarm of bees in a lawful green—the extent of which is as far as the sound of a bell or the crowing of a cock will reach—shall receive one quarter of the bee's produce; the other three quarters go to the owner of the land on which the swarm was found,” the Bríg Ambue intoned in a stately voice.

“When a landowner begins beekeeping, he is entitled to three years of freedom in which the bees may forage on another's land with no liability. In the fourth year, the first swarm that departs from his hive goes to the nearest neighbor on whose land the bees have grazed. The next swarms to issue forth are distributed to each neighbor, depending upon their distance from the original hive and the amount of grazing the bees have done on their land.”

“How can one possibly tell how far a bee has traveled to graze upon flowers?” someone asked.

“Not hard: you shake a bit of flour upon the bees and follow them to the end of their grazing.”

The Bríg Ambue cast a prim look upon the questioner as if to say that this was a very simpleminded question, which had the desired effect of forestalling any future queries.

The recitation continued. “If a swarm settles temporarily on the branch of a tree or on a fence, the owner may recover the swarm; however, the landowner is entitled to one third of the bee's honey for a year. But if the bees settle in a permanent home, such as a hollow tree, and the bees cannot be removed without damaging the tree, the bees must be left in the tree, and the bee's original owner gets one third of the honey for the next three years. After that, the bees and all the honey belong exclusively to the landowner.”

The Bríg Ambue droned on, providing a vocal backdrop for the day's activities. Most of us were busily making beeswax candles, the task that had inspired the legal instruction that the Bríg Ambue was bestowing so generously upon our heads. Now more than ever the Fire Temple felt like a hive. The smell of molten beeswax hung heavy and sweet upon the air, and the firelight and candles glowed like warm honey against the beaten silver, gold, and bronze of the walls.

I was surprised to be working with the hot wax, though I didn't mind the labor. As a princess I was forbidden to engage in that kind of manual work, but there were many times in the nemed of Dálach-gaes and Niamh when I had secretly put my hands to such occupation. Since we Druid no longer enjoy the almost royal status we once knew, and without mogae of our own, it is now necessary to participate in once unheard-of activities.

As you know, beeswax is a vital product for any educated household, Druid school, or temple. The Druid and nobles are entitled to beeswax candles, and if we want to spread the wax onto our writing tablets or use it to seal our documents or to glue household items together, these days we have to prepare it ourselves. And if we want to line our metal beakers and cups with beeswax to flavor the fion and protect the metal from rust, these days we are forced to melt and fashion it with our own hands.

Nessa handed me yet another stick with a line of long wicks hanging down so I could dip it repeatedly into a cauldron of hot melted wax with a little tallow mixed in for thrift. I marveled at the smoothness of her candles. No matter how hard I tried, mine always seemed to come out slightly bent and lumpy.

“He likes you, you know.”

“Likes me? Who do you mean?”

“Crithid.” She elbowed me slightly as she said it.

As usual, he was watching me with fascination from the other side of the hearth. His sky-blue eyes were framed by long chestnut curls. He was not hard to look at.

Her poke in my ribs had the effect of making me jiggle my wicks, and I knew that once again the result would be misshapen candles that would have to be used in the back recesses of the house to spare us all from public humiliation.

Crithid's face went red as hawthorn berries when he realized that we were talking about him.

“Poor Crithid. He is fierce as a dragon when he holds a fighting stick, but he never seems to find his voice with the ladies,” Nessa said.

I looked up through downcast eyelids to find that he was still watching me.

My first instinct was to curl into myself, to hide within the brittle shell of my grief over Artrach. I wondered if I could ever let it go. But my voice of reason told me that sooner or later I would have to release his memory, his face, his smell, and the soft, warm feeling of his arms about me—arms that were the only real home I had ever found.

Why did it seem as if I had seen him only yesterday? It felt like only moments ago that I had witnessed that terrible sight—the spear that had ended my happiness on the earth plane.

“Whoa, what are you thinking about? You look so sad!” Nessa exclaimed.

“I can't really talk about it. It's just something that happened to me long ago.”

The Bríg Ambue shot an angry glance down her nose. There was nothing more important to her than the Brehon Laws, and she felt that she was doing us a great honor by reciting them in our presence. It seemed that we had reaffirmed her low expectations of humanity.

We were silenced by her look and went meekly back to candle dipping, but I couldn't help glancing at Crithid again out of the corner of my eye. He was carefully spreading hot wax over old writing tablets, resurfacing them for future use.

When we at last finished our work and cleared away the detritus of our activities, it was time once again for a communal supper. Nessa and I sat cross-legged on the floor, trying to avoid the eyes of the Bríg Ambue, who was still radiating vague disapproval in our direction.

“I have to watch the Fire Altar tonight,” Nessa whispered as she sopped up stew with a large chunk of bannock.

“Tonight! In this weather?”

“Oh, yes. We have to build and then watch the fire every day, day and night, no matter the season. The sacred flames must never be left unattended or be allowed to go out.”

“That seems a huge task. How many of you are there who do this?”

“We have eighteen ban-Druid who take turns watching; each one of us stays with the fire for a night and a day. On the nineteenth day the Bríg Brigu herself takes over. I have the ninth watch; my night is tonight.”

“Why nineteen? Is there significance to that number?”

“That is a Druidic mystery I'm not sure I can tell you just now,” Nessa said, looking sheepish.

“Why don't men watch the fire? Can you at least tell me that?”

“Yes, I can. The fire is sacred to the goddess in the sun and to the light and healing that she shines upon us all. Therefore only women may tend the sacred flames.

“I've heard that there is a similar Fire Temple in the land called Roma, sacred to their goddess named Vesta. They also have fires of oak that are tended by women only. Although their goddess is supposedly only a hearth goddess, we know that she represents the same sacred fire that we make our offerings to.”

For some reason I had a fleeting image of Artrach's flame-red hair. When Áine Clí shone on him, his head was always enveloped in a fiery glow, and the golden warmth of the sun had emanated from his loving heart. Surely my own mother, Ana, must have looked the same when she stood in the bright sunlight of a summer day. Suddenly the pain was too much to bear, and I knew I had to keep busy to fend off my personal darkness.

“Is anyone allowed to come with you? I mean, could I sit up with you this night and day as you keep your watch?”

“Do you really want to? Usually it is only young girls in training who pair up with someone in order to receive instruction. But since you have not been trained, perhaps the Bríg Brigu will allow it. I'll ask her.”

We were quickly given permission. It seems mad looking back on it that I should have relished the idea of sitting outside in a gale. But that was the way I was: always hungry to penetrate the mysteries of the Druid path, wherever they might lead, and also needing some way to assuage the grief I still carried.

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25

W
e spent a few tense hours feeding fresh kindling to the fire, adding logs, crumbling in the stubs of old beeswax candles, and even pouring oil onto the wood, anything to keep the fire alive in the teeth of the gale. It would be terrible luck for the tuath if the fire were quenched, and at one point we even hovered over the flames with our cloaks stretched out as a protective covering just to keep away the sleet.

Thankfully the freezing rains at last stopped, but the wind still gnawed our flesh.

“Why can't you build some kind of roof over the Fire Altar?” I asked.

“It is very important that the altar be open to the fires in the sky. They guide us and inspire us in all that we do.”

“Oh,” I said faintly, still not fully comprehending. I could barely imagine the years of hardship these women had endured to keep the fire alive in every season.

Now that we could relax a little in our efforts to keep the fire going, Nessa composed herself to make a formal invocation of Brighid, the goddess honored by the fire.

“We do this at least once in every shift,” Nessa explained.

She raised her gloved hands to the sky in the
orans
position while facing the fire and sang:

A Brigit, a ban-dé beannachtach
Tair isna huisciu noiba
A ben inna téora tented tréna
Isin cherdchai
Isin choiriu
Ocus isin chiunn
No-don-cossain
Cossain inna túatha.

O Brighid, blessed goddess
Come into the sacred waters
O woman of the three strong fires
In the forge
In the cauldron
In the head
Protect us
Protect the people.
7

Then she reached into a blue ceramic dish that rested on the circle of stones to one side of the fire.

“This is sky water that was blessed by the sun and the moon. Tonight it was also blessed by sleet and hail, which means it has powers to act quickly. Be very careful of your thoughts when you touch it, because whatever you think will immediately come to pass!”

Nessa anointed her forehead, hands, heart, and feet with the waters and then handed the dish over to me. I was happy to discover that the waters were slightly warm from the heat of the flames.

“We always keep a dish of water next to the fire because—”

I interrupted her explanation. “Because where fire and water come together, there is always the greatest potential for magic.”

I thought of all the times I had heard that in the nemed of Dálach-gaes and Niamh. Father Justan said the same thing, except he added that earth and air and ether were also involved. He said he learned that from the Greeks.

As I touched the sacred water to my skin, I felt a ripple of energy cascade down my body from somewhere above my head, all the way down to my feet. I could sense it purging away sorrow, doubt, and any illness that hid within me. The pain in my heart was noticeably lightened, and I could feel the magic coursing through me. I knew that some secret thought I was carrying would surely become manifest. But which one?

Nessa watched and smiled.

“You asked me why we have nineteen priestesses to tend the flames,” she said as she pulled the hood of her oiled wool cloak lower down her forehead to protect her face from the winds still prowling through the protective yew hedge around the fire.

“Since the Bríg Brigu sent you out here with me, I have to assume that it is now safe to reveal the inner mystery of the Fire Altar to you. But you may not speak of this to anyone who is untrained in our tradition.”

“I understand.”

By now my teeth were chattering uncontrollably, and my body was shaking so badly that I could hardly speak the words. My feet felt like ice, which forced me to jig in place just to keep warm.

“As you know, this Fire Altar has been kept alive for all time and for all the people so that anyone may come here with a question and receive an answer from a priestess of the temple. Usually the people come here with their personal concerns—the health of a child or a cow, the need for gold, the desire for a wife or a husband.

“But occasionally someone comes here with a larger question, one that concerns the fate of an entire tuath or even the entire island. In such cases, we consult with the Druid of their kingdom before we give an answer, and we also consult the skies.”

“The skies? Do you mean that you receive messages directly from the sky world of the gods?”

“Um, not exactly, though we do have priests and priestesses who can do that by going into trance. They scry into the flames or into sacred water or watch the flight of birds.”

Those methods were very familiar to me, but I still wasn't sure what she was getting at.

“Our tradition has been handed down to us from the ancestors for thousands of sun cycles. The ancestors kept careful watch of the skies and passed down their knowledge until they were certain that they understood the pattern of things. Then that pattern was faithfully taught and handed down, priestess to priestess, just as I am about to give it to you today.”

I had a brief vision of a line of holy women stretching back into eternity, from whose hands I was about to be blessed; it was both awesome and humbling.

Nessa paused for a moment to emphasize the sacred nature of what she was about to tell me. “We have learned to foretell the exact day when an eclipse of the sun or moon will occur. That is one of the great hidden mysteries of this Fire Temple and the secret knowledge that is encoded in the number nineteen.”

It was not at all what I had expected to hear, and I still didn't know exactly what it meant.

“You see, there are eighteen priestesses who tend the fire and one high priestess who steps in on the nineteenth day. We have discovered a cycle in the sky world that lasts eighteen sun cycles and half a day. We call it the sky wheel.

“One sky-wheel cycle after an eclipse of the moon, an identical eclipse will occur at nearly the same spot in the heavens. In three sky- wheel cycles, an eclipse of the sun will repeat. If we know when an eclipse has happened and where it appeared in the sky, and if we keep very careful records, we are able to predict the exact day or night of the next eclipse.”
8

It took a moment to digest the information. It was almost beyond imagining that these priestesses had kept track of the great wheel in the sky for so many unbroken sun cycles.

“You said that you use this knowledge when the fate of a kingdom or of Ériu is at stake. How do you do that?”

“We have a conference with the local Druid, and then we use the awe and mystery of the event to shape the behavior of the tribes and even to influence the actions of an ard-ri. We can use an eclipse to say that the gods are angry or that a sacrifice is called for or to stop a conflict or a war. Or we might say that a great change is coming.

“When there is a cattle disease or a human sickness that is running rampant, we can say that the gods are changing fate and not to fear because a new day is dawning. There are many practical uses for the feelings of awe and doom that an eclipse inspires, especially if it's an eclipse of the sun.

“According to our stories, there was one total eclipse where the cattle returned to the byre to be milked because they thought it was evening, even though it was still mid-morning. The birds went to sleep in the trees, and the air grew remarkably cold as if it were the dead of night, even though it was high summer. The people were terrified.”

“I can easily see how such things could be used to control the tuaths,” I said.

I stayed quiet for a while, digesting the implications of this new knowledge. If Dálach-gaes and Niamh and the other Druid had only been privy to these ancient mysteries, perhaps the Cristaidi would not have gained control of the flaith so quickly. I understood how in order to be effective, this knowledge would have to be held tightly by a secret society and passed down and maintained carefully. Someone in the Fire Temple must be keeping precise records with immense dedication.

“The people who come for their monthly moon blessing have no idea at all what this temple is really for, do they?”

“No, they don't. But they are the ones who support our work by their gifts of grain and animals and firewood, and we could not survive without them.

“Perhaps you have noticed that the stone circles the ancestors erected in the countryside very often have nineteen stones? Now you know why.
9
In their time, the priests and priestesses would move a marker stone around the circle, placing it in front of one standing stone for a sun cycle and then carrying it faithfully to the next standing stone until the full eclipse cycle was complete. That was how they kept the tally.

“But now that there is a new religion in Ériu, one that seeks to undo our traditions, we have to keep our methods quiet. Now we work with a much smaller and less obvious way of keeping count. Hidden inside the Fire Temple is a rock with small depressions carved into it. We move special stones into each of the nineteen depressions, and that tells us exactly where we are in the cycle.”

I began to wonder what depths of learning were being pushed into hiding by the new religion from the east. I thought of Father Justan and of his tolerance of the Druid faith, and of my father, who always sought to balance the needs of the old religion and the new. But in my own heart a conviction was growing that the ways of the ancestors had to be protected and then somehow revived.

I decided on that very day that I would dedicate my life to preserving the beauty and wisdom of the past.

It wasn't until mid-morning that a petitioner finally arrived seeking guidance from the fires. It was a woman, heavily pregnant and supported on each arm by an old crone. I thought those elderly women must be her grandmothers.

One of the old women spoke first. As toothless and bent as she was, there was a zealous fire in her eye. I studied the face of the other grandmother and found that she too burned with a bright inner purpose.

“We want to know who is in her belly,” the first crone said, trembling a little as she uttered the words.

Nessa seemed to know exactly what they meant. She turned to the fire and gazed deeply into the embers.

“Who seeks to know this?” Nessa asked as if she had gone into trance.

“The clan mothers.”

“And why do you seek this knowledge?”

The second grandmother stood a little straighter and answered, “We have recently lost our best tribal healer, a woman named Birog. She was always there for us, at our births and at our deaths. She was the best midwife of our village. She even took care of the sick animals. We fear that we will never find her like again.”

The first crone found more words and seemed close to tears in her urgency. “Is Birog coming back to us again in Siobhan's belly? She was our friend!”

“Return here tomorrow and I will have your answer,” Nessa replied, as if speaking down to us from a distant height.

The women seemed satisfied with the response. One of them reached into her cape and pulled out a stone jar of honey as a gift for the temple and handed it to me. Then they smiled and curtsied a bit as they steered the very pregnant Siobhan back towards the muddy path down the hill.

“They thought I was your servant!” I said.

The jar of honey was heavy in my hands and still warm from the old crone's body heat. “I notice that Siobhan never said a word,” I added.

“That's because she knows she is but a vessel,” Nessa said.

“A vessel? For what?” I asked.

Nessa reached for a split oaken log to lay upon the flames. “That is another Druid mystery that I can't speak of yet, but perhaps the Bríg Brigu will give permission. We can ask her at sundown when we go back inside”

Sundown! It seemed years away. But my spirits rose considerably when the Bríg Brigu's two attendants appeared carrying trays of hot drinks, scrambled eggs, and warm buttered bannocks.

Nessa laughed. “You didn't think we were deliberately sent out here to suffer, did you? It's not always this cold. In the summer it's lovely to be out under the moon and stars. And we have food and drink brought out to us at every shift.”

That evening when we were safely back indoors, Nessa went to speak with the Bríg Brigu in private. I sat before the hearth for a while, not moving, just trying to soak up as much warmth as possible.

Crithid brought me a hot drink. “It's linden flower brew with uisge beatha and a little honey added for your health,” he said shyly.

I accepted the cup and held it between my hands, still feeling as if ice had penetrated into my very blood. I was grateful for the steaming liquid, but I wondered if I would ever be truly warm again.

“I can rub your feet if you like,” he offered shyly.

His face was filled with such gentle sincerity that it seemed a pity to refuse him. I let him remove my woolen stockings and work the icicles from my toes.

Sipping the linden flower brew, I noticed that Nessa and the Bríg Brigu were watching us from the opposite side of the hearth. The Bríg Brigu did not look displeased.

Nessa walked over carrying yet another thick woolen blanket to wrap around my shoulders.

“The Bríg Brigu has given her answer, and yes, I may reveal to you everything about the woman named Siobhan and her two grandmothers. But that will wait. Tonight you need to get your rest, because tomorrow we are going on a long journey.” And then she walked away, offering no further explanation.

“I'll be coming with you as your protector,” Crithid added, puffing out his chest a bit.

In his eyes I was a weak woman, I suppose. If only he could have seen me sleeping half-naked in a pile of leaves as I walked all the way back from Irardacht to In Medon.

Then I realized that everyone was in on the secret except me. Once again, Father Justan's words echoed in my inner ear: “Don't ask questions; just go.”

I thanked Crithid for his kind attention to my poor frozen feet and gave him a little hug. But I still carried the image of Artrach within the secret chamber of my heart, a place I could not yet allow any other man to enter.