Priestess of the Fire Temple (19 page)

“You are looking very serious again. What on earth are you thinking about?” Nessa asked.

But I was too ashamed to answer.

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27

T
he day was raw and drizzling. The neophyte priestess had lit all of the candles available to us to make the room bright. She was busy whittling a clutch of Ogum staves for fortunetelling.

“Shall I tell you what was happening back in In Medon?” I asked, ever anxious to continue my tale and pass it down to the future.

“Oh, yes,” she said simply. But her eyes were bright with curiosity.

Barra Mac Mel was sick. The Druid and the liaig conferred daily, recommending their poultices and brews, but nothing really worked. Barra Mac Mel had led his troops bravely; everyone said so. But the raiders had taken his kingdom's best cattle, and he and his warriors had come home in disgrace.

“Perhaps I am too old for this now,” he said to Dálach-gaes, who had brought a fresh paste of comfrey root for his fractured and splinted leg bone and dried and powdered acorns to dust the infected wound in his side.

“It's winter yet,” Dálach-gaes replied. “No one expects you to go riding out now. You should rest and see what the springtide brings.”

But Dálach-gaes's face was grave, and Barra Mac Mel could read his thoughts; there was no need to hear them spoken.

Lying alone in the dark, accompanied only by his wolfhounds, Barra Mac Mel found ample time to review his life. His wife, the beautiful Tuilelaith of Letha, had borne him a son. I, his only daughter, was safely under the tutelage of the Bríg Brigu. Dálach-gaes and Niamh said that the school at Cell Daro was one of the best, even better than the Druid colleges of Albu.

He knew that he was useless to Tuilelaith now; he could hardly rise from his bed, much less satisfy her. He knew that she had other lovers. And why not? It was her just due after years of service to what was a foreign land to her eyes. And if his wounds did not mend by spring, as a blemished man, he would be forced to vacate the kingship. The laws were iron-clad.

With no wife to share his bed and a kingdom slipping from his grasp, there was little left to live for. My birth mother, Ana, came to his mind more and more often in the dark hours. Was it true what the Druid said—would he find her again in the Blessed Isles, waiting for him, or perhaps in the shining realms of the sun? And if he did find her again, would she remember him?

He must have thought of me, who looked so much like my real mother. He realized with a guilty pang that he had avoided me as I grew up because the sight of me brought back too many memories.

And there was the shame. How could he have left Ana's fate to Tuilelaith so easily? The thought of Ana dying on the road alone, starving and in pain, tore at him like a wound. Did the wolves gnaw her bones? Did she blame him still?

For twenty sun turnings he had thought of In Medon as his family—thought of all the people as his kin. He had fought for them, lived for them, and bled for them. Only now that he was sick and alone did he realize his folly. His son rarely came to visit; he was too busy courting the blue-eyed Siofra. The only steady warmth he could count on in the bleakness of the night was from his dogs.

Barra Mac Mel summoned Dálach-gaes to his chamber.

“I am in pain,” the king said.

“Let me make you a strong brew of primrose roots; they will help you sleep,” the Drui replied.

“No, not that kind of pain. I see my life passing before me, and I am not happy.”

“What can I do to help?”

“I dimly recall a ritual from my time at Cell Daro, a rite to appease the ancestors. The performance of it is said to remove all debts due to the dead.”

“You are thinking of Ana?”

“Yes.”

The answer came as no surprise. Dálach-gaes had known Ana well. The Druid had been pleased that Barra Mac Mel and his lover were schooled in the old ways, and they were happy to back Ana as ard-rígain. It had come as a shock to them all when Barra Mac Mel's powerful family edged out Ana in favor of a foreign princess. And Ana's disgraceful death was a blight on the entire tuath, so cruel that it was unspeakable.

Dálach-gaes asked the guards outside the king's chamber to fetch Niamh. When she got there the three talked until dawn, recollecting bits and pieces of the ritual until they were satisfied.

That morning Barra Mac Mel hobbled out to perform the rite. He did not mind the pain that shot up his leg with each step, nor the throbbing cramp in his side; these seemed a fitting penance. Dálach-gaes, Niamh, and two guards loaded him into and out of a wagon from the rath to the ritual site and then stayed behind at a respectful distance in case he should cry out for help.

Barra Mac Mel approached a fissure of rock, a natural tunnel known as the Airslocud Noíbu, a cleft between two enormous stones resembling a giant vagina set into a hill. He dropped the pack he was carrying and turned his body sideways, squeezing in. Then he pulled the pack in by the straps.

As he slid inside, he kept his mind on his firm intention:
Never again will I pass through the cleft of
a living woman to be reborn, unless I am to spend a mortal lifetime with Ana beside me as my lover and wife.

Now that he was alone within the bowels of the earth, he began to shake. His body and mind were finally able to disgorge the suffering that he carried. He was free at last to shed his tears.

“Please release me!” he wept aloud, not knowing if he was speaking to Ana his lover or to Anu the earth goddess whose body he had penetrated.

He left his first offering deeper inside the cleft of rock. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a stone bottle of fion. Dálach-gaes had suggested offering béoir, but Barra Mac Mel was familiar with the desires and wishes of great ladies. Surely Anu would prefer a drink of costly fion from Letha.

He uncorked the bottle and poured the sweet fion into a large, two-
handled
cup, wishing to be generous in case Anu had a consort to share it with. Then he unwrapped cakes flavored with honey, raisins, and costly imported cinnamon and laid them out carefully on a beautifully carved wooden platter.

“I invoke the goddess Anu to come and enjoy these offerings. I invoke the presence of my ancestors—all who have ever been born into the bloodlines of my family. I offer these gifts that they may be liberated from any debts, from any sufferings. I offer these gifts that they may be released from rebirth as humans, animals, trees, or plants, unless they choose to return. I offer these gifts that they may be elevated from the earth realm to the realm of the Shining Ones, if it is their will. I offer these in particular to my beloved Ana; may she know no suffering, and may I see her again when I make my journey to the Blessed Isles.
11

“Ana, I have never forgotten you!”

Now he wept in earnest. Heaving sobs racked his form until he was forced to fall to the ground, not caring if he would ever rise again. It was finished. He had admitted his greatest wrong to the stones and to the goddess, and he had done everything in his power to right it.

When the wrenching grief at last subsided, he felt physically lighter, as if a great weight had been lifted. And then a strange current of energy began to course through his chest, building and building until he could hardly stand it.

“Send it to Ana!” he cried, visualizing a warm ball of love, tenderness, and well-being flying to her through the darkness. And then he fell back to the ground, his head pillowed on the sack he had carried, surrendered to the arms of sleep.

Outside the rock opening, Dálach-gaes and Niamh made no move to help the king. This was sacred work he was doing, and they knew that the gods would handle whatever was necessary. It wasn't their place to interfere.

Hours later, as the sun was setting behind the hill, a deep chill settled upon the landscape. The exhausted king emerged from the rocky crevice on all fours, dragging his wounded leg. But there was a calm expression on his face such as had not been seen in many turnings of the moon.

“Get Aislinn. Bring her back here to me!” he ordered hoarsely.

The guards ran back to the dun to carry out his wishes as Dálach-gaes and Niamh lifted the king into the wagon for the slow journey home.

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28

I
had been with the Bríg Brigu for two full sun cycles. I had made the neimheadh circuits, visiting each of the holy wells in the landscape at dawn on the appropriate holy day. By now the spirits knew me.

I would approach each holy well in the dark, pouring out my gifts of honey and cider at the base of the rowan trees and the hazels. Then I would circumambulate the well dessel nine times and always barefoot to better contact the earth. The people would follow me, also barefoot, in a single file.

We would take water from the well the moment the first rays of sun struck, and as we drank the fire-struck water we prayed for the children, for the barren women, for the health of the crops and the cattle, and for anyone else in need.

At Imbolc we left rings of candles burning in a circle around the well; at Beltaine we left honeyed milk and flowers. At Lugnasad we left a sheaf of the new grain and other first fruits of the harvest, and at Samhain we left apples, hazelnuts, and cheese. Often I would pour a silver cupful of uisge beatha into the waters as a blessing for the Sidhe.

Crithid followed me everywhere. “She has her own private retinue,” folk would say. He tried to kiss me once, but I put my hands out to stop him.

I was growing used to the routines of gardening, harvesting, candle making, and bee tending, and I would often accompany the Bríg Brigu on her rounds, assisting women in childbirth and easing others across to the Otherworld. I was given my own shift at the Fire Altar; one of the other tenders was glad to be relieved of her duties, with young children at home to feed and care for.

It was nearly spring, and in accordance with the season, I had set out to gather peppergrass and sorrel from the fields and watercress from a nearby stream. A messenger appeared who had been sent to find me. He carried a wax-covered wooden message board, written in Dálach-gaes's hand. I recognized the script immediately:
Come home, your father needs you.

I thanked the messenger, walked with him back to the Fire Temple, and then gave him a hot meal. I sent him back with a simple response:
I will be there as soon as possible.

I knew that it must be very serious for them to have taken the trouble to send me a written message.

The Bríg Brigu asked for a private conference out of doors, away from the others' hearing. We took advantage of the bright morning to stroll down to the herb garden and sit on the little wooden bench that was not far from the beehives. Though it was still winter the bees were already making their first flights to test the sunny air; there were swelling red buds on the trees and moist sap flows to explore.

The Bríg Brigu was dressed in a simple grey tunic and a thick, grey lambswool shawl. Around her neck, as always, a golden torque glimmered in the sunlight.

“It's my own fault,” the Bríg Brigu began, her usually impenetrable calm somehow broken. “I began to confuse you with Ana. After a while I even began to think that you were her, returned to help us. But of course you are not Ana, and you have your own life and destiny.”

I waited for her to finish her thought. It was clearly costing her to speak; her composure was discomfited in a way I had not seen before.

“You see, I had thought to name you the next Bríg Brigu to come after me. That is why I took such care to teach you our secrets. I also made sure that the people of the tuath knew you well. I withheld no knowledge from you: you know where all our sacred herbs grow, and you have all the secrets of the sky wheel. With your Druid-trained father and your powerful family behind you, you would have made the ideal candidate.”

I held her words in silence for a moment, drinking in the heady praise. To be considered for such an honor!

“But I never said I was leaving,” I said.

“When you depart from this place, there will be certain…irresistible forces that will conspire to take you away from us,” she answered.

“I don't think I can shed this temple so easily as that!”

The Bríg Brigu sighed.

“I have not been completely honest with you. There is someone who has been seeking you for a very long time, and I put every obstacle in his path. I had hoped that you and Crithid would make a match, that his charms would somehow bind you to us. I urged him on—told him to court you. But he has clearly failed.”

Now I was completely lost. Who was seeking me? And why in the gods' names didn't she just arrange a marriage? That was often done in Druid circles to keep our knowledge safe.

“Who is seeking me?”

“I will not say just yet. You must first go to In Medon and find out what the king and his Druid need from you, and then we will talk further. I can say no more.”

“Don't ask any questions; just go,” I said.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing—it's just an expression that I have become very familiar with.”

That evening I made my goodbyes and gifted the Bríg Brigu with the carved staff that I had carried with me from In Medon.

I left at first light with Crithid at my side, as always, as my protector. We rode in a little cart pulled by Bláth. She shook her mane repeatedly and kicked up her feet, delighted to be going places under the bright, late-winter sun.

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29

A
s we traveled, the air grew ever colder. By nightfall a fresh rime of
frost had covered the grass and trees, and the winds had picked up until our faces and hands were stiff and red with the cold.

“Don't worry about it too much,” Crithid said. “We can keep each other warm in the wagon.”

I knew he was right. It was the logical thing to do. I suddenly had a thought that the Bríg Brigu must have planned this forced intimacy. Maybe she was even directing the weather? I knew that her magic was powerful.

We lit a fire with tinder and flint and cooked a simple meal. Afterwards we enjoyed a hot cup of elderberry brew laced with fion, and then I carefully banked the embers for the night, saying:

By the sacred three

Brighid of the Forge

Brighid of the Cauldron

Brighid of the Poetic Flame

I smoor the fire

This night, as every night

To save and shield

To surround this hearth

This eve, this night

And every night

Until white dawn

Shall come upon the embers.
12

By now the wind was roaring in our ears. I covered Bláth with a blanket, securing it around her girth with a stout rope. Then I curled in beside Crithid, who was waiting for me in the wagon.

“I have often imagined this,” he said softly. “May I put my arms around you to keep you warm?”

I had a flash of memory of a night spent in a similar wagon on the day that Artrach and I were taken prisoner. I knew where this was leading.

“I think it will be enough to just lie close and share our body heat for now.”

I supposed it was inevitable that Crithid and I would end up a pair, but my heart was still given to another. I hoped to see Artrach in the Otherworld one day, and I wanted our union to be complete, for all eternity, with no other person between us. Yet I knew that it would be impossible to resist the Bríg Brigu forever if she had other plans.

Somehow, by morning Crithid did have his arms around me, after all. And my body instinctively pressed close against him, despite my best efforts. I began to think of my body as an animal with desires of its own. But in the clear light of day, we resumed our usual collegial relationship.

Things went on like that for the three days it took to get back to In Medon.

As we approached my father's dun by the road that was so familiar to my eyes, I noticed that more woodlands had been felled and that vast stretches of land were now given over to agriculture. Everywhere rock walls, hawthorns, and blackberry hedges had sprouted up to divide the fields.

The press of progress grated on me; I feared for the wild things of the forests. Where would they find a home? I knew that the yawning lengths of field meant more food for the people, but they also meant that firewood would be ever harder to come by.

A number of water mills and grain-drying huts had also sprung up outside the walls of the rath. Progress was in evidence everywhere.

“A very forward-looking place, your father's kingdom,” Crithid commented approvingly.

I uttered a prayer for all the wild creatures and for the land spirits as Bláth trotted between the neat rock fences.

May the land grow and prosper

May it have strength and life

May the people be protected

May the herds flourish

May the white barley grow tall

May the trees drip with honey

And may all the wild creatures

The seen and unseen

Find safety and peace.

We approached the wooden palisade of my father's rath, with its familiar veil of smoke hanging above and the usual busy lines of merchants and craftspeople coming and going. I was not recognized. A guard ran out from the gates, sword drawn, to find out who we were.

“I am Aislinn, daughter of Barra Mac Mel,” I told him, and he ran back to tell the herald to announce me properly. Carnyx players appeared on the top of the outer wall to greet me with horn blasts and to alert the people that someone noteworthy had arrived.

By the time we entered the gate there were throngs of curious onlookers who had come to see what I looked like, how I had grown and changed. I was ushered to my father's bedside immediately.
Crithid
stayed outside my father's roundhouse to tend to Bláth and our belongings.

Sober-looking servants surrounded my father; they were busily applying fresh poultices to his leg and to the wound in his side. He was very thin, his face was yellow, and the skin around his eyes was brown—the “configuration of death,” as I had been taught. It pulled at my heart to see it. But we had never been close; it was a grief I knew I could bear.

“Come closer, my child,” he said in a weak, gravelly voice. “You look well. I am very glad you came to see me.”

“How could I not have come, Father?”

“I haven't treated you fairly, I am sad to say. I should have spent more time with you when you were young and growing.” His hand, yellow and frail, reached out to touch me. He seemed anxious to unburden himself, so I stayed very still and listened.

“You see, you are so much like your mother that I was afraid to even look at you…”

“Shhh…,” I said soothingly, as if he were a little child. I placed my palm upon his forehead and stroked it gently. “There is no need for this. The Bríg Brigu has told me everything. I know all about Ana.”

And then my father began to weep. I ordered the mogae out of the room.

“Father, you summoned me here. What is it that you wish from me?”

He turned his fevered face towards me and grasped my hand.

“I wanted to see you one more time to tell you that I am sorry for the way I treated you and your mother. And I thought that maybe you might have learned some new healing magic at the Fire Temple, something more than what Dálach-gaes, Niamh, and the liaig have been able to do.”

“Father, I saw the comfrey poultices that the mogae were placing onto your body. I would have done the same. The only thing I can add to that is a healing charm that the Bríg Brigu taught me. Shall I try it?”

“Yes, you may.”

His eyes shone with a desperate hope that was painful to witness.

I placed my two hands about a palm's length above his body, not touching him, and stroked the air above him in repeated motions towards his feet.

“Always stroke down, towards the legs, as if you were stroking the fur of a cat,” the Bríg Brigu had said. “No cat wants its fur stroked the wrong way!”

Then I began the ancient incantation:

Brighid went out in the morning

She found the broken legs of horses

She put marrow to marrow

Pith to pith

Bone to bone

Membrane to membrane

Tendon to tendon

Blood to blood

Tallow to tallow

Flesh to flesh

Fat to fat

Sinew to sinew

Skin to skin

Hair to hair

Brighid of Healing healed that

Which is in her nature to heal

Let this body be healed

If it is her will

Through the powers of life.
13

I saw that my father's body relaxed a little. He reached for my hand again.

“Aoibhgreíne, I know that my body is broken.”

I smiled a little; no one had called me that name in years.

“I need to ask you something more,” he added.

“Anything, Father. That is what I am here for.”

“I recall that the Druid of the Fire Temple are trained in the uses of yew, and I assume you have that knowledge now. I am loath to ask Dálach-gaes and Niamh because it might put them and their children at risk, so that is why I am asking you. Tuilelaith will not countenance this, of course. She thinks the old ways are an embarrassment.”

I knew what he was thinking; yew was the cure of last resort. In ancient times the Druid would bathe wounded warriors in vats of yew; it was also said to cure those with the wasting sickness. And if the sick and wounded were not cured, then Fer Fí—the Spirit of the Yew, brother to the goddess Áine—would take them across to the Blessed Isles.

I could see that my father no longer cared if he remained in this life. The Otherworld was already beckoning.

“Father, I can do this if you wish. I assume there are still hedges of yew around the nemed of Dálach-gaes and Niamh? ”

“Yes.”

I left my father's roundhouse and found Dálach-gaes and Niamh outside waiting for me. Róisín was with them too, and within moments we were embracing.

“Look at you! All grown up! And no one has offered you food or drink!” Róisín said, red faced and with tears in her eyes. I noticed with a pang that her hair was now streaked with grey. Niamh and Dálach-gaes pulled me away from her and gave me huge hugs and kisses of their own. Then all of us, Róisín and Crithid included, trooped back towards the nemed for conversation and hospitality.

All of a sudden the world was turned on its side, and everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Standing before the thick screen of yew that surrounded the nemed was a familiar form. I thought I must be having a hallucination or a vision because the form looked so very familiar. My gaze shimmered with disbelieving tears. I rubbed my eyes to assure myself that it was real—that
he
was real. The form, the spirit, or whomever it was, looked exactly like Artrach!

As we came closer, my focus sharpened. I noticed that the yew hedge was thick with red berries. I noticed every blade of grass upon the ground. I noticed the intense blueness of the sky. I noticed the man dressed in green leather who was reaching out for me. And then I was wrapped in arms that melted my body, my mind, and my heart. And when he kissed me, I knew it really was him, in flesh and form.
Artrach!

“My love,” he said simply. And we kissed again and yet again.

He searched my face with tear-filled eyes. “I am so glad you are safe,
mo muirne
.”

“What did you just say? Those were the very words I heard at Samhain, coming out of thin air!”

“At Samhain I was wounded and sick with a fever. I dreamed that I found you amongst revelers in a roundhouse that was strange to me. That dream was so very clear; it was more vivid than daylight.”

“That was no dreaming, my love. That was a true vision.”

I could not bear to take my hands off him, and he could not bear to separate from me either. We walked into the nemed entwined as one being, staring, disbelieving, laughing, and wild with joy. I noticed Crithid from the corner of my eye, looking lost and close to tears. Dálach-gaes, Niamh, and Róisín were ecstatic.

“How is this possible?” I asked them all.

“The Bríg Brigu forbade us from telling you,” Dálach-gaes explained. “She said it would harm your concentration and your training.”

“I wanted so badly to come to you, but I was prevented,” Artrach added.

Now I understood what the Bríg Brigu had meant when she said “irresistible forces” would conspire to keep me from her temple. If I had known that Artrach was alive—was in my father's dun—nothing would have prevented me from leaving the Fire Temple. I saw the wisdom of her efforts, but her attempts to unite me with Crithid seemed base and somehow unworthy—poor Crithid who was suffering now, a creature caught in the Bríg Brigu's snare.

I felt an overwhelming urge to confront the Bríg Brigu, priestess to priestess. How could she claim to respect me and insist that she wanted me to take her place one day, and yet deceive me? I swallowed my indignation, pocketing it away in a secret recess of my mind. One day I would confront her.

Just then a bard appeared to sing and play harp for us, and mogae from my father's house followed, carrying trays of roasted meats and fish, parsnips and carrots, watercress, cheeses and breads, and beakers of fion from my stepmother's store. As we ate and talked and laughed and caught up on the past year's news, my anger at the Bríg Brigu began to fade.

In the midst of our feasting a visitor was announced, and my other mother, Tuilelaith, appeared with a small retinue of mogae. Her entrance caused a slight pall on the proceedings, and a sudden silence fell over us.

She looked proud and stern as ever, affronted that I had not paid respects to her first, as was her due.

“Surely my own daughter should have paid me a visit before sharing a meal with all these…people.” Her eyes swept the gathering as if everyone in it was beneath her in rank, including me.

“I am sorry, Mother,” I mumbled. “I will pay you a visit as soon as I have finished my business here.” To save face, I tried to make it sound as if I were carrying out some important diplomatic mission.

“I will dine with you at midday tomorrow,” Tuilelaith said, sweeping regally from the house with her servants behind her.

There was a pause as everyone worked to shrug off the chill that had settled. Then I told them of my father's wishes. Niamh's face grew grave, and the room fell silent once more.

“As you know, the bath of yew is a noble cure that has stood the test of time. But not everyone is helped. Many are those who cross over to the Otherworld, taken by the Spirit of the Yew,” she said.

“I am aware of that. But it is what he specifically asked for.”

“The Cristaidi will not like it,” Dálach-gaes added. “They have a strong prohibition against herbal cures and an even stronger prohibition on helping the sick to the next life.”

“Have they grown so powerful that they can even dictate to a king?” I asked.

“I am afraid so,” Artrach said sadly. But when he looked at me I couldn't resist gazing into his eyes and smiling. We kissed once more, not caring at all who was watching.

“I think we should leave those two alone now,” Niamh said.

Artrach stood and pulled me to my feet. The scent of him was intoxicating; it was the same woodland essence of ferns and clean water and wood smoke that I remembered.