Priestess of the Fire Temple (8 page)

8

I
emerged from my house one morning fully healed. I knew it because I had not coughed for days and I had a ravenous appetite. I could not seem to get enough of the buttered bannocks, honey, and milk that Breachnat ordered the mogae to bring me.

I emerged from the darkness of my fevered solitude into the bright sun of day, and it was as if a veil had been lifted from my eyes. When I looked into the faces of those I met, I saw suffering there. All of them—from the powerful and richly adorned to the meanest mog working in the pig enclosure—seemed to wear a mask of sadness. Why hadn't I noticed this before? Had I been so preoccupied with my own troubles that I had not looked deeply into anyone's eyes until now? What had happened to their spirits to cause this pain? What had happened to their inner fires? I began to dwell on these things.

I sorely missed Niamh and Dálach-gaes and even old Father Justan at that time, for they could have given me an answer from their philosophy.

The only thing I knew for certain was that the trees and grasses had healed me. The Cristaidi discourage the use of plant medicines because they feel these are a distraction from their own healing methods, which involve relics, prayer, and repentance. I concluded that I must be a heretic like old Father Justan. There was some comfort in the label, because at least now I had an identity, and I wore it secretly like a badge of distinction.
Heretic
.

It was then that I first began to make my plans to escape. I knew it was a mad idea, but my nurse Róisín had always said that I was a wild, untamed creature of the fields and forests. In a strange way, I felt more comfortable with the animals and the trees than I ever did with humans, with rare exceptions.

Old Father Justan was just like me. We would sit under his little hazel tree for hours just watching the bees, moths, and butterflies as they made their rounds of the wildflowers. Sometimes we were so still that dragonflies would land on us, and we became a lookout perch for their hunting. We both felt honored to be used in that way.

Dangerous as it might be, the freedom of the open road seemed far preferable to the miserable existence to which I was bound. I began to casually visit the kitchens, storehouses, and even the barns, secretly collecting what I thought I might need—a pack, some oiled-wool blankets, a stout staff, a hooded cape, flasks for well water and the Waters of Life, dried apples, flour, and wax-covered wheels of cheese.

I had finally stopped growing, but being taller than most women of the dun, my feet were large. I pilfered a pair of sturdy men's boots from the riding stable that fit me well.

I rose one morning thinking of what I could do as a parting gesture, something to help the tuath I was leaving so that my name would be more than just a shameful memory after I was gone. I sought out an intelligent kitchen girl named Úna who I had met outside the rath when walking one day and finally found her in the bog outside the gate, gathering heather tops with a small bronze sickle and stowing them in an old willow basket.

She was small and dark haired, tanned by work outside, and dressed in a simple dun-colored dress, a typical tribeswoman of the area. She had a blue triple spiral tattoo on one cheek, marking her as a healer or the daughter of one.

“What are you planning to do with those?” I asked innocently.

The girl startled at the sound of my voice. Gathering simples such as these could be dangerous in Cristaidi times. One could easily be labeled by the priests as an evil sorceress or a witch.

“One of the mogae is ailing, my lady. He has a bad flux from his bowels and a sore belly. My mam used to keep heather in the house for all sorts of ailments. I hope you don't mind?” She stammered a little as she explained, obviously worried that I would object to her hedge medicines.

“Oh no, quite the opposite—I am very pleased to see that someone is left in this kingdom who knows a bit of herb cunning.” Her shoulders dropped as she visibly relaxed.

I began to think about training the girl. Maybe if I left just one person behind who could bring the healing strength of nature to these people, my memory would be redeemed.

“You know, you can use the heather tops for many kinds of sickness. I am sure your mam probably told you all about that. The brew of the flowering tops helps the battle weary and the agitated to get to sleep. It also strengthens the heart.”

“Oh yes, my mam would always stuff our mattresses with heather to help us sleep. She used it in brews to increase breast milk in sickly young mothers and to poultice wounds and for rheumatism, and she even made a tea of the tops simmered with honey for coughs. She was famous for her cures. They called her a White Lady and said she was a blessing to animals and people alike!” Her face glowed as she described the uses of the little plant called heather, relieved that her mother's teachings were finding favor in my eyes.

Listening to her speak was almost like being back at the Druid School with Niamh and Dálach-gaes and their students. We were always sharing little bits of practical knowledge that could benefit the tribes. I was enjoying the exchange.

“That is excellent. Would you like to learn of another plant that can cure as many ills as your heather?”

“Oh, yes, I would!” Her eyes shone with an eager desire for learning such as I remembered from my own days in the nemed memorizing my alphabets. I had discovered yet another calling.
Teacher
.

I took her down the road to a boggy area that I had explored many times before and pointed out a thick bed of rushes.

“Those plants are called robe of physicians by the Druid. Do you know why?”

“No, my lady.”

“Every single part of those plants is useful for healing, from root to tip. They are very sacred to the Druid. The liaig would be left naked without them.”

Her face blanched a little, and she crossed herself as I uttered the words. She was clearly afraid to hear the word Druid spoken out loud and so freely, but since I was her superior she held her silence and continued to listen with respect.

“If you learn the uses of just this one plant, you will be able to heal almost any illness. And you can come by here any day of the year and get the medicines at no cost, in any weather. See how they flourish even in the midst of a cold, damp summer? The roots will be there for you summer and winter, even under the ice.”

I took the bronze sickle from her hand and bent down to cut one of the plants from the peaty brown water.

“I will explain the uses of this plant to you—leaf, stem, and root—and you must swear to memorize everything I say very carefully, for you will have need of this wisdom for many years to come. Do you swear it?”

I must have looked quite fierce, because she was clearly terrified. But she agreed to do exactly as I said. I drew my fingernail down the base of the thick stem until a clear sap began to flow.

“The juice is used for lung fever, to stop the pain,” I said. Then I held out a leaf. “The crushed leaf treats the cough when added to a brew.”

“Can I add it to my heather infusions?”

“Yes, exactly—you can combine the crushed leaves with elderberries, elderflowers, mints, or any other herb you like. And when you burn the leaves to an ash, you can apply the ashes to a wound. It will stop the bleeding, and the wound will heal with no infection.”

I pointed out the flowering top of the plant. “A brew of the flowers will heal the stomach when someone has been poisoned by spoiled food or drink.”

I peeled away the leaves and revealed the fresh green stem.

“This part stops vomiting and lowers a fever.”

By now the girl was staring wide eyed. The many uses of this one simple plant seemed like a miracle.

“Do the Druid know this much about every plant?”

“Not all plants, but most—especially those with healing virtues.”

I continued the lesson by reaching deep into the muck and pulling out the roots I had left behind when I first cut the plant from the bog.

“The roots may be the most valuable part. You should dry them for use throughout the year, but be sure to gather them at the end of summer because that is when they have collected the powers of the sun and they are most useful for medicine.

“A brew of these roots will lower a fever, stop a bloody cough, clear poisons from the blood, increase urine, remove gravel and stone, calm the emotions, help the digestion, cure diarrhea, and stop vomiting. I used them myself recently to stop a stubborn cough.”

“This plant seems almost magical, it has so many uses!” Úna said, delighted.
3

“That is why it is also known by the Druid as lúth legha, the physician's strength. It's not magic, really; it is simply the power of all that is. You will never go wrong if you study sacred creation. Everything we will ever need to live is given to us right here in these forests and bogs. It comes from the gods, or the one god, if you prefer, from the one sacred Source. That is what the Druid teach and what my old friend Father Justan also taught me.

“The sun shines on the plants all summer, and the plants store the sunlight so that it can be released in the dark times for those who have a need. There is an ancient sacred symbol that has been passed down to us from the ancestors that describes this truth. Would you like to learn it?”

I was treading on dangerous ground because if the girl was found with such a symbol, she too would be labeled a heretic. But I thought she should hear of it so she could show it to any other Druid healer she might encounter. Then they would know she was one before whom they could speak freely.

“Yes, I'd like to know the sacred symbol.”

I took a section of stalk and folded it in half. Then I took another section and folded it around the first until I had a rough cross. I continued plaiting in this way, adding layer upon layer of reeds until the rough equal-armed cross was finished. Then I tied off the ends with long split sections of leaf.

“This is our symbol of the sun. Any Druid healer that you meet will recognize it. It will tell them that you are knowledgeable and to be trusted. We call it the Cross of Brighid because she is our fire goddess and the greatest goddess of healing that we know. She knows how to bring the fire and strength of the sun into a sick body or mind and make it well again.

“Take it with you and hide it somewhere safe, because if the Cristaidi find it they will ask you what it is. Just tell them it is their own cross fashioned of reeds. They won't know the difference.”

The girl looked at me with worried eyes. “Father Cearbhall says that to speak of goddesses is blasphemy. He says his god, the one and only god, is male.”

“Father Cearbhall is a man. He doesn't know everything,” I replied.

I stood there thinking for a while, wondering if there was anything more I could tell her—anything I might have left out.

“There is yet one more secret that I have to share with you before you leave this place. Anytime you pick an herb for medicine, you must give something in exchange. It can be a gift of honey, a bit of cheese or apple cider, or even your own hair. That act keeps the balance between the worlds, and the spirit of the plant will stay in good relationship with you and be your helper and ally. When you do this long enough, you will be able to call on the plant's spirit even when you don't have the plant in your hand.

“You can also sing a song of blessing on the plants so that they will always have enough sunlight and rain and everything they need to grow. You can sing that the forces of blight and disease stay away from the plants, that they be nurtured by the fairies, and that they be blessed by the moon, sun, winds, and stars.”

I began to sing to the reeds. It was an ancient lay that had been passed down to the Druid from the Eastern lands many generations before:

Blessings on the earth

Blessings on the water

Blessings on the fire

Blessings on the wind

Blessings on the sky

Blessings on the sun

Blessings on the moon

Blessings on the stars

Blessings on the universes

Blessings on all lives

Blessings on every friendship

Blessings on every heart

Blessings on every spirit

Blessings on all plants

Blessings on the one and the all

So may it be

So may it be

So may it be.
4

“What is that song? It is so very beautiful!” Úna exclaimed.

“That is the ‘Salutation to All Creation.' It is the song I like to sing whenever I pick plants for medicine. Now, let's gather up some of these roots, flowers, and stems to add to your heather brew for that sick mog of yours!”

As we trudged back towards the dun, I scanned my body with my inner eyes as I had been taught to do by Niamh and Dálach-gaes, and I noticed with surprise and satisfaction that my three fires were burning brightly once again.

“I have to thank you, Úna, for allowing me to share my knowledge with you. This simple act has restored my spirits more than you can imagine.

“The Druid teach that we all carry three cauldrons of fire within: one in the belly, one in the chest, and one in the head. The fire in the belly is the cauldron of warming that determines if we are healthy or sick. The cauldron of motion is in the chest, and it governs our feelings and emotions. The cauldron of wisdom is in the head. Each of these cauldrons must be fully upright and shining with bright fire in order for a person to be inspired and healthy. In death the cauldrons turn upside down and the fires go out, something a trained Drui can actually see.

“My own three fires have been dim and my cauldrons have been on their sides for so long, it is amazing to feel the sparks of life returning.”

She took in the words respectfully, even if she did not fully understand them.

I was filled with gratitude to whichever deity or spirit had helped me and whispered a silent thank you to the wind.