Ravens of Avalon (13 page)

To Boudica, it was as if those black birds were caged somewhere deep within. Dark wings beat at her awareness.

“Then the kings have lost the battle,” Helve said grimly. “Now you must seek for Ardanos and his companions.”

“I see the Druids. They are moving northward from the great river. In the wagon they follow lies the body of a man with a beard and brown hair.”

“Togodumnos …” Helve sighed.

Held by the spell, Boudica shook where she stood. Denied physical release, her rage exploded inward. In a moment it would break the barrier that protected her identity. But it was no longer simply an emotion— she could feel it taking a shape, coalescing into a being that could laugh at the priestess’s spell.
I am fury …
it whispered.
I am power. Let me fly free!

“And what of the Romans?” asked Helve.

“They are building a bridge …” whispered Coventa. “They have built a camp with a square palisade and there they stay. I see no more.” Coventa shifted position with a sigh, the relaxation of sleep replacing the intensity of trance.

The priestess sat back, frowning. In the small part of her mind that remained her own, Boudica saw her arm lifting, and knew that in a moment she would strike the woman down. Now her own terror warred with that Other who had been born of her rage—or had She always been there, waiting only for the moment of stress that would break the barriers that kept Her locked within? Her lips opened on a strangled gasp, and Helve turned.

For a moment her eyes widened. Then she straightened, eyeing Boudica as if she were a warrior confronting a foe. But then no one had ever doubted the woman’s courage.

“Speak!” It was the same note that had bound Boudica’s tongue. “Who are you? I did not call you here!”

The response was laughter. A woman’s laughter, laced with mockery, that to Boudica’s relief began to transmute the rage.

“Did you not? Have you forgotten already the rite by which you called Me at the Turning of Spring?”

The look of appalled recognition on Helve’s face went far to reconcile Boudica to this invasion of her spirit.

“Great Queen,” she murmured, with a dip of the head that might have been intended as a bow.

“This is a strong mare you have bridled for Me,” said the Other— Cathubodva, thought Boudica, as appalled as Helve as she realized Who ruled her body now. The Goddess rose a little on Boudica’s toes and stretched out Her arms as if trying to expand the girl’s body enough to fit comfortably inside.

“But I can see that was not your intent. Indeed, very little you Druids have done this past year has had the results you expected. Is that not so?”

Boudica had seen Mearan speak with the Voice of the Goddess at festivals, but carrying the gods was only done by the most senior Druids, and then only within the strict boundaries of ritual. And even for them it was not clear whether this should be considered a burden or a privilege.

“You speak true,” said Helve.

“Always,” replied the Goddess, “when I am asked. But you did not ask, did you? You did not seek My wisdom. You invoked My wrath, which explodes like a wildfire and burns all in its way.”

“But it worked! You terrified the Romans into mutiny!”

“Until they found their courage once more,” Cathubodva agreed. “All the stronger because it lay on the other side of their fear.”

Boudica felt her body relaxing as the Goddess settled into it and moved to a bench that stood against the wall to sit, one leg bent and the other outstretched.

“But what else could we have done? What else can we do now?” Helve wailed.

“What you cannot do is to keep things as they have been. All things alter, one transforming into another until the world itself is changed. Bend or break—it’s up to you.” Once more, Cathubodva laughed.

From the corner where awareness lurked, Boudica listened in fascination. Was this truly the Goddess speaking, or her own suppressed desires? It was true that some of these thoughts had crossed her mind, but she did not think she could have expressed them, or at least not with such assurance and power.

“Very well,” said Helve sullenly. “I am listening.”

“Such obedience! Such awe!” the Goddess laughed. “You do not bend your neck easily, priestess, and these days there are few to make you. This child whose body I have taken is more like you than either of you would care to admit. Even the years allotted you are the same.”

“Then I will spend them fighting to preserve our learning and our lore,” Helve replied.

“And not your own position and power?”

The priestess grew very still. “The prestige of the High Priestess serves our cause. Is it so wrong to enjoy it?”

“If you remember that it is the High Priestess, not Helve, to whom the honor belongs,” Cathubodva replied, more gently than she had spoken before.

“It will not matter whether I do or not if the Romans destroy us all.”

“Do you think you are the first to pray to the gods for help when an invader set foot on these shores?” She was not laughing now. “Once it was your people who were the enemy. One day the Romans will face an enemy they cannot overcome. That is the way of the world.”

“And you will be forgotten!” Helve said spitefully. “If you will not help us for our sakes, will you not do so for yours?”

“Forgotten?” The Goddess shook Her head. “Names change, but so long as warriors hate and women weep, I will be here.” Her voice deepened. “Do you not yet understand? In the face of danger life burns most brightly, and the tomb is the womb of life that springs anew. I am the Good God’s Cauldron. The only true death is to stand still.”

Helve paled, and in that place that was not a place Boudica went as still as a mouse that knows itself to lie beneath the falcon’s eye. For a few moments Coventa’s regular breathing was the only sound.

Then someone called Helve’s name from outside. The priestess blinked, her face smoothing into its accustomed proud calm, and rose.

“Great Queen, I thank you for your counsel, but the time has come for you to return to the Otherworld.”

The Morrigan lifted an eyebrow and the sense of something too huge for human comprehension dimmed. “Will you not even offer Me a drink?” She said wryly. “I came uninvited, but I am sure you would not wish Me to report you lax in hospitality …”

With one eye still on her guest, Helve went to the door of the hut and spoke, and presently brought back an earthenware beaker filled with the foaming dark beer that was old Elin’s special brew. Boudica felt Cathubodva’s appreciation of the nutty, full-fSavored fizz as in one long swallow it went down. She had a moment to wonder that an immortal could enjoy such a simple pleasure, but whatever the delights of the Otherworld, she supposed that even the gods were dependent on human senses to enjoy the taste of beer.

Then the mug slipped from a suddenly nerveless hand. Boudica collapsed like an emptied wineskin as the goddess flowed out of her, consciousness following in a dark rush as she crumpled to the floor.

oudica came to herself, gasping. Helve stood over her, a dripping water bucket in her hands. Coventa was sitting up on the bed, staring at her with wide eyes.

“Boudica, what happened to you?”

Boudica swallowed, tasting beer, and flinched at the cold calculation in Helve’s eyes. “Did I faint?” she asked weakly. “Why am I sitting here?” Coventa never seemed to remember what went on in her trances. Whether Boudica was meant to recall what had passed she was not sure, but it was clear that she would be better off if Helve did not realize what she knew.

oudica sped across the ripening summer grass, swinging the cum-man stick to keep the ball in play. But no crowd cheered her, no opponent tried to stop her. In the past weeks so many of the students had left the school to return to their tribes that there were no longer enough students to make up two hurley teams. But the activity eased some of the restlessness that for the past several days had made sleep well nigh impossible, even though she played alone.

It helped to imagine it was a Roman head she sent hurtling across the grass. She understood why the boys who left had gone. She even understood why Helve had insisted on making Coventa speak all her vision. How else could they know what was going on, stuck here at the edge of the world? Lhiannon was out there somewhere. She and Ardanos were in danger—Helve had probably sent them to help Caratac
because
of the danger. Certainly, the new High Priestess had been happy to get rid of the two who were most likely to dispute her will while the Arch-Druid was also away, attempting to persuade wavering chieftains that the Romans could be opposed.

No doubt Helve would like to see the last of me as well,
she thought, aiming a vicious kick at the ball. Or maybe not.
She watches me as if she’s not sure whether she hopes the Morrigan will pay another visit, or fears She will …
Boudica had spent most of her recent meditations armoring her spirit against another such violation, but she rather enjoyed keeping Helve wondering.

As she sent the ball hurtling past the goal she heard Coventa calling her name.

“Boudica, you must come!” The girl stopped to catch her breath. “Lady Helve wants you. There’s a messenger!”

Lhiannon’s been hurt!
she thought, but news of the priestess would go first to the senior Druids. Had something happened to her father? Had he been in the battles? But she was already running, leaving Coventa to pant after her.

The day was warm, and Boudica found Helve sitting beneath the oak tree whose branches embraced the conical roof of her dwelling. She slid to a halt and straightened, waiting.

“A messenger has come—a man called Leucu. Do you know him?”

Boudica nodded. “He has served my father since before I was born.” Her heart had been pounding from exercise; now it raced with anxiety. But she refused to give Helve the satisfaction of seeing her beg for news.

“Your father bids you return home.”

Boudica nodded, giving nothing away. She supposed Leucu was the perfect escort—familiar with the whole island and too old to threaten a princess’s virtue.
Too old to stand with the warriors,
she thought grimly, holding Helve’s pale glance with her own. Surprisingly, it was the priestess who spoke first.

“He tells me that the Romans are marching on Camulodunon. It would appear that Coventa … saw true,” the priestess said tightly. “The Iceni have decided to make submission.”

“Surely he does not need me for that!” Boudica burst out in spite of her resolution. Unless there was someone he wished her to marry. She took a deep breath. “Do I have a choice in this?”

Helve sighed. “You do,” she responded a little reluctantly. “You would have had to decide soon in any case whether you wished to stay with us or return to your home. I will tell you now that I do not see in you the potential to make a priestess, but you have some talents that might be useful,” she added obliquely, and Boudica suppressed a smile. “If you wish to stay, we will welcome you.”

“How long do I have to decide?”

“You may decide to go home with Leucu now, but I have also another message,” Helve added reluctantly, “from Lhiannon.”

She was safe! Boudica tried not to show her joy at that realization.

“As you know, it is the custom to send our maidens on retreat to Avalon before they take their place as women in our community. Lhi-annon asks that you go to meet her in the Summer Country. Ordinarily you would be sent with a group of priestesses, but in these times I can spare no one. Lhiannon will know what must be done.”

I will not complain—of you all Lhiannon is the one whom I would choose,
Boudica thought then.

“Afterward you will go to Camulodunon. When you have seen both, with the eyes of the woman instead of a child, you shall decide where your path lies.”

As Helve spoke, her voice had grown more resonant—for a moment she sounded almost like Lady Mearan—and by that Boudica understood that Helve was speaking as High Priestess in truth, despite what she might personally feel. And it was to the priestess, not the woman, that she bowed.

“Lady, I thank you. I will go to Avalon.”

nstead of the tedious journey by horseback that Boudica had expected, the Druids found a trading ship heading south whose captain was willing to take her and Leucu down the west coast of Britannia to the wide estuary where the Sabrina met the sea. Still, her physical misery muted the sorrow of leaving the place that for four years had been her home, and by the time she was accustomed to the boat’s motion, the places they were passing were all new and strange.

Now the boat turned eastward along the coast, where the mountains protected them from northern gales. From there it was two days’ sail across the channel of the Sabrina to a coast of reeds and mudflats through which placid brown waters wound toward the sea.

Boudica drew a sharp breath as the land wind brought her the rank, fecund scent of the marshes beyond.

“Aye, it does stink, mistress,” said the captain, misinterpreting her reaction. “I’ll be glad to turn back to the clean breezes from the sea.”