The Horse Goddess (Celtic World of Morgan Llywelyn) (12 page)

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Authors: Morgan Llywelyn

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They looked at her in surprise. “For what purpose?” asked Poel, knitting his brows together.
“Epona is
drui
,” Rigantona told them proudly.
The
gutuiters
and Poel exchanged astonished glances. Kernunnos narrowed his eyes and leaned forward slightly, saying nothing, as Rigantona related in detail—enlarged by her own imagination—the incident of Epona’s visit to the otherworlds. “It is true,” she finished triumphantly. “She gave her word to my son Okelos; you have only to ask him.”
Kernunnos drew his lips back from his teeth. “That is not necessary. You speak truly; the girl is
drui.
I have known it for a long time. But she was resistant when I tried to discuss it with her, and I thought she would marry soon and leave us, her talent dormant within her like sap in a winter tree.”
“She has a damaged arm,” Rigantona pointed out. “It makes a difference to those who come seeking wives, but am I right in assuming it makes no difference to the priesthood?”
Nematona nodded. “Even if it heals crooked—though I believe it will be straight, in time—that would not affect her ability to use the powers she has been given, whatever they may be. She is a strong woman, and young; many seasons younger than any of us. We need her and she would be welcome. We have been concerned that too many seasons would pass before we found someone to pass on our knowledge to. But the creation of a different ritual of transition … a major change in the pattern …”
She pretended to be unsure, though no one had any doubt of the outcome now. A new
drui
was beyond price. But there must be a certain amount of hesitation and urging, of offers and demurrals. The exchange of gifts was hedged with formalities and could not be accomplished simply, for that would make the gift itself seem to be worth little effort.
When Rigantona was at last assured the funeral ritual would be created as she wished, a wave of relief swept over her and she felt a certain fondness for her oldest daughter.
Because of Epona her own prestige was greatly enhanced, and when she went to the otherworlds …
Then she remembered. The gift of Epona to the
druii
was to have been for Okelos, to get support for his chiefdom.
She had an obligation to mention it. “The council will have to choose a new lord of the tribe,” she said. “My son Okelos is a grown man of noble warrior lineage; he is as eligible as my husband’s brothers. In consideration of my daughter Epona, will you support him with the elders?”
Kernunnos twitched his thin lips. “We are
druii
, pledged to do only that which is beneficial to the people. I do not think there would be any advantage in having Okelos hold the staff of authority. He is like a hound puppy, lazy and quick to bite. When he is older, perhaps …” He let the thought drag to a stop of its own weight.
Rigantona did not pursue it. She had what she wanted; her future was assured whether Okelos became lord of the tribe or not. She could tell him she had tried; what more could she do?
Imagine the expression on Sirona’s face when she learned Rigantona’s daughter was
drui
!
Kernunnos returned to the magic house in a state of elation. The girl Epona could move into the minds of animals already, he was certain of it. Perhaps she even had the ability to become a shapechanger. The benefit to the tribe of having two shapechangers at once could be incalculable.
The future seemed bright with promise.
Throughout that night and the next day, while the body of Toutorix lay on its oak trestle in the house of the dead, the
druii
communed with the spirits. The people in the lodges could smell the smoke of Tena’s fires: scented smoke, sometimes nauseating, sometimes hauntingly sweet. They could hear the voice of Nematona mingling with that of the trees in the sacred grove. At the lake’s edge, Uiska knelt and importuned the spirit of the water, while in the valley of the
Kelti Poel sang to the ancestors. In the magic house, Kernunnos read the portents and felt with his mind into the otherworlds, searching for positive or negative influences.
He was pleased with the results. He could detect no resistance to this new ritual; in fact, it was very favorably received. The return of the whole body to the earth mother established a pleasing harmony within the pattern.
As he performed the various invocations and ceremonies, Kernunnos felt himself surrounded by benign influences. If one was highly sensitive to the things that could not be seen, as he was, one need make no mistakes and offend no life-forms. Sometimes Kernunnos felt that he was exceptionally favored; that every step he took was planned for him in advance by an unseen guardian, so he moved through life under invisible guidance as the ships of the Sea People were blown by the invisible wind.
The great ceremony to celebrate the transition of Toutorix from now to the otherworlds was scheduled to begin at the next sunrise. A matron from a warrior’s lodge was dispatched to watch Rigantona’s fire for her, as she and her children prepared to follow the funeral procession.
When the sky paled above the mountains to the east, the chief’s old cartponies were harnessed for the last time. Their trappings were decorated with fine bronze studding, and embossed plates and red plumes were thrust through their bridles. Goibban himself would lead the ponies, for they would have no driver. Toutorix rode in his cart with closed eyes and a pebble in his mouth to keep the departed spirit from reentering.
Epona noticed how strong and splendid Goibban appeared as he marched at the front of the procession, following the
druii.
He had spoken formally to Rigantona, but he paid little attention to Epona, which darkened the clouds in her sky. There was a preoccupied expression on his face and only the iron was in his thoughts. The funeral would take most of the
day; probably no work would get done at the forge until nextday, and he was jealous of every lost moment.
The cart bearing the chief’s body was followed by his family and then the tribal council. Next came the representatives of each family in the tribe, smiling, to show that this was indeed a happy occasion. Birth was a cause for mourning on behalf of the newly arrived spirit, for thislife could be hard. Death was a time for celebration; new opportunities awaited the spirit as it moved on.
They left the village and climbed upward through the silvery light to the valley of the ancestors. This was a most sacred place. Here were the buried urns of the dead; here the spirits of the mountains came together and talked among themselves in voices the ignorant might mistake for wind.
It was a place of power.
A special tomb, dug into the earth and lined with timbers, had been prepared for the chief’s body. A fill of stones and rubble had been dumped between the wooden walls and the surrounding soil. With more time the tomb could have been better prepared, but even in the high cool air of the mountains the body of a man would not keep indefinitely. Soon it would begin to smell and draw malign spirits carrying sickness. And if they had taken more time, to empty the flesh and fill it with salt and hair as Kernunnos did his birds, they would have had to delay the election of a new chief. In the future, the ritual could be refined.
Each of Rigantona’s children brought some possession of the old chieftain’s: his hunting horn, his drinking cup, his throwing spear. Epona proudly bore his shield, and Okelos carried the magnificent sword and decorated sheath Goibban had made. The young man hated having to leave that incomparable weapon in the tomb, but when he became lord of the tribe he would have one even better. That was a comforting thought.
Every member of the Kelti wore something red. Red was the color of death, signifying the return of the spirit to the great fire of life from which it came. Red was the color of life, and blood, and rebirth.
Every family presented gifts to accompany Toutorix to the otherworlds and to remind him to speak well of them. Taranis brought an enormous cauldron of bronze, polished to a gleam and decorated all around its rim with symbols of life and harmony. Others contributed jewelry, imported pottery and ornaments, their best household goods, embroidered cloth, small figures representing accomplishments on the battlefield or at
kamanaht,
weapons and tools and whatever they had that was deemed worthy of the lord of the tribe.
Six. strong warriors lifted the discarded body and carried it into the tomb, where it was stretched on a wooden platform, the head toward the rising sun to encourage rebirth. The gifts were arranged around the corpse. “Remember that we gave you these,” the donors chanted, mindful of the obligation incurred by the receiving of gifts. When everyone else had made an offering, Rigantona stepped forward and laid on her husband’s chest the small bronze cart Goibban had crafted.
She looked at Toutorix for the last time with an expression of infinite regret, then turned away.
Seeing Rigantona’s gift, Kernunnos regretted that they had not prepared the tomb to hold the real cart and ponies as well. Next time, perhaps. Now, they built a pyre around the cart just beyond the mouth of the tomb. Goibban held the team by their bridles as Uiska approached, carrying a bronze basin. She was followed by the chief priest, wearing a dappled horsehide and with his hair freshly bleached and stiffened by lime paste.
Kernunnos stood in front of the cartponies and began the chant of sacrifice, praying to the spirits of the animals to agree to the sacrifice as a hunter prayed to the spirit of the game he sought to show his respect for the value of the gift it would give him.
As Kernunnos raised his knife to the first pony’s throat, Goibban’s eyes happened to meet Epona’s.
In that moment the young woman was experiencing the sacrifice with her whole being: the sharp edge of the knife, the hot rush of life flowing out. It was as if a haze obscured her vision. Only when the haze cleared and the two animals
lay peacefully on the earth mother, their generous red blood collected and their entrails cut out for divination, did she realize Goibban was staring at her as if he had never seen her before.
He felt that he had not. Now he saw that she had become a young woman indeed, with braided hair and swelling breasts. She was pleasing to look at; her proportions were in perfect harmony, like a fine design. Too bad she was of his tribe, his blood … He shrugged away the thought. There were women in plenty when he wanted them.
Still, none of them had the same quality as Epona, standing a dozen paces from him, looking up now, looking at him . . to the heat that softened iron …
Then men stepped between them to pile wood around the bodies of the ponies and Goibban turned away, his part in the ceremony finished. The forge was waiting.
Rigantona stood at the entrance to the unroofed tomb, mentally calculating the treasure accumulated within. All this she would share with Toutorix in the otherworlds. He had always been generous, at least.
“We have honored the lord of the tribe as he deserved,” she announced, and at her signal Poel came forward to begin singing the first of the praise songs even as workmen started roofing the chamber and piling it with a mound of earth and stones.
The people of the Kelti returned to their village, Rigantona among them. The
druii
remained with the workmen at the tomb, waiting for the ashes of the sacrifice to cool.
Epona remained also. The pain and then the exultation she had experienced when the ponies died had shaken her, and the memory of Goibban’s eyes, meeting hers, had confused her, making it difficult for her to clarify her impressions. For a little longer, she wanted to stay close to the tomb in which the chief’s body lay, looking as it had in life. She envied Toutorix the peace she had seen mirrored on his face.
Kernunnos watched out of the corner of his eye as she loitered around the tomb, stooping to examine a flower in the
grass, gazing upward at the cloud formations. Perhaps the girl remained because she was drawn to
druii
ritual. Had her mother spoken to her yet? Did she know she was promised?
This might be a good time to persuade her to join them willingly. Her gift could not be forced, but her body could; being unmarried, she was still her parents’ property. If she felt resentment it would take much longer to shape her mind and develop her arts. Perhaps he had been too strong with her before, Kernunnos told himself. It might be better to be gentle, as when wooing a young doe.
He sat down on the grass to make himself smaller, less ominous. He stretched his body full length. He looked up at the clouds she was watching. She did not seem to be aware of his presence until he spoke. “Do you know it is possible to control the clouds, to herd them like animals?” he asked in a conversational tone.
Epona started. The smell of the burned horseflesh and the entombed presence of Toutorix had been holding her attention; now she turned to see the priest lying on the ground like a wounded animal. He was too far away to be threatening.
“I have to go now,” Epona said. “My mother will need me to help serve the funeral feast.”
“Not yet. Stay here a little longer,” Kernunnos urged. “We can talk, you and I. We have never talked, but we have more in common than you know, Epona.” His voice was kind and not so different from any other man’s voice. She looked at him, appraising him. He was a male Kelt, lean, older than she but younger than Toutorix had been. There was nothing unusual about the face of the chief priest, seen at this distance in the clear daylight. It was merely human.

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