Timewatch (33 page)

The Archdruid received them politely in a large hall with wooden floors and low tables.

“I am Tighearnach. Please take some refreshment.” He gestured to a bowl of apples that sat on a beautifully carved wooden table near them. “Now tell me, how fares Bryanna?”

J.J. took two of the apples and gave one to Devonna, who said, “She is well.”

The Archdruid nodded, looking relieved. Why? Did he think Bryanna was in danger?

“Please tell me about your journey and why you found it necessary to come all this way, particularly at this time when the dangers are great.”

While they explained why they had come, Tighearnach's intent gaze never left their faces. It was a little unnerving.

“I will provide you with a boat to take you across to Ireland,” he said finally. “You will be safe at Tara. It is the seat of the High Kings of Ireland where Bryanna has relatives.

“You must leave soon. We have had news that Seutonius Paulinus and his two legions, as well as auxiliaries and a battle fleet, are preparing to attack this island.”

“Why cannot they allow us to worship as we would?” asked Devonna bitterly.

“It is not our form of worship that Seutonius fears, but Druid influence,” said Tighearnach tightly. “The Romans have had no end of trouble putting down revolts in Britain. By wiping out us Druids, they think to wipe out the power behind the rebellions.”

“Will they succeed?”

The Druid looked at Devonna's face, pinched with worry. “The Keltoi will survive, child,” he said, “and so will the ancient wisdom that works through us. Another time will come in which that power will work out its destiny. And now,” said Tighearnach, getting up, “you must excuse me. I have preparations to make. I would suggest that you rest and gather your strength between now and the day that you depart. We will talk more on this tomorrow.”

But they had not seen the Archdruid the next day or the day after that. At dawn on the third day, Tighearnach had sent for them. He looked much the same as they had first seen him, but now a kind of fatalistic calm had fallen on him.

“The Romans are encamped on the shores of the Menai Strait that separates them from us on Mona,” he said. “They will be here in a short time. A boat loaded with supplies and a guide wait to take you to Ireland. My blessings upon you both.”

He made a ritualistic sign and continued. “Do not fear. You are in the hands of the One who created us all, who will shelter you from the wrath to come. But now you must leave. I regret not having had more time to spend with you both. Take this with you, Bran,” he said, taking from around his neck a torque made of twisted strands of gold ending in the heads of two bulls. The torque felt awkward and heavy around J.J.'s neck.

A rush of power surged through him. Images of the far past when sages brought advanced ideas to primitive peoples swam through his mind. He saw stepped pyramids in jungles where Quetzalcoatl, a bearded white man who abhorred human sacrifice, taught the Aztecs the arts of weaving, metallurgy, and other arts; then more pyramids, their white limestone coverings gleaming in the desert sunlight, where Egyptians were taught how to move huge stones and, under the influence of the pharaoh, Akhenaten, learned to worship the One God.

The images stopped. He stumbled as a feeling of dread flashed through him. He wanted to beg the Archdruid to come with them, but something in the priest's attitude dried up the words in his throat. He could only look mutely at him.

Later, in the rush of activity, things became a frantic blur. They left the house where they had been staying and had almost reached the boat when Devonna put a hand to her neck and cried, “My necklace, the one you gave me. I left it behind!”

“Don't worry about it. I—I mean Bran—will get you another one.”

“I want that one, as a reminder of the first night you and I lay together.”

“But the Romans are coming! We don't have time.”

“It won't take me long. You can wait for me at the boat.”

Their guide, a short, stocky young man with a blunt face, whose name he had said was Breandan, waved his arms around and shouted at her.

But J.J. could have told him it was no use. When Devonna made up her mind, it was next to impossible to make her change it.

“Then I'm going with you.” Turning to Breandan, looking goggle-eyed with anxiety at them, he said, “You go to the boat. We'll catch up with you later.”

CHAPTER 43

His track coach would have been proud of the time he made running with Devonna back to the thatched house where they'd stayed as a guest of Tighearnach. But the usual Celtic boisterousness of men and women going about their chores was missing. The place was eerie, dead quiet. Everyone had gone.

“My necklace!” cried Devonna, going straight to the place where they'd shared a bed and pouncing on the beads there, shining like drops of crystallized honey.

“Great. Now let's get out of here!” A dread that he realized had been creeping up on him all morning suddenly pounced on him. His heart felt as if he'd just sprinted the 100-yard dash, and it wasn't because he'd run all the way back from the cove where Breandan was waiting with the boat. Something was going to happen very soon, something bad.

Mad shrieks from outside made the hair on his arms stand up.

Devonna clutched his arm. “They're here!” she whispered.

“Out, we gotta get out of here!” he cried, pushing her ahead of him.

They burst out of the house and then stopped.

“May Andraste rot them and demons flay them alive!” cried Devonna.

It was a wonderful day, bright and sunny, with the promise of summer in the air. Back home, he'd have been lying on the beach and yakking it up with friends.

Not on this beach. Looking down the hill, he could see Roman legions lined up, shoulder to shoulder. Mounted troops waited to one side of the infantry.

Opposing them were Celtic warriors, more than half of them naked, some in wicker-sided chariots and others on foot. Next to them were women in black robes waving torches and shrieking curses. In contrast to them was a rank of Druid priests standing motionless with their arms raised and shouting curses at the Romans, calling down the wrath of heaven on their enemies.

The legions seemed hypnotized. No one moved. Maybe the Druids really had a special kind of magic …

A harsh command from the Roman leader astride a great black horse galvanized the massive Roman war machine into action. Holding their shields in front of them, the legionaries marched forward in tight formation, thrusting with their short swords at the Celtic warriors.

It was no contest, J.J. could see. The Celts didn't have any room to maneuver with their chariots, and their long swords were useless in hand-to-hand combat. Even when the Roman javelins didn't hit their mark, the iron heads of some of them stuck in the shields of the Celts, where they were next to impossible to get out. He saw some warriors throw down their shields and fight without them, but their courage was no match for the disciplined Romans who advanced relentlessly.

Now the legionaries were seizing the torches from the frenzied women and, to his horror, setting fire to them, their hair and clothing flaring up in long spouts of flame. On the cool ocean breeze came the stench of burning human flesh.

J.J. was sure he was going to be sick. He'd seen movies like
Predator,
which had grossed him out, but this was different. This was real.

Tears were running down Devonna's face, and she was shaking her fists.

He grabbed her arm. “C'mon, let's go. Now!”

She shrugged him off, too caught up in the scene to realize their danger.

Now the Romans had hacked their way onto open ground. Behind them sprawled dead and dying men in a welter of horses and overturned chariots. Here and there J.J. could see, fluttering in the breeze, the white robes of the fallen Druids. Even worse was the sound of the agonized groans of mortally injured men and the squeals of their stricken horses.

Two Romans were charging up the hill toward them. Fast.

“Devonna, run!” J.J. shrieked in her ear.

She threw her head back and looked dazedly at him. This time she didn't try to stop him when he took her arm and pulled at her.

From days of traveling through rough country, they were both in good shape, but so were the soldiers. He hadn't been so scared since he'd almost hit a rock and sunk his dad's boat out in Clear-water Bay. Shouts behind him spurred him on.

He didn't want to die, not again, not this way, and not Devonna, his love, his woman …

He looked back. A mistake. The Romans, dressed in tunics and armor familiar to him from the movies, were gaining on them. Only this was no movie! The soldiers ran with determination, their swords stained with blood.

He and Devonna didn't stand a chance against them. If only he had something to fight with! But there was nothing, only rocks littering the slope up which they were running. It was no good. They were going to die.

A yell behind him and a noise of someone falling heavily made him sneak a quick look back. One of the soldiers was lying on the ground, his hand holding on to his ankle and cursing fluently.

But the other one was almost upon them. He raised his sword and then grunted as he clapped a hand to his forehead. He fell to the ground, his armor clanking on the small stones and his sword flying out of his hands.

“Just like David and Goliath,” J.J. cracked to Devonna, who was busy reloading her sling.

He smiled at her, and his heart lifted. Maybe they had a chance now.

But Devonna's face was grim as she motioned to the left of them. A small group of soldiers, four of them, were charging up the hillside toward them.

Devonna threw down her sling and stood mutely. She shook her head as he tried to get her to run. “No, Bran. It is too late,” she whispered. She looked at him with those amber eyes that shone more brightly than the beads in her necklace and said, “I love you. We will go down to the Other World together. Teutates will have his sacrifice after all.”

She threw her arms around him and held him tight while the soldiers ran up the hill, the sun gleaming on their weapons.

CHAPTER 44

Oblivious of the men and women who eyed her silently and respectfully, Bryanna knelt on the hard-packed earth. The only sound was the keening of the wind in the high branches of the oaks. Around them loomed the forest, a dark presence in the night where spirits walked and worked their ancient magic.

She was remembering the night she had sent Bran and Devonna away, the two young people hugging her awkwardly and then slipping away from the sanctuary. It was a difficult road they trod—Romans being only one of the dangers they faced—but she had done all she could.

A light touch on her shoulder roused her from her reverie. Kunagnos. His face was strained. He did not like what he had to do, but she could imagine how Mabon must have persuaded him: “To call down blessings on the Keltoi to ensure that the Romans never invade the sacred island …”

Would Bran make it to the sacra insula? He must! Ireland was one of the few places where the Keltoi lived free from Roman influence. In other lands across the sea, and soon in the length and breadth of this one, the Pax Romana held sway. And so it must be, that the new order be established.

But there must also be a place set apart where the old knowledge might be preserved. On that one thing, she and Mabon were agreed.

“Lady, are you ready?”

She smiled at Kunagnos. Her heart was peaceful. All was in the hands of the One God now. If Bran and Devonna should make it to Ireland, their children would return to the land of the Cornovii. All would take place as it must.

“I am ready.”

As Kunagnos's great sword began its downward sweep, she focused on the moonlight glinting on the metal, taking the light into her heart, feeling it explode throughout her body in a myriad of crystalline drops of pure radiance …

CHAPTER 45

With a formal, ceremonial gesture, Mabon, swathed in the skin of a white bull from which the phallus still hung, held high the head of Bryanna so that all might see. Her eyes were still open, and in them he could see …

He stumbled. A bad omen! A despairing gasp went up from the assembly.

Mabon pulled his attention away from the confusion of images that he had seen in her eyes: a new world where the Keltoi would incarnate, some living in longhouses and some in round homes fashioned of bark or skins in a land incredibly vast and rich, but one that other races would covet. And so the Keltoi would again be pushed aside unless there should arise one to help them.

Exulting at this glimpse into his new role in the future, Mabon hurled Bryanna's head into the sacred pool. It sank, with only a few ripples on the surface to show its passing.

“Teutates has had his due,” he said in a strong voice.

The Keltoi obediently chanted the words back to him.

There. It was done. His rival had been eliminated and the gods placated. But one thing more needed attention.

When Bran and Devonna had disappeared, he had been beside himself. Then he had seen how he might turn the situation to his advantage. He had come to Bryanna and told her that if she wanted to guarantee the safety of the young people, she should offer herself in place of her son for the sacrifice. Without argument, she had agreed. Fool.

He had no intention of keeping his word. He sent a message to a Roman legate who had the ear of Seutonius to be on the watch for two young Druids who were to be killed immediately. He was sure that his request would be heeded; he had been very helpful to the Romans in the past and would continue to be.