The Canticle of Ordrass: The Wheel of the Year - Samhain Page 4

  An arrow found home in Nicoletta’s shoulder, punching through her armor. She gritted her teeth noiselessly and turned toward the cottage, where she saw Kohn readying another shot. Drawing a dagger from her belt, she hurled it toward the bowyer, who dove to the side and rolled out of sight behind the building.

  Donaro swung again and again, driving the priestess back, and Nicoletta suddenly stepped in behind her and wrapped an arm around Lilianna’s neck. The inquisitor’s sword clattered to the ground and she drew another dagger. The razor point pressed against Lilianna’s lower back.

  “Yield,” Donaro called out loudly, “and give us the girl. As he spoke, Nicoletta spun ‘round with her captive to place the priestess between herself and the archers.

  Torchael stepped from behind the coppice and laid his bow on the sodden ground. Standing, he raised his open hands.

  “All right,” he said. “Let her go.”

  Nicoletta cut her eyes at her sergeant, who led his bruised men toward the disarmed ranger.

  Torchael moved toward them, his hands still held high. “Let her go,” he said.

  “Give us the girl, and we will consider it,” Donaro replied.

  “Very well, but you’ll have to let me go get her.”

  “Call for her, she is still close!”

  “Well,” the ranger said with a laugh, “you’d be surprised. But I will try.”

  He called for her. “Davia! Come here, girl!”

  ***

  In the forest, rushing south, they heard the call. Davia stopped.

  “Wait!” She said. “I have to go back. If Torchael–”

  “No,” Kestyrn cut her off. “When has he ever called you a girl?”

  She thought. “Never.”

  “Right,” the ranger’s apprentice said. “Never. If he really wanted us to return, he’d have used a signal whistle.”

  Again the distant call came. “Davia, come back! Hurry, now.”

  Davia looked to her sisters, desperation writ across her face.

  “He’s right,” Mairi said. “Let’s get back to the temple.” Iseabheal nodded.

  Davia took another deep breath and the group resumed its journey.

  ***

  Torchael called again. “Davia! Davia, I need you to come back!”

  The mercenaries had reached him by now, and stood with weapons ready a few paces off, between the ranger and the road.

  “Take another step,” Torchael said just loud enough for them to hear, “and I’ll eviscerate the lot of you.”

  Louder, to the priest, “See? She’s gone. I will have to go and find her. She could be in one of a dozen secret places!”

  In the road, Nicoletta and Donaro exchanged glances. Nicolleta nodded with her sharp chin toward the village.

  “Very well, Ranger,” Donaro called. “We shall have an accord; I will take this priestess back with me to the inn. We’ll wait there for you to bring the girl to us. Do it by dusk, and this one lives. Come late, and she might live on yet, but mayhap my mercenaries will have misused her by then. Come not at all, and I will find another way.”

  “I will come by nightfall tomorrow. It will take much to convince the high priestess.”

  Nicoletta hissed in Lilianna’s ear. “This does not bode well for you, does it? You should convince him to be quick.”

  “He’s right,” Lilianna said evenly. Under her calm demeanor surged a passionate rage. “The Crone-Sister will not want to sacrifice a younger priestess for an older one. It is not our way.”

  “Tomorrow’s eve, then!” Donaro yelled. The mercenaries moved away, slowly backing toward their commanders.

  “I will bring the girl. You have my word,” Torchael called before sprinting to the copse, scooping up his bow, and dashing behind the cottage.

  To Kohn, who waited with a ready arrow, he said, “Gather the rest and meet me at the temple. We are not giving them that girl.”

  Kohn nodded, and Torchael was away, running northward into the forest.

  ***

  Donaro hung his weapon on his belt and shifted the shield to his back. Grabbing Lilianna roughly by the arm, he dragged her toward the inn. She did not struggle, but went calmly, without protest.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As darkness fell on the eve of Samhain, the ranger’s apprentice and his three charges returned to the temple, where Mother-Sister Aelwynne awaited them at the gate.

  She ushered the four sodden youths inside and offered towels and an infusion of sweet herbs, but Davia was not interested.

  “They have Lilianna!” she exclaimed. “There’s no time for tea.”

  “Crone-Sister Magda insisted,” she said simply. Davia demurred, knowing that no amount of argument would avail her cause.

  Kestyrn drained his cup and told Aelwynne what had transpired, with Davia and the others chiming in various details.

  “I will tell the Crone-Sister,” Aelwynne said. “You girls prepare for battle. We shall be ready no matter the hour or foe.”

  The postulants darted away together, going first for their rooms, then to the armory.

  Aelwynne left Kestyrn in the spacious kitchen, where he dried his boots and armor by the fire and availed himself of the larder.

  When the postulants returned, they did not look like girls to Kestyrn at all; they looked like warrior-priestesses. Each wore pale leather breastplates blazoned with the church’s symbol, a triple spiral of green encircled with a ring of knotwork. On each girl’s hip hung a curved dagger, and across each back hung a quiver of arrows. They bore fine shortbows, but while Iseabheal’s and Davia’s were identical, Mairi’s was of a different design, older and well-worn, though maintained. Their clothing was white trimmed in green, with tight sleeves and leggings loose enough that he thought them skirts at first.

  Rising to greet them, he said, “Your uniforms suit you!”

  Iseabheal did a little curtsy, but Mairi and Davia both blushed and waved the compliment away. Mairi gathered bread and dried berries to the round table, and the four youths sat. The postulants nibbled nervously.

  Seated with Mairi on one side and Iseabheal on the other, Davia sat opposite. He smiled at her, and she looked down into her meal.

  “Tomorrow is Samhain,” he said.

  “Yes,” Iseabheal said, “a dark day by any circumstance.”

  “But one of celebration as well.”

  The blonde nodded. “Aye, it is. We celebrate death as we do life, the one feeding into the other. The cycle must be embraced.”

  “The Crone-Sister always dies on Samhain?” Davia asked.

  “Always,” Mairi said with a nod.

  “Naturally?”

  “Now that,” Iseabheal said, “is an interesting question.”

  “How so?” Kestyrn wondered.

  “Well, what does ‘natural’ mean, anyway? If we answer that by saying ‘not of the free peoples,’ then we must assume that nothing we do is natural. If we say it means ‘in accordance with the gods,’ then all we do and see is natural.”

  “Fair enough,” the apprentice ranger said, “but it still doesn’t answer Davia’s question.”

  Iseabheal looked at her Archanian sister. “No, not always naturally, but always welcome. It is the time for such things, and history shows that whatever circumstances arise, the passing will occur. Some of the Crone priestesses have died in battle.”

  “So if one of the other Archanians should kill her, it is still ordained?” Davia asked.

  “It is,” Iseabheal answered.

  Mairi said, “Across the Church of Morgaine, no priestess has ever fallen before her time. Some have died young, even as Maidens, but the goddesses have eyes and hands upon each of us, guiding the paths of our lives.”

  “Without denying our own influence upon them,” Kestyrn added.

  “So the goddesses give us what we want?” Davia wondered.

  “Or what we need,” said Mairi. “It is hard to see sometimes which is which, and our lives are
not without complication. The influence of others, of our families, our backgrounds, our hopes and desires, and a thousand unknown possibilities work upon us. The gods are a part of this, but not the whole, nor in control of the whole.”

  Davia nodded and ate. She sat quietly as the others chatted on, contemplating her place in the church and the world.

  ***

  When the temple bell rang ten, the girls were finally sent to bed. Shortly, Torchael arrived, meeting his apprentice under the great oak. They drank from the well, each saying a short prayer.

  “They are well?”

  “Nervous,” Kestyrn answered, “but well. They are as battle-ready as they may be.”

  The master nodded. “Good, good. I cannot say just what will transpire, lad, but the rangers of Matharden are likewise prepared, and all will be well in the end.”

  “But at what cost?” Kestyrn longed to know.

  “At least one will die tomorrow, we know that much. That is the price of life and service, not the price of battle. The other costs may be harder to bear.”

  “Let us hope they are few.”

  The master nodded, and led Kestyrn into the temple, and up thin, steep stairs into the tower. At the top, a roof of leaf-like wooden tiles covered an open platform. The rangers took their turns at watch and awaited the inevitable.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dawn broke clearly. Donaro and Ambra greeted the sun with extensive prayer while Nicoletta and two of her mercenaries kept Lilianna company.

  The Maiden-Sister squirmed. They would not let her stand except for the privy. She was unused to idleness, and bristled at captivity.

  Tuomas approached with a pitcher of fresh water, but Nicoletta waved it away. The innkeep shrugged and returned to the bar. He took up a little block of wood and laid a little knife to it, whittling away in minutes all that which was not a bear. The stylized figure joined a menagerie on a shelf behind the bar, and Tuomas vanished into the kitchen.

  He hated whittling.

  Chucking the knife into the counter, he collapsed into the old chair and sat in silence, watching the fire with a knotted brow.

  ***

  In the village outside, the people of Matharden prepared for the holy night.

  Samhain was an ancient tradition, practiced by all the peoples of Marien long before the royal banner rose. The veil would give way, and the Mother of the Dead would rend the veil, that lost loved-ones might visit the world.

  In honor of the goddess’s kindness, the people of Marien had long gathered in her name to welcome spirits into their lives. Each village or town had its own unique ritual. In the isles, boats were launched into the sea bearing candles and messages to the dead. In the capital, a great ball was held at the palace, while children ran through the streets in sheets and hoods, scaring one another and begging for apples, which were traditionally given, sometimes in a bag with bits of cheese and bread, sometimes with a shiny penny sticking from them.

  The people of Matharden would gather what gifts they had to offer, from a few pieces of grain to a golden coin, and lay them by the hearth in the morning. For supper, they would prepare an extra portion. After their meals they took up their gifts and lanterns, and went to temple, leaving the extra portion upon the table and the front door open.

  ***

  Tuomas could not leave the inn to join the procession, though a bottle of wine and a loaf of bread waited in a basket. Only years of training and practice prevented his guts from knotting.

  The door closed hard behind Donaro as he returned.

  “The people go to church, and we are ignored. It has been dark for nigh an hour,” he said.

  “It’s an insult,” Nicoletta added. “I say we end this one right now.”

  “We shall not kill her,” Ambra said. “She is innocent in all of this, and deserves only to be released.”

  “She’s no innocent! She’s a pagan,” Donaro spat.

  The seven mercenaries sat at the large table. Those with their backs to Donaro sat uncomfortably. A few twisted ‘round to see him.

  “But we’re not killing her.”

  Nicoletta looked down on the priestess, face fraught with mocking disappointment. “Soon enough,” she whispered.

  ***

  The postulants had awoken at dawn and spent their day studying. They were put together and given a tome of ancient prayers to peruse with the intent of memorizing three of the prayers.

  It was impossible to concentrate, as it had been for many girls before them.

  By noon they had selected and copied three prayers, but remained leagues from committing them by the word.

  They sat in the kitchen, which featured a wide window overlooking the woods beyond the wall, and bemoaned how the beauty of the day cursed their indoor duty.

  They wondered how the rangers would free Lilianna, and whether she were even still alive.

  They fidgeted in their armor, for Aelwynne had not relieved them of readiness.

  At three bells, the Mother-Sister called them to come and follow. She led them silently through corridors and up stairs to Magda’s rooms.

  “Yes,” the old priestess said as they filtered through the narrow door. “Be welcome by the fire, children.”

  They sat formally on the divan she offered.

  Magda smiled on them brightly, showing stained and cracked teeth.

  “It is a joy to see you, my granddaughters in the church. You are the light at the end of my long life, girls. You can never hope to know how I love all three of you.”

  Iseabheal beamed, but her sisters stifled whatever reaction they might have had, for whatever reasons.

  “This is a sad day for you, I know, even without the Archanian complication. But that is as it should be, as it must be.” She sipped at a crystal cup of water and continued. “Tonight will be trying for all of us, but I believe we are each ready for our tasks, whatever they may be. Tomorrow, this body will speak no more. When Sister Aelwynne takes my place, you three will become the Maiden-Sisters and serve together for one year.

  “One of you will stay, this you know. Two of you will go on to serve elsewhere. She who remains will stave off the ravages of time for years. She will bear the greatest burden.

  “Those who leave are free to do as they wish. Whether she takes a place at another temple, founds a home and family in Matharden or elsewhere, or travels the breadth of the known world, she will always be one of us, and welcome here.

  “To some, a longer life may mean much, but you must not let this become a tourney. It is not a prize, but a duty, and you may not know what you will be called to. There is a heavy price to pay in bearing the light of the goddesses here at this temple. You are sisters in spirit above all else, that you must remember, my dear, dear sisters.”

  They sat quietly with tears in their eyes. They had not come to know the Crone-Sister exactly, but they had come to respect and love her.

  “Aelwynne,” the old woman said.

  The Mother-Sister stood beside the crone’s chair and spoke quietly and slowly.

  “Tonight I will lead the villagers alone into the forest. You will stay here after our service and attend the Crone-Sister.”

  Davia opened her mouth, but a cut of Aelwynne’s eyes closed it again.

  “You will stay, and you will wait. When any sister or a ranger gives you an order, you will comply, at once and without comment. I will return before dawn with the villagers. Lilianna should be with us by then, and Magda gone to the next world.

  “Go to your rooms now and wait for the fourth bell. I will meet you in the chapel.”

  They went, and waited, and though few minutes remained in the hour, they seemed eternal.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The temple’s chapel had two entrances. Mairi and Iseabheal stood by them and welcomed villagers to the service. They trickled at first, but when six bells sounded, the last of them seemed to be seated.

  Davia had helped them to places. Inside the temple, only
a trio of candles upon the altar provided any light. Once all had arrived, the chapel was almost half-full with some thirty men, women and children in attendance. The girl noted the absence of the innkeep and the bowyer, and hoped all was well.

  She did not notice the other six missing men.

  As the last toll faded and the postulants gathered on the dais behind their Mother-Sister, Kestryn stepped into one doorway and Torchael into the other. They left the doors open as was the custom, but stood blocking the passages with arms hanging loosely at their side, bows strung and hung from the shoulders.

  ***

  Aelwynne began the sermon with a chant. Many of the flock took it up.

  “Maiden Goddess, come ye now

  To guide us through the darkness

  With twin lights of hope and love.

  Aranda, we welcome you!

  “Mother Goddess, be with us

  To bring us through the veil

  To grant us breath and sight.

  Ordra, we welcome you!

  “Dame Goddess, join us here.

  Bring with you the wealth of time,

  The deep wisdom of aeons.

  Callag, we welcome you!

  “So it shall be!”

  “So it shall be!” the congregation echoed clearly. With their voices came a sudden blaze as hundreds of candles ensconced upon the walls or gathered in the niches burst into life.

  “Glad we are to have you all among us this Samhain,” Aelwynne told the gathering. “Pleased we are to welcome these young priestesses into the fold.

  “You have met them, welcomed them into your homes. Now, we welcome them to their new lives.”

  “So shall it be,” called the villagers.

  “Amidst this joy is sorrow. Tonight our beloved Magda will make her journey to another life. I shall take her place as Crone-Sister. While I feel ill-prepared, I know that the light of the gods will guide me.”

  “None of this is any more a mystery than the wind and rain, and each of us has a most intimate path before her this night. Let us call the consorts and make our ways.”

  Again, the congregation called out. “So shall it be!”

  “Belanus, the rising sun, come and–”