Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) (29 page)

After a while, Odhrán and Artis made their way down the wall and approached them.

“The Milidh break camp,” Odhrán told them. “They should be gone before noon.”

“Just in time for Lughnasadh,” Artis said with a grin. “We can rest peacefully this night.”

Shiovra
heard several relieved sighs around her and found a smile of her own crossing her lips.

Artis turned to the woman. “I am afraid that this village lacks a priestess to reside over the festival,” said the man. “Would you do us the honor?”

Nodding,
Shiovra
replied, “Aye, of course.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

A small feast was prepared in celebration of the enemy breaking camp. The people
of Ráth Faolchú
relaxed and enjoyed their mead, laughing and jesting in a manner
that had been lacking of late.
Having suffered several
days’
as
prisoners of their own village, they embraced their newfound freedom.

As the night grew late,
Shiovra
fought against her growing weariness. She had wanted to speak with Artis about possibly sending a few willing warriors to Tara, but found the opportunity continued to evade her.
Stifling a yawn,
Shiovra
rose from the table and slipped away from the celebration.

“Tired?” came
Meara
’s voice.

The priestess looked up as
Meara
approached her, heading for the
main cottage. Nodding, she offered a sleepy smile and replied,
“
Aye
. The day has been a rather long
and I am quite ready to welcome the comforts of my bed.”

“Sleep well then,
Lady
Shiovra
,”
Meara
told her
.

“You as well,”
Shiovra
said
before continuing to the back of the village where the cottage stood she shared with her companions.
Ducking inside, she found a small fire already burning in the hearth.
Looking around, she took notice that
Odhrán
had already returned to the cottage and lay sleeping upon his bed.

Reaching up,
she released the clasp on her cloak and shrugged it off, letting it cascade down around her feet.
After a quick glance at Odhrán, she pulled off her tunic and shift, quickly donning a sleeveless night shirt
. Pushing aside the curtain hanging for privacy, she crawled
into her bed.

She lay there for a while with nothing but the soft sounds of the crackling fire and her steady breathing. She was dimly aware of Odhrán shifting occasionally
on the other side of the wicker-work screen separating her narrow bed from his own
.

Shifting
onto her side she pulled
the
blankets up higher and tried to relax
,
letting the crackling of the fire and soft whisper of the wind through
the wicker-work door sooth her
.
Unfortunately, she found sleep eluded her.

With a frustrated sigh, she rolled onto her back and opened her eyes to the dark thatch roof looming above her.
Shiovra
had thought that, with the looming threat gone, that sleep would come more easily. It would seem, though, that was not to be. Worries continued to linger along the back of her mind, pulling at her. Caher Dearg had fallen, but the battle was not won. Ailill still had his eye set on her capture and Tara’s destruction. And worse yet, Gráinne had sided with him. Méav was also not to be forgotten.

Shiovra
’s
thoughts were interrupted as Odhrán shifted
and climbed from his bed
.
Slowly sitting up, she looked at the curtain, watching as his silhouetted form shifted across it before crouching down.

“Trouble sleeping?” he asked quietl
y.

Crawling to the foot of the bed, she pushed the curtain aside to find his back to her as he stirred the fire.
“Aye,” she murmured, watching
as small embers rose up from the flames.

Odhrán
said nothing further for a long while, merely tended to the fire
.
Then, a
bruptly, he rose to his feet and
came to stand before her.

Shiovra
watched him, waiting for him to say something in the silence that had found them once more.
The intensity of his gaze was a bit unnerving to the woman, but she did not turn away. To her surprise, Odhrán leaned toward her,
reaching his hand out and
trailing
his fingers
down lightly along the curling marks
on her left arm
.

“They
are
truly
beautiful,” he told her. “It is a pity th
at because of them you are hunted.” Odhrán shifted to crouch down and meet her gaze more evenly
.

Her gaze shifted to where his touch lingered on her arm, her pulse quickening.
Fighting the urge to pull away,
Shiovra
allowe
d her gaze to wander to the serpentine woad marking on his wrist. “You have a marking of your own,
one that the Milidh druids bear.”

Odhrán’s fingers slipped from her arm.

“
Druids: keepers of knowledge,
passers of judgment,”
continued
Shiovra
coldly
, “council to the sons of
Míl
.”

He straightened and turned away. “Some, aye
, but not all
.”

She
watched his back for a long while
as he added wood to the fire and stirred it
.

“
It is late, you should sleep,” Odhrán told her without turning.

Shiovra
flinched at the
harshness in his voice.
It had not been her intention to accuse him so
. “Forgive me,” she said softly.
Shifting bac
k, she let the curtain fall closed and climbed once more
into her bed. She lay there in the quiet for some time, running
her fingers along the same path his had taken on her arm. The warmth of his fingers across her skin, the memory of his lips on her own, filled her with a feeling she could not place.
As sleep began to weave heavily through her body, she felt a slight weight on her bed and warm touch on her cheek before she slipped into welcomed dreams.

81

8.
     
LUGHNASADH FESTIVAL

Kieran stood at the
gates of Ráth Faolchú,
pack in hand. He was never one to linger too long and, with recent events, he knew his time had come to depart the hidden village.

“
Leaving
?”
questioned a familiar voice.

He nodded. “
I must report to the High Chieftains. They should know that a Milidh war host is on the move, even if it is only
thirty-seven men,
” Kieran replied
, turning to face Odhrán
.

The Milidh man stood with his arms crossed. “Have you bid farewell to the priestess?”

Kieran shook his head. “Nay. She would not be too pleased for my departure,” he replied with a chuckle.

“You should stay for the festivities at least,” said Odhrán.

“I have delayed long enough,”
Kieran told the man. “Lady
Shiovra
no longer needs me as her shadow. She has you now.”

Odhrán chuckled shortly,
“A shadow she fears and loathes.”

“Given time, she will learn to trust you. Painful memories run deep in her heart. All you have to do is heal them.”
Digging in his pack,
Kieran
pulled out a small
leather pouch
. “Please give this to Lady
Shiovra
,” he told her. “There are some special ointments and herbs in there. Should anything unfortunate happen, I
would like her
to be able to heal everyone. It is my parting gift to
her
, until we meet again.”

Odhrán
took the pouch and nodded.

Kieran
turned and nodded to the men waiting at the gates. He walked towards them as they opened, pausing briefly to glance over his shoulder at Odhrán.
“
Slán
.”

The Milidh man
nodded. “Farewell.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Shiovra
ran the cloth of warm water seeped in meadowswe
et across her
skin.
Relaxing, she closed her eyes and
let the frustrations of the day seep
from
her body.
The ritual was not only to cleanse the body, but the mind as well. Three times she took a deep breath and three times she exhaled
,
pushing
away harmful energies and troubling thoughts
.
Shiovra
ran the cloth along her arms and over her breasts before washing her hair. She took what remained of the water and rinsed her body off thoroughly. A priestess must be clean in both body and mind before any rituals
could
be performed.

Rising from the bench,
Meara
handed her a cloth to pat herself dry with.
Once done,
Shiovra
donned a simple pale grey shift that hung loosely over her body
.
Meara circled her and
placed a crown of wild flowers upon
Shiovra
’s head. The priestess then slipped gold bracelets on her arms.

“Are you ready,
Lady
Shiovra
?”
Meara
asked softly.

She nodded.

The two women stepped from the bathing cottage and made their way towards the center of the village.

A
table had been placed
in the center of Ráth Faolchú
to
serve as the altar for the Lughnasdh festival
,
draped with a bright yellow cloth and decorated with bunches of herbs, sheaves of grain, and small baskets of fruit and vegetables. The
villagers
wore colors
of grays, greens, and yellows and stood near a
fire
that
had been kindled with herbs and wood to commemorate the sun’s passing.

All eyes turned to
Shiovra
as she stepped up to the altar, dagger in hand.
Facing
the east,
she pointed
the dagger tip towards the ground
, pausing before walking
slowly towards the south while chanting softly under her breath.
Heat pulsed through her body as
a pure
white fire streamed from the tip of the dagger
. “I call thee now, circle of power,” she chanted. “Hail to the guardians of the watchtowers of the east, by the power of air, I call upon thee. Hail to the guardians of the watchtowers of the south, by the power of fire, I call upon thee. Hail to the guardians of the watchtowers of the west, by the power water, I call upon thee. Hail to the guardians of the watchtowers of the north, by the power of earth, I call upon thee.” Three times she circled the altar and spoke the chant.

Shiovra
paused before the altar
, placing
the tip of the blade into a clay bowl of dirt. “Blessings upon thee, oh
creature
of the earth. May all spitefulness and hindrances pass forth and let all goodness enter in.” Removing the blade, she placed it in a bowl of water. “As we are ever mindful that as water purifies the body, so does earth purify the soul.”
Stirring the water with the blade, she removed it and
whipped
it dry
. “I do bless thee, in the names of Dana and the Dagda, so that thou may aid me.” Taking up the bowl of water, she
walked the circled and
sprinkled it at each directional quarter. Returning to the altar, she lit a torch. “I charge thee, oh creature of fire, that thou would allow no evil to defile this circle.” Passing a hand over the fire, she extinguished it. “I call upon thee, oh creature of the air, that thou may protect our circle with your love.”

Opening her arms wide,
Shiovra
closed her eyes
. “Oh, Mother of us all, fair Dana of the Light, Danu of Darkness, whose womb is the earth, who brings us happiness and mirth with every loving touch
.
Please come to us now and touch this circle with Your love and join us in this sacred rite. Oh, Mother, bring Your love and light!”
Shiovra
called out.

A breeze stirred through the
village
, rustling the leaves of the trees.

“Oh, Dagda, Father of places wild and free,”
Shiovra
continued, “who brings us pleasure, joy, and mirth. Who is the Sun that shines above, who warms us with His light and love. Who brings us health, prosperity, and changes all is it should be. Please come to us now and touch this circle with Your love and join us in this sacred rite. Oh Father, please lend us Your love and light!”

The bonfire shifted and flickered.

“We thank thee Lugh of the sun and light for warming us from dawn until night. As you go, we hold thee dear, until the winter brings thou near.” She paused. “We thank ye, Mother, for these gifts of meal, so as we eat, Your blessings flow. Within, without, from head to toe.”

Shiovra
turned to face the people of Ráth Faolchú. “The sun and earth are wed at last. While summer’s kiss turns fields and grass to harvest gold, and gardens gifts find sacrifice on earthen lips,” she continued. “Gather all, hand in hand, power raised along the band. Fires, dancing, circle round. Fruits and vegetables from the ground. Offer up a feast of praise, while shadows lengthen in maze. Gather all, hand in hand, power raised along the band. Autumn sun turns all to bronze, golden children singing songs. Merging desires, law, and might, removing evil from our sight. Gather all, hand in hand, power raised along the band!”

With the ritual complete,
Shiovra
proceeded to dismiss the elements as well as Dana and the Dagda. “Oh, Mother of us all, fair Dana of the Light, Danu of Darkness,” she said softly. “Whose womb is the earth and who brings us
happiness and
mirth with every loving touch She gives unto our lives. We thank You for Your presence here and hold you in our hearts so dear. And with our love now, You may go or stay, if You should deem it so.” She paused. “Oh, Dagda, Father of places wild and free, who brings us pleasure, joy, and mirth. Who is the sun that shines above, who warms us with His light and love. Who brings us good health, prosperity, and changes all as it should be. We thank You for Your presence here and hold You in our hearts so dear. And with our love now, You may go, or stay, if You should deem it so.”

Shiovra
stepped to the east with her dagger once more. “Oh, twirling breezes and winds of the east, who protected this circle and witnesses all feats,” she chanted. “We thank you for coming and gathering about, but now comes the time for this circle to end. Farewell
‘
til we see thee again.” She brought the blade to her lips and placed a kiss upon it. Having done thus, she repeated the pattern, releasing each of the directional quarters. Lastly, she released the circle.

Meara
stepped up to
Shiovra
with a bowl of fruit in one hand and a cup of mead in the other.

Turning to
the woman
,
Shiovra
took the bowl and spread the fruit on the ground near the altar
, both offerings to Dana and the Dagda
. Taking the cup in hand, she poured the mead on top while speaking softly, “By the moon and sun and sky above, I offer these in perfect love. By fire, earth, rain and gust, I offer these in perfect trust. Please take these gifts I offer You, in perfect thanks for al
l You do. For all the gifts You have
given us, Oh Lord and Lady, blessed be.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

A
feast
celebrating Lughnasadh was held
in the main co
ttage. Though b
read
was most prominently featured, f
ruits and vegetables had also been laid out in earthen bowls. Honey meads and ale was
readily at hand for everyone and, a
fter honoring
the Dagda and Dana
, all sat down to eat.

Shiovra
took seat at the head table with
Odhrán
on her left
and to her right,
Daire
. While everyone ate and drank heartily,
Shiovra
sat staring at her food.
With the Milidh threat gone from Ráth Faolchú and Dún Fiáin’s promise of aid, she knew she should linger no further.
Her return to Tara and her people was
needed; she had duties of her own to tend to
.

“You should eat,” urged Daire, handing her a piece of bread.

Shiovra
took the offered food and
glanced at her cousin as he poured another cup of mead. “And you should drink less,” she told him firmly.

He only chuckled in turn and took a long swig.

Shaking her head
, she ate the bread and sipped on some honeyed mead
of her own, though it was not her favorite
.

After everyone had eaten their fill, the villagers quit the main cottage and returned to the bonfires for further merriment and dancing.
The steady beat of bodhráns filled the
air and the villagers clapped their hands in rhythm
. The steady sound of air being blown through a hollowed tube of wood gradually entered. Men began so sing-chant along to the music. Women danced and twirled in rhythm, their feet treading lightly on the ground beneath them as their skirts swirled with their movements.

Shiovra
was pulled abruptly from her musings when she noticed one of the
villagers
,
a man named
Rónán, walking towards her. From his gait and the grin plastered across his face, she could tell that the man had partaken in a great deal of mead.

Rónán
’s path, though, was intercepted by Eiladyr as he suddenly appeared at the priestess’ side. The man quickly retreated and disappeared in the throng of dancing villagers.

Shiovra
turned to Eiladyr to find he
held out his hand
to her in an offer of dance. Without a second thought, she
smile
d
and
placed
her hand into his.

Eiladyr flashed a wolf like grin
and led her in a slower paced dance
. “
I’ve spoken with Artis
,” he said
in a low voice
, his accent much heavier after several generous cups of mead
. “
He wants to help Tara.”