Inside, Arddryn gave him something to eat and sat down to light a small clay lamp.
“I’m sorry t’wake ye so early,” she said. “But ye have to prepare. The Blood Moon is tonight, an’ we have things t’do before.”
“I understand,” said Arenadd.
“Good. Come here.” Arddryn stood up and motioned for him to come closer. “Look,” she said, holding the lamp close to the wall so that shadows moved over the images carved there.
“What do they mean?”
Arddryn ran her fingers over them. “They’re stories. Written in pictures. Look here. See? Here.” She was indicating the figure of a human cut into the stone. It was clearly male, tall and clad in a long robe like Arenadd’s own. “This is Taranis,” said Arddryn. “King Taranis, our ancestor. Ye see here—the crown on his head? It was given to him by the moon itself, in the form of a woman. Aye, the one-eyed woman, the one Southerners call Scathach. She was our god, an’ the moon is her eye. See her, here? There, that’s her, givin’ him the crown an’ her blessin’.”
Arenadd examined the carving. “I see.”
“Ye’ve heard the tale of Taranis,” said Arddryn. “We all have. But there’s not many know the whole story, who Taranis really was an’ why he could do what he did.”
“He’s a legend,” said Arenadd. “People in legends can do anything. Some people even say he could fly.”
“Oh, but he could,” said Arddryn. “He could fly.”
“Why, did he have wings?” said Arenadd, unable to stop himself.
She gave him a sharp look. “Ye can stop that now, or I’ll turf ye out of here before ye can blink.
Think
, Arenadd. What do the stories say? What did Taranis have?”
Arenadd shrugged. “I don’t know, magic? Some sort of blessing?”
Arddryn prodded him. “He had
help
,” she said. “He had Taliesin, didn’t he? His great friend, the sorcerer, the one who made him chief of chiefs and went into battle beside him.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. Where is he?”
“There,” said Arddryn. “There they are. Taranis an’ Taliesin together.”
Arenadd looked at it, and faltered. “But that’s—Taliesin was a—?”
“Of course he was,” said Arddryn. “Don’t ye know anythin’?” She touched the carving and smiled her warped smile. “Humans have no magic. Griffins do. An’ Taliesin was one of the most powerful ever lived.”
Arenadd scratched his beard. “Taranis was a griffiner, then. So that’s how he could fly.”
“Aye, an’ that’s how he united the tribes,” said Arddryn. “With Taliesin beside him, no-one could fight him. No-one except other griffiners. But that ain’t why Taranis died. Ye know the story?”
“Taliesin betrayed him.”
“So he did,” said Arddryn. “Taranis, see, he was a great man, an’ great men lean toward foolery. Taranis became arrogant, self-centred, thought he was invincible. He started takin’ his partner f’granted, an’ that’s why Taliesin left him.” She prodded him again, hard. “There’s nothin’ a griffin gets from ye he couldn’t get from someone else. Havin’ a griffin choose ye is an honour, boy, the greatest anyone could ever have. If ye treat yer griffin wrong, if ye think ye can do as ye please, if ye think ye can take an’ give nothin’ back, ye’ll find yerself alone when ye need him most, an’ that’ll be the end of ye.”
“I know,” said Arenadd.
“Now, I’ve seen the way ye are with Skandar,” said Arddryn. “Ye’re patient with him, an’ that’s good. He’s no genius, but he’s cleverer than he looks. Now he’s used t’ye, he won’t leave ye easy. If ye’re going t’fight, ye need him beside ye.”
“Yes, of course, but—”
“I want ye t’understand that,” Arddryn interrupted. “I mean it, Arenadd. If ye fight, ye fight together. Never try t’fight alone. That’s for ordinary men an’ women. Ye’re a griffiner, an’ ye fight with Skandar or not at all. Understand?”
Arenadd nodded with as much sincerity as he could muster. “Of course I do. I won’t forget it.”
“Good. Good.” Arddryn was breathing heavily as she snuffed out the lamp and put it aside. “Now let’s go.”
They left the cave, and she led him through the pass and deeper into the mountains, until they reached a tiny valley. Tall pine trees grew there, and they walked in among them. Snow covered the ground, and as Arenadd walked through it he saw he wasn’t the first to do so. There were tracks everywhere. He had never been to this place before, but it looked as if others had many times. Bone ornaments were hanging from the trees, spiralling gently in the early morning breeze, and as they pressed on, Arenadd saw they were following a defined path, which ran alongside a small stream. Trees lined it, spaced at regular intervals, and shapes had been cut into them at eye height: the phases of the moon, each one represented by a few lines. Further on he heard the sound of voices, and they emerged into a clearing and found the others all waiting in a ring around a silver pool.
Arenadd stopped at the edge of the clearing and looked uncertainly at them. They were standing at perfect intervals around the pool, each one in front of a tree, and he found it difficult to tell who was who. All of them, men and women, were bare-chested, clad in nothing but simple fur kilts. Their faces were covered by masks carved from dark wood and inlaid with copper and silver, each one a different animal. Bear, fox, stag, wolf, snake, crow, boar, their eyes big and blank and staring.
Arddryn didn’t hesitate. She walked forward, and a woman wearing a fox mask came to her and silently handed her a mask of her own, this one of a great beaked griffin with silver eyes. She put it on and took her place by the pool, where a space had been left.
She turned to Arenadd. “Come forward.”
Arenadd did.
“Tell me yer name and yer tribe,” she intoned.
Arenadd straightened up. “Arenadd Taranisäii of the Wolf Tribe.”
“And why have ye come here among us this day, Arenadd Taranisäii?”
“To be initiated,” said Arenadd.
“Do ye swear this in the name of the moon and the night and the stars, and the great god of the night that watches over us all?” said Arddryn.
“I do swear it.”
“Then come forward to the pool and name me as yer chief an’ swear to honour me an’ do my will,” said Arddryn.
Arenadd hesitated, but he knew he had no choice. He went to the spot indicated and knelt in front of her. “I recognise you as my chief and swear to do your will. I swear it by the moon and the night and the stars, and the great god of the night that watches over us all.”
Arddryn touched him on the shoulder. “Rise, Arenadd of the Wolf Tribe.”
He did.
“Take off yer clothes,” Arddryn commanded. “Cast yerself into the pool an’ wash away yer boyhood. Ye shall emerge from it a man.”
Arenadd looked at the pool. There was ice around its edges. Even with his robe on, he felt cold. But he shrugged it off and put it aside, along with his boots and trousers. Naked and shivering, he stepped toward the pool. He nearly slipped on the ice at the edge, but managed to recover, and stood there, staring at the freezing water. The prospect of going into it made him feel sick, but he took a step forward until he was ankle deep.
The cold hit him like a hundred tiny daggers. He gasped and began to shiver. For an instant he was gripped by the urge to run out, grab his robe and simply make a run for it. He looked back and saw Arddryn’s mask staring at him.
I can’t do this. I can’t bloody well do it! This water’s half-frozen. If I go in there it’ll kill me!
He stopped. For a moment he stood there, frowning, and then he started to laugh. He laughed harder and harder, a dark, cracked laugh with an edge of madness. Then he threw himself forward, into the pool.
The water folded in over him and took him into itself, and he sank to the bottom. The shock of it nearly knocked him unconscious, and moments later the pain hit him and he jerked violently, struggling to get away from it. The pain bit into him, affecting every inch of him. His skin burned, his eyes ached, his head pounded, his limbs went numb and then seized up and refused to move, and he was floating head-downward, helpless and close to blacking out.
But it only lasted for a moment. As he hung there in the water, panicking, something awoke inside him. Without any warning, a massive, powerful jolt went through him, making him convulse. His heart gave a single beat, and the strength came rushing back into his limbs. His fear vanished, and he began to move, thrusting upward from the bottom as hard as he could.
His head broke the surface, and he sucked in a great gulp of air and began swimming back to the edge. Solid ground rose up beneath him, and he found his feet and staggered onto dry land, coughing and shivering. The others were still there, but none of them made a move to help him, and he returned to Arddryn and made a clumsy bow to her. She inclined her head in acknowledgment and gave him a fur kilt of his own.
“Now ye have proven yer worthiness,” she said while he put it on. “And shown yer strength. Ye are ready to be marked as one of us.”
The man in the wolf mask came forward carrying a long bone needle and a stone jar. Arddryn took it and opened it, revealing that it was full of blue pigment.
“Now be still,” she commanded. “Do not flinch.”
When Arenadd saw the needle he quickly guessed what they were about to do. But he said nothing and stood as still as he could, bracing himself. The wolf took the needle and dipped it into the ink before stabbing it into Arenadd’s chest. Arenadd gasped and gritted his teeth but didn’t move.
The tattooing took a long time. Arenadd continued to keep as still as he could, though he ached all over with cold. The needle punctured his skin again and again, slowly moving over one side of his chest and then up onto his left shoulder and down his arm to his elbow. A large patch of skin was covered in bleeding puncture marks and ink, and he could see the intricate spiral patterns underneath.
Then, at last, it was done, and the wolf silently withdrew.
“Now,” said Arddryn. “Leave here. Ye must go back to the gorge. Take a bow an’ a knife, nothin’ more, an’ go out into the forest. Ye must hunt a deer or a wolf or a bear or a boar—whatever beast ye can find. Hunt it alone, kill it, an’ bring it back whole for us to see. Then, when that is done, ye must go back to the place where ye killed it. Stay there, pray, contemplate, bathe yerself in the spirit of our land. When night comes, go to the circle, an’ go alone. Ye must be there by moonrise, before the moon has cleared the trees. When the Blood Moon begins, it will be time. Now go.”
Arenadd nodded wordlessly and left, pausing to pick up his clothes. He waited until he was well away from the pool before he put his trousers and boots back on, though he left his chest bare. He had to keep the tattoos clean.
Back at the gorge, he bundled his robe away in his shelter and slung his bow and arrows over his good shoulder. He found his knife and hung it from his belt. There was no sign of Skandar or Hyrenna anywhere as he left the gorge, and he wondered where they both were. Off flying together again, perhaps. There was no reason for either of them to take part in the ceremonies; this was a human thing, after all.
Arenadd spent most of that day hunting. It wasn’t easy; he was still inexperienced, and most of the game seemed to have moved away from the gorge. He knew a few good hunting spots that Nerth had shown him, and he visited those one after the other. Most of them were a good distance away, though, and he spent a fair portion of the day simply walking to them. His shoulder and chest continued to throb horribly though the cold helped to numb them a little.
Some time after noon, he happened across a large white deer. He stalked it as Nerth had taught him to do, and finally managed to kill it with a lucky shot. After that he had to drag the carcass back to the gorge, which was far easier said than done. Several times he began to think he’d have to cut it up in order to get it there, but he persevered, tying the deer’s forelegs together and hauling it through rocks and fallen trees and snow-drifts, up several hills and back to the gorge. It was further than he had thought, and with the burden of the deer to slow him down it was evening by the time he arrived. The settlement was still deserted, and he laid the deer down beside the remains of the communal fire and collapsed next to it, utterly exhausted. Sweat had soaked into the tattoos, making them sting, and his hair clung to his head.
He ate several handfuls of snow to cool himself down, and did his best to clean the dirt and deer hair off himself with a few more. Once he had his breath back, he got up and reluctantly left the gorge again.
He knew he could never get back to the place where he’d killed the deer and return in time, so he simply walked a decent distance from the gorge and chose a flat rock in a clearing to sit down on and began his contemplation. He had no idea what he was supposed to be contemplating and spent quite a long time just sitting there, his mind a blank. Eventually, feeling tired and a little irritated, he took a comb from his pocket and began to drag it through his hair. It had become quite tangled during the hunt.
The rhythmic dragging of the comb helped to soothe his jangled nerves, and he began to relax. So this was it. He was becoming a true Northerner, just as his father had always wanted him to.