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Initiation - Chapter
1. Part 1
By Damh the Bard
The
Winter had been a harsh one and the white cloak of
the Crone lay over the land. Even the great ritual
of Samhain could not keep the Cailleach from taking
many lives. She brought renewed growth from decay
but also brought death to the weak and old. Cy-Nion
had been the first to go - taken by weak lungs into
the Otherworld as the Druids of the tribe had chanted
their healing incantations over his frail body. But
his time had come, and no amount of chanting would
keep the dark Raven from his door. After Cy-Nion many
others had followed, it was as if a disease had entered
the village and was greeting a new victim with each
rising of the moon. As the people of the Tribe had
retreated into their huts for the cold season, so
lice, fleas and rats had followed them, in their own
efforts to survive. Parthanon had lost his only daughter.
His wife, Goewen, disappeared into the forest with
her daughter’s tiny body to give her Spirit
back to the Goddess. Oh yes, it had been a hard Winter.
Then on one of the darkest Winter nights any elder
of the Tribe could recall all of the Druids left the
village to gather within the Sacred Grove. All of
us including Caraduc, my Father who was the Tribal
Chieftain, had stayed inside. Better to leave the
Druids to do their work.
As the Bards had told their tales within the largest
roundhouse, and the fire roasted the prize pig kept
especially for this night, only I looked out of a
crack in the doorway towards the Sacred hill where
the Druids held their rituals. A clearing on top of
the peak the Tribe called Caer Bryn. Flames lit up
the skyline and smoke took the Druids prayers to the
Gods. I thought, for just one moment, I could hear
the distant echo of their monotone mantra, but realised
it was just the wind blowing through the hollow trunks
of the ancient Yew trees within the forest of Anderida.
This was the night of Alban Arthan, the time of greatest
darkness. For many months now the Druids had watched
as the Sun sank lower and lower above the horizon.
The people of the Tribe were beginning to panic, believing
that the Gods were angry and that they were taking
the Sun into Annwn to light their dark world. It took
great magic to revert the Sun’s course - Magic
only known by the Druid initiates. It was this great
spell which the Druids were working on the Caer Bryn.
I had always watched these Sacred people with awe
and wonder, trying to imagine the way they viewed
the world around them. They were always the first
to be consulted during times of war, they tended the
physical and spiritual needs of the Tribe, but their
greatest magic was saved for the Sacred Days on which
they drew down the powers of the Shining One to try
and change the course of the seasons. As I was the
son of the Chieftain it was possible that I would
be chosen to be an initiate of their Ways. My elder
brother, Sian, was the natural heir when our Father
finally moved into the Otherworld. I desparately wanted
to be one of them, but desperation was not something
the Druids cared for, so I had to be calm and quiet,
hoping that they would view this as inner strength,
and ask my father if I may join their Order.
The Bards were still entertaining us after many hours
of darkness. Talhairm was our greatest Bard. He had
been with the Druids for longer than most could remember.
However, it was through his own choice that he had
remained the keeper of our Tribal traditions, and
had not moved into the darker realms of the next stage
in Druidic initiation, the Ovates. He told of the
battle of Hollingbury, one of our greatest victories,
when Tinass, the king of the Cissbury Tribe, had invaded
our land to extend his land boundaries. Caraduc had
raised a mighty war band which had destroyed Tinass’
war effort, and won us the respect of the surrounding
Kings. Much blood had been spilt on that day as we
watched the birds of the Morrighan circling above
the battlefield bringing death to valiant heroes as
the Goddess washed the blood from their clothes in
the Ford of the Otherworld. Talhairm told the tale
with such passion that none of us had noticed the
white-robed figure standing in the open doorway. It
was Kliver, the Arch-Druid of the Tribe. Silence fell
about the roundhouse as one by one the people turned
to hear his words.
He looked around at the faces which hung to his every
breath. “It is done,” he boomed in a voice
which would splinter a heroes strength into dust.
“The Gods are with us. Tomorrow, our Sacred
Sun will begin its Journey towards its Zenith. The
Calan Mai will bring peace, warmth and joy to this
land. All praise Nemetona!”
The people replied with cheers and screams of excitement.
More mead was consumed as the Bards played the victory
song of Bran and the Shining One raised his head colouring
the sky as blood. |
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