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Initiation - Chapter 1. Part 2
By Damh the Bard
The
following day started like any other. It would be
three days before any visible signs of the change
in the Sun’s direction would be seen, so the
great Tribal feast of celebration would take place
when the Druids saw that their magic had worked. Nobody
really believed that the Sun would continue sinking.
There was a deep respect and trust for these white
robed mystics that, once the proclamation had been
made at the Alban Arthan gathering, the mood of the
whole Tribe had lifted from one of despair, into one
of hope for the coming Spring. My Father was meeting
with the leaders of the Tribal war band to discuss
any plans to extend the boundaries of the Tribal land
this Summer. As I walked through the village I smiled
as I thought of such mighty warriors who could only
make war during the warmer seasons. I suppose it made
sense but I could not help but feel that their wars
would be better won if they surprised the neighbouring
warriors during their time of rest. I knew little
then of the honour of war.
The village was busy as people made their preparations
for the coming feast. I thought about Kiva, the daughter
of Callass, who was so beautiful that she had the
colour of the Raven in her hair, her skin was like
the dove and her grace as the Swan on the water. Yes,
I was in love. She knew of my feelings and the people
who had seen us together saw our fate in the depth
of our eyes. Callass was pleased that his daughter
might one day give birth to the future Chief of our
Tribe, as it is our way to give the Queen equal power
and respect. Sadly, my mother had died giving birth.
I had heard the tale told many times by my Father
during times of melancholy drunkenness. My mother
had begged for her son’s life, asking that the
village midwife would cut her and take the child’s
body from her’s. Finally the midwife had agreed
and, as my mother’s screams had abruptly stopped,
so the cry of a child broke the silence, although
the Goddess took my youngest brother 6 months later.
Sacrifice was something our people knew well. This
was not the first, nor the last time this happened
to women of the Tribe, and I pray to Nemetona that
it does not happen to Kiva, should we be blessed with
a child after we jump the fires at Calan Mai.
The squealing of a pig pulled me from my thoughts.
I looked up just in time to see one of the Tribe’s
pigs, one that had been bred for the forthcoming feast,
running in my direction. Of all the animals held within
the boundaries of the village the pig was the most
dangerous. This I knew all too well from the scars
on my behind gained from arguing with last year’s
main course. I jumped out of the way as three men
ran past me, waving axes and shouting abuse at the
animal. The pig scurried through the village, knocking
a man from his ladder as he attempted to mend the
damage that the Winter had inflicted upon his thatched
roof. He landed roughly, holding his rump and throwing
the thatching tool at the pig. I picked myself up,
dusting the dirt from my trousers, when I heard laughter
as sweet as the calling of the cuckoo in Spring.
“Don’t you go getting all bruised and
torn now young Sionnach.”
I turned and smiled at Kiva who walked towards me,
her hands offering me a flagon of mead. I smiled,
took the flagon and drank in the sweet wine.
“I thought I was heading for the dinner table,
then,” I said, smiling and losing myself in
those dark eyes. There was a moment’s silence
between us during which we said more words than ever
could have been spoken.
I cannot recall now whether it was the movement that
drew away my attention, or something I heard but,
as I looked away from Kiva, I saw Dylan for the first
time. He was standing outside the village in the cattle
field. Wearing his dirty-white Druid’s robe,
covered by a dark green cloak, and leaning on a hazel
staff. He looked directly into my soul. I looked back
at Kiva who had noticed a change in my mood and, when
I looked back at where the figure had been, he had
disappeared.
Kiva asked what I had seen, but I chose not to tell,
lest she feared for my mind.
“Are you excited about the feast?” she
asked, grinning.
“Of all the festivals I love the Sun’s
return more than any other. Soon we will begin the
ploughing and then it will be Calan Mai.” I
smiled, “This year you will be the most beautiful
May Queen the village has ever seen!”
Kiva blushed and pushed me away. Although she was
small, she had the strength of a man. “Go tend
your pigs!” she said, and walked away, turning
back and smiling over her shoulder in the way that
made my heart feel as if full of butterflies.
I walked on through the village. This time of year
provided the only real rest in our lives. As soon
as Imbolc arrived with the first snowdrops we would
plough the fields and plant the seeds of this year’s
harvest. From then on our days would be filled with
weeding and picking off insects. With the arrival
of Calan Mai our attention would be drawn from insects
to the many warrior clans who would once more begin
to roam our Tribal lands. But for now we spent our
time trying to survive the Winter, which meant conserving
the energy we had, and not wasting our food store.
So, although there was some activity, most people
were enjoying the unexpected feel of the Bright One
on their skin. That is, apart from the squealing pig,
which had now been caught, and was being roughly pushed
back into its pen. |
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