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Initiation - Chapter 1. Part 4.
By Damh the Bard
I
awoke to the sound of a cracking log as it split in
the fire. I was no longer within the sacred enclosure
of the Birch Ring, but high on a hill. It was still
night and the stars shone like crystals in the blackness
of Annwn. A voice broke my reverie. It was Dylan.
“The boy finally breaks back into consciousness.
Really, young Sionnach, if you want to be one of us
you’ll have to learn how to cope with the Power
a little better than that.”
I looked at the old man. “Better than what?”
I asked, rubbing smoke from my eyes.
Dylan scowled. “I can’t have any apprentice
of mine collapsing at the slightest whisper of the
Awen. No, oh no, that would never do. Never do at
all! Oh, yes. I survived the climb, dragging your
feeble body up the hill. Thank you for asking.”
“Where are we?”
“Oh, dear boy. Have you never ventured outside
the walls of the village. Surely you know where you
are”.
I looked around. I was on a high peak, there was a
valley below me, and I could just make out the shape
of a river in the darkness. Across the valley I saw
the outline of the Caer Bryn. I gasped in wonder,
“You’ve brought me to the beacon!”
I said. Dylan nodded. All around me I could see the
small mounds that were the Old People’s burial
tombs. They stretched from horizon to horizon. Dylan
and myself were standing on the beacon platform -
the highest point on the hills, where our great fires
were lit on the eve of Samhain, when the denizens
of the dead crossed the Bridge of Swords into our
world. This was a sacred place, a mysterious place.
As children we were told never to stray onto the beacon
road, and even as adults, those stories of ghosts
and spirits kept us away. I had occasionally seen
young warriors being led away from the village to
spend the night on this hill. When they returned they
were true men, and were blessed with the gift of the
long sword and torc. But some never returned.
“Sit down, boy. You look sickly, pale,”
Dylan said, pointing to a log beside the fire.
Dylan sat on the other side of the small fire. It
was the first time I really had a chance to study
his face. It was thin, with deep blue eyes, a pointed
nose, and sharp chin. His hair was grey, and cut with
a tonsured front, as is the way of the Druids. He
wore a white, hooded robe, with a dark green cloak.
He was not a handsome man, but something about the
way he held himself, and the way he looked at you,
instilled a deep trust and love. In truth, I knew
from that moment on that I would have died to defend
him.
“Oh come now, Sionnach, don’t be such
a sentimental child!” he said, shaking his head.
It was as if he could read my every thought. “I
suppose you are wondering why I brought you here,
Mmm?” He grinned, “Isn’t it obvious?
Certain children are given to the Druids for their
training, whilst others simply....disappear. Tonight,
Sionnach, you disappeared. Your family will think
that you have been taken by the wolves, and, I suppose
in some ways, they would be right. But do not worry,
they will get over their loss, and I have such wonders
to show you.”
“Wolves.....? How....?” My head was spinning.
“An easy trick. Do not concern yourself with
that,” came Dylan’s casual reply.
“Kiva, and my parents, they will look for me,”
I said.
“Yes, your woman. I knew that might be a problem.
Sionnach, if you wish to return to your old life,
I will not stop you. If you drink that,” he
pointed to a steaming cup of dark liquid, “you
will forget that you were ever here and, heavy as
you are, I will roll you back down the hill to let
you raise children. Or whatever else it is normal
people do. Finding another like you will not be difficult.
Well?”
I looked at the cup, then out toward the Caer Bryn
behind which the people, my people, had returned to
the celebrations in the Bardic Grove - except my family,
who would be mourning my loss. I felt a moment of
longing in my heart for the old life, the simple life
I was leaving behind. And I must confess that on many
occasions I have thought back to what might have been
if I had not turned to Dylan and said, “I will
stay with you.”
Dylan’s expression turned to a grimace. As if
he did not really want to hear that answer. “Then
come with me. On this very night, you will die. But
tomorrow, you will be born into a new life, as a Bard,
and my apprentice.
I remember very little of that night. It was like
living a dream, a nightmare. Dylan led me to one of
the Old People’s tombs, a long mound where one
end opened into a four-sided wooden chamber. The chamber
led to a small, dark passage into the heart of the
tomb. At the entrance of the tomb a small fire illuminated
the wooden walls, giving them a reddish, orange glow.
“I will be here, but you will not see me. If
I see you before dawn, you will never see me again.
But if you survive this, we will be kin, and joined
by Oaths that transcend death itself.”
He held up a small chalice which contained a steaming
brew. I could smell the rancid liquid even before
I took the chalice in my hands. Things were happening
so quickly that I did not have a moment to think about
what I might be drinking, or what it might do to me.
I just lifted the chalice to my lips and drank deeply.
It was the foulest drink I had ever tasted. My stomach
fought to keep it inside me, as I expected the drink
to spray back out of my mouth in a stream of vomit
- but it did not. Dylan took the empty cup and bid
me to enter the grave. Although the outer walls were
glowing with the fire, inside was pitch black. I had
to crawl on all fours and, even then, I managed to
hit my head on the beams above. The light soon disappeared
as deeper into the tomb I crawled. The ground and
walls were wet, and the scraping of my knees echoed
through the chamber. Then, I reached the end of the
passageway. I felt around in the darkness for something
that felt familiar, something that would halt the
impending nightmare I could feel clawing its way into
my consciousness. Then it was too late, and I screamed.
From the pitch black wood I saw a face emerge. A face
as old as time. I saw the silhouette of two antlers,
and the smell of the forest filled my senses. I saw
white bulls, led to a fire, then blood, I saw a harper
playing a harp constructed from the ribs of a horse
and a king bathing in its blood. Animals of every
type and colour clawed at me, fighting to get into
my spirit. Then a searing pain caught my arm as the
tusk of a boar tore out the muscle. And all the time
I heard the laughter of the Horned Man echoing around
the chamber. My bowels opened then, I didn’t
notice it until the morning, but when I crawled from
the chamber I stank of blood, excrement, and sweat.
Dylan was sitting outside on the edge of the chamber,
and he looked away in disgust.
“Dear me, Sionnach, you are a mess. Here, clean
yourself up, there’s fresh venison cooking.”
He threw me a towel, and some clean clothes. I caught
them, and vomited. I retched so hard I thought I was
going to die. Then, in complete exhaustion, I collapsed
into sleep. |
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