I figured it would be. What of Blaeddbyr?
It still stands. The folk there gave us food. Ricyn looked away, his mouth slack. The Boar caught the warband on the road, you see. It was just dawn, and we were only half-dressed when the bastards came over the hill without so much as a challenge or the sound of a horn. They had twice as many men as we did, so Lord Avoic yells that were to run for our lives, but we couldnt do it fast enough. Forgive me, my lady. I should have died there with him, but then I thought about youwell, you and all the womenfolk, I meanso I thought itd be better to die in the ward defending you.
So did we, Dagwyn chimed in. But we were too late. We had to be cursed careful with Boars all over the roads, and by the time we reached the dun, it was burning. And we were all half-mad, thinking you slain, but Ricco here says you could have gotten to the temple.
So did we, Dagwyn chimed in. But we were too late. We had to be cursed careful with Boars all over the roads, and by the time we reached the dun, it was burning. And we were all half-mad, thinking you slain, but Ricco here says you could have gotten to the temple.
So we headed here, Ricyn picked up. And when we found the stinking Boar camped at the gates, we knew you had to be inside.
And so we were, Gweniver said. Well and good, then. You lads get those horses and that cart of supplies up here. Therere some huts round back for the husbands of women who come just for a day or two. You can stay there while I decide what well do next.
Although Dagwyn hurried off to follow orders, Ricyn lingered, rubbing his dirty face with the back of a dirtier hand.
Wed better bury those Boars, my lady. We cant leave that for the holy ladies.
True enough. Huh. I wonder what the high priestess is going to say about this. Well, thats for me to worry about, not you. My thanks for rescuing me.
At that he smiled, just a little twist of his mouth, then hurried off after the others.
Although Ardda was not pleased to have four men slain at her gates, she was resigned, even remarking that perhaps the Goddess was punishing the Boars impiety in the matter.
No doubt, Gweniver said. Because it was She who killed that one lad. I was naught but a sword in Her hands.
Ardda looked at her sharply. They were sitting in her study, a spare stone room with a shelf of six holy books on one wall and a table littered with temple accounts on the other. Even now, with her decision coming clear in her mind, Gweniver debated. Once her highest ambition had been to be high priestess here herself and to have this study for her own.
All afternoon Ive been praying to Her, Gweniver went on. Im going to leave you, my lady. Im going to swear to the Moon and turn the clan over to Macla. Then Im going to take my men and go to Cerrmor and lay the Wolfs petition before the king. Once I have the tattoo, the Boar will have no reason to harm me.
Just so, but its still dangerous. I hate to think of you out on the roads these days with just three riders for an escort. Who knows what men will do these days, even to a priestess?
Not just three, my lady. Im the fourth.
Ardda went still, crouched in her chair as she began to pick up Gwenivers meaning.
Dont you remember telling me about the fourth face of the Goddess? Gweniver went on. Her dark side, when the moon turns bloody and black, the mother who eats her own children.
Gwen. Not that.
That. With a toss of her head, she rose to pace about the chamber. Im going to take my men and join the war. Its been too long since a Moon-sworn warrior fought in Deverry.
Youll be killed. Ardda got to her feet. I shant allow it.
Is it for either of us to allow or disallow if the Goddess calls me? I felt Her hands on me today.
Their eyes met, they locked stares in a battle of will. When Ardda looked away first, Gweniver realized that she was no longer a child, but a woman.
There are ways to test such inspirations, Ardda said at last. Come into the temple tonight. If the Goddess grants you a vision, its not for me to say you nay. But if She doesnt
Ill be guided by your wisdom in the matter.
Very well, then. And what if She grants you a vision, but not the one you think you want?
Then Ill swear to Her anyway. The time has come, my lady. I want to hear the secret name of the Goddess and make my vow.
In preparation for the ceremony, Gweniver fasted that evening. While the temple was at its dinner, she fetched water from the well and heated herself a bath by the kitchen hearth. As she was dressing afterward, she paused to look at her brothers shirt, which shed embroidered for him the year before. On each yoke, worked in red, was the striding wolf of the clan, surrounded by a band of interlacement. The pattern twined so cleverly around itself that it looked like a chain of knots made up of many strands, but in fact there was only one line to it, and each knot flowed inevitably into the next. My Wyrds just such a tangle, she told herself, all chained round.
And with the thought came a cold feeling, as if she had spoken better than she could know. As she finished dressing, she was frightened. It was not that perhaps she might die in battle; she knew that she would be slain, maybe soon, maybe many years hence. It was the way of the Dark Goddess, to call upon her priestesses to make the last sacrifice when She decided the time had come. When Gweniver picked up the sword belt, she hesitated, half tempted to throw it to the floor; then she buckled it on and strode out of the room.
The round wooden temple stood in the center of the compound. At either side of the door grew twisted, flamelike cypress trees, brought all the way from Bardek and nursed through many a cold winter. When Gweniver walked between them, she felt a surge of power as if she passed through a gate into another world. She knocked nine times on the oak door and waited until nine muffled knocks answered from inside. Then she opened it and went into the antechamber, dimly lit by a single candle. A priestess robed in black waited for her.
Wear those clothes in the temple. Take in your sword as well. The high priestess has so commanded.
In the inner shrine the polished wood walls gleamed in the light of nine oil lamps, and the floor lay spread with fresh rushes. By the far wall stood the altar, a boulder left rough except for the top, which had been smoothed into a table. Behind it hung a huge circular mirror, the only image of Her that the Goddess will have in Her temples. Dressed in black, Ardda stood to the left.
Unsheathe the sword and lay it on the altar.
Gweniver curtsied to the mirror, then did as the high priestess ordered. Through a side door three senior priestesses entered without a word and stood at the right, waiting to witness her vow.
We are assembled to instruct and receive one who would serve the Goddess of the Moon, Ardda said. Gweniver of the Wolf is known to us all. Are there any objections to her candidacy?
None, the three said in unison. She is known to us as one blessed by Our Lady.
Well and good, then. The high priestess turned to Gweniver. Will you swear to serve the Goddess all your days and nights?
I will, my lady.
Will you swear never to know a man?
I will, my lady.
Will you swear never to betray the secret of the holy name?
I will, my lady.
Ardda raised her hands and clapped them together three times, then three more, and finally a third three, measuring out the holy number in its just proportion. Gweniver felt a solemn yet blissful peace, a sweetness like mead flowing through her body. At last the decision was made, and her vow given over.
Of all the goddesses, Ardda went on, only Our Lady has no name known to the common folk. We hear of Epona, we hear of Sirona, we hear of Aranrhodda, but always Our Lady is simply the Goddess of the Moon. She turned to the three witnesses. And why should such a thing be?
The name is a secret.
It is a mystery.
It is a riddle.
And yet, Ardda said after the answers, it is a riddle easy to solve. What is the name of the Goddess?
Epona.
Sirona.
Aranrhodda.
And, this said in unison, all the rest.
It is a mystery.
It is a riddle.
And yet, Ardda said after the answers, it is a riddle easy to solve. What is the name of the Goddess?
Epona.
Sirona.
Aranrhodda.
And, this said in unison, all the rest.
You have spoken true. Ardda turned to Gweniver. Here, then, is the answer to the riddle. All goddesses are one goddess. She goes by all names and no name, for she is One.
Gweniver began to tremble in a fierce joy.
No matter what men or women call her, She is One, Ardda went on. There is but one priestesshood that serves Her. She is like the pure light of the sun when it strikes the rain-filled sky and turns into a rainbow, many colors, but all One at the source.
Long have I thought so, Gweniver whispered. Now I know.
Again the high priestess clapped out the nine knocks, then turned to the witnesses.
There is a question of how Gweniver, no longer lady but new priestess, shall serve the Goddess. Let her kneel in petition at the altar.
Gweniver knelt in front of the sword. In the mirror she could see herself, a shadowy figure in the flickering light, but she barely recognized her face, the cropped hair, the mouth set grim, the eyes glowing with lust for vengeance. Help me, O Lady of the Heavens, she prayed, I want blood and vengeance, not tears and mourning.
Look into the mirror, Ardda whispered. Beg Her to come to you.
Gweniver spread her hands on the altar and took up her watch. At first she saw nothing but her face and the temple behind her. When Ardda began to chant a high wailing song in the old tongue, it seemed that the oil lamps flickered in time to the long-sprung rhythms. The chant rose and fell, winding through the temple like a cold north wind. In the mirror the light changed, dimmed, became a darkness, a trembling dark as cold as a starless sky. The chant sobbed on, wailing through ancient words. Gweniver felt the hair prickling on the back of her neck as in that mirror-darkness appeared the stars, the wheel and dance of the endless sky. Among them formed the image of Another.
She towered through the stars, and her face was grim, blood besotted as she shook her head and spread a vast mane of black hair over the sky. Gweniver could hardly breath as the dark eyes looked her way. This was the Goddess of the Darktime, Whose own heart is pierced with swords and Who demands no less from those who would worship Her.
My lady, Gweniver whispered, take me as a sacrifice. Ill serve you always.