stone from point to point. "I thought so," she said, and placed the stone at the base of one of the upright ones.
"Thought what?"
"With all the rain and other things, I was losing track. The equinox comes in a sennight."
"How can you tell?"
"It is the way the ancients told, before they had priests to keep the days of the year. But the priests do not often come to us, so we have kept up the old ways. I count the posts around the circle, one for each day of the year. But I have not come up here for fifteen days. Sometimes in the winter I cannot come for a long time."
The wind whipped her skirts, teased her heavy golden braid, and she seemed to meld with the ancients and the connecting force with their descendants, a vital, living link between past and present. It was important to her, this place. She was different here, softer. Yearning, perhaps. Did she not want what all women wanted, a man, a home, children? Yet she was wild and fierce, a Celt of bygone days, part healer, part warrior.
"Then what do you do when you cannot come?"
She flashed an impatient glance at him as she again paused. Then with a shrug, she continued.
"I make a mark on a wooden slab every night, so that I don't lose count. This year, I could not even come at midwinter, because there was too much snow. But in seven days, the sun will rise over the horizon exactly where the large stone pillar touches the sky. And that is spring's first day."
"Will you come to see it?"
"Aye."
"Does everyone come?"
"Nay, I am the only one. The others only come when there is something important, like Beltane. Sometimes they do not even come for Imbolc, if the weather is as bad as it was this year. They leave it to me."
"But why to you?"
"Because I am the appointed counter of days, the keeper of the stones. It is a very old custom, and I will not let it die."
She rarely looked at him as directly as she did now, and her clear green eyes dared him to scoff.
"I will come with you," he said.
"It belongs to us, not you."
"Well, I think I will come anyway. Perhaps it will belong just to us, since no one else will come."
Arienh flipped him a disgusted look and walked away, descending the slope of the hill by a path worn deep as if people had been climbing up this route since the creation of the world.
Ronan followed her, no matter that she made it clear she didn't want his company. In the valley, a small lamb bawled, and its ewe bleated pitifully, even though they had been gone only a short while. Arienh scanned around with a worried frown and scurried to a muddy hollow where the little lamb had wandered into muck and couldn't get out. Gently, she lifted the little one from the mire and wiped the worst of the mud from its hooves before setting it down.
But behind her, the remainder of the flock scattered widely. Arienh tried to direct the flock toward more concentrated grazing, but there were just too many of the beasts.
"Tanni would willingly loan you some of his dogs," Ronan suggested.
"Leave me alone. I'll do it myself."
"There is no longer need for you to work so hard, Areinh. Leave men's work to men."
Her eyes bored into him like icy knives. But even she had to know she could not manage the flock. She was just so stubborn that she would not give up until the situation was beyond hopeless.
He sighed. He hated to make her angrier than she already was, but he saw no choice, knowing she could not afford to lose any of her animals for her stubbornness. Tanni and his men and dogs had moved closer. He blew a shrill whistle that carried across the glen.
Her head jerked in his direction. "What are you doing?"
"Calling for help."
"I told you-"
"Someone's got to rescue you from yourself."
Across the valley bounded Tanni and one of his shepherds, slowing when they saw there was no danger.
"Aye, Ronan, what is it?" asked Tanni as they sauntered up.
"Take the white-faces and graze them with our flock," he replied.
"Nay! They are ours. You have no
"Thought what?"
"With all the rain and other things, I was losing track. The equinox comes in a sennight."
"How can you tell?"
"It is the way the ancients told, before they had priests to keep the days of the year. But the priests do not often come to us, so we have kept up the old ways. I count the posts around the circle, one for each day of the year. But I have not come up here for fifteen days. Sometimes in the winter I cannot come for a long time."
The wind whipped her skirts, teased her heavy golden braid, and she seemed to meld with the ancients and the connecting force with their descendants, a vital, living link between past and present. It was important to her, this place. She was different here, softer. Yearning, perhaps. Did she not want what all women wanted, a man, a home, children? Yet she was wild and fierce, a Celt of bygone days, part healer, part warrior.
"Then what do you do when you cannot come?"
She flashed an impatient glance at him as she again paused. Then with a shrug, she continued.
"I make a mark on a wooden slab every night, so that I don't lose count. This year, I could not even come at midwinter, because there was too much snow. But in seven days, the sun will rise over the horizon exactly where the large stone pillar touches the sky. And that is spring's first day."
"Will you come to see it?"
"Aye."
"Does everyone come?"
"Nay, I am the only one. The others only come when there is something important, like Beltane. Sometimes they do not even come for Imbolc, if the weather is as bad as it was this year. They leave it to me."
"But why to you?"
"Because I am the appointed counter of days, the keeper of the stones. It is a very old custom, and I will not let it die."
She rarely looked at him as directly as she did now, and her clear green eyes dared him to scoff.
"I will come with you," he said.
"It belongs to us, not you."
"Well, I think I will come anyway. Perhaps it will belong just to us, since no one else will come."
Arienh flipped him a disgusted look and walked away, descending the slope of the hill by a path worn deep as if people had been climbing up this route since the creation of the world.
Ronan followed her, no matter that she made it clear she didn't want his company. In the valley, a small lamb bawled, and its ewe bleated pitifully, even though they had been gone only a short while. Arienh scanned around with a worried frown and scurried to a muddy hollow where the little lamb had wandered into muck and couldn't get out. Gently, she lifted the little one from the mire and wiped the worst of the mud from its hooves before setting it down.
But behind her, the remainder of the flock scattered widely. Arienh tried to direct the flock toward more concentrated grazing, but there were just too many of the beasts.
"Tanni would willingly loan you some of his dogs," Ronan suggested.
"Leave me alone. I'll do it myself."
"There is no longer need for you to work so hard, Areinh. Leave men's work to men."
Her eyes bored into him like icy knives. But even she had to know she could not manage the flock. She was just so stubborn that she would not give up until the situation was beyond hopeless.
He sighed. He hated to make her angrier than she already was, but he saw no choice, knowing she could not afford to lose any of her animals for her stubbornness. Tanni and his men and dogs had moved closer. He blew a shrill whistle that carried across the glen.
Her head jerked in his direction. "What are you doing?"
"Calling for help."
"I told you-"
"Someone's got to rescue you from yourself."
Across the valley bounded Tanni and one of his shepherds, slowing when they saw there was no danger.
"Aye, Ronan, what is it?" asked Tanni as they sauntered up.
"Take the white-faces and graze them with our flock," he replied.
"Nay! They are ours. You have no
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