Roma Mater by Poul Anderson

and Bodilis guided her by either arm. They were those who could hold themselves steadiest when next to such a vessel of strangeness. The other six followed in file. Quinipilis was in front, as befitted the oldest, the presiding one. Fennalis came after, and then her daughter Lanarvilis, then Innilis, then Maldunilis. Last was Dahilis, who crowded a little as if the bulk ahead could somehow shield her from the terrors that prowled about. A covered firepot she carried glowed out of airholes like red spider eyes.
    It seemed long, but was not, until the Queens reached the Stones. Those two pillars, rough-hewn and raised by the Old Folk, stood close together near the middle of the island. The beak of the Bird, the more pointed head of the Beast – vague resemblances – were some two man-heights aloft. Vindilis and Bodilis helped Forsquilis in between them. They engulfed her in shadow; hardly any of her was now to be seen other than the manyfold linen windings of her headdress, phantom-wan. She laid her palms against the rock and stood motionless except for quickened breath.
    The rest ranged themselves in a circle, Quinipilis facing the seeress. The aged woman lifted her arms and countenance on high. ‘Ishtar-Isis-Belisama, have mercy on us,’ she called in a voice still strong. ‘Taranis, embolden us. Lir, harden us. All Gods else, we invoke You in the name of the Three, and cry unto You for the deliverance of Ys.’
    Her prayer used the ancestral speech because of its sacredness and potency, but thereafter she returned to the vernacular: ‘Forsquilis, Forsquilis, how go you, what find you?’
    The priestess between the Stones answered like a sleepwalker: ‘I go as an owl. The treetops beneath my wings are a net wherein the moon touches buds and new leaves with argent. It is lonely being a spirit out of the flesh. The stars are more far away than ever we knew; the cold of those vastnesses comes seeping down over the world, through and through me.
    ‘I see a glade. Dew sparkles on grass around a camp where a fire burns low. Metal gleams on its guardians. I glide downward. The forest is haunted tonight. Do I glimpse the antlers of Cernunnos as He walks amidst His trees?
    They are soldiers, yon men, earthlings only, naught in them of fate. Am I misled? Did the Gods not hear us orheed us? Oh, surely these men are bound hither and surely that is a sign unto us. Yet – Bewildered, I flutter to and fro in the air.’
    Suddenly her voice came alive: ‘A man steps forth from darkness. Was it him that I espied under the boughs? Sleepless, he has walked down a game trail to sit by a spring and love the sky. Sleepless – he knows not why – but I know him! Now when he is drawn this near, his destiny has reached out of the future and touched him.
    ‘He feels it. He looks upward and sees my wings beneath the moon, the moon that turns his eyes to quicksilver. The dread of the mystery in him comes upon me. I fly from his terrible gaze. It is he, it is he, it is he!’
    Forsquilis shrieked and fell. Quinipilis stood aside while Bodilis and Vindilis pulled her out into the open and stretched her carefully on the ground. The rest clustered about. Between dark cloaks and blanched headwraps, most visages were paler than was due to the light.
    Bodilis knelt to examine the unmoving woman. ‘She seems in a swoon,’ she said.
    Quinipilis nodded. ‘That is to be awaited,’ she replied. ‘Our Sister has travelled along weird ways. Cover her well, let her in peace, and she should arouse soon.’
    ‘Meanwhile, what shall we do?’ asked Lanarvilis.
    ‘Naught,’ quavered Maldunilis, her wonted placidity torn apart. ‘Naught save abide … abide that moment.’
    ‘Surely
something
else,’ was Innilis’s timid thought. ‘Prayer?’
    Fennalis stroked her hand, responding, ‘Nay, I think not. We have held rites since sunset. It were not well to risk the Gods growing weary of us.’
    Bodilis said slowly: ‘Hold, Sisters. Belike those same