The Horse Goddess (Celtic World of Morgan Llywelyn) by Morgan Llywelyn Page B
Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
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guarded the fires. On this day of all days, no fire would die for lack of attention.
The sun rose through a hazy sky. “It is a bad omen,” Kernunnos commented to Poel. “We must hurry, before something happens.”
The wicker cage was set up in the center of the commonground. It was lashed together with leather thongs and constructed in the unmistakable shape of a flame. One side was left open so Brydda could enter.
Kernunnos, dressed in a feathered cloak and wearing an eagle headdress, circled the cage nine times to the knife hand, whispering in the spirit language. Tena stood beside the cage, her coppery hair glinting in the sunrise, her arms lifted above her head.
A naked woman was led forward with a strong warrior on either side to hold her up if her strength failed. Okelos found it difficult to watch; he expected Brydda to embarrass him further. But from some unguessed reservoir of strength she managed to walk forward steadily, though she was very pale. Death was not to be feared, but the prospect of pain terrified her. As everyone knew and Rigantona had never let her forget, she had screamed during childbirth.
When she saw the wicker basket she closed her eyes and swayed on her feet.
They put her in the cage and lashed it closed. The head of each family of the Kelti came forward in turn, to lay one piece of wood at the base of the wicker as that family’s offering to the fire spirit.
Brydda crouched in the cage, though it had been built high enough to allow her to stand proudly upright. Her arms were wrapped protectively around her body.
Kernunnos began playing the priest drum. One single beat, repeated again and again in a gradually increasing tempo.
Tena bent over and laid her hands on the wood, open palms downward. She moved slowly around the cage, touching every log or branch she could reach. Then she stepped back and waited, eyes closed, arms outstretched, calling on the spirit of the fire.
Tiny red eyes began to wink deep within the pyre. A spiral of smoke twisted upward. Something crackled, like ice breaking up at the edge of the lake, but no flames showed yet.
Brydda moaned.
The druii, chanting, commanded her to speak to the spirits in the otherworlds on behalf of all the tribe, to beg forgiveness and ask that no harm come to the Kelti, no fire consume their lodges, no fever burn their flesh. The people joined in the chant, leaning toward the fire and the cage in its center, willing the woman to be strong for her journey.
The fire came alive and leaped upward. It twined like ivy around the wicker bars, outlining them in red and gold. Brydda drew back with a gasp but there was no place to go beyond their reach, not in thisworld. The gutuiters had instructed her to swallow the smoke, that she might be freed more quickly, but she was now too panicked to remember. She threw herself back and forth in the cage, thrusting out her white arms, the heat crisping the gold hairs on them.
“Okelos, where are you? Help me; I’m afraid!”
Okelos turned his head away. He met the eyes of the lord of the tribe; commanding eyes. He made himself turn back and watch.
Brydda screamed. The smoke billowed and the air stank of burning flesh.
The people of the Kelti waited.
When at last the wicker burned through and collapsed, a great shower of sparks shot into the sky and the massed spectators sighed, one deep groan of relief.
It was time to get on with the tasks of the living.
Chapter 6
A guard with a torch was posted at the smoldering pyre that night to keep the dogs and pigs away until the ashes were thoroughly cooled and the gutuiters could collect them.
Brydda had not undergone the ritual of the house of the dead before her burning, and therefore her ashes would not be stored in an urn and buried with the ancestors. She had gone directly to the spirits; her ashes had much power. They would be saved until next sunseason and then worked into the earth, to whisper to new growing things of the warm sun
The sun rose through a hazy sky. “It is a bad omen,” Kernunnos commented to Poel. “We must hurry, before something happens.”
The wicker cage was set up in the center of the commonground. It was lashed together with leather thongs and constructed in the unmistakable shape of a flame. One side was left open so Brydda could enter.
Kernunnos, dressed in a feathered cloak and wearing an eagle headdress, circled the cage nine times to the knife hand, whispering in the spirit language. Tena stood beside the cage, her coppery hair glinting in the sunrise, her arms lifted above her head.
A naked woman was led forward with a strong warrior on either side to hold her up if her strength failed. Okelos found it difficult to watch; he expected Brydda to embarrass him further. But from some unguessed reservoir of strength she managed to walk forward steadily, though she was very pale. Death was not to be feared, but the prospect of pain terrified her. As everyone knew and Rigantona had never let her forget, she had screamed during childbirth.
When she saw the wicker basket she closed her eyes and swayed on her feet.
They put her in the cage and lashed it closed. The head of each family of the Kelti came forward in turn, to lay one piece of wood at the base of the wicker as that family’s offering to the fire spirit.
Brydda crouched in the cage, though it had been built high enough to allow her to stand proudly upright. Her arms were wrapped protectively around her body.
Kernunnos began playing the priest drum. One single beat, repeated again and again in a gradually increasing tempo.
Tena bent over and laid her hands on the wood, open palms downward. She moved slowly around the cage, touching every log or branch she could reach. Then she stepped back and waited, eyes closed, arms outstretched, calling on the spirit of the fire.
Tiny red eyes began to wink deep within the pyre. A spiral of smoke twisted upward. Something crackled, like ice breaking up at the edge of the lake, but no flames showed yet.
Brydda moaned.
The druii, chanting, commanded her to speak to the spirits in the otherworlds on behalf of all the tribe, to beg forgiveness and ask that no harm come to the Kelti, no fire consume their lodges, no fever burn their flesh. The people joined in the chant, leaning toward the fire and the cage in its center, willing the woman to be strong for her journey.
The fire came alive and leaped upward. It twined like ivy around the wicker bars, outlining them in red and gold. Brydda drew back with a gasp but there was no place to go beyond their reach, not in thisworld. The gutuiters had instructed her to swallow the smoke, that she might be freed more quickly, but she was now too panicked to remember. She threw herself back and forth in the cage, thrusting out her white arms, the heat crisping the gold hairs on them.
“Okelos, where are you? Help me; I’m afraid!”
Okelos turned his head away. He met the eyes of the lord of the tribe; commanding eyes. He made himself turn back and watch.
Brydda screamed. The smoke billowed and the air stank of burning flesh.
The people of the Kelti waited.
When at last the wicker burned through and collapsed, a great shower of sparks shot into the sky and the massed spectators sighed, one deep groan of relief.
It was time to get on with the tasks of the living.
Chapter 6
A guard with a torch was posted at the smoldering pyre that night to keep the dogs and pigs away until the ashes were thoroughly cooled and the gutuiters could collect them.
Brydda had not undergone the ritual of the house of the dead before her burning, and therefore her ashes would not be stored in an urn and buried with the ancestors. She had gone directly to the spirits; her ashes had much power. They would be saved until next sunseason and then worked into the earth, to whisper to new growing things of the warm sun
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