The scent of the herbs turned the whole air sweet, and Rhiannon was tempted to close her eyes and let it wash over her. At the very least, it might dispel the fear. She controlled herself with an effort of will and drew a deep breath of the fire’s fumes accepting the druids’ magic without falling victim to it. That was the key, they’d said; to bring the blessed smoke into herself but to maintain control no matter what. When the time came, she and all she knew would have cause to thank their gods for that control. And the Sais would have cause to curse their gods when she let that control slip from her!
Two other would-be-heroes had faced their fears to come with her to the little house. This was the only way, the whole tribe knew that, but all the same it was a frightening prospect to those actually going through with it. The three young warriors sat cross-legged on the packed earth floor, keeping focus as best they could as the druid mumbled her chants across the central fire. The red-and-yellow flames were the only light in the dimness of the house, casting dancing black shadows over the rough-daubed walls, and the old druid’s few possessions. Ened was extremely revered, even with the new church supplanting so many of her kind, yet she seemed to live a very frugal life; the house contained little else but a bed and a few old chests. And the fire.
Ened was a master of her craft, an old woman since the time of Rhiannon’s grandfather, yet still keen of eye and sharp of tongue. In one hand she held a little wooden bowl, and she stirred it as she chanted, her eyes never leaving her three guests. Like Rhiannon herself, Ened wore a long dress of red-brown wool, though the druid wore a pale grey robe over the red, held in at the waist with a wide belt festooned with tiny charms. Lumps of iron slag, coloured beads, mouse skulls and vole skulls and skulls Rhiannon couldn’t identify all clattered and rattled beside carved talismans of wood and bone, tufts of fur stiffened stone-hard with tree-sap, and even a few trinkets of silver and gold, winking at her in the firelight. Each one had its use, Rhiannon was sure of that, and she was equally sure she didn’t want to know what they were. The secrets of the druids were secret for a reason, and only madness awaited those not trained to understand the will of gods. Of course, madness may await you anyway. She pushed the thought away. This is the only way.
The fire between them was roasting hot, and Rhiannon felt sweat pour down her even as Ened cast another handful of herbs into the flames. They flared for a moment, then the over-sweet smell grew stronger still, and it was a struggle not to let it take hold of her. To her left, Rhiannon saw that Cynan had closed his eyes and was starting to sway on the spot. She didn’t touch him. The Sais was a dangerous foe, and desperate times had called for desperate acts; if Cynan lacked the strength to resist the holy fumes, he lacked the strength to resist what was to come for them next. Rhiannon felt a tiny shiver in her spine, despite the heat. Do I have that strength? Or will I falter in the last stride of the run, and pay the price with my soul and sanity?
Once again Rhiannon forced her doubts away, and she focussed on her hatred instead; the Sais had been slaughtering her people for most of a generation, and the Lost Lands to the east were now a charnel pit of native blood. Even in the ancient days, when the legions had crossed the narrow sea, there’d never been butchery on such a scale as this. The Sais didn’t wish to rule a land of conquered people, they wished to destroy that land and set their own people to rule the ashes. Well, Rhiannon’s folk had tried honest warfare. They had tried negotiation. They had tried reason and they had tried bloodshed. Rhiannon’s grandfather had been of legion blood, and as he had been fond of saying; sometimes the whole world hangs on a die-cast. This was their last cast. If this worked, Rhiannon’s future would be dark, but the tribe’s future would be bright. If it didn’t… if it didn’t then she was damned, and her people would shortly follow.
She sat up straighter, refusing to let doubts flood her focus, and Rhiannon thought she saw Ened give a nod of approval. She glanced to her right and saw that Aeddan was sitting just as straight as she was, and decided that the nod had been for both of them. The heat grew ever more stifling, the sweet scent more intoxicating, until all Rhiannon wanted to do was rush out into the chilly night and fall asleep in the nearest snowbank. She was on the verge of giving in, of risking losing everything just to get out of there, when Ened’s chanting ceased. The druid’s eyes looked black in the firelight as she stared at Aeddan and Rhiannon in turn. Cynan had long since toppled over and was curled up on the hard ground, snoring with a smile upon his face.
Ened’s voice was low and rough.
‘It is time.’
Aeddan and Rhiannon exchanged a look, then stood and removed their clothing. Across the fire Ened stood too, and with far less creaking of joints than Rhiannon had expected. The gods care for their own, in small ways at least.
Had they been in any other house, Rhiannon might have felt embarrassed to undress in front of Aeddan. She’d known him since they were children and they’d bathed in the same lake plenty of times, but it was one thing to see one more naked form in a village full of naked forms, and quite another to stand like that in the confines of a house. But this was Ened’s house, and fit and trim as they both were, this was a time to stir the spirit, not the loins.
The druid moved to stand with them, the shuffling of her robes seeming loud in the silence, and held out her bowl in both hands.
‘Draw, as your ancestors drew. And draw to you the sight of ancient gods.’
The pair responded without a word, each dipping a finger into the bowl. The mixture was thick and warm, and Aeddan’s skin was hot beneath her hand as Rhiannon began to paint. His hands were warm on her skin too. They began with each other’s faces, drawing whorls and lightning-bolts on cheeks and temples, before moving down to the neck, and then the chest. It took her a moment to realise the singular oddness that the paint was holding well, despite the fact that they were slick with sweat from head to toe. Another druid’s secret best kept as such; if something as simple as mixing paint had a mystic side to it, Rhiannon didn’t like to think what Ened would be going through to finish this.
Aeddan had always been fond of seeing omens in bird-flight, and Rhiannon did her best to shape the outline of a hawk over his heart. The hated Sais often flew a blackbird on their standards, claiming it was an emblem of their gods, and she’d seen the foul carrion flying spread-winged on a background of blue. As if the Sais birds had any business in her sky! Well, this bird’s wings were crimson, and it flew against a backdrop of noble flesh. And when that flesh is blessed by the gods, the Sais can call to their Crow-God all they like; it will do them no good!
Rhiannon didn’t look to see what shapes Aeddan was drawing on her, but she trusted him to do his utmost for her. Perhaps he would draw twirling adders for their quickness and hidden wisdom, or a fox for its bright fangs and subtle cunning? She didn’t want to break her concentration by looking. He would not draw wolves though, she knew that. Nor would she. That was not for their hands to decide.
When they had to move they did so in silence, turning around or kneeling down to cover as much of their skins as possible, and both bodies were soon covered in the blessed red marks of the gods. In ancient times, when the legions had been the great enemy, Rhiannon’s tribe had gone to war painted in bright blue. Not now. Now they marked their skin in bloody red, though in the flickering light of Ened’s fire, the marks seemed almost black.
When they were done the two chosen faced each other in silence, each taking in the sight of the other. Aeddan looks like a warrior. Like a champion of old, ready to charge a legion wall and smash their shields to kindling. She felt herself frown. And you? Rhiannon was a strongly-built woman, and she’d taken up arms more than once, but was she the image of a noble ancestor like he was? Gods’ blood, she hoped so. This was something more than any of her kin had done before, and tonight she had to be the best of all of them.
As if answering her thoughts, Ened stepped away into the shadows only to emerge a moment later with a human skull in each hand. Rhiannon had known this was coming but all the same, the sight made her blink. The druid went to Aeddan first.
‘Aeddan, son of Garran, this was the head of your great-great-grandsire, who was called Owain the Broad. May his strength be your strength at this moment of greatest need.’
Aeddan bowed his head, and when the skull was offered up to him he kissed its brow. Ened grunted her approval, then turned to Rhiannon. For all her efforts to keep still, Rhiannon felt her balance waver a little as the skull of her ancestor came closer. She blamed it on the holy fumes and stood tall as the druid spoke.
‘Rhiannon, daughter of Eira, this was the head of your great-great-grandmother, called Lydian of the Spear-Hand. May her strength be your strength at this moment of greatest need.’
Rhiannon bowed as Aeddan had, and when Ened lifted the skull, Rhiannon fought to ignore Lydian’s leering grin. Her lips were dry already, and they scraped as much as brushed against the bone as she kissed it. For just an instant, Rhiannon was sure she felt a tingling in her mouth, and a shudder that went all the way down to her body’s core. Her eyes flicked to Aeddan, seeking some sign that he’d felt the same thing, but her friend’s face was stony-grave, his painted form completely unmoving. Did he not feel it, or is he simply accepting his ancestor with more courage than I am? Rhiannon stamped on the thought. This was no time for doubt.
Ened returned the skulls to wherever she’d secreted them, leaving the two standing alone beside the crackling fire. For all her efforts, Rhiannon still found herself thinking on how warlike her companion looked, and wondering how she must seem the lesser beside him. She felt her fingers ache as she clenched them into fists. You are as worthy as he. Of a hundred other souls here, only three of us were willing to risk this, and one of those three has already fallen. She pursed her lips. You are worthy.
A chest opened and closed behind her, and a new, heavy scent began to mingle with the sweetness of the fumes. Rhiannon heard a shuffling as the druid came near again, and when Ened spoke, the command was soft but firm.
‘Kneel.’
The warriors did as they were told, falling to their knees still facing one another. The heavy scent grew stronger as Ened walked around to stand behind Aeddan, mumbling sing-song chants as she went. Rhiannon saw the great grey pelt in her hands and wondered how much it must weigh. Whatever the answer was, Ened carried it as if it weighed no more than a basket of wheat and didn’t so much as grunt as she lifted it over Aeddan’s head. The wolf’s eyes had been preserved by some unknown method, and Rhiannon could have sworn that they already glinted with golden life.
The druid lowered the wolf’s head over the kneeling warrior’s, fitting it as perfectly as any cap, and let the rest of the grey-furred skin drape down Aeddan’s naked back. For a ridiculous moment, Rhiannon fretted that it might smear or smudge the marks she’d painted there, but all such thoughts soon left her mind. It was no illusion this time. This time she saw the wolf’s eyes glow with life, an odd mix of gold and green that shone with godly power. Aeddan’s eyes were still open but they became unfocussed, and as Ened chanted on, his eyelids started flickering. And then it was her turn.
The heavy scent was almost overpowering when Ened brought the pelt to her, and though she’d known from the start that these beasts were freshly-skinned, it was still hard work not to flinch at the wetness of its flesh on her skin. Ened’s song went on and on, and Rhiannon felt the fear surge through her, stronger than ever. What if this went wrong? What if it went right? So much, so much hung on what would happen next, and Rhiannon’s very soul was the counterweight. Would she be strong enough to control what would happen, or would she lose everything, for herself and for her people? She longed to stand up, to flee, to leave this to Aeddan and trust to his protection. Rhiannon clenched her fists harder and forced herself to sit straight-backed. It must be done. And you will do it. She took in a breath of stinking air and let it out slowly. This is the only way.
When the wolf’s head came down on top of her own, everything changed in an instant. She couldn’t see it, but Rhiannon could feel the eyes glow that same green-gold as they had for Aeddan, and the red marks on her body grew hot. The pelt was wet and cold on her back but Rhiannon was long past caring. The spirit of her ancestor burned low in her gut, and the marks on her shivering skin were searing, fusing into the skin of the wolf. It hurt, it hurt terribly, but Rhiannon did not move. She could not move.
From its head she felt the wolf’s soul dripping down, seeping into her skull like dye into cloth, and the next time she blinked, the colours in the house had changed. The fire’s red was gone, turned to a blend of yellow, green, and grey that didn’t seem at all unusual. The smells around her grew so sharp it almost overwhelmed her; the sweetness of the herbs and the cleaner woodsmoke beneath it, the heavy stink of the two wolf hides, the rich scent of the earth beneath her knees, even the unique sweat-smells of Aeddan and Ened. They both carried the tang of fear in their scents. It was collared tight, in Ened’s case it was barely detectable at all, but it was there nonetheless. As it’s there within me. But the collar is there. It’s still there.
Hope flared inside her, but it was so mixed in with a flood of sensation it barely seemed important. It wasn’t important. She was Rhiannon, and she was the wolf, it was as simple a fact as the moon being up and the earth being down. This wasn’t something to inspire hope, it was something to accept as a truth of the world. There was nothing more to it than that. Rhiannon hadn’t realised that her fists had unclenched, and her hands were now half-open, the nails sharp and ready to rend and tear at need. She knew then what she could do. What she would do.
The druid’s voice came from between the pair, clearer and stronger than Rhiannon had ever heard it.
‘You are the wolf, but you are of the people. Your one cause is the cause of your comrades. Go.’ She moved to one side of them, the charms on her belt rattling against each other. ‘Go into the world. Do what must be done. And all the gods go with you.’
Rhiannon and Aeddan needed no second bidding. Both sprang to their feet with smooth alacrity and loped for the door, ducking low beneath the lintel and emerging into the freezing night air. Rhiannon felt it on her skin and revelled in the wind’s fresh chill. She ignored the faces of her gathered kin, ignored the wide eyes and open mouths, and the sudden stink of uncontrolled fear. That didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was Rhiannon and she was the wolf. And there were enemies to face out there. She bared her teeth and snarled. This was the only way and it would save them all. And with that single thought, she bounded into the night.