Chapter Eight
Dougal stood deep in conversation with another huntsman, one named Fergil, who lived to the west of the village. Fergil was a short, blond-haired man with steady gaze that spoke loudly of the patient and unhurried nature of one who spent many hours unmoving by watering holes in wait for their prey. Dougal knew from their previous meetings that he was deeply uncomfortable in the company of large groups of people, and so rarely came into the village. He preferred his own company to that of others and, if it wasn’t for this festival, it was unlikely that he would come to Henge at all. Still, for all that, he and Dougal got on well, sharing stories and jokes, the latter mainly about what Gryffin had done recently. He was entertaining the woodsman with just such a story when Cassie tugged at his arm.
“Dougal, I think Bronty needs you.”
Tell her I will just be a few moments.” He said, wanting to finish his tale.
“Dougal.” She persisted. “She needs you now.”
He looked over at his wife to see what could be so important that it could not wait a few minutes more. The look of pain on her face answered his question. “I’ll have to finish this later.” He apologised to Fergil. Before the other could answer, Dougal was pushing his way through the crowd towards his wife.
“What is it, Bronty?” He asked, his voice echoing his concern. “Are you still in pain?”
“Do you think that Callun will give us a room for the night?” She asked, ignoring his question.
“I should think so. He rattles around in that place so has plenty of space.” He said. “Why?”
“The baby is coming.” She said calmly through gritted teeth, another spasm of pain clamping at her swollen abdomen.
He shook his head in confusion. “It can’t be. It isn’t due for another two weeks yet.”
“Don’t tell me. Tell the baby!” She rubbed her stomach tenderly, despite the pain. “It seems to be in a rush to see the world.”
Dougal discovered that he was having trouble thinking straight. “What…er….what do you want me to do?” He stammered.
“I think the best thing to do is to get me to the Eron’s hall,” she said patiently. “After that, your participation in this event is over. The hard work appears to be mine.”
Cassie hovered around, nervously. “I’ll run ahead and tell the Eron what is happening.” She said. The young girl disappeared into the crown in a flurry of skirts and skinny legs.
Dougal began to lead his wife gently through the crowds, trying to plot a course that went through the least densely populated part of the square.
“Sweet goddess!” Gasped Bronty as another contraction formed bands of iron across her stomach.
A figure pushed his way towards him, his deep green robes causing people to give way before him. Ignoring Dougal completely, Dylan gentle grasped Bronty’s hand. “Cassie tells me that the baby is on the way.” He explained. “How bad are the pains?”
She tried to smile but the agony twisted it into a grimace. “I’ll be alright once I get to Callun’s hall.”
“I can slow the contractions for a while, enough time to get us there, if you wish?” He offered. “But we shall have to hurry. The goddess does not approve of her priests interfering with the miracle of birth overmuch, unless it is absolutely necessary.”
“Just until the Eron’s hall then.” She nodded. “After that, I will give birth just as the goddess intended.”
Dylan pulled his outer robe aside to reveal an ornately embroidered leather satchel. He reached in and drew out a palm sized silver fetish in the form of the man rune.
Bronty sighed in relief as the pain stopped almost immediately. “Thank you, Dylan.”
The druid quickly tossed the fetish into the air where it just floated, describing leisurely circles orbiting a point about a foot above his head. “We must go. The spell will end before long and we have to get you off the square before it does.”
The three of them walked at the fastest pace that Bronty could comfortably manage, their passage made easier by the crowd’s deferential treatment of Dylan, giving them almost a clear path. As they reached the doors of the Eron’s hall, they were met by Callun himself.
“I was just coming to find you.” He said. “What can I do to help?”
“We need a room.” Said Dylan. “Then can you take Dougal away from here and keep him busy?” He spotted Cassie behind Callun. “Go ask your Ma if she will attend me.” He said to her. “I have many duties to attend to this day so she may have to deliver this baby.” The druid saw Dougal’s face twist into a worried frown. “If things go well, then I will not be needed anyway. If there are any complications, then Cassie will fetch me, and the goddess will understand if the festivities must be interrupted. After all, it is she that has decided that the baby comes this day.” As Cassie ran off, he turned his attention to the village chieftain again. “Now, that room you promised me?”
As Dylan guided her after the Eron, he smiled comfortingly at Bronty. “I feel partly responsible for this. I promised Dougal that I would look in on you and see if I could give an exact date for the baby’s arrival. If I had managed to make the time, you would not have been caught unawares like this. You have my apologies.”
“There is no need.” She said. “I think that I’d have preferred not to have known. I have been dreading this moment and, if I’d known for certain when it was to be, then I would have not slept at all this past week.”
“Don’t worry.” He reassured her. “Trust in the goddess and all will be fine.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” She laughed nervously. “I’m the one that will be in pain for the next few hours.”
“There is that.” He admitted, catching his spinning fetish and replacing it in his bag. “Still, for whatever it is worth, I will be here if you need me.”
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“It is worth a great deal.” She said, holding his hand in gratitude.
Gryffin led Cerevin out of the village and up an oak and ash lined path that went from the village to the stone circle. With a certain amount of pride, he told his companion that this was amongst the largest of its kind in all the lands of the Six-tribes. The Doomsayer had seen many great things on his travels, marvels that would make the young man speechless, yet even he was impressed with the hilltop monument to the goddess. It was comprised of a ditch fronted, circular earth embankment and in the giant bowl it made there stood a ring of giant black granite stones. Each of these stones was at least three times the height of Cerevin and, even though he was no engineer, the Doomsayer guessed that a full third of their mass was hidden from sight under the ground in order to keep them stable. The effort needed to drag one of the stones from where it was quarried to the top of the low hill must have been inhuman, but to repeat that process another sixty odd times was beyond belief. But that was the easy part, for within the circle of stone sat another one. There were less of them, but they were each fully three times the mass of their outer ring companions. Cerevin shook his head in astonishment as he realised that of the thirty larger stones, the two that stood at each cardinal point were formed into an arch by placing yet another giant stone across the top of them. As Gryffin led the Doomsayer towards them, Cerevin noted that the stones of the inner ring were worked with intricate reliefs depicting different aspects of the goddess’ power. Never had he seen such lifelike images of animals and plants, not even in the lands of the Mithraline kings, who prided themselves on the skills of their artisans. Cerevin reverently ran his hand over a superbly detailed carving of a horse in full fight, it’s windswept tail and mane so marvellously worked that it seemed that each individual hair had been represented.
“Your people are a devout people, are they not?” He asked.
Gryffin found it a strange question. “We are the chose people of the goddess. We would be stupid to reject such a gift. Because of her, our crops grow in abundance, our cattle and sheep multiply. None are hungry or thirsty in the lands of the Six-tribes. We hold her in reverence because she is worthy of it.”
“You are right, little brother.” Admitted the Doomsayer. “She is a more benevolent deity than many that I have found people worshipping. It is a change to find a land that is ruled by love rather than fear.”
“Would anyone pray to a god that demanded they fear them?” The very idea seemed repulsive to the young man raised in the freedom and tolerance of the Six-tribes.
“In many lands.” Cerevin assured him. “Some aspire to high powers through dark packs, most simply do not realise that there is an alternative, for the priests of those gods viciously protect their own interests by denying them such knowledge and killing all those that would preach a better way of living. Some gods have an insatiable hunger for human sacrifice,” Cerevin’s face took on a faraway expression as he saw again those many terrible places that he had seen in his years of following the visions of the blind god. “Maybe one day someone will help them. If they could be set free and shown the gods and goddesses of light, then I think that the dark ones would lose much of their power to hurt and corrupt.”
“Do you think such a day will ever come?”
“I hope so, but I do not think that it will be in my lifetime. Anyway, enough of such dark thoughts. This is a celebration! Let us talk of happier things.”
Gryffin led the mystic through one of the arch ways and into the very centre of the vast open aired temple. As Cerevin looked around his expression changed to one of distaste. He pointed to a small, flat stone that lay just inside the northern arch way. “Is that an altar stone?” He asked, his tones taking on a tone as cold as the stones themselves.
The object in question was made of the same black granite as the larger stones but was laced with veins of white quartz that created intricate swirls and eddies that eased the mind to look at. At each side of the altar stone was a large unlit bonfire each with three men about them busily throwing on extra bundles of deadwood to make the mounds bigger in preparation of the evening’s rites.
“Does the goddess also demand a sacrifice, then, to appease her?”
“An occasional beast is given to her.” Gryffin explained, not understanding Cerevin’s change in mood. “Usually the first lamb or calf of the season. It is to thank her for her generosity and to give thanks for her banishing of the winter months.”
“So, she never demands human sacrifice?”
Gryffin looked as though he was about to be sick at the mere thought of it. “What? No, never! Who would worship a goddess who would demand such a thing?”
“Ah, little brother.” Sighed Cerevin, both in relief at the good sense of the Six-tribes and regret that other peoples were not the same. “You would be surprised. Many worship the dark gods for personal gain. So, if the fires are not for burning of the offerings, what are they for?”
“As you have heard, tonight is called the Night of Fires. It is when we of the Six-tribes call upon the goddess for protection. At midnight, when the north star enters the gate,” he pointed to the huge archway behind the altar stone, “the fires are lit, and every member of the village crosses over the stone between the fires. Dougal said to me when I was younger that it is symbolic of our being sacrificed to the will of Oscarna, and in doing so, we are reborn into her protection.”
“And what of those who are too ill to cross? Do they miss out on her protection?”
It struck Gryffin that the Doomsayer had a very cynical view of the gods. “No, Sir, they do not. A family member or one of their friends carries a personal possession of theirs over the stone. In that way the goddess is reminded of them and is encompassed in her arms.”
This last bit sounded to Cerevin as though Gryffin was reciting druidic dogma, a lesson passed on and taught to children, word for word. For all that, he could see no malevolent influences behind the worship of the goddess. Would that he could say the same of all the gods! He walked back over to the stone pillars, inspecting the marvellous carvings until all those working in the inner circle were finished with their task and gone to join in the celebrations in the village below. When they had, he turned to Gryffin, his face very serious. “Tell me, little brother, could you do something for me without asking for explanations and without telling anyone?”
Memories of all the dark stories he had been told of these strange mystical fetishists began to push towards the surface of his thoughts. “Why, what is it?” He asked. “If it’s nothing bad, I could, but….”
“It is nothing bad.” The Doomsayer reassured him. “It is just that I have something for you, but I can tell you nothing as to why you should have it.”
“Is it in your vision?” Asked Gryffin, supressing a shudder.
“Not as such. It is more a lack of vision. I know that that makes no sense at the moment, but you have to trust me that one day it will. Can you do that for me, little brother?”
“I will try.”
“Very well.” Cerevin reached inside his cloak, pulling out a small, unadorned, fetish bag. The leather was so scuffed that it was obvious that the bag containing all of the Doomsayers runic foci had travelled as far as the man who carried it. Out of this he pulled a sealed pouch. From its flat shape it was clear to Gryffin that it contained very little.
“This is for you.” The Doomsayer said solemnly. “There is a thong attached to it so that you can wear it around your neck. Never lose it, never let anyone know that you have it, never open it until the time is right for you to do so.”
“What’s in it?” Asked Gryffin ablaze with curiosity.
“I cannot answer that. Do you promise to obey the conditions?”
“I do.”
With a smile Cerevin handed the small pouch to the young man. “Put it around your neck. Quickly.” He ordered. “People will start asking questions if they see me giving you something up here.”
A thought occurred to Gryffin. “If I don’t know what is in it, how will I know when it is time to open it?” He asked as he slipped the thong over his head. He tucked the body of it out of sight beneath his tunic.
“You will know. As I said, you will just have to trust me. We should head back to the village now. I think that your brother may want to see you.”
As they left the stone circle and its earthen banks, the Doomsayer offered a silent prayer to both the god of Wyrd and the goddess, asking them to watch over and guide this young man who had such a strange path to walk.
