Chapter 15
Stallion
Tom adjusted his cloak and pulled his tunic down so that it hung neatly below his belt. Satisfied with his appearance, he crossed the market place to the House of Ways. A crowd of women was waiting for him. They were of all ages and from all classes. Elegantly dressed matrons with fur-lined capes rubbed shoulders with ragged peasant girls. Tom held out his hand to receive their kisses.
'Make way for the Sky Warrior.'
The girls of his guard laid into the women with the butts of their spears and escorted him up the steps to the House of Ways.
'There's no need to play the Good God,' one of them said.
'I'm not playing the Good God.'
'Yes, you are. We saw how those women looked at you.'
'It's not my fault if they think I'm the God.'
'Yes, it is,' the girl insisted.
Tom entered the building and saw the queen. She was sitting on a stool and wore a voluminous robe, which hung loosely about her ample frame and reached to the floor. Two young girls stood by her, combing the royal hair and tying it in plaits. They blushed when Tom looked at them.
'Sky Warrior.' She looked up. 'I heard a disturbance.'
'Just some country people, Majesty. They are here for the ceremony.''
The old woman pursed her lips. 'I thought I recognised the voices of some of my ladies. It's not like them to engage in such unruly behaviour.'
'They've brought the stallion in,' Tom remarked lightly. 'They're getting him ready for the ceremony. That's what all the shouting was about.'
'Aye. They're getting him ready,' the old woman sighed. 'They're getting him ready for the part he will play ... just as they're getting me ready for mine.'
She looked tired and anxious. Tom knew she was worried about Adrina but there was clearly more on her mind.
'Do you know the ceremony?' she asked. 'Have you come across it before? Is there anything like it in your former realm?'
'There used to be but it died out, Majesty.'
'Aye.' The old woman nodded. 'I thought you would tell me that. Whenever you speak of your former realm, it seems a place with much to recommend it.' She hesitated. 'The stallion ... in your former realm ... was it white?'
'I don't think the colour mattered, Majesty. The main thing was that the beast should be well endowed.'
'Whatever do you mean?'
'Well equipped.' Tom gestured expressively. 'It had to be able to do the things which stallions are meant to do.'
The little girls stopped combing and stared, big-eyed, until noticed by the old woman.
'That's enough.' She took the combs from them. 'Thank you, my dears. You can go now.'
The girls hurried away and she returned her attention to Tom. 'In your former realm. When this ceremony was held. Was it during the Moon of Morning Mists or at some other time?'
'At some other time, Majesty. On the first day of the Corn Moon, when the planting was done.'
'Aye. That makes sense.' The queen nodded. 'I've often thought there was something odd about holding a ceremony like this when winter is upon us.'
'I've given some thought to it,' Tom replied confidently. 'From my investigations, it seems the Blessed Sisters have slipped up in their calculations and got the dates of nearly all the holy festivals wrong. Their mistake stems from the fallacious assumption that there are exactly thirteen moons to one sun. This assumption is approximately correct but leads to cumulative errors which ...'
'Sky Warrior.' The old woman gave Tom a cautionary glance. 'I don't know what you're talking about. You sound like the priests of the Duideth. Don't try to confound me with clever words.'
'You don't need to understand.' Tom changed tack. 'I can correct the error. I'll tell the Sisters of Rebirth where they've gone wrong.'
'No. You are not to interfere in religious matters. You must confine your attention to matters of a military nature and leave religion well alone. My heart dies whenever I hear you talk of the Holy Mother or speak the name of the Lord Sun. You do not understand the damage you can do.'
Tom felt like a little boy being disciplined by an elderly aunt. The old woman saw his downcast expression.
'Sky Warrior. I am mindful of your concern for us.'
Tom looked more cheerful.
'I am honoured, Majesty.'
The old woman smiled. 'You have done us a great service by your presence but I wonder what benefit there is in it for you.'
'Benefit, Majesty?'
'Aye. Sky Warrior.'
Tom was at a loss for words. He'd always looked upon his passage between realms as an adventure ... a bit like climbing a mountain ... something worthwhile in itself. He cleared his throat.
'I came here somewhat by mistake.'
'You have already told me that.' The queen inclined her head. 'That was not my question. I wonder about your blessed soul light. We all have paths through this mortal plane. What path will your soul tread?'
Tom was flattered that the old woman should worry about his cosmic destiny. He had never thought of her as religious. She spoke in religious terms but so did a lot of people in her position. Now it seemed she really believed what she was saying.
'My soul light, Majesty?'
'Aye, Sky Warrior. What path will it follow?'
'I don't know, Majesty.' He felt confused. 'It's not something I've given much thought to. I see myself as a traveller. My aim is to follow the Way of the Warrior and make another passage between realms. I suppose my soul light will make the trip too.'
The queen leant forward.
'You want to make the journey between realms by following the Way of the Warrior?'
'Aye, Majesty. According to ancient lore, it is possible to pass between realms by excelling in certain pursuits: the Way of the Warrior, the Way of the Priest, the Way of the Wizard ... and so on.'
'I would have rated your chances better as a hero.'
'You appointed me as your War Master.'
'I did,' the queen agreed. 'I just see you as more of a hero than a warrior ... that's all.' A noise caught her attention and her features tightened. Did you hear that?'
Tom peered through the doorway and saw a group of men leading a huge white stallion towards an equally large white mare.
'It's the stallion,' he observed. 'A very fine animal.'
'Aye, Sky Warrior ... a very fine animal.'
'In his prime,' Tom continued.'
'He will be ... they always are. But that's not what concerns me. I cannot cease from wondering why his fate and mine are tied so intimately together. That question must surely have been asked in your former realm.'
'As I said, Majesty,' Tom adjusted his cloak. 'The ceremony is no longer held. It died out ... first in one part then in another.'
'You mean they dropped parts of it?'
'That and other things ...'
Tom tried to find words that would not offend the old woman.
'It is said the queen once took the part of the mare.'
'That's a lie.' The queen's head jerked up. 'I've spoken to the Blessed Sisters and they assure me there's not the slightest truth in it.'
'I was talking about my former realm, Majesty.'
'Aye. You were indeed.' She seemed to relax. 'You were saying those things happened in the realm where you once lived. I am not surprised the ceremony died out. I cannot imagine what sort of woman would countenance such a thing. I'm sure none of my royal forebears would have engaged in anything like that.'
'I'm sure you're right, Majesty.'
'Is that what you think, Sky Warrior?..Do you really think it happened in your former realm but not here?'
'I'm sure it didn't happen here.'
The old woman appeared relieved.
'In your former realm ... was the ceremony replaced by anything similar?'
Tom gave a lengthy discourse on all ceremonies remotely connected with the one occupying the queen's attention. He ended with one where the celebrants drank wine, symbolising the blood of a sacrificed god, and ate bread that represented his body.
'I like it,' the queen said. 'Perhaps we should discuss the symbolism with the Blessed Sisters. We could do it when we are explaining the need to correct errors in their calendar.
'There is another matter,' she continued. 'When I stand before the people and tell them about my dream. The one in which the Holy Mother named you as War Master. I need to be confident that you are well versed in the reply.'
'I am, Majesty.' Tom bowed deeply. 'Thunder son of Storm Cloud has helped me compose my speech of acceptance.'
***
A fire burned in the chariot enclosure and men with fur-lined cloaks stood around it, singing and drinking beer. Tom saw Thunder amongst them and went to speak to the little man.
'Have you any news on the princess?' he asked.
Thunder shook his head.
'Her Majesty is worried about her,' Tom said. 'And she's very unhappy about today's ceremony. She's clearly distressed. I wonder why something hasn't been done about it.'
A girl brought Tom a drinking horn and he took a swig before returning his attention to Thunder.
'Don't you people ever think about the pressure Her Majesty is under?..She's getting on in years. You can't expect her to go on handling things as if she were still a young woman.'
'We are aware that Her Majesty has reached a most difficult part of the Noble Way which it is her lot to follow,' Thunder replied stiffly.
Tom glared at him.
'By the Great Poof's Arse. Stop talking like a pompous prick. Aren't you worried about the old lady?'
'I'm as worried as anyone, Sky Warrior.'
'Well. If you're worried, why don't you make things easier for her?..You could start with tonight's ceremony. She obviously doesn't like it. Why haven't you got the Sisters of Rebirth to do something about it?'
Thunder adjusted his sword and ran his hand through his hair. 'That's something your ordinary warrior doesn't get involved in.'
Tom knew the technique. It was the one Thunder used whenever he wanted to shrink in importance. He admired him for it. Most people went out of their way to appear more important than they were.
'What changes do you suggest?'
'I don't know.' Tom shrugged. 'I'm not sure what's involved. All I know is that she gets tense whenever anyone mentions the ceremony?'
'That's not much to go on.'
Tom searched his mind, trying to pin down the cause of the queen's concern. 'It's the stallion,' he said at last. 'She wonders why she should be so intimately involved in its fate. Those are her very words. I told her about the changes in my former realm ... how the queen and the stallion no longer get together?'
'They don't here anymore,' Thunder said. 'We stopped that a long time ago. So long ago most people say it never happened.'
'We went much further,' Tom said.
'What do you mean?'
'We got rid of the stallion.'
'That was very clever ... a bit like taking the egg out of the omelette.'
Thunder grasped his drinking horn thoughtfully.
'However did you do it?'
'People realised the stallion's role was largely symbolic.'
'Largely symbolic!' Thunder spluttered into his beer. 'That's something a simple warrior, like myself, finds very difficult to understand.' He took a quick swig. 'What did the mares think about it?'
'The mares?'
'Aye. When they were receiving the stallion's blessing ... did they think his role was largely symbolic?'
'They weren't asked. Their role was symbolic too. People who mattered ... people like us ... realised the stallion represented no more than the earthly embodiment of the Good God's masculine powers. As such, the stallion was one of the God's representatives on this earthly plane ... but not the only one.'
'Not the only one?'
'That's right. The God has many representatives and we may pick and choose the one to use in our ceremonies. If the stallion starts to offend then we find a substitute. It's just a matter of putting your mind to it.'
Thunder looked thoughtful.
'What substitute did your people use?'
'Bread and red wine.'
'Hgh.' Thunder grunted. 'I can't see people going along with that. They wouldn't have any part in it. Wine is what your southerners drink.'
'Then use beer. You can dye it to make it the right colour.'
'You can dye it any colour you like.' Thunder signalled for another beer. 'It still won't work.'
Their discussion was interrupted by the Great Horn of the Catti. Its raucous note announced the beginning of the evening ceremony. Tom followed Thunder into the cobbled area outside the House of Ways and was greeted by a roar of acclamation. The assembled warriors shouted his name, linking it with the queen's father.
Tom was flattered to be associated with such an illustrious chieftain. It cheered him and he was in a confident mood when he arrived beside the gigantic copper cauldron which formed the focal point of the proceedings.
The vessel stood on bronze legs over a small fire. Little girls in white dresses were grouped around its rim, supervised by black-robed women with unkempt hair. A strong aroma of human sweat and garlic pervaded the air. It was something Tom had come to expect whenever the Sisters of Rebirth were present. He wondered if the ladies went out of their way to be repulsive.
The Great Horn sounded again and the girls of the royal guard appeared, escorting a gilded cart drawn by white oxen. The crowd parted and the girls advanced, shouting the many names of the Mother Goddess.
'Magdoor. Avu. Anu. Birgit ...'
The chant was taken up by the women in the crowd and the men shouted the names of the Good God.
'Chulainn. Samsen. Artur. Toro. Tomas ...'
Tom was shocked to hear his old name. He liked to think it was something he'd shrugged off when he changed realms but it wouldn't go away. It hung around like a blight from the past. Only the priests of the Duideth knew it when he arrived in his new realm. Now the tribesmen were shouting it.
Their voices sent shivers down his spine. He was being associated with the hero god ... the god who had to die. The chanting stopped as the gilded cart came to a halt beside the cauldron. A veiled figure sat there, attended by little girls wearing garlands of holly.
'Praise to the Queen of the Corn.'
The girls of the royal guard bellowed.
'Praise to the Good God.'
A well-modulated voice sang back.
It was the sort of voice Tom associated with the more affluent classes of Cattish society. He turned, expecting to see a neatly dressed figure. Instead, he was confronted by a gaunt-faced woman with blackened teeth and long dirty nails. He recognised her as a senior member of the Sisterhood of Rebirth.
Silence followed. The little girls began to uncover the veiled figure. Tom did not doubt what he would see. Even before the arthritic knees had been revealed, he knew what would follow. The veil rose higher. The hem of the ridiculously short gown came into view then the girdle and plunging neckline. The Queen of the Catti sat statue-like in the middle of the cart.
She reminded Tom of a pantomime fairy. He had the impression that she had switched off. The old woman looked as if she was allowing her body to participate but nothing else. He wondered what she found so offensive. So far everything was rather tame. The stallion had given his blessing to the mares and had been duly killed. Then his body had been cut up and the pieces placed in the cauldron with a vast amount of oats and water.
It occurred to Tom that the flesh might not be properly cooked. Perhaps that was worrying the old woman. On the other hand there could be good reason for it. The purpose of the ceremony was to capture the life force which the stallion was privileged to bear. It might be weakened by cooking. He was contemplating this possibility when a shrill voice disturbed his thoughts.
'Let the union begin.'
Women in black lifted the queen from her seat. She was born aloft and rushed towards the cauldron. The little girls ran along beside her trying to keep the white gown in place. It rode up and they tugged at the ends to hold it back.
'Magdoor. Avu. Anu. Birgit. Sheela ...'
The women recited the names of the goddess and the men joined in, shouting the names of the Good God. Tom heard his old name again. Everyone knew it. There was nothing menacing about the voices but they sent shudders down his spine.
'Tomas. Tomas ...'
He turned his head and shut out the chanting. The old woman's feet had reached the rim of the cauldron and she was being lowered into it. The little girls arranged the veil about the rim. It got a bit stained but the overall effect was neat and tidy.
Tom turned to Thunder.
'What happens next?'
'We get into line and take our turn.' Thunder picked up a wooded bowl. 'One of the sisters ladles in some of the broth and you drink it.'
'I can't understand what's upsetting Her Majesty so much,' Tom reached for a bowl. 'I thought there would be much more to it than that. It's all rather tame compared with what used to go on in my old place.'
'I can't understand either.' Thunder took a swig of beer. 'Her mother didn't like it either ... women are like that.'
***
Alison bent over and vomited, one eye on her sword and the other on the ragged group of men huddled around a fire. They roared with laughter and slapped Fury on the back, saying they didn't think he had it in him. Fury sat awkwardly amongst them, too scared to get up and leave.
Another wave of nausea hit her. She knew what it was. The term in her former realm was morning sickness. She retched and the men beat their fists on their chests. They reminded her of a pack of monkeys. Vomit trickled from her mouth and dripped onto the mud. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and listened as one of them asked Fury what it was like to make love to a lynx.
'Does she have hair up to her armpits?'
They called her Red Lynx, after the colour of her hair. She preferred the name to Little Cat. It suited her new mood. She no longer wanted to be loved. That belonged to the past. Life in the marshes had taught her to place her trust in other things. Now, more than anything else, she wanted to be feared.
The men made obscene gestures but stayed well clear of her. They had seen her handle her sword and knew what she could do with it. She moved the sword closer. It was her best friend now.
'Did yer sister teach yer how to do it?'
One of the men prodded Fury in the stomach.
'Nah, it would've been his mother. All the Catti are mother fuckers ... didn't yer know that?'
They burst into maniacal laughter, which subsided when they saw Adrina looking at them. She was sitting under a tree, cradling Alvero in her arms while Miralda tended his wounds. Fury's sister was still very sick but one look from her was enough to hold the men in check.
'It wasn't you what we was talking about, Princess.'
They were frightened of Adrina. She had told Alison what would happen if her mother's people caught them. They were murderers and rapists who had fled to the marshes to escape justice. Simple execution was not good enough for them because it would set their soul lights free.
Instead of the sword, they would receive the loop, the sticks and the stones. They would be taken into the marshes when the moon was full and the Holy Mother cast her radiance upon the land. There they would be garrotted with a loop of raw cowhide. It would be slowly tightened about their necks until their eyes bulged in their sockets, showing that their soul lights were trapped. After that their useless bodies would be laid in the mire. Sticks would be placed upon them and stones laid on top. The bodies would sink into the mire where they would not decay.
Alison savoured the thought. Dimly, she heard her mother's voice talking about compassion. She erased it from her mind. Compassion had no relevance now. All that mattered was to get rid of such people and prevent them from returning. That meant you had to stop their soul lights from going back into the Void. Miralda had lectured her on it. She glanced at the old woman and the leather bag that hung about her neck.
The bag contained Balduur's mummified head and Miralda always had it with her. She'd told Alison it was their sacred mission to dispose of the head in such a way that the old War Lord would never again return to the mortal plane. Alison hung on Miralda's every word. She felt that her own future and that of the old woman were bound together. Miralda had talked about rebirth and how it could only be achieved by self-sacrifice. Alison knew what that meant. It meant growing wise and becoming a new person.
Her thoughts were disturbed by an outburst around the fire. The men had returned their attention to Fury and were asking him how he had managed to catch a lynx. Fury made a weak attempt to match their humour. His performance disgusted Alison. She rose and walked towards them with slow deliberate steps.
'She's coming to cut yer balls off.'
One of the men prodded Fury and Alison's eyes settled on him. She knew she could kill him before he had time to rise. Her sword flicked out and he cowered as it swept over his head and cut a trig from a branch. She caught it, trimmed the end and used it to remove a pot from the fire. The men roared with laughter but, when her fingers tightened on the sword, their features tensed. She gave a lynx hiss and walked off with the pot.
Adrina looked up as Alison approached. Her face was drawn and haggard, her skin deadly white. She tried to raise a hand in greeting but the effort caused her whole body to shake. Alvero lay beside her, tended by Miralda. The old woman was examining a pad of herbs and moss that covered a wound in his belly.
Alison halted, sensing the tension. The young man had been fed a gruel of oats and onion and now it was time to find out what the concoction had to say about his wound. If the injury was superficial then the smell of onion would not penetrate to the outside. If the intestines had been cut through, the smell would be unmistakable.
Miralda lifted the last piece of padding and revealed a short cut. It looked clean and there was no sign of infection but the sight unnerved Alison. She knew what sort of stroke had caused the injury. It was not the result of a slashing action. The wound would have been produced by a thrust with a short sword. If the sword had been arrested by body armour then all might be well. But if the blade had penetrated deeply, serious injury was inevitable.
Miralda leant over, placed her nose near the wound and sniffed. Alison did not have to wait. If the expression on the old woman's wrinkled face had not given the verdict, the faint aroma of onion would have told its tale. Miralda drew herself up.
'The sword reached his vitals.' She touched Adrina's arm. 'There's nothing I can do to cure his ill.'
Adrina sank back sobbing. Her whole body shook and fresh blood began to ooze through her bandages. Alison bent down to comfort her.
'Try to calm yourself ... you're opening up the wound.'
'I don't care.' Adrina shook. 'He's going to die and I shall die with him. Our soul lights will go back into the Void together.'
'No. You mustn't talk like that.' Alison hunted for words. 'The Holy Mother has need of you.'
Mention of the goddess had the desired effect. Adrina became less agitated. She grasped Alison's hand and hung onto it. 'Do you really think so?'
'I wouldn't have said so if I didn't.'
Adrina gazed into Alison's eyes. I know you are part of Her Great Plan. But does She still need me?'
'I'm sure She does,' Alison replied gently.
'She has forsaken me,' Adrina wailed. 'I was vain and silly. I thought I could do anything just by calling Her name. All I have done is bring destruction on those I hold most dear.' She took Alison's hand. 'You wouldn't do anything as stupid as me. You're not vain and silly.'
'Yes, I am.' Alison squeezed her hand. 'I've done the most stupid things.'
'No, you're not stupid. You're strong and sensible.'
'I'm not. If I was sensible, I wouldn't have chased after your brother and I wouldn't be here on this island with murderers and rapists … and I wouldn't be pregnant.'
'If I hadn't been stupid Alvero wouldn't be dying,' Adrina sobbed. 'This is a terrible place to die. The bog swallows you up like a criminal. Your soul light gets trapped.' Her fingers tightened on Alison's arm. 'We can't let that happen. Please, sister. I'm too weak. Say you'll help me.'
'Of course I will.'
'When it happens I want you to be here.' Adrina grasped her hand. 'I don't want them to get near him ... they'll throw him into the bog.' She pointed to the men. 'When it happens, cut his head straight off and hang it in that elm tree. Then sit guard with your sword till our brother crows have done their work. Don't stop when they've just picked out the eyes. Wait till they've taken all the flesh. Only then can you be sure his soul light is free and ready to fly away.'
'Aye, sister.' Alison nodded. 'I'll do as you have asked.' She eased Adrina back beside Alvero and covered them with the skins that formed their bed. Then she returned to her former position, sitting on her haunches, sword beside her, surveying the marshes.