Gavin Smith - The Age of Scorpio

The track branched into three and the middle path branched into two more routes further up. One of the two central tracks led to a gate in the west wall that had been blocked up. Britha and Teardrop took the other. They walked past granaries raised on stilts to keep out vermin. There were guards on the granaries. Not the professional warriors of the Cigfran Teulu, the Family of the Raven, the Atrebates cateran , but rather doughty landsmen with staves. The landsmen here did not seem to carry spears, Britha noticed with disdain . This must be a soft land , she thought.

To their left were a number of roundhouses little different from those Britha had left in Ardestie. The people watched the two strangers pass, women, children and men. They looked gaunt, haggard and more than a little frightened. They stared, but when Britha stared back they did anything to avoid looking her in the eyes. There were still some sheep, pigs, a few cows and chickens, so the siege had not gone on too long, but just looking at the animals reminded her of the hunger that gnawed away at her. She felt like she was being eaten from the inside and her blood burned. I am as much monster as you now, Cliodna , Britha thought.

‘A fine salmon leap,’ the creature that was trying to contain itself in Teardrop’s body said, referring to her killing of the bear creature.

‘What are you?’ Britha demanded. She had seen the thing sprouting out like a vast crystalline plant from his body, reaching to places that didn’t make sense to her. It hurt for her to look at him, pain through her skull so bad it made her feel sick.

‘An explanation would do you no good.’

‘Why don’t the others see you as you are?’

‘Fachtna can, obviously. The rest do not have the potency in their blood that you do. Blessed by the Muileartach and Crom Dhubh, by life and death. That is why you can see, but sadly you will never understand.’ Britha felt like she was being insulted but chose not to rise to the provocation. This thing was unknown but seemingly powerful, and she did not wish to provoke it. ‘Because of your slaying of the bear, they think that you are one of us.’ Britha realised that he was talking in the language of the Pecht, her language. It had similarities to what was spoken by the southron tribes, languages which she now somehow instinctively understood, but was different enough so that any of the Atrebates who were listening would not understand.

‘They think I am from the Otherworld?’

‘They will.’

Britha was about to ask more but they had arrived at a large circular stone structure in the north-west corner of the fort. It was raised on a mound and its walls were about eight feet high, though with regular square gaps in the stones. There was a large opening in the southern part of the wall.

‘What is this?’ Britha asked.

‘A holy place.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘A place dedicated to their gods.’

‘But it’s huge. They could build many roundhouses here, or granaries, graze animals or train warriors.’ Britha could just about understand why god-slaves would have small shrines in their roundhouses to bargain with their gods for favours, but this extravagance seemed like insanity.

‘They are a rich tribe.’

‘They are moonstruck.’ Britha would have said more but they had passed through the gap into the circular structure. Inside was a large stone pool of what looked like very stagnant water. In the centre of it was a stone statue of an exaggeratedly pregnant female figure with an oversized vagina.

‘The Muileartach,’ Britha whispered.

‘Here they call her Andraste,’ the thing that wore Teardrop told her. Though he spoke the language of the Pecht, Andraste was a southron word, and as he said it one of three figures turned to look at them. The figure was tall and thin and wore the brown robe of a dryw . Britha found his stare more disconcerting than she would have otherwise as he wore an enchendach , a feathered bird mask, in the shape of a raven’s head. Britha pointed at him.

‘That is ill done. What has this one to hide?’ she said, mistrusting the mask.

‘Eurawg does not hide; he honours the gods,’ the second figure said, stroking a thin black moustache streaked with white. He looked old and grizzled, and had gone to seed, but it was clear to Britha that not long ago he had been fit and physically powerful. His clothes were of fine quality, the dirk at his hip even had some kind of precious trade stone embedded in its pommel. His voice had sounded reasonable enough in tone but she could hear the pain in it. He was sitting on a pallet of straw but was clearly not comfortable, the result of the two mangled legs that stretched out in front of him. His eyes spoke of intelligence; his scars spoke of a willingness to fight; and the expression on his face was one of interest and bemusement. This is no fool , Britha thought. She also thought she could see the faintest trace of fire running through his blood.

‘I honour the goddess and I honour her daughter.’ The voice from the mask was little more than a whisper. Britha did not like the voice and did not understand the reference to the daughter of the goddess. She glanced at Teardrop suspiciously.

‘This is Rin, rhi of the Atrebates.’

Britha nodded to the man on the pallet.

‘So this is the daughter of Andraste?’ the third figure asked scornfully. She spoke with a voice obviously used to wielding authority. At first Britha had taken the figure in battle-scarred armour to be a man. On closer inspection it was obvious that the powerfully built woman had once been handsome, though never beautiful. Now she was all hard edges, scar tissue and broken teeth. One of her eyes was a white mass surrounded by scarring; her left ear was missing; no hair grew around the wound, which was still raw, though it had obviously happened many years ago.

Britha was about to deny that she had any connection to any god when Teardrop said, ‘That is correct. Britha is the daughter of Andraste, and I am her herald.’

Britha turned to Teardrop, but his features remained impassive and he did not look at her. With the silver crystalline eyes he looked more Otherworldly than ever before. It was hard to imagine he had ever been just a man.

‘You’ll forgive me if I do not immediately accept this,’ the woman said.

I don’t blame you , Britha thought, but decided to remain silent, waiting to see what Teardrop was going to do next.

‘Morfudd!’ the dryw in the enchendach hissed. ‘You would deny the word of your goddess!’

‘Shut up, Eurawg,’ the woman said.

‘You cannot speak to one of my rank like—’

‘Shut up, Eurawg.’

‘What would you have of us?’ Teardrop asked.

‘Proof,’ Morfudd said. Britha had to admit that she liked the warrior.

‘You do not demand—’ Eurawg started but Morfudd turned on him.

‘I will not blindly follow anyone who turns up claiming to be the daughter of Andraste, and stop trying to sound sinister, Eurawg. You’re not fooling anyone.’

‘They’re family,’ Rin told them by way of explanation and apology.

‘Morfudd leads the Cigfran Teulu,’ Teardrop told Britha. ‘The warband is sacred to your mother, hence their leader must always be a woman.’

‘The Cigfran Teulu is only sacred to Andraste in her aspect as the hag,’ Morfudd said. ‘But then as her daughter you would know that.’

The dryw all but tore off his enchendach . He was young: he could not have left the colleges in the groves all that long ago. Britha wondered why there was no older or more experienced dryw to treat with them, particularly as she was the daughter of a goddess, apparently.