Winding Paths
The prequel to The Story of Light
Brigid wiped the rain from her eyes and looked upwards, trying to see how far they still had to go. She needn't have bothered. The stinging rain and grit was immediately whipped back into her face, and she could barely even see the slippery trail amidst the rivulets of dirty water hurtling downhill.
She stumbled on, head bowed. She braced her hands on her thighs and tried to get into a rhythm, but it was impossible. Her boots kept slipping on the treacherous rocks and she had to fight to keep her balance.
She looked back at Cathbad. His face seemed as calm and neutral as ever. She knew he made this climb at least once every day, rain, wind, sun or snow. They had brief eye-contact and Brigid turned back to the path at once. She couldn't let him think her weak. She should be used to the hills – she'd been climbing them since she could walk – although she'd never scaled the Hill of Cernunnos before. This was out of bounds except for the Druids. She struggled on.
This was her first test. The thought hammered in her mind.
She thought of her siblings, snug by the hearth, listening to the rain hammering on the thatch as they waited for their bowls of broth. As she would be, on an ordinary day. Already she was thinking back with longing. As they’d left her family's roundhouse in the valley, the already powerful wind had intensified, as if in challenge. The rain was driven under her cloak and into her boots, despite their tight lacing.
Now her fingers were numb and she could barely feel the hem of her hood as she tried to pull it forward, only to have it whipped back again. It was like the Gods were challenging Cathbad's decision that she be chosen for Druid training.
She looked back at him uneasily. Was he thinking the same? She couldn't tell. Was that a flicker of uncertainty as he glanced back downhill?
He caught her eye and she turned away, hoping he wouldn't order her back, almost wishing he would. She plodded on, fearing and expecting his voice.
She slipped. The wind caught her and she fell. She rolled down the slope until she reached Cathbad's feet. The shock of pain screamed though her palms and knees. She gasped for breath. Blood was running from her palm, pale as it mingled with the rain. She expected Cathbad to help her up, to dress her injury. He didn’t move.
Brigid struggled to sit up, looked at his face. Hard, impassive, uncaring. He had no intention of helping her. She inspected her hand. He knew it was true. She wasn't meant for the Druids. He was angry because he'd made a mistake. The Gods were driving her back.
She stood, sure now he was going to send her home. She waited for his command.
'Keep going, girl. The more you stand around, the quicker you’ll chill.'
His words took a while to penetrate her numbed mind.
'But...' She searched his face. 'I think the Gods don’t want me here.' She bit her lip. She hadn't realised how much it would hurt.
'Your path is with the Druids.' Cathbad's voice left no room for argument. 'The Gods have made your initiation hard. Not because they want you to fail; because they know you can succeed. It's a test, not a punishment.'
There was a flicker of a smile on his lips. 'This is how it'll be for you. Hardship, struggle, trial. It will not be easy. Yours will be the hardest path of all.'
He squeezed her shoulder and gestured her onwards. Brigid couldn't stop herself shivering now, and she clenched her arms against her body and tried to hurry. Shards of icy pain stabbed at her throat with each breath.
She glanced up again, searching for the high stone walls of the rath on the summit. Even in the valley or on the distant hills it was unmissable, the walls gleaming white in the sun. But now there was nothing. The hills were showing their true, untameable strength.
A rumble of thunder penetrated the fog of her mind, reminding her it was still summer. A flash of lighting burst through the cloud and rain, illuminating the summit in pale shadow. Brigid looked up and froze. Ruins. The walls were gone.
'Cathbad!' She raised a shaking finger.
'What? What did you see?'
'It's gone! The rath's gone!'
They both looked up into the impenetrable fog, but the hill was betraying no secrets.
Another flash. The walls stood strong against the vicious rain, just as they always had.
Brigid's mouth hung open. 'But... I saw...'
Cathbad looked at her. Then he nodded. 'I know what you saw. As I said, your path will be hard. Hard and long.' He continued up the slope.
'Cathbad?' She hurried to catch him up 'Did I see the future? Will the rath be destroyed?'
It was unthinkable. It was centuries old; how could it fall?
'It will be a long time in the future.' His words were whipped away by the wind. 'Hundreds of years away.'
No, no, no. A terrible sense of time, slipping away before her like snowflakes in the sun, struck daggers into her soul. She tried to imagine so impossibly far into the future. A time when everyone and everything she knew was gone. The slope seemed to steepen, her legs were heavy as iron. She couldn’t breathe.
She paused, gasping, and as she looked up the slope again she saw an indistinct figure. A woman, struggling ahead of them. Wearing an odd short cloak, breeches like her own. But there was something... unnatural... about her.
Herself. Brigid knew it in her soul. She was watching her alien future self climbing the sacred mountain.
She stared, but the figure was already fading into the mist. She felt as if something were physically tugging inside her. The threads of her path, winding about her. Ensnaring her. She had to get away. Go back to her simple, ordinary life. Huddling around the fire with her siblings, telling stories, aiding her mother with the quern.
'Brigid. Hurry.' Cathbad's voice floated back to her. 'We must reach the rath as soon as possible. I've much to do before nightfall.'
He was standing a little way ahead, his long hair and beard whipped sideways by the wind, waiting for her.
'Come on, girl. Now.'
Her nails were digging hard into her palms. She couldn't move. Couldn't go on. Not to this. A vicious blast of wind tore beneath her cloak. It caught the pendant her father had given her that morning and cracked it against her collar bone. She flinched and reached under her cloak for it.
'It was my grandmother's,' her father had said as he hung it proudly around her neck. 'I always meant it to be for you.'
Her chilled fingers could still make out the familiar design. The knot of life, twisting and spiralling. What would he think if she let them all down?
Squeezing it hard, she started towards Cathbad.
'The future is a long way off. You've a long way to go yet.'
His words provided scant comfort.
Not far now. Despite all it would signify, she was desperate for this to end. A warm fire, broth, bread. Dry boots. She thought she could smell newly baked bread. Her mouth watered. She summoned her last reserves, thought of nothing but keeping her numb feet and screaming muscles climbing.
She could see the gate now. Heavy oaken spars, spanning the high stone walls which stretched into the mist, a testimony to the strength of her people. Cathbad said it was built by the oldest of men, those who'd come here from far away across the sea. They'd been the first to channel the land's spirit into the sacred tracks, stone circles and hilltop raths. They must have been like Gods themselves, Brigid thought.
The walls, impressive from afar, were overwhelming close up. A weight was pressing down on her. An audible hum, a tension, rippled round her. It made her feel quite dizzy, and she almost laughed out loud. The ordeal was over. She'd passed her test.
'Turn right here. We'll continue around the summit by the processional way. For your first visit, it's important that the correct rituals are followed.'
It was like a slap in the face. Surely not? How far was this? At least a thousand paces. The pain, the exhaustion, the hammering wind and rain, all returned with brutal force. Her achievement slipped away on the wind. She knew her legs wouldn’t carry her another step.
'Move, else you’ll get cold-bite.'
It took forever. The wind eased slightly when they reached the lee of the hill, which made it all the worse when they had to battle against it on the return.
Maybe eight hundred paces to go.
At last, they reached the gate again. Brigid was too cold now to even think about a hot meal.
'Go round again, alone,' Cathbad instructed. 'The Gods need to meet you alone.'
A numb despair drifted through her mind. She couldn't even think to protest.
She couldn’t feel the path under her feet, and could hardly stop herself tripping over every rock and ridge as she struggled on.
Out of the wind slightly. She paused and squeezed her arms round herself. It did nothing to help. She shivered even more.
She had to keep gong. She'd be nearly half way round now. Another five hundred paces. What was Cathbad doing? Resting by a warm fire. The heat driving through his damp clothes. Thinking of her, out in this torturous weather. She trudged on. Head down, fists clenched, watching her feet pass in front of her eyes.
She reached a stunted rowan, twisted and bowed into the shape of a macabre bird. She hadn’t seen it before. She looked round.
The rain had eased, the mists retreated a little. The path was leading west, away from the rath, towards the huge scar of rock on Wester Tor.
She searched back the way she'd come. She'd been concentrating on her feet, hoping this would soon be over, and because of that she'd drifted onto another path. Cathbad would be so angry.
She looked back towards Wester Tor. Another squall was sweeping towards her, the bracken and heather swallowed up in the murk. Then the raindrops lashed against her face, stinging her eyes and cheeks with their fury. Tears of frustration seeped into her eyes, mingling with the rivulets of rain running down her cheeks. She turned back, the wind driving her onwards, searching for landmarks she recognised.
Eventually she saw an outcrop she remembered. Just past it, she now realised, the path had split in two.
As she reached it, something made her look behind it. Glaring at her, sheltered by the lee of the rock, a mottle-feathered hawk was poised over a part-grown hare.
She stared in horror. The bird glared back. Its wings were stretched over its prey, a tuft of fur clinging to its open beak. She'd never seen a hawk so close before.
She stepped back hurriedly, out of its line of sight. An omen. A terrible omen. A symbol of death. She had to circle the rath alone for the Gods to see her. And this was their judgement.
She began to run. Fighting the wind, ignoring the rain and the sharp rocks underfoot. She had to get back. Tell Cathbad what she'd seen. He'd understand he'd been wrong. The Gods were against her after all.
The path passed with terrible slowness. She could feel something looming behind her. She had to get off the sacred mountain at once. Her breath wailed in her throat.
There he was, just below the gate. Exactly where she'd left him.
'Cathbad!'
She fought to breathe as the wind whipped her voice away. He looked at her intently. He could see, she thought. See what she'd seen, and what it meant.
'Did the Gods acknowledge your arrival?'
'They don’t want me here.' The words hurt, so much. 'They want me to leave.'
'What did you see?'
She described the terrible scene, waiting for his expression to change, to acknowledge she was right.
'The pendant of your father's,' he said. 'Do you understand what it means?'
Her mind was blank.
'It means life,' she said eventually. 'Weaving and winding in an endless path. An endless knot. Without beginning and without end.'
'And what was the hawk telling you?'
'I don’t know. That I'm not to stay here. That you were wrong about me.' She hardly dared say it.
'Why do you say that? The hawk must hunt to live. For him, the day is a success.'
'But what about the hare?'
'Life, for an individual, is here for a heartbeat, Brigid. All that lives must die. The hare was weak, sick maybe. That's why it was caught. This is better for the hare's kind: the strong will now thrive in its place. This is the endless knot: life is born and dies, but life itself will never die. What you saw was a sign, yes, but not in the way you thought.'
Brigid again felt that terrible dread gnawing at her stomach. That future self she'd seen. To live in the future, she would have to die. She felt sick.
'Let's get inside. The wind bites a bit.' Cathbad led her to the gate.
The heavy wood slid open and they went inside. The high walls blocked the wind, and Brigid was surprised at how quiet it was. The driving rain was reduced to a heavy drizzle and a pall of wood smoke hung low. Three dozen squat buildings were scattered nearby. In the distance she could see hurrying figures, but nobody close by. The place seemed stark and desolate, so different to the bustling town, alive with people, children and animals.
'Come.' Cathbad led her through the maze of buildings. He pulled back the drapes from the entrance of one of the smallest.
'This is where the trainee females live. You’ll be alone for tonight and tomorrow: they’re all on a vigil. There's water and bread for you, and I've arranged some stew as well. Tomorrow morning, at dawn, come and find me.'
Then he was gone. Brigid stared after him. Where was she to find him? She went to the entrance but already there was no sign of him.
She huddled down by the fire and held her hands out. Steam began to rise from her clothes. She needed to pass water, but where was she supposed to go? She listened for any sound outside, but there was nothing but the wind tugging the hide drapes and the rain dripping from the thatch. Water dripped from the smokehole and hissed in the flames.
She stirred the stew and took a mouthful. Bland, overboiled, stringy. She felt like crying. Her mother, and she herself, could do so much better.
She thought again of that strange woman. Of the hawk, and its message. She was going to die, and then live in the future, in a horrid strange world, full of strange things. How she wanted to go home.
She went to the entrance. The rain had stopped. Still nobody about. She wandered, looking for the latrine trench, and eventually found herself back at the gate.
She looked round, heart racing. Could she? Did she dare?
She slipped out. She hurried, desperate to get onto the path before anyone saw her. She neared a cluster of rocks beside the path, and stopped. She could sense someone there. Not a Druid or a shepherd, or anyone else she recognised. Something alien, intensely unfamiliar.
Her. She knew it. She found herself drawn forwards.
She was sitting in an alcove, her back towards her. Brigid drew back a little, then stopped and studied her. Herself. Her same long, glossy hair. The same slim strength. But the clothes were so strange. The short cloak shimmered and reflected the moisture. The breeches appeared to be made of immensely fine wool, and her boots were as heavy and clumsy as she'd ever seen. A strange, undefinable smell of corrosion, corruption, lingered around her. Of something thrown on a fire. Was that the smell of the future?
The woman looked towards her. Brigid shrank back, then realised the woman couldn’t see her. Her face wasn't particularly healthy, as if she'd been sick. Was it to do with that smell?
She was a bit older than she'd first thought. More than five-and-twenty, and from her figure she appeared to have never borne children. A priestess sworn to chastity? Although not Law for Druids, Brigid knew some paths took this course. The revelation was comforting. At least she would have something familiar in her future. And, as she absorbed every detail of her other self, she saw she looked happy.
In the distance the clouds parted, and the setting sun burst through. Brigid stared. The shadows swept toward them and the land was revealed in dazzling splendour. Purple heather, gorse blazing a vivid yellow. The shimmering green was fresh and newly washed, emitting the scent of warmth and sunlight. A patchwork of jewels stretched on and on. In the distance, the blue shimmer of the sea danced. It was the hills at their most beautiful.
She looked at her other self. She was smiling.
Brigid realised what the Gods were saying. It was hard, yes, and would get harder. But she could do it. She could cope with whatever trials were coming. She felt a bond, stronger than the strongest iron, forged between the two of them. Something the years would never break. She absorbed this moment, storing it in her mind forever, then turned and ran back towards the gate.
Behind her, the sun slipped below the hills. Brigid's first day as a Druid was over.
The prequel to The Story of Light
Brigid wiped the rain from her eyes and looked upwards, trying to see how far they still had to go. She needn't have bothered. The stinging rain and grit was immediately whipped back into her face, and she could barely even see the slippery trail amidst the rivulets of dirty water hurtling downhill.
She stumbled on, head bowed. She braced her hands on her thighs and tried to get into a rhythm, but it was impossible. Her boots kept slipping on the treacherous rocks and she had to fight to keep her balance.
She looked back at Cathbad. His face seemed as calm and neutral as ever. She knew he made this climb at least once every day, rain, wind, sun or snow. They had brief eye-contact and Brigid turned back to the path at once. She couldn't let him think her weak. She should be used to the hills – she'd been climbing them since she could walk – although she'd never scaled the Hill of Cernunnos before. This was out of bounds except for the Druids. She struggled on.
This was her first test. The thought hammered in her mind.
She thought of her siblings, snug by the hearth, listening to the rain hammering on the thatch as they waited for their bowls of broth. As she would be, on an ordinary day. Already she was thinking back with longing. As they’d left her family's roundhouse in the valley, the already powerful wind had intensified, as if in challenge. The rain was driven under her cloak and into her boots, despite their tight lacing.
Now her fingers were numb and she could barely feel the hem of her hood as she tried to pull it forward, only to have it whipped back again. It was like the Gods were challenging Cathbad's decision that she be chosen for Druid training.
She looked back at him uneasily. Was he thinking the same? She couldn't tell. Was that a flicker of uncertainty as he glanced back downhill?
He caught her eye and she turned away, hoping he wouldn't order her back, almost wishing he would. She plodded on, fearing and expecting his voice.
She slipped. The wind caught her and she fell. She rolled down the slope until she reached Cathbad's feet. The shock of pain screamed though her palms and knees. She gasped for breath. Blood was running from her palm, pale as it mingled with the rain. She expected Cathbad to help her up, to dress her injury. He didn’t move.
Brigid struggled to sit up, looked at his face. Hard, impassive, uncaring. He had no intention of helping her. She inspected her hand. He knew it was true. She wasn't meant for the Druids. He was angry because he'd made a mistake. The Gods were driving her back.
She stood, sure now he was going to send her home. She waited for his command.
'Keep going, girl. The more you stand around, the quicker you’ll chill.'
His words took a while to penetrate her numbed mind.
'But...' She searched his face. 'I think the Gods don’t want me here.' She bit her lip. She hadn't realised how much it would hurt.
'Your path is with the Druids.' Cathbad's voice left no room for argument. 'The Gods have made your initiation hard. Not because they want you to fail; because they know you can succeed. It's a test, not a punishment.'
There was a flicker of a smile on his lips. 'This is how it'll be for you. Hardship, struggle, trial. It will not be easy. Yours will be the hardest path of all.'
He squeezed her shoulder and gestured her onwards. Brigid couldn't stop herself shivering now, and she clenched her arms against her body and tried to hurry. Shards of icy pain stabbed at her throat with each breath.
She glanced up again, searching for the high stone walls of the rath on the summit. Even in the valley or on the distant hills it was unmissable, the walls gleaming white in the sun. But now there was nothing. The hills were showing their true, untameable strength.
A rumble of thunder penetrated the fog of her mind, reminding her it was still summer. A flash of lighting burst through the cloud and rain, illuminating the summit in pale shadow. Brigid looked up and froze. Ruins. The walls were gone.
'Cathbad!' She raised a shaking finger.
'What? What did you see?'
'It's gone! The rath's gone!'
They both looked up into the impenetrable fog, but the hill was betraying no secrets.
Another flash. The walls stood strong against the vicious rain, just as they always had.
Brigid's mouth hung open. 'But... I saw...'
Cathbad looked at her. Then he nodded. 'I know what you saw. As I said, your path will be hard. Hard and long.' He continued up the slope.
'Cathbad?' She hurried to catch him up 'Did I see the future? Will the rath be destroyed?'
It was unthinkable. It was centuries old; how could it fall?
'It will be a long time in the future.' His words were whipped away by the wind. 'Hundreds of years away.'
No, no, no. A terrible sense of time, slipping away before her like snowflakes in the sun, struck daggers into her soul. She tried to imagine so impossibly far into the future. A time when everyone and everything she knew was gone. The slope seemed to steepen, her legs were heavy as iron. She couldn’t breathe.
She paused, gasping, and as she looked up the slope again she saw an indistinct figure. A woman, struggling ahead of them. Wearing an odd short cloak, breeches like her own. But there was something... unnatural... about her.
Herself. Brigid knew it in her soul. She was watching her alien future self climbing the sacred mountain.
She stared, but the figure was already fading into the mist. She felt as if something were physically tugging inside her. The threads of her path, winding about her. Ensnaring her. She had to get away. Go back to her simple, ordinary life. Huddling around the fire with her siblings, telling stories, aiding her mother with the quern.
'Brigid. Hurry.' Cathbad's voice floated back to her. 'We must reach the rath as soon as possible. I've much to do before nightfall.'
He was standing a little way ahead, his long hair and beard whipped sideways by the wind, waiting for her.
'Come on, girl. Now.'
Her nails were digging hard into her palms. She couldn't move. Couldn't go on. Not to this. A vicious blast of wind tore beneath her cloak. It caught the pendant her father had given her that morning and cracked it against her collar bone. She flinched and reached under her cloak for it.
'It was my grandmother's,' her father had said as he hung it proudly around her neck. 'I always meant it to be for you.'
Her chilled fingers could still make out the familiar design. The knot of life, twisting and spiralling. What would he think if she let them all down?
Squeezing it hard, she started towards Cathbad.
'The future is a long way off. You've a long way to go yet.'
His words provided scant comfort.
Not far now. Despite all it would signify, she was desperate for this to end. A warm fire, broth, bread. Dry boots. She thought she could smell newly baked bread. Her mouth watered. She summoned her last reserves, thought of nothing but keeping her numb feet and screaming muscles climbing.
She could see the gate now. Heavy oaken spars, spanning the high stone walls which stretched into the mist, a testimony to the strength of her people. Cathbad said it was built by the oldest of men, those who'd come here from far away across the sea. They'd been the first to channel the land's spirit into the sacred tracks, stone circles and hilltop raths. They must have been like Gods themselves, Brigid thought.
The walls, impressive from afar, were overwhelming close up. A weight was pressing down on her. An audible hum, a tension, rippled round her. It made her feel quite dizzy, and she almost laughed out loud. The ordeal was over. She'd passed her test.
'Turn right here. We'll continue around the summit by the processional way. For your first visit, it's important that the correct rituals are followed.'
It was like a slap in the face. Surely not? How far was this? At least a thousand paces. The pain, the exhaustion, the hammering wind and rain, all returned with brutal force. Her achievement slipped away on the wind. She knew her legs wouldn’t carry her another step.
'Move, else you’ll get cold-bite.'
It took forever. The wind eased slightly when they reached the lee of the hill, which made it all the worse when they had to battle against it on the return.
Maybe eight hundred paces to go.
At last, they reached the gate again. Brigid was too cold now to even think about a hot meal.
'Go round again, alone,' Cathbad instructed. 'The Gods need to meet you alone.'
A numb despair drifted through her mind. She couldn't even think to protest.
She couldn’t feel the path under her feet, and could hardly stop herself tripping over every rock and ridge as she struggled on.
Out of the wind slightly. She paused and squeezed her arms round herself. It did nothing to help. She shivered even more.
She had to keep gong. She'd be nearly half way round now. Another five hundred paces. What was Cathbad doing? Resting by a warm fire. The heat driving through his damp clothes. Thinking of her, out in this torturous weather. She trudged on. Head down, fists clenched, watching her feet pass in front of her eyes.
She reached a stunted rowan, twisted and bowed into the shape of a macabre bird. She hadn’t seen it before. She looked round.
The rain had eased, the mists retreated a little. The path was leading west, away from the rath, towards the huge scar of rock on Wester Tor.
She searched back the way she'd come. She'd been concentrating on her feet, hoping this would soon be over, and because of that she'd drifted onto another path. Cathbad would be so angry.
She looked back towards Wester Tor. Another squall was sweeping towards her, the bracken and heather swallowed up in the murk. Then the raindrops lashed against her face, stinging her eyes and cheeks with their fury. Tears of frustration seeped into her eyes, mingling with the rivulets of rain running down her cheeks. She turned back, the wind driving her onwards, searching for landmarks she recognised.
Eventually she saw an outcrop she remembered. Just past it, she now realised, the path had split in two.
As she reached it, something made her look behind it. Glaring at her, sheltered by the lee of the rock, a mottle-feathered hawk was poised over a part-grown hare.
She stared in horror. The bird glared back. Its wings were stretched over its prey, a tuft of fur clinging to its open beak. She'd never seen a hawk so close before.
She stepped back hurriedly, out of its line of sight. An omen. A terrible omen. A symbol of death. She had to circle the rath alone for the Gods to see her. And this was their judgement.
She began to run. Fighting the wind, ignoring the rain and the sharp rocks underfoot. She had to get back. Tell Cathbad what she'd seen. He'd understand he'd been wrong. The Gods were against her after all.
The path passed with terrible slowness. She could feel something looming behind her. She had to get off the sacred mountain at once. Her breath wailed in her throat.
There he was, just below the gate. Exactly where she'd left him.
'Cathbad!'
She fought to breathe as the wind whipped her voice away. He looked at her intently. He could see, she thought. See what she'd seen, and what it meant.
'Did the Gods acknowledge your arrival?'
'They don’t want me here.' The words hurt, so much. 'They want me to leave.'
'What did you see?'
She described the terrible scene, waiting for his expression to change, to acknowledge she was right.
'The pendant of your father's,' he said. 'Do you understand what it means?'
Her mind was blank.
'It means life,' she said eventually. 'Weaving and winding in an endless path. An endless knot. Without beginning and without end.'
'And what was the hawk telling you?'
'I don’t know. That I'm not to stay here. That you were wrong about me.' She hardly dared say it.
'Why do you say that? The hawk must hunt to live. For him, the day is a success.'
'But what about the hare?'
'Life, for an individual, is here for a heartbeat, Brigid. All that lives must die. The hare was weak, sick maybe. That's why it was caught. This is better for the hare's kind: the strong will now thrive in its place. This is the endless knot: life is born and dies, but life itself will never die. What you saw was a sign, yes, but not in the way you thought.'
Brigid again felt that terrible dread gnawing at her stomach. That future self she'd seen. To live in the future, she would have to die. She felt sick.
'Let's get inside. The wind bites a bit.' Cathbad led her to the gate.
The heavy wood slid open and they went inside. The high walls blocked the wind, and Brigid was surprised at how quiet it was. The driving rain was reduced to a heavy drizzle and a pall of wood smoke hung low. Three dozen squat buildings were scattered nearby. In the distance she could see hurrying figures, but nobody close by. The place seemed stark and desolate, so different to the bustling town, alive with people, children and animals.
'Come.' Cathbad led her through the maze of buildings. He pulled back the drapes from the entrance of one of the smallest.
'This is where the trainee females live. You’ll be alone for tonight and tomorrow: they’re all on a vigil. There's water and bread for you, and I've arranged some stew as well. Tomorrow morning, at dawn, come and find me.'
Then he was gone. Brigid stared after him. Where was she to find him? She went to the entrance but already there was no sign of him.
She huddled down by the fire and held her hands out. Steam began to rise from her clothes. She needed to pass water, but where was she supposed to go? She listened for any sound outside, but there was nothing but the wind tugging the hide drapes and the rain dripping from the thatch. Water dripped from the smokehole and hissed in the flames.
She stirred the stew and took a mouthful. Bland, overboiled, stringy. She felt like crying. Her mother, and she herself, could do so much better.
She thought again of that strange woman. Of the hawk, and its message. She was going to die, and then live in the future, in a horrid strange world, full of strange things. How she wanted to go home.
She went to the entrance. The rain had stopped. Still nobody about. She wandered, looking for the latrine trench, and eventually found herself back at the gate.
She looked round, heart racing. Could she? Did she dare?
She slipped out. She hurried, desperate to get onto the path before anyone saw her. She neared a cluster of rocks beside the path, and stopped. She could sense someone there. Not a Druid or a shepherd, or anyone else she recognised. Something alien, intensely unfamiliar.
Her. She knew it. She found herself drawn forwards.
She was sitting in an alcove, her back towards her. Brigid drew back a little, then stopped and studied her. Herself. Her same long, glossy hair. The same slim strength. But the clothes were so strange. The short cloak shimmered and reflected the moisture. The breeches appeared to be made of immensely fine wool, and her boots were as heavy and clumsy as she'd ever seen. A strange, undefinable smell of corrosion, corruption, lingered around her. Of something thrown on a fire. Was that the smell of the future?
The woman looked towards her. Brigid shrank back, then realised the woman couldn’t see her. Her face wasn't particularly healthy, as if she'd been sick. Was it to do with that smell?
She was a bit older than she'd first thought. More than five-and-twenty, and from her figure she appeared to have never borne children. A priestess sworn to chastity? Although not Law for Druids, Brigid knew some paths took this course. The revelation was comforting. At least she would have something familiar in her future. And, as she absorbed every detail of her other self, she saw she looked happy.
In the distance the clouds parted, and the setting sun burst through. Brigid stared. The shadows swept toward them and the land was revealed in dazzling splendour. Purple heather, gorse blazing a vivid yellow. The shimmering green was fresh and newly washed, emitting the scent of warmth and sunlight. A patchwork of jewels stretched on and on. In the distance, the blue shimmer of the sea danced. It was the hills at their most beautiful.
She looked at her other self. She was smiling.
Brigid realised what the Gods were saying. It was hard, yes, and would get harder. But she could do it. She could cope with whatever trials were coming. She felt a bond, stronger than the strongest iron, forged between the two of them. Something the years would never break. She absorbed this moment, storing it in her mind forever, then turned and ran back towards the gate.
Behind her, the sun slipped below the hills. Brigid's first day as a Druid was over.