Outside, Sid pulled me into an embrace. Her body was a frail thing, her bones jutting out sharply from just below her skin. But she felt warm and so familiar.
“So what was your name when I was Boudicca?” I whispered in her ear.
“Aife,” Sid whispered back. “But more importantly, your friend…always and forever. So, goodnight, Raven Beak,” she said, tapping me playfully on the nose, then headed back toward her house.
I smiled as I watched her go then went back to my own little house. Inside, Ludmilla was already sleeping. I crawled into bed beside my puppy who now wore a small wreath, a protective amulet, around her neck. I was curious but far too exhausted to examine it. Besides, my mind felt like it was bursting. One day I was sitting, bored, at the hearth beside Madelaine. The next day my world was full of magical tidings and old, forgotten things: I was a reincarnate of the warrior queen Boudicca, but I was called Cerridwen by the magical Wyrd Sisters who had shown me my King. A month before I had lamented that I couldn’t do embroidery; now I was firmly in the hands of the Goddess. The thought of it filled me from head to toe with nervous passion.
Chapter 9
For the next few weeks, I worked with Uald in the smithy. Since court dresses were too cumbersome, I wore my travel breeches and cut my night dresses at the waist as a tunic. The first few days my arms ached. As I continued to work, however, my body got used to the feeling. All my life I’d been kept from men’s work, but now I could see. I loved it, and so did Uald. In fact, Uald surprised me one morning when instead of instructing me to pound steel, she handed me a sword, but not just any sword, a claymore.
I lifted the heavy weapon. The metal hilt felt cold in my hands, but I liked the feel of the weapon. I’d always wanted to learn the ways of the sword, like the warrior queens of old, but I wasn’t allowed. It was thought too vulgar for a woman to wield a weapon. Sunlight glinted off the blade. I swished the sword back and forth. Boudicca. Was it true? Were the visions memory or madness? I had always been imaginative, that was certain, but those who followed the old ways believed a spirit lived many lives. Yet visions sometimes spoke of madness, and my head hummed oddly when I thought of it, like I was hearing muffled voices, as if time had thrust itself out of joint. I gripped the steel and closed my eyes. I was not mad. I had remembered Boudicca’s world, the feel of my body and the warmth of my blood. It was time to practice my skills again.
“I think that claymore weighs more than you do,” Uald said with a grin. “Well, let’s see what you’ve got,” she added. Giving the short sword she was holding a spin, Uald stood ready.
I lifted the sword clumsily and swung it from side to side, trying to get the feel of the weapon. It was very heavy, but I loved it.
“Ready?” Uald asked.
I nodded.
“Just try to block me. Move the sword in my path.”
I nodded again, and Uald made the first lunge. She was so fast that it caught me by surprise. I didn’t have a chance to move in time. Moments later, I was looking at Uald down the length of her blade.
“Dead,” she said, pulling her blade back. “Try again.”
I grinned at her, held the sword, and waited.
Uald lunged again. My instincts worked against me. I wanted to block but my body moved clumsily. She then feinted. I tried to parry, but seconds later, her blade was resting lightly on my neck.
“Dead again,” she said. “Tighten your grip, and try to feel the center of your body. Get your balance.”
Again we moved. Once more I tried to block her but to no avail. On this stroke, however, a vision flashed through my mind. I saw myself on the battlefield, my wild red hair flying around me as a Roman soldier advanced. He wore a glimmering gold-colored breastplate and helmet with a red plume at the top. Like Uald, he struck, but this time I blocked…with a shield, sticking my short sword into the soldier’s gut. It was so natural. I went in for the kill easily and with a spin of the sword, I turned and decapitated the Roman soldier behind me. I took off his head with one quick stroke. A waterfall of blood sprayed across the horizon following the head that spun off into the distance. The startling image rocked me from my memory.
“Corbie?” Uald asked, taking me by the arm. “Are you all right?”
I nodded. “Do you have a shield? And a one-handed sword?”
Uald raised an eyebrow at me then nodded. “See something?”
“Let’s…well, let’s just try.”
Uald handed me a round buckler and short sword. I slid the shield into place and gripped the sword. Suddenly, everything felt much more familiar.
“Block,” Uald commanded, then came at me, moving quickly.
This time, I tried not to think. I just moved. Moments later, I heard a clang and felt a vibrating thud when Uald’s sword hit my shield.
Uald laughed out loud.
I looked to see that not only had I blocked her advance, but my sword’s point was sitting an inch away from her belly.
“Well, seems we found your weapons,” she said and pulled back. “Either that or you are channeling the Morrigu. Try not to kill me,” Uald said with a grin.
Once more we stood at the ready. “Again,” Uald called, and we began. Centuries-old memories made my arms move. I was clumsy. I needed practice, but I remembered the feel of short sword and shield in my hands.
Uald and I practiced like this every morning, clashing arms in the morning mist. It was my favorite part of the day. Slowly, I became less clumsy. My body grew stronger. My physical form molded itself into the form of a warrior woman.
While Uald kept my body busy, Epona filled my mind. Ogham, the language of the trees, and the oldest written language known to Epona, was the first language Ludmilla and I were taught. We learned how each symbol, lines with slashes, corresponded to letters and to trees. And Epona read us the ancient poem Cad Goddeau, “The Battle of the Trees,” written by the druid Taliesin.
“There are ancient teachings buried in the poems,” Epona explained, “as there are in many of the old tales. Taliesin was a great druid, and in the poem he tells how he enchanted the very trees, turning them into warriors, to fight on his side. He evokes the energy of the earth and sends an army of trees to advance on a citadeclass="underline"
The alders in the front line
began the affray.
Willow and rowan-tree
were tardy in array.
The holly, dark green
Made a resolute stand;
He is armed with many spear-points
Wounding the hand.
“But was it the trees themselves, their ancient energies molded into fighting men, or was it the natural energy, the magic found from brewing leaf and root, that did the fighting? If each tree is a letter, does the battle represent a battle of wit or a battle of steel? Taliesin’s poem would have us believe the woods advanced upon the castle, but such wizardry seems lost, and impossible.
“The more you study the mystery of the ancient rhymes, the more you will feel the true meaning, the true answer,” Epona told us.
“What is the answer?” Ludmilla asked.
In my mind, I imagined Taliesin standing before the forest chanting long-dead languages, the trees morphing from their corporeal forms into airy figures, fighting men made of the green. Taliesin had transformed the trees into men.