2
Gabria did not realize how much the events of the previous summer had drained her emotionally and physically until she had time to relax. After only a few days at the temple, she caught a cold and came down with a fever and racking cough. For days she stayed in the small temple, curled up on her crude bed, lost on the paths of her thoughts. She had barely enough strength to eat or fetch water and firewood. Nara kept watch over her and waited worriedly for the illness to pass.
One cold night as Gabria tossed in a feverish, restless doze, she thought she heard the sound of Nara’s hooves galloping up to the temple. There was the soft thud of footfalls, then she sensed another person close by. She struggled to wake until a cool hand soothed her forehead and a familiar voice spoke softly to her. A cup filled with a warm herbal drink was brought to her lips. She drank without opening her eyes and settled down into a peaceful sleep.
Piers stayed with her through the night and slipped away at dawn, leaving behind a stack of wood, a filled water jug, and a simmering kettle of soup. He did not come back after that night—he did not need to. His herbal drink eased Gabria’s symptoms and his brief, comforting presence revived her interest in survival. Gabria was not sure how he’d known of her illness. She could only thank her goddess that the healer cared enough to risk the visit.
The food Piers had given Gabria sustained her through the days of her malaise. However, as her illness eased and she regained her strength, she realized the supply of food was dwindling rapidly. She would need more than a few beans to keep herself alive. One cold, cloudy afternoon she forced herself to take her bow, mount Nara, and hunt in the hills for meat. To her pleasure, her skill with the bow had not diminished. She brought down a small deer, and that night she feasted on venison.
The exercise and the meat were just what she needed, and Gabria felt stronger than she had in days. After that she went out every afternoon to ride Nara, or to hunt, fish, or gather food in the hills. Her health and her good spirits returned in full measure. She was pleased to notice that, as she grew stronger, her intense grief for her family began to ease, taking with it the bitterness and anger that had burned within her during her struggle for revenge. She was left with a growing sense of contentment and release.
As the last days of autumn passed, Gabria began to enjoy the solitude of the little temple, the peace of her thoughts, and the quiet companionship of the mare. She felt closer to Amara in this place, and each day she knelt by the altar in-the light of the rising sun to give thanks to the Mother Goddess for sustaining her.
Nara, too, seemed to thrive in the peace of the temple. The foal within her, sired by Athlone’s Hunnuli stallion, Boreas, grew steadily and filled out Nara’s sides as she grazed contentedly on the dried winter grass of the hills.
Although no one came to visit them, Gabria often saw Athlone at a distance, keeping a watch on her. His vigilance meant a great deal to Gabria, and she always acknowledged him with a wave.
The only thing that began to bother Gabria as the time passed was boredom. She spent many hours every day gathering food and turning the stone temple into a more comfortable dwelling. But there were times when she had nothing to do. Then loneliness would creep in, and she would long for the distractions of a busy treld. She wanted to find something that would keep her busy during those lonely, dull times.
Then one rainy, cold night she found the answer. An autumn storm had blown in suddenly as Gabria was collecting firewood. By the time she’d made it back to the temple, she was soaking wet and chilled to the bone. She dumped the wet wood in a corner to dry and quickly laid some kindling in the small hearth she had built. To her annoyance she realized she had not banked the morning coals, and the fire was dead. Gabria tried to light the kindling with her flint and steel, but her hands were trembling with cold and she could not draw a spark. Her frustration grew with every failed attempt.
All at once, an idea flashed in her head: she was a magic-wielder. She could use a spell to start a fire. All it would take was a single word.
Gabria hesitated for just a moment. She had promised the council of chiefs that she would not practice sorcery, and under normal circumstances she would have kept her vow. Now, however, she was banished from the clans and dead in the eyes of her people. What she did during the time of exile was her own concern.
She spoke the word of her spell, and a warm, cheerful flame leaped out of the pile of kindling. Gabria grinned like a mischievous child. At that moment, she decided to use her time to practice her sorcery. She had only learned the basic skills and rules of wielding magic from her teacher, the Woman of the Marsh, and had found little opportunity to use her powers since then.
Gabria decided to begin her practice by perfecting one spell. After some thought, she chose a spell of transformation. Magic could not be used to create something out of nothing, though it could alter forms or change appearances. Gabria had used a wild version of a transformation spell to transform her father’s dagger into a sword during her fight with Medb. That experience had taught her how powerful that enchantment could be.
When her evening meal was over, Gabria found a pinecone and began to practice changing its shape. Her teacher had stressed that a spell had to be perfectly clear in the magic-wielder’s mind or disaster could result. Gabria was a little clumsy at first. Her concentration would waver, the image of the spell would not focus in her mind, or she simply did not try hard enough. At those times, the pinecone would warp and twist from the image she had chosen for it. Sometimes she could not make it change at all.
That night and for many days after, she practiced her spell until she was able to change the pinecone into any shape, size, or color she desired. In the process of her learning, a deep respect and curiosity for the endless powers of magic were awakened in her soul. Delightedly she took the next step in the progression: to transform the essence of an object, not just its appearance, into something different. Once again she chose a pinecone and began to try transforming it into her favorite fruit, a sweetplum.
It was a few days before the end of the year when Gabria began to notice the gifts.
The year, and three months of Gabria’s banishment, would end on the night of the winter solstice. By clan reckoning the new year always began on the day when the sun resumed its journey back to the north. During the last days of the year, it was customary to present gifts to the clan priests and priestesses as thanks for special blessings that had been received during the year. Women, usually gave gifts to the priestess of Amara in gratitude for a healthy child, a pregnancy, a loving husband, or a fruitful herd. The gifts were small—food or handmade items that were given from the heart. The priestess used these gifts as part of her livelihood.
One evening Gabria came back from checking her snares and found a bowl of eggs and a beautifully wrought leather belt lying on the threshold of the temple. Curious, she picked them up and looked around. The clearing and the temple were empty. She carried the things into the stone room and laid them on the altar. She could only imagine someone had brought the gifts for the goddess and had been afraid to enter the temple because of her. It’s strange, Gabria thought as she cleaned a rabbit, gifts such as these are usually given to the priestess in person, not left in front of the temple.
To Gabria’s surprise more gifts were left by the door the next day while she was gone: a jug of honey, a pair of wool slippers, and a loaf of bread. Gabria gazed hungrily at the honey. She had not had anything sweet in months, but she placed the gifts on the altar by the others and ate her meal of rabbit soup.
Seeing the gifts gave Gabria an idea. She owed her goddess a huge debt of gratitude for preserving her life and sheltering her these past few months. There was very little she could give as a gift, but as she stared at the pile of furs and skins on her bed, an idea formed in her head.