Wings of Change

On the Horizon

The Gathering has been going on for six days now. Most, if not all, of the tribes are here from across Alba. The Caledones, Cornovii, Carnonacae, Creones, and the Caereni from the North and the Highlands are here. The Taexali, Venicones, and Vacomagi have all sent large groups of families here, as their representatives, while smaller bodies of the tribes remained at home to guard their lands.

During the day, Elders from each clan meet on the hillside to the south, the revered men and women of the clans perched on hummocks of peat or nestled into hollows to keep out of the wind. The younger women—like me—take turns bringing hot stew and steaming flasks of mead to the participants, making sure they're warmly wrapped in blankets and cloaks as they sit and debate the future of the clans.

Many of Alba's Elders are seers like Elder Mam. Some of them are the best hunters in the clan, or the wisest person, or older than everyone else and thus most experienced. Some are just a few years older than me, but their clans chose them as the best leader.

The rest of the clanspeople spend their days much as they would in their home territories, providing for the needs of everyday life. The men go in large groups to the mainland to hunt. It's best to be on friendly terms with our neighbors, Pap says, and hunting together is a good way to get an idea for what other men are like. The women stay in camp preparing food or spread out across the island gathering eggs from hidden nests and berries from the wild thickets. Many of the younger men, and some of the younger women, too, spend their days on the shore fishing; I fear the girls spend more time watching the boys, though, and I think there may well be many a handfasting before the Gathering is over. And, of course, the littlings run hither and thither across the island, in and out amongst people working, making friends and getting up to mischief.

I am one of those who carry food and drink to the Elders. I spend a fair amount of time at Elder Mam's side, listening. One day it will be my place to attend a Gathering as an Elder and conduct the business of the clan.

There is much talk of invaders coming, rumors brought by traders from the tribal lands of the Brigante and the Iceni. Men from the south have been crossing the sea in long ships, coming ashore in southern Britain, with swords and many slaves. They have taken much territory and settled there; many have taken local women as wives, to force the tribes' compliance with their rule.

I think that I will die at my own hand rather than be taken by force to be a wife to a filthy, blood-tainted invader. I huddle behind Elder Mam on the fourth day of talk, listening carefully as the Elders debate angrily.

The clan leader of the Epidii, a bald, red-faced man, beats the end of his ceremonial staff on the ground and the osprey feathers looped onto the top with leather thongs fly in the stiff breeze. Is this Biré's father? "We think we are safe here in the islands, but nowhere is safe!"

"Aye, there is no place in Alba an army cannot go, if their provisions are enough," another agrees.

The Caereni Clan Mother raises the question all have been thinking of. "Must we become fugitives, then, harried from rock to cave throughout our lands? How can we raise our bairns, and protect them as they grow?"

"Yes," a young woman of the Taexali speaks up. "Are we to give the blood of our boys and men to the spears of the invaders?"

"What choice do we have?" The leader of the Epidii shouts out. "Do you think I wish to sacrifice my own sons? We have to fight for our lands, or we will be destroyed, our blood washed from Alba's soil by the storm, never to see the forest we fell today sprout new growth tomorrow!"

I shiver, thinking of Pap, of the littlings playing at fighting with their long sticks, of Biré. All could be crushed beneath the boots of the invaders. The moor where we sit, the black basalt stones of the broch rising on the hill above us, all could be stained red with blood. Why would anyone want to take this from us, the mists, the valleys, the lochs? How could there be enough hatred in a man's soul that he would destroy our lives, in order to spread his seed upon our land?