The Keeper of Stories

The Fires of Beltane

The sound of livestock and laughter fill the air as we make our way from the keep up to the sacred grove.

We travel in complete silence, none of us willing to speak, anxiety crackling in the air as we head towards the grove.

We're not alone though, the kings Warband was waiting outside my brother's keep and silently, as we head towards to the main road to the grove, they formed around to escort us. It had been a surprise and took me back to earlier in spring, to my brother's crowning and father's funeral.

No swords are drawn but they have closed ranks and they are most definitely here to protect us. Or perhaps prevent me from running.

Not that I would.

I know my place.

My duty.

While we are surrounded by warriors (though my brother and the king are once again absent) no one spoke, the usual comradery of the Warband is missing – they know this is a solemn occasion and are treating it as such.

In a way, it feels more like we a going off to war than to a Beltane celebration.

We are marching to a battle.

Or a funeral.

And I try not to think about anything, about life and death and the gravity of the situation as we make our way steadily along the track between the keep and the forest and on to the grove.

Below us, we can just start to see the cattle and sheep arrive in the middle of the village and while the happy noise is everywhere it doesn't permeate our solemn group, a group focussed solely on the night ahead of us.

My sisters and I are all heavily veiled and masked to the point that you could not really tell one from the other, though Eavan wears the golden sickle of a druid at her hip and in her hands, she carries the holy mead.

My offerings are hidden in my robes along with a small bag of the special powder I have created to help me on my journey tonight. A powder of secret ingredients will allow me to contact and channel the goddess and had taken me several weeks to collect, dry and create. I was taught to make it at the feet of Morag, our village's head druid when I was a child when it was recognised that I would be a storyteller and would need to connect to the past and to the gods and goddess. I haven't made it for a year or two as Christianity swallows more and more of the old ways – I didn't miss how it left me feeling in the morning and I'm not looking forward to taking it now in combination with the mead I will need to imbibe. I can imagine I will be sick and weak in the morning but that is all ahead of me – first I have to get through tonight, through the trial the goddess has set me. I wonder at this moment how my legs have not buckled and I am glad that there is a Warband around me to keep me strong and focussed.

I have to do this.

I know.

There is no choice.

No backing out.

I the daughter of a great king, I am Aengus's daughter.

And I won't run.

I will face my destiny with my head on high. Eavan squeezes my arm as we move closer to the grove and the colours of the sinking sun start to really streak and stain the sky in earnest. It is a signal that the sun is leaving our isle and the night is about to stretch in front of us like the two lines of holy trees that were now opening out in front of us.

The juices of my stomach rose as the fear, anticipation and surprisingly excitement began to take me.

It really was happening.