Wings of Change

The Gathering of the Clans

The Gathering of the clans is on the west side of the island. There are clans camped all over the moors. Herds of sheep and goats roam freely, their coats marked with the owners' colors. It would be too great a burden for the Epidii, our hosts, to feed everyone, so we came with whatever provisions we could carry across the water.

Everyone takes part in setting up camp. Elder Mam chooses a place for us near the tallest hill, to the northwest side. The Epidii have been very helpful, cutting withies on the mainland and ferrying them across in the winter months, so that every family can build shelters, with furs and blankets tied around the withies to make low tents. The weather is fine for this time of year. It will be no hardship to sleep outside on the ground.

While Pap and the little girls work at tying the withies into a dome, Mam and I arrange an eating area. I carry stones from outcroppings on the moor to our site, where I place them carefully atop an exposed shield of rock for a firepit. We must take care not to let our fires burn down into the peat, where they could smolder for months and suddenly burst into flame in months to come, racing across the moors and blackening everything in their path. I've just finished my circle of stones and begin to work on placing a spit over the top, when I feel eyes on me.

I glance upward to see if the falcon hovers overhead. But the sky is clear. My vigilance relaxes; I admit I've felt on edge since the peregrine first appeared at the crannog many days ago.

"Greetings," a deep voice says behind me, and I swing around, nearly falling amidst the rocks and branches I am using to construct the spit. It's a boy, almost a man. He's barely taller than me, fine-boned, though well-muscled. There's a bone pin holding his cloak around his shoulders, his clan symbol carved clearly. It's one I don't know.

A chill runs through me, but I am not scared. This boy means something. Since Elder Mam began my training, I have taken more account of my feelings. The feelings we get in our gut can mean the difference between life and death, she says.

The chill I get when I look at this boy is a meaningful one. I stand up as tall and proudly as I can, calm settling over my face. I know this is no time to appear childish. I am our clan's next seer, and this boy must see that.

"Greetings," I reply. "I am Aati of the Damnonii, seer-in-training for my clan." I wave my hand over the campsite where my family works behind me on the hillside. I wait for him to speak.

"Welcome, Aati of the Damnonii," he bends from the waist respectfully. He recognizes my position in the clan. "I am Biré, future clan leader of the Epidii."

This boy's clan is host for the Gathering. One day I may sit in council with the elders of his clan. Equal respect must be shown between us.

His hair, mottled brown and gold, hangs over his forehead nearly to his eyes, and I think how dangerous that could be for a hunter, obscuring his vision at a critical moment. But perhaps he is a fisherman instead; many of the island dwellers feed their families on the bounty of the waters around them. His eyes are greenish-blue, sharp and piercing. I am certain they would not miss much, whatever task he is doing.

I step away from the firepit, my leather soles whispering upon the rock. "Biré of the Epidii, you honor me." I dip my head respectfully. When I straighten again, my eyes lock on his. I can see a smile hiding there, like the morning sun behind the mist over the loch, and I am reminded again of the peregrine.

That falcon bit me. I must take care.

"It looks as if every clan in Alba has sent members to the Gathering," I say, glancing behind me across the moors, where tents and firepits are already settled; more are rising quickly as new clans arrive. Littlings race through, over, and around the campsites while Elders wander from place to place, meeting old friends, resting beside their neighbors' fires and talking of their younger times. "This will be a successful Gathering, bring glory to the Epidii."

A shadow crosses Biré's eyes, like a cloud over the full moon. "Aye," he says, "successful indeed." His gaze roams over the many clans spread across the moors, then beyond. I wonder for a moment if there is something of the seer in him, as well. If he sees farther—deeper—than others. I think of my vision, strangers coming to our shores with mighty weapons, blood running from their blades.

A shudder quakes through me.

He sees my body shake. His eyes snap to mine. The smile hidden in his eyes earlier touches his lips now, and he holds out a hand to me. "I would like to show you my home, if you are free to leave your family."

I glance back over my shoulder, and see Mam watching from amongst the bundles and baskets we brought. I step aside so that she can see Biré clearly. She must approve, because she smiles up at us and nods. It is good to be trusted to make my own way; she understands that I am on my right path. I turn back to Biré and rest my hand in his.

Not quite grown, but almost so. I can feel Mam's thought as if she had spoken it.

Biré and I set off across the springy peat of the hillside. On the outside, I am serene, like the moon. But inside my heart is racing, fluttering, and I can barely put one foot in front of the other.

"I know little of the Epidii," I say as we circle the hill, away from the tents spread out below. I glance at him sideways from beneath the fall of my hair. He drops my hand as the path grows steeper, and we need both hands to pull ourselves upward. "We have heard strange things of your people. Perhaps," I say, "because you live so far from the mainland?"

Biré's smile widens. "Or perhaps because we are great magicians," he says. It is difficult to tell if he is exaggerating. "The greatest magic must be worked in secret, you know," he boasts. "Perhaps we can order the waves from the sea, or change seals into men, or cause water to flow from dry ground."

I laugh. "That's not so wonderful. You'll have to do far better to impress me!"

Biré stops beneath a mass of flowering gorse bushes higher than our heads. Enormous fuzzy bees bumble around the blossoms, almost too heavy to fly. He takes both of my hands in his and locks his eyes on my face, flushed from the climb. His eyes remind me of the sea we crossed to come here, shades of green where the waves crest but impenetrable below the surface.

I want to know his secrets, all of them.

"You will be impressed, I promise you," he speaks softly, and I feel a shiver tingle across my shoulders. "Come, we're nearly there!"

He pulls me the rest of the way around the hilltop, past the gorse bushes and into an open area where I can see the countryside spreading out below us. The hillside has turned into a wall, stone rising out of the green peat. The wall curves around the hill, carefully worked stones fitting together into a massive tower. We climb the last crest and stand before a wooden gate.

"Welcome, Aati of the Damnonii," Biré says, "to the broch of the Epidii."