Hope battered her chest like a bird beating at the bars of its cage.
“Can you really do such a thing, Holy One?”
“We shall see.” It was painful to hope. In a way, it was a relief when the Holy One changed the subject. “Have you seen any child among the White Deer people who can follow after you, Adica?”
“I have not,” she murmured, even as the words thrust as a knife would, into her gut. “Nor would I have time to teach an apprentice everything she would need to know.”
“Do not despair, Child. I will not abandon your people.” A sharp hiss of surprise sounded, followed by the distant hoot of an owl. “I am called,” the Holy One said suddenly, sounding surprised. That quickly, her presence vanished.
Had the Holy One actually traveled through the gateway of the stones? Had she stood behind Adica in her own self? Or had she merely walked the path of visions and visited Adica in her spirit form? The Holy One was so powerful that Adica could never tell. Nor dared she ask.
Truly, humans had the smallest share of power on this earth. Yet if that were so, why did the Cursed Ones make war against them so unremittingly? Why did the Cursed Ones hate humankind so?
Wind clacked the bronze leaves of the cauldron. She thought, for an instant, that she could actually hear flowers unfurling as the sun rose.
A horn call blared: the alarm from the village.
With more haste than care, she hurried back to her tent, took off her holy garments, and ran down through the earthworks. She got to the gate of the village just as a slender girl with strong legs and a wiry guard dog in faithful attendance loped up. The girl threw message beads at the feet of Mother Orla, who had come to the gate in response to the summons.
Mother Orla’s hands were so gnarled that she could barely count off the message beads as she deciphered their meaning. She moved aside to allow Adica to stand beside her. At her great age, Orla did not fear evil spirits or death; they teased her already.
“A skirmish,” she said to those who assembled from all the houses of the villages. “The Cursed Ones have raided. From what village did you come, Swift?”
A child brought mead so strongly flavored with meadowsweet flowers that the smell of it made Adica’s mouth water. The Swift sipped at it carefully as she caught her breath. “I came from Two Streams, and from Pine Top, Muddy Walk, and Old Fort before that. The Cursed Ones attacked a settlement just beyond Four Houses. There were three people killed and two children carried away by the raiders.”
“Did any of Four Houses’ people go after them?” demanded Beor, shouldering up to the front. He’d been up early, hunting. He carried his sling in one hand. Two grouse, a partridge, and three ducks dangled from a string on the other. The guard dog nosed the dead birds, but the Swift batted it away until another child ran up with a nice meaty bone for the animal. It lay down and set to chomping.
“Nay,” said the Swift, “none of the Four Houses people pursued the Cursed Ones, for those killed were Red Deer people. There were two families of them moved in close by Four Houses two winters ago. They come out of west country.”
“What does it matter to the Cursed Ones whether they kill Red Deer folk or White Deer folk?” Beor had a good anger about him now, the kind that stirred others to action. “We’re all the same to the Cursed Ones, and once they’ve killed and captured Red Deer folk, who’s to say they won’t come after White Deer folk next? I say we must fight together, or we’ll all fall to their arrows one by one.”
People muttered in agreement. Young men looked nervous or eager by turns.
“What does the Hallowed One say?” asked Orla with deceptive softness.
Everyone fell silent as Adica considered. The Swift finished the mead and gratefully started in on a bowl of porridge brought to her by one of the boys she’d beaten at the races the summer before. He eyed her enviously, her lean legs and the loose breechclout that gave her room to run. He looked as if he wanted to touch the amber necklace and copper armbands the girl wore to signify her status. At the Festival of the Sun last year, when all the villages of the tribe met at the henge to barter and court and settle grievances, this girl had won the races and with that victory the right to the name “Swift,” one of the favored youths who carried messages between the villages of the White Deer people.
“Already the Hallowed Ones of the human tribes work in concert, and we count as our allies the Horse people. Yet the Horse people are less human than our Red Deer cousins, and we accept their alliance gladly.” Adica paused, hearing their restlessness.
