Druids In The Mist: Druid Hearts, #1

ONE

Blood. With her thumb and two fingers, Sulwen pinched her nose to block out the coppery stench, the only thing left of her fellow druids, her teachers and friends. On shaky legs she wobbled across the scarlet-stained beach. Silent shouts of Go, go, filled the druidess’ mind as she waded into the frigid water.

Her muscles clenched tight with pain, her thoughts drifting fast, she had to focus. Chilled shivers jolted her as she stood waist-high in the sea. Taking a deep breath, she ducked under. Druidess Sulwen pushed her arms hard and kicked with all her might against the rapid swirling tide, bubbling like a boiling cauldron above the even deadlier quicksand bottom.

Bobbing for air, she glimpsed the shore. Weak, she felt she was spinning. Sulwen pushed her body hard. She found strength in knowing she would eat and rest at the village. She swam onward through the frigid water until she reached the shallowest part and then waded onto the beach.

She laced her arms together across her chest. Shivering, her eyes drank in the lush, green plateau, crested by a Celtic fort. Still cramping from the hard swim through the icy current, she forced her legs to climb the narrow, twisted path. She limped through the arched gateway of the wooden enclosure and into the inner yard.

Her muscles relaxed at the sounds of mooing cattle and bleating sheep. The normal sounds of life helped her block out the memories of screams and the horrid death cries of people burned alive, of a whole island slaughtered.

Her eyes took in an old, wizened woman stooping by a cook fire, stirring a large, black cauldron with a wooden ladle. The moment Sulwen’s nose latched onto the smell of boiled duck, her stomach throbbed with want of food. The thick, feral smell commanded her belly to eat.

Sulwen squatted down beside the woman. Old Mother, bright blessing to you. She swatted at a fly hovering over the cooking pot.

I feared all the oak seers were dead. Her thin, wrinkled, brown-spotted hand curved around the wooden handle of the ladle as she scooped the broth into a bowl. Here. She handed it to Sulwen. Eat.

Her wet hands still trembled from the chill of the sea as she devoured the stew.

It is a blessing to see you still live. If we had known there were survivors, we would have come to your aid. The woman’s eyes were sad with regret.

Her tender words broke the ice gathering around Sulwen’s heart. You aid me now. All is in the hands of the gods. Duck and sea salt trickled down her throat. She had never tasted anything as good. It had been so long since she last ate.

The old woman called to her granddaughter. The young maiden, no more than ten, with dark hair fashioned into six long braids, watched Sulwen from the doorway of a small round hut before she stepped forward and offered the oak seer a plaid cloth.

Sulwen set the empty earthenware bowl down and took the covering from the girl’s small hands. She walked over to the hut and pulled back the leather flap. She entered, headed for the center fire and peeled off her wet robe. Stooping by the amber blaze, as her skin soaked up its warmth, she spread out the folded plaid. It held a blue tunic, which she pulled on over her head. She lay on the tartan, wrapped it around her, shifted into a sitting position, and tied it at the waist with her rope belt. She stood, her shoulders relaxed, and she felt her lips curl into a smile. Her stomach full, her clothes dry, she ran her fingers through her wet hair, feeling human again.

The old woman peeked her head inside the round house. Druidess, our chief summons you.

Yes. Sulwen took a deep breath and held her head high as she went with the old woman. A crowd of people, women of all ages, older men, and a flock of children followed as she passed both round and rectangular stone huts of limestone slabs topped with thatched roofs, like those on Ynys Mon.

She came to a stop in the corner of the fort by the largest hut, an impressive round house with steps leading up to the entrance. Sulwen nodded to the woman, drew the white bull hide covering aside and entered. The chief leaned back on a small pallet. His large, gray-blue eyes were wide and blank as he stared into nothingness.

No doubt, Sulwen thought, he is suffering from the vision of the massacre on the island. These people saw the fires, heard the screams. The stench of blood and burning flesh drifted with the smoke into the village, yet they couldn’t have done anything to stop it. This tribe had few warriors. The Romans killed most of them in the last uprising. This chieftain couldn’t halt the butchery, the slaughter of holy men and women. As he rose, Sulwen noticed he appeared taller, muscular, and younger than she expected.

Hail bright one, I, Caswallon map Cynfarch of the Ordovices, welcome you. We thank the gods you were spared death at Roman hands. Did others survive?

My thanks, Chief Caswallon. Yes, a few escaped, taking refuge in the mountains.

A gleam of relief lit his dull eyes. It is good. We will help you reach safe haven in the slopes of Eryri as well.

My thanks, Chief Caswallon, but I follow a quest to Londinium, not the snow-topped peaks.

His eyebrows slanted in confusion. Druidess, Governor Suetonius Paulinus, the Roman who massacred your teachers and friends, who killed our druids, is on the march toward Londinium.

Yes, Suetonius and I search for the same person. Queen Boudica of the Iceni, for she holds the power of war leader and the gods are with her. Andraste sent me a vision bidding me to join the queen with all haste.

The rebel queen would rid Britannia of the Romans. Andraste had told her so and she believed with all her might in the goddess and Boudica. They were her means to vengeance, to healing.

If the goddess bids you find Boudica, I will not dissuade you. He walked up to her and patted her shoulder. We will aid you in your quest. Yet first, come, speak to my tribe. We want to know all that happened. He gestured her to follow him outside. As a crowd gathered around them, he nodded at her. Bright one, tell us what you witnessed at Ynys Mon.

Her heart raced. She couldn’t speak for a moment, but she knew she had to tell them. Without looking directly at anyone in the crowd, she opened her mouth and began to speak. We knew the Romans were coming due to the messenger you sent, Chief Caswallon, and we prepared for battle. Sulwen’s throat tightened and her eyes watered. The day before, my friends and I gathered woad flowers and boiled them in a large cauldron as we sang for the gods. She pressed her palm against her forehead. A downpour of tears threatened to break through, but she stopped them by biting down on her lip and blinking her eyes.

Yes, druidess. The chief cast his head down, recalling that traumatic day. Suetonius rode in, 7,000 men strong, all with weapons, helmets, and chainmail.

Sulwen steeled her emotions so she could continue.

Yes. To repel the Roman swords and spears, we rubbed leek oil over the warriors’ skin and painted magic symbols of the gods on their firm, muscular bodies. Still, I trembled with fear as I gazed across the water at the soldiers, in shiny helmets and red capes, lining up their massive onager and ballista machines.

Overcome by sadness, her mind fell into a deep, dark well. She sat on the ground. Sulwen heard a gasp of concern from the crowd. Giving into the grief, she moaned with anguish, drew her legs to her chest, laid her head on her knees and wept. The tears washed some of the grief away. Stroking her parched, raw throat, she grimaced at the ache left from crying so long. She lifted her head and rubbed her eyes.

You need ale. The chief took a full goblet from a man in the crowd and handed it to her.

Sulwen cupped the goblet. Tilting her head back, she took a large gulp, gave it back to the chief, and stood. I am ready. Sulwen cleared her throat. We knew Suetonius would launch weapons from shore, but we did not know of his plan to cross the Menai Straits. The druidess paused to take a deep breath. They fired boulders from the shore onto Ynys Mon.

She wanted to scream. I, and other druidesses, soaked rags in a batch of pitch, loaded them in our sling shots, and lit them, bombarding the boats with fireballs. Sulwen felt shaky on her feet. Sweat beaded her skin. Soldiers were burned alive with their ships, boats capsized, and the sea took many a Roman to their deaths. We cheered and our warriors blew carnaxys with joy.

The old woman from earlier gave her a pelt and Sulwen sat, crossing her legs on the soft fur. The crowd sat as well as she continued.

As the Roman cavalry swam through the water beside their horses, we druids lifted our arms to the sky and called on the gods to smite the foreign force. It was not to be. They not only set fire to our sacred oaks but threw my druid brothers and sisters into the blazing groves, burning them alive. A few escaped and ran for the woods.

Her voice tightened as she spoke. My best friend and I tried to do the same, but a Roman arrow hit her. I crumpled to the ground with my friend, holding her as long as I could. I had to let her go and flee for the shelter of the forest. Sulwen placed her hand over her mouth. After she caught her breath she went on.

That is when Goddess Andraste appeared in her animal form. As a hare, the goddess leapt out of a hole and over a fallen stump. So, I dug a hole behind that fallen stump and hid in it. She clutched her stomach. Though I could not see what happened, I forced myself to listen, to bear what witness I could to the horrors. I heard soldiers shout orders in Latin, followed by the clang of swords and deep, soul-wrenching screams. I smelled blood. I had to close myself off to it and stay silent in my tears, wanting to scream, wanting to kill Romans. Fighting the piercing pain in my head and the cramps in my stomach, I listened to the death of my world until the screams ceased. Then I knew the Romans were gone.

She rubbed the right side of her head where the vivid memory triggered a piercing pain. Boudica seeks revenge against Rome. Sulwen massaged her temple, which dulled the headache a little. With spears and short blades, they attacked us and slaughtered my teachers, my friends at the great center of learning on Ynys Mon. They raped Boudica’s maiden daughters. They ripped off the Queen’s dress and lashed her with the whip. Sulwen wanted to stab the Romans, each and every one. It is but a generation since Claudius came, yet in that time, the Romans stole our land, garrisoned it, and built Roman cities with Roman temples.

Drawing in a deep breath, she willed herself to feign composure, though she couldn’t stop shaking. Andraste guides me to Boudica. At the queen’s side, I will call upon the gods to fulfill her destiny. She alone can rid Britannia of the bane which is Rome.

The crowd grew silent as they all peered at the druidess.

Cadell…Urien. Two men walked forward at Caswallen’s command as he added, Bright one, these are my finest spearmen. They shall guard you well and travel at your side on your quest for Boudica.

Sulwen bowed her head in gratitude. Caswallen, a great chief you are to sacrifice these men. I know your brave warriors were killed when the Romans defeated the great hero Cartacus. You honor me, for I know these are the only young men you have left who have reached the age of a warrior.

You are right, bright one, for now these are our only warriors, but we are raising an army. Caswallen pointed around him to the many boys and girls listening to her tale.

Sulwen knew she’d lit a fire in their souls. They would revolt against Rome when they were old enough.

One boy stepped forward, holding a crude wood carving out to her. For you, Oak Seer.

A stag. At but ten years of age, the lad’s work was good. Once again, her throat tightened, but this time from joy at the lad’s kindness, offering her something he made with his own hands. She managed to squeak out, My thanks.

She slid her fingers along the wooden antlers. Her head filled with the vision of a tall, brawny man with a long, thick, dark moustache, and magnetic eyes, smoldering with fire. His neck was banded with a gold, deer-headed torc of two stags facing each other down as in mating season. He wore an antler headdress as regally as if it were a crown. Rhys, her man. Arch druid to the Iceni. When she found Boudica, she would find Rhys as well. It had been a long time since she’d felt his touch. Too long.

Her musings were interrupted as the chief continued. It is not a sacrifice, rather it is a blessing for these two men to fight the Romans alongside Boudica. We thank you for this honor. They shall protect you, bright one, give their lives for you if need be. No tribe can offer you braver men.

Sulwen turned to the two spearmen. The gods will reward you. She shifted her gaze back to the chief. We must make haste. The goddess bids me to find Boudica as fast as possible.

The old woman ran up to her with a bundle of food and supplies. Sulwen hugged her. She wanted to stay and cling to the woman’s warm embrace, to the comfort of this tribe, but the goddess had other plans for her.

She let go of the elderly woman and silently walked off to find Boudica. As she stepped through the arched gateway, Sulwen turned her head to see the warriors say their farewells.

The taller and fairer of the two, Cadell ran toward her. Bright one, we are honored to protect you.

The other, Urien, the one with dark eyes, joined them. We bless the goddess for this duty.

I bless Andraste for your presence. We must make haste. The goddess bids us to move swiftly.

The two spearmen shadowed her as they walked down the steep path, and past the Roman road, taking an ancient trail through the woods. Though the canopy of thick leaves blocked the sunlight, Cadell and Urien kept the dark away. They cast a gentle warmth. Cadell and Urien were springtime to her, dawn sunbeams that shined on Sulwen.

With the rhythm of walking and the dimness of the forest, her taut muscles relaxed. She heard the soft tap of a foot pressing on dirt, the rustle of an elbow brushing across a bush, the crackle of a dried leaf, the subtle, almost silent crunch of grass at a man’s step. These sounds of the spearmen behind her eased the shakiness inside her. No longer alone, she kept a steady pace for Londinium.

After a silent prayer to make it safely to Boudica’s camp, Sulwen wondered why Andraste chose her. And what message did the goddess have for Boudica?

Sulwen passed under thin branches of green leaves fluttering in the gentle breeze. A butterfly, flittering its bright orange and black wings, flew by.

Cadell called out, Druidess, shall we keep to the east?

Yes, southeast to Londinium. I feel Boudica is still on the move there.

Then let one of us lead the way. The tone in Cadell’s voice was as sheltering and comforting as his words.

Yes, bright one. Urien’s voice was even sunnier and more assuring than his friend’s. With one of us behind you and one in front, we can protect you better.

When Sulwen stopped, she noticed how truly tired she was. Panting, she caught her breath and said, One of you should lead, lest danger awaits us.

Cadell moved in front, while Urien stayed behind her as they kept to a steady pace, pushing onward down the tree-lined path.

Patches of color dotted the forest with single stalks of red wildflowers growing close together, and bushes of purple berries clustered on leaf-lined branches. The strong smell of dirt mingled with a softer blend of fern and flowers.

Clumps of dead brown leaves hung on branches sprouting new, vivid green ones, the dead and the newborn on one tree. The trees grew so close together off from the trail, she couldn't see beyond trunks and leaves. Glancing up, she saw patches of azure sky between gray branches, treetops, and varying sizes and shades of green leaves.

She