Chapter 26 #2
‘Yes, my dearest friend, which is why you’re the one person I trust to remain here and bring me home if necessary,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry to lay this burden upon your shoulders, especially when we have both been forced away from our pathways of worship.
It’s imperative I understand the visions flashing into my mind, otherwise it’s possible both Aganippus and Buel could be in terrible danger. ’
‘Very well,’ said Becuma and from the leather satchel at her feet she unpacked the treasures she had brought with her from the temple at the Golden Dobvnni. The girdle flashed with its autumn colours, while the amethyst pendant lay heavy and familiar in Cordelia’s hand when Becuma passed it to her.
‘Here is woad,’ said Becuma, ‘and these – although they are no longer joined to the leather bindings which made them secure.’
Cordelia stared in surprise at the two delicate antlers that had once formed her headdress. ‘You saved everything,’ she said.
‘There was time to pack,’ she replied. ‘I followed my instincts, my path was entwined with yours, these are the items necessary for you to walk, along with the henbane, which I have since cultivated here – although far from my hives. I shall prepare the woad while you dress yourself. There are not enough of us for the full ritual, but your powers are strong enough to walk anywhere – even these trappings are, perhaps, unnecessary.’
‘Becuma, your wisdom is beyond that even of Angarad,’ Cordelia said and hugged her friend before they set to work on their preparations.
* * *
When the moon rose an hour later, Cordelia was ready.
Becuma had painted the swirls and patterns of the dreaming spells in woad across Cordelia’s face, including the triskele in the centre of her forehead.
They had created an altar in front of the quartz pillar and placed a shallow copper bowl upon it, filling it with small spills of wood and lighting it from the flame of one of the candles they had placed around them.
The white willow baskets of the Golden Dobvnni Temple had long been lost, but instead Becuma has used one of the darker reed baskets common in the Gallian oppidum, filling it with five small, round wax tablets and a bunch of herbs.
Cordelia had beamed in delight when Becuma had revealed another treasure she had saved: the golden flask engraved with images of bees and its matching goblet.
Once again, they glinted in the firelight, giving the impression the bees were moving.
The two women were checking the final details required for Cordelia’s walk when an unearthly beam of the purest silver light filled the tomb.
‘The singing moon has risen,’ said Becuma. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Yes,’ said Cordelia and took her place by the altar.
‘Good luck, my friend,’ whispered Becuma, gripping Cordelia’s hand.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, her heart beating in anticipation.
Becuma bowed low and in a voice of calm authority began the ancient ritual. ‘May the Goddess hear your words.’
‘Your wishes have been heard,’ replied Cordelia.
Becuma stepped back into the shadows but Cordelia could sense her friend’s eyes upon her, watching, waiting, ready to pull her to safety.
This was Cordelia’s first walk in the Everywhen since she had become a mother and she wondered if this would change her pathway, whether she would see differently.
She poured wine from the flask into her goblet, before adding a libation to the flames.
It sizzled as the tiny red drops evaporated in the heat, spreading a burnt vinegary smell into the glowing white light of the cavern of the dead.
‘Matronae, mother goddess, I invoke thee for protection,’ Cordelia said in a low voice and, as she did, she felt a release of tension in her shoulders.
‘Hecate, my sister moon, I invoke thee for my safe return. Aine, sister of the sun, I invoke thee to shine a light on my path as I heal our past and future.’
Her heartbeat slowed, steady, sure, pounding in her ears as her body relaxed, preparing for the Everywhen.
The fire spluttered as she dropped in two of the small wax tablets.
The flames flared purple and the familiar sweet scent of the honey from the beeswax filled the silver air.
She was home, this was her place, the shaman, the wise woman who protected the multitudes.
The confidence in her voice grew as the words of the ritual rose effortlessly to the surface of her mind.
‘Corycia, Kleodora, Melaina, the Bee Maidens Three, show me the way to the truth,’ she invoked as she crumbled herbs into her drink. ‘Help me to repair our wounds and return our strength and wisdom. Show me the path as I ask for the veracity of my father’s intentions.’
Cordelia swallowed the wine in one gulp, wincing from the bitterness of the herbs.
She closed her eyes as she waited for the hallucinogenic properties of the henbane to whisper through her blood, her breath slowing.
With a rush, there was a spark of light behind her eyelids, followed by a tumbling, sinking feeling as though the soul of the earth itself were rocking beneath her feet.
She groaned, throwing back her head, her eyes widening; rolling uncontrollably as she sank to her knees, her arms outstretched.
‘Adsagsona, goddess of magic, walk with me,’ she implored, her voice eldritch in the eerie light.
A wolf howled and on her shoulder she felt the claws of her spirit guide, her rook, as Cordelia stepped into the Everywhen.