Read Online Ravens of Avalon by Diana L. Paxson, Marion Zimmer Bradley - Free Book Online Page A

fittings for the wicker chariots that were the tribes’ most terrifying weapon in war. These were works of art as well as use, a treasure that could have bought support from followers, but there might be no followers if they did not have the favor of the gods. As the pile dwindled, Boudica fingered her dagger, wondering if she ought to throw it in. But though she was of the blood of kings, she herself had neither position nor power. What business did she have bothering the gods, especially at this ritual?
    Holy Ones, she thought then, if you will tell me what would please you, I will do my best to make the sacrifice. She had a sudden sense of vertigo as if the earth had shifted beneath her. For a moment she found it hard to breathe. Boudica had always believed that the gods were listening, but suddenly she knew that she had been heard, and shivered, wondering if it had been wise to make so unconstrained an offering.
    And now the ripples from the last dented shield had stilled. A breath of wind brought the scent of the fire that Bendigeid was tending. The sky was bright now, and the jagged edges of the eastern horizon edged in gold. Ardanos and Cunitor stripped off their white robes and laid them aside, then went to the thorn tree and untied the stallion’s halter.
    The Iceni were great lovers of horses. Boudica had missed not being around them. This was a fine animal, whose shining coat and bright eye proclaimed its good condition. But as she looked at the horse she sensed something more. She had seen beasts in plenty slain for the table or as offerings, but at this moment everything—the animal, the humans, the dark waters beneath the cliff, seemed suddenly more real. No, she thought then, the sacrifice makes everything more holy …
    The beast skittered nervously as one of the ravens gave a hoarse cry. This time no one made a joke about it. They could all feel that not only the birds but the gods themselves were eager for the offering.
    As the two younger Druids held the horse, Mearan paced slowly around him, shaping the air around his body with the branch of silver bells. The stallion’s ears flicked nervously, following the sound.
    “The head of this horse is the dawn! His eye is the sun and his breath is the wind,” Lugovalos sang. “His back is as broad as the bowl of the sky. The sun rises in his forehead and sets in the crease between his quarters.”
    The deep rumble of the Arch-Druid’s voice seemed to vibrate in the very earth. Was it his words or the blessing of the bells that made the air around him glow? It was a song of transformation, the part becoming the whole, the world of the flesh offered to the world of the spirit.
    The stallion jerked as a breath of wind made the torch flare. “This horse is the earth and the stars of heaven. This horse is the steed that journeys between the worlds. This horse is the offering.”
    Bendigeid offered Ardanos the sacrifical blade. Steel caught the light as he reached to draw it across the animal’s throat and the stallion neighed and surged upward, striking at the air. A flailing forefoot caught Ardanos in the ribs and the knife flew glittering from his hand and splashed into the pool. Lhiannon cried out and ran to Ardanos as he fell.
    The kings leaped aside as the horse dragged Cunitor across the ground, but Prasutagos dodged the hooves and leaped forward, grabbing the halter and using his greater weight to hold the animal still.
    “He’s had the wind knocked out of him,” said Lhiannon as Ardanos gasped. She began to probe his torso with gentle fingers, but when she felt down his ribs he screamed. “And broken some ribs,” she added. “Be still, my dear. We must bind you up before you try to move.”
    The stallion ceased to struggle as Prasutagos spoke to him, his voice a gentle unceasing murmur like the wind. Only then, looking at the others, did Boudica realize what a disastrous omen this must be.
    She drew her knife and ripped at the bottom of her