Read Online Ravens of Avalon by Diana L. Paxson, Marion Zimmer Bradley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Diana L. Paxson, Marion Zimmer Bradley
Tags: Fiction, General, Historical, Fantasy, Romans, Extratorrents, Kat, Speculative Fiction, Great Britain, C429, Usernet, Druids and Druidism, Avalon (Legendary Place), Britons
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tunica, gritting her teeth until the strong linen gave way and she could tear a strip from the hem. “Use this,” she said, offering it to Lhiannon.
“Cunitor, bring the horse back,” said Lugovalos. “We must complete the ritual.”
“I will bring him,” said Prasutagos. “He senses your Druid’s fear.”
Well, that was no wonder, thought Boudica, seeing what had happened to Ardanos. But she could not help feeling a spurt of pride. The Iceni were known for the training as well as the breeding of horses, and Prasutagos was clearly a master.
The prince led the animal back to the edge. He stroked the satiny neck, whispering into the pricked ear until the noble head drooped and the horse grew still. Still whispering, he leaned on the strong neck and touched the animal’s knees until the horse knelt and rocked and lay down.
Lugovalos took off the feathered headdress and rustling hide cloak and laid them aside.
“Take my dagger.” Caratac held out a shining blade. “It is newly sharpened.”
“This horse is the offering …” the Arch-Druid said in a low voice. Moving slowly, he came up on the animal’s other side and crouched, holding the knife at his side until the last moment, and then, in a swift, smooth motion, drawing it across the throat.
Blood gushed out in a shining stream. For a moment the horse did not seem to realize what had happened. Then he jerked, but Prasutagos had his weight on the animal’s neck, still murmuring, and presently the great head drooped and the prince lowered it gently to the ground.
In the sudden light of the risen sun the world seemed turned to scarlet as blood pooled beneath the white body and flowed in a red river toward the edge of the cliff. Boudica blinked, seeing the shimmer of energy that had surrounded the stallion move with it into the pool. But it seemed to take a long time until the life force left entirely and there was only a carcass lying there.
In silence Cunitor and the other men butchered the animal, taking the heart and liver and carving off great chunks of flesh from the hindquarters. Boudica helped to work pieces of meat onto iron skewers and suspend them above the fire. The head and legs were left attached to the hide, which was dragged down to the waterside and suspended from a post that had clearly been used for that purpose before. When they were done, the guts were heaped beside the thorn tree and the rest of the carcass tipped into the pool.
The morning stillness was shattered by the triumphant cawing of the ravens as they descended on their share of the feast. The hem of the Arch-Druid’s gown was bloody and the front of Prasutagos’s tunic crimson where he had cradled the head of the horse as it died. Nausea warred with hunger as the scent of roasting horsemeat filled the air.
Everything is food for something … thought Boudica. May my death be as worthy when the time comes for me. But she was acutely aware that all those who shared the feast not only offered, but were part of the sacrifice.
FOUR
elve did not want me to sit with you,” said Coventa. The folds of Boudica’s fur-lined cloak were still sufficient to wrap both of them as they waited for the midwinter feast to arrive. “But I don’t mind if she blisters my ears tomorrow if this evening you will keep me warm!”
When the kings left Mona they had taken the summer with them, and the winter that followed was turning out to be colder and wetter than any since Boudica had come here, or perhaps it only seemed that way because for every tribe that had agreed to join the alliance there was one that refused the Arch-Druid’s call.
A ripple of music brought Boudica’s head around. At the end of the fire pit, screens of laced hides kept drafts from the dining couches and side tables where the senior Druids reigned. That new man, Brangenos, had come in and was adjusting the strings on his crescent-shaped harp. A bard of the Druid Order from Gallia, he had only recently reached the
“Cunitor, bring the horse back,” said Lugovalos. “We must complete the ritual.”
“I will bring him,” said Prasutagos. “He senses your Druid’s fear.”
Well, that was no wonder, thought Boudica, seeing what had happened to Ardanos. But she could not help feeling a spurt of pride. The Iceni were known for the training as well as the breeding of horses, and Prasutagos was clearly a master.
The prince led the animal back to the edge. He stroked the satiny neck, whispering into the pricked ear until the noble head drooped and the horse grew still. Still whispering, he leaned on the strong neck and touched the animal’s knees until the horse knelt and rocked and lay down.
Lugovalos took off the feathered headdress and rustling hide cloak and laid them aside.
“Take my dagger.” Caratac held out a shining blade. “It is newly sharpened.”
“This horse is the offering …” the Arch-Druid said in a low voice. Moving slowly, he came up on the animal’s other side and crouched, holding the knife at his side until the last moment, and then, in a swift, smooth motion, drawing it across the throat.
Blood gushed out in a shining stream. For a moment the horse did not seem to realize what had happened. Then he jerked, but Prasutagos had his weight on the animal’s neck, still murmuring, and presently the great head drooped and the prince lowered it gently to the ground.
In the sudden light of the risen sun the world seemed turned to scarlet as blood pooled beneath the white body and flowed in a red river toward the edge of the cliff. Boudica blinked, seeing the shimmer of energy that had surrounded the stallion move with it into the pool. But it seemed to take a long time until the life force left entirely and there was only a carcass lying there.
In silence Cunitor and the other men butchered the animal, taking the heart and liver and carving off great chunks of flesh from the hindquarters. Boudica helped to work pieces of meat onto iron skewers and suspend them above the fire. The head and legs were left attached to the hide, which was dragged down to the waterside and suspended from a post that had clearly been used for that purpose before. When they were done, the guts were heaped beside the thorn tree and the rest of the carcass tipped into the pool.
The morning stillness was shattered by the triumphant cawing of the ravens as they descended on their share of the feast. The hem of the Arch-Druid’s gown was bloody and the front of Prasutagos’s tunic crimson where he had cradled the head of the horse as it died. Nausea warred with hunger as the scent of roasting horsemeat filled the air.
Everything is food for something … thought Boudica. May my death be as worthy when the time comes for me. But she was acutely aware that all those who shared the feast not only offered, but were part of the sacrifice.
FOUR
elve did not want me to sit with you,” said Coventa. The folds of Boudica’s fur-lined cloak were still sufficient to wrap both of them as they waited for the midwinter feast to arrive. “But I don’t mind if she blisters my ears tomorrow if this evening you will keep me warm!”
When the kings left Mona they had taken the summer with them, and the winter that followed was turning out to be colder and wetter than any since Boudica had come here, or perhaps it only seemed that way because for every tribe that had agreed to join the alliance there was one that refused the Arch-Druid’s call.
A ripple of music brought Boudica’s head around. At the end of the fire pit, screens of laced hides kept drafts from the dining couches and side tables where the senior Druids reigned. That new man, Brangenos, had come in and was adjusting the strings on his crescent-shaped harp. A bard of the Druid Order from Gallia, he had only recently reached the
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