Read Online The Horse Goddess (Celtic World of Morgan Llywelyn) by Morgan Llywelyn - Free Book Online
Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
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Mountain, as he so often did, and he and Brydda had gone someplace together. Rigantona, angered at being left alone to mind the baby, had gone after them, but she would not leave the hearth untended for long.
The warm clothes Okelos wore in the mine lay carelessly tossed on his bedshelf, his leather knapsack of pine twigs beside them. Without stopping to think, Epona pulled her brother’s tunic over her head, though it was much too large for her, and belted it as tightly as she could. She snatched up the mittens and knapsack and eased out the door. The rest of the miners were just reaching the village, and there were shouts of welcome, suddenly interrupted by the strong clear voice of Vallanos the sentry, announcing that someone was coming along the trade road. At such a time, no one noticed Epona as she slipped from her family’s lodge.
The trail to the Salt Mountain was steep and unfamiliar, for children were forbidden to use it. Epona felt certain no one would seek her there. She could take care of herself easily, she thought, sheltering in the mine and feeding herself from berries and the small animals she knew how to snare, until the visitors had arranged marriages with other women and gone on their way.
She would have an adventure, such as boys had on the first hunt of their manhood.
Above the village stretched the narrow valley for which the tribe was named, the valley of the Kelti, sloping steeply upward toward the high peaks. Here Poel came at each change of the moon to recite the occurrences of the community to the spirits of the ancestors, and to take back any messages they might send to that part of the tribe currently in the world of the living.
Beyond lay the entrance to the Salt Mountain. It appeared innocuous enough for a gateway to unlimited wealth, just a gaping hole braced with timbers and leading down into darkness. The core of rock salt stretched for an unknown distance beneath the valley; no man had explored its farthest reaches.
Epona hesitated. The blue of the sky had melted into the lake, and a bank of soft clouds, indistinguishable from mist, was moving up the valley toward her, swallowing the light. Mountain rain could be sudden and hard.
Better get inside; the clouds were sweeping closer and Epona could smell the rain now. From the leather knapsack
she took pine twigs to make a torch and a pair of firestones given to Okelos by Tena. She struck the stones together, calling on the fire spirit but nothing happened.
A gust of cold wind hit her. It would be much more comfortable inside the mountain, in the tunnel that now seemed inviting compared to the approaching storm. She struggled with the firestones and at last ignited a spark and lit her torch. Holding it aloft, feeling confident once more, she went down into the Salt Mountain.
No, it is not safe, the spirit within warned, but she chose not to listen.
At first there was nothing but a dark tunnel burrowing into the earth, its walls hacked out with bronze axes and shored up with timbers. There was no sign of the salt, though the air had a salty tang, a dry, nose-tickling feel to it. The tunnel narrowed as it dropped, and where the slant became steeper sections of tree trunks had been jammed horizontally into the earth to provide crude steps. Soon it was impossible to see back to the tunnel mouth. The darkness closed around Epona, and her torchlight seemed feeble by contrast.
Go back, urged the spirit within.
No! she told it. I am not afraid. I am safe here, my lord Toutorix is chief of the Salt Mountain, and I can go where I please.
Besides, I’m here now. I want to see the salt.
A blast of cold air whistled down the tunnel, making her shiver.
After an interminable time, her torchlight caused something to sparkle ahead of her and her heartbeat quickened. The tunnel branched into galleries and there was the salt. All-around her, above, beside, beneath, was a world of crystalline beauty. It crunched under her feet. The torchlight
The warm clothes Okelos wore in the mine lay carelessly tossed on his bedshelf, his leather knapsack of pine twigs beside them. Without stopping to think, Epona pulled her brother’s tunic over her head, though it was much too large for her, and belted it as tightly as she could. She snatched up the mittens and knapsack and eased out the door. The rest of the miners were just reaching the village, and there were shouts of welcome, suddenly interrupted by the strong clear voice of Vallanos the sentry, announcing that someone was coming along the trade road. At such a time, no one noticed Epona as she slipped from her family’s lodge.
The trail to the Salt Mountain was steep and unfamiliar, for children were forbidden to use it. Epona felt certain no one would seek her there. She could take care of herself easily, she thought, sheltering in the mine and feeding herself from berries and the small animals she knew how to snare, until the visitors had arranged marriages with other women and gone on their way.
She would have an adventure, such as boys had on the first hunt of their manhood.
Above the village stretched the narrow valley for which the tribe was named, the valley of the Kelti, sloping steeply upward toward the high peaks. Here Poel came at each change of the moon to recite the occurrences of the community to the spirits of the ancestors, and to take back any messages they might send to that part of the tribe currently in the world of the living.
Beyond lay the entrance to the Salt Mountain. It appeared innocuous enough for a gateway to unlimited wealth, just a gaping hole braced with timbers and leading down into darkness. The core of rock salt stretched for an unknown distance beneath the valley; no man had explored its farthest reaches.
Epona hesitated. The blue of the sky had melted into the lake, and a bank of soft clouds, indistinguishable from mist, was moving up the valley toward her, swallowing the light. Mountain rain could be sudden and hard.
Better get inside; the clouds were sweeping closer and Epona could smell the rain now. From the leather knapsack
she took pine twigs to make a torch and a pair of firestones given to Okelos by Tena. She struck the stones together, calling on the fire spirit but nothing happened.
A gust of cold wind hit her. It would be much more comfortable inside the mountain, in the tunnel that now seemed inviting compared to the approaching storm. She struggled with the firestones and at last ignited a spark and lit her torch. Holding it aloft, feeling confident once more, she went down into the Salt Mountain.
No, it is not safe, the spirit within warned, but she chose not to listen.
At first there was nothing but a dark tunnel burrowing into the earth, its walls hacked out with bronze axes and shored up with timbers. There was no sign of the salt, though the air had a salty tang, a dry, nose-tickling feel to it. The tunnel narrowed as it dropped, and where the slant became steeper sections of tree trunks had been jammed horizontally into the earth to provide crude steps. Soon it was impossible to see back to the tunnel mouth. The darkness closed around Epona, and her torchlight seemed feeble by contrast.
Go back, urged the spirit within.
No! she told it. I am not afraid. I am safe here, my lord Toutorix is chief of the Salt Mountain, and I can go where I please.
Besides, I’m here now. I want to see the salt.
A blast of cold air whistled down the tunnel, making her shiver.
After an interminable time, her torchlight caused something to sparkle ahead of her and her heartbeat quickened. The tunnel branched into galleries and there was the salt. All-around her, above, beside, beneath, was a world of crystalline beauty. It crunched under her feet. The torchlight
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