Read Online The Horse Goddess (Celtic World of Morgan Llywelyn) by Morgan Llywelyn - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
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reflected as from walls of ice, but when she pulled off her mitten and ran her hand over the surface it was not cold, just rough and grainy. She licked her fingers, tasting the salt.
She had entered a magic world, and she wandered through it with delight, her worries temporarily forgotten as she went down one tunnel after another, lured on by new beauties of
light and color as the torch illumined the changing surfaces of the rock salt.
She did not know how deep she was, but all at once she became aware of the mass of the mountain above her, and herself beneath it, so small. So fragile by comparison.
Now she could hear the spirit within with dreadful clarity, telling her she had done a stupid thing, urging her feet to leave the Salt Mountain. She looked around uncertainly. Which way had she come? All the tunnels were so similar. She had not noticed the identifying marks notched in the salt, nor would she have known how to use them to find her way.
She was very far underground and she was lost.
She started to run. The salt crunched and slid beneath her and she heard an ominous rumble behind her. Looking back, she saw that her movements had dislodged a small slide, like a rockslide, and a heap of salt had fallen into the tunnel, partially blocking it. She ran back, fearful the tunnel would be blocked altogether, trapping her. She scrambled over the slide and went on more slowly, her breath rasping in her throat.
A turn and then a turn again … surely she had come this way. Was it familiar? Did it look like this? No, all the tunnels seemed the same, nothing but gleaming rock salt. All alike, all alike … she was too panicked now to listen for the spirit within, to trust it to guide her feet. She came to another salt slide, much larger than the first, big enough to trap a man beneath and kill him. She knew then that she had not come this way before. She retraced her steps, watching for any slight rise in the footing that might indicate she was going toward the surface. The air was thick and hard to breathe; her heart hammered in her chest. She was so intent on the lift of the salt underfoot she did not notice the largest slide of all until it came rumbling down on her.
Chapter 4
E sus, the Silver Bull, chief of the Marcomanni, had accompanied his sons and the sons of his kinsmen to the territory of the Kelti in search of wives. “If you are ready for women to tend your wifefires, be sure you choose them from among the daughters of the Salt Mountain,” he had counseled them. “We will arrive just after snowmelt, so as to have the pick of the ripening women, but don’t be too particular. The important thing here is to establish more alliances with Toutorix and the Kelti and get a better trading arrangement than we have had. If you find Kelti women of lifemaking age who are willing to marry, take them.”
The Marcomanni arrived in the village driving richly carved carts of polished wood and leading pack animals laden with gifts. No mention would be made of wives, not at first; their gifts were merely unworthy tokens of the respect in which Toutorix was held by their tribe.
A banquet of hospitality was quickly arranged and Tena built a great fire in the feasting pit at the edge of the commonground. Soon dusk would fall, and more meat was needed
to supply the guests; Toutorix went to the magic house to speak to Kernunnos, and hunters were dispatched around the perimeter of the lake. Meanwhile, the women of the village prepared to serve the available food; Rigantona contributing a haunch of venison roasted with honey that she had intended for her husband’s meal.
Toutorix’s eyes followed the departing treat with mild regret; it was truly a chieftain’s portion, and he had not intended to share it.
“We don’t want the Marcomanni to think we are poor,” Rigantona reminded him.
“Poor! They will hardly think that. Just look at our people. They’re so weighted down by jewelry they clank when they walk, and as for
She had entered a magic world, and she wandered through it with delight, her worries temporarily forgotten as she went down one tunnel after another, lured on by new beauties of
light and color as the torch illumined the changing surfaces of the rock salt.
She did not know how deep she was, but all at once she became aware of the mass of the mountain above her, and herself beneath it, so small. So fragile by comparison.
Now she could hear the spirit within with dreadful clarity, telling her she had done a stupid thing, urging her feet to leave the Salt Mountain. She looked around uncertainly. Which way had she come? All the tunnels were so similar. She had not noticed the identifying marks notched in the salt, nor would she have known how to use them to find her way.
She was very far underground and she was lost.
She started to run. The salt crunched and slid beneath her and she heard an ominous rumble behind her. Looking back, she saw that her movements had dislodged a small slide, like a rockslide, and a heap of salt had fallen into the tunnel, partially blocking it. She ran back, fearful the tunnel would be blocked altogether, trapping her. She scrambled over the slide and went on more slowly, her breath rasping in her throat.
A turn and then a turn again … surely she had come this way. Was it familiar? Did it look like this? No, all the tunnels seemed the same, nothing but gleaming rock salt. All alike, all alike … she was too panicked now to listen for the spirit within, to trust it to guide her feet. She came to another salt slide, much larger than the first, big enough to trap a man beneath and kill him. She knew then that she had not come this way before. She retraced her steps, watching for any slight rise in the footing that might indicate she was going toward the surface. The air was thick and hard to breathe; her heart hammered in her chest. She was so intent on the lift of the salt underfoot she did not notice the largest slide of all until it came rumbling down on her.
Chapter 4
E sus, the Silver Bull, chief of the Marcomanni, had accompanied his sons and the sons of his kinsmen to the territory of the Kelti in search of wives. “If you are ready for women to tend your wifefires, be sure you choose them from among the daughters of the Salt Mountain,” he had counseled them. “We will arrive just after snowmelt, so as to have the pick of the ripening women, but don’t be too particular. The important thing here is to establish more alliances with Toutorix and the Kelti and get a better trading arrangement than we have had. If you find Kelti women of lifemaking age who are willing to marry, take them.”
The Marcomanni arrived in the village driving richly carved carts of polished wood and leading pack animals laden with gifts. No mention would be made of wives, not at first; their gifts were merely unworthy tokens of the respect in which Toutorix was held by their tribe.
A banquet of hospitality was quickly arranged and Tena built a great fire in the feasting pit at the edge of the commonground. Soon dusk would fall, and more meat was needed
to supply the guests; Toutorix went to the magic house to speak to Kernunnos, and hunters were dispatched around the perimeter of the lake. Meanwhile, the women of the village prepared to serve the available food; Rigantona contributing a haunch of venison roasted with honey that she had intended for her husband’s meal.
Toutorix’s eyes followed the departing treat with mild regret; it was truly a chieftain’s portion, and he had not intended to share it.
“We don’t want the Marcomanni to think we are poor,” Rigantona reminded him.
“Poor! They will hardly think that. Just look at our people. They’re so weighted down by jewelry they clank when they walk, and as for
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