The Horse Goddess (Celtic World of Morgan Llywelyn) Read Free

such as affected those who drank too much wine. Nothing seemed so important anymore. Her blanket was gone, and with it her mother’s precious brooch … so? Kernunnos whirled and gibbered and the pain came … but? It did not matter. It was hard to remember that she had ever been afraid. Her newly grown breasts felt heavy for the first time, and there was a heat at the bottom of her belly that had not been there before. Not so much a heat as an ache, a needing …
    She turned and turned like a hungry child seeking the mother’s nipple, and the ache went with her. She surrendered to it. She collapsed into this wonderful soft swirling sensation with its colors and odors and a faraway ringing of bells—were they the little bronze bells the women wore on their ankles? Did it matter? How delightful to be cushioned in this new way and feel a reasonless happiness glowing through her flesh. She smiled. She laughed softly to herself. She shook her head so the weight of her braids whipped around her and she was not afraid.
    The hot smoky air felt good on her bare skin, and the lightning flashes of pain as the antler kissed her meant nothing; they could not hurt her. She was sweating profusely and the
close air of the lodge made her wish she had more clothes to take off, take off her very skin, break free of whatever it was that was pressing in on her, pressing …
    She was very dizzy. The drum was beating and the bells were tinkling and the gutuiters were singing in faraway voices. A wave of nausea shook her and she closed her eyes for a heartbeat, feeling her balance desert her as she did so. She stumbled forward, throwing out her hands, expecting the priest to break her fall, but Kernunnos was no longer there. He was behind her now, prodding cruelly between her legs, and the pain was too intense to be denied. She was on her hands and knees and he was hurting her, hurting her … she chewed her lips to keep from crying out. With an incredible effort she managed to stagger to her feet and face him, refusing to be savaged from behind.
    The prong slashed like a knife across her breasts.
    The shapechanger stared at her. His lips were drawn back from his teeth into an animal’s snarl, and he was singing a high-pitched ululation that changed and became the cry of wolves on a winter night, far off in some snow-filled valley. No one who heard that cry could escape the thrill of fear that followed the wolf’s passage down countless generations. The wolf sang of wisdom, of loneliness and freedom, reminding men huddled in their lodges that there were wiser spirits in the world—and better hunters.
    The shapechanger looked at Epona through a wolf’s face. The animal itself seemed to stand before her, marking her for its prey. To her surprise, in that desperate moment some inner prompting came to her, as clear and sharp as a human voice speaking. With a nod of understanding, Epona looked into the terrifying visage of the shapechanger and drew her own lips back from her teeth, matching him snarl for snarl.
    Kernunnos laughed.
    The women seized her and lowered her to the ground. One sat on her chest and the other two spread her legs wide so the priest could dance between them. The chanting became muted as Kernunnos invoked the names of the spirits of tree and stone and earth, calling on them all to witness the ritual
and accept the girl’s passage to the nextlife. When he sang the names of the water spirits the women wailed in chorus, spitting into the palms of their hands and rubbing the liquid on Epona’s skin. When he called upon the fire Tena gave a great cry and light blazed up in the lodge.
    Epona felt very far away from herself. She waited passively now, almost indifferently, as Kernunnos squatted between her spread legs and deftly guided the sacred horn to the entrance of her body. The priest closed his eyes and sang the song of the gateway; he demanded admittance for the spirit of life. As the chant rose in power the women moaned