Ravens of Avalon by Diana L. Paxson, Marion Zimmer Bradley Page B

the cauldron, waiting for curls of steam to rise from the water. When she saw them, she dropped in the bag of barley. Boudica balanced a board across two stones and began to chop greens.
    The long summer day was fading to twilight in ever more delicate shades of rose and gold. The bubbling of the cauldron blended into an evening hush that muted even the voices of the men. Three ravens came flying from the direction of the holy island, their elegant shapes sharply defined against the luminous sky.
    “Sorry, brothers—we’ve nothing for you this time,” called King Tancoric. “Come back tomorrow and we’ll feed you well.”
    “And when the Romans come, we’ll make you a truly worthy offering,” added Caratac. A burst of laughter echoed his words.
    The ravens circled the campsite as if they were listening. Lhiannon shivered as with a last harsh cry they sped away.
    “Are you cold? I could fetch a cloak,” said Boudica.
    The priestess shook her head and gave another stir to the cauldron. “It was the birds,” she explained. “We call the gods for blessings, but they can be terrible, especially Cathubodva the Battle Raven, whose birds those are …”
    “What did he mean by a worthy offering?” asked Bendi.
    “He means corpses,” said Ardanos, joining them. “After a battle, the wolves and the ravens feast on the dead. You know what the oakwood looks like in the fall when acorns cover the ground? The acorns are the mast that the pigs eat, but they say that on a battlefield the severed heads of the fallen lie like acorns, and they call them the ‘mast of the Morrigan,’ the Great Queen whom we also call Cathubodva …”
    He turned to Lhiannon. “The High Priestess is chilled. Is there anything I can give her?”
    “Hand me that cup—the barley is not yet tender, but enough of its essence has gone into the water to do her some good.” Lhiannon ladled broth into the cup and dropped in a pinch of salt. “Here, Bendi.” She turned to the boy. “You are learning to be a healer. Sometimes food is medicine, too. Take that to the Lady, and when she has finished it, ask if she wants more.”
    “Does the Morrigan enjoy the bloodshed?” asked Boudica when he had gone.
    “She weeps …” Lhiannon said softly. “The night before a battle she walks the field and shrieks in despair. She waits at the ford and washes the bloody clothing of the doomed. She begs them to turn back, but they never do.”
    “And then, when battle is joined,” Ardanos added grimly, “she grants the madness that gives the warriors the strength of heroes, and allows them to do deeds that no man could face in cold blood. And so kings sacrifice to her for victory.”
    “Is she good or evil?” asked Boudica.
    “Both,” Lhiannon said with an attempt at a smile. “When she makes love with the Good God at the river she brings life to the land. He balances her destruction and makes her smile once more.”
    “Look at it this way,” said Ardanos. “Is a storm good or ill?”
    “I suppose it is good when it brings the rain we need and bad when a flood washes away our homes.”
    “We do not always know why the rain falls,” added Ardanos, “or why the gods do what they do. Folk call the Druids wise, but you must realize by now that we should be called the people who seek wisdom. We study the visible world around us and we reach out to the invisible world within. When we truly understand them we become like the gods, able to command their powers because we move within their harmony.”
    This is what I love in him, thought Lhiannon, not only the touch of his hand but the touch of his soul.
    And as if he had felt her thought, Ardanos looked back at her, and the breach between them was healed.
    t was the gray hour just before the dawning. They rose in silence, the white robes of the Druids ghostly in the gloom. Even the kings moved quietly as they loaded the offerings onto the horses. Boudica rubbed sleep from her eyes and wrapped her cloak