The Dawn Stag: Book Two of the Dalriada Trilogy by Jules Watson Page B

then that her role was to prepare Rhiann and train her; to nurture her into a strong, accomplished woman who could face everything to come.
    Yet the crushing part was that Linnet could not intervene in any significant way, because Rhiann would only then learn about Linnet’s path and Linnet’s choices, not her own, nor would she develop any strength of will. And so, although it had tried her hard, Linnet had for years bitten her tongue and held her counsel.
    At first it had been simple. It was easy to let a three-year-old thrust her hand into a patch of nettles because she must feel how they stung, and respect them in future. It was not easy to behold a woman so despairing that she would cut herself off from her own heart, and say she must find her own way.
    Linnet had felt the crushing loss of Caitlin, her own child, the guilt of that, and the grief of losing a sister. And when she saw Rhiann struggling with such pain, she burned with the need to soothe it all away. Yet Linnet had seen more than pain at Rhiann’s birth; she had caught a glimpse, a bare glimpse, of Rhiann’s fate.
    A fate to change the destiny of a whole land .
    And what did such a fate ask of someone? How could anyone counsel such a soul? What Linnet thought of as right in one moment may not be right in the greater pattern of Rhiann’s life, which only the Mother could see.
    A single tear squeezed out from one tightly closed eye, and Linnet let herself feel its long, slow slide down her cheek. Then she glanced over at the bed; at Rhiann’s outflung hand, a pale flower against the dark fur cover. All I can do is love her , she thought, getting up, stiff-kneed. If I tell her the Mother loves her, and that is all that matters, then that is all I must give, too .
    People had many illusions about priestesses, that embodying the Goddess must be simple and beautiful. And it was, sometimes. But not always. Linnet lived on this mountain, distant from the cares of the tribe, and made offerings at the gateway and kept the Source in balance as best she could. And sometimes it was lonely, and often difficult, for all the things she must see but not speak. Rhiann lived among the people, tending their daily hurts and giving her body as the Mother’s vessel. Yet who could say which was easier?
    Wiping her eyes, Linnet gently tucked Rhiann’s errant hand beneath the cover, smoothing the fur up to her chin. For this brief time, at least, she wore only the face of the Mother, warding the hours of darkness for her child.

CHAPTER 5
    B raced on the walkway atop Dunadd’s upper palisade, Eremon waited only long enough to see Rhiann safely away to Linnet’s before tackling his next challenge – the chief druid.
    When Liath’s coat was no more than a pale glimmer against the green hills, Eremon finally let his eyes drop. Below him, the bustling village sprawled around the crag’s feet in the afternoon sunshine, cloaked in the thick haze of cookfires that curled lazily above the thatch roofs.
    Sounds floated up in a murmuring cloud: children’s cries and playful screams; the clink of smiths’ hammers; and the thunk of axes on wood. Eremon even fancied he could sense relief in the air, floating with the homely smells of smoke, animal dung and baking bread. The mourning feast would go ahead as a celebration when Rhiann returned tomorrow night.
    Peering into the long afternoon shadows, he studied each layer of Dunadd’s defences in turn. First, the main timber palisade encircling the village, guarded by the great gatetower. Then, the palisade on which he stood, on a natural rock tier of the crag.
    The village gate was manned by a brace of warriors, the sun gleaming on their bristling spear-tips. Others strode the length of the palisades, their bright-painted shields hung for decoration on the pointed stakes. Eremon turned his face to the north. More spears glittered in a rain of iron above the river meadow, for already Finan had resumed the training of the warband. In