Celtic Ceili: First Lessons

Rhosyn woke up abruptly a few hours later, driven out of a deep sleep by twin needs of hunger and... let's just say a few inches further south. Disoriented, she peered around, finding herself inside a dim, shadowy hut made of reeds and stout sticks – and memory came flooding back.

So. I guess this is real, after all. She took a deep breath, testing her reactions, and thought she might be steadier now. A glance down at her wrist showed the Time Jumper still there, the indicator still showing she was in the original universe (Alpha, she corrected herself absently).

An even more urgent signal from her nether regions made itself known, and she threw the animal skin to one side, climbed to her feet, and cautiously made her way to the door, pushing aside the wolfskin curtain and peeking out. One of the girls she'd been introduced to earlier was sitting nearby weaving a reed basket, apparently stationed there to await Rhosyn's rising. She smiled up at her strange guest, an open, friendly expression, and a bit more of Rhosyn's apprehension melted away. The universal gesture of crossed legs accompanied by a panicked look got the message instantly across, and the girl pointed around to one side of the hut, laughing. A quick visit to the tiny lean-to with its seat, bucket, and pile of mosses, and Rhosyn felt much better prepared to face the adventure that awaited.

On her return trip, she detoured down a few feet to the nearby stream to wash her hands. The girl stood, smiling another greeting, and waved Rhosyn down to a seat on a pile of turf beside her, then presented her with a trencher of food: flat bread baked from rough-ground grain, a hunk of smoked cheese, and two deep purple plums. A skin flask on the ground between them proved to hold sweet, fresh water. As she began to satisfy her famished tummy, Rhosyn and her hostess, who turned out to be Genofeva, the younger of the two girls, began those first, halting, laughing attempts to communicate. With time to ask and listen closely, Rhosyn found many words were somewhat familiar, related to the words of her own language. She could hear how closely the two languages were related: distantly – two thousand years distant, after all! - but still related.

When she'd finished eating, and thanked Genofeva, the latter cheerfully brushed it off, then stood, carefully stowed the trencher and her half-finished basket in the hut, and led Rhosyn off across the village and out towards the inlet. The sun had slanted while she slept, and now, midafternoon, Rhosyn used it to get a sense of direction: the inlet was north of the village. She knew she was in what would become Norfolk, so, judging from the temperature, it seemed to be late spring-early summer.

As they walked, odd sounds came to her ears from ahead: unworried wordless shouts, grunts, and the arrhythmic clang of metal on metal. When they topped a small bank, she realized her guess had been right: ahead was a relatively flat space of hard-trampled ground, being used as a practice arena. A burly man, obviously an expert warrior, was even now crossing swords with Genofeva's older sister, Fedelmid, while Prasutagus, Boudicca and a half-dozen other villagers watched and cheered or jeered from the low banks surrounding the arena. The two girls, fast becoming friends, sat down next to Genofeva's parents, and Genofeva gave them a rapid run-down, apparently stressing Rhosyn's lack of familiarity of their own language, so when they included her in the conversation, they made evident pains to speak plainly with much gesturing – and laughter. The courtesy and abundant friendliness warmed her to the core, melting away more of her anxiety.

A few minutes later, Fedelmid came over and flopped down, panting; apparently her "lesson" was over. Her teacher followed and was introduced to Rhosyn: Caradoc. He grinned broadly at her, and invited her to take a turn on the sparring ground. Rhosyn's jaw dropped, and she tried to demur, but everyone encouraged her to stand, Fedelmid offering up her own battered training sword. She could read both friendliness and a bit of challenge in their eyes, and knew it was something of a test, as well. One she couldn't afford to fail. She swallowed hard, picked up the sword, and tried to look confident – a heavy task, since she'd never held such a weapon before in her life.

("Let's see how much of a wolf she really is," Prasutagus challenged his wife, referring to the clan's totem and self-identity. Boudicca simply smiled. This little she-cub was strange, to be sure, but there was something about her... She had insisted on the girl being given honored guest status, at least until they found out more about her, sensing that she had a place in the clan's future.)

Rhosyn stood awkwardly, holding the sword before her in both hands. She managed to parry two or three slow and well-telegraphed swings by Caradoc, but knew she wouldn't last long. Sure enough, it took less than a minute before he beat down one of her own wild return swings, spun quickly around, and swatted her behind as she stumbled past. And again, and again – within a few minutes, she'd been thoroughly bested, and everyone knew it.

("If she's a wolf, she's a bad one," was Prasutagus' comment. "Give her time," replied Boudicca.)

Enough, thought Rhosyn after getting swatted the fifth or sixth time. She was suddenly, thoroughly ticked off, but she felt herself slip into the icy concentration so familiar from her Akido competitions. She turned to face Caradoc squarely, flung the sword so it planted itself point down into the turf a few feet away, and dropped into daiichi stance, one foot before the other, a quarter turn to the side, hands raised before her – and waggled her fingers in invitation.

Of course, he pointed to her sword in astonishment, but she merely arched her eyebrows and wiggled her fingers again. The onlookers were silent, as perplexed as he at her actions. So, shrugging, he lifted his sword overhead and came at her at half speed, expecting her to lunge for the weapon...

...and a second later, found himself flat on his back on the turf, gaping in surprise. Stunned silence from the crowd was broken a second later with jeers at Caradoc for napping in the middle of the lesson. He sprang to his feet and charged Rhosyn again, faster – and again found himself thrown to the ground. And again, and again – he couldn't touch her.

Now, THIS is more like it! Rhosyn thought with a grin. Caradoc slowly climbed to his feet once more, but didn't charge, instead simply stared at her, the meaning of his bewildered question obvious.

Suddenly, Boudicca was there, too, with an intense, respectful request. "Show me how you did that." As the rest of the onlookers gathered around, Rhosyn smiled and turned back to Caradoc, asking him to attack – slowly! And what is that word in your tongue? And how do I count to four? Combined language and martial arts lessons continued the rest of the afternoon – by the time the sun touched the western hills, everyone had learned a basic hip throw, and how to land without getting hurt, as well as dozens of new words crammed into Rhosyn's head.

"Still think she's a bad wolf?" Boudicca asked her husband on the way back to the village, and this time Rhosyn both overheard and understood the words. "We are all wolves in this clan," Boudicca explained at her quizzical look, then turned back to Prasutagus.

He was giving Rhosyn a sharp, measuring look, and she held her breath unconsciously, waiting for his verdict. "No," he finally admitted. "Not bad at all." And he himself held back the wolfskin curtain, ushering his guest inside with a ceremonious wave of his hand.