Roundelays

"Did ye really boak all over Black Jack, Sorcha?"

Jamie and I have been ring and kilt shopping all morning, so now we are enjoying a bit of early lunch, nestled into the back corner of a very nice and warm little sandwich shop.

I grin around my last bite of chicken salad melt, "Yep. Beet and wild boar stew. All over him."

He chuckles, "I'd have paid good money to see that."

"It wasn't pretty."

His eyebrows pull in as he sobers quickly, "Abattoirs never are."

"It was his own fault too. If he wants to go around punching people in the stomach, he's going to have to live with the consequences."

"Or, preferably, not."

I snicker a bit, "That too."

He takes a final long drink from his cup of café au lait , "We have a meeting wi' the priestess in about a quarter of an hour, mo nighean. Do ye want tae walk?"

"Is it still sunny out?"

He leans back to see out of the shop windows, "Aye. Doesnae look too windy either."

"Then yes, let's walk."

He pays our bill, and takes my arm, and we walk slowly up the long main street of the town. There hasn't been snow in several days, so what ice there is in the streets is grey and disheveled, but the patches of it on lawns and rooftops are still clean and white. There are many trees in this town – more than is usual, from what I have seen. Most of them are evergreens too, and so with the pale blue sky and deep green and white around us, I can't help but think it's the most beautiful day we've had in a while.

Of course the man next to me has a lot to do with that, too. . .

"Are ye sure ye want tae trust this dress Ned said he's found for ye, Sorcha?"

"Dress? No, Ned was going to find me a place to stay tonight that wasn't the B&B. Because apparently it's bad luck or something, if you see me the night before? I didn't quite catch what Dougal said, what with you so insistent we get to the jeweler's the minute it opened. . ."

He grins, "Aye, that's all so, but Ned said. . ." he pulls out his com, ". . . didnae he message ye too?"

"Apparently not."

He shows me the text message. I hand the com back to him, frowning, "Well, I don't understand what he could mean by a "three for one special", but if it means I don't have to go endlessly searching for something to wear, it couldn't hurt to have a look, could it?"

"Suppose no'. But ye arenae tae settle jus' because it's the easy option, ken? There's a perfectly good dress shop jus' down the road a ways," he gestures behind us, "An' when I called this morning, they were thrilled at the idea of dressin' ye. So ye neednae settle, an' I insist ye don't."

I smile, and squeeze his arm, "I won't, I promise."

We walk up to the door of a large and very tidy cottage right at the end of the main street. A long grove of trees wrap around behind this side of the town, and end in this cottage's back garden. The door is painted green, and bears a small sign that reads "It is unlocked – come in!"

I smile as I push the door open, "Do we know this woman's name?"

"Murtagh said she introduced herself as Fiona. . ."

"Yes, that's me!" comes a voice from an upper room, "Make yourselves comfortable, I'll be down in moment!"

I look around the flowery-cushion, sparkling-nick-knack, and knitted-lace bedecked sitting room, and give Jamie a half-smile, half grimace of comedic terror, "I think I'll stand. I'm afraid I'll break something. . ."

A rustle comes from the staircase, and we both turn to see a short, pleasant looking middle-aged woman, in a green and brown print dress and long, warm Macintosh, a look of astonished happiness all over her face.

"My Lady?" she asks, holding out her hands towards me, "Is it really you?"

I blink, and cannot answer.

"I knew we'd have a wedding for Imbolc, but I never dreamed it would be you." She takes both my hands, and bows over them. Then she looks up at me, as though I am a long lost and very dear friend, "It is good to see you again, Oldmother. I never thought we should meet like this."

All of this is sufficiently weird enough to render me entirely awkward.

I let my hands fall gracelessly from her grasp, "I. . . give you greetings?"

She smiles, "You don't remember. Or don't know yet. Or perhaps both. Then all is as it should be, thank heaven. We are here for you - never forget that, at least," she looks over at Jamie, "Oh, and here is the King of the Greenwood himself! But of course, how silly of me. You wouldn't be marrying anyone else."

Jamie's eyes widen a bit, but he bows politely, "No, ma'am. An' I'm nae king – we're only soulmates."

She smiles wider, and claps her hands, "Of course. Why didn't I understand before? Of course that's what the dreamwords meant. "To fulfill the Time, Bride will have her day." Of course."

Jamie and I look at each other, totally bewildered.

We are just about to start asking questions when she waves a hand to forestall us both, "Never mind, either of you. All is as it should be. That is all you need to know."

She hands Jamie a paper with a long list of items on it. He holds it so we both can read it. It is a detailed breakdown of the wedding ceremony, complete with places for us to write in the vows we want to say. As Jamie bends over a table to do so, I tentatively voice my only uncertainty.

"Is. . . is the song you are planning to sing while we. . . walk. . . is that. . ."

"Non-negotiable, I'm afraid, my Lady. But of course you would worry about that now. You must not worry – we are here for you."

I don't know what to say to that. Jamie hands her the paper, with the simple vows we discussed this morning written neatly in the space for them.

"All set? Good," Fiona takes the paper, "Now, come witness the Shriving."

Jamie's expression darkens, but she again anticipates him, "And that means nothing at all similar to the Catholic term in this house, young man – never fear."

We follow her out into her back garden, and into the wide grove of trees that surround it. There is a wide, circular clearing among the evergreens, where eight other women are waiting for us, evenly spaced around the circle, all dressed in identical long, white robes, and with impassive, faraway-looking faces.

Fiona does not introduce them, instead taking up a long wooden staff set across two low stones lying nearby. Then she makes a round of the clearing, touching the forehead of each other priestess with the top of the staff.

As she comes back around, I can see a small bunch of dried herbs is tied to the end of the thing. It is this that she's been touching to the women's foreheads. Some sort of blessing I assume. . . She puts the staff back across the two low stones. The moment she does, the eight women advance, slowly but deliberately, towards the center of the circle. They reach out at they near each other, and stop as soon as they touch hands. Then, still slowly, but with increasing speed, the circle of women turns. Then they slow again, and begin to turn the other direction.

All this time a low hum has been growing louder and louder. It takes until it is nearly a shout before I can tell it is human voices, and the moment I do figure this out, they stop, and begin a soft, rhythmic chanting.

Each woman lifts a small brass bowl in their hands, and reaching out, fills it from a pile of something at the very center of the circle.

I had initially thought it was a small pile of snow, but I can see now that it is ashes.

With a soft, rolling, whispering sweep of sound, the chanting becomes deep, intense, vibrating singing. As the music rolls over the clearing, the women break from their formation, and begin to dance in wide, intertwining arcs, one this way, the other that. As they go, they spill a little of the ashes from their bowls, leaving long, curving trails on the cold, dark ground.

It is the same dance the women danced with fire, that night upon Craigh na Dun.

This time I can see the pattern of it, left clear by the ashes, and drawn out plain on the paper Fiona had given us.

But I didn't understand until now. . .

The dance makes a labyrinth. A deliberate pattern. A pattern I've seen several times before, and not just that night with Lamb and Mrs. Graham.

A pattern Geillis had traced on the table while she explained the summoning rhyme to me. The little incense press that Iona had used the night we visited her. The carved coils of the Sawney snake that Jamie carries.

The center of the Devil's Eye, yesterday. . .

They are all the same labyrinth. And we must walk this one tomorrow, to make us man and wife. . .

The eight priestesses finish their dance, and their song, at exactly the same moment. Then, they come over to us, and stand in two loose circles, one around Jamie, and one around me.

"Well, there's that done, and well done too, if I do say so myself," says Fiona, smiling at both of us, "The morning dew will sanctify the circle, and we can conduct the ceremony three hours after noon – one for the Sun, one for the Moon, and one for the Star of Morning – as is proper for an Imbolc wedding."

"So. Be here by three P.M." I say, a bit irritated that this woman seems not at all inclined to explain herself, but I'm too in awe to actually complain about it.

"Or a little before. Punctuality is not the most important thing in this, but it would be good to be timely, at least."

Jamie and I both nod.

"You must leave by separate ways, each one of you, and you cannot set eyes on each other again until the ceremony."

"Alright," I agree with a sigh. I go to give Jamie a hug, at least, but she stops me.

"And you mustn't touch."

I sigh again, but Jamie chuckles,

"I'll call Murtagh – he'll tak ye tae find Ned."

"Alright," I say, flatly, and take one last long look at him as the women lead us away.