“No time,” the High Priestess coughed. “Come here—is it Dieda?”
“I’m Eilan, but Dieda is in the garden; do you want me to call her?”
There was a strange, raspy, rustling sound, and Eilan realized the sick woman was trying to laugh.
“Even now I cannot tell one from the other,” Lhiannon whispered. “Do you not see the hand of the gods in this?”
Eilan wondered if Lhiannon had sunk into the delirium she had been warned might come before the end. The High Priestess said harshly, “Call Dieda; my time is short. I do not rave; I know very well what I am doing and I must finish before I die.”
Eilan hurried to the door to summon Dieda. When they returned, the dying woman smiled as they stood side by side.
“It is true what they say,” she whispered. “The dying see clearly. Dieda, now you must bear witness. Eilan, daughter of Rheis, take the torque that lies beside me—take it!” she gasped for breath, and with trembling hands Eilan picked up the ring of twisted gold that lay on the pillow. “And the arm rings…Now put them on…”
“But only the High Priestess—” Eilan began, but the old woman’s eyes held hers with such terrible fixity that she found herself twisting the necklace to open it, and sliding it on. For a moment it seemed cold, then it settled about her own slim throat, warming as if grateful to be close to human flesh once more.
From Dieda came a small, strangled sound, but the rattle in Lhiannon’s throat was louder.
Then the High Priestess rasped, “Be it so. Maiden and Mother, I see the Goddess in you now…Tell Caillean—” She was silent a moment as if struggling for breath, and Eilan wondered if the old woman was delirious, or if it were she. She reached up once more to touch the heavy gold.
“Caillean is yonder, Mother; shall I summon her?” Dieda asked.
“Go,” whispered Lhiannon with more strength than she had before. “Tell her I love her…”
As Dieda hurried out, the gaze of the dying woman fixed on Eilan.
“I know now what Ardanos wanted when he bade me choose you, child, and instead the gods brought Dieda into my hand. He was wrong about you, and yet he did the Lady’s will all the same!” Her lips twisted with what Eilan realized was laughter. “Remember—it is important! Perhaps even the Goddess Herself could not tell you two one from the other. Nor the Romans—I see now—” And she was silent again. Eilan looked down at her, unable to move.
She was silent so long that Caillean, returning, asked, “Does she sleep? If she can sleep, then perhaps she may live another moon—” and then, tiptoeing to Lhiannon’s side, caught her breath on a gasp and whispered, “Ah, she will never sleep more—”
Caillean knelt beside the bed and kissed Lhiannon on the brow, and then, very tenderly, closed her eyes. With every moment that passed, more expression was fading from the dead woman’s face, so that she no longer looked asleep; she did not even look like Lhiannon any more. Eilan hugged her arms and winced as she felt the hard metal of the arm-ring. She felt dizzy and cold.
Then Caillean stood, and as her gaze focused on the ornaments Eilan was wearing, her eyes widened. Then she smiled.
“Lady of Vernemeton, I salute you in the name of the Mother of all!”
Ardanos, coming into the room behind Dieda, bent over the dead and then stood back again. “She is gone,” he said in a strange, flat voice. He turned, and something flickered in his eyes as he, too, saw the golden ornaments that Eilan wore.
The other priestesses were crowding around them, but it was old Latis the herb mistress who pushed forward and bowed, saying with a strange deference that terrified her, “I pray you, Voice of the Goddess, tell us everything the Holy Lady said with her last breath to you.”