“The old Priestess died last autumn,” one of the women told him. “And they say that the new one is young, and very beautiful.”
“Who is she?” he asked, his heart beginning to beat heavily in his breast.
“The Arch-Druid’s granddaughter, I am told, and some whisper there was more than chance in her choosing. But I say that the old blood is best for the old ways, and who should be better fitted for such a task than one whose fathers and mothers before her have served the gods?”
Eilan! he thought. How could it be? Had she lost the child? If she was really High Priestess, how was he ever to see her again? He waited with ill-concealed impatience for nightfall, and grew silent with the others as they saw the procession of white-robed maidens emerge from the timber gate of the Forest House and come towards them down the avenue. At their head walked a slender woman with a scarlet cloak over her white gown. Beneath the thin veil he could see the glint of golden hair. She came crowned with light and attended by harpsong. Eilan…his heart cried. Can you feel me near you, Eilan?
“Out of the winter’s darkness I have come—” she said, and her voice was like music. Too much like music, thought Gaius; Eilan’s voice had been sweet to him, but it had not this resonance. He pressed closer, trying to see. This woman’s voice sounded as if she were a trained singer.
“Light-bearer am I, and bearer of blessings. Now comes the springtide; new leaves shall spring soon from the branches, and the rainbow flowers. May your beasts bear in abundance; good fortune to your plowing. Take now the light, my children, and with it my favor.”
The Priestess bent, and they lifted from her head the crown of candles. As they lowered it to the ground before her, Gaius saw her face for the first time in full light. It was the face he had dreamed of, and yet, even in a single moment of illumination, he knew it was not Eilan. He remembered, now, how beautifully Dieda had sung.
He pulled away, shaking. Had the woman got it wrong or was Eilan the victim of some dreadful deception?
“Hail to the Lady!” the people cried. “Hail to the Holy Bride!” Cheering, the young men touched their torches to the candle crown and began to form the procession that would carry the light to every hut and farm. It was certainly Dieda, and she must know where Eilan was. But he could not approach her now.
He turned away and recognized another face in the crowd. At this moment, danger meant nothing.
“Caillean,” he whispered harshly. “I must speak to you! In the name of mercy—where is Eilan?”
In the half-light he felt sharp eyes on him; he heard a voice speaking in a whisper, “What are you saying?” A hard grip closed on his hand. “Come away from this crowd; we cannot speak here.”
He went unresisting. It seemed to him that if death should descend on him, it would be no more than his due. But when they were beyond the crowd, he stopped in his tracks and turned to the priestess.
His voice was low and hoarse. “Mistress Caillean, I know how Eilan loved you. In the name of any god you cherish, tell me—where is she now?”
Caillean pointed to the dais where the white-veiled woman presided over the festivities.
“Cry out and betray me if you will, but do not lie to me.” Gaius stared into her eyes. “Though every man here should swear that is Eilan, I know better. Tell me if she is alive and well!”
Caillean stared back at him with widening eyes in which he read amazement, anger, and fear. Then she let out her breath in an explosive sigh and pulled him after her, further away from the circle of torchlight where Dieda was lifting her hands to bless the crowd. As he followed Caillean into the shadows, Gaius told himself that the catch in his throat was only from the smoke of the fires.
“I should tell them who you are and let them kill you,” she said finally. “But I, too, love Eilan, and she has had enough pain.”