Ardanos was silent; he knew he could drive her only so far. Outside he could hear wind soughing in the trees, but there was no sound but their breathing within the room.
"Whom have you chosen for me to choose?” Lhiannon asked.
For the three days preceding one of the festivals at which she was to serve as the Voice of the Goddess, the High Priestess lived in seclusion, attended only by her chosen priestess, resting, meditating, and purifying herself. Caillean, who almost always stayed with her, welcomed this time of separation. The shelter of the Forest House could be constricting, and whenever so many women, however holy, lived together, there were bound to be conflicts from time to time.
But now she found it hard to put memories of the outside world behind her. She spooned oat porridge—made more nourishing by the addition of nutmeats, since the High Priestess might have no animal flesh during her time of purification—into a carved wooden bowl and offered it to Lhiannon.
"What did Ardanos want of you?” Caillean heard the bitterness in her own voice, but could not stop the words. "I did not expect to see him here until the day of the festival.”
"You must not speak so of the Arch-Druid, child,” Lhiannon shook her head, frowning. "He has a heavy load to bear.”
"So have you,” Caillean said tartly. "And he makes it no lighter with his demands on you.”
Lhiannon shrugged, and Caillean thought once more how fragile those shoulders were to bear the weight of so many hopes and fears.
"He does the best he can,” the High Priestess said as if she had not heard. "He worries about what will happen when I am gone.”
Caillean looked at her in alarm. It was said that a priestess, especially one of high degree, would know her time. "Have you seen some omen—has he?”
Lhiannon shook her head fretfully. "He spoke in general, but someone must take thought for these things. No one is immortal, and whoever is to succeed me will have to begin her training soon.”
For a moment Caillean looked at her. Then she laughed.
"By that am I to understand that none of us who are already trained is acceptable—especially me? Do not bother to answer,” she said then. "I know that you will only defend him, and in truth I do not mind. The title of High Priestess is not enough to justify what I have seen you suffer all these years.” Especially, she thought, since the honor of it was empty so long as Lhiannon did not choose to exercise her power.
Lhiannon made a movement of discomfort, and Caillean realized that she was treading too near forbidden ground. She had been closer to the older woman than a daughter since before her moonblood began to flow, and that was more than twenty years ago, so she knew how Lhiannon depended on the illusions that cushioned her reality.
Another woman might have asked Caillean what she wanted instead. Caillean’s lips twisted wryly as she cleared away the half-eaten porridge for, indeed, she herself did not know. But her heart told her that there must be more to serving the Goddess than these formal rituals with their tantalizing hints of power.
The secret teachings of the Druids included tales of a time long ago when priests from a lost land now sunk beneath the sea had come to Britannia. They had been masters of magic, and as they married into the ruling lines of the people they found here and later into the families of each new group of conquerors, the old blood, and the old knowledge had been preserved. But those most learned in that lore had died on Mona, and their knowledge with them.
Sometimes it seemed to Caillean that what they retained at the Forest House was only the dregs of greatness. Most of the other women were content with their small magic, but from time to time Caillean would feel an odd conviction that there must be more. She had spoken truth to Lhiannon—she did not want to be Priestess of the Oracle. And yet if not that, what was it that she wanted to do?
"It is time for our morning devotions,” Lhiannon’s voice pierced her distraction. The older woman gripped the table and pushed herself upright.