The Horse Goddess (Celtic World of Morgan Llywelyn) Read Online Free
Author: Morgan Llywelyn
knowledge come from?”
“From the source of all wisdom,” the senior gutuiter replied. “From the great fire of life that is shared by every living thing, in thisworld and in the otherworlds. The spirit within you is just one spark from that fire, but through it you are given access to the accumulated knowledge of the whole, if you will only learn to listen.”
Epona frowned, trying to stretch her thoughts wide enough to embrace understanding. “Are you saying the spirit in me is kin to the spirits in the animals and plants? How can that be?”
Tena spoke up, taking her turn in the instruction. “ All life is part of one life,” she said, “and that one is sacred to all. We worship it in each of its many forms. It animates us and we share in its immortality. The spirit known in thislife as Epona will die and be reborn, slip in and out of the flesh, move from world to world, as we all shall, but it will continue to partake of life because we are all parts of the whole.
“The great spirit of life has many faces. In summer we worship it in the form of the goddess, for spring and summer are the seasons of the female, the time of birth and harvest, the celebration of warmth and light and fertility, life renewing itself.
“Snowseason is the season of the male, the hunter of the autumn and the craftsman of the winter, the provider who shelters and protects. It is the time for testing, for strength and endurance, and for the death that precedes birth.
“Death is nothing to fear, for life comes after. Spring follows winter. Morning follows the night. Be joyous and unafraid, Epona, for you are part of immortal life itself, and the great fire burns in you.”
Tena stretched out her hand and laid it palm down on Epona’s forehead. Without conscious volition, Epona closed her eyes and crossed her hands over her heart in response. A
radiance filled her; a commitment to her place in the endless cycle; a pleasure in being part of the whole.
The gutuiters walked back to the chief’s lodge with her, not surrounding her as guards, but following one pace behind as an escort of honor. As she walked, Epona felt little twinges of pain and something warm trickled down her legs. By the time she reached her family’s lodge her thighs were sticky and she could smell blood.
At the door of the house the gutuiters saluted her and turned away. Over her shoulder, Tena said, “Take care not to dream of a man nextnight,” and the other two laughed. Nematona laughed like the rustling of leaves; Uiska’s chuckle echoed the bubbling of brook water.
In accordance with the ancient custom, the older members of Epona’s family had kept watch for her through the night. Toutorix had honored her by dressing for her arrival in a fresh linen tunic and new woolen cloak, Rigantona’s finest weaving, in the red and green plaid of his family. Around his neck he wore the heavy gold neckring of a proven warrior chief, and massive bronze bracelets reinforced the strength of his wrists. The hair on his head had been newly bleached with lime paste, disguising the fact that it was no longer ruddy gold but streaked with silver, thick with the frost that obliges a man to measure his age in winters rather than summers. His cheeks were clean shaven, as was customary for a man of noble rank, but beneath them his mustache and beard were as luxuriant as ever. Toutorix wore an air of aggressive masculinity as easily as he wore his tartan cloak, though his broad shoulders were beginning to stoop and the muscles in his legs had grown stringy.
Married women still made approaches to him and many children in the Blue Mountains bore the stamp of the lord of the tribe on their faces: the passionate proud features and sky-colored eyes.
Over his tunic Toutorix sported a broad leather belt ornamented with bronze plates and squeezing him a bit more tightly than it had in his youth. But he was not fat; no man of the people would willingly allow himself to grow fat,
“From the source of all wisdom,” the senior gutuiter replied. “From the great fire of life that is shared by every living thing, in thisworld and in the otherworlds. The spirit within you is just one spark from that fire, but through it you are given access to the accumulated knowledge of the whole, if you will only learn to listen.”
Epona frowned, trying to stretch her thoughts wide enough to embrace understanding. “Are you saying the spirit in me is kin to the spirits in the animals and plants? How can that be?”
Tena spoke up, taking her turn in the instruction. “ All life is part of one life,” she said, “and that one is sacred to all. We worship it in each of its many forms. It animates us and we share in its immortality. The spirit known in thislife as Epona will die and be reborn, slip in and out of the flesh, move from world to world, as we all shall, but it will continue to partake of life because we are all parts of the whole.
“The great spirit of life has many faces. In summer we worship it in the form of the goddess, for spring and summer are the seasons of the female, the time of birth and harvest, the celebration of warmth and light and fertility, life renewing itself.
“Snowseason is the season of the male, the hunter of the autumn and the craftsman of the winter, the provider who shelters and protects. It is the time for testing, for strength and endurance, and for the death that precedes birth.
“Death is nothing to fear, for life comes after. Spring follows winter. Morning follows the night. Be joyous and unafraid, Epona, for you are part of immortal life itself, and the great fire burns in you.”
Tena stretched out her hand and laid it palm down on Epona’s forehead. Without conscious volition, Epona closed her eyes and crossed her hands over her heart in response. A
radiance filled her; a commitment to her place in the endless cycle; a pleasure in being part of the whole.
The gutuiters walked back to the chief’s lodge with her, not surrounding her as guards, but following one pace behind as an escort of honor. As she walked, Epona felt little twinges of pain and something warm trickled down her legs. By the time she reached her family’s lodge her thighs were sticky and she could smell blood.
At the door of the house the gutuiters saluted her and turned away. Over her shoulder, Tena said, “Take care not to dream of a man nextnight,” and the other two laughed. Nematona laughed like the rustling of leaves; Uiska’s chuckle echoed the bubbling of brook water.
In accordance with the ancient custom, the older members of Epona’s family had kept watch for her through the night. Toutorix had honored her by dressing for her arrival in a fresh linen tunic and new woolen cloak, Rigantona’s finest weaving, in the red and green plaid of his family. Around his neck he wore the heavy gold neckring of a proven warrior chief, and massive bronze bracelets reinforced the strength of his wrists. The hair on his head had been newly bleached with lime paste, disguising the fact that it was no longer ruddy gold but streaked with silver, thick with the frost that obliges a man to measure his age in winters rather than summers. His cheeks were clean shaven, as was customary for a man of noble rank, but beneath them his mustache and beard were as luxuriant as ever. Toutorix wore an air of aggressive masculinity as easily as he wore his tartan cloak, though his broad shoulders were beginning to stoop and the muscles in his legs had grown stringy.
Married women still made approaches to him and many children in the Blue Mountains bore the stamp of the lord of the tribe on their faces: the passionate proud features and sky-colored eyes.
Over his tunic Toutorix sported a broad leather belt ornamented with bronze plates and squeezing him a bit more tightly than it had in his youth. But he was not fat; no man of the people would willingly allow himself to grow fat,
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