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you're the last of the old magicians of the Celts. I've read about them. Druids. You are the last Druid
priestess in the land. Is that true?"
"You speak of Trevellyan's people, who once ruled here. But I am from the first of peoples, before
Trevellyan. I have my Gift from my mother and all the mothers before her. And my duty is to the Great
Mother of us all."
"They had a horse goddess you know, the Celts." Alfred drew up his knees and leaned his elbows on
them. "Guess her name."
Pony smiled and shook her head. He was so sure of himself.
"Epona," he said simply. "Or sometimes Rhiannon, or Macha, depending upon where people lived. I've
read the Latin accounts of her."
"Epona?" Pony drew her brows together. "But that's my name."
Alfred nodded. "She was the mother of all the Celtic gods, the Great Fecund Mare."
Pony was startled. These Druids followed the Great Mother Goddess and her horses?
"Do you practice rituals?" Alfred asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know: sacrificing things, praying& " His tone was casual, but his eyes were not.
"I don't believe in sacrifices." She paused, but he wanted more. She took a breath. "I touch the horses. I
listen." She looked over to him to see if he understood. He did not. "They speak through the Language of
Touch. Those who want my horses must learn the Language of Touch. Only then will you know the
equine soul. They will go where you go, and you will go with them. You will be one. It is a covenant
between you." It was the most she had said to anyone in years.
"That sounds like a ritual to me." He paused, thinking of how to approach his subject. "You know, Druid
priestesses were supposed to be the mortal incarnations of the Goddess." His eyes lighted from within.
He wanted to say more. But he bit his lip and was still.
His holding back made her nervous. "What would you say and cannot?"
"Nothing." He raised his head. "You know, your gift could change the world."
Pony shook her head. She did not want to change the world. Her duty was to connect to it, not change
it. "It is a small Gift. I hear animals, at least the ones who do not eat meat."
"I knew one who had gifts once," Alfred said. His voice was a murmur in the growing gloom. His face
was lit by the flicker of the fire. "She could heal people. She called the elements, even the earth itself, to
do her bidding."
"She sounds like the priestess you speak of, not me." Pony sat back on her heels.
The man's eyes turned inward, remembering. "Most called her a witch. But I know she was a saint. Her
gift was from Jesu, surely. Did he not raise Lazarus from the dead? It was she who healed me when I
was burned and would have died. She prophesied that I would be called Alfred the Great, that I would
rule all the island, and the island would one day rule the world."
So that was why he was so sure of himself. He clung to a prophecy. Perhaps he was a king.
He sighed. "But she also gave the Danes the victory that made the Danelaw. She brought down
Edmund's fortress and set the Vikings loose upon the island, curse that they are. Now the Danelaw is
expanding until there may be nothing left for me to rule. It is all very confusing."
"Did she serve the Goddess?" Why had her mother not told her she was named for this Druid horse
goddess? Something was wrong here. Pony's mother had told her only about the Great Mother. The
Great Mother did not belong to these Druids, yet she and all her mothers were named for their horse
goddess. Or was it the other way around? She was not what this fledgling king thought she was, the last
Druid priestess. Trevellyan ruled the wild Celts who had retreated to the western mountains and south to
the rocky edges of the island in Cornwall. He was half-legend himself. But her kind was older than his
kind, older than any Druid, any Celt; they had been in this land since it had been thrust from the sea. It
was the one thing she was sure of.
Alfred shook his head. "She told me she was not sure who or what she served. She would tell you she
brought down Edmund's faesten for love, not for the future of the world." He took a breath and
straightened up. "She lives in the Danelaw now, in the great fenland to the north and east. And the man
she sacrificed this island for is Viking. Who can tell the right of things?"
Pony thought about that. Could you serve a goddess and not know it? Did this witch serve some force
that would carve the future, yet was not sure how or why? They had much in common, she and this witch
or saint.
"Have you never heard the story of the Bible?" Alfred asked, head cocked.
"I have heard."
"And yet you do not serve Jesus through his one true church. Why not?"
Pony shifted from foot to foot. These Christians could be most insistent. She usually tried to listen
politely, but it always ended in them wanting to dunk her in some pond or river. She had resolved long
ago to never let water close over her head, else she would have let them do it. It didn't seem to matter to
the Great Mother whether she was dunked, and it mattered so very much to the Christians. Perhaps it
would have made their priests accept her better. It would not have affected what she believed. But she
couldn't do it, not with what had happened to her mother. Still, she had to answer her king. "I did not see
that women were important in your church."
Alfred sat up straight. "The mother of Jesus is the most important of the saints."
Pony smiled. "But she is not his equal. No women are his priests." She shook her head. "Mary is there to
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