The Horse Goddess (Celtic World of Morgan Llywelyn) by Morgan Llywelyn Read Free Book Online Page A

vitals, even after so many seasons. He took me dry , she recalled, shuddering, and his hands were like talons, ripping my flesh. The things he did … he always enjoyed it most when I screamed.
    Epona saw her mother’s face turn as white as the memory of snow, and the slippage of Rigantona’s controlled mask shocked her. “I followed you once,” she related, “when you went into the trees with him. I always thought he looked so … frightening … and I suppose I was worried about you, even if I was very little. Then I heard you scream and I ran away.”
    Rigantona’s face seemed to have turned to stone. “I quit going with the priest long ago,” she said in a remote voice. “Once I thought it would be a great honor to share bedsports with him; I thought a shapechanger would do things that other men could not.” She curled her lip in disgust. “I was right
about that, I suppose, but now I wish it had never happened. It is not a memory I cherish, and I don’t want to talk about it with you.
    “But I did learn a valuable lesson, and that I will pass on to you. Bedsports, though they may be pleasurable, can cause you great pain. There are more satisfactory pleasures than a man’s body, Epona.”
    “What are they?”
    “When you have borne as many children as I have, you learn to appreciate those things that are quiet and make no demands. Gold and amber and ivory, those are the real pleasures, believe me. I enjoy the way they look and feel and the way they make me feel. That delight never fades. They do not cause pain, nor do they turn away and leave a woman cold in her bed. They never stink of stale wine in the morning.
    “Don’t expect too much of men, Epona, and do not waste time sighing for creatures you cannot have, like Goibban the smith. He is probably not as good as you might imagine anyway. Give your affection instead to things you can count and carry, Epona, for they will never disappoint you and they are all that lasts.”
    She sighed, a long, drawn-out sigh. “Things you can count and carry.”
    Rigantona was silent for a long time. Epona was reluctant to break into her thoughts; she spat on her finger tips and gathered the last breadcrumbs on her damp skin. When the silence had become intolerable, Rigantona summoned one last piece of advice.
    “Have as many children as you can, to increase the strength of your husband’s tribe,” she told her daughter. “Whoever he is, he will reward you well for that. And keep your teeth in your head as long as you can. They start falling out when you start having babies. You will have to seek aid from the gutuiters of your new tribe if you want to keep them. When you accept a husband, be sure you look at his teeth first and don’t take a man with bad ones. His breath will stink in bed. Toutorix at least has strong teeth.”
    She could think of nothing else to say. Life was to be
learned by living it, and each person had to make his own discoveries. She was not fearful for her daughter’s future; she was not even very interested in it. Not all trails through a forest reach the same destination.
    Her duty discharged, Rigantona stood up. “You can go to the bakehouse now,” she said. “I just saw Sirona leave, so her oven will still be hot. Think about what I told you and do some more growing; there is not enough flesh on your bones yet to interest a man anyway.”
    She strode away, back to her loom and her own life. Epona watched her go, trying to sort through tangled thoughts and feelings. Rigantona was right, she was bony still, like a yearling calf; another summer and winter might turn her into someone Goibban would really notice. Surely an exception to the pattern would be made for someone as important as the smith of the Kelti, if he wanted to marry a woman of his own tribe.
    It had to be that way. Throughout the long, dark winter, had she not walked with Goibban in the dreamworld?
    The bakehouse waited for her. The village rang with the voices of the