The Twilight

She had just come from speaking with Marcus and the others who were training the troops.

"They're doing well,"  Marcus had told her.  "But their experience, all of them, lays with the bow."

"Of course.  They all hunt,"  Ceridwen had replied.

"Speaking of the bow, we've had some take to the targets at the green,"  Gwyn had said.  "It would look suspicious if no one practiced there any more."

Ceridwen had nodded her approval of this ploy.  It was true; even at the height of hunting, there was always someone practicing at the targets.

"What about the hit-and-run?"  she asked.

Gwyn had smiled then, his eyes softly fading to the past.  "They're Celts, each and every one of them.  They know how to remain invisible until the right moment, then sweep down like a flock of avenging falcons, taking what they will then fading back into nothingness."

"We separate them into two groups,"  Marcus expanded.  "One group becomes the invaders, the other, the defenders.  For now they use practice swords and hand-to-hand.  We send the 'invaders' along a path, sometimes in the hills, sometimes along the swampy land west of here.  At first, Gwyn would choose the place for the attack.  I would show our troops the places where an attack would most likely take place.  Now, we watch and let them decide those places which would be most beneficial to the attack, and methods of defense for those areas known to be unsafe."

They were learning the best of both styles.  Ceridwen was pleased.

An arrow sang out of  its bow to her left and she stopped to watch it strike home.  The arrow quivered in the cloth-covered straw, right in the center of the circular pattern.

"Mother."

The voice was low and cool, but carried an air of command.  Ceridwen felt her soul tighten as she glanced around to see her daughter Creiddylad sitting on the side of the path.

"Daughter."

The girl put her hand protectively on a pack beside her.  "I'm medical,"  she said proudly.

Her mother smiled tiredly.  Every morning and every evening, Creiddylad mentioned her special job in the army.  She would have mentioned it more often, but these days, they rarely saw each other beyond the family table.

Ceridwen did worry about her daughter, though.  It was one thing to patch a skinned knee or a small cut.  Quite another to stem the bleeding of a severed limb.  Or, sing the soul of the dying to eternal spring.

The wooded copse was pleasant in the afternoon sunshine.  Ceridwen lowered herself deliberately to sit beside her daughter.

"Not everyone is here,"  Creiddylad said.  "Some of the men are out in the fields, and most of the women.  We've got to get the harvest in before Market Faire.  I don't understand why you moved the Faire up this year.  It doesn't make sense!  You've got us out here training, and you know that takes people away from the fields.  You should have made it later, Mother."

Judgement was heavy in her voice.  Ceridwen didn't want to tell her about the rapidly approaching war, the girl's mouth was too ready to speak.  But she was not prepared to hash around it for hours when there were other things to do.  "Just trust me, all right?  There are things you know nothing about..."

"I know that it isn't right to expect the people to train all night and day and expect them to bring the harvest in as well.  We just can't do it, there isn't time!"

Ceridwen raised her eyes and scanned the woods.  A feeling had struck her, a feeling of impending danger.  Her ears began to ring, drowning out her daughter's voice.  In her mind, she could see Livia, basket of herbs on her arm, walking behind the archers' targets.  She rose, watching the targets closely.

Livia, and an ill-placed arrow.  She could see the trajectory taking the feathered shaft between two targets and right into the unsuspecting woman.  She could see it, she could see...

A ripple of color in the mottled light and Livia came into view.

Creiddylad stood up beside her mother, hand at her throat.  "Watch out!"  she cried.

But the arrow had already been loosed.  Ceridwen watched it as it traveled, slowly in her horror-stricken mind.  No sound could penetrate the sight of the arrow barely missing the haystack and its covering of cloth; no other sight could intrude.  Livia flinched away from the path of the arrow and reached up to grab it by its shaft.

Ceridwen sank down to the log.  This family would be the death of her yet, she swore to herself.

Everyone was running now.  Creiddylad grabbed her bag and went to see what had happened to her cousin.  Bows were laying by the shooters' line, their owners converging on the figure in the forest. Even the spear throwers had abandoned their practice to see if they could help.

Creiddylad forced her way through the first archers to arrive.  "Let me through!"  she demanded, holding her bag above their heads.

Livia was holding the arrow, a confused look on her face.  "Here,"  she said, and handed it to her cousin.

"Where were you hit?"  Creiddylad demanded, turning her cousin around to find the site.  She handed the arrow to someone standing nearby to free her hands to search.

But she could find no blood, no place where the arrow had pierced Livia's flesh.

"It didn't touch me,"  Livia said.  She patted her cousin's shoulder in assurance.  "Really.  It wasn't going that fast, I was able to get out of the way."

Creiddylad continued to turn her around, though, convinced that she was merely in shock.

Marcus and Gwyn ran up and barrelled their way through the crowd.  "Is she all right?"  Marcus shouted.

Gwyn joined Creiddylad in the search for a puncture.  "She wasn't hit,"  he said at last, shaking his head.

"She caught the arrow,"  a woman said in awe.

"Impossible."

"She was holding it,"  a man replied.

"Told you I thought she caught it,"  Gwyn hissed at Marcus.

Marcus only sighed heavily and shook his head.
 

Lights twinkled up from the green at the edge of town.  People were arriving for the Faire.  Booths and pavilions were being constructed in the limited light, to be ready for the crowds which would begin to arrive on the morrow.

Other lights shone in the fields around the valley.  Farmers worked with the moonlight and torches to bring their harvests home.

The soldiers who had been out in the woods earlier were now out reaping the ripened crops for winter.  They would get little sleep.  Bran and Creiddylad were out there as well, helping, as were the merchants and their children.

Seona passed through the room and paused to see the earth-bound stars.

"They don't understand why we're pushing this,"  she remarked in the dimness.

"I know.  Crei was giving me some trouble over it earlier today.  Right before Livia caught the arrow."

"It seemed so slow,"  Livia said, staring at her hand.  "I saw it coming, just floating along.  It was coming right at me, so I moved aside and reached for it before it hit into a tree..."

"Everybody's talking about it.  They think you're double-blessed."

"I think it's the sight,"  Livia said.  "I was able to see it before it was even shot, and could see where it would go.  But, no one would believe that, would they?"

Seona shook her head.  "No, no one would.  Just as they wouldn't believe us if we told them about that army marching through the land right now on its way to the Stargazers' Keep."

"I think that's because no one wants to believe that there's a war coming which may devastate the land and kill a good many of our people.  They'd rather believe in safety."

Julia came in and draped the Sacred Cloth about her neck.

"Is it time?"  Livia asked.

Julia opened the shrine to their Patron and lit the frankincense.  She lifted the miniature golden spear from its velvet cushion and raised it high as her kinswomen gathered around her for their nightly devotions.