Free Ravens of Avalon by Diana L. Paxson, Marion Zimmer Bradley Page B

one?” Lugovalos leaned forward, his white beard glistening in the light of the spring day. Boudica rubbed her eyes and tried to pay attention. She had recently passed her sixteenth birthday, and her long limbs were finding a new harmony. She would so much rather have been chasing sheep or gathering spring greens for the pot, or any kind of labor if it let her move.
    “Lhiannon teaches us that all of those are true,” said Brenna with a grin for their mentor. “All the goddesses, all that we see as womanly and divine, we call the Goddess. But when we pray, She wears one face or another—Maiden or Mother or Wisewoman, or Brigantia or Cathu-bodva.”
    And none of them, thought Boudica, seem to want to talk to me.
    “All that is divine and male we call the God. We call on them as Lord and Lady at Beltane …” Brenna blushed. She had just returned from her womanhood ceremonies on the Isle of Avalon and was making sure everyone knew that she planned to seek a lover at the Beltane fires.
    “Your teacher has taught you well,” said the Arch-Druid. Lhiannon bowed her head, but she did not look as if the praise had made her very happy. Or perhaps it was the reference to Beltane. Would she go to meet Ardanos this year?
    “So,” said Lugovalos, “you understand that the gods are both one and many. We honor the One, but there are few indeed who can bear the touch of that power.” For a moment he paused, his upturned face illuminated, and Boudica was abruptly certain that he was one who had been in the presence of the Source of All. Then he smiled and turned to them again.
    “Perhaps we know more while we are between lives, but as long as we are in human bodies with human senses, it is to the many that we make our prayers and our offerings.”
    Rianor raised his hand. “My lord, which god should we be praying to now, when we face war?”
    “How do you name that power in your own land?”
    “The Trinovantes offer to Camulos,” came the proud answer. “Camulodunon is the war god’s dun.”
    Boudica nodded, remembering the stately circle of oaks in the meadow to the north of the dun. It housed a slab of stone where the god had been carved standing between two trees, wearing an oak-leaf crown.
    Other students were offering additional names—red Cocidios in the north, Teutates among the Catuvellauni, and Lenos of the Silures. The Belgae sacrificed to Olloudios and the Brigantes to Belutacadros. Among her own people, Coroticos was the name they called when they went to war, but like many among the tribes, it was a goddess, Andraste, to whom they prayed for the battle fervor that would bring victory.
    “When the tribes join together, which god or goddess should lead them?” Bendeigid asked.
    “I will ask you a question,” the Arch-Druid replied. “What is the difference between an army and a warrior?”
    “A warrior is one man and an army is many,” the boy replied. He was not the only one to look confused.
    “But the army is more than a collection of fighters. When you say ‘a Druid,’ you could mean me, or Cunitor, or Mearan. But when you say ‘the Druids,’ you are talking about a greater entity that includes all of our powers and our traditions.”
    “People are like that, too,” said Coventa suddenly. “A woman can be a daughter, and a mother, and a priestess, but people talk to you as only one of those things at a time.”
    The Arch-Druid nodded. “An army is also more than the sum of its warriors. It has a spirit, a mind of its own. And so it is with the gods. When the fighters in an army call the war god by different names they call into being a greater power that includes them all.”
    “Not all of them …” someone said quietly. Ardanos was standing at the edge of the circle, looking grave. “The god of the Atrebates will not fight with us. Caratac has driven Veric from his land.”
    For a moment silence held them all. The news was not unexpected, but to hear it suddenly, and in this context,