Free Druids by Morgan Llywelyn Page B

everything.
    “Here,” said the chief druid, handing me the mirror. “Use this to part your hair into four equal sections. Here are strips of cloth to bind each section, blue for water, brown for earth, yellow for sun, red for blood. Be certain the partings are straight, and tie the strands securely so no strength can run out of them.”
    I must have given him a quizzical look, because Menua almost,
    SO Morgan Llywelyn
    but not quite, smiled. “Strength must be hoarded until it is needed. There is strength in your hair, it being the part of you nearest your brain. The brain, in the sacred head, is the source of all strength, all vigor and vitality.
    “We are going to use your strength, amplified by the power of the grove, to send our warriors the vitality they need to win in the coming battle. So you must prepare yourself precisely as I instruct, young Ainvar.
    “Today you will leam about sex magic.”

CHAPTER Six
    I HAD NEVER seen myself in a mirror made by one of our skilled craftsmen. Rosmerta had not kept one; long before she died her face had ceased to be her friend.
    During my childhood, ponds and puddles had given me glimpses of unformed features to be grimaced at and splashed away. For the first time I was seeing those features firmed into maturity and reflected in polished metal. If I did not know who he was, I would not have recognized the young man staring back at me.
    He had an elegant narrow head with a long skull suitable for storing knowledge. The eye sockets were deeply carved, the cheekbones high, the nose prominent and thrusting. It was a strong clear timeless face full of contradictions, brooding yet mischievous, reserved yet involved. Fathomless eyes and curving lips spoke of intense passions carefully suppressed, concentrated in stillness.
    Those somber, smoldering features startled me so badly I al-most dropped the mirror. “I look like fW?”
    “You do now. We cannot know what you really look like until your spirit has had many years to carve your face into a representation of itself. Perhaps it will be much like the face you wear
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    now, perhaps not. Now stop staring at yourself and get to work, prepare your hair as I instructed. You must do sex magic soon.”
    Menua handed me a bronze comb, but for some reason I could not carve straight partings in my hair. Nervous fingers make mistakes.
    Sex magic, I kept thinking.
    As we left the fort and set out for the forest on the ridge, we were joined by several other members of the Order of the Wise. Though their hoods were raised, I recognized Suits the healer, Grannus, the judge Dian Cet, Keryth the seer, and Narlos the exhorter. I was thankful that Aberth was not among them. The sacrificer’s gifts were essential for the welfare of the tribe, but his presence made me uncomfortable.
    Sulis also made me uncomfortable, though in a different way. She was good to look at, with a fine strong face and, as Tarvos had observed, a tempting curve to her hips.
    As he walked beside me, Menua saw me glance toward her. “She pleases you?” he inquired pleasantly.
    One could never be certain what hidden meanings lurked in his words. I nodded but made no reply other than a ransom noise in my throat that Menua could interpret as he chose.
    “She is our youngest initiate,” he remarked. “She comes of a talented family. Her brother, whom we call the Goban Saor, shows remarkable gifts of craftsmanship. He can make anything with his hands, from jewelry to a stone wall. Suits’s hands are also gifted; her touch relieves pain. She is a fine healer. A fine woman in many ways,” he added thoughtfully.
    He turned toward me. “Have you had much experience of
    women, Ainvar? Aside from the games children play, I mean?”
    The memory of some of those games came vividly back to me. I must have reddened, for the chief druid chuckled. “Good, good, we want boys and girls to explore each other’s bodies, it’s the best way to leam. Then you can be comfortable