It seemed odd that they should have become such strangers now, when they were sister priestesses. Working with Dieda these past weeks, when Caillean’s attention was fixed on Lhiannon, reminded Eilan how close they had been as girls. Distracted by her thoughts, she tripped on a tree root.
Dieda put out a hand to steady her.
“Thank you,” Eilan said in surprise. The other woman glared at her.
“Why are you staring?” said Dieda. “I don’t hate you.”
Eilan felt the hot color flare in her cheeks, then fade. “You know then,” she whispered.
“You are the fool, not I,” came the answer. “Cooped up with you and Caillean all this time I could hardly help overhearing something. But for the sake of our family’s honor I have kept silent. If any of the other women know your secret, they did not learn it from me. At least pregnancy seems to agree with you. Are you feeling well?”
It was a relief to Eilan to speak of something other than Lhiannon’s illness, and it seemed to her that Dieda felt that way as well. By the time they returned to the Forest House, they were more in harmony than they had been in years.
But a day came when even Caillean could not deny it any longer. Ardanos said that the priestesses must be summoned for the deathwatch. He looked grieved and gray, and Eilan remembered that her kinswoman had once said there was love between them. She thought it must have been a long time ago, or a very strange kind of love.
Certainly it was not at all what she would call love, thought Eilan, and surely she was an expert. But Ardanos sat close to the unconscious woman and held her hand; the priestesses slipped in and out to keep watch by twos and threes, and Caillean fidgeted lest they disturb Lhiannon.
“Why does she trouble herself? I do not think anything will disturb the High Priestess any more,” Eilan whispered to Dieda, and the other girl nodded, but without words.
It was near sunset, and Ardanos had stepped into the air for a few breaths. Like all sickrooms, this one was hot and close, and Eilan could not blame him for a moment for wishing to escape it. Though it was nearly Lughnasad the light still lingered late. Sunset made a glare in the room, but the angle of the sinking sun told Eilan it would soon be gone. She had crossed the room to light the lamp when she became aware that Lhiannon was awake and looking at her with recognition for the first time in many days.
“Where is Caillean?” she whispered.
“She has gone to make you more tea, Mother,” Eilan replied, “Will you have me call her?”
“No time,” the High Priestess coughed. “Come here – is it Dieda?”
“I’m Eilan, but Dieda is in the garden; do you want me to call her?”
There was a strange, raspy, rustling sound, and Eilan realized the sick woman was trying to laugh.
“Even now I cannot tell one from the other,” Lhiannon whispered. “Do you not see the hand of the gods in this?”
Eilan wondered if Lhiannon had sunk into the delirium she had been warned might come before the end. The High Priestess said harshly, “Call Dieda; my time is short. I do not rave; I know very well what I am doing and I must finish before I die.”
Eilan hurried to the door to summon Dieda. When they returned, the dying woman smiled as they stood side by side.
“It is true what they say,” she whispered. “The dying see clearly.
Dieda, now you must bear witness. Eilan, daughter of Rheis, take the torque that lies beside me – take it!” she gasped for breath, and with trembling hands Eilan picked up the ring of twisted gold that lay on the pillow. “And the arm rings . . .Now put them on . . .”
“But only the High Priestess – Eilan began, but the old woman’s eyes held hers with such terrible fixity that she found herself twisting the necklace to open it, and sliding it on. For a moment it seemed cold, then it settled about her own slim throat, warming as if grateful to be close to human flesh once more.