Eternity Ring

Rhonda had never 'heard' Jessica so clearly or so forcefully. Without questioning, she did as she was told.

'Close your eyes, let her speak to you,' Jessica urged.

Rhonda closed her eyes. She could feel the room growing colder, there was a smell of heather, and, suddenly, she could see again.

"Come, this way, there are plenty over here," Freyja called out. Mebh looked over. Freyja had strayed a bit and was farther away than Mebh was happy with. She was, after all, supposed to be guarding her. She strode across the heather until she was standing next to her.

Ever since Mebh had reached womanhood she had been marked out as an outsider, a stranger, an oddity in a clan that valued tradition. It didn't help that she was as tough as any man and could hold her own in the wrestling matches with the clan warriors. In the end, they had accepted that she was never going to make a wife and, reluctantly, she had been left to her own devices. Morag, the wise woman, had taken her in and given her a place to sleep. Here Mebh's fighting skills were tempered with Morag's healing skills with the wild herbs and curative mosses and, when the village women came with their aches and pains, the problems they would never tell the men about, Mebh would act as Morag's apprentice.

It had all changed with the arrival of Freyja. After many moons of careful diplomacy, and a few cattle raids in-between, peace had been agreed between the clan and their neighbours from the next glen and, to seal it, there had been an exchange of both cattle and wives. Ceitidh had been sent to live with the neighbouring clan and, in return, they, or rather the laird, had received Freyja. Mebh would never forget the day she had arrived. Wild and untamed, with her long blonde tresses and strange name betraying her Norse ancestry, she had fought all the way. Five times in the first few moons she had tried to run away, five times she had been brought back and soundly whipped for her impertinence. As to whether she was the laird's wife, slave or concubine, no one really knew but, as the days turned to months and the seasons rolled around, she gradually accepted her place in the clan.

Mebh had first met her after one of the whippings. The laird, in his anger, had struck hard and the flesh was flayed. Even the laird accepted that, this time, there was a need for treatment and, reluctantly, he had called on Morag and her potions.

As Morag had bathed the battered flesh, Mebh had held Freyja's hand and, even then, there had been a spark. Mebh was powerless to act against the laird or the clan but she swore then that she would do everything in her power to protect Freyja, to ward away whatever dangers she could.

Slowly they had become friends. There was little reason for them to meet in the normal order of things. The laird, in general, kept her away from the rest of the clan and Mebh was never one for the women's gossip circles. However, from time to time, Freyja would need Morag's help and, when Artair was born, Mebh and Morag had helped both Freyja and the child survive a difficult birth.

Now, five summers later, Freyja was trusted enough to be allowed out, foraging in the glen, gathering the dark blue berries that would sweeten their world. The laird had insisted she be accompanied and, after a row that all the clan had heard, he had, despite his loudly voiced objections, compromised on letting Mebh be the one to guard her.

"I don't know why you're here," Freyja said. "As if I couldn't look after myself. But, seeing as how you are here, make yourself useful and carry the basket."

Mebh just smiled in response, but she also reached out and took the basket. Mebh loved it here, high up in the glen. The world was fresh and new and any dangers could be seen and assessed long before they struck. Not that she was expecting much. Sure, there were plenty of wolves in the forests but they seldom attacked people and, if they did, then Mebh had her spear ready and it wouldn't be the first wolf she had slain. Her fur cloak was testament to that.

Satisfied that she had stripped every possible berry from the bush she was working on, Freyja stood up to move on to the next one. As she approached a grouse, startled from its nest, flew up out of the heather and, in her surprise, Freyja slipped and fell.

"Are you OK?" Mebh said as she strode across to help.

"I'm fine, well, except my ankle which, ow! hurts," Freyja replied.

"Let me look." Mebh knelt down and took the ankle in her hands. She could tell that there wasn't too much wrong, no bones were broken, for example, but she wasn't going to let it go without a thorough check. At first she was just methodical. This was just another ankle to be examined and, if necessary bound and massaged back to health. But this wasn't any ankle, it was Freyja's, so fine so slender, so beautiful. With all the tenderness she could muster, Mebh massaged it, trying to ease away the pain. Without even thinking about it, Mebh pushed up the hem of Freyja's skirt to above her knee and included her calf in the massage.

Freyja lay back in the heather, and, as she did so, the hem of her skirt slid down her thigh. Intoxicated, Mebh leant forward and kissed Freyja's knee cap.

"You're very bold for a guardsman," Freyja laughed.

"If you were not the wife of the laird, I'd be a lot more bold," Mebh replied, carrying on the joke.

"Wife!" Freyja spat the word. "I'm no wife to that lout. Slave, maybe, whore, perhaps. But wife, never! I rue the day I was captured from my homeland and I doubly rue the day I was brought here. Night after night I suffer his filthy appetites, knowing full well that to him I am nought but a possession, a trophy to parade before his warriors and a heifer to bear his children. If all that is holding you back is thoughts of the laird then hold back no more, be as bold as you wish."

And Mebh was very bold indeed.

Some time later Mebh was lying on her back watching a red kite hunting along the glen. With only the slightest movement of its wing tip it would soar and swoop as it searched the heather for prey. Rhonda, as she watched, felt as if her soul, too, was floating effortlessly on the wind, soaring and swooping through the clear sky.

"Do you wish, sometimes, that we could float away, just us two, just float away, to be as free as that kite?" she asked.

"Always, that is my dream. But where would we go? There's no life outside the clan," Freyja replied.

"One day, one day, just the two of us, that's a promise."

"But now we must be getting back. My lord and master will be wondering where his chattel has got to. Come along." Freyja stood up, smoothed off her clothes and, limping slightly, started to make her way back down the glen.

The seasons turned, as seasons are wont to do, and Mebh and Freyja lived out their lives, stealing away whenever possible, although that was far from as often as they would have liked. Freyja was kept busy with her ever-growing brood of bairns. Mebh was busy assisting Morag who was growing older, and Mebh was having to take more and more of the tasks from her. She would never, quite, be the mistress of the herbs that Morag was, but her skill at massage and expertise at childbirth had already surpassed her teacher. Then, one day, Mebh was working with the men, rounding up the cattle, when Freyja came over and called out to her.

"Mebh, come quick, come quick! Morag is asking for you."

After a mere glance at the men to make sure they had heard, Mebh rushed off to Morag's cottage on the outskirts of the clan village. The inside was, as ever, dark with the smell of peat smoke and the infusions that bubbled over the small fire.

"Come in, come in, the pair of you," Morag croaked. To Mebh's dismay she was still lying on the pallet of skins that made up her bed. Surely she should be up and about by now.

"I'm dying, girls. I have seen more than fifty summers and I will not see another. Indeed, I will be lucky to see the next full moon," Morag continued.

"You cannot be dying," Mebh protested, "you cannot, I won't allow it."

"Hark at her. She won't allow it. Have you grown so wise you have power over life and death?"

"No, of course not. I wouldn't presume...." Mebh replied.

"Then don't. Now, I didn't bring you here to gossip. Mebh, look under my bedding and you'll find a box. Fetch it out, will you?"

Mebh got down on her knees and searched under the various skins until she found a wooden box. She handed it over to Morag who opened it and took out a small leather pouch.

"I won't be able to watch over you two when I'm gone and, if my scrying is to be believed, you two are in some danger. This may help. Take it, Mebh, take it from me."

Mebh took the pouch from Morag and opened it up. Inside was a ring of extraordinary workmanship. She looked at it closely and the stone, of a type she had never seen before, seemed to shimmer in the half-light. She held it out and showed it to Freyja.

"It's beautiful," Freyja said. "I have never seen anything so fine. What is it? What does it mean?"

"It's the feeling ring. It binds lovers together. Whoever gives this ring to another will be forever in their heart and, in return, they get the knowledge of how their lover feels."

"But you've just given it to me," Mebh protested.

"Don't be stupid, girl. I just passed it to you. It was passed to me many seasons back but I never had the strength to wear it. Now, I pass it to you, to do with what you will."

"Why then am I here?" Freyja asked. "What is it to do with me?"

Morag laughed so hard she ended in a coughing fit and Mebh and Freyja were quite concerned for her. Eventually she recovered.

"What is it to do with you? I know you two are lovers, oh, you think you hide it but it's as plain as the nose on my face. Sneaking off together and those looks you keep giving each other. You think no one else notices but they do. This ring is my gift, not to Mebh alone but to both of you, my apprentice and her lover. Have a care, should you chose to accept it, for once it has been put on it is hard to take it off again."

Mebh and Freyja looked at each other again and reached out and clasped hands. No words were necessary, they were in complete agreement.

"You know what to do. Go on, do it," Morag urged.

And Mebh did know what to do. Still holding Freyja's right hand she took her left and held it in front of her. Although not a word was passed between the two women there was total agreement that this was right and proper. Taking the ring, Mebh slipped it over Freyja's fourth finger and, as she did so, the air seemed to shimmer. Overcome with emotion, Freyja reached for Mebh and they hugged and hugged and hugged.

When at last they broke from the embrace Freyja held out her hand in front of her, admiring the way the stone seemed to shine.

"What will I tell the laird? Surely he will ask where something as fine as this has come from," she commented.

"He will not even notice. The ring hides itself from those who do not need to know. Now, have a care, the two of you. I wish I could foretell a long and happy life together but the runes tell otherwise. I will not be here to help so you must watch out for each other. Now, I am tired and have to sleep. Go, both of you, and have a care."

It was only two days later that Mebh, looking for help with some herbs, found that Morag's prophecy had come true. Her body lay stiff and cold in her bed. The laird, declaring that Morag was a witch, decreed that her body should be cast down the cliffs to feed the crows. However, by the time they went, mob handed, to fetch the body, it had gone, taken by Mebh to the high moors where she built a pyre. Whatever the laird might say, Mebh knew the honours due and was determined to observe them. As the flames leapt to the skies Freyja, who was unable to escape from the village, saw the flickering on the hills and knew in her heart that right had been done.

It just seemed proper that, with Morag gone, Mebh should assume her role as the village witch, or wise woman, depending on your viewpoint. Although she was shunned and despised by the men, none could stand against her and, on the rare occasions when Freyja was allowed to roam, Mebh, and Mebh alone, was chosen as her guard. This only added to the resentment that grew within the laird's breast but, although she was feared and distrusted by many, there was an understanding that her medicines were the only ones which worked and, when it came to the mysteries of childbirth, or the care of the very young, she alone was the one the mothers could turn to. Often Freyja, who was, by now, a mother of five, would use the ailments of her brood, whether real or contrived, as an excuse to visit and, whilst these meetings had to be circumspect, simply sitting together was better than being apart.

But, even when apart, they seemed to know, to understand, what the other was doing or thinking. The ring provided a very real link and, despite the paucity of physical contact, they grew together in a very real sense. Together or apart, they shared their ups, their downs, their joys and their pains.

It was only a short while after the exchange of the ring that Mebh found exactly how much she would share the pains. Now that the novelty of owning one such as Freyja had long worn off the laird was increasingly frustrated by the way she refused to obey his every whim. He felt that, as laird, his voice was the law, and disobedience to him was disobedience to the clan. He had had to use the whip, the rod and his fists to tame this wild woman in the first instance and, in his eyes, from time to time she would still need a reminder of her place in life. He was overly fond of the mead and, once he was in his cups, it wouldn't take much to spark his anger and, once roused, there was no containing him.

Mebh had already seen the after affects. She had often enough bathed Freyja's bruises after a particularly brutal session. Now, however, because of the ring, she would feel every blow, suffer every abuse, and cry every tear along with the one she loved. Was this a price worth paying? Surely, and she would pay it again and again if necessary, but that didn't make it any easier and, although she would stand up to most, were she to face down the laird, the whole clan would turn against her and being expelled would be the best she could hope for.

Things almost came to a head when the laird suffered a discharge from his manhood. His stubborn refusal to do anything about it was almost his undoing but, in the end, he turned up at Mebh's door looking for help. Mebh was not expecting much in the way of gratitude but, somehow, he seemed to feel that it was her fault, that she had bewitched him in some fashion. He made it more than clear that he hated being beholden to her, and, if her position of clan medicine woman hadn't made her essential, she might well have been expelled or worse. Even more than before, she made a point of keeping out of his way, as far as was possible, within the confines of the clan.

And then, one night, when Freyja was heavily pregnant with her sixth child, one of the other bairns, suffering from teething pains, wouldn't stop greeting. The laird, who had been drinking with his men, came home the worse for wear and told her roughly to keep the baby quiet. Freyja, who was already at her wits' end, told him simply that she couldn't. "Keep him quiet or I will," the laird roared and, to protect the child, Freyja had to stand between them. The laird lashed out again and again until, exhausted, he collapsed in a drunken stupor. Freyja crawled away, trying to get as far away as possible. Still the bairns wouldn't stop greeting but she cuddled them close and did the best she could. And then she felt the sticky feeling on her thighs. She reached up, under her skirts and, even in the dim firelight she could see the red on her hand.

'What do I do? What do I do?' the thoughts screamed from her mind.

'Come to me. Don't wait, come to me, now!' came the reply, as clear as a bell.

Getting one of the maids to look after the bairns, Freyja, bent double with the pain, made her way over to Mebh's cottage. Mebh was waiting at the door and, already, on the hearth, Freyja could see one of Mebh's special potions warming through.

"Lie down, lie on the bed. Let me tend to you," Mebh urged.

Mebh lifted Freyja's skirts and, for the first time, the true extent of the damage became clear. The material was sodden with blood and more was flowing. Mebh knew immediately that it wasn't a matter of saving the unborn baby as much as saving Freyja, and she knew also that her skills were woefully inadequate. Time and time again Freyja's body was wracked with pain, pain that Mebh felt just as sharply. In vain she brewed her strongest willow bark potion but even that was inadequate to deal with this.

By dawn Freyja was fading fast. She had lost too much blood and could do little but lie there on the edge of consciousness. Mebh mopped her brow, as much to provide companionship as to provide succour.

"I'm dying, am I not?" Freyja croaked.

"Of course not!" Mebh replied.

"You know you can't lie to me, not now, not ever," Freyja even managed half a smile. "Listen, this is important. When I die they will burn my body, that is your custom, is it not? However, they must not burn The ring. When I die you must take it from me. Keep it close by for, by keeping the ring you will keep a part of me."

"But it won't come off. We both know that."

"It will when it's time. You'll know when."

"Don't talk silly," Mebh bluffed but the both knew that Freyja was anything but silly.

"I love you, I always have and always will, take care of the bairns...take care..." Freyja could barely get the words out.

"I love you too," Mebh replied but whether Freyja heard or not Mebh could not tell. Freyja's body went limp and she breathed no more.

For some time Mebh just knelt next to the bed, holding the body of her lover but eventually she knew she had to move; that there were things to do. She reached for Freyja's left hand and took the ring. As Freyja had prophesied, it slid off easily and, as Mebh held it to the light, the stone was dark and lifeless. She slipped it into her pocket and started to wash down the body of her lover.

And then the door was kicked off its hinges and the cottage was full. The laird and four of his biggest warriors stood there.

"Do you see, my laird, do you see how the witch has murdered your wife?"

"Murder indeed," the laird snarled. "Look at her foul potions. It's no wonder our cattle sicken with one like this in our midst and this time the witch has gone too far. She has taken from me the love of my life, the mother of my children."

"Me! Freyja did not die by my hand. I am not the one who struck her! How dare you.. mmf", Mebh started to protest but many hands grabbed her and one was clamped across her mouth.

"We must hold a clan council, let the whole clan know of her crimes," one of the men urged.

The laird thought this over. He knew that, among the men, his word would be taken over Mebh's but, among the women, she seemed to have earned some strange respect. If it came to a clan council, although things would go his way in the end, he'd make sure of that, his position would be weakened. She would have to be allowed to speak and who knows how many might actually believe her. No, he dare not let this go to council.