“Because I don’t believe there is a goddess.”
“Shh, Una. Mother wouldn’t like it if she heard you say that,” Mirain said quickly. “Sleep now. Mornings are always better than nights, remember?”
“I remember too much.” Una’s whisper carried to Alex.
Alex wanted to say something profound and priestesslike, but she wasn’t actually a priestess and she sure didn’t know how to talk to a damaged teenager. Hell, it didn’t seem that long ago that she’d been a damaged kid herself! Feeling overwhelmed and incompetent, she finally let exhaustion take over, and she slept.
That night, Alex didn’t dream at all.
Chapter 7
It made her feel foolish, but the first thought she had when she woke up was he didn’t come to me in my dreams. The second thought was where the hell am I? And then all of her mind woke up and Alex remembered—Briton—AD 60 Boudica’s camp.
“Wake up, sleepy bugaboo! Time’s awastin’ and the queen is callin’ for ye!”
Alex scrubbed her eyes with her fists and looked up into the face of a true crone. “Rosin?” she asked, remembering the name Mirain had given her before she’d slept.
“Aye! I be Rosin. Boudica wants ye. Ye’d best take this and get movin’.” The old woman handed her two slices of bread with a thick piece of fabulously greasy ham stuck between them, and a bronze cup of sweet, strong mead.
“Thank you,” Alex muttered. She scrambled to her feet, straightened her clothes, attempted to tame her hair and then hurried out of the tent, bread and meat in hand.
The camp reminded her of a beehive. There was activity everywhere, but the busyness around her wasn’t what caught her attention. What she noticed most was the air. Alex drew a deep breath. It was like sucking in the newness of life. Everything around her was green and growing and so free from smog and pollutants and plastic that the world seemed virginal.
“It smells so good!” she exclaimed.
Rosin gave her a sidelong look that said she thought the new priestess might be weak in her head. “Aye. It is the forest, Priestess.”
“Well, I like it.” She bit into her breakfast sandwich and her eyes almost rolled into the back of her head with pleasure. “Real fat! Real bread! Real meat! I could kiss the cook!” she moaned.
“A simple thank ye will serve very well,” said Rosin. “Follow the path that way. Ye will find the heart of the camp and Queen Boudica.”
“Thanks!” Alex grinned and, feeling better than she had in days, started down the path. She hadn’t taken half a dozen steps when the air to the right side of the path shimmered and an old man materialized. His body was semitransparent, but his frank gaze made it impossible for Alex to ignore him. “What?” she snapped.
We are glad you are here to aid the queen…
Alex paused, looked around her and, not seeing anyone near them, said, “Fine. Okay. Good. But if you want me to help your queen, you’re going to have to leave me alone so that I can do my job.” She paused when he lifted his brows, and added, “You know what I mean by my job, right? The whole priestess thing.”
We know more than you think we do, the spirit said, meeting her gaze squarely before he disappeared.
Great. Just what I need—ghosts that are nosy and cryptic.
She followed the path, and though she kept seeing the flickery, semitransparent bodies of dead people in her peripheral vision, they didn’t approach her. It seemed they were content to simply hover around, which was totally fine with Alex. Left to herself, she enjoyed eating her sandwich and watching the controlled mayhem around her.
The Celts were definitely breaking camp, but this wasn’t an army camp like any she’d imagined. There were women and children everywhere. Carswell had told her that the family unit was of the utmost importance to the ancient Celts, and that they even marched to war accompanied by their families: husband, sons, wives and daughters. But seeing it up close and personal was amazing. No, Alex decided. It wasn’t amazing. It was intriguing. They were all working together, shouting and laughing and breaking camp. Alex was a product of the twenty-first century. She’d been raised in an antiseptic home where the upper-middle-class mother and father had had one child—her—and provided all the right things—good schools, nice clothes, the house in the suburbs. Yet home had never been warm and comfortable and, well, family. The Celts’ obvious sense of boisterous togetherness was as alien to Alex as was their ancient world. It was also as compelling.
They survive by depending on one another.
As used to ghosts appearing as Alex was, she was still startled, and then frowned at the see-through woman who had materialized by her side.
“I can figure this out for myself,” Alex said under her breath. Several of the people she was passing stopped loading carts and horses to bow respectfully to her and call out “Good day, Priestess!” Alex smiled at them and waved back, hoping this newest spirit would disappear like the old man had.
She didn’t.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Alex said quietly. “But I’d really appreciate it if you and all your kind would leave me alone for a while.”
“I am not here for you, child. I’m here because he will need me.”
“He?” Alex didn’t have a clue what this woman was talking about.
“Yes, he. You will see.”
Alex sighed and kept walking. She glanced at the spirit, who was keeping pace with her. The woman was older and maternal looking. She had a kind, round face with large brown eyes and strong high cheekbones, and when she lifted her right hand to brush back her long silver hair, Alex noticed that tattooed on her palm was a spiraling circle. There was something about it that pricked Alex’s interest. The ghost was also wearing an interesting outfit. Even though it was transparent, Alex could see that it had once been beautiful—robin’s egg blue with elaborately embroidered roses all over it. For an instant she wanted to ask the ghost about her clothes. Had she decorated them herself? Did the roses mean anything?
Don’t seem interested, Alex reminded herself sternly. Ghosts are worse than stray cats. They stay around forever if you give them attention. So even though she was curious about the woman, Alex ignored her and kept heading for the middle of camp, trailed by the momlike ghost and too many questions.
“Blonwen! There you are!”
Boudica’s voice carried over the noise of the breaking camp. Alex saw the queen waving to her from her place beside a campfire that looked like the same one as the night before. Had the queen even gone to bed? Alex didn’t recall anyone joining her and the girls in the tent.
“Good morning, my queen.” Alex bowed grandly. She was already starting to like Boudica, and it was easy to catch the spirit of excitement that permeated her camp.
“I’m so pleased to see you. Come close beside me. There is someone I know you will be eager to greet.” Boudica’s smile was filled with genuine warmth.
Alex’s gut immediately began to tighten. Someone she’d be eager to greet? That was impossible. She didn’t know anyone in this world!
“Look who has just joined our camp! Another survivor of the desecration of Mona. Our goddess is certainly merciful. She has brought him safely here to us, so now I have a priestess and a druid in my camp. Caradoc, my kinsman, this is Blonwen, the priestess I was telling you about. It is she who Andraste brought to me last night, and she who released the sacred white hare that raced toward Londinium. You said her name was unfamiliar, but you must know her now that you see her.”
A tall man stepped out from the group of warriors who stood at