Aífe was determined to make this Beltaine a happy one for the Forest Druids. She felt the disappointment of the older members as they tried to put out of their minds all the grandeur of the past and saw how they struggled to make the best of things as they were.

With the all-important fire festival at the start of summer, the feast of Beltaine, about to begin, she thought deeply about the symbolism of the day and how to express it in ceremony. She had secreted away snowy white eggshells for weeks, blowing out the yolk and whites through carefully bored holes at either end. She saved all the insides and added them to endless caudles and omelets. She had accumulated a wicker basket full of the fragile shells, which she dyed by soaking them first in apple cider vinegar and water and then in a hot brew of green carrot tops. The result was a sunny yellow that reminded her of Beltaine morning.

Golden marsh marigolds were in full bloom in and around the stream, heralding summer as they always did, and the holly bushes were just putting forth their tiny white blossoms. She wandered the grounds for days and finally settled on one particularly gorgeous holly bush standing on a little hill, facing east. On Beltaine Eve, as the others prepared the fires, she secretly decorated the bush with fresh yellow marsh marigold blossoms and hung it with the yellow shells. It was now a bíle samrata.

On Beltaine morn, everyone woke before dawn and bathed in the morning dew—a magical aid to beauty—then walked to the ritual site to wait for the sun to rise high enough to strike the water in the Cauldron of the Sea. When the first rays of sunlight rippled across the waters, everyone thrust in a hand to capture the sun in the water; it was especially lucky to be the first to hold the sun-blessed liquid.

“When fire and water mix, that is when the power of magic is strongest,” said Ethne. “The world is made of fire and water, male and female, summer and winter, dark and light. From these polarities, all things arise. This is why we drive cows between the fires on this day. Cows are creatures of the moon and give us milk, a type of sacred water, which feeds and sustains us.

“Passing the cows between the fires keeps the world in balance. It is the same reason that we drive horses, creatures of the sun, through water at Lugnasad to purify them.”

“I have a surprise for you all!” said Aífe. Her smile was much like the newly risen sun. “Follow me.”

She led them to the little bíle samrata, standing in splendor in the rays of the rising sun. The children gasped.

“She has the soul of a poet!” declared Ruadh, proudly.

The little company of Druid clasped hands and began an impromptu circling dance to honor the sweet and lovely tree.

“The fairies and the spirits of this place are very happy with what you have done, Aífe,” said Ethne. “They love beauty and dancing and laughter. You have given us a new way to honor the start of summer, and I thank you for it.”

Ethne was moved by the bíle samrata and happy that Aífe had shown them this gentle direction for private Druid rites in the forest. She knew that this was the world in which they now lived.

That night, as she rested in Ruadh’s arms, Ethne conceived a plan. “Aífe would have been chosen to be a ban-fili in the old days. Her imbas is strong, and with a little training, she could almost certainly be a vessel, a voice for the High Ones. We have given her all we can in this place. There is only one other who could work with her to develop her gifts; I think we need to take her to Gaine.”

Gaine was the ancient Ard-Ban-Drui of the nemed that was once the focus for Druid ritual activity in the island. When Ethne, Ruadh, and the others left in the wake of the missionaries’ repressions and violent incursions, Gaine had chosen to stay behind, taking spiritual responsibility for the care of the villagers and Druid who would not, or could not, leave the tuath of In Medon.

“Gaine must be very frail by now, if she is even still alive,” said Ruadh.

“We would have known if she had traveled to the Otherworld,” replied Ethne quietly. “Anyway, it is long past time to see to Aífe’s welfare. Aífe can tend to Gaine if she is sickly. Aífe would learn much at Gaine’s side.”

A few days after Beltaine, Ethne, Ruadh, and Aífe packed their traveling food, cloaks, and packs. As always, Ruadh wore his intricately worked red leather scabbard and sword, strapped to his leg and hidden under his cloak, and Ethne and Aífe were well supplied with dirks and knives hidden in their clothing. Ethne and Ruadh left their large golden torcs, symbols of their true rank, in a cedar box in the Forest House, choosing instead to wear golden triskellean on leather thongs about their necks, because these could be easily hidden under woolen tunics.

They set off, leaving Daire, Clothru, and Damán in charge of the Forest School. All three were dressed in muted greys, browns, and greens to more easily blend into the forest if danger threatened, and as they walked, Ruadh and Ethne marveled at the changes they witnessed. Everywhere they went, trees had been felled and large tracts of rye and other grains had sprung up.

“The Cristaidi tell the people to cut down the trees to stop our ancient reverence for the tree spirits,” Ethne explained to Aífe as they walked. “The first trees they cut were the yews, because they are sacred to us for their ancient spirits, their medicine, and their healing powers.”

Ethne’s heart seared with pain, and a lump grew in her throat as she spoke. She would forever remember the day the Cristaidi came to cut down the stately yews. Many had stood and wept that terrible day, bowing their heads in shame and crying bitter tears in disbelief.

For her, and for all the Druid, the ancient yews were tree people. Some even took them for gods. To the Druid, all trees were revered as venerable and noble spirits who had given their wood, their lives, and their medicine forever, for the health and survival of the tribes. When the Cristaidi finished killing the trees, the Pagani stole back in the night and left offerings of butter, cheese, honey, sweet herbs, and apple cider to recompense the earth and the tree spirits for their loss. But it was a poor exchange.

“Next, they told the people to cut down the hazels, even though the tribes have depended on them since time began for their sweet nuts and their healing bark. They know these trees are sacred to us because they haveheard the stories of the magical Well of Segais and of the nine hazels that stand over it, and of the salmon of wisdom who rise to eat the nuts as they fall,” said Ruadh.

“What they don’t understand is that the Well of Wisdom is a Druidic mystery,” Ethne added. “It lives in the Otherworld, and even if all the hazels in the world were cut down, it would still flourish. The salmon who eat the nuts as they fall are the Druid. Each time a Drui learns a bit of our inner teachings, they gain a spot, a mark of their learning. The hazelnut symbolizes the compact wisdom of the Drui, the knowledge that she or he carries in their head, hidden beyond reach.”

“Is that why you always carry hazelnuts and acorns in your pockets?” asked Aífe.

“Yes, they remind us to always use our wisdom,” Ethne replied.

“But what is the meaning of the well? In some stories, it is at the bottom of the ocean; in other stories, it is described as the source of a great river.”

“The well is the eternal, inexhaustible source of wisdom that is within everyone, if you just know how to find it,” replied Ethne. “The secret path to the Source is the perfection of the five senses. This is why we Druid are disciplined in our lives and ways, and why we develop our listening, our speech, our seeing, and all of our senses. The ultimate perfection of the five streams of knowledge results in what we call Ecnae Bratánech, or salmon wisdom. It is when we gain the ability to answer our own questions,” said Ethne, reminding Aífe of her lessons from childhood.

“The salmon is born in an inland stream and unfailingly finds its way to the ocean. It spends many sun cycles in deep waters, miles from shore, and then returns unerringly to the exact stream of its birth. In this same way, you can go deep into meditation and find your own answers to any question by following the stream of the silence within. It will take you all the way back to the Source of All if you but ask.”

“Oh,” was all Aífe said, but she practiced silence for the rest of the afternoon, soundlessly repeating all she had heard and committing it to memory, as she had been trained to do from infancy.

When they reached the Cave of the Bears, Ruadh and Aífe went into the surrounding woods to cut soft pine boughs for bedding while Ethne stood at the mouth of the cave and stared into its depths. She had created so much of her life here and left so much of it behind as well. She had not known when they set out that day what parts of herself she might find in this deep and quiet place. In the first days of their love, she and Ruadh had given themselves to each other here. It had been a safe hollow where their hearts could meet and rest. It may have been the beginning place for the little lost life that she mourned.

Ethne closed her eyes and said a prayer. She knew her heart would never heal from this grief, but she asked for solace in those she loved and in the days that were given to them. She pulled a small phial from her pouch and sprinkled the Waters of Life before the cave’s entrance and took out beeswax candles to be set into the recesses of the rock walls. Thus purified, she entered the cave with gratitude.

When Ruadh and Aífe returned, they laid the pine boughs in mounds on the cave floor and spread their blankets over them, three soft beds for three weary bodies. Ethne unpacked the cooking vessels, the strips of meat, the loaf of bread, and the dried grains.

“Aífe,” she asked, “would you please go down to the stream and fill this pot with water? I’ll gather up dry branches and twigs so that we can make a large fire for the evening.”

Aífe went willingly and Ethne stood to follow, but Ruadh came up behind her and encircled her in his arms. He brushed her hair aside and put his lips to her neck. “Our love lives in this place, Ethne. Do you feel it?”

She let herself sink into his hold, let herself slide into that place that was only theirs. It had been so long—so long since there was nothing but Ruadh and her, so long since there had been anything but work and sadness. “Yes,” she whispered. “I feel this cave holds our first togetherness and our first hopes.” Tears came and she turned, raising her face to his. His mouth covered hers, and he pushed her gently into the darkness against the wall of the cave. He touched all the curves and arcs of her face. He traced the outline of her mouth, then bent again and kissed her hard. He cupped her breasts and felt her nipples, already swollen under her woolen tunic. He lifted her against the wall and she raised one leg, curled it tightly around his back, and welcomed him with her soul and her body. She took in the joy she thought she had lost forever, and he cried out once as if in answer to her deepest question.