Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [95]
Presently, we heard the faint trickling of water. It was a quiet sound, and it made me realize we'd all been walking silent and hushed. "There," Eamonn whispered, pointing. He smiled at Brigitta. "Brigid's Well. A sacred place belonging to your sacred namesake. You see it is true? We share long-ago roots.”
Near the base of a large tree decorated with more red thread, a stone dolmen had been erected. It was shaggy with moss, and a dark aperture lay in its shadow. Water seeped out between the rocks around it, a dozen gleaming trickles gathering to form a streamlet that wandered a few yards before vanishing in the damp soil.
"What do I do?" Brigitta whispered back.
"Here." Eamonn went forward and knelt before the dolmen. He offered a prayer to the goddess Brigid and invoked her blessing on his wife and friends, then dipped one cupped hand into the aperture. It came out dripping. He beckoned to Brigitta. "Drink.”
She knelt beside him, sipping from his broad, cupped palm. Her eyes brightened with surprise. "It's sweet!”
Eamonn grinned. "Like you, my heart." He drank the rest, then drew a crumbled oatcake from the pouch on his belt, setting it atop the dolmen. "Now the rest of you.”
"We brought no offering," Phèdre protested.
"There is no need." He shook his head. "You are my guests in this land.”
Joscelin approached the dolmen and knelt with his usual economical grace. He bowed his head, offering a silent prayer, then drew a cupped handful of water from the darkness. Phèdre joined him and they both drank, smiling at one another.
And then it was my turn.
I knelt before the dolmen and spoke a simple prayer the ollamh had taught me. "Good goddess, we thank you for your bounty and honor your ways," I murmured, dipping my hand into the hidden spring. The water was colder than I'd expected. And I'd expected it to have a mineral odor, but it didn't. It smelled clean and sweet, like berries. Dorelei came forward to kneel beside me, steadying my hand against her lips to drink from it. She, too, smiled at the water's taste.
I smiled back at her and drank.
Foulness filled my mouth, sharp and shocking. It tasted of leaf-mold and rot and berries, yes, but fermented berries turned rank and rancid. I nearly gagged. My head jerked back in shock, and I saw my own shocked reflection in Dorelei's eyes. I swallowed convulsively, fighting another impulse to gag.
"What is it?" she asked in alarm.
"Imri?" Eamonn echoed her, his joy giving way to concern.
I couldn't bring myself to spoil his pleasure. Whatever the matter was, clearly it was me and not Brigid's Well. The water had tasted sweet to everyone else. "Cold." I gritted the word out. "Sore tooth, that's all.”
In the back of my mind, I heard an echo of a woman's laughter.
"Oh, aye." He relaxed. "We'll be at Innisclan tomorrow. My old nurse will make you a poultice for it.”
"My thanks." I got to my feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a wiry clump of brownish hair caught on the bark of the giant beech. My thoughts flashed back to the warning lessons of my childhood in the mountains. Bear sign. I blinked. No. It was only a knot of red thread, tangled and faded, dangling from a branch.
A shiver ran over my skin.
Truly, I was losing my wits.
On the way back to camp, I wanted to spit over and over to get that taste out of my mouth. I didn't, though. I kept my mouth shut on it. In time it faded until it was merely cloying, and then somewhat that hovered betwixt unpleasant and tolerable. Dorelei shot me sidelong glances, wondering. Alone among our company, she'd seen my face when I drank. She didn't believe my tale of a toothache.
By the time we returned to camp, the sun was growing low. Around the campfire, they were calling for us to join them and dine. Dorelei hesitated when Eamonn and the others