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own devotions at the hearthfire. In the evening, when the distant tides of the sea raised the level of the waters in the marshes, they faced west to honor the setting sun. At night, the Tor belonged to the priestesses; new moon and full moon and dark all had their own rituals.
    It was amazing, she thought as she followed Eiluned toward the store shed, how quickly traditions could emerge. The community of priestesses on the holy isle had not yet celebrated its first full year, but already Eiluned was treating the ways of doing things that Caillean had suggested as if they had the force of law and a hundred years of tradition.
    “You remember that, when Waterwalker came the first time, he brought us a sack of barley. But this time, when he came for his medicine, he brought nothing at all.” Eiluned led the way down the path to the storehouse, still talking. “You must see, Lady, that this will never do. We have few enough trained priestesses here to tend those who can give us something in return, and if you insist on taking in every orphan you find, how we will stretch our stores to feed them through the winter is more than I can tell!”
    For a moment Caillean was struck speechless; then she hurried to catch up.
    “He is not just any orphan-he is Eilan’s son!”
    “Let Bendeigid take him, then! He is her father, after all.”
    Caillean shook her head, remembering that last conversation. Bendeigid was mad. If she could help it, he would never learn that Gawen still lived.
    Eiluned was pulling back the bar that held the door to the storage shed. As the door swung open, something small and grey scurried away into the bushes.
    Eiluned gave a little shriek and lurched backward into Caillean’s arms. “A curse on the dirty beast! A curse-”
    “Be silent!” Caillean snapped, shaking her. “You’ve no call to curse a creature that has as much right to seek its food as we do. Nor to deny our help to any who come to ask, especially Waterwalker, who ferries us back and forth across the water with no more than a blessing for his pay!”
    Eiluned turned, her cheeks purpling ominously. “I am only doing the task you set me!” she exclaimed. “How can you speak to me so?”
    Caillean let go of her and sighed. “I did not mean to hurt your feelings, or to imply you have not done well. We are still new here, still learning what we can do and what we need. But I do know that there is no point in our being here if we can only do so by becoming as hard and grasping as the Romans! We are here to serve the Lady. Cannot we trust that She will provide?”
    Eiluned shook her head, but her face was returning to its normal hue. “Will it serve the Lady’s purposes for us to starve? See here”-she pulled the stone slab from the storage pit and pointed-“the pit is half empty and it will not be midwinter for another moon!”
    The pit is half full, Caillean wanted to reply, but it was for just this compulsion to worry about such things that she had appointed Eiluned keeper of the stores.
    “There are two more pits, and they are still full,” she said calmly, “but you do well to point this out to me.”
    “There was grain enough for several winters in the storehouses at Vernemeton, and now there are fewer mouths to consume it,” Eiluned said then. “Could we send to them for more supplies?”
    Caillean closed her eyes, seeing once more the heap of ashes on the Hill of the Maidens. Indeed, Eilan and many of the others would not need to be fed this winter, or ever again. She told herself that it was a practical suggestion, that Eiluned had not meant to cause her pain.
    “I will ask.” She forced her voice to calm. “But if, as they were saying, the community of women at the Forest House is to be disbanded, we cannot depend on them to support us another year. And it may be best in any case if the folk in Deva forget us. Ardanos mixed in the affairs of the Romans and nearly brought us to disaster. I think we should be less