Page 33

The Tribe of Dana

The acrid smoke stung Tristan’s eyes. The corpses of the dwarf’s men crackled as the flames consumed them in the courtyard of le Chateau de Landuc .

They’d already buried their fallen, in a ceremony of tribute amidst the sacred stones in the heart of the forest of Brocéliande.

And now, as the flames of the pyres diminished into embers, and the remaining knights were departing for la Joyeuse Garde , Tristan followed Lancelot and Esclados back into the castle.

Tonight, he would be inducted into the Tribe of Dana. His blood pulsed with adrenaline.

In the banquet room, the deep undertone of male voices and the clatter of metal goblets filled the air, perfumed by the delicious scent of sizzling ham and freshly baked bread.

The warriors of the Tribe of Dana, seated at several rectangular wooden trestle tables, were finishing up their meal as Tristan and Esclados sat at a table to join them.

Servants soon brought them a platter of meat, porridge, bread and ale, which the two men devoured with relish.

As Tristan wiped the grease from his mouth, a contented grin across his healing face, Lancelot approached the table, accompanied by a young priestess with astonishing amethyst-colored eyes.

Lancelot flashed Tristan a mischievous look, delight dancing in his brilliant blue gaze.

Tristan smiled at the priestess. She was tall and lithe, with sleek black hair that cascaded to her hips.

The long, flowing sleeves of her deep blue robe nearly touched the floor and rustled with her movements like gentle wings.

Her alabaster skin glowed softly, the green notes of fragrant herbs emanating from her like the scent of the sacred forest. She smiled discreetly at Tristan and pushed a lock of hair from her lovely face with long graceful fingers.

He noticed that she bore the emblem of the Tribe of Dana inside her right wrist.

“This is Nolwenn,” Lancelot positively purred as he presented the beauty to Tristan.

Tristan rose to his feet and bent his head to kiss her proffered hand.

“She is the priestesses who tattoos the sacred emblem inside the wrist of each member of our Tribe. The first step in initiation.” The White Knight of Avalon smiled at Nolwenn, who observed Lancelot with her striking violet eyes.

“When she has finished your tattoo, she’ll escort you to the Fountain of Barenton, where the Red Knight summoned the storm.

That’s where we’ll conclude the initiation ceremony.

” Lancelot grinned at Tristan, his enthusiasm contagious.

“Esclados—the Lord of the Fountain—will bestow upon you an extraordinary gift. To show his gratitude for saving Laudine.”

Lancelot nodded to the skilled artist beside him, then said with a sly grin, “Go with her now. So that she can mark you as one of our own.”

Nolwenn took Tristan by the hand, leading him away from the banquet room, down a long hall, into a chamber where two enormous windows bathed the room in summer sunlight.

Diaphanous white curtains rustled in the gentle breeze, wafting the crisp, clean scent of tangy herbs throughout the immaculate room.

Between the windows lay a flat stone table, draped with a long, white cloth.

Two smaller tables flanked the center one, each topped with a white cloth and displaying an assortment of tools, a small bowl with green liquid, and several small vials.

Tristan observed a pitcher of water, a basin, and a chalice on a table against the wall, where a lit candle emitted the soothing fragrance of sage.

Nolwenn closed the door to the chamber behind her.

She approached Tristan and said in a melodic voice, “Please remove your tunic and lay on your back upon the long table. Relax your arms at your sides, and place your right wrist so that it faces up.” She turned to prepare her tools as Tristan complied.

Once he was inclined on the table, Nolwenn removed her blue robe, revealing a thin white chemise.

Tristan saw the outline of her small breasts and narrow hips.

Her arms were long and lean, yet sculpted and muscular, and she moved with the grace and agility of a warrior.

She deftly plaited her long hair in one thick braid down her back, tying it with a strand of leather cord.

Placing her folded robe on the side table near the pitcher, Nolwenn poured some water into the ceramic basin.

She washed her hands with a fragrant soap that delighted Tristan’s senses, drying them with the white cloth.

She returned to Tristan. He quivered in her aromatic presence.

Nolwenn opened one of the vials and poured a couple drops of scented oil onto his inner wrist. With her long slender hands, she massaged it gently.

“The herbs in this oil will cleanse your skin and ease the sting of the needles.” Spotting the gouge on his face from the dwarf’s blade, she gently rubbed some of the oil onto his cheek with delicate fingertips.

“The herbs will also help this wound heal and prevent it from festering,” she said softly.

He inhaled the clean herbal fragrance of her glistening skin.

She gestured to the bowl on the table beside her. “The green liquid you see is a mixture I have prepared from the sacred herbs and plants of the forest. This water is from the sacred fountain that you fought to defend.”

Nolwenn fixed Tristan with her amethyst eyes, her soft voice filled with reverence. “This emblem will mark you as a member of our Tribe. Sworn to defend the sacred elements of the Goddess Dana.”

As she massaged more oil onto his wrist, she gazed at his broad chest, lingering on the dark hair, following the trail down his taut abdomen, past his navel.

His body stirred at her attention, her touch, her closeness, her scent.

Pulling a stool up to the table, she sat down beside him, and for the next three hours, marked Tristan with her artistry and skill.

“The trilogy of this symbol,” she explained as she began her work, “represents the three sacred elements of the Goddess, which the warriors of our Tribe defend.” She gently dabbed at the green liquid on his wrist. “The three branches of this emblem—which I carve upon your sword hand—curve downward into a swirl, signifying the arm and protective hand of the warrior.”

Nolwenn’s voice was soothing and melodic, captivating him with the secrets of her art.

“This first arm represents the sacred forest , such as our beloved Brocéliande , but many others as well. Even as far north as the enchanted Hazelwood Forest of Ireland.” Tristan watched her meticulously puncture his skin with the needle and green dye, admiring the sheen of her black hair in the warm afternoon sun.

When she completed the first arm of the emblem, Nolwenn continued her story as she began the next.

“This second branch represents the sacred element of water , such as the Fountain of Barenton that you defended with prowess and valor. It also symbolizes all the waters of the Goddess Dana, such as le Miroir aux Fées— the Mirror of the Fairies. A sacred, mirrored lake in the heart of Brocéliande .”

Nolwenn gently wiped his wrist and examined her work. “ Le Miroir aux Fées lies in the enchanted woods, near the Chateau of Comper, the crystal castle of the fairy Viviane. She is the Lady of the Lake, the enchantress who raised Sir Lancelot, one of the leaders of our Tribe.”

The priestess dabbed his skin again with the white cloth, applied a few drops of the herbal tincture, and regaled Tristan with more of her enchanting tale.

“The waters of the sacred fountain protect our Tribe. The sacred spring of édern promotes fertility among our women. And la Fontaine de Jouvence —the Fountain of Youth—bestows an extraordinarily long life to Druids such as Merlin and Odin.” She gazed deeply into his eyes, the wisdom of ages glowing in their amethyst depths.

Tristan lay expectantly on the table, watching this dark-haired beauty with intoxicating eyes grace his arm with precision and skill.

Marking him as one of the Tribe. His body was taught as a bow, an arrow nocked in its string.

Nolwenn advanced to the third branch of his tattoo.

“The final arm shelters the third sacred element— stone .”

Her deep purple eyes held Tristan’s rapt gaze. “The menhirs and dolmens where the Druids perform their sacred ceremonies are found throughout our realm. Some are holy burial sites, such as le Tombeau des Géants , where today we honored the knights who had fallen, defending our sacred fountain.”

She blotted the green ink from Tristan’s arm and added more drops of the soothing tincture. Her melodic voice lulled him as she massaged his burning wrist. Her touch sent tingles up his arm which rippled through his body, her touch as intoxicating as her enchanting tales.

“Some of the sacred stones are portals to the Otherworld , such as those in the H?tié de Viviane, where the Lady of the Lake seeks celestial wisdom. And the Menhirs de Monteneuf, the universal portal of the Druids.”

Her artwork complete, Nolwenn concluded Tristan’s lesson on the significance of the emblem which now marked him as a member of the Tribe of Dana.

“The sacred element of stone includes not only the megaliths that serve as sacred burial grounds or portals to the Otherworld .” She massaged his wrist and forearm with an aromatic oil that was both soothing and stimulating.

His skin tingled under her skilled fingers.

She smiled up at him with her astonishing amethyst eyes.

“The sacred element of stone also includes the treasures of the mineral world. The crystals and gemstones—amethyst, emerald and moonstone—which channel the energy of the earth. The divine power of the Goddess herself. Into our hearts, minds, spirits. And bodies.” Her touch was igniting Tristan’s skin.