Riona stood outside in the last decaying light of sunset. With an absent motion, she brushed her hands together, relieved that the day's chores had been finished before nightfall. Below in the valley, the Beltane fires had already been lit. Smoke rose slowly from the village, silhouetted against a backdrop of blood-red clouds. By dark, the revelries would overflow and spill up the hill that led to her farm. The reason Britons lit fires and their young men wore crowns of stag antlers on this day, the 30th of Aprillis, had been lost in the wake of the Romans and their Christ. Riona wondered what else had changed in the nearly two centuries since the Eagles had flown back to their nests, leaving the isle to its pagans and warlords. With a soft sigh, she turned and stepped over the threshold of her small home.

The interior was sparse, but not uninviting. The single room was dug into the side of the hill like a burrow, with one wall of carefully arranged stones facing the sea. Dried herbs and ropes of garlic hung fragrantly from the wooden rafters that stretched across the low sod roof.

Riona knelt next to the fire pit in the center of the room. With a swift motion, she added a small dry log to the dying embers. The slate she used to cook was warm, but it needed a moment on the flames. Her stomach growled impatiently; she had put off eating in her haste to finish the evening's chores.

A tentative knock interrupted her hungry thoughts. Riona rose from her place at the fire and moved toward the door. Another knock. She pressed her ear to the wood of the door and listened. Soft, feminine voices whispered on the other side. Riona breathed out a heavy sigh and swung open the door.

"What?" her voice was cool and uninterested.

The girls on her doorstep took an immediate step back in surprise. Their expressions reminded Riona of how three rabbits might stare down a single fox. When none of them dared to answer, she asked again.

"What d'you want?"

The oldest of the three girls, the Miller's daughter, stepped forward.

"W-we've come to..." here she glanced aside at her compatriots, both of whom had paled noticeably, "We've c-come to buy a potion."

Riona rolled her eyes.

"I don't sell potions," she emphasized the last word, "I amn't a witch."

The girls were visibly unconvinced.

"Let me guess," Riona sized them up quickly, "You're here because t' night is the Beltane," she gestured dismissively toward the smoke that rose in the distance, "and you three plan on swallowing as much wine as your mothers will allow, so you can disappear into the night to put some farm boy betwixt your legs, and you've come to me," she paused here and pierced them all in the grey glare of her wide eyes, "to brew you up somethin' that'll keep your wombs dry for the night."

The three girls wilted. The youngest was the Innkeep's daughter, barely fourteen. A small plump girl with rosy-apple cheeks and mousy-brown hair who would not meet her gaze. Riona's demeanor softened as she imagined this child swelling up with an unwanted pregnancy. She sighed in resignation and swung the door open.

"Come in, then."

The girls seemed to silently debate the wisdom of following the "village witch" into her lair-but pressed by curiosity-all three were soon standing within the small cottage, watching Riona warily as if she might shift into a demon before their very eyes.

"What've you brought as payment?" Riona asked, placing both hands on her hips.

The Miller's daughter held out a small basket covered in cloth. Riona lifted the edge of the rag and looked inside. A few eggs, fresh bread, and a single smoked fish, most likely whatever they could pilfer from their family larders without garnering too much attention or punishment.

"That'll have to do," she said, taking the basket and setting it aside.

Riona wiped the grime of the day from her hands and began. The fire she had prepared for dinner would serve nicely. Humming under her breath, she set a small clay pot upon the slate and searched the rafters for the herbs she would need. The three girls remained in the corner as wide-eyed as when she had first opened the door upon them. Riona poured a small portion of rainwater into the bottom of the pot. As she waited for it to boil, she prepared the herbs: wormwood, sagebrush, and only the smallest amount of honeysuckle.

With practiced hands, she ground these into fine dust with mortar and pestle. She wet the tip of her finger with her tongue and tasted the blend, giving a small nod to indicate her satisfaction. This was tossed into the boiling water as she sat back on her heels. The pittance they had brought her would not have covered much more than what she had already done, but with a glance at their frightened expressions, she added a spoonful of honey to make the tonic go down smoothly. She poured the steaming liquid into three small cups and handed one to each of them.

"Drink."

The three girls stared at the cups in fear. Riona clenched her teeth.

"It willn't taste better cold."

At this, the girls downed the stuff as if it were made of gold.

"That's it?" the eldest asked.

Riona nodded.

"If you were smart," she interjected, "you'd have them finish on your bellies, not in them," her tone was sharp, but not unfriendly. The girls glanced away, giving Riona an idea of how likely that outcome was.

She took their payment and handed back the empty basket. "G'one with you," she said, shooing them out the door.

The girls started down the path to the village without another word. Before they disappeared over the crest of the hill, the youngest glanced back and offered a small wave. Riona hesitated and then waved back, closing the door on the cool night air.

Back again to the fire, Riona began to deftly roll barley cakes between her palms. The hunger of the day was now clawing at her guts. She set the cakes on the stone and waited for the sizzle that would tell her they were cooking. While she waited, she nibbled on the salted fish the village girls had brought with them.

Yet another knock on the door snapped her head upward.

"Go away!" she commanded to the intruder before returning her attention to the food.

There was another soft knock.

"I've had enough visitors, thanks," she shouted at the door without looking at it.

The knock was aggressive this time.

Riona moved impatiently to the door and opened it. Before her stood a tall hooded figure leaning heavily to one side against the frame. A jolt of fear shot down Riona's spine.

"I'm sorry to intrude," the voice that came from beneath the shadow of the hood was smooth, but amid the chill, Riona sensed a tremble, "I am in dire need of assistance."

Riona arched an eyebrow. "What sort of assistance?"

The figure struggled for breath. With a shaky movement, they withdrew their right hand from the folds of the cloak, fingers drenched in dark, fresh blood. Riona's instincts spurred into action. She threw open the door, just in time for the stranger to tip through it.

"There now," she said gently, as she steadied them with her own weight. She might have been slight for a grown woman, but independence had made her strong.

Riona led the stranger to her bed of turf and animal skins and lay them down. As she did so, the hood of their cloak slipped. Riona let out a small gasp, her hands hovering in hesitation.

The stranger was discernibly neither man nor woman. A delicate woad-blue tattoo encircled the edges of their left eye. Their skin was flawless and many shades darker than her own. But most strange of all, the tips of their ears formed into a barely perceptible point.

This creature was a druid.

Riona startled as they reached up and gripped her hand weakly.

"Are you afraid?"

Riona shook her head.

"Good," they said, just as a shaking cough wracked their entire body.

Riona lost no more time. With quick fingers, she undid the clasps of the cloak and moved on to the clothes beneath. Soon the druid was bare from the waist up. They were of a lean build, with long, elegant limbs and a torso of muscle so thin their bones stood out in delicate lines beneath their golden-brown skin. Just below their ribs was an incision rapidly pulsing with blood.

"The cut is deep," she said gravely, as the druid's eyelids fluttered open, "this is beyond my skill."

"It is not...the depth I am worried about," they breathed raggedly, "the blade that gave it will keep my blood from clumping."

When Riona paled, the druid continued.

"I can close the wound. I need you to slow my blood, and quickly, before I seep out onto your bed completely."

Riona nodded her understanding.

"Good girl," said the druid, with a withered smile.

Riona stood, scanning the dried herbs above her head. She thrust rose petal, periwinkle, and geranium leaf into the mortar and ground it to a fine powder. When she was content with the texture, she added a thick spoonful of honey, not for taste this time, but for its cleansing properties. This mixture she heated in a small pot until it was liquefied. Riona uncorked a flask of wine and added a dash to dilute the poultice. Then she tugged a rag from her waistband and dipped it into the steaming liquid. The druid watched her intently, alert despite their obvious pain. Their golden eyes glinted in approval as she held the cloth over the wound.

"This will hurt." Riona twisted the rag between her hands and let the amalgam spill into the cut.

The druid let out a small cry and bit their lip to stifle it. Their breath stilled, and for a long moment, she thought they had passed on. But then, with sudden strength, they gripped her wrist.

"I am sorry," they said, and before Riona could protest, she felt her energy begin to drain away.

The druid placed their free hand across the open wound, mumbling in a tongue she did not recognize. In a few moments, Riona's eyelids were heavy with exhaustion. Just before she felt about to slip into sleep, the druid released her. With a gasp, she pressed her hand to her chest, heaving with breath. The druid stared up at her with an unspoken thanks before their eyes closed, and they fell into an unnatural sleep. Riona breathed in deeply and then turned back to the fire.

She let out a curse.

Her barley cakes had burnt through and through.