Legend of the Lakes

by Clara O'Connor

  Rion sent word to York, Conwy, and Dùn Èideann that Féile had been taken from us. Gideon chafed at delaying pursuit.

  “They are only a day ahead,” he pleaded with Rion. “We can catch them. Féile will slow them down.”

  Rion looked thoughtful. “Whoever has her has not snatched her on impulse. They will have prepared for this; there is little chance we will find them.”

  “Dammit, we can try.”

  “At least it would get you out from underfoot,” Rion acceded. “Take no more than twenty men. The rest will be needed to prepare to march.”

  I drifted from Rion’s study back up to Féile’s room as Gideon gathered his troops and readied for pursuit. He knew I was here, as he had known the last time I had sat in a window over the courtyard watching the world I no longer felt a part of. No longer wanted to be a part of. Then, as now, he did not look my way.

  As I watched, two riders came to the gate – not soldiers, farmers perhaps. They stopped and dismounted and spoke to Gideon, their gestures wild and urgent. A flutter ran through me. Gideon looked up at my window. What was it? What news had they brought that he would acknowledge my presence?

  I ran along the corridor and down the stairs, my hand leaning on the stone walls, unsure my legs were steady enough to bring me to where I needed to be.

  By the time I entered the courtyard, Rion and Callum were there. Why had they been summoned and not me? Had they found her? My mind flinched against the thought of bad news.

  Rion turned as I approached, his eyes taking in my expression and giving me a swift shake of his head. No news of Féile then.

  “A lake has appeared,” Rion explained, the two farmers nodding wide-eyed, their mouths slack with the dazed reverence those meeting me for the first time often seemed to suffer.

  What? A lake? What did that have to do with anything? With Féile?

  “It appeared last night.”

  “Out of nowhere, my lady,” one of the farmers interjected. “We thought the River Irthing had burst its bank first, but it’s a great size.”

  I looked at Callum, my teacher. What was I missing here? Why should I care as much as these men all seemed to?

  “The lake is many miles wide,” Callum clarified. “There has been no rain, it is shrouded with mists, and apple trees grow on the shore.”

  “I don’t understand. What are you telling me?”

  “Apples are the symbol of Avalon, the home of Nimue, she who helped Arthur, and Evaine, the lady who married Belanore and started your bloodline,” Callum explained. “I think it is an invitation.”

  “For me?” I asked. Of course it was for me. It had appeared the night Féile was stolen. “Why couldn’t it have come before, why now, after?”

  Callum lifted one shaggy shoulder. “Can’t say. But it’s there now. Thee must go. Speak with whoever waits below. Perhaps they offer help to get your girl back.”

  My eyes snagged to Gideon’s. We may have flung vicious words at each other only hours ago but nobody else wanted her back more than he.

  “You should go,” he confirmed.

  “You will go with her,” Rion stated quickly.

  “No,” he protested, “I am going after Féile.”

  “These men can go after them. You know the chances of recovering her are slim,” Rion reasoned. “Who else should I send with Catriona? You are her protector.”

  “Yes, my great gift as Griffin,” he said, his lip curling. “What would she do without me there to hold her hand?”

  Gideon bore none of the gifts of previous Griffins, apart from his ability to restore me. It was not evident that the spirit of the Griffin had transferred at all. He had never indicated before that it bothered him but then, I had never asked.

  “Fetch my lady’s horse,” Rion commanded a nearby warrior, dispatching another to find Oban to bring my travel cloak and pack.

  “You must be wary in Avalon.’ Callum looked concerned now that we were agreed I would go.

  “Wary? I thought Avalon was an ally.”

  “It is, aye. Avalon has sent us great help over the centuries – weapons, sending the Lady Evaine who stayed and married Belanore – but the bloodline from Avalon has sometimes been less beneficent,” Callum said as he fussed at his beard. “The lady has helped us to overcome our enemies, but on occasion, she has been the enemy within. For every Lady Guinevere there has been a Lady Morgana. Think on the Lady Guinevere a moment, her intentions were good but the curse you deal with comes of her actions, would have been cast by her sisters. In the records Rhodri sent there are indications that not all the women of the line were wholehearted. I came across a rumour that the Lady Anne may have been the one who destroyed the House Tewdwr.”

  Rion frowned. “Lady Anne, Lady Elizabeth’s mother?”

  “Mmm, she was Lady of the Lake but not very powerful, born into a dispossessed Anglian family. She married Arthur’s younger brother Henry, and there is a school of thought that says she was ambitious, that she planned to overthrow Arthur and may have allied with the Empire to do so. Londinium killed them all and Elizabeth barely survived.” His great brows drew together. “There is a treacherous aspect in the Lake bloodline. The gift is mercurial and only goes to one descendant in each generation. Power can be tempting, and the Avalon line seems to throw the occasional twist.”

  A Lady of the Lake marrying into the royal line of Mercia was not entirely unusual. My own mother had… Did Callum suspect that my mother had also been working with Londinium?

  “Do you think I shouldn’t go?”

  He shook his head quickly. “No, you must go, but be careful. Things may not always be as they seem. Avalon is not of this world, and the rules that govern it are not ours. Weigh words carefully and offer nothing you don’t have to.”

  Oban arrived bearing my fur-lined cloak as the spring was still cold, as well as my always ready pack. His face was pinched in worry as he wrapped his arms around me. “Be safe, lady.”

  I stepped back, and Rion also enfolded me. “Be careful, Catriona.”

  Gideon had already mounted, impatient to be away to get this errand done with as quickly as possible.

  “Ride now,” Rion said, giving me a boost into the saddle with his hands. “We will be ready on your return.”

  “Ready for what?” I asked, looking down at him.

  “For war.”

  Part Two

  Mingled with the Rain

  Mae'r hen delynau genid gynt

  Ynghrog ar gangau'r helyg draw,

  A gwaedd y bechgyn lond y gwynt,

  A'u gwaed yn gymysg efo'r glaw.

  * * *

  The harps to which we sang are hung

  On willow boughs, and their refrain

  Drowned by the anguish of the young

  Whose blood is mingled with the rain.

  — Rhyfel (War), Hedd Wyn translated by Alan Llwyd

  Chapter Thirteen

  We headed east, towards Castlesteads just south of the wall that General Hadrian had built when he thought he could hold this land for the Empire a millennia ago. A heavy mist obscured the land as we approached the area to which the farmers had directed us. Gideon hadn’t spoken since we left Carlisle, leaving me to my thoughts in the weighted silence in which even our horses’ steps were muffled as we moved through the whiteness. The increasing regularity of apple trees was our only indication that we were headed the right way.

  I picked over what little I knew about Avalon, which, given that two women had stepped out of myth to aid the Britons in halting the progress of the Roman conquest and one had started a line of which I myself was a part, was shockingly little.

  The records spoke of the deeds of Guinevere and Evaine, but little was known of their origins. Avalon was known as the isle of healing, or simply as “the lake” but no one knew where it lay, or if it moved. Its appearance now seemed to prove the later theory. There were whispers of enchantments and seduction, and now it seemed, treachery.

  The history o
f the line Callum had gleaned amounted to little more than genealogy, and I wasn’t entirely sure what I was supposed to do here. Had the lake appeared in our time of need to offer aid, or did some trick await? In the tales, the Celts recounted in song and story aid arriving from the otherworld, and it was never as innocent as it seemed. Yet Avalon, in myth, had given aid in times of need and Féile was a daughter of Avalon. I had to believe that help was being offered. We weren’t strong enough to take on the Empire, the ley lines were failing, and we stood little chance against the superior, sophisticated weapons of the city.

  Finally, we came to the edge of the water, dismounting as two swans floated majestically out of the mists, a boat trailing in their wake.

  Gideon looked suspiciously at the unmanned boat but managed to push down whatever it was that bothered him and handed me into the boat before pushing it into the water and jumping on board himself.

  Gideon pulled the oars steadily until we were out in the middle of the water. The boat was insignificant, bobbing as it was on the water, fragile against the elements, but inside I was dry and safe. For now.

  Gideon watched me carefully, his eyes as flat as they had been since Féile had been taken. I was going to get her back. I would be the storm that would rain down upon them. If what Callum told me was true then with the strength of previous ladies I would be as unstoppable as nature herself. They would be unable to flee, they would be helpless against my fury. That was my goal, that was my sole focus. The wrath of a mother was terrible, and I would ensure that they were ended.

  “It will go no further.” Gideon’s words broke through my thoughts of vengeance, lifting the oars out of the water.

  The mists receded as storm clouds gathered in.

  There was no island visible, only water on all sides for miles, even though we could not be that far from the shore we had just left. I must have to enter the lake itself. I looked down into the dark waters. I could do this.

  But if I didn’t return, the warrior facing me would find Féile. He had to.

  Gideon was elemental himself. His dark hair was being tugged by the wind that swirled up out of nowhere, his arms were bare, his dark Celtic tattoos swirling as if they were alive. New ink patterned his inner arms. Taking his hand, I turned it over to examine the tattoos more closely. He bore a dara knot, a rounded shield-like shape, a knot divided into quadrants. It denoted protection, survival, strength, destiny. Its weaving also contained echoes of lake and oak, fire and sky. It was a knot binding an oath, similar to the one that Devyn had worn on his heart with the Mercian symbols. The one that represented the oath that he had broken and the one he had kept. The swirls around it were heartrendingly reminiscent of the curls I had smoothed to help Féile sleep, her lively brain quieted by the soothing touch of a parent’s hand. I held the hard calloused hand in mine, the hand that had learned the trick to help her rest and taught it to me.

  I ran my fingers lightly over the still red, inflamed skin.

  “What did you do?”

  “I made a vow.”

  Gideon the warrior, who would swear no fealty in a land built on it, despite his ties to some of the most powerful families in the land, the Griffin who would not make a promise to the Lady of the Lake, had made a vow.

  “I can see that,” I responded. “What was the vow?”

  What had he done? She was my daughter; I was the reason they had come for her and I would be the one to get her back.

  “I will give my life’s blood to see her safe.”

  I met his gaze directly for the first time since she had been taken. Devyn had made a similar vow, and once it was realised he had died. I could not see Gideon’s life-force ebb away before mine. I would not survive another loss. He had no right to make such a promise. He needed to wait for me. I would come back wielding enough power to put the city on its knees and bring my daughter home. He had to wait for me. He was my anchor, the only one left who could call me back.

  “You are the Griffin first,” I said, in a hard voice. “Your first duty is to me.”

  His head tilted slightly, in revolt; he did not plan on waiting. He would be gone as soon as I stepped off this boat.

  “We all agreed this was the plan. This is our best hope,” I said.

  “No, you all agreed. You and Rion and Callum. You decided. I did not agree. I am going to find her. I will not leave her to them a second longer than I have to.”

  “You think I don’t want to go after her?” I seethed. “You think I want to delay? That I’m not terrified at how scared she must be right now? That every breath I draw is a breath too many before we go and get her?”

  He quirked a dark eyebrow up. “Then why are we here?”

  “We wouldn’t make it across the borderlands.”

  “Devyn did.”

  “Devyn slipped in as a child by way of Calais, not as a strapping great warrior tattooed to the hilt, taking the most direct route on the heels of thieves. It was a dozen years after the fact, and even then it took him years to find me, and we were almost killed trying to escape,” I reminded him. “What chance do you have?”

  He shrugged. “More chance than if I sit here doing nothing.”

  I shook my head and placed my palms on either side of his face. Rain began to slash down from the grim greyness of the sky above, the weather worsening as I continued to ignore my invitation.

  “You are the Griffin. Your first duty is to me,” I said again to him.

  His lips tightened, and he wrenched his head free.

  “I’m the Griffin?” he scoffed. “When did you decide that? Now, when it suits you?”

  He pointed an accusing finger at me, raising his voice as the storm heightened and the boat rocked furiously in place.

  “You’ve never accepted me as Griffin. I’m the medicine you take to keep you whole, I am the caretaker you tolerate to ensure your daughter is looked after. And now you want me to do your bidding and wait for you on shore?” He laughed, his eyes glinting. “I am not your—”

  He paused, his mouth full of ugly words that he wished to pour out at me.

  “She is my daughter, and I have vowed to do whatever it takes to get her back.” He thrust his clenched fist towards me, inner arm upward with its new tattoo. “I will not break my oath.”

  Unlike Devyn, were his unspoken words.

  He was resolved. But so was I.

  I smiled at him, baring my teeth. The energy from the storm filled me; it was raw and pure, free and wild.

  I took his offered arm, grasping it in the upper arm clasp of the Celts, a clasp that brought our wrists into contact. This was the traditional pose for a reason; this was where the blood flowed closest to the surface of the skin, the blue veins of my wrist pressed to the pumped, healthy veins of his darker skin.

  “Your oath is my oath.” I spoke clearly, not shouting as he had against the storm, but as one with the storm. Its power and purpose was clear to me now. “My blood is your blood.”

  His amber eyes burned as they held mine, widening as he, like I, felt the scalding fire down the inner side of our clasped arms.

  Did he understand what I was saying? That the promise made was ours together, that the blood I was binding him to was that of the child he had sworn to protect, her blood to his. He was her father.

  He swallowed and nodded as he accepted what I was offering. His oath I could take, but my daughter had to be accepted – a fact he seemed to understand. A feeling, a rightness came over me. The ease of a piece clicking into place.

  Releasing his arm, I moved closer to him in the rocking boat, which remained precisely on the spot to which he had rowed us. The shore was distant and hidden in the mists.

  “I need you to be here,” I said softly.

  I looked up into his eyes. He was my tether. If he left, if he was not here for me, then I was already lost. He was right. I had never accepted him as Devyn’s heir. It felt too much as if I had allowed the universe to replace the irreplaceable. The energy of the ley lines
had scrubbed clean the wound in my soul, and this man’s touch I had allowed to smooth the joins of the scar. But I had never let him in. He knew it, and I knew it. His role as Griffin had been reduced to its basest form. He had allowed me to do that to him because that was what I needed. And it had kept me alive. I felt unworthy, late to the realisation party again.

  “Promise me,” I urged. I felt incandescent with power, but I could not compel this of him. If he could not do this, we were ruined before we began. I wished for once to share with him the bond I had with Devyn, to let him feel the conflicting emotions swirling within me, my regret and sorrow for how I had used him, my anger and resolve to find Féile, my gratitude and acceptance of his role in both of our lives.

  I watched the battle rage in his eyes, the resentment, the pride. How had he humbled himself so low for me? Why? I knew enough of his background now to understand the damage he had overcome, the lack of trust, the scars of betrayal that went beyond me, all the way to his core. And still, he had been there. For Féile. For me.

  “Please,” I begged. I could sense a bending in him, a chink of hope that I would not disappoint him again.

  “For Féile.” His lips thinned, but he nodded his agreement. Not a promise, not a vow, but a statement that he would be here.

  I looked down at the tattoo, a mirror to his own, that now glistened under the rain on my arm. Magic had shared his vow, and his tattoo. A thought glimmered in the shadows of my mind. Was it possible?

  I eyed the leather body armour that encased him. The storm intensified. I needed to go. They were waiting.

  I tore at the buckle of his body armour, pulling it off him. A brow rose, his eyes questioning, but he did not resist and he did not question me. The ties of his tunic were next, loosening them until I could pull the wet cloth over his head.

  I placed one palm over his heart and wrapped an arm around him, placing the other hand flat against his back.